" ... meanwhile, MTV and all involved with the dance competition show, 'America's Best Dance Crew' were all left reeling when one of it's judges, thirty three-year-old JC Chasez walked off stage mid-taping and was never seen or heard from for the last week. Sources from the show say that he has been on edge for the last few weeks and very desponded. Usually very social and carefree, it has raised a lot of questions about Chasez and his personal life ..."

A shaky hand reached for the dial on his radio, shutting it completely off before the voices that drifted through the speakers drove him insane. Every station from where he was (where was he again? Memphis? Milwaukee?) at that moment from New York City had been discussing his disappearing act and what could be the reason. Everything from a bitter break-up, drug use/alcoholism and family emergency had been mentioned; though, family emergency, he thought, was probably as close as anyone had gotten since the talk started.

He felt he wasn't part of his body, that he had been floating above and watching himself just go through the actions of the day without any emotions. It had probably been like that for the last week when his world finally gave and began to fall apart around him as he could only hold up walls, desperately trying to keep the foundation below him from cracking. It had only happened to him one time in his life before then, but it had been a good out-of-body experience. It was when his second official CD with his old group reached double platinum in it's first week. He felt like he could walk on water; this time, all he wanted to do was drown in it.

He could only imagine how many texts and voicemails that awaited him on his cell phone that sat, shut off, on the passenger seat of his Audi TTS Coupe, the $56,000 present he had gotten himself for his 33rd birthday in a beautiful all-black motif and, as his brother Tyler liked to call it, manned up with a stereo system that, if even put at medium-range, could break an eardrum. It was his baby, one, that as the days went by now, didn't seem so great anymore.

Nothing seemed to be.

He always credited himself to be a very observant person that could pick up things quicker than many people would after six or seven tries. He learned words mid-way through listening to the song the first time, picked up dance moves as they went along; hell, he read faces of people and could tell someone exactly what they were going to say before they had said it.

Then his doctor's appointment came.

It was as routine as he expected it to be: the faint-inducing needles for routine blood tests, heart-listening, knee-knocking-type of physical. The doctor, a nice woman who listened to every little hypochondiatic thing he would whine about, questioned him about a rather irregular bruise on his upper back. He shrugged it off, telling her it was probably from a rowdy game of tackle football that he had played the weekend before with his cousin's kids, they a particular rough bunch of preteenagers. She believed him and lowered his shirt, again asking him how his judging career was coming along. He laughed, her concered question forgotten about only moments later.

Two hours later, as he stood in his dressing room, preparing to go through the dress rehearsal before the actual taping of America's Best Dance Crew, his cell phone rang. It was unfamiliar, one that he normally would not answer, but the ring (and he could only chuckle at the time as the thought crossed his mind) sounded urgent. He just knew it was important.

"Is this Joshua Chasez?"

He remembered fidgeting with his tie at the sound of the man's voice on the other side of the line. His voice was low, strong and very, very serious. As he cleared his throat and gave him the proper acknowledgement, he suddenly wished he had not answered the phone.

"This is Doctor Ramirez, an associate with your PCP, Doctor Truman. Your blood tests have just returned from our lab with an alarming result and we need you to come down to the office as soon as possible to discuss the results with you."

He shrugged it off. Maybe he was anemic. ... that could explain him being very tired all the time. It could also be the answer as to why his appetite had somewhat diminished and he always seemed to want to wear a sweater - even in early October.

Just like that, it had been forgotten. For the next 48 hours, at least.

He was driving down a local road when he stopped at an intersection, eyes casting over towards his doctor's office and suddenly remembering they had wanted to speak with him. Having nothing else to do, he decided he'd stop in, see when they were available next and get on with his day. That didn't seem to be the result when he spoke to the receptionist, who had gotten the wide-eyed look as he stated his name and she looked in his file to get the information to put him in as an appointment the following Wednesday, she getting up and excusing herself before appearing about five minutes later with Doctor Truman in tow and who he would later learn as Doctor Ramirez.

He was ushered into the back where the real offices of the doctors' were located, sitting down in the plush, leather swivel chair as Doctors Truman and Ramirez sat at the desk and on the edge, looking at him with nothing to read on their faces.

He was stumped.

"Josh, I'm going to get right to the point," Doctor Truman said softly, she always having a soft spot for her sweet, very likeable patient. "Your blood tests are not where they need to be. When you left, I began to think of that bruise and called for the lab to run a complete blood count. Your blood came back with isolated decreases in your platelets and red blood cells; your white blood cells were also pretty low, which is uncommon."

He looked at them. He was an entertainer, not a doctor; these words meant nothing except that they were low. How would he get them back to normal? What kind of medication did he need?

"It's not that simple, Josh," she said, sighing deeply. "We need to do a complete and thorough bone marrow aspiration and biopsy."

His stumped look gave them all the more to continue on. "We need to do a procedure to withdraw your marrow through the bone and have it tested."

"Josh, we need to do this right away."

They gave him no time to consider the procedure. After a signed consent and his file faxed over to the building next to his PCP, he stood in front of the glass door that read Doctor Harry Cohen, Oncology Specialist.

Oncology.

His brain started doing laps, trying to remember what oncology meant, exactly. He knew it dealt with a disease, knew that he had heard about it before then. But where?

He took a deep breath, pushing open the door and getting hit in the face with cool air and a sterile smell that he had hoped would rid once he left. The office was sparse, only an older woman in the corner and the two receptionists behind the window in his line of eyesight.

No one had said needles were involved. Nevermind the needles being the size of a football field (okay, exaggeration), but being jabbed twice, painfully? He really hoped that it would never happen again - having needles shoved into his skin, only inches away from his backside, especially, were not going to be welcomed back. It felt as if it were hours, but as he walked out of the office and headed back to his car to grab the bottle of Propel he had left in the car to save himself from fainting and getting liquids back into his system, he went back to his own doctor's office to await the results.

And then, just like that, the hustle and bustle of the day beyond the window behind Doctor Truman, the noise behind the door in the waiting room of patients laughing, talking, some coughing, slowed, if not stopped completely.

Acute Myeloid Leukemia.

Cancer.

He did not remember leaving the doctor's office that afternoon; did not remember getting into his car and going home, putting himself to bed. He did remember though, waking up in the middle of the night and vomiting until his entire body ached.

It did not leave his brain for even one second to give his erratic thoughts a moment to breathe and settle down, to stop him from feeling so panicked and desperate. He slowly lost his appetite and for the better part of the two weeks that he withdrew from the world against his better judgement and the doctor's pushing for immediate treatment, he became a hermit and his performance on the show began to lack.

Which brought him where he was at that moment. On the middle of a highway in the middle of God knows where, depressing himself with his thoughts and wanting to runaway from the world. He wasn't ready to die, that he was certain, but he did not want to be suffering in the middle of the busiest city in the world, caught on a camera when the given would occur (his hair, gone; his bodyframe, frail), did not want to be under a microscope unless it was his blood or marrow being tested.

He was relocating to his home away from home, away from his friends, his family, the media. He needed to do this alone, even if it meant hiring a private nurse to pick his weak ass off the floor when he couldn't do so himself. He couldn't suffer when there were people around.

He couldn't win this when people were hovering over him, either.

But he knew, he knew that if he lost this fight, he was going to hate himself for not letting people in.

He set his bags down the floor, resting his sunglasses atop his head as he exhaled, cheeks puffed as he took in his surroundings. Cordova. He was in Cordova, Tennessee. It was fairly warm for mid-September as he walked towards the window in what would soon be the small living room area, closing his eyes as he let the slow breeze tickle his skin.

His heart began to pound at the realization that maybe, maybe it wouldn't be long until he wouldn't be able to feel that breeze. What if they hadn't caught it in time and he was another name written in the memories of God's Book of Life? Now, he thought, was as good of a time as any to start praying for redemption ... or at least, a little longer in this world. There were so many things he had left to do, had wanted to do; he didn't want it ending before it even began.

Before he had realized it, a warm, fat tear had slowly begun to roll down his face, his hand reaching up to swipe at it clumsily. He could fight this, right? He was healthy, young, in good shape ... there wasn't any reason in the world that he couldn't get out of this with his life.

He just had to.

Doctor Cohen had told him to call as soon as he was settled so he could give him the name of the oncology specialist in town, whatever town he had decided to disappear to. "Let's not push this aside any longer, Josh," he had said, "life doesn't wait until you're ready; it's ready when it is damn-well ready."

He sighed, opening his eyes. Doctor Cohen could wait a few minutes; he had bags to unpack and furniture to order before he was even living in this place.

This place, wasn't too bad. The layout was decent, doorways and halls were spacious and the bedrooms (one turned into a room for, well, he didn't know just yet) were quite large with closests that were about 3/4 the size of his own at home. He didn't cook, but the kitchen was pretty large for an apartment kitchen and with his soon-to-be hermit-like status, he probably would need to learn to cook. And soon.

He knew by now his parents, his close friends, his manager ... anyone that he saw or spoke to daily were probably going out of their minds wondering where he was. Truth be told, they didn't even know of his condition.

Condition.

He shuddered again. He didn't need for them to worry. He worried enough for himself. Maybe one day, one day when his mind was straight and his hair ... his hair was back to where it would be after it would fall out after chemo ... or he found a wig (oh God, a wig ...) to look just like what his hair had been like, he'd tell them.

For now, he was Josh Chasez and he just moved to Cordova for his own sake and for a change of scenery. No one needed to know.

He sighed deeply, taking in the emptiness of the apartment. Sure, it had furniture and appliances, but it was empty. Just how he felt. He would put his bags away and get the rest of suitcases from his car and call it a night by calling in some delivery and watch television. Right now, that was all his mind was letting him wrap his thoughts around. That was all he wanted to think about.

He had given up taking the rest of his suitcases the entire way into the apartment. The mere thought of carrying them only feet away into his bedroom and the spare tired him even more than he already felt, he collapsing onto the couch and putting his arm over his eyes.

He was so tired. Even after tours and hours on end in the dance rehearsals, standing in front of thousands of fans and singing his heart out, dancing his ass off ... nothing compared to the exhaustion he felt now. It was as if someone had tied weights to his lids, they falling heavily, deceiving his fight to keep them open to finally get something to settle on his stomach after a long day.

He reached for the remote, flipping through the basic channels and mentally thanking the building owners that one of the common amenities was cable.

He sighed, lifting his hand weakly and shutting off the television, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. He had been there a little over twelve hours, with littel to no rest. Though he felt like he could sleep for days, his troubled mind had kept him from the peace. Thoughts of his family; the past and present; his friends and those he lost rattled around his brain like a loose coin in a glass jar, just itching to bust through and shatter. He didn't want to die; he didn't want to be so selfish and continue thinking that way, thinking that he deserved as much as to live when there were others who felt the same and still lost their fight - but he knew, he knew he was going to be the one God spited - after all the times he cursed Him, it would be a wonder he had not fallen down dead in his tracks before.

He had been gone for about ten days now; give or take a day or two with his slow travel and numerous rest stops to lay his weary head and eyes for even a few moments; not wanting to risk being seen or even, God forbid, caught by a familiar face that would blow his cover and his plan completely. He ran away for a purpose, with a purpose; he was not going to bring anyone into it if he didn't have to. It wasn't fair to see them react to his deteriorating state and it wasn't fair for them to have to witness it.

God, he felt like he was a child running away from home.

Home.

He lifted his head, the silence deafening his ears as he eyed the black PDA on the makeshift coffee table of boxes. (He probably should assemble the table soon). He leaned even more forward, fingers grazing and then gripping the piece of plastic and metal within the confines of his palm and roughly rubbed his forehead with the other. A shaky thumb pulled up the dialer on the touch screen, dialing into his visual voicemail, an invention the phone company had introduced for those who were too busy to listen to who had called and were able to delete and screen messages without even listening to them.

Inhaling a shaky breath, he watched as the messages continued to grow as the names appeared on the screen, one right after another. Mom, at least fifteen times; Dad, at least another fifteen; Tyler, about ten; Heather, at least in the twenties; a few from the producers of ABDC; give or take five or six from his manager; Joey; Chris; four from Lance; some from Autumn. He expected these. He expected those names.

Except one.

One voice mail from Justin. They had been on the outs within the last year after a major (though now he felt it had been minor and their stressful lives at the time fueled the little fire into a raging wild one) altercation in front of Justin's home after a long night of partying and drinks. Words were said, an arm was pulled away from the offending party, JC left in anger without so much as a goodbye and Justin refused to acknowledge him in passing when they were at the same premieres or awards shows.

It hurt him more than any break-up he had been through; but then again, his fight with Justin was just like one: they had been together for nearly ten years in one group, they both grew up together on a show for a few years and he had known the younger man since he was eleven. They were closing in on twenty years of knowing each other and one argument had flushed it all down the toilet.

Just like anything he had attempted to eat.

He selected Justin's name, hitting the speaker button to refrain him from pulling the phone to his ear and hold it there, feeling as if he couldn't even lift a finger in his exhaustion.

At first, he thought maybe Justin had 'ass-dialed' him, a feat that many people had grown to become quite prolific at, keeping the communicating device in their back pocket and leaning just so, dialing out the first available number in whatever section the phone had gone to on it's own accord. Then, as he was itching his finger over the 'erase' button, a low voice rumbled, startling him completely.

A voice cleared. He heard the watery click of saliva being swallowed at the back of a throat. Heard the clearing of a voice again. Justin was never good at speaking through a phone ...

"Long time no talk, shitty ..."

He smirked, the old nickname coming out of the woodwork. He heard a low chuckle from Justin's end, thinking maybe it would be an okay voicemail; he wouldn't want to fall over some more.

"It took me six times to get into your voicemail. How many messages do you even have in that piece of shit phone, anyway? Clear out the messages, man." Justin paused, clicking his teeth into the receiver. "Obviously, this call isn't a social one; otherwise you would have answered. What the hell is going on? Where did you go? Where are you? Everyone is worried about you. This includes me, Jace; this isn't like you, this is something Chris would have done. Did something happen? Are you depressed? God, I hope not ... if you are, then the world is fucked ..." His voice began to sound panicked as he spoke some more, voice shaky, breaths coming out in short puffs. What was he doing to his friend? His family? "Whatever this is about, you can get through it, JC. I know you. I know you. I don't care how long it's been; I know you. I don't care what happened all those months ago; I am just fucking worried about you. You are my family, JC ... my big brother. I need to know you're okay. I ... I want to beat the living shit out of you for disappearing like you did but if you'd just tell me why, I'd help you. God, JC, you know I'd help you if you'd let me. Jesus, let me. God help me if I tear whatever hair I have left trying to figure out what's wrong and where you are ..."

He felt the click in the back of his throat as he swallowed a lump, bile forming as he fought his own emotional breakdown, getting up and barely making it to the bathroom as he spilled out the remains of whatever had been clinging to his stomach and digestive tract for dear life.

He pushed himself away from the porcelain bowl, his body collapsing back against the wall behind him. His head felt so heavy, lulling on his shoulders and wall as it was, hands barely holding him up. As his head dropped to the side, his vision settled on the phone that sat a few inches away, safe from the toilet but not his hands. The screen had relit itself when he dropped it to grip the toilet bowl, Justin's name still highlighted as his choice in listening to his message.

Drained and weak, he reached for the phone, exiting out of the voicemail and dialing out. He was on the verge on a mental breakdown as his stomach churned even more. So this was it, this was going to be his life? Days of exhaustion, nausea, depression and all-out wretching to fill the ever-so-slowly ticking of time? Hell, he hadn't even started the medications yet and he was already feeling as if he had. He couldn't go through this alone but he couldn't call his parents; he just couldn't put them in his predicament ... at least not yet. He couldn't call many people; fame had a way of weaving right in and spreading like a wildfire and he wasn't ready to deal with the flames yet.

To him, at that moment, there was only one person who would drop everything to help.

As his finger found the appropriate speed dial number, he did a silent prayer that the churning in his stomach subdued and his mind would rest ... at least until the phone call disconnected ... or if he disconnected from reality.

As the phone connected to the other, the rings were faint as the ringing in his ears echoed. His head pounded, throat raw, stomach aching; it felt like a bad flu. A bad flu that he didn't know he had until then. Maybe it was psychological, but if he had not found out he was sick, would he feel this way? If he had not gone into that doctor's office, would he be where he was right now?

A gentle click and a greeting of dead air sifted into his ear as he realized the call had been answered. Swallowing his pride, along with the lump that only grew, he sucked in air, not even bothering to greet the caller on the other line.

"I didn't know who else to call ..."

He blew out a nervous breath as he sat in the uncomfortable waiting chair, fidgeting all the way from his toes up to his head. Toes tapping, ankle shaking, body shaking ... he was pretty sure he could feel the floor shake beneath him from his tiny tremors. He had been a bundle of nerves when he had called Dr. Kleinfield, a doctor that Dr. Cohen had recommended to him the moment he clicked onto the line and knew it was JC.

"Dr. Kleinfield comes extremely recommended, Joshua," Dr. Cohen had insisted, "I have nothing but high hopes for your diagnosis; we caught it just in time before it could really do damage to your immune system ... though it sounds like it is starting to," he noted. "I assume you've been feeling sick and weak, yes? You're just in time to start getting treatments and chemo. You have a great chance at beating this, son; you're young, in shape and very healthy otherwise. I just wish you wouldn't have waiting so long to call me to get his number ..."

Now, here he was, sitting in a waiting room in an unfamiliar town with not one familiar face there to support him. But that was his fault.

"Joshua Scott?"

He swallowed, hearing the woman call his name, he dropping Chasez to continue his anonyminity. He got up slowly, stomach lurching as he followed the woman down the hall, tired eyes squinting against the bright flourescents. Following her into the room, she gestured towards the table and handed him a paper gown. He scrunched his nose up in distaste as she chuckled, catching his eye. When he lifted an eyebrow in question, she shrugged.

"It's not that stylish, is it?"

He shook his head slightly as she patted his shoulder. "Change into that and I'll be back in five short minutes to take your vitals, okay? Dr. K wants to do a thorough exam."

He nodded, thankful that she had left him alone even for a few minutes. Though it had finally settled that this was really happening, it hadn't really sunk into that settling feeling until he looked around at all the charts that gave definitions of different cancers and treatments - all including radiation and chemotherapy.

It occurred to him briefly that this is what his life would be; medication after medication, treatment after treatment - but he had forgotten about the whole 'losing your hair' part, even though he had thought of it when he was first diagnosed. Selfishly, he was now praying that his hair was one of the last things to go; he didn't care about being sick if he could keep his hair ...

He sat down, slowly pushing his arms through the holes and leaned back, already tired from his walk and moving to change. He hoped that wasn't permanent, either.

A gentle knock, followed by the door slowly opening, reintroduced him to the nurse that had taken him there. "You okay?"

He closed his eyes, nodding as he felt her presence close in on him as she sat down at the station beside him, setting his file down. "Tired, nauseous ... you know, the norm."

She placed a hand ontop of his, he jumping slightly at the warmth radiating from her skin to his as he opened his eyes, meeting her gentle gaze. "Dr. K is a great oncologist, Josh," she stated warmly, "I have no doubt he'll pull you through this."

He swallowed roughly, fighting back the emotions he had been able to hide so well until her compassion was targeted at him. "I hope so."

"I know so," she nodded, turning back to his file as she read it over. "All right, so let's get your blood pressure and check all your vitals and that's the last you'll see of me today."

"I wish that was all I'd see of today," he murmured as she chuckled, patting his arm gently. "Think he could prescribe me something strong to knock me out until I'm in remission?"

"If only it were that easy," she responded, smiling weakly as he groaned. Pulling the velcro apart, she smiled, "blood pressure is normal; well, slightly elevated, but I think that's because of the nerves." She wrote down a few notes, glancing over at his face. "How are your gums? Not bleeding or anything with brushing or feeling as if they're taking up your entire mouth?" She checked his heart and listened to him breathe as he waited to speak, then proceeding to check his eyes.

He shook his head, eyes falling closed again against the bright lights. "Basically, I'm tired, throw up at the mention of anything, which, by the way, you're lucky to not be witnessing it right now; I also feel as if I'm lead and everything is way too heavy for me. Oh, and I can't sleep. I'm past the point of exhaustion right now."

"I can see it in your face you are," she frowned. "Well, I'm sure Dr. K will try and remedy that."

"I really don't think he can," he mumbled, "my brain is going a million miles a minute and I can barely keep up."

She patted his knee as she stood, setting his file on the table. "Dr. K will be in shortly."

He murmured a response, hearing her close the door with a soft click. He knew it'd be longer than 'shortly' for the doctor to enter, he already antsy enough as it was. Pushing upward, he sat up, reaching for his medical file. "Another entertaining read," he mumbled, reading through half-lidded eyes.

Patient: Chasez, Joshua Scott
I.D. No.: 0918313062

He snapped the file shut as he heard a male voice approaching, throwing the file back onto the table as he stared straight ahead. Had he really lost nine pounds? He had obviously had a pretty rapid weight loss while touring with all the dancing and singing for hours on end, but he always noticed the pounds that were missing on his otherwise small frame.

"Knock, knock."

He jumped, startled at the husky, balding man standing in front of him. "Sorry, I guess I was daydreaming. As odd as that sounds ..."

The man smiled, shrugging it off. "Happens to the best of us," he reassured, thrusting his hand out to shake. "I'm Dr. Kleinfield. So you're the patient that Dr. Cohen pressed me into having, huh?"

"Well, gee, sorry about the burden ..."

Dr. Kleinfield laughed. "I didn't mean in that way," he said, "I just meant that we have a limited capacity but he insisted I see you. That Dr. Cohen is pretty good at groveling," he smirked. "He's an old college buddy, of course I would have taken over your case."

"Dr. Kleinfield," JC said slowly, feeling his body begin to slump underneath him from holding himself up for so long, "I'd love to continue the small talk, but can we get this done as quickly as possible? And possibly with a prescription of some medication that can knock me out?"

"You are really into wanting that sleep, aren't you? Nurse Lauren said you would be."

"Lauren?"

"She was that happy nurse taking your vitals, Joshua. Said you were speaking of wanting sleeping pills," he laughed. "It'll get slightly better, Joshua; most people who are diagnosed go through an insomniac-state and a shock-state. Once it becomes routine, hopefully not a long routine, sleep becomes welcoming."

"Oh, joy ..."

Dr. Kleinfield tapped his pen, reviewing the file in his hands. "AML is a relatively uncommon form of Leukemia, Joshua, but I really do have a good feeling about this. Your chart said it is pretty much just out of the beginning stage and Dr. Truman was right in sending your blood for further testing. I am going to put you on Mercaptopurine to start off with and would like to schedule induction for the beginning of next week. Preferably on Monday. I would like the Mercaptopurine to have been in your system for about a week to regulate and see if we can't get the cancer cells from producing or at least slow them down. I would suggest you not going anywhere after you take the pill since it will make you tired and possibly quite nauseous but it is quite effective ..."

"Great," he mumbled, "more sickness. This whole being sick thing is just not my cup of tea." He sighed deeply, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "And what is this induction that you are speaking of? Introduction to more medication?"

"It's chemotherapy, Joshua. It's success rate has risen majorly since the early '90s and continues to rise. I have more faith in it now than I ever have and I really believe that this is what is going to help you most."

"I'll be getting sick a lot then, I see."

Dr. Kleinfield nodded. "Sadly, that is a side-effect. You may also be more immune to getting sick since we are attacking cells involving your immune system. You may have gastrointestinal distress, such as nausea, vomiting and diarrhea."

"What about hair loss?"

"Unfortunately, that is a side-effect. It is also a side-effect of the Mercaptopurine."

He frowned, mind shutting down as it finally all began to settle completely. He bit his lip, fighting the tears. Dr. Kleinfield continued talking as he looked over his patient file, his words a slow sounding babble as he entered the world of the in-between; he was there, but he wasn't with it. All he wanted to do was sleep, eat, be normal.

He couldn't even pull off being normal anymore. Not after today.

It was an hour later when he finally pulled into the apartment complex, dusk was slowly disappearing and turning into dark. Shadows appeared beneath heavy trees, part of the building and beneath the cars, but as he looked down at his cement-filled shoes that carried his heavy body, he saw his own shadow disappearing into the unknown. He swallowed hard, hoping his future was not so bleak.

Thankful for the elevator and only living on the third floor, he leaned heavily against the railing of the elevator as it seemingly crawled up the three levels to take him to his temporary residence. The moment he stepped foot outside of the small area, he sensed something different about his surroundings. Call it intuition, but he knew there was something off about the environment.

As he turned the corner, his eyes settled on a set of tennis shoes sticking straight up into the air, at rest with the body that was sitting up against the wall little ways down the hall.

Right beside his door.

He licked his chapped lips, squinting as he made out the familiar chisled face and short mop of wavy hair that rested there, head tucked to his chest as he slept. "Justin?" His voice was low and shaky, watching as the man startled awake, jumping to his feet as JC slowly approached him. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you really think I was going to just sit there after you called me?" He asked, stepped forward and attentively, his eyes slowly taking in his older friend's exhaustion written all over his face. "I came to help."

"Justin, the only way you would be able to help was if you, yourself physically removed this disease from me. We both that is not humanly possible."

"But I can help take care of you when need be."

"I don't ... I don't want to be taken care of," he said, shaking his head in frustration. "I don't want to be treated like a child, Justin."

"No one said it'd be like that, C," he said softly, "I just meant that I'd go and get you whatever you needed so you could rest, get stronger; I never meant I'd be hand feeding you and teaching you to talk. God knows you talk enough on your own without anyone's help," he teased, hoping to get even a slight hint of a smile from his friend's face. He failed. "Seriously, Jace ... whatever you need, I'm gonna be here. I'm not leaving. I'm not gonna leave you alone."

"Did you," he licked his lips once more, eyes falling closed as he tried to find his bearings, "did you tell anyone where I was?"

Justin shook his head. "I did talk to your mom. Said that I just knew you were okay. She asked me how, I said I couldn't say, but I knew." When he got a look from his friend, he shrugged, "I know, shitty answer, but I had to tell her something, C. Your family is going nuts right now."

"I know," he said softly. "I just can't bring them into this, though; it'd kill them more than it'll kill me."

"In which it won't."

"In which it won't, what?" JC looked at Justin, watching as the younger man shifted from foot to foot, sniffling slightly as he looked back up, a determined look on his face, though his eyes were glassed over. "Justin?"

"I won't let it kill you," he said finally, "I won't let it take you away now that I've got you back -"

"And as sexual as that seems," JC said, finally smiling slightly, "let's go inside before my neighbors think I'm doing a drug deal or something ..."

Justin nodded, following him in and setting the two bags he had sitting next to him near the door. "Jesus, C, you've been here only a few days and it already looks like hurricane Chasez swept through here."

"I haven't really been in the mood to unpack," he mumbled, stumbling over the box for the coffee table. "Or put shit together, as you can see." He let his body collapse onto the couch, laying his head on the arm of the chair as Justin took the chair across from him. "So are you going to tell me how you found me?"

"Come again?"

"Oh, don't play stupid, Justin," he chuckled, "I know you. What strings did you pull to find me?"

"You told me you were in Tennessee so I went from there. Called a friend of my mom's who worked for the phone service and he found the location of your phone from the tower and as soon as I had a general five to ten mile radius, I just called every place I could think of asking to see if a 'Scott Tyler' had just inhabited one of their rooms or apartments. Tenth one in, I got a match. Asked them if they remembered what you looked like after telling them I was investigating a case for you but had lost contact after the trial ended and I had some new information for you. People are so damn gullible."

"And people call you a mediocre actor," JC half-teased, voice drawing out as he yawned deeply. "Shows how much The Mickey Mouse Club helped you. Or me, for that matter ..."

"I take offense to that."

"Yeah, well, I take offense to Black Snake Moan."

"And I, Killer Movie."

JC smiled, eyes still shut as he lifted a hand, pointing at his friend. "Touche."

"I assume you have room for me, right?"

"Lucky for you, the room in the beginning of the hallway is the beginnings of an office space but has a pull-out."

"My room, it is," he chuckled, picking up the two bags at the door as he disappeared from the living room.

"You have sheets and stuff, right?"

"There should be some somewhere," he nodded. "One of the boxes that are in there."

"I'll look for them. You should probably try and get to sleep, Jace. You might feel better."

"I gotta go pick up my prescription," he mumbled, "they said it'd be ready in a half hour."

"When did you drop it off?"

"Almost an hour ago," he smirked as Justin laughed, picking up his keys that he had tossed carelessly onto the island counter of the kitchen/dining area. "I'll go get it. Under your normal name?"

JC nodded, hearing Justin rustle around only feet away from him. "You really can't get drugs with an alias."

"Figured as much."

The two men stood in silence, JC thinking that Justin had already left, Justin standing by the door, shifting from foot to foot once more. "Jace?"

Startled, JC's eyes popped open, meeting Justin's amused expression. "What, J?"

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for that all that shit from before."

JC nodded. "Me too, man; me too."

Justin cleared his throat, a trait that JC knew he did when he was nervous or attempting to find something else to say. "Jace?"

He felt like he was speaking to a child who needed reassuring. Only this child was 28 and he was pretty sure he'd be the one getting reassured. "Yeah, J?"

"I'm glad you called me."

He swallowed roughly, nodding his head slowly. "Me too."

"Jace, you around?"

He opened his eyes, willing them to remain open as he swallowed, mouth dry. "In the bedroom down the hall, J," he called quietly, the apartment quiet save his voice and Justin moving around in the foyer. He heard the jingle of keys and he tossed them to the island counter, shoes falling to the floor in a thunk as he threw them to the corner and then his padded feet going down the hallway covered only in hardwood. "You have trouble getting it without me there?"

Justin shook his head. "Nah, used my good old Southern Boy charm and nearly got myself a date with a woman old enough to be my Nana."

JC shook his head as Justin set his prescription down on the table, he sitting down on the chair across from him with a serious look on his face. "What, J?"

"You scared?"

"Of taking the pills? Well, at least they aren't shots like I was told about at home ..."

"No," he said softly, shaking his head. He closed his eyes, licking his lips nervously as he gathered his thoughts. "Are you scared of the leukemia?"

JC nodded without a thought, not wanting to have to lie to anyone else. "J," he said, bringing the younger man to look at him, "are you sure you really wanna be around for this? I mean, I'm gonna be sick a lot, I'm probably gonna be balding within the next few weeks and I really don't think I'm gonna be pleasant come the time this medication begins to kick in ..."

"And you're pleasant now?" Justin grinned at him, teasing him as he did way back when. "Jace, I'm here to help, regardless of what mood, what shape you're in. You can't battle this alone and I know you know that." His mood immediately sobered as he saw the darkness sweep across JC's face as he nodded, shaking his head. "I've seen what it does to the kids that we've visited at St. Jude's, at other Oncology Units. I've seen the pain, I've seen the baldness. Do you really think I'm gonna hightail it out of here because it's you? No. I'm rooted to this apartment, to that clinic, to whatever hospital it is that they send you to for your treatments. I'm gonna be there to take you, to sit with you until the treatment is done and then I'm gonna be there handing you the trash can when you're throwing up and force feeding you chicken brother because I can and I will and it's my right to do so."

"Look, Justin," he said, biting his lip as he struggled to pull himself up weakly into a sitting position, leaning up against the headboard and shutting off the television so the only light was the small lamp that illuminated both men's skins to a deep yellow glow, "I appreciate this. I really do. But I'm not going to be mad if you leave; in fact, I'd understand it -"

"I'm not leaving, Chasez," Justin said, shrugging as his mouth formed a straight line in a tone that he had only heard Justin use once to Chris when he was being a stubborn fool. "You don't abandon family when they need you."

"When we fought -"

"Jace, that's done and over with," Justin said, holding his hands up to silence him, "I washed my hands clean of it and dismissed it as you and I being stressed and stuck in a bad point in our lives. I'm not dismissing our friendship -"

Both men jumped as Justin's phone rang, he looking at the number questioningly. "It's the pharmacy. I gave them my number so they'd call me when it was time for refills, rather than them call you." He picked up the phone, talking to the woman on the other line. "There's more? O-okay, I'll be down as soon as I can to pick them up. Thank you." He ended the call, looking at JC. "I'll be right back. Apparently, Dr. Kleinfield decided that he wasn't going to ease you into it as he had planned and we're diving head first into this. There are three other medications waiting for me at the pharmacy."

JC groaned, hanging his head. "Look, I need to get up out of this apartment. Think you could play chauffeur and take me somewhere so I don't go stir crazy? The silence is deafening."

"And you wanted to do this alone," Justin cracked, nodding in agreement. "C'mon, Chasez, let's go get a late dinner."

"Argh, dinner."

"Okay, let's have some dinner for me and some soup for you," he replied, waiting for JC to pull himself out of bed and pull a sweatshirt over his head. As he saw the man stand up, he exhaled deeply. "Jesus, JC," he murmured, seeing the bone through his friend's t-shirt before he pulled the hoodie over his head. "I knew you lost weight ..."

"Apparently, nine pounds is a lot on a guy my stature," he shrugged, stomach growling against the better judgement of the nausea that still churned along with it. Grab my jacket, would you? I'm fucking freezing ..."

Justin nodded, turning away from his friend as he felt his jaw twitch with emotion. He couldn't turn his back on his friend and let him alone but God, this was going to be rough.

"J?"

He froze mid-grab of the jacket, looking at JC. "Yeah?"

"There's still time to back out of this."

"I'm not." He handed him the jacket, helping him put it on. "Just because you're weak and exhausted right now doesn't mean I won't kick your nagging ass."

"I could take you sitting on my bed," he murmured, Justin cracking a smile as the two walked down the hallway, putting on their shoes and heading outside towards Justin's car.

"It'll just be a few minutes," Justin said, looking at JC as he nodded. "D'you want anything while I'm in there? Magazines? Something to help you sleep tonight?"

"Get me some ginger ale," he murmured, "or clear soda; whatever kind they have. Couple of magazines would be good." He watched Justin get out of the car, he sighing deeply. "And maybe a healthy body."

Within ten minutes, Justin was crossing the front of the car with a bag in hand. "They had Ginger Ale, got three magazines, some Nyquil to help you sleep and three economic-sized bottles of medication. We're off."

JC sighed, the thought of popping five pills daily bothering him. "Can we just go home? I'm really not wanting to be out anymore."

"Bull," Justin said, smirking. "We're going to Denny's. I'm dying for a Grand Slam and I know they have Chicken Noodle Soup."

"Fine," he mumbled, crossing his arms and looking outside the window. "Whatever you say."

"And people say I should hire a private nurse for your stubborn ass," he grinned, putting the car into reverse and bringing them out of the parking lot before heading towards the restaurant a few miles back down the road."


"You look like you're going to fall asleep where you sit."

JC looked up at his friend, shrugging lazily. "Even if I tried, right now, it wouldn't work. I'd wake up within two minutes. My mind is going a million miles and hour right now and I can't seem to stop it."

"Can I get you two gentlemen anything?"

Justin looked up at the woman, leaning forward with his arms on the table. "He'll take a hot tea, preferably the decaffeinated if you have it. I'll have a coffee, black."

"Sure thing," she smiled, writing it down and disappearing before JC could protest.

"I'm sick, not unable to order for myself," he said lowly as Justin shrugged, reaching into his back pocket and pulling a piece of paper out. "Pharmacist gave this to me to let you read. It's the drug information."

"Right now, I don't even want to hold that piece of paper."

Justin smiled sadly, opening it up and reading it aloud so JC could hear what exactly he was putting in his body. "All right, so we have the one I picked up already: Mercaptopurine; it says that you have to take this on an empty stomach. It's only 25 milligrams ... not bad. Side effects are rare, but as with all drugs, there are some -"

"Doctor said I may lose my hair on that one."

Justin looked up, frowning as he watched his friend peel back the placemat. "Then there is Zyloprim; you won't start taking it until you start chemo so it can prevent increased uric acid levels and you won't develop gout or kidney problems -"

"Yeah, let's give me some kidney problems. 'Hey kid, you have Leukemia! How about adding some kidney failure on top of that?!"

"Jace," Justin said softly, watching him shake his head sadly. "Sorry. Go on."

"Oh hey, he gave you Oxy's!"

JC's head shot up, seeing all the other patrons looking on as if they were speaking drug-selling. "Talk louder, Timberlake, damn ..."

"Sorry," he chuckled. "Obviously, a pain reliever. For the ... pain."

"Obviously."

Justin looked on the paper, shrugging. "Okay, so maybe I lied; you only got three meds."

"Four, counting the Mercaptopurine."

"Well, yeah," he nodded. "There are only four listed so maybe that's what they meant when I picked it up. Hey, look on the bright side, you just lost one med."

"Excuse me if I don't jump up and down for joy, but I am too tired to do so."

Justin frowned, looking up as the waitress set down the coffee and tea in front of both men, eyeing them cautiously. "Are you guys ready to order?"

"I'll have the Grand Slam," Justin began as JC groaned, he looking over at his friend and seeing the green slowly crawl up his neck onto his face. "Jace?"

He clapped his hand on his mouth, getting up as fast as he could and disappearing towards the bathrooms.

"Bring me whatever for the breakfast and if you have something with broth, that's what he'll take," Justin said quickly, sliding out of his booth seat and following quickly behind his sick friend. "Jace?"

"Can we go home, please?"

Justin raised an eyebrow, leaning forward and looking under the stalls for his friend. "Yeah, of course ..." He located JC's tennis shoes, knocking on the stall before pushing it open. "You okay?"

"Dry heaves," he muttered, "I've thrown up so much that all it's been the last two times was air."

"And you haven't even started your meds yet."

"I can only imagine the fun I'll have in the bathroom with the toilet. I feel as if I should name it since it and I will be hanging out often."

"Good to see that even while nauseous, you have somewhat of a humor."

"Porky. Porky the Porcelain Bowl."

"Okay, it's really time to get you home, man," Justin chuckled, gripping JC's elbow and helping him to the counter, he waiting patiently as the older man splashed cold water to his face. "Why don't you go to the car and I'll get our food packed up? It shouldn't be too long ... try and sleep a few winks in the car."

Too tired to fight, JC took Justin's keys, his feet dragging tiredly with each step he took. "If I drool on your seats, it's not my fault."

Justin grinned, shaking his head. He remembered on tour, at the points of severe delirium and exhaustion, JC would always be found in his bunk with an arm tucked under his head, mouth wide open with his own little pond underneath his wrist. Some things did not change, even with age.


"You think you'll make it into your room without passing out in the hallway?"

JC mumbled a response, waving off his friend as Justin grinned, setting his keys down. "You think you're gonna be able to sleep?"

"Not with Nyquil," he murmured. "Do me a favor and just hit me over the head and knock me out. It'll be a good sleep ... promise." His voice was fading as he slowly made his way into his room, the door creaking as he opened it. "I need sleeping pills."

And then he remembered. When he and Jessica broke up, a week later his grandfather got really ill and he was unable to sleep. The doctor gave him a mild sleeping aid and if he recalled, he had it in his messenger bag still.

"Genius," he murmured, walking hurriedly into the room he was staying in and dumping all the contents out, seeing the familiar pill bottle and walked into JC's room, seeing the older man pulling the hoodie off as he sat, leaning up against the bedframe. Once the heavier top was off, he could see him struggling to keep his neck straight. "Okay, so I might have a remedy for you," he stated, stepping into the room as JC looked over at him, confused. "When Papa got sick, doc gave me Ambien."

"What the hell is Ambien? Anti-Depressant?"

Justin shook his head, a smile forming as JC tilted his head, curiosity making him look like a puzzled dog. Well ... kind of. "It's a sleeping aid. Take one, you're knocked out for at least 8 hours."

He reached for Justin's hand, taking the pill bottle and reading the label. "Don't mind if I do ..." He opened it, spilling one into his hand and knocking it back and swallowing it dryly. "Thanks, J."

He watched his friend make himself comfortable, he shifting from foot to foot as he set the pill bottle down on the night stand. "C?"

"Yes, Justin," he asked sleepily, "what can I do for you?"

"I'm not going to back out of this," he said softly, watching as JC pried his tired eyes open, "but I am scared to witness it all."

JC nodded. "So am I," he sighed deeply, Justin hearing the sloshing of saliva and then the watery click as he swallowed it down. He was clenching his jaw, staring blankly ahead with half-lidded eyes. "J, I don't wanna die ..."

Justin felt his eyes water, he leaning forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look, I'm not gonna let that happen, okay? Money is not an issue, neither is traveling far and wide to find the best treatment to get you into remission, okay? I'm not gonna let you die on me. You're gonna be 90 with grandchildren asking you about the time you were sick - not my grandchildren asking me what happened to my best friend when I'm 90. This ... we're gonna beat this. Hell, we beat the biggest asshole in the world, I think we can beat one miniscule disease."

"Yeah, Lou really was an asshole, huh?"

"Jace, I think we would still have been on that label when we went on hiatus if it hadn't of been for you seeing something and taking it to Lance. We'd probably be broke as hell right now."

"Fucker got what he deserved."

"Amen," Justin said softly. He watched his friend take in a shaky breath, eyes closed gently against his cheekbones. "Just remember what I said, okay? You're not gonna die on me. It'll be over my dead body."

"Don't wish that on yourself," he murmured, unable to keep his eyes open anymore. "I would never wish this or death upon anyone. Even asshole."

Justin smiled. "I'll let you sleep, Jace. I'll see you in the morning." When JC gave no response, he stood for a few moments, swallowing roughly as he watched his friend finally fall into a slumber that he knew he hadn't had in at least a few days ... maybe more. He reached over, grabbing the pill bottle, turning the table lamp off and leaving the room, shutting the door with a soft, satisfying click.

He walked into the bathroom, hands shaking as he shut the door and locked it behind him. Turning the shower on to the hottest setting he could, he stripped of his shirt and leaned up against the counter, meeting his own pale and tired reflection. "J, I don't wanna die ..."

He released a shaky breath, turning the faucet on and splashing his own helping of cold water to his cheeks, the words still echoing in his head. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die ...

He felt a dry sob escape his mouth, his emotions finally running away with him as the seriousness of it all finally slammed into him like a freight train, nailing him directly in the chest as all the air in his lungs whooshed out on impact. His friend, who was only a room (save the linen closet between them) away was fighting the battle of his life, soon to be popping pill after pill, sitting hour upon hour during a chemo drip and there he was, reassuring him empty promises. What if he didn't make it? What if he spited him on his death bed because he didn't hold up his end of the bargain?

A hot, fat tear rolled down his cheek as he clumsily swiped it away, hands gripping the edge of the counter as he tried to maintain his breathing. Once his finally did, the rest of his clothing met the shirt in a crumpled mess on the floor, he stepped into the near-scalding water, the thoughts coming back ten-fold, suffocating him as he sunk to the floor of the shower, bringing his knees to his chest as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes in a sad attempt to keep the tears away.

He'd hate himself forever if something horrible happened to him. Selfishly, he'd hate the man he looked up to as an older brother for not fighting harder, longer.

And that was what made him hate himself more; he wasn't God, he couldn't make those promises ... how could God even fight something like that? If there was something modern medicine couldn't do, why would God? If there were answers and He knew that He wanted people to find the answers to, then they would.

God, he hoped he got some sort of answer.

"Embarassment or not, Dr. Kleinfield, I'm here for the long-run," he stated, "if push comes to shove, I will hire a nurse but right now I need to make sure he keeps his pride. Even if it's just for a little while longer."

"His life is more important than his pride," he responded, turning his head as they both heard JC get back up onto the table, the paper crunching underneath his body, "he'll get over it."

"If you just come down this way, we have your area set up for you, Mr. Chasez."

Justin's eyes traveled to the back of JC's head, watching as he stiffened when the chair and IV bag appeared in his line of vision. Putting a hand forward and pressing up against his rod-straight back, he gently pushed him towards the chair. "Piece of cake, Jace; it'll be a piece of cake."

"Again, do you want the needle?"

"I think you've forgotten how many tattoos and how many labor hours have been put into the ink I have, man."

"I'll trade you."He smiled, taking a seat next to his friend, in direct view of the IV drip and the nurse who was cleaning the area of JC's skin where the needle would be inserted. "Maybe you wouldn't feel so sick if you'd stop watching her like a hawk."

"I need to know what she's doing."

"You already know, Jace," he chuckled, "just talk to me, ignore the pretty lady next to you and tell me something."

JC slowly dragged his eyes away from the woman holding the needle and met Justin's curious gaze. With a low, spiteful tone, he replied, "I hate AML."

"I hate it too," he agreed, wincing as he saw the woman insert the needle, JC's body stiffening as his eyes fluttered. "You okay?"

"I hate needles."

Justin brought his gaze down to his friend's arm, watching as the woman taped the needle injecting the medication to his skin to keep it in place. "You know," he said softly, bringing his gaze back up to him, "I hate them, too."

JC exhaled, shaking his head trying to rid himself of the uneasiness of the needle, the length that it'd be sticking into his skin and the reason why it was there. "This three hour thing is gonna kill me."

"Nah, I think old age will beat the time to it."

"If I even live to see thirty-four," he mumbled. "It's a wonder I don't attempt to hang myself or something."

"Oh shut up," Justin snapped, shaking his head, "You'll make it to ninety-four if you fight hard enough and stop thinking so pessimistically."

"Kind of hard when the doctor is telling you to prepare for the worst."

"But you hope for the best and know that a lot of faith goes a long way."

"Well, you hold on to that faith because right now, I have none."

"Jace -"

"Justin, just drop it. Please?"

Justin swallowed, seeing the distress in his friend's face as he nodded. "Well," he cleared his throat, "we gotta keep ourselves occupied somehow. You wanna play questions?"

"J, this isn't the dressing room at Disney and I'm not eighteen-years-old anymore."

"So? It kept us amused for a while."

He sighed. "Fine. You start since it was your damn idea."

Justin laughed. "Fine, cranky. Boxers or briefs?"

"I hate you."

With a cackle, Justin lifted his hands, shaking them side to side at his jab at their earlier interviews in Europe. "Best thing to happen to you in your life."

"Mom and dad taking me in."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, besides being in the group. That was pretty much the best decision anyone has ever made for me. If they hadn't, I wouldn't be here right now. Well, I would be, but I highly doubt you would since I don't think my real mom could have afforded to fly me down to Orlando to even try out for the Mickey Mouse Club. Ten to one, I'd be some struggling architect sitting in here alone."

"You'd never be alone," he stated, JC shaking his head. "Okay, since we're going deep, here's another one: what life would you love to have that would surprise most people? Including me?"

JC laughed, leaning his head back against the chair, "you're gonna laugh."

"Try me."

"Well, I never really thought about it until now but I'd like to have kids someday."

Justin's eyebrows rose at the words that fell from his friend's mouth. "You? You want kids?"

He shrugged, lifting his head and looking at him with a smirk. "I mean, don't shit a brick or something but yeah, I think ... if this doesn't make me unable to, I'd like to have one or two. I'd like to get married, but not now ..."

"That really is something no one knows."

He scoffed, "you know."

"Well, now I do."

"Don't make such a big deal out of it, it's just a fleeting thought. I mean, I never really saw myself as someone who could raise a child being that I don't know who my father is and what kind of man he was. No, I take that back, I know what kind of man he was and I really would like to raise my children knowing that it wasn't him who made me a great father, it was Roy, my dad. I just ... when all is said and done, I wanna be able to come home and hear someone call me 'daddy'. I want that little girl like Joey had; I want that undying love and irreplaceable feeling you get when you meet your child. I want to see he or she grow up. I want -"

"Jace," Justin said softly, bringing the man's attention back to him, "why did you call me?"

JC swallowed, looking anywhere but at his friend as he shrugged. "Because. Because I knew that of all the people I knew, you'd be the only one who understood, even if you had no idea what I was going through. I knew you wouldn't question me and press me to call other people and let them know I'm all right, even if I felt as if I'm not. I'm alive, so I guess I'm all right; I just needed someone who was gonna be there without pressure. Because, well, once upon a time, I could rely on you for everything and I still think I can."

"You can."

He nodded, dropping his gaze to his hands folded in his lap. "And because I felt that if I didn't call you then, I would never call you because I'm too stubborn. I needed someone and you were the first person I thought to call."

"Regardless of where we stood, I would have came. You know I would have."

"Why?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why, what?"

"Why would you have come regardless?"

"Because you're family. You don't turn your back on family, especially when they really need you. I heard your voice, I heard how sad you sounded; I knew I had to be there, regardless for what it was for."

"Oh."

Justin smirked. "Yeah, oh."

They grew quiet, the faint sounds of the television above them removing the silence from the room just enough that they didn't feel necessary to say something.

"Online gossip blogs are going crazy over the news that popstar Justin Timberlake withdrew on late notice half-way through the taping of his newest role in the Indie thriller, 'Reaperman' sometime early last week. While some reports are stating that it was a lapse in judgement on the star's behalf, others are stating that his leaving the role and being seen departing LAX late that night would indicate trouble on the homefront. There has been no speculation, however, that the popstar had departed in order to go to his missing in action former groupmate, JC Chasez after the two had a falling out more than a year ago and have been out of touch since ..."

JC reached for the remote sitting on the tray next to his IV, clicking off the television and looking at his friend in curiosity. "You didn't tell me you were in the middle of filming. You didn't have to come."

"Yes, I did."

"Justin, I could have found someone else - I could have waited."

"You were more important."

"Justin -"

"You were more important than some movie. Some movie I could give a rats ass in finishing, anyway. Let them find someone else to play the part. It was a stupid role, anyway."

"Justin."

"JC, just drop it, all right? I chose what was more important to me. I wouldn't have chosen otherwise."

Justin, seriously -"

"What? I already told you -"

"Thank you."

He breathed a sigh of relief, nodding. "I'm gonna be needing a lot of thanks after breaking contract and having to pay them for barely even getting into my role."

JC grinned. "This isn't so bad."

"I told you it wouldn't be."

"Well, I say that now. Give me a few more weeks of this and we'll see how I feel about it."

Justin smirked. "Hey, you remember that time that Joey fell through the trap door and split open his knee?"

The paling of JC's skin gave him the answer as he groaned. "God, don't remind me. I had nightmares from all that blood."

"Or what about that time in Europe when we had to bake cookies for some show? I was Cookie Man and you were my sidekick -"

"Sprinkles."

Justin grinned. "And the airport fiasco?"

"Which time? There were a few."

"Well, the one I'm thinking about is 'Pixie Gate 1996'."

Laughing, JC leaned back and grinned. "I have never seen someone shake from having too much sugar until Lance. Chris and Joey were no excuse since they were constantly on some sort of sugar rush back in the day but Lance looked as if someone injected the caffeine directly into his blood stream."

"I think his mom hated us for the better part of that month when he wouldn't sleep and ended up crashing in the middle of an interview."

"Or how about you almost falling off the stage when we had the traveling one?"

Justin groaned, shaking his head. "All right, enough memories. Let's not bring that one up again."

"It feels like so long ago," JC chuckled. "I was just in my mid-twenties when the group split up. I feel like I was a baby back then."

"You? I was just starting to drink ... legally!"

"How is your music going, anyway?"

Justin shrugged, playing with his fingers as he delayed his response. To be completely honest, it was going amazingly; he had found success by himself, earned himself six Grammy's and every endeavor he had gone after since had played out well for him. Almost a little too well. He felt as if he were doing something wrong; the entire time he was in the group, he always spoke highly of the other man who traded lead with him, the vocal talents of the latter blowing nearly everyone away in the music industry. He came out with an album, it was a slight moderate and commercial success, but he deserved better. Everyone knew that, even if JC just shrugged it off and continued on to find something that would get him success.

He deserved it.

"Justin?"

He shook from his thoughts, looking back over at his friend. "It was on hold until the movie ended, but now it's just on hold until I feel like going back to it."

"You should start again. You've been doing well with your albums and I'm sure the fans would love to see another album come out."

"I uh, I was actually thinking of something else," he replied, JC's eyebrows knitting in confusion. "I kind of thought about it and I know it's been something that has been pinned on me because I'm stubborn and an asshole sometimes but I think I'd really like to finish the album we started before going on the indefinite hiatus. Even if it's just to finish it. I kind of miss being in the studio with everyone."

"You're gonna have to do it without me," JC said softly, shaking his head sadly. "I'm in no condition to be up and running around like before and -"

"The group doesn't consist of four people, Jace," Justin frowned, "it's me, Joey, Lance, Chris and you. Who else is going to keep Chris and I in check? You know it's gonna be a round-robin like it usually was and Lance will be discouraged if he can't get the note ... you were always the one to make him feel all right about it. And Joey ... well, Joey just has ADD."

JC laughed. "Justin, I can't. As much as I wanted to before and as much as it'd be fun to do again, I can't bring myself to go into that studio. Not if I can't do it after a while."

"I'm not saying we do it now; I'm saying we do it when you get better and have beaten it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because," he said softly, "if I give myself something to look forward to and I don't make it, it's gonna make dying really sucky."

"See, looking forward to being *NSYNC again should make you want to live," he grinned. "And stop with the dying talk, we already decided you weren't gonna die from this."

"No, probably just smelling Joey's ass all day in the studio."

"Can you seriously stop with the death talk, though? I'd like to think of this as another Lou Pearlman; we got dragged through hell and high water and got mentally sick and physically exhausted but we made it. We'll eventually beat him. Just like you will."

JC sighed, closing his eyes as he felt the exhaustion from talking and sitting there for what seemed to be forever take it's toll on him. "I hope so."

He ran a hand down his face as he pushed open the apartment door, feeling just as exhausted as he was after a world wide tour. In three hours, he managed to see one of his closest friends be panicked, reminisce, fear death and throw up more than he thought anyone could in the second cycle of chemo. Unlike movies, they never showed the outcome of many chemo treatments and an hour and a half into JC's, whatever he had left in his entire digestive system ended up in the pan they had sat next to the bed, ready for a situation that would shortly arise.

As JC was gathering himself at the end of the treatments, weak and wasted, the nurse pulled him aside, warning him that the chemo side effects could end up starting almost immediately and to be ready for the outcome. When he asked what, he hadn't expected her response.

"Hair loss. If he takes a shower, he may start noticing hairs - most of the time, it seems that it's a few hairs here and there, but there are some people who lose clumps at a time. He'll be sick. Really sick. If he spikes a fever, you need to bring him back in as soon as possible. We're not chancing anything with him."

"But a fever could be good, right? It can strengthen his immune system so he can fight the Leukemia -"

"It's actually the opposite, Justin," she said softly, "it will weaken his already weak immune system and he could develop an infection - something we're trying to avoid."

After his treatments, Dr. Kleinfield came in, asking to speak to JC privately. In the half hour he was in the office, Justin was left clueless sitting outside the door, staring at the floor and making imaginary patterns in the black specks on the otherwise white lineoleum tiles. He jumped as the door opened, JC's face slightly flushed and white from the nausea, he knew, but there was something else written on his face that he couldn't quite read.

He hadn't spoken a word since.

"Do you need help getting to your room?"

"I'm sick, not crippled," he snapped, holding his hand up to stop him from nearing him, weakly shrugging off his zip-up hoodie and tossing it to the couch as he slowly disappeared down the hall, closing the door behind him.

He knew that his own patience within himself was wearing thin, he was never one who could wait around for results for long, nor could he do anything about it. He had always been a hands-on, get down and dirty guy who had always tried to figure a way out of things or to make things easier for himself and others so the stress level would drop. This was something he couldn't fix; his stress level had to be through the roof already.

He sat down, putting his keys and cell phone on the (assembled) coffee table and dropped his head back to the cushions, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. He startled, hearing the beep of his cell phone as he leaned forward, seeing that it was from his mom.

How is he?

He exhaled, unaware that he had taken another breath and held it. He hated lying to his friend, but he had to tell someone. He knew his mother trusted him to do what he felt was right, knew that eventually, if JC wouldn't, Justin would be the one to make the calls to his family. It was wrong to keep it from them but they both understood his intentions. He never wanted to hurt people and if he could, he'd try his best to shield them from whatever harm it was that was inflicting him or would them. But he knew, he knew that even though he thought it was for the best, the later he told, the worse it would be.

He's OK. Did his first round of chemo and got really sick. Dr. called him in the office and he's been distant since. I think he told him something.

He set his phone down, lying down on the couch and bringing his knees up slightly towards his chest as he closed his eyes. In all honesty, he hadn't slept the entire night before the treatments; he scared of what was going to happen and what he was going to have to witness. Now that all was said and done, his eyes did not want to stay open.

Maybe a few minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt."J, what are you doing?"

He turned his head, looking over at Joey as Lance and Chris stood behind him, skeptical looks on their faces. "What? What do you mean? Where did you guys come from?"

"We've been here all day with you, Justin," Chris said softly, his eyes traveling around them, looking everywhere but at him. "We all flew in this morning."

"But ... why?"

"J," Joey said his voice shaky but low, "what are you doing?"

"What -" he froze mid-question, watching as Joey grabbed his wrist gently, peeling the single yellow rose out of his hand. "What the -"

"You've been standing here for over an hour by yourself."

Suddenly, it was as if a dark curtain was raised around them, he taking in the clouds, the dark suits, the somber faces. "Where's C?"

"Justin -"

"No, Lance, where is JC?!"

Lance bit his lip, looking on either side of him, waiting to see if the other two would answer. They both stood, frozen. "Justin, he's -"

"Tell me where he is!"

"JC's dead, Justin," Chris finally snapped, Justin's head snapping in the direction of his voice. "He died. Two days ago. Remember?!"

He shook his head, disbelief rippling throughout his body as a sob escaped his mouth. "No! How could he have died?! I was just ... I was just with him for his treatment and I -"

"You were there for the procedures in the beginning, Justin. You hired a private nurse when you had to go back to work, remember? You couldn't be there anymore."

He licked his lips. "How ... how long was I gone?"

"Six months."

A shocked gasp escaped his mouth as he ran a hand over his forehead, trying to make sense of it all. "I was just there; I swear, I was just with him ..."

"We all were," Lance said softly, "in spirit, anyway. He didn't want us there. Didn't want us to see him like that."

"I was there! I would have been there! I am there!"

"Justin, you're not making any sense ..."

"Look! I don't know what you three are talking about, but he's alive, I swear to Christ he is! He had his first treatment today, got sick and went to bed because he was upset. I checked on him and he was snoring! Snoring! He's not dead!"

All three men cringed as Justin threw the rose, it landing against the ground with a loud thunk.

Justin paused, looking down on the ground where the rose had landed.

A loud thunk.

Thunk.

... What?!

He jolted upwards from his horizontal position, darkness enveloping him. He had slept longer than anticipated. "JC?" His voice came out low and raspy, burdened with sleep. "JC, you awake?"

Another loud thunk followed his question, whatever was at the receiving end of the sound bringing a loud, shattering sound to his ears. "JC!" Getting up quickly, he barreled his way into the older man's bedroom, the look of pure fire and ice raging in his eyes. Anything that his capable hands could get a hold of, was now shattered on the floor around him or as rumpled at his feet. Everything that had been sitting on the dresser had joined everything on the floor. "What happened," he asked, trying not to grow an accusatory tone within his words. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?! Do I really look okay to you?!"

"JC," Justin said softly, watching as the older man began to crumple, his legs playing the part of an accordion as his entire body fell to a heap with an exhausted sob. "God, you're bleeding ..." He disappeared into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and running warm water onto it, rubbing a bit of soap through it to clean the wound. What had happened?

He stepped back into the room, intaking a sharp breath as the disaster really stood out to his distraught friend. "Here," he said softly, careful to not step on the broken cologne bottles and glass from the mirror that rested against the dresser. When he shakily accepted the towel, Justin sank down in the cleanest spot he could find closest to him, studying his face. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"

"The pillow."

He could only see the side of his face, saw the crows feet grow more prominent as he intensely stared at the cut he had accidentally given himself in the middle of his rage in the palm of his hand. His eyes had grown darker, nearly hiding the whites of his eyes, skin hinting at a gray cast. He was in there ... this body, it was just the shell of what he was.

Wasn't. What he wasn't.

"Jace, what about the pillow?"

"Look at it."

He licked his lips, already knowing the outcome of his observation. Pulling up, he cast his eyes to the pillow cased by a light blue cover, dark brown hairs littering it as if he had just gotten his head shaved. There wasn't a lot, but with JC's head of hair, it was enough to know that the hair loss had started.

"Shit," he murmured, dropping back down to his rear and looking at his friend who was now just holding the towel to himself, hand still slightly bleeding. "Man, I'm sorry. I know we both knew it was gonna happen, but it still sucks just the same ..."

"I don't want to go through this, Justin," he said softly, shaking his head as he licked his drying lips, "I don't ... I don't wanna keep waking up and finding something else is wrong. I don't wanna go to bed one night and all my hair be gone; I don't wanna wake up and see that my skin is yellowing or going grayer than it already is. I don't want to pop pills the rest of my life and I certainly don't want to live seven years in remission praying to God I don't get the AML again. I don't want to do this anymore. I know it sounds pathetic and childlike, but that's just it. It's been how many weeks, maybe a month since I've known and I already feel like I've been going through this for years and I feel like I'm already dead and hollow inside. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't do anything without feeling as if I'm either going to fall over or throw up."

"JC, it's gonna be okay -"

"I don't want you taking care of me," he said softly. "I don't want to be a burden. I appreciate you being here but I see how it's already killing you. Go home, Justin. I'll get a nurse and I'll go on like I originally planned. I can't do this anymore."

"Josh," he pressed, watching as JC lifted his head at the mention of his first name, jaw clenched, tears resting at the bottoms of his lids just waiting to be released, "You are anything but a burden and I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to help you. Yes, I will probably need help, but I'm not gonna give up on you ... but you can't give up on me, okay? You can't just do this. We know things are gonna happen. Take it as shedding a new skin. Your hair will grow back; your skin will go back to normal again and hell, you'll eat like the pig you are."

"I don't know how they do it, Justin; I don't know if I can do this ..."

He watched helplessly as his friend finally broke down, the first time he had ever seen him do so in the nearly twenty years he had known him. It worsened when he gripped his hair, jumping as he lowered his hands, hairs resting between his creases and fingers themselves. "Oh God, Josh," he reached forward, wrapping an arm around his neck and hugging him, unsure of what else to do. He was never emotional unless it came to singing and now, he knew, it would be nearly every day.

It scared him.

Forty-five minutes later and an Ambien later, Justin had cleaned the older man up enough to get him into the guest room away from the mess and amble out into the living room, his bedroom for the night. The next morning, he planned on calling the nurse, planned on getting his friend back to where he used to be - with the exception of the disease. Even if it meant him hating him.

He picked up his cell phone, fingers lingering on the keypad as he hesitated. He had to do this.

The line began to ring, he now realizing that it was nearing 2 in the morning and he was pretty sure he'd be waking up the other line, but he didn't care.

"Justin?"

Damn Caller I.D. "Hi, Roy," he said softly, "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, son. Karen and I haven't been getting too much sleep lately."

He frowned, inhaling, "then this is probably gonna make you really mad at me or relieved, but please don't react to my part in this."

"What are you talking about, Justin? Is something else wrong that we need to know about? Do you know anything?"

"I know a lot," he said softly, "and that's why I need you and Karen to come to Cordova."

It was a quiet morning. Maybe a little too quiet. Having managed to shuffle JC to and from the shower and into the small dining area to get dry toast and tea into his lacking digestive system, he now sat alone in the kitchen on the island stool, staring at the broken cuticles in his gnawed to the bone fingernails. They hurt, but the pain was not taking any attention away from the nerves keeping his legs shaking beneath the island counter.

He had been on the phone for only a half hour with a hysterical Karen, Roy having to take the phone away from her to get the complete story of why their son had taken off like he had. It had been like pulling teeth without the novacaine; like going through surgery without the anesthetic - at that point, he'd take both latters to what he had been going through. He had been on the verge of tears with Roy, but Karen, Karen broke the barrier.

He kept the tears silent as he managed to speak, going from Roy to Karen and back again, finally hanging up with them both as Roy promised to book a flight the moment they got off the line and be at JC's place as soon as they possibly could.

And that was in mere hours.

He had not slept that night. Not only because of the phone call he had just made, but because of the thoughts that ran rampant in his mind; the memories of the earlier years when the two of them were inseperable. He missed being that young, missed being able to share the limelight with one of his best friends, someone he actually thought of as someone he respected greatly and admired. To be honest, he felt better when he knew he was sharing the stage - if he messed up, JC was always there to cover for him as it had always been, and vice-versa.

The man had a four octave range. Rarely heard of in the male singer category. A strong falsetto, an even strong tenor - anything he sang seemed to turn to gold within the group. Producers loved how much of a perfectionist he was, correcting himself before they even thought of it; writers loved being able to write pretty much anything, knowing he'd be able to sing the shit out of it ... hell, anyone that came into contact with him involving the music loved him. He loved going back and listening to their albums, hearing how in every song, regardless of what part he took in it, he accentuated the lead so that they sounded great. That, when he would sing and have a backing vocal, he sounded even more amazing.

He was talented from one end to another in the industry. Though he always stated Justin was the better dancer (which, 6 times out of 10, Justin had agreed - he was a quicker learner with the steps), JC's energy and acrobatic talent were undeniable. If ever put in a position to have a dance partner in a dance-off, it'd be JC.

He spent most of his night thinking about the positive things that JC had done that he remembered, all the things that got him to the level he was at now in his life. At thirty three, he accomplished more than someone double, even triple his age could.

It was disappointing to him to see his album fail in comparison to his own solo effort. Though JC said time and time again that the album was only something he did out of fun, out of respect for the fans that had requested it, he still felt bad. Not many people bought into the electro-pop as much as they did with the funky, hip-hop-pop that he released. He fed into the media easier, being the smooth talker, the one that sold anything and everything he could. JC was the mere spectator and that was his decision for a lot of things. If not spectator, he was a mediator; if he had not of been, Chris would have been tossed under the bus a long time ago.

He smirked, it melting off his face quickly as he thought of the three men he had not acknowledged in months. He knew that they, along with JC, were the ties to one of the happiest times in his life, in JC's life and leaving this out of it would be devastating to them. But he knew he couldn't tell them just yet. He had two angry, devastated and out-for-the-kill parents headed his way and he had to figure out a way to take care of that, first.

"Hey, J, you know where you put the Ambien?"

He startled from his thoughts, looking over at JC as he leaned tiredly against the wall of the hallway. His friend, just barely in his thirties, had aged nearly over night. He looked so tired, so aged, so ... old. "Uh, yeah," he moved quickly off the stool, walking over towards the coffee table where he had set it the night before, staring at it longingly, knowing it would knock him out cold but never taking it in fear of his friend needing him. Popping the top off, he took two, gripping them tightly and praying that they'd kick in before Karen and Roy would appear. They needed to be calm before they saw him, otherwise -

"You okay?"

He blinked, looking at JC has he eyed him wearily, hand outstretched to accept the two pills. "I'm okay," he said, giving him a smile, "just thinking."

"Yeah?"

Justin nodded. "Yeah."

"Of what?"

He chuckled at his friend's curiosity, shrugging. "How jealous I was of you when we were younger. How much I wanted to be like you."

"Justin, don't ever try to be someone else. You're great the way you are."

"Aw, turn all girly on me, why don't you," he teased, JC rolling his eyes. "I was just thinking of us around the time we were recording 'This I Promise You'. How envious of you I was because that song proved to me that I could never, ever sing that way."

He arched an eyebrow, dropping his hand and crossing his arms at his chest. "What way?"

"I have never been able to silence a room just by opening my mouth -"

"That's a laugh -"

"I meant by singing, Jace. You've got a pretty powerful set of pipes, you know?"

He shrugged. "I just do what I can, Justin."

"You shouldn't just ignore what talent you have."

"Why are we talking about this, anyway?"

"You asked."

"Justin -"

"Because, for once, it's nice to talk to you about the past. Before, I hated even thinking about it. Now, reminiscing seems to be the only thing that keeps me sane with all the shit in my life."

"Shit? Justin, I told you -"

"My career, JC, Jesus. Stop jumping the gun, all right? My reminiscing has nothing to do with your sickness and everything about wanting to be back there again. I miss it. I miss standing on stage with four other people and knowing exactly what we were all doing. I miss when we did the blues version of 'I Want You Back' and the shit-eating grin I'd get on my face when you'd belt that last note and the reaction of the fans would just make me giddy as hell - I lived for that. I lived for those people, the adreneline; the rush I get now is nothing like before. I sound totally fruity, but it's true."

"Well, I always thought you were pretty fruity," he yawned. "But yeah, I do remember opening my eyes and seeing you all staring at me as if I had commited a crime. You all looked saucer-eyed and shocked. I didn't know what to think," he chuckled. He stood in silence, his eyes dropping slowly as he thought. "Words kind of have an irony now, don't you think?"

Justin frowned, thinking of the words. "You singing to a woman is ironic?"

"No," he chuckled. "Your words. I always loved your verse better than mine. The whole, 'when the visions around you bring tears to your eyes', 'I'll be your strength, I'll give you hope; keeping your faith when it's gone. The one you should call was standing here all along'. Unlike mine, it could be said to more than just a lover." He laughed, shaking his head. "You always had the better verses."

It was quarter after three when there was a faint knock on the door. JC had been out for a little more than three hours after waking up with a slight bout of nausea, retiring back to the guest bedroom to sleep the rest off and ignore the light of day. Again. He was mentally swearing to himself that he was going to get him out of the apartment if it was the last thing he did, even just for a walk down the hallway, a drive in the car ... anything to keep him from going stir-crazy.

He wasn't nervous anymore. This had to happen, regardless of the time frame. He knew it, JC knew it ... there was no need to think that JC would put a bullet in his head when he found out; it was a good thing.

"Keep telling that to yourself, Timberlake," he mumbled as his hand encircled the doorknob, turning it slowly and letting his gaze lift to the two middle-aged people standing in front of him. "Roy, Karen," he said softly, stepping aside to let the two in, they both holding a carry-on bag. "I'm glad you came." He closed the door softly, leading the two into the living room as they sat down on the couch, he sitting on the arm chair across from them. "He's been asleep off and on since late this morning. Today is a pretty good day though; he was joking a bit."

"Justin -"

He held up his hand, seeing the look of fear flashing in JC's own mother's eyes. "He's gonna get through this," he said gently, "I know I need to keep reassuring myself this, but you need to, too. They caught it early on, he can beat it. Right now, his self-esteem is pretty low; he is thinking pretty negatively about it but if given enough encouragement, I think he'll think the same. It's been pretty tough on him."

"Justin, did he ever say why he just ... up and left?"

"He wanted to deal with this alone," he said softly, biting his lip as Karen wiped the tears from her eyes, Roy clearing his throat as he took his wife's hand. "You know him; he never wants to put anyone through pain if he can do it himself. But he shouldn't be alone. He shouldn't fight this alone; it's not fair to him. It's not fair to his family, to his friends."

"Why did he call you first?"

Justin shrugged. "He told me that he could rely on me and that I'd be there, even if I didn't understand what his motives were. Which I did ... for a while. Eventually, he was going to call you; I didn't want it to be too late, though. I didn't want it to be weeks from now and him sicker than ever. This is just starting, he needs you guys." He looked from one parent to the other, they silent. "How did Heather and Tyler take it?"

"We haven't told them," Roy said softly, "need to let this settle with us, settle with him, first. Shouldn't overwhelm him in his weakened state."

Justin nodded. "I'm gonna call a few people and let them know. I think they'd want to know and I know they wouldn't say anything."

"The guys."

He looked at Karen with a sad smile. "Yeah. They are practically family."

"They are family."

All three people jumped at the voice that tiredly stated the obvious from the doorway. "Hi mom, hi dad ..."

"God, Joshua ..."

Justin watched as JC braced himself for his mother as she enveloped him, Roy putting a hand to his son's back to steady his weakened body against the force of his mother as she held him. "I'm okay, mom," he said softly, she sobbing into his shoulder as he put his arm closest to Roy around him, bringing his gaze up to Justin. His eyes were watery, closing them slowly before opening them and nodding at his friend in appreciation. He had done the right thing. "I'm okay."

Justin let himself smile for the first time in a while. He was okay.

“Do you really think they want to be involved in this after they see me?”

Justin paused in the threshold of the hallway and living room, his eyes studying the back of his friend’s head as he, himself, paused before moving forward to get the door.  “Why would you think they wouldn’t?”

“Look at me, Justin,” he whispered harshly, “I’m whiter than a ghost and in case you haven’t noticed, this hat isn’t giving me hat hair.”  He tugged at the black ball cap that Justin remembered from so long ago, the cap that he had claimed to be his favorite, his lucky charm. 

Inwardly, Justin kind of hoped that the hat was being worn because JC had an ounce of hope and a glimmer of belief that it would help him; even if medically, a hat wasn’t really purposeful. 

Well, maybe to keep the heat from escaping from the top of the head and keeping someone healthy.

Healthier than JC was at the moment.

He masked a cough, ducking his head and leaning his forehead against the frame of the threshold.  “Maybe you should answer the door.  I might scare them away.”

“Bull,” Justin murmured, “they remember waking you up on the road; I don’t think anything can be as scary as that.”

“You know, you’re really funny, Timberlake.”

“Just get the damn door, Chasez.”

JC sighed deeply, pushing himself away from the frame and coughing once more before putting his hand on the doorknob.  “Justin –“

“C, I know you’re skinny ass is within inches of me and if there wasn’t a few inches of door inbetween us, I’d tackle you for making me wait so long!”

It may have been faint, but Justin saw the hint of the smirk that JC wore often when targeted by Chris’ snide remarks.  “This is a plus,” he said to himself softly, watching as JC slowly opened the door, letting the chain latch remain fastened as he slowly grinned at the older man on the opposite side looking in. 

“I’m sorry, I am not interested in girl scout cookies.”

Justin snickered.  The three men that were arriving (within hours of each other) still had no idea what exactly brought them there, but with JC’s physical deterioration and the lack of hair hidden beneath the cap, it wouldn’t be too long before they all pieced it together themselves and together. 

It had been about two weeks since Karen and Roy had arrived – both camping out in an available hotel room just down the street, promising to give some space but promising to also check in every day if JC did not call them himself – which, already, with JC’s forgetfulness, it had already happened more than the fingers on his hand. 

It was actually JC’s idea to bring the three men down at the time they were arriving.  He figured he’d break the news and then appear at the oncology unit in the hospital so they could prep him for the insertion of a port so that his chemotherapy insertion and blood tests on him and access for the medical staff would be easier and a lot less painful than normal.

His hair was also slowly diminishing with every day, which, though he never said anything, Justin could tell it bothered him more and more with every piece that fell to the floor and settled at the bottom of the tub near the drain.  Not even a few days ago, he had adopted the same hat that Justin thought had been lost circa – No Strings Attached.  Not only was it still around, but in amazing shape for a hat that had to be at least ten, fifteen years old.

“’Ey, yo, Timberlake, you gonna stand there like a little shy kid or are you gonna actually come over and acknowledge my existance?”

He shook from his thoughts, turning his attention to the still hyper, still very much sarcastic Chris Kirkpatrick, he giving him a big grin, though he could see the confusion and worry in his friend’s eyes.  “I actually wanna stay far, far away from you, Chris,” he grinned, stepping towards him as Chris hugged him. 

“I actually just talked to Lance,” Chris stated, his eyes traveling over to JC as he pulled out a dining chair and sat down slowly, he still tired from having just woken up moments before Chris arrived.  “He and Joey were both in Orlando so they should be coming in on the same flight – he said at,” he stopped, looking at his watch and shrugging, “well, actually right now they should be landing.”

Justin nodded as he stepped aside, letting Chris into the apartment.  “Well, go ahead and put your stuff in the guest room or in here … I figure someone can have the couch and whoever can have the futon and bed in the guest room.  Bed’s brand new, so it’s not all dingy or whatever like some of those hotel beds we used to have to sleep in way back when –“

“You know, speaking of, Jace, you were the only one who could sleep on them, nasty ass.”

“Hell, I wanted sleep; I wasn’t complaining if there was a bed beneath me.”

“Or a hot chick.”

JC scoffed, shaking his head, “that hasn’t happened in a while … probably won’t for a long time, too.”

“Oh, you know you were second favorite after pretty boy right here,” Chris grinned, it slowly fading as he watched JC’s expression remain the same as he looked down at his hands, flexing them and relaxing them, his mind in another world of his own.

“Justin, can you show me where the bathroom is?”

He nodded, tilting his head backward in a gesture for his friend to follow him.  Once they stopped in front of the door, Chris leaned up against the wall, Justin soon following in his friend’s actions, nearly mirroring him exactly.  “What do you want to know that I can actually tell you without JC being upset that he didn’t tell you?”

“Okay, for one, why is he here?  And two, what the hell is up with his face?  That is not JC.  Is he on drugs?  Is that why we’re here?  Is he going into rehab or something?  Has he gotten that bad with drugs?  When did he even start them?  Is that why he left ABDC?!”

“Firstly,” Justin said softly, somewhat angered that he had assumed it was drugs; Jc would readily admit he had used a bit of drugs in experimental phases, but he knew he had a reputation to uphold and a life that was pretty much perfect before the diagnosis to even think of dabbling into them to bring him into someone more addicting.  “He came here because that is where treatment is.  Secondly, it’s not drugs, it’s not alcohol; it’s not what you think, Chris.  He came here to disappear and he almost did if he had not called me in the middle of a breakdown to be here.  Thirdly, I am not going to tell you why you’re here until Lance and Joey get here; even then, it’s JC’s words that need to be heard, not mine.”

“… He’s sick, isn’t he?”

“Chris, I told you,” Justin said, inhaling shakily.  “Just let him talk, okay?  It’s been a crazy, crazy few weeks.”

Chris’ face paled slightly as he leaned his head back against the wall, Justin walking into the bathroom and flushing the toilet, making it seem as if he had actually gone in there.  “Jesus …”

“Yeah,” Justin said, noddingi n agreement.  “Yeah.”

“You know, you two could just talk about me in front of me,” JC called softly, “it’s not like I can’t hear you through these paper-thin walls, anyway …”

Justin sighed, clapping a hand on Chris’ back and leading him back into the living room.  “Who says we were talking about you?  Why’s the ego inflating all of a sudden?”

“Wasn’t the ego, was my ears,” he chuckled, sitting up on the couch and tossing Justin’s cell phone onto the table.  “Joey texted you; said he and Lance are about five minutes away.  Guess your timing was off, Kirkpatrick.”

“I never was good with time.”

“I think I was worse.”

“Man’s gonna be late for his own funeral – oh.”  Chris stopped, his face burning as the room fell silent, Justin standing next to him, biting the inside of his cheek while JC stared blankly at the table in front of him.  “Jace, I –“

“Nothing I don’t already know, right?”

He cleared his throat, nodding.  “Yeah.  Right.”

“Well!”  Justin startled the other two men, clapping his hands together and bringing their attention to him, “why don’t I order pizza?”  Before they could even respond, he was disappearing into the guest room where he had the phone book last, shaking his head in disbelief.  This was already getting off to a great start. 

Justin sat back down on the couch next to Chris, watching as Lance and Joey both lifted pieces of pizza onto their plates, balancing their drinks between their hands and chests.  “God, I forgot how much you eat, Joe,” Justin grinned, “I probably should have ordered another two pizzas.”

“Ha, ha, man; very funny.  I barely get this kind of shit at home with Briahna and Kloey.  Chasing after a child who thinks she is 25 and a baby aren’t exactly the best time makers.”

“How is the baby?” 

Joey looked up from taking a bite of his pizza, smiling.  “She’s doing great; Briahna loves being a big sister.”

“It’s about time you added another to your brood.”  Lance elbowed his friend as they all chuckled.  “Though, it’s just what the world needs: another Fatone.”

“Hey, we’re good people.”

“I know, but you are Joey.”

“Can’t argue that.”

“So where is C?”

“Bathroom,” Chris murmured, Justin noticing how shaken up he still seemed to be, even nearly twenty minutes after his little crack that he hadn’t meant to come out. 

“He not eating?”

“Nah,” Justin shook his head, glancing over as JC trudged back into the living room, plopping down next to Chris as the older man stiffened up, JC noticing and knocking him with his shoulder in a silent gesture.  Chris smirked, shoving JC gently as both men laughed. 

“God, you two act like women.”

“Fuck you,” Chris laughed.  “Eat your damn pizza, asshole.”

“So what exactly are we doing here, Jace?  Justin?”  Lance set his plate down, eyeing the two of them.  “I’m sorry I’m not beating around the bush, but it’s been how long since all five of us had been in a room, let alone a room this small together without singing something or pulling pranks.  Say hello to 2002, am I right?”

“Pretty much that long ago, yeah,” JC said, nodding.  “Maybe a little earlier.”

“I hate to sound so forward, but it is what it is.  I know we all keep in somewhat touch so it’s not like we’re all clueless as to what exactly is going on.  We all know you disappeared and didn’t let anyone know where you went and then when we were called, Justin said we couldn’t say where we were going or to make something up.  Did you kill someone?  Are you on drugs?  Is that why you look so terrible.”

JC swallowed, shaking his head as he looked back down at his hands.  “Thanks for the awesome compliment, by the way,” he joked, shaking his head.  “I left because, in my mind, I had to; this is something that I don’t want to deal with with everyone watching.  I had to do this without anyone’s help … but then I realized I kind of do need help and I do need people I care about around me.  That’s why I called Justin, who in turned called my parents and then called you guys.  It’s hard being sick and not having anyone there … I don’t have a girlfriend, I don’t have my own family … you guys are my family and I –“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa …” Joey set down his plate, holding up his hands, “Sick?  What kind of sick?”

Justin’s eyes slowly dragged back to JC, who looked frail and small in the corner of the couch, his finally bringing his eyes up and meeting Justin’s before looking back over at Joey and Lance who were leaning in intently, waiting for an answer.  Chris was next to him, holding his breath.  In some way, Justin knew that Chris figured out at least for the most part what it was.  He had to of, Chris was pretty smart when he wanted to be.

Hell, he was really smart anyway.

“I uh … well, you guys ever see ‘Funny People’?”

“The one with Adam Sandler in it?”  Lance arched an eyebrow, Joey creasing his eyebrows in confusion.  “Where he has that dude following him around like an assistant or whatever?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Vaguely.”

JC sighed.  “Well, his character gets sick and in the movie, he has Leukemia.”

“And … you are studying to play a part as that, right?”  Joey frowned.  “Okay, so bad joke …”

“I have AML,” JC said softly, looking at the three men surrounding him, Justin unable to look at anyone as he picked his cuticles.

“Okay, so that is … something-something leukemia?”

“Acute Myeloid Leukemia.  And from what my doctor says, my body is responding well and I could be in remission quicker than they expected … but I’m still fighting and I’ve got a while to go …”

“What,” Lance swallowed, completely taken aback, “what are they doing for you?  To treat this?”

“Well, I get rounds of chemo every week.  I’m on week four?  Five, maybe.  Tomorrow I go in to have a port surgically implanted so the chemo is a lot easier to register and getting blood taken won’t make me want to pass out as much.  It’s also a lot easier for the medicine to get in the blood stream.  They’ll implant the port right about here.”  He pulled away at his t-shirt, showing them the ink marks that his doctor had used to demonstrate to JC himself where and how it would go.  “Then, we go from there.  Radiation is the next step.  I’m on about a billion different medications … some I believe are placebos, others are to keep my immune system up, others are for the leukemia itself.  If I go into remission, I’ll end up taking a minimal amount of medication for the rest of my life, compared to what I have now.”

“Then what?”

“Then … if I go into remission, doctor says they usually give it a seven-year window before they say I’m completely out of the woods.  It can come back, it may not; it just depends on how well my body fought and how strong my immune system continues to be.  I mean, I pray it beats this … I’m scared as hell I’m not …”

“We’re not going to let you give up,” Joey said, JC smiling gratefully at him, “we went through hell together, what’s another trip to it?  Another dip in the road, but that’s okay, ‘cause we all know that while I am not good at directions, Lance is … well, maybe it’s you we need to get the direction from, but again, it’s all good.”

“How did your parents take it?”

JC bit his lip, shrugging.  “Naturally, they’re worried.  Also a little pissed that I disappeared, but I think they’re pretty much getting over it now that they know I’m … well, alive.  They told my brother and sister, but neither of them can come down, which I don’t want anyway; Tyler is working on his masters and Heather is working full-time and going back to school herself.”

“This is serious, man.”  Chris looked over at him, sighing deeply.  “Just how far into this are you?”

He shrugged again, hand smoothing over the top of his hat before he slowly pulled it off, everyone but he and Justin inwardly gasping, seeing the patches that were slowly appearing where his hair once had been.  “After the port is implanted, I’ll have a nurse come in every other day to make sure things are still running smoothly and to keep me company so Justin here won’t go stir crazy and he can leave this place without feeling guilty –“

“I don’t feel guilty, I just worry –“

“Blah, blah,” he dismissed Justin’s remark, waving his hand, “it’ll be good for me, too; just in case she sees something that Justin and I don’t see.”

“Like what?”

JC shrugged, his attention back at Lance who all but looked ready to piss his pants.  “Signs of infection around the port, fluid in my lungs, my skin tinging another color, I don’t know … just, things that aren’t normal with this disease that Justin and I know nothing about.” 

“I knew we always had reasoning to worry about you more than anyone else,” Joey said, smiling weakly, “always the one to keep us on our toes.  You were just itching for a reunion, weren’t you?”

“Actually,” JC said, grinning, “that was Justin.”

“Mr. Solo?  He wants a reunion?!”

“Jesus, Joe!  Don’t look at me like I have eight heads or something.  Yes, it would be nice to sing with you guys again.”

“Good Lord, I never thought I’d see the day …”

“Lance, don’t start.”

“Oh, good ‘ole fro boy.  We missed you.”

“Christopher …”

“Yes, Randall?”

“Fuck you, man …”

“Guys,” JC laughed, shaking his head as he pulled himself up, “as much as I love listening to what seems to be a flashback to a while ago, I really need to go to sleep.  I have to be at the hospital at four am.”

“How can you be so calm about this?”

“I wasn’t always,” he said, looking at all four of his friends, “ask J; it wasn’t always this way and it really isn’t me being calm … it’s me accepting that this is what I have to do.  I’d rather face this with a level head than an irrational one.  I don’t want to be bitter if this doesn’t work –“

“It will.”

“If it doesn’t,” he pressed, “I don’t want to have to hate myself for not trying harder or something.  I’m giving my all into this and I don’t want to go down in flames if I can help it.”

“If you’re on fire, I’ll throw the extinguisher at you,” Chris grinned, JC giving him a look of disbelief.  “But seriously, we’ve got your back, C.  This isn’t gonna be the last hurrah.  Maybe we will get back into the studio after all –“

“God, I might need some restraints for you and Justin.”

“Oh, he has jokes!  Jokes for days!”

He smiled, nodding his head.  “Good night, guys.”

Within a few moments, the door clicked shut and the three men were look at Justin, he wide-eyed.  “What?”

“Why couldn’t you have called us earlier?”

“Why did he wait so long to tell us?”

“Do you expect us to want to go home after this?”

He laughed at the attack of questions on him, getting up and walking towards the kitchen.  “Guys, it was his choice, okay?  He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with his diagnosis and then tell everyone … that’s not who he is and you know that.  He needs to settle one thing before he goes onto the next.  Second, if he felt he was strong enough, he’d still be here by himself and none of us would be here.  I only got a hold of him after he had a realized just how bad it was and was listening to his voicemail.  Hell, it could have been any of you that was here first.  And yes, you guys will go back home and live normal lives and if things change down here, then I will call you.  He wants it that way and that’s how you guys need to honor it.  He has a break after round six for a week and I’m taking him to Shelby Forest to stay at my Gram and Pap’s house.  His parents are coming and we’re just gonna get away from the whole … ‘sick’ thing.  Doctor okayed it as long as he continues with his meds and takes it easy …” he trailed off, seeing the looks on his former bandmates’ faces.  “Guys, he’s gonna get through this.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He looked over at Joey, slowly shrugging his shoulders.  “I’m not so sure about much anymore; I just know that I’m sure that I can’t lose one of my best friends.”

He woke up the next (early) morning at about 2:30, unable to sleep.  It was useless; he'd be up in 45 minutes, anyway.  Instead of getting up as he intended, he lie there, staring at the ceiling.  If it had been back in the day, he'd still hear at least Joey and Justin up and talking, making noise of some sort; time seemed to steal that memory away and replace it was quietness and age.  Both men, he believed, were probably asleep - Justin the only one able to tolerate Joey's rumbling snores and Joey the only one able to ignore Justin's murmurs.  Chris and Lance, he pictured, were probably both passed out in the living room - Chris on the couch, Lance on the floor.  It was getting hard to believe that Chris would be 40 soon; an age that seemed so far away in the beginning.  Now, he thought, it was a lot closer than they realized it had been all along.

Back when he was younger (how it killed him to think that, now) he would kill for the silence; the momentary solace from the screams, the questions, the orders.  He remembered when he would lie in his bunk during tour and just stare at the wall and picture his life in another parallel universe.  Though he probably would have never met Justin, Joey, Chris or Lance, he sometimes craved the alone time that came few and far between.  Everything about his life was documented: when he ate, slept, drank, pissed - hell, even when he got sick.  A roll of the eyes out in public at Joey would call for a fanbased panic, thinking that the group was tearing apart because of a simple reaction to something he had said.  Everything he said had to be carefully planned out; he couldn't speak his mind as he wanted. 

In his parallel world, as crazy as it sounded to everyone but him, he was a free-spirit.  He could take living in a ranch-style home, maybe even just a studio apartment somewhere near home.  He'd be barefoot, singing at open bar nights, going home by himself or to a wife/girlfriend.  He wouldn't have to worry about who would judge, who would snap pictures of them simply walking in the parking lot of a doctor's office or a grocery store.  He could fight with the neighbors, drive without a care, eat whatever he wanted and not worry about management breathing down his back about gaining that extra two pounds.  It was sad that it happened to both genders in the industry.

But then, then he thought about regardless of how his life turned out, at this moment in time, everything would still be where he was at.  The only difference would have been the lack of support from the four people that would cease to exist in his life if it had not worked out the way it had.  If it had not of been for those four people at different parts of his life, he wasn't sure he'd be as strong as he was.  Sure, he still had a lot of things to learn, he was still young(er) than most and found a couple successes along the way, but it didn't mean he wasn't human and didn't bleed or feel pain.

And this pain was for more brutal than he could ever imagine and would never wish on a single human being.

"Hey, Jace, you up?"

He turned his head slowly from staring at the ceiling, seeing Justin's groggy face surveying his friend.  "Yeah," he said softly, closing his eyes.  "What time is it?"

"3.  I figured you'd wanna head out early and get settled in."

"Yeah, 'cause you know I'm super excited about this."

"You know what I mean, C."

JC sighed as he pulled himself out of bed, nodding.  "I know.  Sorry.  Just got a lot on my mind."

Justin gave him a sympathetic smile.  "I'm gonna go take a quick shower and then I'll be ready.  You need anything?"

JC shook his head as he stood, closing his eyes and sighing deeply.  "Nah.  I'll get one of the other guys if I need anything."

Justin nodded, patting the doorway as he turned away from his friend.  In a hesitant pivot, he turned again, looking at him.  "JC?"

The older man paused from reaching for a clean t-shirt, raising his eyebrow in response.  "Yeah, Justin?"

"You're gonna get through this.  All of this."

He said nothing as Justin offered him a weak smile, turning back around and disappearing slightly down the hallway.  The bathroom lights flooded the still dark and quiet apartment, door shutting with a quiet click.  He frowned, hands dropping to his sides as he clenched the t-shirt in one of his hands.  "I hope so," he said softly, staring blankly at the doorway where Justin had once been.  "I sure as hell hope so."

"We're going to wheel him into prep and once the procedure is done, he'll be in recovery.  It's an outpatient procedure, so he should be home by early evening," the doctor stated as he stood and spoke to Justin, Roy and Karen.  Gonna be a little sore for a while; feel mild to moderate discomfort.  Best thing to do is keep him resting and give him mild pain killers.  If he should have some issues and it shows signs of infection, you need to bring him back immediately ..."

Justin sighed, unable to help his mind from traveling away from the monotone doctor speaking of the procedure his friend was about to undergo.  He was sitting on the edge of the bed, speaking to a pretty brunette nurse who was smiling and reading a clipboard as she chatted happily with him.  He grinned.  Even weak and sick, he could charm the pants off of any woman.

"He'll be fine to go after the procedure is done?"

The doctor nodded.  "As long as he shows no signs of difficulties coming out of sedation, he should be ready to go within two hours after."  He excused himself shortly after, walking into JC's room and speaking with him as he motioned for him to lie down, JC's face paling considerably as the anesthesiologist came in shortly after, curtain drawing closed as the three of them stood there, unsure of what to do next. 

"We should probably go to the waiting room," Roy said, clapping his hand on Justin's shoulder comfortingly.  "The other three are already there; pretty sure Lance is already passed out on the chair in there."

"I don't know why they insisted on coming," Justin sighed, "I told them it wouldn't be that major of a procedure."

"Same reason you are here, honey," Karen smiled, reaching over and running her hand soothingly over his arm.  "To make sure their friend is okay."

"I just feel like he's aged so much in the last weeks.  I wish I could ease his worry; it's driving me crazy that I can't help him."  Justin frowned, taking one last look at JC's area, following Roy and Karen into the waiting room where, sure enough, Lance was sleeping.  Chris was 'reading' a magazine (moreso, flipping the pages impatiently) and Joey was sitting with his arms between his legs, staring at the door that they came through.  "They're taking him in soon," Justin replied as two of the three looked at him expectantly.  "Should take less than an hour; he'll wake up, let him recover from the anesthesia and then he should be home before dinner."

"Good."

Roy and Karen both walked over to the coffee pot, both settling on the nearly mud thick drink.  "He's very lucky to have all of you, you know," Karen said as she sipped her coffee, making a face and tossing it into the trash.  "With Heather and Ty unable to make it here, I'm sure knowing that his four other brothers being here makes him feel a lot better."

"Regardless of our places in life, we'd be here for him," Chris responded, getting up and rummaging at the station that held all the coffee things.  He pulled a bag out of a holder, beginning to brew another pot.  "This may be a simple procedure, but this isn't just anybody, you know?  This ... this is JC.  One of the last people I'd ever, ever want to see go through this alone.  We'd go and visit those hospitals with all those sick kids and young adults and not once did I think that one of us would be in their shoes only years down the line.  It's just sad that it has to happen to everybody." 

Karen nodded, her eyes filled with tears as she leaned into Chris and half-hugged him, sniffling as the nurse that had been speaking to JC walked into the waiting room, greeting them all with a warm smile. 

"Hi," she smiled, looking at each and every one of them, "you guys belong to JC Chasez?"

"Yes," Roy said, stepping forward and extending his hand.  "You the nurse that he hired?"

She chuckled.  "Lauren.  I'll be his homecare nurse for 3-4 days a week.  Just wanted to introduce myself and check on you guys.  Regardless of how simple the procedure, it's always a hard thing to go through."

They all nodded, silent.  Lance slowly started to stir, bringing his attention to the five people talking to the unfamiliar face.  "He go in, yet?"

"Yeah," Joey nodded, watching as Lance rubbed his eyes tiredly, getting up and approaching them.  "Hi," he smiled, "Lance."

"Lauren," she smiled.  "I actually got the pleasure of meeting JC when he first came here.  He saw Dr. Kleinfield and I when he first came here from California.  His demeanor has changed a lot since I first saw him and I couldn't be happier.  It's a good thing with you guys being here, he really leans on you for support."

With a frown, Justin sat down, putting his head in his hands and he slowly began to count the time to himself, not wanting anymore to do with oncology and procedures and his best friend dying.  Dying!  With a sudden jerk, he was up, ignoring the startled eyes looking back at him.  "I need to get air."

He walked down the halls until he found the designated smoker's area, pushing the door open angrily as he stepped outside, leaning against the wall with his head against the jagged brick.  He hadn't let himself think as far as it had to the point where it actually had settled.  Of course, he had thought of it, he had the breakdown in the bathroom, but this was different.  Last time, it felt almost as if he had dreamt it; that JC was really healthy and leukemia-free and suddenly, while sitting there, reality barged through the door and gave him the rude reminder that no, your friend is sick and you can't do anything to help him because he may die. 

He swallowed roughly, willing the tears away.  How he wished he smoked at a moment like this.  Though he never understood how nicotene could calm him at a time like this, he suddenly wished it was 2002 and he was smoking pot like it was nothing.  That, that calmed him.

But that was eight years ago.

Eight years ago, when JC was healthy and he was taken advantage of by Justin in their friendship.

He hated himself.

He hated Leukemia.

He hated himself for even thinking that JC could die because he, along with most of the world (if they would know) would never, ever wish that, nor think that.  Regardless of if people liked the group, if they met JC, there was an instant connection because he put himself out there into that person's life because he could. 

He knew that at any given moment, Joey or Lance would be out to speak to him; Lance as the level-headed one or Joey as the comedic relief.  Chris was never good at comfort, he always snuck inside himself when dealing with grief and anger, though, he knew, at any moment, it may burst and they'd all witness it.

It was finally beginning to lighten up as the sun slowly peaked above the horizon.  It was a nice day for it being nearly December.  Thanksgiving was only a few days away, which signified that JC had been diagnosed for six weeks.  Six weeks of hell for him, about three to four for him.  He only spoke that way because it was hell to see his friend going through it.

"There you are."

He startled.  "Yeah.  Hey."

Chris closed the door, hugging his coat to him as he studied his youngest friend.  "What the hell are you doing out here, huh?  It has to be like, 20-something degrees out right now."

"I can't really feel much of anything right now," he said with a frown, staring straight ahead as the sun slowly climbed the sky.  "My mind has taken over pretty much every sense I have."

Chris gave him a weak smile, nudging him with his elbow.  "Look, C's gonna be fine, all right?  I know you've told him this numerous times and now it's your turn to believe the very thing that came out of that big mouth of yours."

Justin sighed deeply.  "I know, I just hate seeing him like this.  This isn't him, Chris; he's not that skinny and he's certainly not that skin tone and he always, always had hair.  This is just a shell of what our friend used to be.  I don't know how much longer I can take seeing him like that."

"Stop making it about you," Chris said, watching as Justin looked at him.  He had not meant it meanly and the younger man knew that ... he was still startled by his response.  "This is JC's battle and we're all here to make sure he makes it out alive, you understand?  I know for damn sure he didn't ask to look, to feel like that.  You and I both know that if he was given the choice of living life away from needles and IV's and ports, he'd be miles and miles away from here on some damn island while we all received a "Sayonara Sucker" letter and a "feel free to visit on the first of Never".  This isn't what he wants, this isn't what we want to see but we've gotta and he's gotta go through it.  Be there for him and let him go through it knowing you are there, that we all are.  Stop looking at the so-called shell of your best friend because regardless of what he looks like, that soul inside of him, is still JC.  He's still living, breathing, driving us all crazy with worry and could still put us all to sleep with stories. 

This is real life, Justin; not some story.  You can't just walk out on someone because he isn't what you want him to be at that moment.  Things come in life that aren't planned, aren't chosen; we've gotten to that point where we have to roll with the punches, suck it up and trudge on, even if we are too weak to do so; that's why we're here and that's why we're all gonna stay.  Not all at once, 'cause c'mon, we are all pretty hard to handle on any normal day; this isn't a normal day.  Once we know he's okay and settled, we'll go home, rest and be back.  Joey first, Lance and then me.  You're not gonna be the only one helping him, I promise that.  You need a break?  Fine.  Call us, we'll be there quicker than you can imagine.  We've got your back, just like you've had his the last month.  Let us have his back for a while, all right?  It's not gonna be a pretty rollercoaster ride, but we're all gonna get in line and ride that fucker until it's over and he's being the annoying, pain-in-the-ass that we know and love."

Justin nodded, smiling slightly.  "Chris, but what if it happens, huh?  What if that rollercoaster takes him and leaves us in the queue line, huh?"

"Hell if I let it happen," Chris scoffed, looking at the pained look in his friend's eyes.  His face immediately softened at the fright written on his face.  "Then," he said softly, licking his lips as he thought, "then the world just lost one of the greatest people I know."  He sighed deeply, not wanting to face that option.  "We get through it all together.  We act like mourners and cry, we tell stories, we bond over the shared friendship we had on him and pray to God in thankfulness that we had him for as long as we did.  Justin, I know the bond between the two of you is so much more compared to that of the other three of us, but we all care about him.  We're all rooting for him.  This isn't something we can just sit back and watch; we can mentally and physically support him as best as we can."

Justin nodded, the two of them leaning up against the wall in silence.  He glanced at his watch, sighing deeply.  It had been a half hour.  At least another forty-five minutes before he'd be out and another ten to fifteen before he was awake and aware enough to speak to them. 

"You remember that time when we were all making fun of him with the way he tried to use pick-up lines on chicks for that pre-show interview?"

Justin chuckled at the thought.  "Yeah, he was never that slick when it came to stuff like that."

"But he sure knew how to get them just by singing."

"Or smiling."

Chris laughed.  "God, you remember that time when he fell off the bus in front of all those fans?  I've never laughed so hard in my life.  Thought I pissed my pants on that one."

"Yeah, and that look he gave you after he recovered from the fall and picked up his pride was even more priceless.  I remember Joey literally rolling on the floor.  Lance of course, was the only one just gawking and trying to get the fans to look at him and not the fallen one."

"I'll never forget when he found out Bobbee was basically planning on trapping him.  That's the angriest I've ever seen that man get."

Justin frowned, remembering the redness that looked as if it had permanently placed itself in his face, furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw.  "I don't think I've ever seen him angry like that.  He never really did get angry.  Except for that time when you threw his shoes out the bus window."

Chris nodded.  "Yeah, he isn't the settling-type.  What made her think that trapping him was going to change his mind?"

Justin licked his lips as he remembered back to what his friend had admitted to him not too long ago.  "I think that's all changed with age," Justin noted, "and possibly this."

Chris pushed away from the wall, intrigued.  "Really now?"

"Yeah," Justin said, nodding.  "Said he'd like to have a kid or two someday.  Maybe a wife.  He wants to experience that.  And why not?  He's experienced everything else."

Chris nodded.  "He'd be a good father."

"Yeah."

Silence took over once more, Chris finally giving into the cold and zipping his coat up as he mentioned going back inside for the coffee he had brewed in the waiting room.  "You should probably come in, too; we don't want to be sitting in the hospital 'cause your dumb ass got pneumonia."

Justin smiled slightly.  "I'll be in in a little while."

"Suit yourself, frosty."

He heard the door close as he slid down the wall gently, not wanting to scrape up his back as he sat on his rear, hissing at the cold cement.  He was still a little surprised it was Chris that came out, smirking to himself as he picture Chris as a father, Lance as a father, himself as a father.  Joey was already a father, he knew how he was.  A damn good father.  Of course, they'd all have their strengths and weaknesses when it came to their children but seeing Chris run around with a mini-him would be a sight for sore eyes."

"Hey!"

He startled, looking up at the now half-way open door.  "What's up, Joe?"

"He's awake.  Asking where the hell you are."

Justin chuckled.  "I'm comin'."

"God, you'd think he'd be a little more happier seeing that hot nurse at his bedside and checking his vitals and not asking where you were.  I swear to God, if I didn't know him better than I did -"

"He's drugged, Joe; he's probably just looking for the one thing that's been pretty permanent."

"His parents?"

"They were probably in there the moment he was wheeled in."

Joey chuckled.  "Yeah, they were.  So were we.  You weren't, that's why he asked."

"Well, then I guess I better get in there then, huh?"

The moment he was aware of his consciousness, he felt dizzy. But it was the good dizzy. Of course, anything made him nauseous, but this had been the dizzy like he had lifted his head too quickly; it soon passed. The next moment, he felt an immense pressure and that, that made him the bad dizzy. Struggling to gain his bearings and control his senses, he felt a hand rest gently on his arm, stiffening up at the touch, unsure of who it was.

"Easy, Josh," the voice said soothingly, "just let yourself wake up slow. Take slow breaths. It'll get better once you settle."

He struggled with his eyelids, they feeling like lead as he pried them open, groaning at the dim lights above him as they stung at his corneas. "How long have I been asleep?"

Lauren glanced up at the overhead clock, smiling as she looked back down at the curious face. "Only about forty-five minutes. They all left to go back into the waiting room as you rested. Well, except your mom; she went to go sign the release papers so they could take you home once you recovered enough from the anesthesia."

He nodded, swallowing roughly against what felt like a giant cotton ball. He cringed at the thought. "I'm gonna be in pain soon, aren't I?"

"Hopefully not too much pain, but I think once you get home and settled, it may start to feel a little bit uncomfortable."

He looked down at the covered area of his chest underneath his hospital gown. "Well, I've officially gained a side nubbin."

She chuckled, patting his knee as she sat down on the chair that his mother had occupied earlier. "I'm going to let you have a day or two to settle in before I start my rounds at your place, is that okay? I know it's hard to have to accept help sometimes ..."

"It's fine," he said softly, eyes traveling away from her and back to his hands that played at the threads of the thin sheet covering him. "It's the one thing I can admit defeat to; Justin shouldn't have to do this alone. No one should, really."

"It's not going to be long house calls," she said, giving him an encouraging smile. "Just in and out to make sure you're taking your meds, that you're feeling well; you know, routine stuff. I've also gotta keep an eye on the port while your body heals around it."

"Am I ever going to be able to get this removed?"

She looked at him, the man lying in the bed merely a foot away looking as if he had lost his best friend in the entire world. He looked so tired, so emotionally exhausted; she couldn't help but feel sorry and feel a bit of his own emotional pain. He was different than the rest ... she was sure of this. "Once the leukemia goes into remission, there's always the option of having the port removed. You'd only have a scar about a centimeter long and if you heal well, it may not even be evident that it was once there."

"Good, because I don't like it already."

"Nobody does, honey."

He sighed, opening his mouth to speak but being stopped at the loud voice at the door.

"So Sleeping Beauty decided to wake the hell up already?"

He rolled his eyes, to tired to make a smarter remark than what rolled off of his tongue. "Shut up, Chris."

Lance pushed his way through Chris' body and the doorframe, smiling at his friend. "Your dad went to get the car, your mom is on the phone giving Heather an update and as you can see, dumbass and gang are here waiting on you to finally get up and out of bed."

"Never thought I'd say this, but I'm a little comfortable in this bed."

"A hospital bed?!"

He smirked, giving them a half smile. "Yeah, well, don't act too surprised; this is me, we're talking about here. I can basically sleep anywhere and deem it comfortable."

"Yeah, but you were like, 24! Now, you're like ... old!"

"Screw you, Christopher. If I do recall ... you are like five years older than me. Knocking on forty's door quite shortly."

"I hate you."

JC grinned, blinking roughly as he still struggled with his vision. "God, I hoped I wouldn't have to use my glasses, but apparently, I do."

"Ah, see, you're an old man."

He rolled his eyes, reaching for the case on the stand next to him as he pulled it open, putting the small black frames onto his nose and on top of his ears as his vision slowly came back to him. "Wow, you guys look like shit."

Justin and Chris began chuckling as Lance rolled his eyes, Joey the only one looking at him incredulously. "Are you kidding me? We are the best looking things in here right now! Well, at least I am!"

"Right. And I’m cancer-free."

The room quieted, he scanning his eyes from all four men. What a way to silence a room quickly.

"Joke, guys. C’mon. Can’t the sick one have any fun?"

"Not when it deals with Cancer."

He sighed, looking down and playing with the bandage on his chest. "Well, I got a third … nipple out of the deal."

"Well, at least this one will be put to use," Chris chuckled. "Seeing as you haven’t gotten any ass since 2002."

"Argh, you only wish it’s been that long," he grinned. "Try … a month before diagnosis."

"That long ago?"

"Fuck you."

They all chuckled at his pouty response, Lauren coming in once more and checking his clipboard and speaking softly to him. Justin saw the gentleness in her gaze as she watched him react to her conversation, saw as he slightly chuckled when she began unhooking the IV, cleaning the area where the needle had been and placing a small bandage to it.

JC hadn't even noticed the needle leaving his skin.

Justin grinned. Leave it to a woman to keep his mind elsewhere.

As she left, he couldn't help but notice that all four men was grinning like the Cheshire Cat at JC, who sat upright on the bed, still drugged and a little woozy, but unfazed. His mother and father were reviewing the papers, oblivious to the looks. "Guys ... what the hell are you grinning at?"

"JC's got a crush!"

They all laughed at Joey's girlish outburst, JC's face reddening slightly as he rolled his eyes. "Oh, grow up; she's my nurse."

"And the fantasies begin to play out!"

"Joe, dude! My parents are in the room!"

"As are your big boy pants," he grinned, JC waving him off as he leaned backward, placing his head on the pillow once more as he sighed deeply. "She has to come back and check my bandage -"

"Is that what you kids are calling it these days? Hell, I've got two kids, I don't get any to know the lingo anymore!"

"Jesus, Joe! You're 32, not 12."

"JC's in pain, he's cranky," Lance noted, watching as their friend closed his eyes, shaking his head as he swallowed roughly, he looking as if he were concentrating a little too hard on getting the pain to go away. "You want some of your meds?"

"They said not to take any until I got home, so let's get this show on the road now." He groaned when he lifted himself back up, touching it gently. "Mild discomfort, my ass."

"All right, handsome ..." Lauren's voice filtered into the room as she pushed a wheelchair in, gesturing towards the seat, "let's get you to your car."

He nodded, slowly pushing himself up; partially pained and groggy, though trying to mask it and make it without the aid of anyone else. He may not have had everything at that moment, but he still had his stubborness.

She helped him make himself comfortable, pushing him through the door as the others followed, Lance and Justin lagging behind. They looked at each other, smirking. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Justin grinned, gesturing his head back at the retreating group. "If it involves a hot nurse and a patient, then maybe?"

Lance laughed, following Justin through the doors as they headed towards the elevators. "That's gonna be his wife someday."

"How do you know that?"

"Ah, c'mon; it's love at first sponge bath. You'll see it. Trust me."

"I'd rather not see JC get a sponge bath."

Lance laughed at the mental image that Justin must have developed, shaking his head. "No, no, not that," he chuckled, "but that's definitely a story for him not to tell his kids ..." He slowed his pace a little, glancing at the group once more, JC looking as if he were going to fall asleep where he sat. "He's gonna fall for her quicker than Joey did down the trap."

Justin grinned. "We'll see man; we'll see."

He didn't know why then, but he had felt a connection with the little soul that lie on that bed. Now, after eight years, he knew. That little girl was fighting a courageous battle with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. The very same disease he was now battling. In his pessimistic mind, it was as if God had given him a glimpse into his (older) future and it petrified him.

He looked around his room, suddenly antsy and running his nails up and down his arms as a cold sweat began to break along his temples. He was scared, petrified. He didn't want to do this; he didn't want to die. His mind began to race, body begin to tremor, and suddenly, a sob escaped his throat, it pained and angry, he pulling his shaking hands to his face as his door swung open, immediately pulled against his mother's warm embrace as she rocked back and forth, trying her best to soothe him as he cried.

"I don't want to die. Please, don't let me die ..."

It was almost as if he were floating over himself, watching a scene play out in slow motion. Actually, it felt like he was watching Selena in the portion of the movie that showcased her singing and stumbling as a white rose fell onto the stage before her.

He was standing on stage with Justin; Chris, Lance and Joey were to their left, all laughing and joking with the crowd as Justin seemed to speak to him on mute. His face was etched in concern, looking slightly irritated that he was not responding to what he said.

"J, I can't hear you, I-I don't understand," he said, puzzled, cringing as Justin wound his arm up, hitting him but causing no sense of pain or discomfort and pointed towards the crowd. He grabbed his wrist, motioning for him to lift up his hand and sing, but what? What the hell was he singing?!

As he dragged his eyes over the audience, he saw no one but the little girl. But she was happy, she was smiling, singing along to a song he had no distinct clue as to what it was. He tried so desperately to read her lips, startled when she started to spin, but it wasn't just one of her, it was hundreds, thousands of her. The guys saw nothing wrong with what his eyes saw, they all singing and pointing and flirting like they used to when the crowd was filled with young teenagers.

Suddenly, it was as if someone removed the mute, his ears popping from the shrieks, from the loud blast of music in his ears. Justin kept motioning for him to go ahead, to sing, so he did. He wasn't sure exactly what to sing, but he sang. Well, he belted out the note as if he were singing 'I Want You Back' was back during the PopOdyssey Tour.

It grew quiet again. His voice was lost, everything faded to grey. His nose immediately picked up the sterile smell of bleach, dirty linen and old coffee; startled at his sudden change in surroundings. He stood in the midst of a hallway, bright from the flourescents above bouncing off of the off-white walls and white lineoleum floors. He squinted, trying to make out forms of people he recognized; they were all blurs around him, moving as if they were at the speed of light. But then, he saw movement like a normal human being would move, freezing when he saw who it was.

"Mom?! Mom! I'm down here!"

She didn't hear him, didn't hear the desperate pleas from her son just down the hallway, for she had just thrown herself into her husband's arms, gripping his shirt and crying as she kept looking over her shoulder, the look of sheer panic written over both of their faces.

Then the four guys appeared, all white-faced and red-nosed. "Guys, what's going on?" He began to walk towards them, the noise again reappearing as he heard their pleads to do whatever they could.

"Justin?" He stood in front of his friend, unseen by his eyes. "Justin -"

"C'mon, Jace, hang in there ... we need you here; breathe!"

Jace.

It was him they were crying over.

His stomach lurched and he lost his entire remains of his stomach on the floor just by Joey, who seemed unphased and unknowing. He pushed himself away from the wall that held his balance, stepping into the room and seeing his transparently white form lying on the bed, lifeless with tubes connected in his mouth and a cardiac monitor just beside him as doctors continued screaming for orders.

"He's flatlining again!"

No. Nononononono ...



It had been quiet for a little over an hour. With the urgings of all four guys, Roy and Karen went back to their hotel after his breakdown had calmed, he slowly eased into sleep by the medications. Joey had kept watch over him for a little, he not saying why, but they all knew that the younger man was just as petrified as JC had been when he fell into his emotional breakdown. Chris had left, unable to take the tears, the panic; he paced the hallway up until only a few moments ago, he now sitting at the kitchen table holding a mug of coffee that Justin had given him. Lance was sitting in the other room alone, staring at his hands and deep in thought; he had not moved after the calm after the storm had begun.

And him? He had been leaning up against the counter, holding his once scalding hot coffee that did little for his reaction to the temperature, staring down at the brown liquid that was now only room temperature. His mind had been racing up until about ten minutes prior; now all he thought of, was nothing. His mind was blank, his eyes were blank, and he was pretty sure, if you were to put your ear to his chest, you'd hear monotone thumps and not the normal 'babump, babump'. He was pretty sure it was just going 'bump, bump'.

"I hate seeing him like this," Chris said softly, startling Justin out of his blank stare, "I hate seeing the one person who I thought held us all together fall apart and we can't do anything to help him put it back together. I mean, what the fuck are we doing, Justin? He's in his room, fighting the biggest battle I've ever known of and we're standing here with our thumbs up our asses!"

"Chris, c'mon," Justin said softly, "he just fell asleep not too long ago, let him ..."

"He's gonna die anyway, right? He's got forever to sleep." He slammed his hands on the table, shaking his head at himself. "Fuck. Fuck. I'm sorry, J," he put his hand to his nose, pinching the bridge as he quieted. "I just so scared. I've seen people around me pass away, but not my age, not younger than me. He's not even thirty-four yet; what the fuck are they thinking? What kind of lesson are we all supposed to learn from this, huh? I mean, come on; watching one of my best friend's die before my eyes isn't really a lesson I'm willing to learn. I don't want to lose him; I can't."

"I don't wanna lose him, either."

They both lost themselves in thought once more, neither one knowing what to really say to comfort the other. They were all handling the grief differently, though he really shouldn't have called it grief ... maybe hurt? Paranoia? Scared shitless? Whatever the definition of how they felt, all he knew, all they knew, was that they didn't want to lose a member of their family in any way.

He sipped his coffee, not even paying attention to the now cold substance. He couldn't sleep; he wouldn't be able to; not with what had just happened.

After Karen got him to calm, he nearly looked as if he were having mini-seizures, his entire body spasming every so often from his sobs and petrified shakes. Joey lifted the smaller man up from under his arms, helping him into the bathroom. They heard the water run, heard him talking to JC in a calming matter and twenty minutes later, both men emerged. Joey looked sympathetically at the others while JC kept his head down, not wanting to look at anyone. Joey disappeared into the bedroom and came out moments later, telling them all to do something and to let him keep watch over JC tonight; he'd take care of it all.

Though they were slightly uncomfortable with leaving Joey to himself (not because it was Joey, but they all felt the need to be of help), they slowly filtered away one-by-one into the living room and kitchen, Lance talking JC's parents into leaving. There wasn't anything they could do at the time, nothing the other four men couldn't help with. Mostly, it was to give the two of them a break from the burden of knowing that JC's meltdown may happen again and probably would, given the sounds that were coming from his room, he murmuring incoherently and thrashing about in his bed.

"Justin, do you think he will -"

His eyes shot up to Chris, shaking his head forcefully. "No. Chris, you gotta stop thinking like that, all right? We're all trying really hard to be optimistic about this and I know that you can't help but think of the what-if's, but you were the positive one at the hospital, you gotta continue, okay? None of us want to think the worst, but yeah, it's on our minds', we just gotta keep believing that he'll pull through and have faith that he's strong enough. Hell, he's making us into four men we weren't before. If he can do that, then he will be able to clear this with no problem."

"What do you mean that he made us into something we weren't before? I swear I'm the same -"

"Annoying old man, yes, but c'mon, Chris ... I've never seen you so fatherly. Ever. And Lance ... well, he's pretty much been the mediator between parents and friends. He never wanted anything to do with that and now he's stepping up to the plate."

"And Joe?"

"Well, do you see what he's doing right now?"

Chris nodded. "You've changed too, Timberlake."

Justin nodded in agreement. "I know."

They got quiet again, Justin sighing deeply as he looked at the time. It was nearly midnight now. It wasn't more than a half hour ago when he called Lauren and told her of the melt down. Instead of giving them a two-day window, she would be coming in around ten the next morning just to be with him. As much as he disagreed, she pressed that the four of them, along with his parents, needed a break; she'd stay, she'd keep him company and look after him for a while.

"I told you that's his future wife," Lance murmured, joking though not sounding remotely close to it.

Justin sighed again, holding the mug so forcefully between his hands that he was almost sure he'd shatter it. Maybe then, maybe with the shards of porcelain in his hands, he'd feel something. Anything.

But it wasn't his hands that broke the mug.

A loud, blood-curdling scream came from within JC's room, his mug falling to the floor as Chris startled, knocking his own to it's side on the table as both men ran through the apartment and towards his room, Lance just a few steps ahead of them.

"Joe?!"

"He's all right," Joey said, looking at the other three men, "he's having a nightmare. He's been kind of yelling in his sleep off and on for the last few minutes." He held his hand up to prevent them from coming any closer as he himself stepped away, not wanting to wake the man and scare him to death while in the midst of a nightmare. "Let him ride it out, he'll be all right."

Justin put a hand to his heart, willing it to calm to a normal pace. He had flashbacks to the day that JC had discovered his hair falling out; the anger that washed through the man's eyes as he brushed everything off of his dresser to the floor, the pain when he sunk to the floor, realizing just what it meant to have the hair littering his pillow and sticking to the creases of his fingers.

Now, nearly seven weeks later, he looked as if he had aged another ten years. His normally thick hair was thin, bare patches scattered as if he had been balding irregularly, what little hair that was left was scarce. His face was gray almost all the time from nausea, fingers white from gripping to get through the pain. Before he had gone to get the port in, he had lost another seven pounds. He was now at 155. Though 155 was okay ... it was wearing on the already thinly-built man. He normally placed between 170, 175 to 180 ... depending on his schedule and if he was touring. Most of what he lost was muscle; he could see it in his arms. He was weak, though he refused help.

He was still stubborn and it drove him crazy.

But this was not his friend. This was not the man he saw five weeks ago.

Lauren came knocking at 10 o'clock on the dot. The moment she was in the door, she pushing them all out, telling them to go out and live their lives for the day, to remember that he was in good hands and to have a good time. If she thought he was in trouble, she had all of their numbers; if one didn't pick up, she'd call another, and if they didn't pick up, she'd call another, and so on.

"Morning sunshine," she said happily, he looking at her with a blank look. "Oh, come on, no 'hello' for your favorite nurse? If you want, I can have Dr. Kleinfield get someone else," she teased, "someone more manly, if you'd like?" She got up, chuckling when his hand weakly gripped hers, stopping her from doing so. "Ah, so you are alive in there!"

"Barely," he murmured. "Why do I feel so horrible? Is it the port?"

She moved his blankets, adjusting the shirt so that she could see the port. "No, it's just fine, doll. It might be the medicine taking a late toll on you, is all. It'll get better; it usually does get worse before it gets better. But remember, even if you feel like you've hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up."

He sighed. "Then you must have heard about last night."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, nodding a bit. "A little of it. You want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, staring at his fingers. "Not necessarily."

She nodded, completely understanding. "Sometimes it's best to talk to someone outside of your comfort zone, so when you're ready, I'm willing to listen. It's not easy, but it will get better. You'll find ways of coping that you never knew were possible; plus, you've got a pretty amazing support system."

He nodded in response, letting her go about her business as she made sure his port was fine, cleaning it and then placing the gauze back over it, he looking up and meeting her green eyes. "I'm scared."

She gave him a comforting smile, sitting down on the edge of the bed and studying his face. "It's all right to be scared, Josh; even the strongest get scared. You wouldn't be human if you didn't feel emotions; from my standpoint, you are an amazing one at that."

He gave her a weak smile. "How do you know that?"

"I may live in a middle of nowhere town in Tennessee, but it doesn't mean I haven't seen a television or MTV before. Besides, you're my age; I grew up with you while you were on the Disney Channel."

He felt the red creep from his neck up into his cheeks and ears. "Really?"

"Mmmhmm," she nodded, playing around in her bag as she found the pill bottle she was looking for. "If I remember correctly, you won me over when you sang 'Runaway Train'. That was my favorite song at the time."

"Really."

She laughed. "As many times as you say it, it's still going to be the same answer. But no, you weren't my favorite: Tony was. I thought you could sing the pants off of anyone, but at the time, I was totally into blondes."

He chuckled. "Tony could sing, too."

"Never said he couldn't," she smiled, his eyes widening as she picked up a needle, flicking it with her fingernail and getting the air out of the syringe. "Relax," she said softly, "it's only for the pain."

"I'm not in any -"

"Well, your red knuckles and white fingertips state otherwise," she chuckled. "As does the sweat at your temple. You can't tell me it's hot in here, either."

He sighed, turning his arm over and looking away. Though he still hated them, he began to tolerate them slightly better than he imagined doing so. "This pain -"

"Will go away. I just think your body is not liking the port much. Were you in any pain before the port?"

He nodded. "I was just constantly achy and felt like I was fighting the flu."

She nodded. "Nothing worse?"

"Every so often I felt more sore than before, but again, I could tolerate that." He inhaled sharply as the needle pierced his skin, she patting his hand when she was finished. "So how old are you, anyway?"

She chuckled. "Okay, the pain medicine isn't working that well ..."

"I just want to know, since, you know, you will be around a lot."

With a grin, she shrugged. "A woman never reveals her age."

"Oh, come on ..."

"Twenty-something."

He laughed. "I guess I can take that."

"What else do you wanna know?"

He shrugged. "Anything you want to tell me."

"Well," she sat back down on the foot of the bed, looking at her fingers. "I'm originally from Canada. I have been here about seven years now. I became a nurse shortly after I arrived. I love it here, though I miss home at times. I have an older sister. I have a basset hound who I treat as if he is my son. I think that's it."

He laughed. "Fair enough. What do you want to know about me?"

"Nothing I don't already know," she smiled as he looked at her in confusion, "you are a patient of mine, Josh. And, everything I need to know about you, I can just google it."

"Lauren, wait." He forced himself to sit up, she looking back at him as she stood in the doorway. "No one but the guys and my family knows I'm here. I kind of want to keep it that way."

She smiled warmly. "I haven't told a soul, Josh. No one has. Your secret is safe with us."

He nodded, feeling the medicine kick in as his eyes grew heavy. "Lauren?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're my nurse."

She chuckled. "I'm glad, too, Joshua."



The guys were gone for a little over three hours, Justin the first to make it through the door as Lauren cleaned up what lunch he had ate. "How was he?"

"Fine," she nodded, they all looking at her incredulously. "He's going to be fine, guys. There's a lot on his plate; he deals with it as it comes. Some times, it's going to be horrible, other days, he is going to seem like he's back to normal. It's going to take time; just be patient."

"Define normal." Chris crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "He's not normal."

She chuckled. "All right, so he will be back to himself. Just give it time. He's a good fighter. He's going to beat this."

"How can you be so sure?"

She looked at Justin, who was frowning and looking past her towards his friend's room. "I just have faith," she smiled, picking up her bag and patting him on the shoulder. "He's been asleep for about an hour. I gave him pain medication so he'll be good to go for the rest of the day." She said good-bye then, closing the door softly behind her.

"Yep, that's his wife."

They all rolled their eyes at Lance, who chuckled at their reactions. "Oh, c'mon, guys! You know I'm right about this! She's got the hots for him -"

"Oh, stop making assumptions."

He smiled, following them into the living room. "No assumptions, just knowledge."

"Knowledge my ass, Lansten."

"Fuck you, Joseph."

Justin leaned back into the couch, sighing deeply. So far, so good. He'd have to knock on wood to make sure the rest of the day continued to be as much.

-December 19th, 2009-  

“Easy does it, sleepy.”

JC hissed once his frail form met the outside from the warmth of the backseat of Justin’s rental SUV, hugging his sweatshirt closer to his chest.  “My God, what is it, like, 10 degrees out here?”

Justin smirked.  “24 degrees.  Jace, it is nearing Christmas.”

He shuddered.  “Don’t remind me.”

Justin frowned as he walked to the back of the vehicle, pulling the latch and letting the trunk lift up above his head.  He took a moment to collect his bearings as JC slowly meandered towards the front porch of Justin’s parents’ home, hanging his head.  It seemed that the hole JC had been digging himself had only gotten deeper once the Thanksgiving holiday had ended and Christmas began to fast approach.   He was more withdrawn, more quiet than ever and another six pounds had slowly deteriorated off his body.  At 149 pounds, JC began to show signs of the pain that they were warned about, low moans of discomfort escaping his mouth at various times of the day, more evident in sleep than not – though 75% of his day consisted of sleeping now; only waking up when Lauren arrived to do her daily (not every other day anymore … this worried Justin) check-up and dosages. 

With the thought of Lauren, a smile eased onto his face.  When she arrived, suddenly JC was no longer grumpy!JC but the rare and often missed affable!JC.  He was definitely crushing on his nurse and everyone knew it, except for him.

He had a feeling that Lauren knew.  It might have been the sly smiles she’d give him and the shy ones that she’d give Justin when he caught her smiling at him that way or perhaps the lingering gaze on him, even if he had slowly begun his trek back into sleep.  Something needed to happen between those two and he was going to be the one to start it all.

That was why he invited her to come along for the week of Christmas at his parents’ place. 

… You know, for precautionary reasons.

“Justin, you coming?”

He turned to look at JC as he blindly reached for their bags, nodding.  “Of course; couldn’t let your frail ass walk into my house and eat all the peach cobbler, now could I?”

JC snorted in reply, reaching for the door knob as Lynn opened it before he could even attempt to turn the knob.  “Hi, Lynn …”

Lynn’s curly hair fluttered in her face from the December breeze as she absently brushed it away, extending her arms to hug the frail man before her.  “Hi, Josh.”  She held to him tightly, hands running up and down his back comfortingly.  “Come inside before you get sick.  You too, Justin Randall!”

“Coming Mama,” he called, rolling his eyes at her protectiveness, even when both men were grown adults.  He trudged through the few inches of snow on the ground, making his way into the foyer and placing the suitcases near the shoes that JC had just toed off, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and spice.  This was his home.

“Whoa, hey, easy!”

He jerked his head towards Paul’s alarmed voice, his arms under JC’s own as he steadied the man who nearly crumpled to the floor in exhaustion.  Justin was at his side quickly, steadying the smaller man as he braced himself against the wall.  “You all right,” he asked softly, stepping away from him to let him catching his own bearings.   JC nodded, avoiding any and all eye contact, his hand reaching for the top of his head but pausing at his forehead, itching to do the one thing he used to do when nervous and slightly worried: run his hand through his hair and away from his eyes.  He no longer could do such a thing; he had no hair.  The only hints of hair were the chocolate brown wisps at the crown of his head that he kept covered 100% of the time in a ball cap or beanie.  “Can you show me what room is mine?” Justin nodded, letting JC follow slowly, ignoring the fact that he grew winded just by eleven stairs.  “Mom made up the guest room for you so it’s to your liking and there are fresh towels, too …” JC mumbled in response, looking into the bedroom.  “Thanks, Justin.”

He patted him on the back, letting him slowly make his way into the room and lower himself onto the bed.  He lie there, eyes clenched shut and his arms crossed over his forehead.  He was unsure of what to do; Lauren would not be in until early morning and she was the only one that he seemed to tell her anything anymore.  Which, he understood, but before she came, he actually knew was JC needed.  “Jace?”

“I’m okay, Justin,” he said softly.  “Go visit with your parents, don’t let me intrude.”

“You’d never be an intrusion,” he replied, his tone stern by quiet.  “Maybe a pain in my ass sometimes since you won’t tell me anything, but –“ “I don’t want this to be my last Christmas here.”

Justin watched him roughly swallow, Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down slowly as he breathed slowly.  “We can come back here next year, if you’d like –“

“That’s not what I meant, Justin,” he said, annoyance in his voice, though he hadn’t intended for it to come out that way.  “I meant, I don’t want to be dead this time next year.”

“You’re not going to be.”

JC turned his head, looking at Justin squarely in the eye for the first time in a long time.  “Then why do I already feel as if I am?”   “Hey, are you feeling all right?  You look a little flushed.”

He dragged his eyes away from the window, away from watching Justin and his mom unpack groceries from her Land Rover towards Lauren who had just stepped into the room.  He shrugged, swiping a bead of sweat from his temple as he put his focus on the woman who approached him, warm gaze taking him in slowly.  “I feel the same as I always do: like shit.”

She put a hand to his forehead, frowning as she turned her palm over and placed the back of her hand to his skin.  “You’re warm,” she stated, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his forehead, a fever-checking way his mother used to do to him as a child.  “And clammy.  How long have you been feeling like this?”

“Like shit?  For the last three months.”

“Joshua.”

He frowned, feeling the lines at the corners of his lips going deeper.  “Since sometime after midnight last night?” “Get back into bed,” she said, nodding towards the bed across the room.  “You need to sweat out this fever and you’re not going to do it sitting by a window.  I’m going to go make you some soup and tea and you’re going to eat and drink every last bit of it.”

He smirked, rolling his eyes.  “Such the caring nurse you are.”

“Get in bed, Chasez.” “Yes, Nurse Lauren.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but he did not miss the flash of worry pass through her eyes as she turned to leave the room.  What was a little fever compared to all the issues he had running through his body now?  He’d take a fever every day of his life if it meant not waking up feeling as if he were going to die sometime that day. “Whoa, where’s the fire?”  Justin froze as he watched Lauren rummage quickly through her duffle bag that she had left on the kitchen counter, the duffle full of medical necessities that she brought along every time she visited JC at the apartment.  “He all right?”

“Yeah,” she stated, it rushed out of her mouth, “fine.  I just need to – God damnit, why can’t I find the damn thermometer?!”

Lynn stepped up beside her from the kitchen counter, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.  “Lauren –“

She stopped.  “He’s got a fever.  It’s nothing to worry about now, but if I can’t find the damn thermometer and monitor his temperature and it gets worse, it can progress into something worse and he’ll end up in the hospital.  His immune system isn’t strong enough to fight anything more than a minor fever.  Not at home.  He’d need to be hooked up to fluids and medications and all these monitors.”

“Is it from me taking him here?”  Justin looked panicked as Lauren looked up at him from searching her bag.  “Is it from him being in the car for a while?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I’m sure he’s been feeling pretty shitty the last few days and he being so weak is just quickening it.  Don’t worry, Justin; getting him away from the apartment was the best thing you could do for him.”  She found the thermometer, hitting it against her hand as she looked at both adults staring back at her.  “He’s probably just warm from being tired and the weather.  He should be fine.”

“I hope so.” “I’ll make him soup and bring it up,” Lynn offered as Lauren smiled appreciatively at her.  “Draw him a bath, too; that usually works with bringing a fever down.”

Lauren smiled at her, appreciating the woman’s suggestion but already knowing it.  “Thanks, Mrs. Harless.”  Grabbing her bag and balancing it on her shoulder, she held the thermometer in one hand and heading towards his room once more, hearing his movements from just a few steps in.   “Took you long enough,” he murmured with a slight tease to his voice.  “Have some troubles?  And where’s my soup?  You’re a bad maid.”

She chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed by his hip and tapping his chin for him to open his mouth.  “I don’t have the fancy-schmancy ear thermometer from the hospital, so you are stuck with this one.  Don’t move your tongue until it beeps.”  She placed it underneath his tongue and told him to close his mouth, getting up and closing the curtains to keep the heat circulated in the room and keep the cool air out. 

“Thiph tafes lie meffal.”

She laughed, turning to look at him.  “Don’t talk and wait for it to beep, JC.  Then you can tell me what nonsense you just tried to say to me.” He huffed, crossing his arms across his chest as he looked up at the ceiling, annoyed with the small contraption hanging out of his mouth.  When it beeped, he spit it out, the device falling to his chest.  “I said ‘this tastes like metal’.”

“Good, ‘cause I was wondering if I had missed what exactly ‘meffal’ was.”

“Funny.”

She smirked, reaching down and taking the thermometer off of his chest and looking at the digital screen.  101.8; a little more than low-grade.  “All right, Chasez, it’s time to shove your ass in the shower.”

“You know, for a nurse, you sure talk dirty.”

She shook her head, reaching for the blankets and pulling them off of him as he shivered against the cool air to his body.  “Up and at ‘em, kid.”

“Kid?  I’m older than your twenty-something ass.”

She chuckled.  “Well, then, up and at ‘em, old fart.”

He groaned.  “I think I liked being called ‘kid’ better.”
“Just get into the bathroom.” He slowly shuffled into the bathroom next to his room, muffling a cough as he blindly reached for the light switch, squinting at the bright fluorescents that bounced off of the tiled walls.  “Am I showering or do I have to be in a girly bath?”

“Well, seeing as you have a fever and you are swaying as we speak, I think the girly bath is in the cards for you.”

“Figured,” he mumbled, reaching down and lifting his shirt off of his body and sighing deeply.

She tried to ignore the inward gasp that nearly escaped her throat as she took in just how skinny he had become; his arms nearly a third of what they had once been.  All of his muscle tone seemed to have disappeared in just a few short weeks and he nearly vanished as he turned sideways before her.  “I’ll take your clothes,” she said softly, he eyeing her in confusion.  “You don’t have to get naked in front of me; just give me your pajama bottoms and I’ll take the t-shirt with them to the laundry.”

She saw the flush across his cheeks redden even more so than with the fever.  “I uh, don’t have any underwear on.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, he giving her a slight shrug.  “I won’t look.  Just, draw the bath and toss them to the door and I’ll grab them on my way out.”

He nodded, waiting for her to turn around as he slowly pushed the cotton of his pajama bottoms down over his hips and let them pool at his feet.  He stepped into the tub, not even starting the water yet and closed the curtain slightly, tossing the bottoms to her.  When he heard the door click shut, he reached forward, turning the water temperature to as hot as he could get it, already shaking from being so cold.  He hoped it was just because the bathroom was cold and not from the fever; he hated fever shakes.



As his luck would have it, the hot bath did not help at all.  He could not keep himself warm and was pretty sure that he had run the Harless’ water bill up for the entire month in just one day.  He had sipped hot chicken broth the entire day, taken at least five hot baths, two hot showers (though he ended up sitting about two minutes in) and had layered as many t-shirts as he could put on before putting on his heaviest sweatshirt, along with whatever bottoms he could find.  It also was being aided by three extra handmade quilts – all of which heavier than his sweatshirt.

He was beginning to feel faint.  Of course this would happen.  Of course it would happen the one week where Justin wanted to take him away from all the sights of the apartment, of the hospital.  Of course he’d get sick and the promise of a hospital visit was probably in order the day he came home!

Of fucking course.

He closed his eyes.  Maybe not the greatest idea when the equilibrium is off-balance.  Opening his eye slowly, he swallowed the lump forming in his throat lower into his chest, willing it to continue its trek downward.  “Just breathe, Chasez,” he murmured, clenching his mouth shut and breathing loudly in and out through his nose.  “It was 3AM, he could manage this for another few hours while the rest of the household slept.  “Breathe,” he repeated, swallowing once more. 

He had been here only 24 hours.  24 hours and he already felt like he had been hit by a Mack Truck.

The room began to spin.  Not only did he feel like he was going to fall into a black hole, but the black hole had a spiraled slide for him to fall into it with.  His stomach roared.  His body was freezing.  His heart felt as if it were going to jackhammer out of his chest.  He needed the toilet, he needed to -

He flew upward, grabbing the trashcan that had been sitting next to the night stand and wretched into it.  Nothing came out except the broth, and even then, he felt as if he were throwing up the air from his toes up.  He felt heavy, like lead.   Once finished, he put the trashcan down, pulling the blankets away from himself regretfully and standing.  He needed to brush his teeth and rid his mouth of the taste of stomach acid.  He needed another hot bath. 

He needed to find his bearings.

He paused, eyes fluttering shut as the world moved around him, he losing all sense of his equilibrium.


Justin startled from his sleep as he heard a loud crash, nearly diving at his door as he ran down the hall, Lauren at his heels as he pushed the door open to JC’s room, panicking when he saw him lying on the floor in a heap.  “JC!”

“Justin, go get a warm cloth for his head,” Lauren commanded, pushing him away from his friend as she knelt down, putting a hand to his head and gasping at how hot it felt.  “And call the emergency room number that is in my phone and let them know we’re taking him in.  He needs to be hooked up to monitors.”

Justin nodded, eyes wide as Lynn and Paul opened up their bedroom door as he shot out of JC’s worried and confused.  “We have to take him to the hospital.  His fever got worse and he just passed out on the floor …”

“Jace, honey,” Lauren said softly, patting his cheeks as she watched his lashes flutter at her voice.  “C’mon, look at me.”

He struggled for a moment, weakly holding his eyelids open long enough to catch her gaze.  “Am I all right?”

She chuckled slightly, arranging herself so that his head was in her lap, she reaching upward and grabbing the blanket off of his bed and tucking it underneath his body to preserve what heat he had.  “I should be the one asking that.”

He swallowed, nodding.  “I fainted.  I got dizzy.”

“How long have you felt dizzy?”

“Just a few minutes,” he said, licking his lips.  “I threw up.  Got out of bed to brush my teeth and that’s when I fell.”

“You threw up?  How many times?”

“Just once,” he stated, “right before I attempted to walk like a normal human being and not just pass out within one step taken …”

“It’s the fever, is all,” she said, hand reaching up and absently running her hand across his skin.  “Probably pretty dehydrated.  We’ll take you down to the hospital and let them get some fluids pumped into you and you’ll be good as new.”

“The only way I want to spend Christmas.”

“Hey, you get to spend it with me, you know.  Your favorite nurse.”

He smirked, opening his eyes slightly once more and looking up at her.  “The only good thing that involves hospitals is knowing you are there.”

She felt her heart flutter at his honesty, giving him a warm smile as Justin came back into the room, confused at their calmness and his panic.  “Help me help me up, would you?”

He shoved her phone in his pocket, nodding quickly as she got one arm around her shoulders and Justin took the other arm.  “They are expecting us shortly.”

“Good,” she nodded, JC’s head heavily leaning onto her shoulder as they helped him down the stairs and into Justin’s SUV, letting him lie down in the back with the blanket still firmly wrapped around him.

Justin clenched the steering wheel, right foot pressed to the accelerator and left foot shaking up and down in nervousness.  “He’s gonna be okay, right?”

Lauren looked at him with a sad smile, shrugging.  “I’m just hoping it’s the fever that has got him like this and not an infection.  It’s the difference between a day or two and an undetermined amount of time in the hospital.  That, and a lot more medications.”

“Infection?  What kind of infection?!”

“Hush, he’s finally asleep,” she said softly, trying to calm him.  “It could be because his white blood cell count is horribly low and his body can’t fight infection.  The fever could have upgraded itself to pneumonia.  It could even have turned into –“  She stopped, licking her lips and looking out the passenger window.  “How far is this hospital?”

“We’re almost there now,” he mumbled.  “It could even have turned into what, Lauren?”

“A full-blown infection,” she said softly, “which means he’s too weak to fight the leukemia and he may need a bone marrow transplant.”

Justin felt his stomach fall to his feet as he swallowed roughly.  “No.  It’s not that.  It won’t ever be that.”

“Justin, we have to be prepared for the worst, you know that.”

“No!”  He slammed his hands on the wheel, pressing harder on the accelerator.  “It isn’t that!”

She grew quiet, feeling the pain radiate from Justin over to her as she closed her eyes sadly.  Saying a silent prayer, she asked for the same thing: for JC to be anywhere but in the transplant territory.


“It was a good thing you did bring him in when you did,” Dr. Morrison said as he looked at Justin as Lauren walked past him and into the room where JC lie asleep.  “He is in the beginnings of pneumonia; his lungs are rattling and he has begun to wheeze, but as long as we keep him in observation and continue to give him medications, he should pull through without any complications … except possibly being here on Christmas.”

“That’s the least of my worries,” Justin stated, looking at the Dr. and then at JC and Lauren.  “So, he doesn’t need a transplant?  His marrow is okay?  No infections?”

“Besides the pneumonia, JC is the same as he was before you left,” he stated.  He looked at his clipboard, lifting up papers and studying JC’s own medical file.  “Dr. Kleinfield cleared him for the trip and there is no reason for you to not have one once he is well enough to be taken home.  How long were you intending on staying?”

“Only for the week,” he said, shrugging.  “We can always stay longer if that’s what he wants, but I’d prefer to be near his own doctor’s and the cancer facility.” “Which is a good idea, even if he was pretty healthy to begin with,” Dr. Morrison agreed.  “We’re going to keep him a few days; probably until the 24th in the mid-afternoon to make sure he’s okay; if he is, with your homecare nurse here, we can send him home to be observed and watched over.”

Justin nodded.  “Thank you.”  He walked past the doctor, sitting down at the foot of JC’s bed.  “Pneumonia.”

Lauren nodded.  “I heard him say that.  He’ll be fine.”

“You guys talk too much.”

Both people looked over, smiling as JC opened his eyes slightly and took in their relieved faces.  “Go get a coffee or something, huh?  You both look like shit.”

“That is the best compliment I have ever been given,” Lauren chuckled, “Best thing to say to a woman, I think.”

“You know you do,” JC murmured, gesturing towards the door.  “Take bed-head with you.”

“Hey now.  Your dramatic fall to the floor is what got me in the form I am in now!”

“Well, go to the gift shop, by a comb and get that hair under control,” he teased, yawning deeply.  “Leave me alone so I can go back to sleep.  You two talking doesn’t help anything.”

Within moments of the two leaving, Dr. Morrison entered, giving him a small smile.  “Well, good morning, Joshua,” he greeted, setting the clipboard to the front of the bed as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the flashlight and checking his eyes.  “Can we have a chat for a few moments while your friend and your nurse are gone?”

He nodded, watching as the doctor pulled up the chair beside the bed and reached back to the front of the bed for the clipboard.  “So you’ve been battling AML for the past three months?”

He nodded.  “I got diagnosed September 8th.”

“Not many issues with it?”

“Other than nightmares and depression, no.  Well, that and not wanting to talk to anyone.”

“That comes with depression,” Dr. Morrison responded.  “Did Dr. Kleinfield ask if you would like to be treated for the depression?”

“And add to my seven medications I already take,” JC arched an eyebrow at the amused doctor, “no thanks.  I deal with it as it comes.  Sometimes it may not be the best day, but I’m working on it.”

“What about complications?  Are you in pain?”

“Daily.  I have medication for that, also.”

“What about other complications?  You haven’t had extended stays in the hospital?”

“Other than the third round of chemo that left me so severely dehydrated from throwing up so much that I ended up in the hospital for four days, I’ve been pretty lucky.  Oh, and this little charade.”

“JC, can we speak seriously for a moment about your disease?”

He lowered an eyebrow, looking at his fingers.  “I thought we already were.”

“We are looking at it in a present standpoint,” he stated, setting his pen down and looking at the younger man, “I want to look at it in the future.”

“O-okay?”

“If a complication should arise and you are to be found incapacitated, have you thought about getting a Patient’s Advocate?” “An Advocate?”

“Yes.”

“To what?”

“To be the one to make decisions if you are not able to.”

He shook his head.  “I’ve never been asked to consider one.”

“Do you have someone in mind?”

He looked up at the doctor and then back at the doorway, frowning.  “Justin Timberlake.”

“What is his relation to you?”

“Friend.  He has also been taking care of me when I can’t do it myself.”

“It is preferred to be a family member –“

“I want him to make the decisions,” JC pressed.  “Just put him down, please.”

Dr. Morrison began to make notes, speaking as he wrote, “What about resuscitation decisions?  Do you want life-saving measures taken?”

He swallowed.  “I haven’t really thought about it.  I mean, I don’t want to die …” 

“We’ll keep you as heroic measures, then.  And what about a living will?  Have you drawn up one of those?”

“Written and notarized,” he sighed.  “I’ve had it done for years; had to with my job and being on planes so much.”

“You may want to make sure it is updated, Mr. Chasez.”

He nodded.  “I will.”

“I’m going to fax these forms to Dr. Kleinfield and I’ll let you rest.”

He sighed, leaning back into the pillow.  How was he supposed to rest when they were planning out his death?

Apparently, having pneumonia was a jail sentence when diagnosed with leukemia.  Ever since being discharged the day before (It was now Christmas Day), he had not been allowed to even leave his bed.  Justin, along with his parents and Lauren had all but given him the ultimatum: get well or spend the remainder of the week in the hospital hooked up to monitors, as per the doctor's orders. As stubborn as he was, and as much as he loved having needles inserted and removed nearly daily in the three days he was there, he opted out of staying in the hospital and going home to be watched like four hawks circling on their prey.

And boy was it getting annoying. He shifted in bed, his entire body aching with the fever that was still hanging out throughout his body.  It had lowered a good few decimal points since the day he fainted and to his tired body there was no difference even though the thermometer said so.  It seemed that since he had left the hospital, while the fever had gone down, his body aching had gone up.  He wasn’t one to complain, but it did hurt like hell.

A slightly tolerable hell, if that was possible. The house was quiet; Justin having gone with his parents to visit his grandparents and Lauren out running a few errands at the grocery store.  She had asked him to go and at least sit in the car while she went but the idea of sitting up for even a short amount of time without as much support as he had with the six pillows behind him was just painful. He shifted, hissing out in pain as his body roared in the dull ache that he still had yet become accustomed to.  Sucking in air as he reached down, pulling the comforter over his head as he turned onto his side, staring at the dull, white walls.  He may as well have been in a hospital: the room was an old office converted into a guest bedroom that Lynn hadn’t really had a chance to redecorate yet so everything was white, white, white and the lamps seemed to be brighter than in any other area of the house.   It also smelled sterile.  He scrunched his nose in thought and in faint smell as he pictured Justin’s mom scrubbing the room up and down while he was in the hospital to rid it of any germs that could affect him when he did finally get to come back.  He hated that everyone was now turning into germophobes around him; afraid that he was going to catch something serious by a few simple dust bunnies. “Knock, knock.”

He didn’t bother to turn over, fearing the sudden movement would jar the ache even more.  “Nobody’s home.”

“You’ve got jokes, Chasez,” Lauren said softly, her voice light.  He heard bags being set down, her presence felt just beside the bed.  “Jokes for days.”

He nodded, eyes fluttering closed in exhaustion as he sighed deeply.  “You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna tell me what you got in those bags on Christmas Day?”

“You’d be surprised as to what was open and what wasn’t – though, with my sweet-talking, opened miraculously.”

“I don’t wanna know what you did …”

She chuckled.  “Look, you gonna keep putting up this banter or do you wanna know what I got you?”

He inhaled as he rolled onto his back, cringing slightly before opening his eyes fully and seeing her curious gaze.  “Still achy.”  He watched as she nodded, turning back around and heading for the bags, pulling out a smaller bag and placing it in the dip in the blanket on his legs.  “Argh, you couldn’t hand it to me?”

“No, ‘cause you have to at least sit up to see it.” “Lauren, c’mon now …”

“In order to feel better, you gotta start moving around, Jace,” she said sternly, reaching for his hand and tugging him upward slowly.  He hissed as his body moved quicker than he was used to, painfully waiting for her to prop his pillows up so he could lean.  “Okay?”

“As okay as it’s gonna get,” he murmured, yawning dramatically as she chuckled.  “So what is it?”

“Ah, see, that’s the beauty of what they call a present, Jace; you open it.”  She grinned, sitting down on the edge of the bed and watching as he rolled his eyes, scooting slightly so she could sit fully on the mattress.  “Don’t just stare at me like I grew two heads – open the damn thing!”

He grinned in spite of himself, reaching into the bag and pulling out a small jewelry box, pulling the dark blue ribbon off of it and opening it to see a black-roped bracelet with orange beading woven through, two metal beads with calligraphy etched into them.  “Lauren, what exactly is this?” She touched it gingerly with her hands, smiling warmly.  “It’s a Leukemia Awareness bracelet.  The orange symbolizes the Leukemia and the silver beads actually have two different meanings.”  She lifted it up, putting it on his bony wrist, tying it tight enough to stay on but not cause discomfort.  “This one,” she said softly, pointing to one and bringing it into his line of vision, “is the Chinese symbol for strength.  And this one,” she said softly, her finger touching it and putting enough pressure to turn it in circles against his skin, “is the Celtic symbol … for courage.”

He lifted his gaze, meeting her unreadable one.  “Thank you.”

She nodded, patting his hand gently as she got up and gestured behind her.  “I should probably go do some paperwork now and actually do my job.”

He nodded, leaning back into the pillows and smiling weakly at her.  “Thank you,” he said softly, gesturing to the bracelet that was laced through his fingers, “for everything.  Not just this.”

She smiled, opening up his bedroom door and stepping through.  “Anything for you, Chasez,” she called softly as she walked down the hall, “anything for you.”

He smiled to himself, eyes falling to the bracelet that he gripped in his hands.  Strength.  Sure, he’d have strength once he felt better.  Courage.  He scoffed.  What was there to be courageous about?  He was afraid of getting the chemo; afraid of the inevitable bone marrow transplant that was probably only little ways away once they found a donor; afraid of the treatments failing … he was also afraid of leaving the world without any impact.  Hell, who was he kidding?  He was afraid to leave the world, period. He sighed, slipping the bracelet on and watching as the faint glow of the lamp hit the beads just right, giving them a reflection against the wall.  By some weird coincidence, one that he brushed off as psychological, he already felt a difference in himself.  He wanted to get up and move around, get up and even sing if he could – but today, today was not the day to be doing such things. As proof, he began to cough roughly, his lungs aching as they rattled with every movement he made.  He could feel the fluid in his lungs, they loosened up from the days before, but it was still a long trip to wellness.

He buried his face into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.  Maybe he could be like Dorothy and wish himself back to a place where there was no sickness, no worried friends, no scared shitless friends; maybe he could wish himself years ago into a place he knew as home.
The stage.

He’d give it all up to spend more time on the stage, performing.  Actually, he’d give it all back if he could be on the stage with the four guys who understood him more than anyone else did; the four guys that have been by his side since the beginning and have yet to stop.

He’d give it all away to be back in LA, recording demos, goofing off with his group mates and getting random calls from home because he had “hermitized” himself in the recording studio and no one had heard from him in days.

The only thing he wouldn’t give up was the woman who had entered his life only months ago.  That would have to be something he’d have to get by with the big man upstairs; there was no way he was going home without her. His stomach dropped.  Not in nausea, not in a bout of homesickness, but in realization: he was falling for his homecare nurse.  He was falling for the one woman that they had already planned his wedding to.

He groaned, shaking his head into the soft fabric of the pillowcase.  “Go fucking figure.”




“Well, good morning, sunshine!  It’s surprising to see you up and at ‘em!  Surprising, but nice!”

He gave a small smile as he shuffled slowly into the kitchen, gripping the chair and easing himself up onto the kitchen stool of the breakfast nook.  “I figured it was time to face the day sooner or later.”

Lynn smiled, placing a mug of black coffee in front of him.  “… That is how you drink it, right?”

He nodded, giving her another small smile and putting it to his lips, inhaling it gently as to not disturb his stomach.  “God, I haven’t had coffee in weeks … I’ve missed it.”  He looked around the otherwise empty kitchen, save he and Lynn, eyebrow raised.  “Where’s Justin?  Actually, where is everybody?”

Lynn grinned, nodding down to the lower level of the home.  “Justin is actually downstairs showing Lauren the in-home studio that he just had to have that is no longer of use here and well, everyone else is either upstairs asleep or getting ready for the day.”

He nodded; taking another slow, short sip of his coffee as Lynn leaned over, studying his pale and gray-hued face.  “I … don’t like that look.”

She reached forward, placing a hand to his cheek in a comforting way only a mother could do.  “Joshua, you are a strong, strong man,” she said softly, her gentle Tennessee twang tugging at his heart strings, “you’ve done things and you’ve gone through so much that I am so proud to know that my son looks up to you.”

He frowned, gripping the mug as he let his eyes drop.  “You’d be glad knowing that the man your son looks up to has had thoughts of his death?”

She gripped his face, fingers curled at his ear as she pulled his head closer to her, she kissing his forehead tenderly.  “If you hadn’t, in circumstances like these, I would not consider you human, Josh; and you, are a remarkable human.  One remarkable human that I am damn proud to consider you one of my own.” Smiling once again, he set his coffee down as he heard the tinkering of the piano in the level below, his fingers itching.  “Think he’d mind if I went down?”

Lynn grinned.  “I think he’d mind if you didn’t.”  She held onto his elbow as he unsteadily got up, eyeing him wearily.  “Do you want me to help you down the stairs?”

He shook his head, grateful for her gesture but wanting to do it on his own.  “If you do hear a body going down the stairs, though, I think it’d be safe to assume it was mine.”

“JC –“

He grinned, walking slowly and shakily towards the stairs near the end of the room.  “There are rails, right?”

“Yes, but –“

“If I become too weak to support myself down the stairs, I’ll slide down, butt-first.”

Lynn chuckled, standing in the middle of the kitchen, wringing her hands.  “If you say so.”

“I got down the stairs to come here, didn’t I?”

She nodded, not wanting to make him seem like he was an invalid.  “Just be careful, all right?”

“Always.” 

His slow trek to the lower level studio was agonizingly slow to his already shaking body as he sank towards the bottom of the step, gathering his bearings and staring at the door in front of him that stood slightly ajar.  Only a few steps.  Five steps, if that. 

Five steps of hell.

Taking the final few steps, he paused as the door opened, Justin’s smiling face greeting him.  “Well, hello!”

JC chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief as he gestured around the room.  “Can’t stay away, can you?”

Justin grinned, crossing his arms at his chest and cocking his head to the side.  “I could ask you the same thing.” JC lifted up a shoulder, giving a small smile as Justin stepped away, letting his friend into the studio.  “Lauren asked me what my favorite memory of the studio was.”

He took a step in, seeing Lauren’s smiling face sitting on the couch a few feet away from the piano, sitting down on the couch next to her as he looked up at Justin.  “And?”

“I told her you’d know exactly what my favorite memory was.”

He sunk into the couch, putting his head to the back of it and inhaling slowly, closing his eyes and letting the memory’s scene play on the back of his eyelids.  “The first day we were able to get back into the studio after the judgment over us keeping our group’s name.  Stepping through the threshold and being able to look at it as we did that very day.”

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Justin was grinning.  He didn’t even have to think hard; the man had a lot of memories, but this was one memory that all five of them shared in a list of favorites. 

“That was one of the most amazing days in my life,” Justin stated as JC lifted his head and opened his eyes, settling them on the small piano as his heart ached to just touch the keys, “even if we did just sit around and get drunk and reminisce; it was a rite of passage after that.” He pushed himself up, ignoring the slow drop-off of Justin’s voice as he slowly paced himself towards the bench of the piano, sitting down backward and slowly sliding his way around towards the keys, touching the ivories gently.  As his fingers pressed, a small breath, almost out of relief, escaped his lips, a small smile forming on his face as the scattered notes filled his ears.  This, this was home. He froze when he felt Lauren’s presence next to him as she sat, arm against his as she watched his fingers.  “I feel like I’ve forgotten everything.”

“You never forget your first love,” she said softly, her fingers reaching up and dancing along the keys, doing a slightly choppy version of “Chopsticks”.  Her fingers touched his, his eyes meeting hers as she gave him a sad look.  “Play for me?”

He inhaled a breath, looking at Justin for reassurance as the younger man pulled up a chair, sitting facing him only a foot away.  Slowly, he pressed his fingers to the keys and played a melody from long ago, surprised that he could still remember the music. He played, letting Justin sing the words that he had sung years ago, closing his eyes and listening to the music, pushing his tired mind to remember the words.  Moments in, it felt like he had just played it and all the notes (give or take a few) began to play themselves with the aid of his hands.   And within moments, it was his verse. Through the days ahead
I’ll think of days before
When you made me
Hope for something better
And made me reach for something more Of course, his voice was not up to par after not using it for so long and Lord knew how tired he was just by singing that little bit of a verse, but he couldn’t help but grin – really grin; this was the feeling of euphoria people talk about when something they’ve wanted for so long is given to them.  Only this time, he gave it back to himself.   “Justin?”

JC quieted the keys, hands shaky as they rested gently against them, eyes falling to his fingers as Justin got up to speak to his mother at the top of the steps.  He and Lauren sat there, quiet, her hands resting on her lap, his still barely grazing the keys as he continued to play, albeit quietly.  He stopped, feeling her presence greatly in those few quiet moments, her arm leaning into his (or more so, his leaning into hers), leg against his.  “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

She chuckled slightly, nudging him gently.  “Don’t flatter yourself, Jace; I got Justin and his family something, too.”

“Oh.”

She placed a hand on his, pausing his fingers.  “The ones they got weren’t as meaningful as yours, though.”

With a smile, he pressed the keys a little harder.  “Oh.”  He played a few more keys, her hand still resting on his, his eyes transfixed to the delicate skin against his own clammy ones.  “I’ve gotta get you something.”

She laced her fingers into his, squeezing gently.  “Nonsense.  Seeing you up and around is good enough.  Hearing you sing can be my gift.  I’m sure it’s a pretty fragile gift right now.”

He tightened his grip on her hand, she looking at him questioningly.  “Thank you,” he said softly, “for everything.  I know Justin said he can do it alone and I don’t doubt him but I know it’s put his mind at ease and mine, too.  Thanks for being here and not saying anything to anybody about my condition.”

“That’s not who I am,” she said softly, tightening her grip on his hand.  “I think you’d know that by now.”

“I do,” he said softly, nodding as she leaned into him, placing a kiss to his cheek.  “You’ve got me through a lot of rough spots.”

She nodded, turning her attention to his face, studying his gaze.  “We’ve got a long journey, but I’m not backing out of this; I’m not leaving until I know you’re free of this disease.”

He swallowed, eyes falling back to their linked hands.  “I’d like for you to stick around long after that, too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Hey, Jace?  The guys are here – they brought a whole shitload of gifts.”  Justin stepped through the studio door, Lauren sliding her hand out of his grasp as she got up, helping him stand by his elbow.  “Lauren, can you go help my mom for a minute?  I’ll make sure his string bean ass doesn’t fall down the stairs.”

She nodded, squeezing his elbow gently before stepping away, slowly disappearing out of his sight as he sighed, looking over at Justin.  “What?”

“I totally just cock-blocked you, didn’t I?”  Justin grinned, helping JC maneuver himself away from the piano bench.  “Sorry if I did …”

JC scoffed.  “I’m four months into battling Leukemia, J; I think the AML is my cock-block.”

“Well, with three more guys in the house; be prepared for a lot of cock-blocking.”

JC laughed, gripping the doorknob as he felt the floor slip slightly beneath him.  “Whoa …”

Justin grabbed him around the waist as his friend teetered, gripping the doorframe after the doorknob failed to give him leverage.  “Are you all right?”

JC nodded.  “I think I let myself do too much too fast.”

“Well, from now until lunch, I don’t want you leaving the couch, all right?”

“You’re saying it as if I’m grounded.”

“No, you’re couched; grounded would be if your ass would be falling to the ground … which is something I’m trying to avoid.”

“Justin –“

Justin paused from holding onto JC as he settled himself back onto his two feet, looking at the older man as he suddenly looked another ten years older than he had been.  “Yeah, C?”

“Thank you … for everything.”

“You say that as if it’s gonna be the last time you’ll be able to tell me,” Justin said, raising an eyebrow as he swallowed roughly, “c’mon now, no more of that.  You know there’s no one else’s vomiting ass I’d take care of, so take that into consideration.” “Aye, aye, Timberlake.”

“Salute me and I’m putting my foot up your ass.”

JC chuckled, letting Justin hold onto the small of his back at the t-shirt he wore as they climbed the stairs slowly.  He was going to enjoy today; something told him it’d be the last one he’d enjoy for a while.

JC groaned.  “God, anything but that …”

“Take necessary precautions,” she warned, “I’ll be back in a little to check on you; the pan is right next to you if you start to feel sick.”

He nodded, still lying with his arm over his face.  “God, I want to be normal again.”

Justin giggled, causing JC to look at him incredulously.  “Jace, when were you ever normal?”

“I’ll say it again,” JC said softly, eyes fluttering shut as he took in the port and the medication, feeling slightly weak, “I hate you.”

Justin grinned, reaching over and grabbing the magazine as he watched his friend struggle with nausea and exhaustion – it was a normal thing, nothing neither of them were concerned about; the only thing that concerned both of them was the three-hour treatment time.  JC, especially.  “You know,” Justin stated, looking up from the front cover of the magazine, “you could possibly face having a tattoo after this.”

“Like hell I would,” JC responded quickly, “the only time I’ll ever face a needle after this is to make sure this shit is gone and out of my system completely.”

“Concurred,” Justin stated, licking his finger to aid in turning the pages that stuck together, gasping inwardly as he took in a small snippet of an article about a quarter-page in length mentioning both he and JC.

“Would this friend happen to be Justin Timberlake?”

JC chucked a bit, glancing over at Justin who was now suddenly more intrigued than ever.  “Well, it’s been Justin since the beginning; he was actually the first person I told … mind you, it was days after I found out and disappeared but shortly after my parents knew and came in, so did the rest of the guys.  They’ve all been a pretty big support system; Justin, especially.”

“I’m sure you’re grateful …”

“More than you’d ever know, Ryan,” JC said, glancing over as Lauren stepped into the room, placing a coffee in front of Justin and a small cup of water in front of JC.  “He’s always been like my little brother.  Of course, you’d think it’d be the other way around, but I’ll take whatever I can get.”

“Even after the falling out the two of you had?”

JC chuckled.  “It’s really crazy what people find out, you know that, right?  And yes, even after that.  Even if we were on the “I hate you” terms, which we never were, I’d still be there for him and I’d like to think he would be there for me.”

“How are you feeling now?”

“So-so,” he frowned.  “I had a bad couple of weeks but I’m now just starting to feel like I have a bad cold – and I’ll welcome that with open arms over how horrible I was feeling before.  I’m still going to have to have a bone marrow transplant so I can’t press how important it is to donate blood – if people find matches, lives can be saved.  Possibly mine.”

Possibly mine.

Justin heard nothing else after that sentence, watching his friend speak with what strength he had, eyes every so often glancing to Lauren who was now tending to something with her own phone or to him – he attempted to look busy, but he always just ended up watching him.

He leaned back into the ever-so comfortable (sarcasm, much?) chair, eyes wandering to the television that was bolted into the wall, angled from the bed and just enough for him to feel like he was breaking his neck watching it, eyes bugging out of his head as he took in the photo of a blond-haired man with dates underneath his name. 

Rich Cronin
8.30.1974 – 1.15.10 

He looked over at Lauren, wide-eyed as he lifted his foot, kicking her shin gently as he gestured with his head towards the television.  She set her phone down on the end of the bed, eyes scanning over Justin and towards the television.  As she turned to read, the closed caption followed with the changed picture, it now footage of he and his group performing years ago. 

"Cronin battled the disease Acute Myelogenous Leukemia, also known as AML – a cancer that affects the myeloid line of blood cells for nearly five years before losing his battle in a treatment center in Boston after suffering a stroke resulting from the illness.  Cronin’s group toured years ago with *NSYNC, whose 1/5 of the group revealed on-air only moments ago to our own Ryan Seacrest that he, too, is battling AML …"

 “Whoa, what –“

Justin startled, fumbling for the remote and shutting the television off, looking at JC as his eyes stayed glued to the blank screen, hand still gripping the phone as Ryan continued to speak on-air, JC oblivious to it all.  “What, Jace?”

“Ryan, I-I’ve gotta call you back,” he said nearly robotically, hanging up his phone and letting it limply drop into his lap, eyes slowly welling up with tears.  “Cronin had AML?”

Justin looked helplessly at Lauren, who had immediately gotten up, grabbing his arm at the wrist and shoulder with her hands, using the hand that gripped his shoulder to gently knead into his skin.  “He got sick almost five years ago, Jace,” Justin said softly.  “He never took care of himself, you know that.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “No, I don’t!”  He slammed his body backward so that the bed frame slammed against the wall, startling Lauren who stepped away only momentarily.  “Did you know?!”

He looked at his friend, wild-eyed and hysterical, gripping the thin bed sheets as Lauren tried to calm him, her face at his ear and speaking softly.  “Jace, I –“

“For fuck’s sake, Justin, did you know?!”

He cringed, licking his lips and swallowing slowly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I did.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Jace, he’s not you, all right?  He’s not you!”  Justin got up, gripping his friend’s shoulder and staring him square in the eye, willing him to believe what he said.  “You’re not gonna lose your battle, all right?  I’m not gonna let you be like him –“

 “I might as well be!  Damnit, look at me!  I’m a walking corpse!”  He pressed his hands into his eyes, dry sobs escaping his mouth as Lauren wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squared his body so that he faced her, pulling him against her.  He reached between them, his phone gripped in his hand for only a few moments before he threw it away from him and against the wall, it shattering.

Justin met her eyes, helpless as she nodded towards the door.  “Go get a nurse,” she mouthed, “he needs to talk to someone.”

He pointed at her, she shaking her head. 

“Just go.”

He pushed himself away from the chair, walking quickly out of the room and heading towards the nurse’s station, his sobs heard all the way down the hall.  “I need a doctor for Josh Chasez’s room –“

The nurse jumped to alert, seeing the frustrated tears in Justin’s eyes.  “Is he all right?  Do I need to page Dr. Kleinfield?”

He swallowed again, shrugging his shoulders.  “I don’t know, I – I don’t know what to do; one minute he’s talking on the phone and the next we’re seeing on tv that a guy we used to tour with died of the same disease and he’s freaking out … he’s hysterical.”

“He’s gonna need sedated,” she said softly, quickly moving from behind the station and picking up the phone that rested on the counter between she and Justin.  “This is Nurse Halloway in the Oncology Unit – I need Dr. Kleinfield to JC Chasez’s room, room 518 as soon as possible.”  She reached forward, pushing Justin towards JC’s room, they both entering as JC’s sobs echoed throughout the room.   Within moments of walking through the door, Nurse Halloway turned in a quick pivot, running down the hallway and leaving Justin and Lauren there.

“Jace, sweetheart, can you breathe for me, huh?”  Lauren pulled herself away enough to look at his face, he attempting to catch his breath but hyperventilating instead.  “C’mon, honey, inhale, exhale.  Just breathe.”  She cupped his face in her hands, urging him to follow her breathing methods.  “C’mon, Jace …” Justin was pushed aside as Nurse Halloway and Dr. Kleinfield came in, watching as she helped Lauren guide him into a lying position, one hand still pressing roughly into his eye as the other was gripped by Lauren, Nurse Halloway prepping his skin, stepping away as Dr. Kleinfield held tightly to JC’s arm as he tried to rip it away.  Justin cringed as he watched him literally stab it into his flesh, feeling slightly light-headed.

“It’s gonna be okay, Joshua,” he said softly, patting his arm as he quickly faded into a twilight-like state, eyes heavy and body nearly limp.  Turning to Justin, he nodded his head towards the hall, asking the man to follow him. Once they reached the hall, Justin leaned up against the wall near JC’s room, crossing his arms and studying the doctor.  “Is he gonna be okay?”

“He’ll be sedated for a few hours,” Dr. Kleinfield said, nodding as he reached for the clipboard on JC’s wall.  “You are his acting Patient’s Advocate, am I correct?”

Justin nodded.  “Yeah, he made me aware of that about a month ago.”

Dr. Kleinfield flipped open the chart, sighing as he made some notes on the paper before speaking again.  “His condition isn’t getting any better, but it’s not getting that much worse, either.  I’m concerned he’s getting an infection and his immune system is not strong enough to fight it without our proper care.  I want to admit him.  Today.”

Justin nodded.  “Okay.  You gotta do what is best for him –“

“And I want to start a different approach with his chemotherapy.  It’s going to be rough on him and he may end up having not strength at all.  This approach is called a 7+3; we’re going to have the cytarabine given as the continuous IV infusion for seven days and the anthracycline for three as the push for the cytarabine.  I would like to keep him in the hospital when these are being done due to his low tolerance with the environment and his weakened state but I need you to sign forms so that we can place him in immediate care.”

Justin sighed deeply, running a hand over his closely-shaved head.  “This is going to work, right?  I mean, the last chemo treatments weren’t; this will, right?”

Dr. Kleinfield placed the chart back in the holder after he finished making notes, placing a hand on Justin’s shoulder.  “There is a 70% going rate of remission with patients that take this approach, Justin.  While I am optimistic that this will work for him once we strengthen his body, I cannot promise you that he’d be in the 70%.”

“Do you think he will be?”

He stopped from taking a step into the room, taking a look at the now sleeping JC and the concerned Advocate that stood in the hall.  “Do I think he will be?”  When Justin nodded, he pursed his lips, weighing his options and the pros and cons of the battle the younger man had already gone through.  “If this infection doesn’t beat him to hell and back, yes.”


Justin nodded.  That’s all he needed to hear.   “I’m removing myself as his personal homecare nurse.”

He looked up over JC’s bed at Lauren who sat vigil on his other side, JC asleep for the last hour and a half.  “What?  Why?!”

Lauren bowed her head as she held JC’s hand in her hands, studying the creases in both of their skins.  “Because I’ve gotten too close to him for me to view him as a patient,” she said softly, “I care about him, Justin; I care about him more than I did with any other patient I’ve had.”

He couldn’t help but smile a little, ducking his head before she’d notice the “I knew it” look on his face.  “Okay,” he said softly.  “I’ll call and have them send someone else in.”

“It better be a woman.”

Justin let out a breathy laugh, looking up at JC’s coming-to face.  “Hey, Chasez.  Welcome back to the land of the calm.”

“Why do I feel like I got hit by a garbage truck?”

Justin watched him rub his eyes, bothered by the bright fluorescents.  “Well, it’s cause you did.  You saw a little boy playing in the highway and a truck was coming and then – boom!  Garbage truck.”

“Timberlake, don’t quit your day job, all right?”

He grinned.  “Seriously though; you went a little crazy with the news of Rich’s passing.”

“I think you would, too … given the circumstances of your own prognosis.”

“Jace, you and Rich are two completely different people with two completely different prognosis’s,” Lauren said softly, gripping his hand, “while he may not have been able to beat it the second go-round, you can beat it the first time.”

“God, I hope so.  I’m not ready for my media-related obituary.”

“Like I said before,” Justin noted, “94, not 34.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said softly, looking upward as he sighed deeply.  “So when do I get out of this shithole?”

“Yeah, here’s the thing,” Justin said, JC’s face snapping to his, “you’re gonna be in here for like, eleven days.”

He attempted to sit up quickly, freezing as he let his body drop back down in exhaustion.  “Whyyyyy …”

“They’re changing the chemo,” Justin said, nodding at the cart that would soon be holding the IV drip that would be connected to his port, “seven full days of chemo, three days of a pusher.  One day to settle back into routine and then you’ll have a week of being a hermit, a week of “okay” time and then back here to repeat the process.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Justin chuckled, seeing the look of disbelief on his face.  “I’m not.  Jace, this chemo has a great remission-rate; we need to at least try it and see what happens.  Besides, Dr. Kleinfield feels you’re getting an infection – the longer you stay here, the better.  It’s safer here than it is in that apartment where God-knows-what is flying around in the air.”

“Great rate, huh?”

He nodded.  “70%.”

“That’s better than nothing.”

“Better than what you were at with the other chemo.”

“Right.  Then why not use that one, first?”

“Because it’s successful, just in certain people, I guess.  It’s rate is pretty high, too; you’re just not responding quick enough to it.”

“I’d say five months isn’t quick enough.”

Justin smiled, patting his foot as he leaned back.  “Now get some rest.  I’ve gotta go back to the apartment and make a few calls while putting your shit together.  I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Justin, you can just stay there –“

He shook his head, holding a hand up to silence him.  “I’ll have you know, I ordered a very comfortable cot to sleep in for those eleven days.  Just as Lauren has.  We’re here with you all week, bucco!”

JC groaned, Lauren shooting him a look.  “Hey, your company is always welcomed; eleven days with him in the same small room is asking for somethin’ …”

“Somethin’ amazing!”

“Oh, go away, Timberlake …” Justin grinned, knocking on the wooden threshold and saying goodbye before leaving.  He began to feel optimistic.  “This is gonna work,” he said as he walked down the hall, getting a small smile from Nurse Halloway as he waved, “this is gonna work.”

Mike sat down in his chair, setting the stack of papers down and studying his client.  “How is he doing?”

Justin shrugged a bit, giving him a so-so motion with his hand.  “Still battling the infection but he’s a trooper; the doctor said once it’s out of his system, he’ll probably beat this.  His prognosis is good once he’s completely out of the woods.”

“And how long is that hike through the woods?”

“Days, weeks,” Justin frowned, “it’s not something they can really give a guesstimate on.  His immune system is weak; who knows how long it’ll take for it to fight it off.  He’s so doped up on medications right now that all he does is sleep and throw up.  I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know which end is up … but he pushed me to go and do this so I have to – at least half to attempt it.”

“I can’t imagine what you are going through … what he is going through,” Mike said sadly.  “I pray he does pull through quickly; God knows he’s probably going crazy on the inside after what happened to Rich.”

Justin nodded.  “He had a meltdown of sorts but doctors quickly sedated him.  I kind of wished they let him ride it out, though; I feel as if he hasn’t had a chance to even show a bit of emotion since he’s been in the hospital and that’s what he is: a glass case of emotion.  I feel like they super glued him shut so he couldn’t and for him, that’s not healthy.”

“I know you wish you could be there, but –“

Justin shook his head, silencing the man who was only a few years older than himself.  “I need to be there, but I know I have other things I need to take care of, and –“

Mike held his hand up, stopping Justin in mid-sentence.  “Now, why do you think you need to be there?  I mean, I know, if I were in your shoes, I’d be probably feeling the same way, but I’ve never been and I’m trying to understand.  He was your former bandmate, right?  He isn’t blood –“

“He is blood,” Justin corrected.  “Just because he and I aren’t from the same blood line doesn’t mean he and I aren’t family.  I’ve known him more than eighteen years, Mike; we’ve been through hell and high water together and this just seems to be the rougher part of hell. It’s almost second-nature for me to want to be there to help in any way I can.  And I just want you to know that if something happens and I hear the word, I’m not even apologizing; I’m taking the next flight out to Tennessee and all of my duties here are forgotten.”

Mike’s expression was unreadable but Justin didn’t care.  Watching as he stared down at all the paperwork he had scattered on the desk, Mike’s eyes went back and forth as he re-read the words, finally sinking down into his chair and looking back up at Justin.  “Who is with him, now?”

Justin leaned back into the soft reclining chair, head resting at the top of it as he closed his eyes.  “The nurse JC hired, Lauren, and Joey is coming in from Florida to stay for a bit.  After that, it’ll be between Lance and Chris.  They don’t want to leave him alone – his parents’ are there, too but unfortunately, JC made it clear the other day he didn’t want them to see him like that and it was better for them to be around but away at the same time so they’ve been respecting his wishes and worrying from a rented apartment a few streets down from his own.”

Mike nodded.  “Justin, I really am sorry he’s facing this and I’m taking you away from it, but –“

“Business is business, I know,” he said sadly.  Mike nodded in response as he slid a piece of paper for Justin to review, turning his head and looking out the window of his office.  “If I could work magic, you know I would.  He’s a great guy; it’s not something I’d wish on him.  Hell, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

Justin gave a sad smile, half-heartedly looking at the paper.  He had numerous interviews lined up and he knew most, if not all, of the questions that would be asked would be pertaining to he and JC, to JC’s motive for up and leaving, and to JC finally coming out and stating he had been sick and diagnosed.  Maybe he wasn’t ready for this. 

“Easy there, killer,” Lauren said softly, hand resting on JC’s back as he wretched once more into the small pan that he angrily dissed each and every time he retched violently from the side effects of the chemo and medication.  This given time, as his last retch racked in his body, his fists hit the sides of the bed in what strength he had, he groaning in anger and disgust as he fell weakly back into the pillows. “You okay? Want some ice?”

“No,” he murmured, “I want a toothbrush. I want toothpaste. I want a bottle of Jack and I want a shot gun.”

Lauren frowned as she took in his pale skin, a strong contrast to the darkness circling his eyes and the gloomy gray-blue of his eyes.  He was bettering as the days went on; his immune system was settling, the infection was slowly going away and he seemed to be accepting this chemo a lot better than other patients she had witnessed – but it was still tough on his already weak and fragile body. It was tough for her to see him go through it. “I can give you the first two,” she said softly, hand reaching up and taking the cool cloth, wiping his face gently to rid it of the sweat and anything that may have been left behind when he was retching, “but I am not giving you the last two.”

He groaned in response, letting his eyes flutter closed as her hand touched his face once more, skin soft and warm against his clammy and cool skin.  After a few moments, he felt her place his toothbrush and toothpaste into his hand, closing his fingers around them.  It was a struggle, but he managed to at least clean his teeth and rid his mouth of the sour taste in his mouth after a few minutes.  Once she took his toothbrush and the toothpaste away, settling back into the chair beside him, he suddenly felt the need to speak to her.  “Lauren?”

Her hand continued to gently caress his skin at his cheekbone, she leaning into him to hear his quiet voice.  “Hmm?”

His eyes slowly opened and closed, he struggling to maintain focus as exhaustion once more settled into his bones.  “Thank you.  For everything.  What you do and who you are mean a lot to me.”  His eyes slid shut again, he unaware of the woman quickly wiping away tears that had formed by his genuine remark.  He had chickened out with what he really wanted to say, the word vomit spilling out before his emotions got the better of him, he somewhat relieved, though confused as to why he was suddenly so scared to say what was on his mind – especially when it dealt with matters of the heart. 

He knew the night before, while he battled nightmare after nightmare from his rampant-running imagination and the inability to keep himself sane that he had not only started to fall for the beautiful woman who sat up with him, comforted his shaking body as fear washed over him once more and gently ran her hands over his head, saying soothing words to him in ways that he imagined only a mother and lover could – he had fallen in love with her. 

And perhaps his nightmares had been the reason why he chickened out in the first place.  Who would want someone who was pretty much sitting on his death bed telling them he loved them for the first time?  Especially since it probably wouldn’t last long? 

He nearly jumped when he felt her thumb smooth the skin between his eyebrows, gently pressing into it.  “Stop thinking so much,” she said softly, voice scolding, “you’re giving yourself premature wrinkles and too much worry lines.”

His eyes opened, the fight for sleep definite now as they weighed down with every passing second.  “I worry all the time, Lauren,” he murmured, “my mind runs at a million miles an hour and I can’t do anything to stop it.  I worry about everything anymore.”

“You need to stop worrying and just concentrate on getting better,” she scolded, “let me do the worrying and you do the healing.”

He smiled slightly, shaking his head.  “If only it were that easy.”

“It is easy,” she said, squeezing his hand, “you just gotta get it in your mind that you are going to beat this.  Everything else will fall into place soon after.”

He was quiet once more, sighing deeply as he concentrated on the roar of his stomach from not being able to have a proper meal.  Everything will fall into place shortly after.  But what if it was too late for “shortly after”?  What if it was already too late? 

“Joshua, what did I say?  Stop thinking about it so much.”

What if it was too late for anything? 

His eyes shot open, suddenly not tired at all and not wanting to ever close his eyes ever again.  He felt the tightness in his chest form, his breaths short as he tried to concentrate on calming himself down, the sudden feeling of paranoia chilling him to the bone.  His hand shot out, gripping onto hers as his body shot up, feeling as if he were going into an asthma attack.  His anxiety attacks where slowly becoming few and far between, but as of late, they seemed to be longer and more strenuous than the one before.  “I can’t … breathe,” he spat out, gasping as Lauren jumped up, grabbing the oxygen mask that was hanging on the railing of the bed, sitting beside him on the bed and putting the mask to his face, speaking quietly to him as her hand ran gently up and down his back.

He had never been able to grasp what theatrics were involved in actors in movies when they went through attacks.  Theatrics being the only word he knew of since no one he knew suffered from them – until he started having them himself.  It was almost like a theatrical set: dramatic, unaware, unsure – he never knew when they would hit and how long they would last but they were a scene to see (he was sure of it) when they happened.  Though he knew they were less violent than they had been since he got diagnosed (broken bottles and a ripped apart room ring a bell?), they were more self-deprecating than he liked – they came more than he liked. 

It was his mind that brought them on; the thoughts that ran around his brain like a track or a broken record, repeating what if’s and digging him into a deep bout of paranoia than he preferred.  The sudden thoughts of his death, of his sudden fall into an even worse illness or even worse, infection, ran through his mind continuously.  What if he fell asleep and never woke up?  What if the infection he was battling was in some sort of a hibernation stage and came back so bad that he couldn’t fight it and ended up dying without being able to say goodbye and have some sort of closure?  What if he would never see the end of this?  What if this was his life and it would never be the same?

He struggled with his breaths, pulling at the mask and pushing it harder into his skin as he struggled to get the air into his lungs and help them expand, feeling light-headed as he continued to fight.  He finally took that one, welcoming breath that was enough to keep a good amount in his body as he fought again to pull more air in, Lauren urging him to continue inhaling deeply.  And just like that, with one more sharp, almost painful (well, everything was painful these days) intake, he finally got some of his bearings back, gripping the sheets at his side and steadying himself, letting the oxygen from the mask do some of the work as he closed his eyes, hiccupping  from his hysterical breathing.