Drunk. He remembers being pleasantly drunk. That nice fuzzy buzzing feeling in the back of his skull. Pleasant. No coke that night. No acid, no smack. Clean and pleasant.

And rain. Too much rain, actually. They shouldn’t have been driving. He knows this now. It was stupid. But they had been young (Lance, just 23), reckless, convinced of their own invincibility. Death was a foreign, distanced concept.

Then suddenly- what? Screaming. JC’s. Lance watch out watch out hit the brakes god damnit hit the fucking brakes. The screech of burning rubbers.

And then- the crash. Metal giving into metal. And pain, and pain- painpainpainpainpainpainpainpain nothing.

He stares moodily into his coffee, a slight frown etching across his powdery face, his green eyes darkening with the memory. He runs his fingers through his hair, not yet gelled, and what? What had made him think of it again? The accident, he avoided it at all costs, he hated it. So what had made him think of it?

“You’re awake?” Chair legs scraping floorboards as JC pulls a chair out from underneath the table and sits down next to him. “You’re never up this early.”

“Neither are you.” He says, forcing a smile for JC’s benefit. There is something. The forbidding feeling, the numbness in his fingertips. What is it? Something.

JC tilts his head. “Are you okay?” He asks and his tone startles Lance- worry. Why should JC be worried? Lance worries. He’s the worrier. And he’s worrying. Oh, Christ, is he worrying.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He says, shrugging off the sinister impressions. “I’m fine. Of course I’m fine.”

“‘Okay’ is a comfort. ‘Fine’ is not. You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”

Intuition. He remembers now why he hates JC’s fine-tuned perception of situations. “Well, I, no. Of course not.”

JC sighs. “Let’s go back to bed, Lance.” He says resignedly, getting to his feet, extending a hand. “It’s five in the morning after all.”

“We used to get up earlier than this, every day.” Lance points out, but he stands to join his husband. The something would wait.

“Not anymore, thank God, so let’s bless every day we wake up at eleven.” JC says, his long fingers twining with Lance’s, silky and warm.

Only thank God we survived, Lance reflects as he allows himself to be led out of the kitchen. It’s a miracle we survived.

The morning fog has not yet lifted, in fact has barely settled and everything is grey outside and Lance looks at it dispassionately because he has nothing else to look at.

It’s beautiful, he thinks and he can see the beach, the grey waves curling over the sand. It’s beautiful.

JC lies asleep beside him, his brown hair tousled and falling over his eyes, and Lance thinks fondly as he rolls over to look at him that he looks like a little boy, a child.

“I love you,” He says to the sleeping man. “I love you.”

“It’s a beautiful day, and I have made you a beautiful gourmet lunch!” JC announces triumphantly, placing a tray on the glass table on the porch. He sticks his head back inside, around the open screen door. “So get your ass out here, and bring the mayonnaise.”

“Sounds classy.” He mumbles as he picks up the mayonnaise and follows the brunette outside into the brilliant sunlight.

Baguette and margarine, with a tray of lettuce and cheeses and meats and tomatoes. “Must have taken you a long time, this.” Lance says, surveying the meal.

“How dare you insult me!” JC exclaims indignantly. “Why, I’ve been slaving away at this for hours!”

Lance smirks at his husband, then begins to slice the baguette. There it is again, that niggling something. What is it, oh, what the fuck is it? He just wants peace.

They eat in companionable silence, long past the stage where they chattered constantly merely to fill the noiseless holes.

“Did you ever think this would happen?” JC asks suddenly. “I did. I meant I didn’t think it would happen, but I hoped. I did hope.”

“What would happen?” Lance asks blankly. He had almost remembered what had made him remember. Almost.

“This.” JC makes a wide, sweeping gesture. “Me. You. Us. This house, this life- our life. Our fairy-tale ending. Did you ever think you’d live happily ever after?”

He thinks about this, then shrugs. “No.” He admits. “No. I didn’t. I thought that only applied to heterosexual medieval couples. Couples like Snow White and Prince Charming, both who, may I add, were probably idiots and snobs.”

JC laughs. “You’re such a fucking cynic, Bass.” He says fondly, and kisses Lance’s forehead. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” He hesitates, then- “Do you, do you think we could go this weekend? To the orphanage?”

JC nods. “Yeah. We’ll go tomorrow, alright, love? We’ll go tomorrow. And I’m going to the gym now, okay? I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“Okay.” They’d been thinking of adopting a child ever since they exchanged vows, and finally they’ve decided they want to do it. Lance feels his smile widen at the thought of a daughter, a son. A child. His child. Their child.

JC kisses him again, and then is gone.

The doorbell is ringing, and he can see golden curls. “Hi, Justin.” He says as he opens the door.

Justin shakes the plastic bags in his hands. “I brought the groceries.” He says, walking past him into the house. He doesn’t comment on the state of disarray, merely puts the bags on the counter and begins to put things away, methodically.

“Thanks, Justin. You’re a real life saver. I had today off, I could have done it myself, but thanks anyway. It’s really kind of you to do this for us.”

Justin looks at him quizzically, opening his mouth as if to say something, then stops, frowning. “I, ah, yeah. No problem. Yeah. No problem.”

“You know it’s the strangest thing.” Lance says, feeling the need to tell someone. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. The crash, I mean. Just thinking how lucky it is we survived.”

Justin moves up to him, presses his hand against his forehead.

“Uh.. Justin? What are you doing?” Lance asks, backing away.

“You’re feeling okay?” Justin asks, looking at him with concern. “Not feverish? Not nauseous? Did you take your medicine today?”

“Medicine?” He asks in confusion. “Justin, what’re you talking about?”

Justin’s face goes slack, his eyes widen with disbelief. “Shit.” He mumbles, hurrying to the phone and beginning to dial a number.

“Who are you calling?” Lance asks. He’s worried. What’s wrong with Justin? Maybe this is what has been bothering him all day.

“Dr. Kastendiack.” Justin says, chewing on his nail.

“Who?” Lance repeats in exasperation. He sighs. “Look, JC will be home soon, he’s just at the gym. Why don’t you- why don’t you just drink something, and wait for him to come back? Okay? Let’s just wait for JC. I’ll call him on his cell.” And while he is speaking Justin is muttering into the phone.

Justin hangs up the phone, then leaves the room, only to return with a small orange bottle clutched in his hand. “Here- Lance- I need you to take this-” he says, fumbling with the bottle cap.

“Justin, what is this shit?” He finally snaps, yanking the bottle from the blond’s hand. “Bass? Justin, that’s not my name! How old is this shit?” He checks the date, then frowns. “Wait. What? That says this year. Last month. What the hell? This is wrong. I’ve never seen this bottle in my life. Where’d you get this?”

“The bathroom. Take it, please take it.” Justin says, a note of pleading in his voice. “Just take the pill.”

“I’m waiting until JC gets home. Maybe then he can tell me what the fuck is going on.” Lance says firmly.

Justin looks at him desperately. “Lance,” He says quietly. “Lance, JC’s dead. He died twelve years ago in the car accident. You were drunk, and it was raining, and you hit another car. He died, Lance. JC’s dead.”

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