The Lighter Side of Darkness

"Pretty cool, huh?" Joey remarked. He hummed beneath his breath as the band began a familiar pop tune.

Lance nodded, shaking off the weird feeling creeping on the back of his neck and tilting his head up to gaze at the sheets draped across the ceilings. They rippled slightly in the breeze drifting through the open doors which lined the front of the ballroom, facing a wide lawn which turned into a beach of soft sand and open waters, docks extending like fingers into the lake's depths.

The walls, like the ceilings, and all the other surfaces he'd seen, were draped with sheets as well. The woman who'd introduced herself as Clara Rhodes had explained with a charming smile that, while time had permitted that everything be cleaned, renovations would begin in the future.

But she'd done well with what she'd had. Small, Chinese lanterns were strung along the ceiling and walls in readiness to be lit when the sun set. Which it was close to doing now, Lance observed, taking a sip of the punch he held as he watched the sinking sun paint the sky in washes of color and clouds.

People milled around the room, talking about the plans tacked up on the walls. Lance had examined them himself and was impressed with their ambitions. And they had guts to invite all these people.

He smiled slightly, amused by the contrast of everyone dressed in their finery, moving among the cloth-draped rooms. They were free to go wherever they wished in the huge house or the grounds, including the kitchen, where baskets of fruit and other foods were set up. Even now, he saw actors and other personages that he'd met over the years carrying around handfuls of grapes and munching self-made cold-cut sandwiches.

"Hungry?" Chris asked, coming up on his right balancing a plate of cheese and fruit. "You haven't eaten since this morning."

Lance shrugged with an amused smile. "Some. I'll eat later."

"Can you believe how big this place will be after they get finished?" Joey asked contemplatively. "But it'll be nice."

Lance glanced towards the plans again, which included the addition of a whole new wing to one side of the house for housing requirements.

"Very," he agreed.

"We're very wordy tonight, aren't we?" Chris observed, smirking slightly.

"Quite," Lance responded dryly. Chris nudged him in the ribs.

"Think we'll get laid tonight?" he asked archly.

"Since you have a girlfriend who would kick your ass and we're not in Hawaii, I think that's a 'no' for you, Chris," Joey interrupted. "As for me, I think all the chicks in this room are over the age of thirty. And all the hot actresses are either married or attached. One reason why business things suck."

"Thanks for that brilliant observation, Joseph," Chris complimented. "Though if you looked hard enough you'd have found the personal assistants and secretaries that some of the guys and old girls brought along."

Joey froze with his punch halfway to his mouth, raising an eyebrow. "Personal assistants and secretaries?"

"Yup. Don't they call those 'pools'?" Chris snickered.

Lance smiled and rolled his eyes. "Please, no encouragement."

Chris waved an arm around. "We need one of those signs, like they have at the zoo. Like no feeding the monkey." He suddenly jerked Joey's plate away from him, causing the younger man to choke on his yelp of outrage and bite of cheese.

"Chris, man, don't make me--"

"Look, Lance, the closest thing to man in our evolution," Chris stated clinically with a grin, holding Joey's plate out of reach as the other man tried to grab it back.

Lance shook his head. "Quit teasing monkey boy," he reproved absently, staring up at the ceiling as the lanterns began to glow faintly, chasing back the encroaching darkness. Must be electrical.

Chris stopped teasing Joey, turning to stare at Lance. "Since when did you become the voice of reason?"

"I was always a voice of reason," Lance looked at his friend with a grin. "JC was just the voice of boring so you didn't notice mine."

"I heard that."

Lance looked over his shoulder, watching JC munch on slices of apple. "I know."

"Don't pretend to be innocent. At least face up to your own tendencies in private, or things might begin to slip out," Chris wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

Lance shrugged. "What things would those be?"

"That you're not the sweet, innocent mama's boy everyone thinks you are. Not only do your clothes have wrinkles, you also have some dirty laundry," Chris declared righteously.

Lance's lips twitched. "Who do you think they'd believe, you or me? Especially when I do the face." He widened his eyes, pasting an innocent, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth expression.

Chris glared at him. "I hate you," he stated serenely.

"Same here, gramps," Lance chuckled. "Not my fault you look evil even when you're sleeping."

"Do not."

"Do too," Joey countered. "We have pictures. And video."

Chris grunted, shoving a whole orange half in his mouth. He was silent a moment, mouth working at high speed.

Lance switched his gaze out over the crowd, feeling the back of his neck prickle again. He turned in a half circle, watching the crowd part and merge, groups mingling and talking.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of light on black, his heart jumping, and jerked to attention, scanning the cluster of people near the door of the ballroom.

An older woman laughed, throwing her head back, and the black, beaded dress she wore glinted in the light.

Lance frowned and shook his head sharply, coming back to earth when Chris's garbled command reached his ears.

"Wanshhe, man, whook."

Lance blinked as Chris grinned hugely at him, small pieces of orange pulp dangling over his lip, cheeks bulging as he smiled around the orange wedged in his mouth.

"Very nice," he murmured sarcastically.

"Fhassh wou. Nwow 'elpsh eee ghetsh outsh."

Joey slapped the back of Chris's head obligingly, the orange popping out like a mini-cannonball to land on the floor.

They all looked down at the piece of fruit.

Justin strolled over to them, peering down at the item on the floor. "I'm not touching it," he announced before wandering away.

Chris looked at it contemplatively. "It looks sort of like a football."

"Don't even think about it. Betcha they have a dungeon to lock people in," JC warned, trying not to laugh.

Chris stared around, intrigued. "I wonder if we could find it. Let's go, Joey."

"We'll never see them again," JC mumbled, then grinned. "I'm in the mood to celebrate."

Lance smiled back absently, scanning the room again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She strode over the gravel path, heart pounding. A slight tug in direction kept her on the path until it turned into dirt smoothed by countless feet and hooves. She gripped the harness a little tighter as her companion came to a halt, waiting patiently.

She reached out and found the hard wooden door, searching briefly, and found the iron handle worn by many hands. It gave beneath her tugging hand, swinging open with a soft groan.

A familiar nicker greeted her, and she dropped the harness, moving by feel until she encountered the side of the stalls.

Reina neighed questioningly.

"Yeah, yeah, I know I said I'd be back tomorrow," Abby murmured. "I just needed a little support now," she sighed. Her fingers found the latch, swinging open the top gate.

A warm nose nuzzled her neck, and the mare hit the side of the stall gently with her shoulder, giving it a slight kick to communicate her desires. Abby smiled wanly, rubbing the area between the horse's ears. "You want out in the field?"

Another snort.

Shakespeare whined, brushing against her calf. The straw scattered on the floor rustled as he raced around briefly.

Abby shook her head, not understanding his strange antics.

"Enough, Shakespeare," she told him impatiently. "Go lay down."

Shakespeare yelped softly, then began a series of high-pitched yipping that made her wince.

"Shakespeare!" she snapped sharply. The yipping turned into a long howl, and she sighed, throwing the latch on the bottom part of the stall.

Shakespeare made another pained sound as Reina danced out of her stall, and Abby started as she felt him dart around her legs, his leash almost tripping her.

She made a belated grab for the leash, cursing him.

A sharp clink, and the door creaked as Shakespeare bounded away.

Abby stood frozen for a moment, then groaned, momentarily distracted from her worries. "Shakespeare!" she called.

No answer.

She cursed again. The mare snorted, tugging on the lead clipped to her halter. Abby frowned, then shook her head with a sigh, knowing he would come back when he decided she'd been punished enough for being stern with him. Had Sunny ever been that young?

Reina blew gently as they stepped outside into the paddock, tugging on the lead again. Abby reached up, fumbling with the spring-loaded catch before unclipping the lead. The mare shook herself once she was free, dancing away and beginning to gallop around the smaller field, working off excess energy.

Abby stood, listening with an inward sigh as her nervousness rolled back. She hadn't been able to work up the courage to approach him the whole night. Doubts ate at her.

They would be leaving tomorrow.

She leaned heavily against the side of the barn, the wood rough against her bare arms. She tilted her head back to stare towards the sky. She'd heard the other guests comment about the beauty of the stars that night.

Loneliness filled her. Oh, Lance. How do I do this?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lance shoved his hands in his pockets, moving away from the sounds of conversation and laughter in the ballroom and down the hallway, smiling and nodding to those he met without stopping for conversation of his own. Minutes later, he passed through the kitchen, momentarily deserted, and pushed open the screen door with a hushed squeak.

It slammed shut lightly behind him, and he paused, rocking back on his heels and drawing in deep lungfuls of cool night air. A cricket chirped faintly, stopping as he shifted, the boards sighing beneath his feet.

He stepped down, gazing up at the stars winking from the night-blanketed sky. They gleamed on the leaves dripping from the weeping willows that screened the beach to his left and populated the lawn to his right. The steps led down to something of a back garden, stones hop-scotching among the grass to disappear into the shadows of the trees.

Lance stopped when he reached the ground, looking back over his shoulder towards the light shining out of the kitchen. He raked his fingers through his hair before hooking them in his pockets again.

I should go back. They'd start to wonder where he went. The last thing he felt like was being chewed out for wandering away again without security. He took another few steps, then stopped.

Wimp. He smiled wryly, pivoting to go back in the house.

A soft jingle made him pause. He craned his neck around, peering into the moonlight and shadows.

"Is someone there?" he called.

Silence greeted him, but he could have sworn he was being watched. Lance rubbed the back of his neck with a snort. "You're imagining things," he told himself in a mutter.

The grass rustled, the soft jingling floating out to him again.

Lance turned around completely, eyes narrowing as he tried to see into the shadows. "Who's there?" he called again, more sharply.

A low bark made him jump. Then a whine as the grass rustled. A dark shadow passed through a patch of moonlight, then liquid eyes gleamed at him from a dozen feet away.

"Hey," Lance tried softly, holding out a hand. "Hey, pup. You lost? Or did I hear tags?"

The eyes tilted as a canine head cocked to the side, the shadows separating slightly as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The dog edged towards him, tags jingling merrily as his whole body wiggled, tail sweeping across the grass.

Lance smiled, approaching the dog cautiously with his hands in front of him. He squinted, making out the Labrador in the grass by his distinctive head and floppy ears.

"Hello," he greeted. "What are you doing out here? Where's your master?"

The ears suddenly perked, and the Lab whined softly.

Lance chuckled. "What was that, Lassie? Timmy fell down the well, you say? And Grandpa broke his leg?"

The head cocked again, the intelligent dark eyes asking him if he was right in the head.

"No, I'm not crazy," he told the dog. "Well, maybe just a little. But I have my reasons. What's your excuse?"

The dog barked sharply, suddenly leaping to its feet and darting into the trees, dragging something behind it.

Lance raised an eyebrow, hands on his knees as he paused in a half-crouch.

The shadow paused in the trees, circling back and forth and looking towards him almost anxiously.

"Hmmm, now, do I follow or do I stay here like a good pop star?" he wondered aloud.

The dog stared towards him, and shook its head sharply, sneezing. Then pranced off without looking back again.

Lance grinned. "Don't care, huh?" He brushed off his hands slowly, looking over his shoulder at the lights as he straightened.

Then shoved his hands in his pockets, whistling as he strolled after the animal he could still hear cavorting in the grass. "If you get me lost, I'm calling the pound," he told the dog.

A long howl greeted him, and he smiled. "Then don't get me lost."

Another sneeze. Lance followed the sounds, watching the dark shape move around the trees energetically. But it seemed to be moving with a direction in mind, so he continued to follow.

He looked down as his shoes crunched on finely ground gravel, the path winding around the trees, taking up where the round stones had left off.

Then the trees were gone, nothing but sand and water to his left. Lance watched the dark blur of the dog as it flipped sand up, racing around the beach briefly before leaping back onto the path several yards in front of him and disappearing into the trees. But it had been out long enough for him to see the jet black coat gleaming against the sand. He blinked, gazing out into the dark water, then turned back towards the yipping he could hear.

"You're not the non-verbal sort, are you?" he asked curiously, then caught his breath with surprise as a dark form hurtled directly across his path.

A snorting bark, gravel flying ahead of him.

Lance quickened his steps, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch.

And stopped abruptly, déjà vu sweeping over him as he examined the large, weathered barn towering above him.

He shook off the feeling, taking a deep breath. Stop it.

The building seemed deserted. Lonely. The large double doors hung slightly open, creaking gently in the breeze. Lance walked over to the fence, running his hand along the middle rail, which had fallen crookedly to rest one end on the ground, grass and weeds and wildflowers springing up around it.

He heard the jingling again, looking around in time to see a dark tail disappear around the side of the barn.

The wind sighed, and he looked upwards as wings flapped, a barn owl flying overhead.

Then sucked in a breath as a huge shadow loomed out of the darkness, plodding on silent hooves towards the fence.

Lance grabbed his thundering heart, taking another deep breath.

"I didn't expect you," he mumbled, eyeing the equine shape as it neared the fence confidently.

"You're not shy either," he commented softly. The horse raised its head, ears swiveling forward and backward. It entered the slanting moonlight.

Lance paused in the act of hooking an arm over the fence, his mind emptying briefly in a combination of surprise and disbelief.

"Reina?"

The ears pricked forward, a soft whicker of greeting leaving the sorrel mare as she put her scarred lips on his suit jacket, nibbling delicately.

He reached up a hand to touch the sorrel coat, running a hand over her scarred cheek. No, it was definitely her.

Deep, liquid brown eyes watched him curiously as he blanched, struggling to assimilate what was going on.

"Hello, Lance."

He closed his eyes as the soft, husky voice washed over him. No way. When did my life turn into a soap opera? A small, sarcastic voice asked. When you open your eyes again, she'll be gone.

He opened his eyes, his stomach in his throat and his heart somewhere near his toes as Abby stepped from darkness, swathed in pale blue silk and some floaty substance that made her look almost ethereal. Something from his dreams. As if she didn't actually exist.

His stunned reflection glared back at him from the mirrored lenses of her sunglasses as she stopped near the fence.

"Lance?"

He winced, dragging his eyes away from her and blinking quickly.

"Lance?" her voice was softer, and wavered as she continued. "Say something?"

He opened his mouth, looking at her again and meeting his own eyes. Without thinking, he reached out, taking the sunglasses from her nose and sliding them off gently.

Abby sucked in a brief, sharp breath, and flushed slightly.

Her lashes lifted, and he stared down into her familiar gaze, falling into a turmoil of emotion. And felt the warmth of her fingers touch his where they curled, white-knuckled, around the rail.

A warm body brushed past his leg, tags jingling, and Abby jerked back, looking down.

"Shakespeare--"

Lance looked down, seeing the Lab who'd led him on the chase.

"Shakespeare," he echoed softly. The black Lab plopped down on its rear in the moonlight, leash trailing in a tangled mess from the harness that jutted from his shoulders.

Lance took a careful breath, struggling with himself.

"Stay."

His head jerked around.

"Please," Abby whispered, paling slightly. "I have to talk to you."

You're a fool. "Then talk," he heard himself say.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abby opened her mouth, but nothing emerged. Her throat closed, patently refusing to emit any sounds. He was here. Was it a sign?

Her heart was pounding with a combination of fear and panic, edged with excitement. Excitement? I feel like I'm going to throw up.

She swallowed, almost unable to complete the motion.

"Nothing to say?"

The soft drawl caressed her ears, inviting her to say the words which would make everything all right again.

"Yes," she forced out. "I--I--" Panic seared her. You what?

Reina swung around, butting her in the chest, and Abby almost fell, stumbling back a step before grabbing the mare's neck. Once she had her grip, she buried her face in the horse's neck, taking deep breaths.

Yes, I am. Toss my cookies. Right on Lance's shoes. She groaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut. Okay, just be calm, tell him what he asked for at the house. Explain it to him so he'll understand. Let him see that you want him back. Want to try this. The thought was nerve-wracking, but the idea of never seeing him again was unthinkable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He'd never seen Abby so frightened. Not even that day before the bus when she'd been mobbed.

He reached out a hand to her, aching inside, stopping just short of touching her hair. She was clutching Reina like a lifeline. The fence was still between them, and he ducked between the slats, stopping again and chewing his lower lip uncertainly.

Abby shivered, her arms tightening around the mare's neck, and he did the only thing he could think of, slipping from the jacket he wore and dropping it around her shoulders.

Abby started around, eyes wide. He stopped the jacket from slipping to the ground, stopping her instinctive move away as well.

"Abby--" he stopped, at a loss as to what to say. He was still stunned by her appearance in his life. Again.

Her hands crept up, accepting the jacket and leaning against Reina for support. Lance refused to let her go quite that easily.

"Why?" he asked softly, his fists tightening in the fabric as he stepped closer.

Her eyes were wide, clear pools in her pale face, but they didn't give away her secrets.

He inhaled, smelling her unique scent mixed with the smells of the barn and horse.

"Why, Abigail?"

Her eyes closed, nostrils flaring slightly. And he had the strangest feeling she was doing the same thing he had. Goosebumps raced up his spine.

Her sudden, slight jerk freed her, and then she ducked under Reina's neck, putting the mare between them. She faced him from across the horse's back, one hand fisted in the jacket lapels, the other in Reina's mane.

She took a deep breath, eyes opening again.

"Shakespeare--he's--he's mine," she blurted. "I--he's my guide."

Lance looked at the animal. The Lab looked back at him curiously, its gaze switching to his mistress. And Lance could have sworn the animal almost looked sad. Shakespeare sneezed, laying down with his head on his paws, watching the exchange with uncharacteristic calm.

"A big name," was all he could comment. "He's…a character though."

Abby smiled tentatively. "It fits him, then."

"And the rest of this? Why are you here?"

Her head lowered so he couldn't see her face. "This--this all--it's mine."

Suspicions tickled him, and he rested his hands on Reina's back to steady himself. "The foundation," he stated softly.

She nodded jerkily. "Mine. I made it--for Sunny. For her memory. This is the place--the one I wasn't sure about--you all--you do charity, for children." She paused, taking a necessary breath. "This is for people like me. Or sick kids. For them."

Her head snapped up, jaw set firmly. "I made--I wanted something--this is mine. Like you have music and your business." A flicker of uncertainty passed over her face before she shook her head. "You were right about a lot of things--I wasn't involved. But I want to be…"

He rocked back on his heels, feeling light-headed. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, almost afraid to.

Her head tilted again, obscuring her eyes. "I--you were my friend, Lance."

"Yeah," he whispered. "We were."

"After--after you left--I knew--I--" she stumbled, and his breath caught when she looked up towards him, hope and pained pleading in her eyes.

"I was miserable," she whispered.

His eyes closed, bitter joy twisting through him.

"You--the others, they were my friends, but you--Lance--you were--different," she trailed off, her voice asking him to come to his own conclusions.

But he couldn't. He had to hear it from her. He had to hear the words.

"How? How was it different?"

Abby hesitated, faint panic on her face. "You made me happy. Happier than I'd ever been, even when I had Sunny." Her eyes closed. "Peace," her voice was almost inaudible. "I was--I knew peace with you." Even when I was so confused about you…

A feeling that could only be described as joy spiraled through him. But the contentment was short-lived as he grappled with her words.

"Then why?" he asked persistently. Something felt wrong, and it made him nervous.

"Why am I here?" she asked.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair in agitation. Then remembered who he was talking to. "Yes. Why here? Why now?"

She made a short, uncertain gesture. "I--did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" he asked just as softly.

"Mean everything?" Even the moonlight couldn't hide the color that filled her cheeks, and he smiled faintly.

"As much as I've ever meant anything, Abby."

"Then--then do you still mean it?"

He looked away from her. "It's not something I can just forget about," he admitted gruffly. "I don't know what you're asking me to say. Are you asking if I'm over you?" he asked bluntly.

Her shoulders hunched, and she refused to look up.

"No, Abby. The answer is no, much as I'd like it to be otherwise. It takes more than two weeks to get over--it takes longer than that." Lance sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I--I'm sorry."

He frowned. "That's--no, Abby, that's not something I want to hear from you. I'm not forcing feelings from you--"

Her head snapped up, her face lighting slightly. "No--that's--you're not, that's what I wanted to tell you…"

"Tell me what?" he asked quietly.

The light faded, replaced by frightened determination. "I decided--I didn't want to be like I was anymore. So careful with anything--everything. I hated what I was," she admitted almost inaudibly. "But I was too scared to make a change. Until you." The corners of her mouth tipped in a faint smile. "I owe you my thanks. I might never have seen things differently if you hadn't--if you hadn't had the guts to come after me."

Her voice was gaining strength, the words pouring from her as she tried to explain. Or was it convince? "I wanted to prove to everyone--you, that I could change. That you were right to--to want me. I don't want to--I--I never felt like I did when you left," she fumbled.

He was silent. Where's the happiness? He looked down. My feet feel numb he pondered idly. His whole body below his chin felt that way, oddly enough.

Abby paused for a breath, striving for calm. "Do you understand?" she asked, sounding uncertain. "I'm not very good at this--am I--am I doing it right?"

He took a deep breath, rocking back on his heels. "Yeah," he cleared his throat as it almost disappeared at the last. "Yeah, I understand…"

Relief filled her face. "I'm--I'm glad…"

Silence fell, and she looked at him questioningly. "What--what happens now?" she asked tentatively.

Tiny pinpricks of pain scattered over his chest as he continued to breathe.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. She doesn't love you. If she did, she would have said the words. If she really wanted you, she would say--she--she…who knows what she wants? Not me. She just doesn't want to be alone. How's that sound, Lance? You want to be her chosen warm body?

"You did this all for me?" he heard himself ask. He opened his eyes, memorizing her face, the fan of lashes over her cheeks, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she smiled uncertainly. I really do love you. Maybe in a different world, you would have loved me too.

"Yes--I wanted--"

"To prove it to me," he completed softly.

"Y-yes--" She could hear it in his voice, and frowned.

"Prove what to me, Abby girl?"

Her lips parted, but no words emerged. Instead, she just looked panicked.

His hope sighed along with his glum expectations. His jaw tightened.

"You want me now?"

Her eyes widened as he moved around Reina's bulk, spinning her around to face him and trapping her easily.

"You asked if I still wanted you," he told her gently. He cupped the softness of her cheek in his palm, feeling her shiver.

Lance closed his eyes, lowering his head so his temple rested against hers. He saw Shakespeare's eyes again. And had the feeling he would find himself watching her with the same expression if he succumbed to the urge to accept what she was willing to offer out of her own fear.

"I will always want you," he told her honestly. "But sometimes we can't have what we want."

She stiffened, and he slid his hand down to encompass her slender throat.

"What?" her strangled whisper reached his ears. "Lance--"

He pressed his thumb lightly against the pulse throbbing under the fragile skin. He took small comfort in the fact that her heart was racing almost as fast as his.

He allowed himself a moment longer to absorb her presence. This would have to last.

"I never wanted anything from you, Abby," he reminded her. "Nothing you can do will prove anything to me, I don't want you to. Reaching out has to be for yourself or it doesn't mean anything--" he sighed, shaking his head slowly so his temple rocked against hers.

Abby's hands came up, wrapping around his own, cold and clammy with nerves. "Lance--" she began desperately.

"You say you want me," he mused softly. "But that doesn't mean anything, really. There has to be more than want. There has to be…need. And there's only one reason why you'd need me. The only reason you want me is so you won't be lonely anymore. Do yourself a favor and get to know your dog. He's going to be with you awhile. And you don't have to spend so much money to try and prove yourself to him. Though it certainly accomplished things fast," he added, unable to stop himself as his hurt leaked through.

Lance pulled back, stroking a finger down her cheek. He couldn't quite look in her wide, stunned eyes, beginning to glimmer with unshed tears.

"Don't strap yourself to me. Eventually you'd regret it." He smiled faintly, the movement stiff. "It's easy to forget the strain my career creates in the heat of the moment. You want normalcy? You won't find it with me. More than likely, you're right about never knowing anyone enough to make it in the long run. We don't know each other," he shook his head slowly. "At least, not in the way we should."

He disengaged her hands, taking a step back and turning partially away.

"No," she whispered. "You promised."

He paused. "Promised what?" he responded reluctantly, clearing his throat. His stomach was aching.

"You said--you wouldn't walk away. You said--"

Bitterness filled him. "As childish as it sounds--you did it first. No promise holds…" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Give me a reason," he asked abruptly. Common sense said to leave, but he couldn't help hoping.

He pivoted, facing her fully.

"Give me a reason," he demanded roughly. "Give me one reason besides the fact that you've changed--I couldn't have cared less if you did this or not. I came to you as you were--without the dog you so obviously don't want, the grand gestures of getting involved--now tell me why I should stay." I loved you anyway…now tell me the same.

But she simply stared at him, eyes huge, looking shell-shocked.

You're a fool his aching heart shouted.

It's better this way his mind reminded him wearily.

He forced a smile she couldn't see. "Goodbye, Abby."

He almost touched her, then caught himself, turning and slipping back through the fence, his legs carrying him back onto the path of their own volition.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She finally managed a short, constricted breath, distantly hearing the jingle of tags becoming fainter.

Light-headedness rushed over her, the tears at bay slipping over her numb cheeks.

"Because--because--" she whispered hoarsely. She closed her eyes. "Je vous aime, Lance. I love you." She took a sharp breath against the pain. "Stay with me."

Her shoulders slumped, her grip falling to the lapels of the jacket around her shoulders. She pulled it up, burying her nose in the slightly rough fabric. Lance filled her head in one indrawn breath.

The pain was deeper than before. She decided that much, walking blindly towards the opposite end of the field. Reina followed closely, nudging her back and snorting.

She ignored the mare, her steps quickening. I deserve this. This is what I did to him. If I don't have the guts to tell him what I feel to his face--it's my fault. I will never have the courage, the pure blind faith to trust anyone again--enough to place myself on the line. She'd walked the precipice and taken a heart-stopping fall. For the one person who'd stolen her love, one piece at a time. So she couldn't even hate him now. It was just one overwhelming, burning ache, full of self-pitying tears and helpless confusion. He has no faith in me now. In us, or what might have been. What do I do now?

She never even realized how close she was to the fence before her forearms, clutched in front of her, slammed into unforgiving wood. Searing pain hit her, and she almost fell to the ground, the breath gone from her lungs for precious seconds. She stood, bent over and gasping for breath, for several long moments.

Reina stamped nervously, finally nudging her and nickering insistently. Abby winced, ducking dizzily underneath the middle slat. She almost tripped in her long skirt, hearing the delicate fabric rip and felt the give. She stumbled, collapsing to her knees on the ground.

The pain waned after the first stunning force of the blow. She dropped her arms slowly, flexing her fingers gingerly and flinching at the renewed throb.

She sighed deeply as it subsided, closing her eyes as tears welled again. She hunched over, the ground catching the tears as they fell from her cheeks.

How she wished the pain inside were as quick to wane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as he was out of earshot, he stopped, thrusting out an arm to brace against a tree.

Lance collapsed slowly, the bark digging into his back through his shirt.

He tilted his head back, closing his eyes against the stars. It took you less than ten minutes to utterly destroy everything.

He doubled over abruptly, digging his knuckles into his eyes. And now that you've accomplished so much a small, bitter voice asked, what do you want to do now?

The sigh came from the bottom of his soul. Now I need to forget, at least for a little while.

He straightened slowly, fighting the urge to stay exactly where he was. So close and yet so far. He laughed softly, without mirth.

The distinctive jingling made his head jerk up.

Shakespeare paused in a patch of moonlight, head cocked as he regarded Lance seriously.

"Go back," Lance told him wearily, voice rusty.

The dog whined, sitting down heavily.

Lance turned, shaking his head and beginning to walk back the way he had come.

The jingling followed, a faint shadow zigzagging behind him.

Lance groaned, rubbing his face and dropping his hand to his side again. "Go back," he told the dog again. "Stupid mutt. Maybe she doesn't love you like Sunny, but she needs you, and eventually she'll come to care for you."

A whine.

Lance looked down as a silky head pushed against his hand, skimming by as Shakespeare raced ahead, turning around to face him.

"What?" Lance demanded. "What do you want from me?"

A fierce bark as he danced from side to side.

Lance skirted around him, the pain burning hollowly in his chest.

"Not in this lifetime," he muttered.

Shakespeare darted behind him, racing in circles around him.

Lance sighed dully. "Forget it," he told the dog. "She's your problem." His heart twinged. "I'm going to go get blitzed. I dunno if you have a doggy version of it, but I'd recommend the same thing. Several if you're going to stay with her." He coughed against the constrictions around his lungs, guilt eating at him.

"Stay with her," he commanded softly. He looked up as he breached the lawn, the house a softly lit beacon against the starry night.

He'd taken several steps before he realized that the jingling had stopped. He turned, finding Shakespeare hovering at the last tree.

"What?"

The doggy equivalent to a sigh that made him feel even guiltier.

"I can't." Lance glanced over his shoulder, craving oblivion from the feelings eating at him.

"You do it," he told the dog. "She needs you more than she needs me. She'd probably find it easier to love you, anyway. She doesn't have to worry about trusting you. Go back."

Shakespeare whined, then sneezed softly, tail wagging once, slowly, before he turned.

"Wait--" Lance took a breath, feeling ridiculous. Shakespeare looked back, head cocked. "Tell her I love her, okay? It's not like I wanted to leave."

Shakespeare yipped softly, the jingling fading into the trees.

"Now I'm even talking to dogs. I'm the biggest fool on the face of the earth."

Lance plodded up the steps after the announcement, opening the screen door quietly. A man in a tux that he didn't recognize looked up and smiled, wielding a knife covered in mayonnaise.

"Hello."

Lance mumbled a reply, watching the man lift two filled plates, disappearing into the hall with a smile and nod.

Lance grimaced, peering into the baskets of food with a twist in his stomach.

He walked over to the island countertop where at least a dozen bottles of champagne were lined up. A few were empty.

"I wonder how many it would take to get drunk," he muttered, looking around. He picked up a wine glass, then laughed shortly and set it back down. He picked up two bottles of the champagne in one arm, then two more with his free hand. Then turned around and walked back the way he came.

He sat down on the bottom step of the stairs, looking upward as he twisted the cork out of the first bottle.

He lifted the bottle, watching the moonlight gleam over the colored glass, bubbles fizzing up towards freedom.

"To knowing your limitations," he toasted the stars with a mocking smile. He put the mouth of the bottle to his lips, tilting the bottle back. He coughed slightly as some of the bubbles went up his nose, then took a breath and gulped the liquid down until he needed to breathe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A numb blanket of silence was wrapped around her.

Abby remained where she'd fallen, arms wrapped around herself, hugging the jacket close. She could have been a statue, barely breathing. Her mind raced as she tilted her head back, unblinking eyes fixed on the stars.

You'll never get it right, Abigail. It was so hard to remember her parents anymore, her uncle. Even her dreams were becoming faded, like old photos yellowing in the sun. She felt so distant from them all. And it hurt. It hurt so much. But it had helped to have the guys around. She'd still felt connected to them.

Moving on. Leaving the past…

Lance. The fresh ache burned again. Maybe it's better this way. You would have eventually screwed it up anyway. You know nothing about guys and relationships. She sighed softly, eyes closing as they burned dryly. But I wanted to try. Her lips twisted in a half-smile. I can't believe I wanted to try.

She shivered, her body aching as if she'd run a marathon. Why does my life feel like a soap opera? It never used to be like this.

Her brows knit. Until Sunny got sick. She remembered those days with sudden clarity. That had been the start of it all. How Fate had drawn her into this maze of complications wasn't so unclear after all.

And what do I do now? What point was there to her life now? What was left?

Her head jerked up, her breath catching as the grass rustled in front of her, soft jingling reaching her.

She relaxed, finally shifting her protesting muscles to wrap her arms around her updrawn knees.

"Shakespeare," she greeted the animal tiredly.

For once, he didn't make any noises, didn't even sound like he was moving.

Abby raised her head to rest her chin on her knees, her arms dropping to wrap loosely around her ankles.

"What?" she asked wanly. "Nothing to say?"

Only silence greeted her, and she shook her head. "All the times I've told you to sit and be quiet and you never do it, and now you decide to?"

Soft whuffling, then a damp nose touched the back of her hand.

"What?" she asked again, growing frustrated. "What's wrong?" She sighed harshly. "Sunny was always able to tell me what she wanted. I never had these kinds of problems with her--"

A sandpapery tongue licked her hand, then the dog shifted, wriggling over until he was pressed against her side. Abby stiffened, her chest tightening as the warmth encompassed her.

"Shakespeare--" she started sharply, sitting up. "I'm not in the mood--" The dog immediately took advantage, crawling up onto her lap. Abby gasped, losing her balance and falling backward. Then groaned as fifty pounds of dog collapsed over her diaphragm, dog-food breath gusting in her face.

Her strength couldn't push him off, and she gave up after a few ineffectual pushes, shoving his muzzle away from her face irritably.

"Shakespeare, get your mangy, Godforsaken ass--"

A tongue interrupted her tirade, bathing her face slowly.

Abby released a harsh, muffled scream, and he sneezed directly in her face.

"Ugh, God, Shakespeare, you sorry excuse for a guide--"

He stopped, tucking his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder.

"What are you--"

He began to whine softly, a low, continuously pitiful sound that made the hairs on the back of her neck stiffen.

"Stop--stop that," she whispered, wincing.

To her surprise, he did. A silky head pushed against her jaw, begging for affection, and she opened her mouth to snap at him again.

Her eyes closed, the breath leaving her lungs. Not that it was hard considering the amount of dog lying on her.

"Okay, I'm a retard," she groaned softly. "But let there be light." Her heart twinged with defeat. Even if it was too late.

A soft whine confirmed the decision.

"I can't--you have to understand how hard this is--"

A snort.

"Okay, we'll discuss it. But get off of me before you damage a kidney." She nudged him gently, breathing easier as he slid off, collapsing beside her instead.

She didn't move to get up, listening to their combined breathing in the quiet.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, guilt and shame eating at her. "I got you for all the wrong reasons. Maybe I'm still not ready, maybe you'd be better off with someone else--"

She jumped as Shakespeare growled softly, and sharp teeth nipped her shoulder.

"Hey! I don't know if I'm ready--would you rather suffer through me learning to get along with you?"

A doggy sigh.

"Don't give me that," she gulped as unaccountable tears filled her voice. "I did everything for all the wrong reasons. Just call me a screw-up. But--I don't know if I can make it right. I can make you right--"

Another growl.

She rolled her head to the side, glaring at the dog beside her weakly.

"Don't tell me you want to stay--I yell at you all the time, I constantly compare you to Sunny, it's hard for me to be affectionate--wouldn't you rather be with someone else?"

Silence. She frowned, rubbing at her aching chest. If she told them to take him--then she would be alone. Again. She sighed, shivering, and rubbed her burning eyes. Maybe you should get used to it. Again. You're going to be living it now.

"Well, I might be able to change--I'll try not to compare you to Sunny. I'll work on being affectionate--but, but I'll probably keep yelling at you--unless you shape up," she warned, swallowing the constriction in her throat.

A snort.

She turned on her side, staring towards his warmth. "I said I'll try, what else can I do? But it goes both ways--if I get attached, you have to get attached too--no more of this leaving me crap, understood?" She sniffed as her voice choked. "And if doesn't work out--we end it quick, okay? So it doesn't hurt so much when--"

A gentle lick on her chin. She brought up a hand, stroking the soft skin under the dog's jaw. The head tilted and stretched, directing her scratching fingers, and a tentative smile tilted her mouth, some of the tension leaving her. She scratched beneath a floppy ear, memories crowding into her mind.

But they didn't hurt quite so much.

Her hand trailed down his neck, encountering the nondescript collar that the Guide Center had fitted him with. The tags he'd received there clinked under her investigating hand. Abby frowned. She hadn't done anything with him. Everything he wore came from the center.

"First order of business, we get you something for yourself," she murmured.

He panted, making a strange half-growl, half-grumble in his chest.

She smiled, hearing the satisfaction in the sound. She stroked the bony head, sitting up slowly.

"Shakespeare. Maybe--maybe we can make a go of this."

Her mind wandered. "How about a nickname?" she asked idly. "Shakespeare is a lot to yell, you know--and if we're doing the bonding thing, we might as well be cheesy and give you a good name." She smiled sadly. "Damn me, you already have me in for the long haul, don't you?"

The head beneath her hand moved, jerking upwards as he hauled himself to his feet. Then two large paws were on her shoulders, toppling her backward.

Abby sighed, not even bothering to push him off again.

"Just like a man--always throwing his weight around…ruining my good clothes--" Tears welled in her eyes, slipping out slowly.

"I've lost him, Shakespeare," she mumbled, her breath hitching as the feelings she'd pushed back flooded her again. "I did my best, but it wasn't enough--it wasn't right--I did it all wrong, and he left. He doesn't believe I love him, and if I tell him, he wouldn't believe me anyway. To hell with me trusting him, why should he trust me? Look what I did--I got you, started the foundation, did everything to prove I'd changed, and I hadn't done squat. I just wanted him back, and I went about it all wrong--too much, too fast, and he left, he didn't believe me--" the words were becoming garbled around the tears and sobbing breaths.

A gentle tongue licked the tears from her cheeks. She began to cry in earnest, the tears coming faster and faster. "I love him, and I couldn't tell him, and now I don't know what to do. What do I do?"

Shakespeare whined, nuzzling her worriedly.

The tears finally slowed, too tired to continue. Her muscles relaxed limply, feeling Shakespeare's weight sprawled half-on, half-off of her upper body. He settled his head under her chin, waiting patiently for her to calm.

She took several shuddering breaths. "Sorry. Guess I need to get--" She paused on the last word she meant to say. Control. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around Shakespeare's shoulders, hugging him tightly.

"Forget that," she whispered fiercely, feeling a thrill at bucking her own system. She'd lost control that once, and while frightening, it had been liberating. The fright had calmed her, made her careful again in a different way. But there was a difference between losing control and getting some guts.

Not the fake guts she'd tried to show to Lance.

Real guts. Time to quit being a wimp and grow a backbone. And if you have to do it alone--so be it.

Another tear slipped out before she rubbed it off. You've lost him. But you aren't worth it as you are anyway.

She hesitated.

She winced. Maybe.

Abby took a breath. Maybe. Who knows? The doubt twinged deeply, saying she would never find someone like him again. Someone who had risked everything for a confused, emotionally crippled blind girl. But she would never hear him say those words again. Grief rose, thick and hot, before she willed it away along with the soul-deep longing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lance blinked up at the sky, squinting as he tried to bring the world back into focus. He shook his head, thrusting out a hand to stop himself from falling sideways when his equilibrium spun.

The twisted mass of pain and regret inside him was pleasantly numb. He grinned dizzily, lofting the bottle in his hand and swirling the inch of liquid inside so it sparkled in the moonlight.

"Eh, only two bottles," he boasted, the last of the second sliding down his throat smoothly.

He set the now empty bottle beside the first, arranging them so they stood side by side.

The door creaked behind him. "Lance? I thought I heard you! We've been looking all…" Justin's voice trailed off as Lance spun around, eyes wide with exaggerated surprise, hand clutched to his heart.

"Don't scare me like that, Bounce," Lance scolded. He blinked, snickering. "Bounce. Like the dryer sheets," he chuckled. The thought suddenly became hilarious, and he began to giggle, hand to his mouth.

Justin's mouth dropped open, and he stared at Lance in disbelief, spying the two empty bottles on the ground.

"Lance? Buddy?"

Lance wiped his eyes, still laughing. "Bounce," he chortled. Then held up a finger. "Scoop. Like kitty litter," he exclaimed, beginning to laugh again.

Justin sank down beside his friend, shaking his head. "Lance, have you been drinking?" he asked tactfully.

Lance paused in his fit. "No," he answered promptly.

"Are you sure?" Justin prodded, rolling his eyes.

Lance held a finger to his lip, looking around furtively before leaning closer. "Shh, okay, maybe," he agreed. "But don't tell anyone, okay? It's our little secret."

Justin made a face. "Lance, man, I don't think there's any way to hide your little problem. You're truly skunked."

Lance frowned, looking suddenly worried.

"Problem? I have a problem?"

Justin eyed him. "You tell me? Why did you decide to drown your sorrows?"

But Lance was ignoring him, lost in the throes of his own thoughts. "I'm an alcoholic?" he wailed.

Justin glanced behind himself, frowning. "Shh, Lance. Not so loud. Why are you out here drinking alone?"

Lance looked at him sadly. "Is that one of the signs? Drinking by yourself?"

Justin sighed. "Lance, you don't usually get this far. Why'd you do it tonight?"

Lance was ignoring him again. "The first step is admitting you have a problem, though, right?"

Justin started when Lance suddenly leapt to his feet, but not before he'd grabbed one of the full bottles at his side. He blinked dizzily, waving the bottle around.

"My name--" He wavered from foot to foot. "Is Lance--" He hiccuped, covering his mouth and looking embarrassed. " 'Scuse me. My name is Lance Bass," he announced as Justin clapped a hand over his eyes. "And I--" he paused dramatically. "I have a problem!"

"Oh, sweet," Justin muttered, trying to yank him back down.

"I--" Lance continued. Hiccup. "I am an alco-al-hiccup-coholic."

Justin's lips twitched, deciding to try and use that to his advantage. "Okay, Mr. Bass," he began solicitously. "Can you start by telling the group how it all started? Why did you decide to pick up the--" He glanced at the two on the ground. "First bottle?"

Lance peered around curiously, sitting back down heavily as he worked on the cork to the bottle he held. "Group? Are you seeing people that aren't there again, Curly?"

He bit his lip, brow furrowing as he worked at the cork intently.

Justin sighed and reached over, flipping the bottle right side up.

Lance frowned. "Thank you." He popped the cork.

Justin watched him take a drink, tilting the bottle back. "Would you like a brown paper bag?" he mumbled.

Lance lowered the bottle, blinking at him owlishly. "Huh?"

"Nothing." Justin clasped his hands between his knees. "Back to the topic at hand. Why are you out here drinking?"

Another frown, then a grin spread across Lance's face, the light bulb visibly popping on.

"Because. If I did it inside, they'd think I was drunk. And I'm underage," Lance explained slowly, leaning closer and showing him the almost full bottle of champagne, as if Justin couldn't understand otherwise.

"Uhhmm," Justin agreed, carefully disengaging Lance's grip from the bottle. "Mind if I have a drink?"

Lance paused, deciding. "Okay."

Justin watched him lean back, humming, and close his eyes, head bobbing limply to the beat he could hear.

Shaking his head, Justin tipped the bottle into the rosebush beside the steps.

When the bottle was almost empty, he nudged Lance with it. "Here."

"Thank you," came the murky reply.

Justin rolled his eyes, slumping back on the steps as he tried to figure a way to get the truth out of a tipsy Lance.

"You wanna know my problem!?"

Justin almost fell off the steps as Lance blurted the words, loudly, into his ear.

"What?" he asked weakly, scooting away slightly as Lance snapped to attention.

Lance waved the bottle around wildly, and Justin jerked back as the edge went whizzing past his left eye. "It'sh the shame old shtory," he slurred before clearing his throat and enunciating with exaggerated care. "Boy meets girl. Girl loses dog. Boy makes fool of himself over girl. Boy throws himself on girl's mercy, and girl crushes boy's heart." Lance peered at Justin closely, bringing up a hand and carefully raising two fingers. "Twice. Then boy goes and finds himself a bottle to drown his sorrows."

He sat back, wavering slightly, and squinted up at the sky. "You wanna go get laid?" he pondered aloud.

Justin sighed, putting out a hand so Lance wouldn't fall on his head on the stairs behind him.

"Are we talking about Abs?"

Lance peered at him. "Who? I'm talkin' 'bout her," his voice turned righteous. "I told her." He sat up ramrod straight, widening his eyes. "I--me--told her everything, and she shot me down." He drew his finger across his throat dramatically.

Justin frowned. "You said twice--"

"She was here," Lance craned his neck to see inside the bottle, then brought it to his lips, tilting it all the way back. His throat worked as he swallowed the last of the liquid.

Justin watched, his chin on his knuckles as he waited for his friend to come up for air.

Lance lowered the bottle, blinking and settling himself more firmly on his seat.

"She was here?" he checked.

"Yep."

Another swig, then a peering glance inside the small hole when he didn't get anything.

"Where?"

Lance jutted his chin in the direction of the trees.

"Stable," he stated succinctly. "Lying in wait," he frowned. "Waiting for me to hurt me. Again. Like the last time. Again." He stopped, looking confused, and Justin tried not to smile as his friend went in mental circles.

Justin sighed softly, watching as Lance set the now empty bottle on the ground, lining it up carefully with the other two.

Then he started to work on the cork of the fourth one.

"Lance, buddy, don't you think you should stop?" he tried to ask tactfully.

"Nup. Can still feel my fingers," was the answer as Lance fumbled with the cork some more.

Justin grimaced, reaching for the bottle and taking it from his friend's shaky hands.

"How was she?" he asked, trying to distract him.

It worked. Lance paused, tilting his head back again.

Justin winced as Lance's head thudded against the wood.

"Beautiful," came the dreamy response.

Justin bit back a smile. "Anything else?"

"Really beautiful. She looked like an angel," Lance rambled as Justin carefully popped the cork and tipped the bottle over the side of the stairs. He hoped it wouldn't kill the roses.

"Why was she at the stable?" he asked.

"Dunno." Lance stacked his hands behind his head, staring up at the stars. "She was beautiful, though. Did I tell you she looked like an angel? My angel," he sighed.

Justin smiled slightly at the mushy tone. "I heard you--"

"She's got another dog," Lance told him.

Justin frowned in confusion. "What?"

"Shakespeare. Keep up," Lance lectured impatiently.

"Sorry," Justin humored him. "You mean a new guide?" he asked slowly.

Lance nodded. "Yeah. This is hers. All of it."

Lance fell silent, not volunteering any more information and forcing Justin to make the leap for himself.

"You mean the party?" he asked incredulously. "This?"

Lance nodded, head flopping slightly. "She did all this. For me," he tacked on.

"For you," Justin repeated slowly. "Lansten, you mean--she did all this to see you again?"

Lance nodded easily. "Yup."

Justin eyed the other man, debating on whether to get the others. They might be able to get more out of him.

"And what did you do," he finally asked, already suspecting.

Lance frowned, looking disturbed for the first time. "I left," he muttered.

Justin's mouth fell open, even though it should have been pretty obvious.

"What?" he needed to make sure he'd heard right.

"I left." There was a stubborn expression on his face now.

"But why? What did she say?" Justin asked, confused.

"She said she wanted me."

Justin slapped his forehead, rubbing at his eyes. "She said she wanted you, and went to all this to get you back in her life, and you left," he listed.

"Well, when you say it that way, it sounds stupid," came the mellow observation.

Justin groaned. "Lance, it is stupid. You've been going through hell--and when she comes after you, you split?"

Lance sat up suddenly, staring intently into space.

"But she didn't say it."

Justin rubbed his chin, mind scrambling to complete that cryptic comment. "Didn't say what?"

"She said she was just lonely. She didn't say she needs me. Didn't say it," Lance complained pointedly.

"Didn't say--" Justin's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," Lance muttered, leaning forward. "Where's my other bottle?" he asked, searching among the other bottles intently by moving each one of the three individually.

Justin couldn't even laugh at the ridiculous picture his friend made. "Wait here, Lance. I'm gonna go get the others. I think you need to go sleep it off."

Lance made no reply until he'd started to open the screen door. "J?"

"What?" Justin looked at the dark shadow of his friend.

"Did I do the right thing?"

Justin chewed on his lower lip. "I dunno. I really don't, Lance."

He waited a moment. "Lance?"

"Bring me another bottle when you come back, 'kay, J?"

Justin sighed. "Lance--"

"J?"

"What?"

"I wished I would have kissed her goodbye," came the glum observation.

He didn't know what to say to that. "I'm sorry."

"Bring me another bottle, 'kay?"

He sighed, shaking his head and going inside to find the others. They were going to be thrilled by this new development.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Some breakfast, sir?"

He swallowed as his gorge rose. "No," he rasped, slumping further into his seat.

"C'mon, Lance," Chris chirped. "Sausage and pancakes in syrup with eggs all runny when you touch them with your fork. Yummy!"

Lance could feel himself turning green, his stomach declaring mutiny. "Shut up, Chris," he managed weakly.

"Not feeling any better, huh?" Justin asked.

Even the sounds of their voices made his head throb. "How can champagne give you this bad a hangover?" he asked weakly.

"For starters, you had two full bottles by yourself on an empty stomach. And you were upset," Justin reminded him.

He made no reply, continuing to swallow and bracing himself for the arrival of breakfast. This was going to be even less pleasant than take-off. He closed his eyes behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

"Ma'am?" JC called.

"Yes, sir?" came the pleasant female voice.

"My friend doesn't feel well. Could you bring him some dry toast, water, and strong coffee?"

"Certainly."

"I can't eat," he protested.

"Do it anyway," JC told him sympathetically. "You need something besides that crap running around in your stomach."

"And if the two don't like each other--"

Something crackled, and he opened his eyes a slit.

"Barf bag," Joey told him cheerfully.

"Shut up," Lance groaned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Feeling any better?" Justin asked, eyes glued to his character as he fought the computer.

Lance tossed his travel-rumpled clothes to the unoccupied bed, rubbing his shower-damp head carefully.

"Some. My head still hurts like a mother," he answered gingerly.

"There's Tylenol in the side pocket of my bag."

"Thanks." Lance dug through the pocket, finding the bottle and shaking out three of the capsules.

He went to the bathroom to get a glass of water, taking all three at once as he walked back out again.

"Lance?" Justin asked.

"Mmm?" Lance responded absently, going to sit in a chair by the window to put on his sneakers.

"Do you remember last night?"

Lance paused, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at his laced sneakers.

"No. Not really. Just sitting on the deck and staring at the stars," he answered cautiously.

"Oh. I was there for awhile," Justin told him conversationally. He looked over in time to see Lance pale.

"From what you said, so was Abby."

He went back to his game when the door opened, JC walking into the room, followed by the other two.

"Just wondering."

Chris looked at him curiously. "Still feeling sick, Lance?"

Lance started, looking at them all, wide-eyed. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled.

He walked out of the room, muttering something about ice.

JC lifted a brow, throwing the papers he was carrying onto the bed. "What was that about?"
"Nothing," Justin answered easily. "Just jerking his chain."

"Which chain?" Joey asked, getting a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Abs."

"Oh. What about her?" JC asked cautiously. "You two said she was doing alright. Not great, but alright."

"She was at the party last night. Well, not at the party. But she was there." Justin gave them an apologetic look, knowing he'd deliberately kept that piece of information from them and Lance had been too inebriated to be coherent as he raved about his 'angel'.

None of them looked surprised.

"Continue," Chris invited patiently, booting up his laptop.

"She did all of it. The foundation, that is."

"We should have guessed. Sunshine," JC replied thoughtfully.

"It was to get Lance there," Joey guessed. "Good for her."

"Not so good," Chris countered, looking up with narrowed eyes. "He ended up outside drinking himself into a stupor."

"Yeah. She's got a new guide too. Did it all for him."

JC rubbed his chin, frowning. "And somehow that translated into she wanted someone, and she's used to Lance, so she set her sights on him, so to speak," he guessed.

Justin nodded.

JC rolled his eyes. "At least in Lance's logic," he added. "I get the feeling there's more than that to what she did, but she didn't know how to say it." He raised his eyebrows, and he and Chris looked at the other two men in the room.

"Yeah," Joey answered without hesitation.

"But not much we can do now," JC looked at Justin as he finished the comment.

"Unless we're using Justin logic," Joey chuckled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"YES!! I am the master!" Justin yelled smugly, throwing down his controller and doing a victory dance on his rear over the carpet.

Lance raised his eyebrows, lips twitching as he shook his head.

Chris made a mumbled comment from the opposite couch before continuing to type on his laptop.

"Thanks, Johnny," Lance ended the conversation with their favorite manager, throwing the cell phone onto the couch beside him.

"Lance?"

Lance looked up, startled to find Justin almost in his face.

"Wha--?"

Justin touched his bare arm, and Lance yelped automatically as the sharp shock went through him.

"Jeez, Justin, I'm gonna kill you one of these days when you do that," he threatened, rubbing his arm absently as Justin walked on his knees back across the carpet.

"You look like a two-year-old," he commented without thinking.

Lance blinked, sucking in a breath as he came back into focus.

He found Justin staring at him curiously.

"What?"
Justin raised and eyebrow with a laugh. "Sheesh, Lance. I asked if you wanted to play Sega and you stared at me like I'd grown two heads."

"Well, the 'fro is getting kind of big," Lance told him dryly, shifting on the couch and clearing his throat. You're supposed to forget.

Justin made a sour face. "Whatever, man. You're just jealous cause all the girls want to run their fingers through the curls," he stated smugly, running his fingers through said curls and primping.

Lance nodded and smiled. "Riiiggghhhht. So many girls, too little hair," he snickered.

"I wonder how much we could get on E-Bay," Chris suddenly asked thoughtfully.

They both looked over at him to find him staring at Justin's head with interest.

Justin covered his head protectively, eyes wide. "No way, man. Stop it."

"Stop what?" Chris asked innocently.

"Stop staring at my hair. These curls ain't fo' sale, fool."

Lance chuckled. "You're making him nervous, he's slipping into ghetto."

Justin glared at him briefly before eyeing Chris again. "I said stop it."

Chris just smiled. "Look at it this way, you'll be helping us out. We're probably going to need the money once we decide what to do about Transcon."

The comment threw a brief pall over the conversation.

Then Justin shook it off, stating stubbornly, "I ain't selling no hair for money."

"Yeah, he does need it. Otherwise, he'd be bald, and what can you do with a bald pretty boy? He ain't no Jean-Luc Picard," Lance pointed out, trying to sound sober.

"You're not helping me here, Poofoo," Justin grumped. "Chris, man--"

"What if we just cut off a little at a time," Chris proposed, an unholy smile crossing his face. "The 'fro needs a trim anyway," he cajoled. "So you'll never miss it. Then we can sell it to many people and double, triple, our profits."

"Forget the profits," Justin yelped, lips twitching. "You're talking about my hair, dude. Do you know how weird it would be to think of all the chicks having--my hair?" he asked incredulously.

Chris nodded thoughtfully. "I can see your point. Hundreds of girls kissing pieces of the 'fro goodnight. Carrying it with them by day. I hope they wash and condition regularly--"

Justin rolled his eyes, nodding, then paused. "Hundreds?" he asked suspiciously. "Chris, how can you--?"

Chris leaned over, fingering the locks in question. "Most of the fans seemed to like your short, day-glow look," he began enticingly.

Justin's eyes widened in horror. "No way!" He leaped to his feet, bellowing, "JC!!"

Chris leaned back, well-satisfied with himself. Lance just shook his head, smiling wryly.

JC appeared, looking distracted. "What? What?"

"Chris is talking about cutting off all my hair," Justin griped, glaring at his older friend.

Chris looked up from his laptop inquiringly. "What? What's going on?"

JC tried not to smile. "Chris, you weren't innocent on the day you were born."

Chris shrugged with a grin.

JC looked at Justin with a grin of his own. "Are we selling it for profit?" he asked considerately.

Justin crossed his arms, plopping back down in front of the TV in outrage. "I get no respect."

"You're the baby, what do you want from us?" JC chuckled, then held out a hand as Justin opened his mouth with a smirk. "Don't make me come over there, Curly. I have to go make a call." A frown crossed his face as he said the last, and he pulled the door around behind him, already distracted again.

Justin looked back in question.

"Girlfriend. Spat," Chris explained without looking up.

"Permanent?" Lance asked softly, morbidly curious.

"Doubt it."

"Are you ever going to say her name?" Justin asked dryly.

"Do we have to?" Chris looked up with a shrug. "It's his business. If she makes him happy…" He shrugged again.

If she makes him happy. His own female worries and problems murmured, but Lance ignored them. He'd ended it. Now all that was left was to get his life back on track. He just wished that every time he left her the issue would finally feel closed.

He had a feeling it would take awhile. And he didn't think it was possible to ever completely forget. He knew that the others had her number, and had no doubt that once the initial burn appeared to have healed on his end, they would keep in touch with her. He couldn't resent them for that, but he wanted to.

A phone rang.

Lance looked down beside him, picking up the device absently.

"Hello?"

"Hey, hon. Is Chris around? He's not answering his phone."

Lance smiled slightly. "Yeah. Chris, where's your phone?" he asked, covering the speaker.

Chris looked up. "In my bag. Is that Dani?"

"Maybe." Lance uncovered the mouthpiece. "Dani, sweetheart, why don't you want to talk to me?" he asked, pretending to be upset. "You call my phone and want to talk to that good-for-nothing?" He ignored Chris's 'gimme' gesture.

A soft laugh. "Well, love, actually, there are some things I'd talk to you about. Like that sweet girl who was staying with all of you. Was it just me, or was I sensing some sparks?"

Lance winced, trying to find his voice. "Uh, it was just you?"

"Well, according to Chris," Danielle chuckled before sobering. "Hon, really, from what I've heard--"

"How much have you heard?" Lance asked warily, shooting a glare at Chris, who stared back innocently.

"Enough to know that you don't know squat about the female mind."

"Well…duh," Lance sighed. "But I thought I knew more than what I did, that's all. But if Chris is keeping you up to date, then there's nothing more to talk about."

"Oh, there's plenty--"

"Uh, but Chris wants the phone, so I'll talk to you later, okay?" Lance interrupted hurriedly.

Dani laughed sympathetically. "Sorry, Lancey-boo. Can I say one thing?"

Lance rolled his eyes, but mumbled an 'I guess.'

"Blind or not, that little girl is just as human as the rest of us. Probably the worst parts of being human are even more pronounced for her cause she has to rely so much on trusting others. I suppose it's too late to tell you not to write her off, but there's my two cents."
Lance let Chris grab the phone from him, frowning. Write her off? The thought disturbed him, left a bad taste in his mouth. It sounded so…careless. Even cruel. As if he'd never cared at all, when the ache inside his chest said he'd cared too much. He rubbed his eyes, feeling utterly confused.

He looked up as Chris rose from the couch, going out into the hall to have some privacy.

"Well?"

Lance looked over at Justin, finding the younger man watching him expectantly.

"What?"

"You gonna play or what?"

Lance laughed shortly. "You are like a dog with a bone, J."

"Well, one of us has to be--" Justin broke off, staring down at the carpet as Lance stiffened.

"Sorry, man." Justin shrugged with a sigh. "You gonna play?" he asked with finality.

Lance smiled thinly, forcing the expression. "Play the master? I would hate to dethrone him. Might hurt when you hit the floor."

Justin laughed, gesturing around him. "I'm already here, ain't nowhere to go but up. But first I have to beat all-comers."

Lance snorted, rising slowly from the couch. "One of these days your mouth is going to get you in trouble, and no quick-thinking or smooth talk is going to get you out of it."

Justin grinned and shrugged. "Nah. Ain't nothing I can't talk myself out of. Or into." He wiggled his eyebrows. " 'Fraid, little Lance?" he baited.

Lance sighed, shaking his head. "And what do I get if I win?"

"My respect?"

Lance stared at him.

Justin tapped his chin. "I won't brag about anything for a week."

Lance smirked. "A month."

Justin grimaced. "A week and a half."

"Three weeks."

"A week and four days."

Lance gazed heavenward. "Two weeks and you have to tell everyone that I whooped you."

Justin pondered, chewing on his lip. "Agreed."

"Okay, then." Lance plopped down beside him, picking up a controller.

"Hey, wait just a second," Justin grabbed the control pad. "What do I get when I win?"

"When you win?" Lance snorted, then smirked. "I'll go two weeks without bragging and tell everyone you whooped me?"

Justin sent him a withering stare. "You already do that."

Lance rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers on his knees. "What, then, o great one?"

"I like the sound of that," Justin smirked before sobering. "I dunno. I can't decide," he muttered, rubbing his lip.

Lance checked his watch. "Can we hurry this up? Oprah's on at four," he taunted without thinking. He sucked in a quiet breath, forcing his face to remain neutral and glancing towards the TV to hide his eyes. The logic behind getting away from her is to forget, not remember the details.

Justin ignored the slip, or didn't remember Abby's often used phrase. Probably the former.

"Well, since I can't decide right now, then I'm just going to leave it at…you have to do a dare while we're on tour," Justin decided.

"A dare?" Lance repeated slowly. "What kind of dare?" he asked suspiciously, glancing into Justin's face sharply.

Guileless blue eyes stared back at him. "I dunno. If I did, I wouldn't have to leave it at that, now would I?"

Lance pressed his lips together tightly. "On several conditions," he allowed.

"Which would be?"

"No nudity."

"Fine. Wussy."

Lance gritted his teeth. "It can't involve a fan."

Justin paused. "Agreed."

Lance took a breath. "And it can't involve Abby."

Even saying her name hurt.

Justin was silent a lot longer. "Justin?" Lance made his voice impatient to cover the catch.

"Okay."

Lance looked at him again. "Okay?"

Justin widened his eyes. "I said okay. What more do you want? My vow signed in blood and my firstborn? Sheesh, touchy. When did this go from a friendly game to a deathmatch?"

"Start the game," Lance instructed, trying not to grit his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lance stared at the TV screen, utter silence dropping as the click of buttons ceased.

"Damn."

"Who's your daddy?" Justin smiled with satisfaction, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms nonchalantly across his chest.

Lance shook his head. "Best three out of five," he proposed.

Justin grinned. "That was best three out of five."

"Seven out of ten?" Lance asked weakly.

Justin shook his head. "Not bloody likely. I won," he stated. Then crowed. "I wo-on, I woo--oon, I wo--Ouch!"

"Sorry, my hand slipped," Lance grunted as Justin rubbed the back of his head.

Justin smirked, not fazed in the least. "Which means I get to dare you to anything."

"With conditions," Lance corrected quickly.

Justin's face scrunched and he nodded absently. "Let's think," he murmured.

"Asking your other personalities for assistance?" Lance asked dryly, flexing his cramping fingers.

"Yeah, they generally have good ideas," Justin snickered.

"Did they come up with your day-glow phase?" Lance inquired.

"Shut up," Justin told him pleasantly.

"You know, I don't mind waiting," Lance offered sweetly. "You can take all the time you want to come up with something."

Justin blinked and looked over at him.

Lance eyed him, becoming increasingly nervous as Justin smiled slowly.

"What?"

Justin smiled.

Lance cleared his throat. "Stop it. What?"

Justin stared at him for a minute longer. "I dare you…"

Lance waited for the other end of the sentence to drop, his stomach getting mildly queasy with nervousness.

"Just spit it out, J."

"A little anxious?" Justin asked, reaching down to unlace his sneakers and tighten the laces.

Lance resisted the urge to smack the back of his head again. "I hope someone finally gets tired of your torment and smacks you around in the near future," he grumbled.

"Now you're wishing violence on me from some unnamed stranger. You must be really nervous," Justin observed.

Lance glared at him. "If all you're going to do is sit there and dangle the carrot, I'm leaving. Lemme know when you finally decide."

He started to lurch to his feet, and Justin grabbed his arm. "Wait, I've decided!"

Lance paused, but didn't sit back down. "What? Name it."

Justin stared at him contemplatively, then smiled. "Your dare…you have to make a pass, pick up, ask out on a date, whatever you want to call it--any girl I choose. And I get to choose."

Lance's jaw sagged before he snapped his mouth closed, shaking his head vigorously. "Forget it. Not a chance in hell," he spat. Everything inside him rejected the thought. Violently.

Justin stared at him challengingly. "Why not?"

Lance looked away. "I don't want to," he weaseled out of an explanation. "I especially don't like the part about you picking the girl."

Justin rolled his eyes, sitting back and crossing his arms. "Fine. You pick the girl. But it has to happen within the next week."

"That's--that's not enough time," Lance fumbled, mild panic shooting through him.

"One club, and you'll be set," Justin scoffed.

"No."

The refusal was flat, uncompromising.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Scared?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because."

"Is this about Abby?"

He fought the urge to flinch, even though he'd been expecting it. "No."

"Why not?"

Lance blinked, glaring at his younger friend. "What the hell are you talking about? Quit twisting--"

"It was a legitimate question," Justin replied, unperturbed. "What, exactly, do you feel for Abs?"

"Don't ask me that, because I'm not telling you," he answered stonily.

Justin paused, thinking, and he seriously debated getting up and leaving. He'd even shifted to do exactly that when Justin spoke again.

"Well, since you walked away when she tried to fix things, I guess that answers my question, huh?"

Lance froze, staring down at the carpet. His stomach felt funny.

"And if you don't care, then you can surely find someone else. No problem, right?"

His hands fisted in the carpet, his teeth gritting.

"In fact, why not just move on right away?" Justin continued.

Lance knew he was being deliberately goaded, but that didn't make his anger any less real.

"Shut it, J."

He rose to his feet in one quick motion, towering over Justin for once.

"You don't know what I'm feeling, so don't even try to guess."

He spat the words, spinning on his heel.

"Maybe we don't, but do you?" Joe asked sympathetically from the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

Lance gritted his teeth, looking down. He knew how he felt. Confused.

"I think…I think it's pretty obvious," he muttered.

"Um, no, it's not," Chris's voice disagreed. He held the cell phone in his hand, tossing it to the couch as he walked in.

"What do you mean, it's not?" Lance demanded, his throat burning.

"You just spent the whole summer stewing over Abby," Chris pointed out.

Lance rubbed his face, feeling the fire move to his cheeks.

"You made your move, and got burned," Joey continued.

His chest ached.

"Then you make yet another stab at it and go down to Orlando to see her," Justin took up the refrain.

Lance crossed his arms, shoulders hunching as he remembered being played into running after her.

"And run back with your tail between your legs," Chris added. "And then begin to mope around like the world has ended."

His head snapped up, lips pressing together. But he couldn't dredge up the defensive words when he met his friend's contemplative gaze.

"And now Abs has obviously made her own move after your sorry ass," Justin sighed, standing up behind him as Lance turned.

"I told you…" Lance trailed off, fists clenching.
"I know what you told me," Justin agreed.

"Well, we don't. Care to share since we're all involved in this soap opera?" JC asked, coming in from the other room.

"No?" Lance offered in a mumble.

Justin ignored him, jerking his thumb towards the blonde.

"I already told you the bare details. But Lance has a problem with the fact that Abby couldn't quite say the words."

"The words?" JC repeated, puzzled.

Joey picked up a sofa pillow and hit him in the head.

JC almost pitched forward, rubbing the back of his head and glaring at the other man absently. "What?" He paused. "Oh. The words."

Joey smiled with satisfaction, patting the pillow back into place.

"So what?" Chris asked.

Lance turned to face him, feeling lost as they discussed him as if he weren't there. "So what?" he echoed, becoming angry. "Hell, Chris, you know what this summer has been like for me, or so all of you think. Am I supposed to just jump in with both feet when she shows the least bit of interest and doesn't really mean it?"

"How do you know she didn't mean it?" Joey asked. "Just because she wasn't able to say the words doesn't mean she didn't want to."

"Or maybe it means that she doesn't feel them. And she just wants a warm body to be close to." His stomach clutched, roiling anxiously.

"Well, hell, Lansten," JC shook his head, "If that was all she wanted, why would she choose you?"

Lance's mouth dropped open, drawing back slightly from the verbal arrow.

Joey rubbed his forehead. "What Jace meant to say was, if she could choose anyone, why not choose someone who'd be much easier to be close to, geographically and otherwise. We don't know for sure how much about our lives involving girlfriends she absorbed, but you can bet it was a good amount. There was more to her reasoning than that."

"Not to mention the lengths to which she went to bring you back. Do you realize how nervous she must have been?" JC interrupted, looking highly disturbed.

Lance's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"She was trying to make everything perfect," Chris explained patiently, as if to a very slow child. "For God's sake, she was probably scared out of her mind about what you would say to her after all the other crap. So she did everything she could think of to set the situation up to have her happy ending. And you were her Prince Charming, God help her," Chris shook his head in disappointment and walked back out of the room, effectively ending his part of the conversation.

The first drizzle of shame trickled down his spine. Lance shook his head slowly, looking faintly beseeching as he faced the other three. "But she--"

"Went all out to win you?" JC completed, raising his eyebrows.

Confusion swirled inside of him, battering the shaky walls of his confidence. "But…"

"Tell us your reasoning for walking away again, Lance," Justin baited softly, walking around the sofa restlessly.

"I--she--" He shook his head. All his reasons were--foolish, weak. Stupid. Incredibly stupid even in his own mind.

He looked up, blurting without thinking, "Can't we just leave this alone? It's over and done with, and can't be changed."

"Only death, and in this case, marriage, are permanent," Joey observed with a faint smile. "If you feel the same way that she might," he allowed, "Then there's always a chance, if you want to go after it."

Unexplained panicky sensations coiled in his stomach, sending trickles of fear up his spine to mingle with the shame.

"You don't want to," JC pointed out. "That's what's really behind your move. You don't want to."

His eyes widened. "No--"

"Then what?" Justin prodded.

"I--I--you don't understand how much I want--But I, we, can't--you know what I mean. I'm just saving myself the trouble of--" he fumbled, growing frustrated with himself.

"The trouble of Abby. Oh, for God's sake," JC rolled his eyes in disgust. "Lance, do you even see what you've been doing?"

Lance stared at JC, feeling incredibly small.

"No," Joey answered for him, sounding long-suffering. "He doesn't."

JC threw his hands in the air, shaking his head. "You want to talk to him, or shall I?"

Joey pointed at the phone clutched in his hand. "You have your own issues to deal with. We'll have the talk with him."

Lance crossed his arms.

"Quit talking as if I'm not here. And I'm not twelve," he snapped, heart racing. He felt increasingly like a cornered animal.

JC grimaced. "If you were, this might be easier," he grumbled. "I'm sorry, Lance. We've all been guilty of turning a blind eye to what's been going on, if you'll excuse the phrase. But you'll just ignore us if we gang up on you." He shook his head before going into the other room.

Lance snorted. "What a bunch of--"

"Truth. Remember that we know you, Lance. You tend to bottle things up, and we let you," Joey interrupted. "He's right, and you know it."

"Just like all of you?" Lance asked incredulously. "Just like you all seem to think you know all my secret motivations?" he asked sarcastically.

"Why'd you get drunk last night, Lansten?" Justin interrupted.

Lance blinked, hesitating. "You know why," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Humor us, and tell me again."

His jaw clenched. "I'm not rehashing it," he refused stubbornly.

"Then who were you drinking for?" Justin insisted. "Were you drinking because of Abs?"

"You know the answer to that," Lance murmured, pain eating at his heart.

"Spell it out," Justin insisted.

"No," Lance snapped. "Go screw yourself, J. I'm not going over it again."

"Why? Cause you'd go find another bottle?" Joey asked with mild interest.

"Maybe," Lance sighed.

"If it hurt you so much to leave, then why did you?" Justin asked curiously.

"Because it was for the best," his voice trailed off. "I needed to forget…"

"To forget that you'd been an ass?" Joey inserted.

Lance stiffened. "That's not fair--"

"I don't think drowning yourself in champagne had anything to do with Abs."

Lance spun around to stare at Justin in disbelief. "How can you say--"

"I think you drowning yourself in alcohol had everything to do with you," Justin announced.

Lance stared at him like he was an idiot. "What are you--" He spun to glare at Joey. "Are you listening to this?"

Joey held up his hands. "This is getting very interesting."

Lance muttered a curse and turned to face Justin again. "Listen, J--"

Justin smirked at him. "Hit a little too close to the truth?"

"What truth?!" Lance exploded, jerking a hand through his hair. "I'm getting real tired of you thinking you know what I'm doing! You don't know--"

"I know why you drank yourself into a stupor," Justin claimed.

Lance fumed for a few seconds, reining in his temper. "And, why, pray tell, did I do that?" he drawled with dripping sarcasm.

"So you wouldn't have to face yourself," Justin replied, unperturbed.

Lance rolled his eyes, ignoring the strange hop his heart did inside his chest.

"You don't know what you're--"

"Do I have to? It doesn't take a genius to figure out you were trying to forget about what you'd done. Walking away from the love of your life," Justin grimaced.

Lance felt the heat drifting up his cheeks. "Quit being melodramatic," he snapped past the knot in his throat.

"This whole thing has been a drama from beginning to end," Justin exclaimed in exasperation. "You quit being a stupidass!"

Lance drew himself up, back tensing. "I hardly think that being cautious--"

"Cautious?" Justin demanded. "You've had yourself rigged for a fall from the beginning."

Lance stared at him, speechless.

Justin crossed his arms with satisfaction.

And waited.

Lance swallowed, taking a deep, calming breath. "Rigged for a fall, J? You're telling me that I've had it in for myself from the beginning? That I sabotaged myself?" his voice ridiculed the notion.

Justin shrugged, eyes lighting with satisfaction. Joey cleared his throat warningly, looking at Justin pointedly. Justin shrugged again, eyes growing solemn.

"Sabotaged yourself? You tell me, man. You walk around acting like you've been totally rejected. Then when the opportunity presents itself, you drop the ball on some technicality--"

"Technicality?" Lance interrupted hotly. "I think after all I've been through with her, I have the right to expect--"

"Shut up, Lansten," Joey advised wearily.

Lance turned to stare at him, offended. "This is my life--"

"And Abby's," Joey reminded him calmly. "If I didn't know you so well, I might have wondered if you rejected her out of your own spite," he observed aloud.

Lance drew back, falling silent. "I would never do that," he protested softly.

"We know. And we know you're being dense about the whole thing. But we don't think it's been on purpose. Lance, being afraid of her blindness isn't something to be ashamed of," Justin told him sympathetically. "It's only normal."

Lance dropped his gaze to the carpet, then shook his head slowly. "It doesn't bother me," he vowed confidently. "Abby is…Abby. Being blind--it doesn't matter," he swore. It didn't. Sometimes he wished she could see, if only so he could show her all the things he wanted to. But not because it somehow changed his feelings for her.

Justin nodded slowly. "That's good, man. Then there's always the problem of what we do for a living. Maybe it's better not to subject Abby to that. She'd probably bail after the first fan encounter."

Lance's eyes narrowed, and he grimaced. "She's not a coward. And not that flaky. You know better, J."

Justin nodded agreeably. "Yeah, I do. So I'm confused now, why did you bail on her?"

Lance opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He sighed. "Because--because it wouldn't have worked out."

Justin pursed his lips contemplatively, pacing over to the window and lacing his hands behind his back. "Huh? But I could have sworn you wanted her so badly that you would've done your best to make things work. Guess we were both wrong," he observed with grating cheerfulness.

Lance's jaw tightened as his teeth gritted. "Alright," he allowed, "Just say it, Justin. Quit acting stupid, and say what you want to so you won't kill yourself by holding it in."

Justin swung around slowly, raising his brows curiously. "Are you sure?" he asked sweetly.

Lance nodded stiffly.

Justin cocked his head. "You won't listen," he observed.

Lance smiled tightly. "Does it matter? You want to put your two cents in so badly, just get it over with so you can feel all righteous about the situation."

Justin scowled, eyes darkening. He looked at Joey. "Maybe you should tell him so you won't come across as righteous," he practically snarled.

Lance crossed his arms, teeth gritted.

Joey shrugged. "You're doing just fine on your own. I'm just part of the peanut gallery."

Justin rolled his eyes, pivoting to pace in front of the window.

"Okay, let's begin at the beginning," he started sarcastically.

"Are you sure? Twenty years is an awful lot to cover," Lance drawled.

Justin spun around, striding over and pushing his surprised form down into the sofa cushions. "Sit down and shut up."

Lance opened his mouth as Joey covered a laugh with a cough. "Someone's getting big for their britches," he bit off.

"And someone--" Justin peered down at him closely, then smiled. "And someone's scared out of their mind."

Lance drew back. "What?"

"The truth is always a little scary," Joey remarked quietly.

His pulse thudded and resumed with difficulty. "You both--"

"I think you've always liked Abby," Justin overrode him. Lance crossed his arms, staring at the carpet.

"That's why her reaction on that first night at the hotel affected you so much. You already had a thing for her. You just played it off because she hurt your feelings."

"And your pride," Joey added, playing absently with the curtains.

"So what if I did?"

They ignored his question.

"Even when you were fighting us so much about going to her place over the summer, you never quite said NO, did you? We twisted your arm, but you let us."

Lance crossed his arms again, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. Row row row your boat.

"We knew the only way to get her to leave to come on tour with us would be if you asked, because you were the only person who could convince her that she would be welcome."

"And I must say I was rather impressed that I barely had to convince you to help out."

Merrily-- Lance's head snapped up so he could level a warning glance at his younger friend.

Justin smiled benevolently. Joey rolled his eyes but kept quiet.

Lance redirected his eyes back to the carpet with determination. Merrily merrily…

"Now, all through this tour, you've barely looked at another girl. You hover just like the rest of us, but there's always been a little something more."

Life is but a dream. Lance blew out a soft breath, closing his eyes briefly.

"And Abs treats us all like friends, even brothers. But, somehow, it's never quite been like that with you. There's always been a little something more," Justin continued wryly.

"She responds differently to you. And if you'd been paying attention, it's because she feels the same way that you do."

Lance took a breath and began the round in his head. Row row row your boat…

"But she maybe never made the connection until it was too late. You've had a lot longer to get used to the idea," Justin rambled.

"But when she finally does? You panic."

Lance jerked back when Justin practically shouted the words in his face, leaning down sharply.

"Wha--what?" he stammered.

"You panicked when she finally started telling you the words you'd said you wanted to hear," Justin glared at him, and Lance shoved him back as he invaded his space.

"I did not," he denied hotly.

"Yes, you did. Cause you felt safe telling her, showing her, pining for her, as long as there wasn't any possibility that you might get what you wanted. It's real safe to want something you can't have. It's even kind of fun, cause you can feel like the injured party and get a lot of sympathy and never have to actually make anything concrete from all those vows of love as long as the object of your desire is too afraid to approach you in return."

Lance stared at Justin with his mouth open, heart pounding in his ears. "That's not--that's not true," he denied weakly, even to his own ears.

"What? That you're a sorry excuse for a man?" Justin broke off as Joey made a warning noise. He shook his head with an irritated shrug. "You don't have squat to defend yourself with, and you know it. We all could have told you that the words wouldn't have come, not at first. Abs is going to try and show you, not tell you. You know it, and we know it. Which is exactly what she did. And you backed up so fast, you probably left skid marks, am I right?" Justin demanded.

Lance was silent, thoughts pounding in time with his heartbeat. "I wouldn't--wouldn't do that," he muttered, heart sinking with dread. "It--God--it was the hardest thing I ever did--it literally hurt--to walk away--"

"But you did it. And what good reason do you have?" Justin asked, voice hard.

Lance looked up, dazed.

Justin leaned close, smiling tightly as their eyes locked. "Here's your real dare, Lansten. I dare you to put your money where your mouth is and quit acting like a pussy loser. Go find the girl you insist you love and make it work."

Lance felt his mouth open, but couldn't find any words. The truth was hard to swallow.

Justin leaned back, turning around and leaving the room. But not before tossing, "I double dare you" back over his shoulder.

Lance slumped back on the couch, staring at the gold on brown carpet.

"Well, Justin logic is pretty damn cool," Joey commented thoughtfully.

Lance looked at him blankly, mind roiling. "What do I do?"

Joey shrugged. "Your decision, buddy. Sorry. Either you love her or you don't."

Lance closed his eyes, the muscles knotted inside him slowly loosening. "I love her, Joe," he admitted almost inaudibly. "But if it doesn't last--if something happens--she'll hate me."

"If the world ends next week, at least she'll have known what real love is like for that amount of time," Joey countered. "Assuming you're telling the truth and it's really love. That's a big commitment, and then you just work on it as you go."

Lance leaned his elbows on his spread knees, cupping his face in his hands.

"Neither of us are 21 yet. You know she's going to ask me how I know," he stated quietly, wondering if that even made sense.

"According to all great literate minds, love doesn't take age into account. She might surprise you," Joey laughed suddenly, and Lance looked up.

"What?" he asked tiredly.

"If you haven't already figured it out, I'm not telling you," Joey refused, his face wreathed in his familiar smile. "Good luck, man. If you need anything, let me know."

Lance listened to the door close, staring at the carpet as if it held all the answers. "I need a clue," he murmured.

He smiled sadly.

The images flared across his mind's eye. Pure shores and spectacular sunsets…a dark house and flickering TV screen…a busy street in a busy city… the green and peace of the park…the dust and earthy warmth of a barn…and many, many moments of calm in the eye of a backstage hurricane, crowds screaming in the background. And a small hand in his, laughing silver eyes staring back at him. Playful, timid, intense.

He sucked in a hard breath, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his fingers over the lids.

If I go back…does she want my happily ever after?

He owed her this. His conscience would not let him rest on his own cowardice. And, truthfully, he wanted--wanted her.

His smile was more of a grimace. I wonder if I've racked up enough frequent flier miles to get this trip free.

Lance rose from the couch, anticipating the exhaustion of the next few days with a strange sense of excitement. Just had to fall in love on tour, didn't you? Couldn't cram it into a month of break just this once?

He stopped as his steps bounced towards the bed, directing his gaze heavenward.

"You are a loser," he told himself out loud. "So why are you so happy?" he asked wonderingly. He laughed almost giddily. "You're probably going to get your balls shot off. Fantastic. Mom always said to prepare for the worst. Hope for the best--" He ran a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly, incredibly light. "So…one more time. The last one? With our track record, not bloody likely. But one can always hope…"

He took a deep breath. "One can always hope that this is the last time I go down there without a welcoming committee."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Forward," she told him absently.

She followed as he led her, paying close attention to what she was passing, with her hand out and skimming along the wall.

"Halt, Shaker," she murmured as her hand hit air and her nose registered the source of the pungent aroma she was following.

"Hey, Abs," a pleasant male voice greeted them cheerfully from inside. "Hey, Shaker. Out causing trouble?"

"Hello, Mike," Abby offered a smile. "Why do you think I was looking for you?" she teased.

"Oooh, ouch. I'm wounded here, sweets. Why you have to be so cold?" he scolded, coming over and taking her elbow easily.

She dropped the harness and unclipped the leash so Shakespeare wouldn't become tangled. "You think I'm cold now?" she asked dryly. "You should've seen me at the beginning of the summer." Her smile dimmed with sadness.

"The heat melt you, did it?" the older man asked curiously.

Abby inhaled the comforting scents of dust, linseed oil and varnish that always seemed to hang around him, shrugging slightly. "Something like that," she admitted. Her hand slipped to her pocket, where a small tape rested.

A squeeze on her elbow. "We'll have to sit down and talk 'bout it later, hear?"

She nodded, fully intending not to.

Mike sensed her discomfort, switching subjects cheerfully. "Well, now that you finally decided to get your pampered, lazy rear into work, I better find you some, eh?"

Abby snorted, snapping her fingers so Shakespeare would follow. "Slave-driver."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lance slammed the door of the cab, picking up his bag wearily.

"Honey, I'm home," he muttered, coughing as the cab kicked up dust in its wake. "I need to get a job that doesn't have so much traveling," he mumbled, walking slowly up the path to the porch.

He glanced down at his bag. "And learn not to pack when it's unlikely that I'll be staying more than ten minutes," he added gloomily.

He cast a glance at the hot, sunny, cloudless sky. "What happened to that idiotic optimism?" he wondered aloud. "I think I lost it somewhere over Georgia," he answered himself, taking a deep breath for courage as he approached the screen door. That wasn't really true. He hadn't lost it, not really. It had kept him buoyed until halfway through his flight. Then the doubts had started to creep in. They crowded out the voice of excitement-fueled anticipation and inserted a hard dose of reality.

Nothing about life was certain. Especially when it involved a female.

"Someone stitch that on a pillow," he muttered. "Ain't that the truth."

Justin was sickeningly right about this. He wanted it. But he didn't. But he wanted it more than he didn't.

"Life was so much easier when I was single and ready to mingle," he murmured tiredly, dropping his bag beside his feet and raising his fist to knock.

"Come in, James Lance."

He stood there, knuckles suspended for several moments.

"Well?"

"Are you sure it's safe?" he asked with weak humor.

"I'm sure. Unless she set booby-traps while she was gone."

He opened the door slowly, squinting to adjust to the sudden dimness as he stepped into the house and wandered down the hall. Everything looked the same. A place for everything and everything in its place so Abby wouldn't have problems navigating through her own turf.

Anna poked her head out the kitchen doorway, rubbing at a powdery spot on her forehead. She smiled easily enough at him.

"Hello, James Lance. Would you like some peanut butter cookies?"

He smiled tentatively. "Hey, Anna. What did you mean, she's gone?"

She motioned him into the kitchen, talking as she went. "I meant that she was gone."

Sudden worry clutched at him. He was a fool to think that she would just hang around here. "You mean, like New York? Or worse, like Europe?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"I mean, like, to the foundation house," Anna mimicked him with a laugh, shaking her head. "And what brings you here, James Lance?"

He felt the heat fill his face, and he couldn't meet her knowing eyes. "Do I really have to answer that?"

"No," she laughed again, her fingers diving back into a lump of dough lying on the island. "Just thought I'd see if I could get an answer out of you. But doesn't look like I'm going to get anything from either of you."

He slid a glance at the older woman out of the corner of his eye, going to the counter and beginning to play with the dishes drying on a towel there.

"What do you mean?"

"You ask that a lot," Anna commented, beginning to hum under her breath.

Lance frowned, lining up the glasses in rows according to their height.

"You don't sound real concerned," he remarked slowly.

"I'm not."

He began to stack the plates, placing the saucers in between. "Not even about…not even about Abby?"

"Nope. She's doing just fine."

He nearly dropped the plate he was holding. "She's doing--fine?" he asked, his voice weak to his own ears. Disappointment took a chunk out of his expectations.

"Yes. Very well, in fact. I've never seen her behaving quite this way before, but I'm glad to see the change."

Anna began humming again, letting him digest that.

"In other words, she doesn't need me," he stated slowly.

"Didn't say that," Anna countered serenely. "Come here and finish this for me, James Lance. Those plates can't get any straighter."

He started, then flushed when he looked down at the plates and saucers stacked and ordered like soldiers in a row.

He abandoned them, walking over to Anna with his thoughts still churning. And not making much sense.

"Here, put this on. Wouldn't want you wearing flour like I am, child," Anna told him comfortably.

Lance automatically stuck his arms through the holes when she held the apron up, ducking as she dropped it around his neck.

Anna tied the apron around his waist as he stared bemusedly at the burst of flowers and butterflies dancing across his front.

"Don't you look just precious," Anna clucked, not bothering to hide her laughter.

"I don't think you taking advantage of my state of mind is quite fair," Lance sighed, smiling despite himself.

"I think it's very fair," was the retort. "I've watched you youngsters chase each other and your own tails in circles this summer. Now I get the feeling I'm going to miss the final showdown. I think it's only fair that I get to play with you while you're here."

Lance paused in the midst of digging his fingers into the ball of dough in front of him. "Miss the final showdown?" He twisted his neck to look at Anna as she started drying the dishes in the sink. "Where is she?" he asked again.

"The Foundation house," came the prompt response.

He blinked. "The Foundation house? Why's she there?"

"Helping, I would imagine."

"Helping with what? You mean, doing her business things?"

"No, helping," Anna answered, obviously amused by his surprise.

"Helping?" he repeated, trying to digest those implications.

"Helping," Anna confirmed.

"But she's…" he stopped, having confused himself.

"Blind? What does that have to do with anything?" Anna asked without heat.

"Nothing. But--but--"

"But what? Spit it out, child."

"But, helping?" he asked. "It's just, well…"

"She doesn't do that?"

"No, I mean, yes. No," he shook his head in frustration, the dough giving in under his pounding. "You know what I mean. She helps people, but she doesn't do that kind of stuff."

"She does now," Anna observed calmly. "James Lance, I need dough, not pie filling."

Lance stopped kneading the soft lump of dough guiltily. He gave it a gentle tap, watching it bounce back. "It's okay."

"But are you? Why is this coming as such a surprise?"

"I dunno. It just…I didn't expect this." Lance backed away from the counter, nerves buzzing in his stomach.

"James Lance--go stand on the beach."

He looked at Anna in puzzlement as she took the apron again. "Why?"

"It'll help clear your head. Now go."

She made a shooing motion, and he backed away, going slowly down the hall. He almost stopped altogether as he neared her room. He could still remember how he'd left her that day.

His feet carried him forward, and he held his breath unconsciously.

Then his mouth fell open.

It looked as if a tornado had torn through the room in front of him.

Clothes, pillows, and bedsheets were everywhere along with several other small items. Her alarm was on the floor along with a haphazard pile of papers and the lamp that had decoratively occupied the top of her bedside table. The drawers to her dresser and table were pulled from their runners, the closet doors thrown wide with empty hangers littering the clothes-strewn floor, some clothes still hanging drunkenly inside.

The pastel rugs were piled in a corner, a huge mound of brightly colored woven rugs lumped together along with a vividly colored quilted comforter at the side of the bed.

The curtains at the French doors stirred, and he stared through the slightly jagged hole in disbelief. Jagged pieces still lined the edges of the frame, but otherwise, the door was essentially gone, the cleanly swept floor belying the mess that it must have caused.

His eyes made one last turn of the room, falling on the bed.

He walked over slowly, gazing down at the slim rectangle of Abby's laptop. The computer acted as a paperweight for another pile captured underneath.

Lance's gaze switched, and he reached out a hand, fingering the filmy, bluish purple material of the dress that hung from the post nearest him. The dress was smeared with dirt and grass stains, torn in some places. Beside it hung his wrinkled suit jacket.

Lance sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, his thoughts in a jumbled confusion.

"Well?"

He looked up, watching Anna wipe her hands dry on a towel that hung from her waist.

"What?" he asked blankly.

"Any questions?"

Lance blinked, then sighed. "How? What happened here?"

"Abby happened here."

He'd known, but it was still rather shocking. And even more confusing.

"When?"

"After you left. And Joe and Justin's visit."

Lance swallowed, licking his dry lips.

"Why is it still like this?" he asked slowly.

"Because she refuses to let me touch it. I cleaned up the glass, but that was it."

His gaze swept the room again, trying to process the implications of the situation.

"James Lance?" Anna's amused voice broke into his reverie.

Lance met her humorous eyes. "What?"

"Just go." She tossed a heavy, folded piece of paper onto the bed beside him. "Quit trying to analyze. Those are the directions to the house." Another toss, a keyring hitting the rumpled sheets. "The jeep in the garage."

Anna disappeared back down the hallway without further comment.

Lance swallowed, heart beginning to slam against his sternum. He looked down at the bed, running his palm over her pillow lightly. Without thinking, he brought the soft object to his chest, hugging it tightly. His head dropped, and he buried his nose in the pillow's softness.

Rainwater and flowers filled his head, bittersweet and beckoning.

Lance dropped the pillow as suddenly as he'd grabbed it, snatching up the keys and paper as he raced out the door.

He heard Anna's laughing voice wishing him luck as he slammed out the screen door, sprinting for the garage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shakespeare yelped, scampering out of range. Again.

Abby shook her head reprovingly. "That's what you get. Now stay outta the way, pup. You're gonna have to learn."

He grumbled, retreating to his former spot a few feet away.

Her head tilted as she listened to him begin growling as he chewed on the squeaky bone she'd gotten him.

"Why did you leave that in the first place?" she asked, beginning again slowly. "Now you've ruined my rhythm."

He sneezed, the toy squeaking loudly in outrage. SQUEA--KEE!!

"Don't be insolent," she reprimanded, lips twitching.

He whined pitifully, papers rustling.

Abby glanced towards him, shaking her head as she heard the toy bounce across the floor, squeaking all the way.

"If you want your belly rubbed, get over here. I'm not leaving this because then I'll never find my place again."

More rustling as she held out her hand.

A warm, silky back pressed against her palm before Shakespeare rolled over, panting as she rubbed the soft skin of his belly.

Abby shook her head, smiling slightly as she traced the straps of his harness up to the place they met across his chest. The pads of her fingertips traced the new nameplate suspended there. Shaker.

"Whoever gets this one is gonna think a blind person did it."

Shakespeare groaned at the bad joke, and she pinched him lightly.

"I would like to hear you do better."

He rolled over, grunting and wiggling.

Abby's smile turned faintly sad as he rested his head on her knee.

"We're doing pretty good, right?" she asked softly, tracing the bones of his head gently. "It's only been a few days, and I can go almost half an hour at a time without thinking about him…or remembering. I'm sorry I squeezed you too tight last night, though." She laughed quietly as he groaned again.

Her hand went to her pocket, touching the tape inside lightly.

Abby swallowed, shaking her head slightly before taking a deep breath, chasing the thoughts away.

"You're the one who wanted a more loving relationship," she reminded the dog beside her, picking up the thread of the conversation. Then sighed. "I'm the pathetic one who wants a boyband back. And a deep-voiced, sweet-talking--" she shook her head, releasing a frustrated breath, "Lance! I want my Lance. Lord, I sound like a loser."

Shakespeare made a questioning noise, a cold nose investigating her knee.

Abby played with his ears absently. "I feel like a kid with her first crush. Better that I didn't saddle Mr. Bass with that. Wouldn't that have been a kick and a half to work through? Don't know nothing about nothing…and with a celebrity…pop star?"

Her voice trailed off, her hands pausing. The damp nose found her fingers, nudging them.

"Funny…" she murmured.

Shakespeare whined.

"I never…it was strange at first. Frightening. But after the first time," her cheeks warmed as she said the words out loud. "I still don't like feeling as if I've gone completely senseless…but the…I really liked him kissing me."

Shakespeare licked her knuckles, and she grimaced. "Not those kinds of kisses." She could feel her cheeks heating. "We didn't have enough time for that." She cleared her throat nervously. "That just sounds--gross, though."

A snort and another lick.

"I know I thought that the kissing was strange, but that would just be really--really strange. And I don't think his would be quite as messy…"

Abby groaned, covering her face with her hands without regard for the mess she was making. "I am such a loser. Why am I even talking about this with you? It's not going to be anything but a memory, Abby girl." Sadness threatened as she heard another voice murmur the phrase. She shook herself.

"Stupid man," she whispered without heat. "Oh, Shaker, why did he have to treat me as anything other than--why did he have to treat me like a girl? Now I can't be…be me anymore. Now I'll start thinking about guys…him…I actually have to deal with hormones," she shuddered, her fingers raking through her loose bangs in agitation.

"You--you, aghhh!! Lance, you dolt!" she suddenly yelled, feeling Shakespeare twitch with surprise.

"He made me feel all sorts of things I didn't want," she ranted. "Then he left! I hate him!"

Shakespeare grumbled, huffing under his breath.

Abby hunched her shoulders guiltily. "Shut up."

Guilt-inducing silence.

"Okay, maybe I don't hate him," she admitted in a small voice. "But if I ever see him again--" Her heart caught, and she cleared her throat. "I'm going to smack him. I'm not supposed to have to deal with--with wanting him, wanting all these things and not being able to have them. It's all his fault. Yes, I know that sounds juvenile," she snapped, shoving Shakespeare away huffily as he grunted. "But can you blame me? I go for years on end with nothing but a few brushes. Yeah, I did my best to be completely ignorant, and everyone made it so easy. Then Mr. Intense Pop Star had to come in and show me everything I was missing. Confused the hell outta me, and then he had to get all panicky and hot and cold and I don't know what he wants from me anymore!" she railed, flinging her hands around wildly.

"And I can't understand why I fell for him in the first place! When?! When did I lose my mind and decide that I was nuts enough to want a globe-trotting, insanely popular pop culture figure as a, as a--whatever the hell we could have been! Why couldn't he have been a one-dimensional, arrogant jerk that I could have shot down and left without a single thought?! And now I want him back?" Her eyes rolled back in her head. "I hate that freaking song!!"

Abby groaned, hearing her shout echo around the empty room.

"I'm such a loser."

Shakespeare mumbled, nails clicking as he trotted across the room.

He came back over and dropped the toy in her lap.

Abby sighed, reaching out to rub his shoulder. "Thanks, but I don't think that'll work for this problem. I need--I need to beat some sense into something. Preferably Lance."

She laughed sadly. "If I would have known how easy it was to go from being me to being this uncontrollable mass of feelings before everything started…" she smiled wistfully. "I would've kissed him first."

Her cheeks heated slightly, and she ducked her head, shoving the dog away gently. "You tell anyone I said that, I'll kill you. Go lay down."

A doggy sigh.

"Just a little longer," she promised, taking a deep breath to calm her emotionally-hyped pulse. "Then we'll go take a walk."

A questioning sound.

"Yeah, I promise. No more yelling, either. My throat's already sore," she told him wryly.

The papers rustled again as he settled, and Abby picked up the handle in front of her again, heaving a sigh. "I feel bad about lying to you, but it's for your own peace of mind," she muttered, reaching above her head again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shakespeare glanced over at him as he plopped down on the paint-spattered newspapers, an almost knowing expression on his canine face.

And his face almost hurt from the grin plastered from ear to ear.

There was a foolish feeling of just plain…wonderful inside him. He couldn't feel his toes, or anything else beneath his shaking knees for that matter, but he didn't care.

He watched her brow wrinkle in concentration, one hand drawing across her forehead to push strands of hair away and leaving yet another streak of white paint in its wake from her coated fingers.

Abby lifted the roller, reaching out without any hesitation and touching the wet paint to find her place.

Tongue in her teeth, she began the task of rolling the paint across the lower half of the wall.

The thorough, if a little haphazard, strokes circled the lower part of the room with a fresh coat of white paint. Which also spattered the paper covered floor. And Shakespeare. And Abby.

His smile turned unconsciously tender as his eyes traced the line of her slender back, covered in frayed and well-decorated overalls. A cap was turned backward on her head, her raven braids trailing from beneath and streaked with white.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, the paint tray at her side. She was concentrating so hard she wasn't even aware of him watching her. Watching her talk to her dog as if he were a real person. Watching her put herself out to build something. Watching her admit something out loud that made him have the insane urge to dance a jig and run over and kiss her.

And the words were all there. Waiting to be said.

Lance swallowed, hard, once, closing his eyes as he gathered his courage. His hand dropped from its position over his pounding heart.

Shakespeare's ears perked, recognizing the signal. His tail swept over the floor, papers rustling wildly.

Abby's head jerked, her back stiffening as her profile turned toward him.

His mouth opened, and he listened to the odd sort of gasping sound he made with something akin to horror.

Lance gulped against his dry throat, eyes widening as the words disappeared, leaking out like water in a sieve. Every last one of them. His mind went blank.

His eyes darted over her again, and he blurted the first words that came to mind.

"You missed a spot."

He slapped his forehead. Hard.

Abby froze, and he watched the roller drop from her fingers, landing on her bare feet and leaving splashes of white in its wake.

Her lips parted, eyes as wide as his must be.

His heart lurched with almost painful expectation.

Then she turned with agonizing slowness and presented him with the back of her head.

Lance gaped.

Well, he hadn't expected that response. Maybe her running into his arms was hoping for a little much, but something more than, well, than that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her mouth was still open, but she couldn't summon the presence of mind to close it. So she closed her eyes tightly instead.

She felt ridiculously stupid, but it was mildly comforting. And it seemed to help the urge to hyperventilate.

"Okay, Abby, now is not a good time to start hallucinating. They told you the wood varnish should be done in a well-ventilated area, but actual paint? They didn't warn me about this. Open a window, they said, and you'll be fine," she muttered, trying to control her breathing as the blood roared in her ears. "He is not here. He is not here. He left. Yes, that's right, he left. He's somewhere in the Midwest dancing his nice round patootie off and singing for all the little girls. So he cannot be here. There's a small possibility that at this very moment you are passed out cold on the floor after being overcome by paint fumes and are now at your dog's mercy. So Shaker, if I'm talking in my sleep, your tongue better not come anywhere near my face or my toes. We've had this conversation before. On numerous occasions."

Her fingers were tingling, beginning to shake with nerves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lance peered around at Abby's face cautiously, approaching just as warily from behind as Shakespeare watched with interest, chewing on his toy lazily.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips moving as she muttered. He blinked, eyes widening incredulously.

"…told you the wood varnish should be done in a well-ventilated area, but actual paint? They didn't warn me about this. Open a window, they said, and you'll be fine. He is not here. He is not here. He left. Yes, that's right, he left. He's somewhere in the Midwest dancing his nice round patootie off and singing for all the little girls. So he cannot be here. There's a small possibility that at this very moment you are passed out cold on the floor after being overcome by paint fumes and are now at your dog's mercy. So Shaker, if I'm talking in my sleep, your tongue better not come anywhere near my face or my toes. We've had this conversation before. On numerous occasions."

She took a shuddering breath, looking pale. Lance released a soft breath, lips twitching with wonder.

He wasn't the only one. How comforting.

He reached out a hand, hovering without touching. "Abby girl," he murmured softly, trying to get her attention. He didn't care if he didn't have the words. He just wanted to be with her.

Her throat worked convulsively, her lids tightening even further.

"Okay, he did not just talk to you. Again," she stumbled, taking a deep breath. "You can't smell him, you can't hear him, you can't sense him. Hallucinations are vicious things. You are passed out like a sack of potatoes on the floor. Paint fumes could possibly become something like him…There is no other explanation. Cause if he was really here, my life is cruel enough to make sure that he heard everything I just said…" she trailed off, gulping and shaking her head.

A smile filled his face, he couldn't help it.

She rushed back into speech before he could say a thing. "But I have to get a break just this once, right? That's right, Abby, it has to happen at least once every ten years. The universe has to take pity on the poor loser stumbling around in the dark and…"

She stopped as soon as his knuckles stroked over her cheek.

"And that has to be…Sha--Shaker," she stuttered.

The devil made him do it. Lance sank to his knees, leaning close enough to whisper in her ear. "If it's Shaker, then can he use his tongue?"

She gasped, eyes flying open. Then he was touching air as she scrambled backwards, red filling her cheeks.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself," he admitted softly.

She simply stared towards him, eyes wide.

"Abby?"

She gulped.

"I'd prefer you talking to yourself than not talking at all," nerves made him joke, his palms sweating. "You can even go on thinking I'm a hallucination. Can you carry on conversations with hallucinations?" he asked a little desperately.

Something akin to fright leapt through her eyes. Then she nodded stiffly.

"So if I'm not real, I can't hurt you," he stated rationally. He stared at her longingly. "I won't hurt you, Abby," the words slipped out without his volition.

Her face crumpled, and she turned her face away quickly.

"Don't cry," he whispered, reaching out a hand and touching her chin. She didn't jerk away, and he smiled tentatively.

"Round patootie, Abby?" he asked softly, trying to ease the tension that radiated off of her.

The color rushed back to her face, her lashes sweeping down. "Branched out to Rosie," she murmured almost inaudibly.

He laughed, heart pounding. "You've been doing a lot of branching out," he observed quietly.

Her eyes flickered, her gaze turning back towards him, the shields partially raised.

"Maybe."

The wariness in her tone was only to be expected. But his hopes winced just the same.

He took a breath. "We need to talk."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The surreal sensation was wearing off quickly.

Lance was here.

Again.

He was talking to her, touching her. All her certainties trembled.

Every time. Why oh why? Why did every path lead to him? It was like being constantly tested. Her eyes closed as she remembered her unknowing admissions. She couldn't deny anything.

"We need to talk," he told her, a kind of stolid determination in his voice.

"Why?" she whispered.

"For--for both of us. To finally…" He took a breath. "Closure. We both need some kind of closure."

The pain lifted and swelled inside of her, cresting in one unbreaking line of agony. Closure. As in…the end. Somehow the nebulous thoughts of never seeing him again were hard, cold reality. And the little butterflies of nameless hopes that had taken flight with his sudden appearance…again…fluttered to the wind. He'd heard everything, and still wanted to--to have 'closure'.

"Closure," she repeated softly. "And how do you want to do that?"

"We talk," came the hesitant reply, firming. "We talk. Honestly."

Her stomach twisted nervously. "And once we talk?"

"Once we talk, and everything's clear…we close the past." Even he sounded a little confused about the details.

She tried to ignore the fact that he was perhaps the only person living who could ask her to throw all her resolutions to the wind to be with him.

Weak-willed loser. Distance and closure. The pain tightened like a vise around her heart. I wish I could hate you for this, Lance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He almost drew back when her eyes opened again.

The silver depths reflected his own image back at him like mirrors, but had completely closed to her own feelings. He fought the urge to shiver.

"Abby?" he asked tentatively. Despite what he'd heard from her own lips, doubts rose again.

"What, Lance?" Her voice was carefully neutral, expressionless.

His skin crawled, and he barely resisted the urge to pull away. His chest ached. This was his fault. He'd done this to her. He'd been so adamant about her lack of trust. But look what he'd done to her. He'd given her every reason to never trust him again.

Including anything he said now.

Lance felt the heat in his cheeks, and was almost grateful that she couldn't see them.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself mumbling. "This was a mistake."

He stumbled to his feet with an incredulous little voice shouting at him frantically.

The voice was muffled by his own heartbeat, his feet backing away as his heart struggled inside his chest.

"I'm sorry," he repeated to himself and her, his eyes glued to the floor. "I'm sorry."

He looked up painfully, his tailbone hitting the doorframe.

And had one last fleeting glimpse of her face.

He turned blindly, heading down the nearest hallway without thinking about where he was going with his eyes closed.

Her image burned as his mind insisted on throwing it back at him one last time.

Her face was tilted up, the sun striking one side and throwing the other in shadow, stray wisps of hair feathering across her temple. A streak of white bathed her cheekbone.

Her eyes were open as his words echoed between them.

The mirrors smoked, bleeding out as tears filmed her eyes, her face tilting to hide the weakness.

His feet froze.

Lance took a breath, his eyes snapping open.

She's just as scared as you are the shouting voice finally penetrated. Quit running away, for God's sake. Just take it by the balls and try one more time. Isn't this--Abby--worth it?

He pivoted, rushing back the way he'd come in a full-out sprint. He almost breezed right past the doorway, catching himself at the last minute and screeching to a halt with his hand on the frame. He jerked himself back around, breathing hard, and found her with almost desperate eyes.

"Abby--" he managed.

She'd heard him coming, and her eyes were wide and cautious. Confused.

"Abby--" he gulped, trying to draw in enough air to speak.

Her brows drew together. "Lance?" she whispered in return.

"Please--" he gasped. "Abby--"

He stumbled into the room again, dropping to a crouch not more than two feet away from her. "I'm sorry--" he breathed.

"You already said that," she murmured, her lashes sliding down to cover her gaze.

"No--for leaving--everything--please, we need--there's more--" he fumbled, then blew out an exasperated breath.

A strained, ghostly smile curved her lips. "Start simple," she advised gently.

Lance paused, taking deep breaths, and lifted a hand to her chin, urging her face upward.

"Why?" he asked carefully.

"Why what?" she asked just as carefully.

"Why everything. Why the party, why Shakespeare, why the foundation, why the house, why the time, why the broken glass, why the mess, why the color?" he reeled off, saying anything that came to mind. "Why are you here? Why?"

"I got a life," came the simple answer.

He blinked, sitting back slightly. "You got--"

"A life," Abby completed, half her mouth twitching up in a smile. "The mess was just a way of changing things before I decided what to do."

"But why is it still there?" he asked stupidly.

"To remind me."

Lance swallowed, touching her cheek gently. "Remind you of what?"

"To get a life," came the patient answer.

"What was wrong with your old one?" he asked cautiously.

"It sucked."

He gave a surprised laugh, fading as she moved back slightly, away from his touch.

"Is that what you need to know? I'm fine. You're fine. Does that mean we're closed?"

Lance peered into her eyes, trying to find her emotions again. "Do you want us to be closed?" he asked softly.

A faint shrug. "I thought we were when you left."

Lance winced, sitting back.

"I'm sorry--"

"For what? A reality slap? I needed it. I thought I could fix things. I was wrong. Now I know better, and I'm learning to have a life worth living." She frowned. "That sounded way too movie-of-the-weekish."

Lance didn't smile. Regret tore through him. "Well, you have one up on me," he told her softly. "I didn't get my reality slap without some help."

The eerie gaze lifted, the shields a little more firmly in place. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it took me a lot longer to realize what I was doing."

She waited silently.

"I sabotaged us both. Set myself up for failure specifically. I never felt this way before. Hell, I was just as scared as you were. More," he admitted. "If I could somehow convince you, that meant that everything would change. And deep down, I didn't want anything to change, as much as I told you, myself, that I wanted--you."

Color flared in both their cheeks.

Abby's lips tightened in a stiff smile. "Brutal honesty?"

He sighed. "Extremely." He gulped a breath. "The first time I came down--I didn't expect to change your mind. I expected you to do exactly what you did, and in a way, it was a relief. It confirmed everything I knew. I could say anything to you and that wouldn't change, because you weren't ready. So--so I did," he stumbled slightly. "And then I left, telling myself I'd done my best, and I was the hurt party. I could sulk and feel abused all I wanted, and I was justified," mild humor crept into his voice.

"And then I had to ruin everything by maneuvering you back," Abby stated softly.

"Something like that," he admitted. "You shocked me. I saw what you were doing on some level…but I ignored it so I wouldn't have to deal with it. I just saw what I wanted to see so I could leave." He smiled sadly, reaching out to touch her nose. "So you were right to accuse me of leaving, of breaking my promise."

She didn't pull back from his touch, and he could see the thoughts churning through her gaze.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So where does this leave us now? Abby wondered a little desperately. His explanation was almost a declaration, but not quite.

He's telling me that he just thought he loved me? The thought hurt deep within. That he's not ready and has realized he doesn't want to…?

Nervousness made her stomach burn, a frown wrinkling her forehead.

"Yeah, I guess so," Lance answered uncertainly as the question slipped out. "I--well, I wanted to tell you…things," he trailed off.

Abby gulped. "So that's all?" she asked tentatively, disappointment eating through her.

"Um--I, well, uh, yeah." He sounded about as certain as she did.

She directed her gaze to the floor, distancing herself from the feel of his fingers on her skin. He's already heard everything you had to say. This means that he really wanted to leave as friends. So I wouldn't feel uncomfortable talking with the others again.

But what about what he said? A small, plaintive voice asked.

Depressed confusion filled her. Maybe he's waiting on me to say something an even smaller voice advanced.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damn, I ruined things. She's clammed up again so she won't get hurt. Can't she hear what I'm telling her though? Lance wondered, frustrated.

His stomach tightened with a mixture of depression and let-down.

But what about what she said? A small voice pouted.

Lance frowned. There was no explanation for what she'd done. She'd been alone, and had voiced her thoughts with to what she thought was an empty room.

Maybe she's waiting on me to say something he wondered slowly. I just told her I wanted her to push me away. That doesn't really go along with telling her you now want to go further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Thank you," Abby blurted, then frowned. That's great. For what?

"For what?" Lance asked, puzzled.

Abby swallowed, wanting desperately to get up and move away.

"For--for coming and explaining," she managed through tightening teeth.

"Oh," Lance replied lamely, flinching back slowly. If that isn't a cue to leave, I don't know what is.

"I guess--we have another concert tomorrow night," he rambled stiffly.

Abby nodded jerkily, fingers worrying the handle of the paint roller nervously. He wants to go she realized miserably "You should get rest while you can," she mumbled, biting her lip anxiously.

"Yeah…" Words were shoving them further apart, and he had the single most overwhelming urge to just grab her and eliminate the distance.

Abby looked away sharply, taking a breath. "Tell the others I miss them," she requested softly.

What about me? Miss me, Abby. Lance managed a stilted laugh. "You know they'd say to tell them yourself." His skin itched, and he fought the urge to fidget in the uncomfortable, strained friendliness. All the while, his heart was screaming at him. It's going all wrong. This isn't how it was supposed to be. I thought we were supposed to live happily ever after.

Abby smiled slightly in return, the muscles around her eyes tight with forced calm. "Yeah."

Silence fell.

Happily ever after? This isn't a fairy tale, and you for damn sure aren't Prince Charming the other voice told him scathingly. You dropped the ball, you made your choices, you live with them. No one else made these decisions. Ain't life grand? The voice drawled.

No he answered, misery dragging at his muscles.

"I--I better go then…?" he cursed himself for the note of almost pleading in his voice, running a hand along the back of his neck, where a headache was building.

Abby turned back around, facing the wall again as she fingered the roller at her feet. He's waiting on me to give him the out. Keep a little pride, Abby. "I have work to do," she agreed softly.

Another silence fell.

Lance licked his dry lips. "Yeah, I should go…" He climbed to his feet slowly, eyes clinging to her rigid back.

He turned, fighting the voices that told him to stay. He took a few steps, then paused, searching for words.

"Abby?"

A flicker of silence. "What?" her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it.

Lance chewed his lower lip. "I just--I just wanted you to know--I'm proud of you. The other guys would be too."

The silence was longer. "Thanks," was whispered.

He took a few more steps, the hollow feeling inside him growing.

"Abby?"

Another pause.

"What?"

"You and Shakespeare?"

He was stalling, and he knew it.

"Shaker and I understand each other."

His lips twisted in a wry smile.

"I'm glad."

Lance stopped in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the jamb as he stared at the hallway walls. "Abby?"

"What?"

"I--does this mean we're friends again?" The words were bitter on his tongue.

Abby flinched, glad he couldn't see her face. "Yeah, sure," she agreed without enthusiasm.

Lance swallowed, brows drawing together.

"You'll be okay?" Lance finally asked, closing his eyes, fingers of ache and longing trailing over his heart and bleeding faintly into the question.

"I'll…I'm always okay," came the soft response.

Lance nodded slowly, straightening from the doorway.

He took another step out into the hallway.

Her voice followed him out.

"I just won't be happy."

He froze.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abby's heart pounded inside her chest, the vibration traveling down to her trembling hands and fingers as she lifted the roller again. Why did you say that? Just let him go and be done with it.

Then heard the papers rustle madly.

She squeaked in surprise as the handle was snatched from her nerveless fingers, hard hands suddenly jerking her to her feet by her upper arms and spinning her around.

"Lan--?"

"Okay, no more of this," Lance snapped tensely.

Her eyes widened, her senses filling with him as he literally surrounded her.

"Bu--"

"No more melodrama, no more soap opera, no more hiding," he rapped in agitation, giving her a small shake to emphasize the point.

"Tell me what's going on. What does that mean? Why are we both here, and both running in circles--still?" he demanded.

Abby gulped, struggling against his grip. "I--"

"I am so damn tired of this! Why is this so hard for us?!" Lance's voice rose on an almost shout at the last.

"Don't yell at me!" Abby choked slightly, angry and pained.

"Why not?" Lance yelled back. "We seem to get nowhere by trying to talk and pussyfoot around the issues between us! I've tried to be understanding, I've tried to be patient, I've tried to wait. But, dammit, I'm tired of waiting! Why can't you just say what you're feeling?! I'm just me! I'm only human! And I only have so much patience and nerves. I've turned into someone different because of you, and I've never even known if I can keep you!" he cried, frustrated.

"I never asked you to!" Abby protested vehemently. "I don't want you to change for me! I don't want to force myself into your life. You're the one who said you really didn't want to be with me!" she accused.

"But I didn't say that was still true!" Lance shouted.

Silence fell, heat filling both their cheeks.

"What do you want from me?" Lance growled softly.

Her muscles stiffened. "I don't want anything from you," she began in protest.

"Then what do you want?!" Lance yelled, exasperated.

"You!" Abby blurted. "I love you! And I want you!"

Lance stepped back abruptly, his hands releasing her so fast she stumbled.

"What?" he asked, amazed. The words echoed inside his head, and he felt something inside him ease.

"I love you," she whispered, the words tingling on her tongue. She sighed as she closed her eyes, feeling strangely calm and relieved and nervous and scared all at once. "Je vous aime, Lance," she repeated softly. "I fell in love with you, a little piece at a time. But I could never trust myself enough to believe it was possible."

"And now?" he asked softly, half-afraid she would take the words back.

"Now it hurts too much to be anything but real," she admitted, wrapping her arms around herself.

She sucked in a breath as gentle fingers stroked her cheek and chin.

"Love is not something that happens when you lose a battle," Lance observed tentatively.

"For me, it was never supposed to happen," she negated softly.

"Never say never."

There was a pause.

"But what happens now?" Abby whispered, uncertainty filling her face again.

"What do you want to happen now?" Lance countered, crossing his arms over his racing heart to stifle the urge to touch her. Now more than ever, she had to know what she wanted. He couldn't influence her decision.

Abby hesitated, taking a half-step back as she slanted her head to the side, hiding her expression.

"I can't--won't let anyone have that kind of power over me," she mumbled. "Not again, Lance." There was a thread of fear in her voice.

Pain speared him for one breath-tightening instant. For her and himself. I couldn't have chosen someone easier to love? A sad smiled lifted his mouth as he reached out a hand to finger the tail of her braid, drawing it gently over her shoulder. Not a snowball's chance.

"I don't want that kind of power," he told her quietly. "I just want to be able to show you what you mean to me. I want to be something to you, something important." He urged her silently to understand what he was saying.

Her sigh reached his ears, and he started when she reached for him, burying her face in his T-shirt and hugging him tightly. His arms went around her slowly, almost afraid she would bolt if he touched her.

Lance rocked them both gently, trying to give her a little peace. Her muscles were tight with whatever inner struggle she was waging, and he willed her his strength, nuzzling his own face into the hair above her ear, a pleasure so intense it was almost pain invading him.

For the first time in a long time, he was at peace with himself. There wasn't any reason left for him to fight. And he would always carry with him the memory of her telling him she loved him, the image of her face, eyes fierce and glittering like a storm coming over the water, brows furrowed, as she practically shouted the words at him.

There had to be more romantic ways of saying it. But nothing with Abby would likely ever be normal or calm. That was just one thing he'd come to love about her. She was Abby. And he would deal rather than risk losing her.

Or he would deal if she would just give him the chance.

"You are."

He almost missed the whispered comment.

Lance pulled back slightly. "What?"

Abby's head tilted up slowly, emotions passing like quicksilver through her eyes. "You are…something to me, something important."

She took a breath. "But I don't think I could deal with losing you."

He grinned as her words mirrored his thoughts.

"You don't have to," he promised. "You will never lose me, I promise."

Tears filled her gaze. "You can't make that sort of promise. You can't keep it. We're only human."

Lance tightened his grip. "I'm not your parents. I'm not your uncle, and I'm not Sunny. As long as I'm breathing, you will never have to worry that I will not be there."

Abby took a shuddering breath. "Don't be rash. Emotions are fragile things," she murmured. "The problems--Lance, there are so many…"

"Life doesn't offer very many certainties," he agreed. "But I won't fight this hard for something I plan on giving up so easily. Not for your problems--and not for my own," he grimaced, knowing that his problems loomed large and unforgiving.

"But--" Abby protested.

His lips brushed hers, stopping her words as she started. "Who's afraid now?" Lance whispered, resting his forehead against hers. "I come back to you no matter how often we run from each other. We can continue doing that, or we can accept things and try to figure them out. Together has to be easier than apart."

Abby hesitated.

Lance sighed, kissing her forehead gently before rubbing his cheek across her temple. "Don't do anything for me. Ever. Please, Abby. Be certain."

He opened his eyes when he felt the touch of her fingers on his jaw.

"Are you?"

"Am I what? Certain?"

She nodded, her fingers tightening in the material of his T-shirt.

"As sure as I've ever been about anything," Lance whispered, rocking them gently from side to side. "Name it, and I'll be whatever you want me to be."

Her head shook. "No. I don't want that kind of responsibility," she denied, and he smiled faintly, pleased. "I just want…"

Lance cracked an eye, looking down at her worried face. "What?"

"I need you. But what if this ends? I can't--" she broke off, mouth pinching.

He cuddled her closer, loving the feeling of being able to touch her, and nudged the hat off her head. It fell to the floor soundlessly. "It's scary, isn't it?"

She nodded wordlessly. "Terrifying," she whispered. "Lance, I don't know anything about this sort of thing."

"Neither do I. Not with you. Everyone is different. This is a first for me too, Abby. I want to touch you, be near you, but I don't want to scare you or make you uncomfortable. We just figure it out together," Lance offered hesitantly, smoothing the flyaway hair at her crown.

Abby gulped, taking a breath. "What about your life? I may be approved as a friend, but your people won't like--"

She was talking in possibilities, and excitement spiraled through him. Then his arms tightened, and he frowned. "You let me worry about that. This is my life, and I'll do what makes me happy."

"I make you happy?" Abby asked softly.

Lance smiled. "When you aren't driving me batty," he teased gently.

"What if…" Abby blew out a breath, and Lance shivered as it struck his neck.

"What if what?" he asked weakly.

Her head rocked slowly. "Nothing," she murmured.

"Nothing?" he probed.

Her hands were on his shoulders, pulling them down to the papers.

Abby sank back on her heels, her hands cupping his jaw tentatively. Her brows wrinkled together slightly as she gazed upwards at him.

Awareness jostled through him, and he brought his hands up to hers, covering them.

"What are you asking me? What are you thinking?" he asked softly.

"That I'll never find someone like you."

Lance drew a breath. "Nah. There are dozens of guys just like me out there. I just got lucky when I found you."

A smile tipped the corners of her mouth, glimmering faintly in her gaze. "Lucky?"

"Very," he confirmed, drawing her hands gently upwards. He closed his eyes, spreading her fingers with his own.

Abby stiffened slightly, her fingers flexing. "Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly.

"I love you," he offered again, simply.

She took a small, hitching breath, her fingers tightening. "Will it be enough?" she asked softly.

Lance smiled as her fingers drifted over his brows anyway. "Happily ever after only happens in fairytales--life doesn't end after we say the words. We take it one day at a time."

The tense line of her shoulders relaxed, her fingers sketching the span of his cheekbones. His eyelids lowered, the intimacy of the touch drawing them together.

Her fingers hesitated.

"I will never see the light," Abby whispered, almost forlorn. Warning.

"Some people never do, and they see the sunshine all the time," Lance told her solemnly, hoping he was saying the right words. "Your blindness doesn't change anything for me. You said you could see us by touch," He grazed the backs of her hand with his fingers as hers found the curve of his jaw. "If you're happy with that, then so am I."

Abby's head tilted, her fingertips pausing at the flare of his cheekbones as her brows knitted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fear was gone, seeping away like water in a sieve.

He said the words so easily, and she marveled at that, warmth filling the places she hadn't even known were empty. Some of her doubts still lingered, but it was as if she were aligning herself with Lance against the world instead of both of them in separate corners.

He practically radiated strength and confidence while her own was still a little shaky.

Her fingers hesitated, her movements losing even what little concentration they'd had. She stared into the darkness that shrouded her vision. Beyond the veil, Lance sat in front of her. Warmth, solid strength, presence that was uniquely Lance. But she would never see him like she wanted. No amount of love would change that.

"I will never see the light," she whispered, suddenly afraid that he would resent that, her, when the initial excitement wore off.

"Some people never do, and they see the sunshine all the time," Lance told her slowly. "Your blindness doesn't change anything for me. You said you could see us by touch," He grazed the backs of her hand with his fingers as hers found the curve of his jaw. "If you're happy with that, then so am I."

Abby's head tilted, her fingertips pausing at the flare of his cheekbones as her brows knitted.

His hands tightened, and nerves knotted her stomach.

"Don't worry, Abby girl. You don't have to see your knight in shining armor coming, you just have to hear him. And believe you me, you'll hear him coming. Complaining about how the armor chafes and such," Lance teased.

A smile curved her mouth, unable to resist the emotion. Fine awareness still hummed along her nerves, but her muscles settled, her distracted focus sharpening.

She cupped his cheeks, her smile deepening as she felt the lingering chubbiness of youth in the slight curve there. Her thumbs touched at his chin, feeling the slight scratch of beginning whiskers on the determined jut of bone. Contrast.

Silence fell as she traced his features again, this time paying attention to what she was doing. A picture of planes and shadows sketched inside her mind's eye. Large, deepset eyes framed by feathery lashes and a high, square forehead. A head of spiky hair that made her smile. A nose that was slightly crooked, wrinkling under her touch.

"I'll never be happy with that," she murmured, her lungs catching as her fingertips found the curve of his lips with a light touch.

Her own eyes closed reflexively to tighten her focus.

"But I'll be happy with you," she whispered.

And felt the smile curve his mouth spontaneously.

And she saw it as her fingers drifted over his lips gently, painting a picture in her mind more of feeling than of sight. Faint, hot tears pressed against her lids. Partly of sorrow, partly of gratitude. Never more than at that moment had she felt the limitations of her blindness. Or the blessings.

His smile was a beautiful thing. Joy. Love. Laughter. It promised so much more than only words could say.

Lance's hands caught hers, drawing them down. The warmth of his mouth met hers, catching her small sound of surprise.

Abby relaxed, leaning closer as she let down her guard.

And felt his smile against her own lips, moving gently. I love you.

Abby sucked in a breath.

For a few suspended moments, she thought for certain she saw it. Deep within the darkness, she'd seen it.

A spark of light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shakespeare eyed the two humans curiously as they spoke softly, their forms merging on the paint-spattered floor.

His human was happy. He sniffed the air, scenting her contentment, hearing it in her voice.

The other human he liked too. There was an aura of protectiveness and fierceness that Shakespeare could understand.

He felt the same way about Shakespeare's human as Shakespeare did.

Shakespeare snorted, chewing on his squeaky toy contentedly.