The hospital chapel was deserted at that hour of the morning. He was surprised that it was even open at all, but the night clerk had shown him the way and here he was, a Mennonite kneeling in prayer for a Southern Baptist in a Methodist chapel. Well, God is God, and JC didn't think that He really differentiated between the various denominations. After all, there had been only Catholicism for 1500 years before Martin Luther came along; and there had been only Judaism a thousand years before Catholicism. JC had never been very religious in his life, but in his times of trouble, he was drawn back to his parents' teachings, to his faith. And it was in the small chapel that Bobbie found him, in front of the altar, having a private conversation with the Almighty.

"I … I know I haven't been the best of the flock," JC whispered. "But please, please hear me, please, just this one time. And I'm not asking for myself here. I'm asking for that country boy downstairs. Please don't take him from us yet. I know that he's wonderful and you probably have big plans for him up there in heaven, but please don't make him leave us yet. Please don't take him away from us, from me. We need him down here, I need him down here. And I promise if you let him stay with us, I promise I'll take care of him for as long as I live. I'll never let him down again, and I'll never let You down again. Please, God, please don't take him yet. And I don't know if it's wrong for me to love him the way that I do, but if it is, then punish me and not him."

"JC?" Bobbie asked quietly as she approached the hunched figure. "They're about ready to move Lance into the cardiac ICU wing. Dr. Cooley says that he wants to run some more tests on Lance's heart once he's stabilized." She could see JC tremble at the mention of Lance's heart. It had been a blur for the two of them, these past four hours. They had made it to the hospital in record time, only to have to sit for an agonizing hour before anyone would tell them what was happening with Lance. And when they finally did find out, she had almost wished to remain ignorant. Dehydration, stomach ulcer, upper respiratory infection, and exhaustion were the least of Lance's problems. By his electrolyte levels, Lance should have been dead or very near death. His potassium and sodium levels were so low that his heart rhythm was dangerously unstable. Test after test came back telling them that this was a very sick young man. And the more that the doctors told them about Lance's condition, the more guilt JC showed on his face. Bobbie knew exactly what he was thinking, and she had to get him out of that mindset quick. Lance needed him too much.

"I … I shouldn't have left him tonight," JC trembled as he remained kneeling. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have left him. We should have forced him to rest more. We shouldn't have done the shows. He was so sick."

"JC, listen to me. Lance needs you right now. Do you hear me? He needs you to be strong for him, to help him through this. And you can't do that if you let this guilt eat you up," Bobbie told him. "If anything, this is Johnny's fault and Fat Lou's fault for pushing you guys so much. But it's not your fault, do you hear me?"

"When I saw him on that floor tonight, Bobbs, I – my heart stopped…. I didn't realize till then how much I loved him." JC whispered as Bobbie pulled him into a hug.

"I know, honey. I know," Bobbie soothed. "But you have to be strong now. He's going to be okay. The doctors are taking good care of him."

"And when Dr. Cooley told us that his heart … that his heart was bad," JC shuddered. "I can't live without him. He's come to mean so much to us, to me."

"He's going to be okay, Joshua. You have to believe the doctors. They know what they're doing." Bobbie assured him again. "Now, let's get up to CCU and see your country boy, okay?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Hey there," JC said gently as he saw those green eyes open for the first time in three days. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was run over by an 18-wheeler," Lance answered, his voice raspy and hoarse.

"What do you remember?" JC asked, unconsciously stroking Lance's tangled blond locks.

"You leaving for the party," Lance answered as he intermittently opened and closed his eyes, trying to stay alert.

"That was Thursday, today's Sunday," JC told him.

"I've – I've been out that long?" Lance asked, incredulous.

"You gave us all quite a scare, country boy," JC said. "Bobbie and I found you on the kitchen floor. She says she's going to kick your ass once you get better for scaring us all like this."

"Bring her on," Lance quipped, now more on the side of unconscious than before. "Chest itches."

Lance could hear JC break out into laughter at his remark. "What … what's so funny?"

"They had to shave your chest to put the cardiac monitors on you, country boy," JC chuckled.

"Get them off," Lance mumbled, his eyes already closed again. "Don't like it."

"Oh no you don't," JC said as he gently pulled Lance's hand away from his chest. "The nurses will get very upset if you pull those pads off."

"Don't like it," Lance pouted again, this time sounding more like a little toddler than a 20-year-old man.

"Get some sleep, we can talk later," JC said as he saw his friend fall back into a peaceful slumber.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"But Mama! I'm fine, I don't need to stay in bed like this!" Lance complained as Diane fussed over him like he was home from grade school with a cold.

"James Lance Bass, do not even begin to try my temper, young man," Diane said sternly. "Dr. Cooley's orders are for you to get two full weeks of bed rest, and that means complete BED REST, as in you will not move from that bed except to use the bathroom, do you understand me?!" Lance was about to complain again, until he saw his mother's steely glare. He knew to keep his mouth shut.

"Mrs. Bass? May I come in?" JC asked as he popped his head through the bedroom door.

"Come on in, Joshua. My son here seems to think that he knows better than the doctors," Diane said as she got up from the bed.

"Mama, I didn't –" Lance protested.

"Five minutes, you two. And then Lance needs to take his medicine and take his nap," Diane ordered as she left the room. "And if I hear one more word from you, James, I will move back down here to take care of you for the next year!"

"Holy hell, country boy, your mother is on the warpath!" JC whispered to Lance once he saw that Diane was safely out of earshot.

"Tell me about it!" Lance whimpered. He had always hated being sick, and this was his own worst nightmare, his own version of Dante's Inferno. Being sick, at home, confined to bed, with Diane Bass hovering over him like a hawk.

"So how are you feeling?" JC asked as he sat down on the bed.

"Better, most of the nausea's gone. And my chest doesn't hurt anymore. Dr. Cooley says that the medication should help regulate the rhythm of my heartbeat. He wants me to go to Houston for some tests next month." Lance replied. He did look better to JC. His face had color again. And his eyes shone, really shone, once more.

"More tests?" JC asked.

"Yes," Lance replied. "Nothing serious. Dr. Cooley thinks that the meds will control my heartbeat, but he just wants to make sure. Wanted me to get a couple of second opinions."

"Okay, as long as he thinks it will help," JC said. An awkward yet comfortable silence descended upon them. JC unconsciously played with Lance's fingers as the younger boy settled back down into the bed. Words didn’t seem necessary at all. And true to her word, Diane appeared exactly five minutes later, with Lance's medication in hand. And as JC walked out of the room, he heard Lance shout to him one final time.

"Josh?" Lance called after him.

"What is it, country boy?" JC said, turning around and facing Lance and his mother.

"You can keep the keys." Lance said firmly as he threw a set of keys to JC, the same set of keys that JC had taken the night he and Bobbie had found Lance, the keys that JC had given back to Lance in the hospital.

"I can keep the keys?" JC asked as he caught them, not quite understanding, not daring to hope that Lance was saying what he thought Lance was saying.

"Yes, you can keep the keys. You own it. It's yours, forever," Lance smiled, his green eyes really blazing.