"Earth to JC! Earth to JC!!" The sudden sound of Joey's voice booming right beside his ear snapped JC out of his stupor.

"Huh? What?" JC replied.

"And exactly where were you just then? On the fields of Alderaan or at some bar in Mos Eisley?" Joey joked. "Man, you've been out of it most of the day. What is it with you?"

"Sorry Joey. I was just thinking," JC replied again, his voice still distant.

"Thinking about what?" Joey asked, curious as to how JC seemed to have lost his passion for music lately. They had been working in the studio most of the day, but it was evident that while his body was there, JC's mind was far, far away.

"It's been two months," JC said quietly. "It's been two months and he hasn't said one word about it. Not a word, not even a nod of recognition."

"Look, JC. My advice to you is to leave it alone. If he wants to talk to you about it, he will. You know that Lance has always been kind of reserved; he always holds back things. Maybe he's not comfortable talking about it yet. I don't think you should push him," Joey said, trying to put some sense into his friend. He had known JC for almost seven years, and he knew how stubborn the boy could be. JC was the type of person who needed to talk, needed to bond, needed to share his feelings. Unfortunately, he had run into a brick wall with Lance. Aside from their usual antagonistic relationship, JC had not gotten any closer to Lance than where he was before the shooting. Where JC wanted to talk about it, needed to talk about it, and to talk about what they had experienced together, Lance would have none of it. He had woken up the morning after as if nothing had happened. He had barely acknowledged that his arm was in a sling, and he adamantly refused to even accept JC's thank you. And all of this silence was gnawing at JC from the inside out.

"I can't, Joey. I need to know, I need to understand why he did it," JC said. "Those twenty seconds of my life, of our lives, have been running like an endless movie inside my mind. I need to know why he did it, that's all."

"Like I said, JC, it's best to leave it alone. If Lance wants to talk to you, then let him make the first move," Joey stressed again.

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

"Lance, honey? Paul's got the car out, we're almost ready to go!" Lynn Harless called from the base of the stairs. The Harlesses were on their way to Tennessee to spend Christmas with family and friends. They were taking Lance to the airport for his own flight to Jackson. Hearing Lynn's voice, Lance grabbed his bag from his bed and headed out the door of the bedroom that he shared with JC.

"Well, have a Merry Christmas, JC," Lance said, taking care of the perfunctory pleasantries to his roommate. "I'll see you in two weeks."

"Wait a minute, Lance," JC said hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing. "I … I've got something for you. Here, Merry Christmas."

"A Christmas present? For me?" Lance stuttered, taken aback by the sudden show of affection from JC. "Who are you and what have you done with Lord of the Dance?"

"Shut up, country boy, and open it." JC laughed and tried to do his best southern accent imitation. "Don't make me take it back, boy!"

"Well, thank you, JC, but I can't open it now," Lance said. Seeing an immediate reaction on JC's face, Lance went on with an explanation. "See, we've got a tradition in my family that now matter where the present comes from, all Christmas gifts must be opened on Christmas morning after breakfast and not a minute sooner. So thank you kindly for the gift, and I really mean that, but I can't open it until Christmas."

"Oh, okay. If you put it that way," JC said, satisfied with Lance's answer. "Give me a call when you do open it. If you don't like it, you can always exchange it for something else. Merry Christmas anyway and give my best to your family."

"Same here, JC. Merry Christmas and tell your folks I said howdy," Lance replied as he stuffed JC's wrapped box into his bag and then made for the door. "Oh, and by the way, there's nothing ticking in that box, right?" Lance's answer came in the reply of a book that hit the door just as he snapped it shut.

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

"Joshua and Tyler Chasez! How many times have I told you not to trample your dirty boots into my kitchen!" JC heard his mother shout as he and his little brother came in from the frigid Maryland winter.

"Sorry Mom!" JC replied, squatting down in the laundry room to pull of his snow- and mud-caked boots. "We were just playing some football with Johnny and Matt from down the street."

"How you boys can even run in all that mess out there is beyond me. One of these days you're going to break your neck." Karen scoffed at her sons as they finally entered the kitchen properly.

"Got anything to eat, Mom?" Tyler asked as he attacked the fridge. "I'm starving."

"There's some banana-nut bread on the table. But don't eat too much, dinner is only an hour away." Karen told her youngest son. "Oh, and Joshua, a package came for you while you were out. It's on the credenza in the foyer."

"A package? I wonder who would be sending me something here?" JC pondered out loud.

"Well, I hope you can figure it out, because there wasn't any name on return address." Karen said as she put the apple pie into the oven.

"Really?" JC was now really interested in this mysterious package.

"Yes, just something that said 'country boy', no proper name at all." Karen told her oldest son, and she was most curious at the mile-wide grin that she saw on JC's face as he almost ran to the foyer and tore into the orange and blue FEDEX package on the table.

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

He walked silently through the cemetery, giving little notice to the biting winter wind that howled around him and sliced into his body. The rising sun had not yet made its appearance over the sloping hills to the east, but the misty dawn was giving him just enough light to read the names off the silent stone markers. This was the third year he had done this, the third year that he had carried on this newest of Christmas traditions. He finally came to his destination, a simple marble marker with a name and a date. He knelt and said a silent prayer, gently touching the carved letters atop the marker. He pulled two roses out of the inside pocket of his jacket and placed them on top of the dates that read May 4, 1979 - August 8, 1995.

"Merry Christmas, Jessie." He said quietly, settling back on his heels and admiring the oncoming sunrise.