Chased Amy
Copyright December 25, 2000 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: PG
Pairing: JC Chasez/Justin Timberlake
Disclaimer: The young men who comprise *NSYNC are their own people. The author has not met anyone here described, nor does the author mean to suggest that these people act this way in real life. This writing is a work of fiction. I make no money from this venture.
Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and the Savage Garden slashers.
Wherein you will find a deathfic (maybe) which you will like (maybe) and understand (maybe).
It actually took Lance a moment to realize that something was wrong. For one thing, Justin spoke very normally, as though JC calling were the most normal occurrence possible. In addition, Lance still, a year later, forgot that JC was dead. He would make a mental note to tell JC something, or even turn as though expecting to see JC right behind him. He'd even picked up the phone and been halfway through dialing before remembering. He dreamt about JC sometimes. Waking came with a painful shock of truth.
But JC was dead. And there was no way that JC had called Justin, or anyone else, last night, or any other night over the past year. And the likelihood of Justin meaning a different JC was small. So Lance said the only thing that came to mind. "What?"
"What?" Justin asked, digging through the refrigerator, distracted. JC's refrigerator. It was sort of creepy, Justin living in JC's apartment. Originally, they'd assumed that it was a temporary thing. But Justin had moved in permanently. Now the rooms held a mix of two people's belongings, two personalities, two lives mingling. The most obvious sign was Justin's basketball resting beside JC's piano.
JC's belongings were intact. Justin watered JC's plants, used JC's dishes, hung his toothbrush beside JC's. JC's family had removed a few items, personal mementos, but everything else was sitting around as though waiting for JC's return.
For the first year, exactly 365 days, Justin had dressed in mourning. He hadn't been obvious about it. Anyone seeing him on a casual basis might not have noticed anything. Finally, they'd gotten him to stop, at which point Justin had started to mix and match wardrobes. Right now he was wearing JC's ugly plaid T-shirt.
"What did you say?" Lance asked.
Justin tossed him an orange and closed the door. "JC called."
"JC?"
"Yeah." Justin sorted through the drawer, trying to find JC's orange peeler.
Lance had no idea how to handle this situation. "Justin, you're nuts," seemed a bit harsh. "What did he say?" was inappropriate. Lance settled on, "Justin. JC can't call."
"No," Justin said, mildly disagreeing. "We were talking about the dance routine for 'Living in Sin.' He wanted to-"
Lance's brain started to spiral down frightening paths. He couldn't possibly miss this reference. Justin and JC's last conversation. JC's final phone call had been to Justin, talking about that very dance routine. After JC's death, Justin had talked about this conversation, recounted it numerous times, until Lance could repeat it just as Justin remembered it. They'd been about to hit the stage to start their tour, four days from the kick-off, and they were still working out the final kinks. JC had been dissatisfied with the routine, and had wanted to talk to Justin about it. Justin had been about to go out for the evening, but had sat down and talked to JC. Sat and talked and argued and laughed until someone knocked at JC's door.
"-but I think that it's better the way it is," Justin said.
"JC's dead," Lance said. He remembered a lot from that night. Justin, young and beautiful and dressed for an evening of clubbing, frantic and sobbing and screaming. Chris, blinking a lot and looking stricken, dry-eyed and quiet. The panic of not being able to get in touch with Joey. The flashing lights, the police and police tape in JC's apartment, the extremely...still...form draped with a sheet.
If you knew where to look, you could see the bloodstain on the carpet.
"I was just talking to him," Justin said.
It hadn't come as a surprise that Justin put off a night's plans to talk to JC, work-related or not. They were all like that, by then. And Justin, especially, when it came to JC...there was something more there, something special. They'd all known of Justin's feelings, even JC. They'd been respectful. There was a certain five-way connection anyway; to be honest, they were all a little in love with each other. But while everyone else was straight, and therefore naturally limited in those feelings, Justin was bi. Justin's feelings, at least for JC, seemed to know no limits. Certainly not anymore.
"You haven't talked to him in a year."
"I talk to JC all of the time."
Lance grabbed the orange peeler from Justin's hand and tossed it in the sink. "Justin. JC is dead. He died a year ago."
"What?"
"He was shot. In this apartment. He died right over there. You saw his dead body. Right there."
"What? Lance, what are you talking about?"
"JC is dead! He's dead! You live in his apartment and you sleep in his bed and you walk through that doorway every day. That doorway. Where he was shot. Where he died."
"Lance?"
"Are you trying to bring him back? Are you trying to be him? Do you think that if you leave his bottle of shampoo sitting right where he left it that he'll come back to use it or to get it? He's dead! He's not coming back! Not for us, not even for you, not for anything!"
"Lance?" JC asked.
Justin and Lance stared at
each other.