"Hello, Mom," Lance said quietly into his phone as he heard Diane Bass's soft accent come through the receiver.

"Hi, honey," his mother answered cheerfully. "How are you doing today?"

Oh, I think my life is about to fall apart. "Oh, I'm all right," Lance tried desperately to believe his own words as he put one foot up on the chair in front of him. He sat in a secluded portion of the stadium where the guys were performing a sound check, and was taking advantage of his lengthy break to make the call. "How're you and Dad doing?"

"Oh, we're just fine," his mother assured him. "A few of the kids in my class have been knocked out by that flu bug that's been going around, so things have been a little hectic, but that's to be expected." She was always so optimistic, so happy-go-lucky.

I'm going to break her heart.... Lance attempted to distract himself by keeping up the patter.

"Oh yeah? JC thinks he might be coming down with that same thing, 'cause he's been feeling a little off lately and this morning he woke up with a sore throat, so he's been drinking tea and honey and taking it easy all day." He began to fidget, zipping and unzipping the vanity pocket on the leg of his cargo pants. Maybe if he was lucky he'd have to get off the phone before he had to tell his mother the news.

"Oh, my goodness, I hope he doesn't get sick; this latest bout of the flu has been terrible!" his mother exclaimed. "I'm just trying to fight it off myself. But Josh always seems to catch those things in time. I'm sure he'll be fine. How are the rest of the boys?"

Lance glanced up at the stage where JC, Justin and Chris were going over a number. Off to the side he could see Joey doing some stretches. "They're doing good. Well, I guess... except last night someone threw a Blow-Pop on stage and busted Joey right in the kneecap with it." Lance winced as he recalled it; how he'd looked over at Joey right at that moment and seen it coming. He'd watched helplessly as his friend had almost collapsed in pain but, like a true showman, had kept performing. He heard his mother gasp on the other end of the line.

"Is he all right? Is he gonna be able to perform tonight?" she asked, alarmed.

"Yeah, he hobbled around for a bit at first, but after a while he started to work the kinks out and he made it through the rest of the show. He had it looked at afterwards and nothing's broken or anything, but he's got a pretty nasty lump on it and he's been putting ice on it all day." Just in mentioning the occurence, Lance felt a pang of anger at the girl who had thrown the sucker in the first place; after seeing that sort of thing happen countless times over the years he still couldn't figure out what would possess a fan to do something so potentially harmful to anyone.

Before he could stifle it, he found himself yawning unexpectedly. He hadn't been able to sleep well for the past few nights, and his morning coffee -- which he'd always indulged in -- had become his new best friend, but it wouldn't work forever. He worried too much; he had too much to stress over. Unfortunately, his mother heard the weariness in his voice and caught the yawn. "Lance, maybe I should let you go. Your dad and I are doing fine; you're doing fine. You should try to catch a nap or something, because you sound exhausted. I'll talk to you later, okay, honey?"

"Wait! When are you and Dad gonna be able to come visit me on tour again?" Lance blurted, and immediately regretted it. It wasn't as if he didn't know exactly when his parents would be flying out to join him again, but he saw his chance to come clean and confide in his mother slipping away, and he was losing his nerve fast. He needed to stall; he needed more time.

"Lance, you know I'm not going to be able to get time off for at least another month, and your dad won't for another few weeks either. What's bothering you, honey?"

Lance's eyes widened and he unconsciously sat upright, as though aware of his mother's scrutiny. How did she know these things? "I... I just wanted to talk to you about something, and I was hoping I could do it face to face," he answered truthfully, knowing that it would be impossible.

"Well, I may not be able to give you a hug over the phone, but you know you can tell me anything in the meantime. You're my baby and I'm always here for you, remember?"

Lance smiled grimly as he slouched back down into his chair. His eyes filled with tears as he realized he'd have to face the music sooner rather than later.
She'll kill me. No -- she'll tell Dad and he'll kill me.

"Mom, you remember I introduced you to my girlfriend Nicole, right?"

"Yeah, I remember, when we were in Connecticut, right?" his mother recalled. "Oh -- is she all right? Are you two having problems? I hope it's nothing serious..."

Lance bit his lip. "Uh, not quite... uh..." He closed his eyes. Just say it, Lance. "She's... pregnant... Mom," he whispered haltingly. He passed his hand fitfully over the creases in his forehead as he jiggled his knee, awaiting her reaction. There was a prolonged silence on the other end of the line before she finally spoke.

"Oh, Lance," was all she said, quietly. Silence fell over the conversation again, and Lance waited another long moment before daring to prod for a response. "Mom?"

"I honestly don't know what to say to you, Lance," she answered, her voice strained, and Lance cringed. She was disappointed in him, he knew; she would lecture him about responsibility, and, more likely, his lack thereof. He knew that he'd predicted correctly as she spoke again, her voice taking on a stern tone. When she had finished, he was blinking back tears once more; he felt battered, but knew that he had deserved every word. If anything, his mother was fair. "Does Johnny know?" she finally asked, inquiring about the group's manager, and Lance rubbed at his wet lashes before responding.

"Yeah, and I guess you could say he wasn't too happy either. Actually, that would be an understatement; I think he's hoarse now from all the yelling he did." Lance tilted his head backwards, feeling the cold plastic of the chair back against his neck. He sighed as he studied the lighting in the roof of the stadium. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, baby," she sighed in return. "You've made some choices that will change your life, in a million different ways at once."

"I know, Mom."

"No, Lance," his mother said sadly. "You don't have the faintest idea."

Lance was taken aback at her words. He didn't have a response -- what could he say to that? -- and her certainty scared him, so he remained silent. It was with relief that he spied Justin sauntering over to him, indicating that his break was over. "Hey, Mom? I gotta go now. They need me for sound check."

"Okay, honey," his mother yielded; reluctantly, Lance knew. "I love you, remember that, no matter what."

"I love you, too. Give Dad my love for me."

"Will do. We'll talk more about this later, okay? Bye now."

Lance hung up and glanced at Justin, who had nearly reached him by now. "Hey, Lance. We need you for 'Just Got Paid'."

"I'm there," Lance stated, as he stood to meet him.

"You just tell your parents?" Justin asked at the expression on Lance's face, compassion edging his voice.

Lance nodded. "Yeah. My mom, anyway. It wasn't exactly my proudest moment." He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets as he smiled sadly back at Justin's sympathetic gaze.

Justin put an arm around him and pulled him close. "Like we told you from the start, Lance -- we're all behind you. You'll get through this. You guys'll be fine."

"Thanks." I only hope you're right. Lance leaned into the hug, and the two headed to the stage, Justin keeping his arm around his friend.

Later, on the way back to the hotel from the concert, Lance was silent, oblivious to the post-show giddiness that permeated the air of the bus he shared with the brothers Fatone. Joey was disappointed that Lance wasn't joining in on the clowning around, but left Lance to himself, respecting his need for the space. The older man had had enough pregnancy scares of his own, after all.

Lance's gears were turning. No, spinning. Wildly. Hysterically. The gears were sparking and probably about to fly off of the cogwheel altogether. He hadn't spoken to Nicole since she'd told him she'd been to the doctor and that the results were positive. That had been days ago. He didn't want her to think that he was avoiding her -- he'd told her as much in an email that he knew she'd gotten -- but he wanted to think first, have something concrete to offer her in the way of comfort or a solution before they spoke again.

His mind rattled off the first, most traditional, of his options: he could marry her.
He could marry her.
However, he didn't want to marry her... because -- he winced, because it was the truth -- he didn't love Nicole. Not yet, anyway. He cared very much for her, and he knew that he might be able to love her in time, but she had not seen all of his sides yet; he had not yet let her past all of his walls. The decision both relieved and saddened him; no marriage meant no media frenzy, and maybe, just maybe, the pregnancy could be kept relatively under wraps.

But now he was contemplating bringing a human being into the world whom he could not honestly say was conceived in love.
His disappointment in himself was monumental.

One of the greatest comforts Lance knew in life, beyond his love for his family and theirs for him, was the love that his parents had for each other. He saw it recreated in his sister and brother-in-law's relationship, and he wanted it for himself. When he thought about it, the only part of himself of which he had always been genuinely fond -- the rest he had had to grow to like, or tolerate at least -- were his eyes. Not because of their distinctive color, which was some nonsense he had made up once for a magazine, or for their ability to woo the ladies, as Joey occasionally joked. No... it was because out of all of his childhood memories, nothing brought quite the same smile to his face as when he recalled his mother telling him as such an impressionable six-year old, "Oh, honey, you have such beautiful eyes... just like your dad's," and she mussed his hair and cupped his chin in her hand and sighed lovingly as she did.

His parents' marriage was neither perfect nor trouble-free; not by a long shot. But he would settle for far worse if it meant that someone could one day love him the way they loved each other. He longed to be in love, almost as much as he was afraid of falling, of losing control. He wanted to have a child who knew what he had always known growing up; that his life had become a reality because of love. And now, it simply bothered him that he had somehow messed that up without even really trying.

Sighing resignedly, his thoughts strayed to other options. He didn't want Nicole to have an abortion, and he was more than glad that she hadn't seemed hot on the idea herself. Religious he might be, but Lance didn't consider himself to be particularly conservative. He was pro-choice; certainly, if Nicole had wanted to go through with it he couldn't have stopped her; but he wanted to have a say in things, even if it was her body. And he was grateful that she had let him in. It was one legacy of his Baptist faith that he clung to; abortion simply wasn't something he wanted to be a part of.

And that left... what, really? Adoption? Not likely. He didn't feel particularly cut out to be a father at only 21--

Lance laughed softly to himself. It was sort of ironic; if he'd never joined the group, he most likely would have been married and maybe even had a child by this time, and here he was feeling unprepared for fatherhood.

But he knew that he and his family and Nicole would be able to provide that kid with such love, and more than their hearts could desire -- not empty material things, but the fact that he'd have the money to back up his devotion certainly wouldn't hurt. He couldn't begin to imagine in what capacity he'd be allowed to participate in his kid's life, but Nicole was a loving woman, too, and she'd make a great mother if she wanted to be. She'd do that for the baby. So he supposed that yes, adoption was out of the question. He made a mental note to talk to JC about it anyway, just to get an idea of what it might feel like to be on the other side.

Then if Nicole kept the baby -- and that was really the only option he could forsee -- he realized that he didn't have the slightest clue what would become of them. The press couldn't know; it would be the end of *NSYNC as they knew it, and he wouldn't allow himself to be responsible for their downfall. Yet people knew that he'd been dating Nicole; they couldn't keep it from the curious or the prying if they'd tried. Which they hadn't, really. If Nicole showed up in her hometown six months pregnant, it wouldn't take much guessing to figure out what had happened.

Oh, God, he thought, rubbing his temples and shaking his head on the long elevator ride up to their floor. I'm really fucking trapped.

And he felt so selfish, for worrying about his career when Nicole's very reputation was at stake. Because although he would personally accept any and all blame for any loss of *NSYNC's popularity if it came to that, he knew that the fans would heavily lay that blame on Nicole instead.

His head came up slowly, his decision made. He would marry her. He'd ask, at least. 'Member of boyband marries' was a less migraine-inducing headline than 'Member of boyband impregnates girlfriend'. The public could do the math; they would know which had come first, but no one would likely comment. But they could make it work, the two of them. They could do this. If she said yes -- and he hoped to God that she would -- they could try. He thought. He hoped. He really, really, hoped.

He was contemplating what should have been two of the most joyous occasions of his life, and he'd never felt sadder.

Closing the door to his hotel room behind him, Lance flipped open his cell and stared at it for a long moment, willing the churning in his stomach to abate. He pressed '4' on his speed dial ('1' was Mom; '2' FreeLance; '3' Jive... his warped prioritizing made him sick) and waited for her to pick up.

"Nicole?" He began, his voice catching in his throat, revealing his unease. "Can we talk? And, um... I think I need to ask you something...."

Author's Notes: Modified outtake from "Where Fate Leads Us", number 1. Um... no, there's no sequel. Come on, I set Lance up for a helluva future here. I can't even begin to imagine how I'd solve this mess he's gotten himself into. LOL.

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