The LED display on the dashboard indicated the hour to be shortly after midnight and for some reason the time made him feel rushed, as though he weren�t getting to his destination fast enough. Now, if only he could remember where it was exactly that he needed to be so badly.

There weren�t any other cars on the road with him, which made JC feel strange. He wondered, briefly, at the absence of his bodyguard but decided it didn�t really matter because he was *alone* at last, and he should be appreciating his solitary state rather than wasting time on details that didn�t matter.

The car was nice, he noticed. Definitely not his, because he�d had the same dependable jeep since he�d first come into a little extra cash seven or eight years ago. This car was certainly not a jeep; more like, a BMW or a Mercedes or some other flashy little rocket of a sports car. JC Chasez had never driven a sporty ride before, except for that one time Justin had insisted that he give his new M-class a go. Even then, the jaunt hadn�t been very enjoyable since Justin kept urging him to take it past eighty and JC had refused saying, forty�s just fine. But now...JC wondered. What did eighty feel like?

With a glance at his hand where it rested palm pressed against the stick shift, JC thought about how much he�d like to know what dangerous felt like, if only for a little while. He could gun it and get the speed up to eight-zero, then cut it back down again. Unconsciously, JC�s foot weighed a bit heavier on the accelerator, making the car lurch forward at a slightly increased speed. The hum of the engine and the burst of power - with the promise of more beneath the hood- convinced him. His bare toes squirmed on the narrow foot pedal and pushed.

JC was tempted to close his eyes as he listened to the purr of the pistons and other inner workings of the car. He thought, idly, about how nice it would be if the car were red -not the classy shade of red, but the hue that was just a little bit tacky, maybe even tasteless.

His eyes locked on the speedometer as he watched the red gauge creep past sixty. A smile twitched at his lips as he drove; carelessness was hardly a part of his nature, but this taste of reckless freedom grabbed hold in his gut with a steel grip and made him want -crave- more. Seventy, it read.

The charcoal cloaked countryside began to blur as he sped by, the trees that lined the road streaking into one long wall of black with flashes of white light that JC knew came from the moon�s pale rays passing through all those branches. The speedometer might as well have been a pocket-watch in a hypnotist�s hand, thanks to the sudden, far-out love affair that JC forged with the red indicator. The sight of that little needle and the feel of the wind in his hair -when had he opened his window?- made his heart race.

Almost there....seventy seven, seventy eight, seventy nine--

All at once, the loud blare of an air horn filled the quiet night. Its shrill curse echoed in JC�s ears and his eyes widened in the face of oncoming lights. Two points of glaringly hot light seared through his corneas and imprinted themselves on the back of his retinas. A shiny, chrome jaw opened for him; teeth, like bars, glinting in the odd play of shadow and illumination. Stepping forcefully on the breaks, JC swerved erratically as the truck bellowed its last warning. When the mass of steel and power and death itself closed in on him, JC threw his hands up in front of his face, protectively. A scream shattered the relative silence inside the car that was not his, right before the chrome grill came crashing through the windshield with all the fury of the devil himself.

JC�s eyes snapped open and his body bolted upright with a speed he never knew he possessed. His breath came rapidly as he gasped and choked on oxygen, sucking it into his lungs like a thirsty man come upon an oasis in the middle of the desert. His shirt was wet and clung to his skin in sticky streaks of sweat, while his limbs shook uncontrollably, making him curl his fingers into the sheets to keep his stomach from rolling so violently. JC�s nostrils flared and his body twitched, convulsing with fear for the images he could still see so clearly on the wall at the foot of his bunk. A spring of panic had welled in his throat and sternum, compressing his insides to the extent that he was sure he would vomit his heart from his chest if given half a chance.

The terror had been so real. JC felt like he could reach out and touch that fear, it was so tangible. For a moment, he thought he saw a cloud of murky grayness hanging over his bed, fresh like the smoke from a bonfire of near hysteria burning brightly in his head. Suddenly, the world was too close and everything began to crowd in on him.

JC slid limply from his bunk, wishing he hadn�t insisted on sleeping on the top. Using his hands not only to help support his weight as they pressed flush against the wall, but also to guide him, JC managed to make his way on unsteady legs to the back of the bus, where he sank gratefully onto the soft cushions of the couch. Free from the confining space of his bed, the intense feeling of claustrophobia began to wan.

And something else surfaced inside. As the pounding of his head began to beat with a little less ferocity, the fear in his blood cooled and slowly changed into something else entirely.

What a *rush*, JC thought. No other coherent words would form and when he closed his eyes to breath deeply, all he could see was the speedometer creeping higher and higher, and all he could think of was the heated rush of adrenaline that flowed through his veins, filling him with a sort of thrill that he had never felt before. It was similar to the swell of excitement he used to feel every time he walked on stage, but it was deeper this time. More base, more primal. It was almost as if it had not been himself who had been driving that car, but a creature of different cloth. One not afraid to take risks or put himself on the line or-

�Josh?�

Startled, JC�s head whipped to the side. A pair of glimmering moss green eyes with a hint of gold stared at him. JC stared back.

�Lance?� he asked softly and cringed inwardly when his voice wavered, not with the remnants of fear but of power and, he noticed finally, inexplicable arousal. �What are you - I mean - I just - Um,� he finished.

Lance laughed sleepily and blinked heavy lidded eyes. �Forgot I was on the bus tonight?� JC nodded mutely. �Well, in that case: hi again.�

�Hi,� JC croaked, wishing he could hear the sound of his given name fall from Lance�s lips again. �What are you doing out here?�

�You mean you didn�t hear Joey sawing logs?�

JC paused to listen for a moment, and heard what sounded like lumberjack noises coming from the Italian�s bunk. �Oh,� JC said, then giggled and snorted a little in amusement. Lance chuckled softly and stretched out along the couch opposite JC, lifting his arms over his head to work the kinks out of his cramped muscles.

�So, what about you?�

The question made the smile on JC�s mouth die away. Suddenly, he was overcome with a foreign sense of paranoia as he wondered how much Lance had witnessed. �I...had a dream,� he admitted cautiously.

�Mm. Was it a good one?� Lance asked -coyly?- and JC was thankful the room was dark except for the blue light cast by the television, left on because Lance had fallen asleep while watching late night talk shows.

�I don�t know. Good enough, I guess.�

�What was it about?�

Before JC could form a noncommittal reply, both men were taken by surprise as they felt the bus slow down and come to a halting stop. Exchanging a glance, Lance pulled aside the window curtain above his couch and squinted out into the night.

�Gas?� JC guessed.

�Don�t think so. There�s no station or convenience store or anything. Looks like we�re no where in particular, actually. What�s on your side?�

JC pulled back the edge of the velour curtain masking the window pane on his side of the bus and raised his eyebrows. Oh.

�Oh,� he said aloud, and uttered a curse for good measure.

Lance made inquisitive noises and when his friend didn�t say anything else, moved over to kneel beside him. He tipped his head near JC�s shoulder and leaned a little against him to peer out the break in the fabric still clenched in JC�s hand.

JC felt the couch cushions give beneath Lance�s weight, but it wasn�t until he caught the balmy scent of D&G cologne, perspiration, and that woodsy smell that seemed to emanate from Lance at all times, that JC realized just how close the other man was. But that was neither here nor there, JC quickly decided, and it was certainly less important than the back-up of cars and faint flashing lights outside his window,

�What�s all this traffic doing all the way out here? And at this time of night?�

Lance shrugged as he craned his neck at what must have been an uncomfortable angle. �Doesn�t look like there�s more than a dozen cars in front of us, though.�

�No,� JC agreed, �it doesn�t. But I still wish we could see better.�

�C�mon then,� Lance said, grabbing JC�s hand in his own and pulling him up off the sofa. �Let�s go sit at the kitchen table; we�ll see more from there, I think.�

JC did as Lance suggested because he found that the feeling of their palms clasped together wasn�t at all unpleasant, in fact quite the opposite, and also because he had the distinct feeling that something lie ahead; good or bad, he didn�t know.

From their vantage point in the front living area, it became apparent that there had been an accident a little ways up the road. Though they couldn�t yet discern who or what had been involved, the flickering shades of blue and red police lights made it clear that they wouldn�t be moving any time soon. Warning flares set outside on the pavement, along the road, bathed the pale features of JC�s companion in a funny orange-red glow.

He marveled at the transformation that hue brought to the planes of Lance�s face; the mostly pure, always kind, indisputably respectable Lance was turned into something tougher, more iniquitous than before. JC didn�t think he�d ever seen his friend and band mate look so devious, his eyes bright with awareness and anticipation. Anticipation that JC felt curling in his own gut at the prospect of maybe seeing something so horrible he�d be hard pressed to make himself look away.

That was the thing about accidents of any kind, JC thought. The lure of mangled wreckage and the possibility of blood or gore or the sordid remains of the scene was so powerful. And though people put on a compassionate visage and clucked their tongues in despair, they still craned their heads and squirmed in their seats to get the best view of destruction as they passed by in their cars. JC knew because he had done it time and time again. And now, he�d found, no one -not even Lance- was exempt from that wave of excitement, that desire to see catastrophe as though it were only a Hollywood movie set and not the true life site of somebody�s death or disaster.

An ambulance sped by in the southbound lane, it�s undulating lights drawing JC back to the spectacle emerging before him. The bus crept forward, following the line of vehicles as they were finally allowed to swing wide and pass by the rubble of the accident.

�Hey, guys. What�s goin� on, why did we stop?� a sleepy Joey asked, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands as he stumbled out into the kitchen. Lance spared the man a brief glance before returning his gaze outside the window, and barely even noticed as Joey slid into the booth seat next to him.

They were abreast of the accident now; each man drew a sharp intake of air as they finally saw what had kept them behind.

�Well, fuck,� Joey mumbled eloquently, his tone sympathetic but with an underlying sense of *awe* for the mutilated hunks of metal that had skid to their terminal stop, piled mostly in the other lane.

�How awful,� Lance sighed, shaking his head.

�I wonder if anybody...you know,� Joey ventured in a hushed voice and JC knew he was looking for blood stains or maybe something a little more ghastly.

�There was an ambulance,� Lance supplied helpfully, cocking his head as they stared at the angle of impact. �JC? How many people to you think were involved?�

JC continued to fixate on the wreckage, eyes wide, his breath stuck somewhere in his throat along with his voice.

�JC?� Lance sounded far away, drowned out by the hammering of JC�s heart in his ears like a thousand tribal drums.

�Damn, that semi just totaled that car, didn�t it,� Joey groaned. �Fuck, but that was a nice car, too.�

And it was. A sporty little ride, a Jaguar, that had once been a streamline beauty of a car. It�d had speed and power and enough verve to make a man feel like he was flying. But the car�s best feature, had been it�s candy apple red paint job. A little tacky, maybe even tasteless, and certainly suited to midnight jaunts along the highway, going eighty and beyond.