In the morning they're both coltish and nervous but nobody bolts. Day five, a workweek come and almost gone and this is what they've got to show for it but Justin's decided it's not for nothing when Lance says he can skip his run. They take a shower together and go down to breakfast and Chris glares at Justin, knocks his sunglasses off the counter and says "oops" when they break on the stone tiles.

JC slams a door upstairs and they can all hear Joey shout, "There's gotta be a fucking statute of limitations on these things, it's just not fair to keep throwing it in my face!" Lance looks at his shoes and after JC's breezed by goes up to check on Joey. Chris knocks the carton of eggs off the kitchen island and it's all one big mess but Justin isn't really hungry anyway.

---

Justin makes a pile of sandwiches for lunch and leaves them all on a plate in the great room with a note that says "house mtg. 8 p.m." This whole thing was a stupid fucking idea but he's not going back to Johnny saying they never had a single real conversation about the future. He looks at his sad little note and goes back to the kitchen, gets a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies and sets it with the other food.

He goes through the CD again, crosses out half his comments and thinks about JC singing at the dinner table. Lance spends the day trying to cheer up Joey and JC's at the piano again and Chris maybe doesn't smoke up, at least not in front of them, but won't look up from War and Peace even when Justin stands in his light.

He walks out onto the back deck, then down in the opposite direction he'd gone before. There are rotted wooden stakes strung together with rusty wire and he doesn't try to climb over or through.

Justin plays his fingers over the barbed wire fence, slowly, so he doesn't cut himself. It's dusky and there are jackrabbits chasing each other through the tumbleweed.

Lance comes up from behind and clears his throat. Justin sighs before either of them says a word. He knows what's coming.

"It's not making things any easier," Lance says.

Justin sighs again. He points out about fifty yards to where there's a bullet-battered metal sign on a post. "No dumping allowed," he says, reading.

Lance kicks at the dirt. "I'm not, c'mon, we're not even..."

Justin looks over and Lance's downcast eyes match the green that dots the hills. "You're not looking for a reason to stay," he says.

Lance flinches. "Are you?"

"I got a thousand. A million. I don't have to make a list, Lance. I want this to work."

"Which?"

Justin looks at the never-ending sky. "All of it," he says.

"Look," Lance starts, and then sighs loudly. "Even if, I mean, even without Joe and C and Chris being a surly bastard, even if none of that was a thing." Justin glares at him and Lance adds, "And, okay, whatever, I cut back on my other stuff. Even if all that's not the thing. Y'all keep tearing up the tracks and we're not gonna have another album till kingdom come."

There's a big Joshua tree right on the other side of the fence with two branches like arms, like it's trying to hug something. Justin nods a little and says, "But, Lance? You gotta take a side, man. I mean, it don't -- you don't have to pick my side, you really don't. But you can't sit out another round. You've got to show up. All y'all, listen to one, listen to the other, whatever, but me and JC can't write in a vacuum. Clearly, I mean, clearly we can't for shit."

Lance waits a long time. "Okay," he says. "We're not --"

Justin points at the sign again and slides a hand around Lance's waist, tucks it into his front jeans pocket and they stand there like that as the sun falls behind the mountain. Justin looks down at his godforsaken desert stopwatch and says, "We better get back."

Chris pops up when they get back to the house and says he's found three decks of cards. "Triple solitaire," he crows. Lance rubs his forehead and looks at Chris for a long minute and then sits down. Justin sits down next to him and checks his watch again. In an hour, Joey and JC should show up. Or not.

The game goes the normal way. Chris and Lance are so competitive they'd kill each other over actual pissing contests. And multiple solitaire always leads to slapping down cards and quick moves so Lance has slapped Chris's hand accidentally three times and Chris has slapped Lance's hand maybe less accidentally five times. Lance wins the first two games and Chris takes the third. Justin puts the three packs back together while Chris leans back in his chair and says, "I like playing with Lance. Anything with Lance because he takes it seriously." It's an improvement over Chris's usual attacks on Lance, but it's kinda weird, too.

Lance grins. He says, "The old man still has some moves."

Chris leers. "And some you'll never see. Though, hey, you're showing the kid all your moves now, I guess."

Justin says, "Hey, Chris, shut up." He takes the cards and puts each pack back in the cardboard holders. It's always a pity when Chris uses his powers for evil because Justin really admires the way Chris can see right through people, identify their weaknesses. It's kept them safe for so long but now he just uses it to fuck things up.

Chris says, "You're not the boss of me." Low and sly and not even meant to be defiant.

Justin says, "I wish to fuck someone were."

Chris laughs and walks away from the table, flops down on the couch. "Lance," he says, smiling like a vulture, "who's, me and Justin were talking about this, who's better in bed, J or Harpy?"

"Chris, shut the fuck up," Justin yelps. His hands are clenched on the table. He can't even look at Lance.

Lance breathes twice. Justin finally looks up and Lance's face is serious, considering. And Justin thinks it's just another fucking game. Another Chris versus Lance contest and it's really fucking annoying to be a pawn in one of those. Then Lance says, "I'm not playing, Chris. Why don't you save this for the meeting, because you'll have more fun asking that when Joe and C are here."

Chris sighs and keeps grinning and Justin hates him, completely.

Joey and JC show up a little late, both of them flushed and JC has a hickey and there's a hint of beard burn underneath it. At least they're both in a good fucking mood, and Justin smirks when he thinks it.

Joey says, "Here we are."

JC says, "So."

Chris says, "Lance said I had to table this, but now I do want to know. Lance, who's better at fucking, Harpy or J?"

Lance looks at Chris with a serious glare and says, "You, Chris, you're the best at fucking. Fucking things over."

"You wanna see me fuck things up?" Chris taunts.

Joey holds back Lance in this restraint that almost looks like a hug as Lance lunges across the table, and JC puts an ineffectual hand over Chris's chest as Chris starts to rise from the couch. Justin runs from the room and leans against a wall, face buried in his hands. He hears JC bleating, "Chris, Chris, come on. You don't have to be this, man, you don't have to." Justin doesn't want to know the rest, he's just so scared. He goes up to his room and throws himself on the bed and bawls like he's a little kid.

He must've cried himself to sleep because when he wakes up Lance is there with an arm slung around Justin's stomach, just staring up at the ceiling. Justin burrows into Lance's neck and holds Lance tight across the ribs. Lance rubs his back in smooth circles and Justin exhales in a shaky whoosh.

"'Sokay," Lance mumbles, kissing his head.

"We, we have to keep things together, okay?" Justin hears how little his voice is and kind of wants to cry again.

"Shhh," Lance says, like how Justin's mom used to when he'd ask if they were all going to be a family again, no answer at all and that was worse than her just saying he should grow up already. "Just sleep, J, shhh."