Shiro didn't want to wake Lance. The kid was sleeping soundly, at last, and even his breathing didn't sound too bad right at the moment. Sleep was definitely the best thing for him right now, and it was all Shiro was really able to give him.

But after lying on the branch for a full five minutes, watching the new Galra patrol slowly draw nearer through the forest and into the field, Shiro admitted the truth. He was not going to be able to fly down and sneak up on them from behind. They would see him coming no matter how carefully he masked his approach.

And he didn't want to wait until they reached the tree where he could fall on them from above. The farther away they fell from Lance and Shiro's hiding spot, the better. As it was, Shiro already knew that when the patrols failed to report back on schedule, the Galra would realize that he and Lance were in this direction. Eventually, they were going to come here in force. Better to make it as difficult for them as possible.

It was another moment that Shiro really, really wished the black bayard hadn't been lost. Would he be able to form a long-range weapon with it, if he had it? He didn't know. He'd never been given the opportunity to find out.

Ah, but even if he could do that, Shiro knew he wouldn't be as good a shot as Lance. He had done fine in range exercises back at Galaxy Garrison, but he'd never been anywhere near the top. Lance...Lance probably could have gone to the Olympics, if his life had taken a different path. And no, Shiro didn't think he was overstating that at all.

Besides, if he didn't wake him up, Lance would be upset. He had specifically requested that Shiro wake him when the patrols came so he could shoot them. Shiro knew that his unwillingness to let Lance take watch over the last two nights had hurt Lance's pride, even though Shiro had only meant it for good. Maybe he could make up for that now.

With a resigned sigh, Shiro got up into a crouch and crept back to the lookout point where Lance was sleeping. He moved up beside him and laid a hand carefully on his head. "Lance. Can you wake up for me, kiddo?"

Lance's forehead wrinkled, and he tossed his head restlessly from side to side as a low moan rose from his lips. Shiro pressed him a little harder. "Lance. C'mon, buddy. I need you to wake up."

Lance went still. Slowly, his eyes opened, vague and unfocused at first. Then his gaze found Shiro, and he squinted at him, forehead still wrinkled, a frowning drawing out his face. "Shiro?"

"Yeah." Shiro stroked his hair back. "There's a patrol. Think you can do that trick again? You know, two robots, two shots?"

Lance blinked, then smiled, slow and wide and pleased. "'Snot a trick. Pure skill."

Shiro laughed gently. "I know. C'mon. Show me again."

"You got it, chief."

Despite the eagerness in his voice, though, it wasn't quite that easy. Lance started to sit up right away, muscles straining, then abruptly fell back against the branches, gasping, his face draining of color. Shiro reached for him, alarmed, but Lance lifted a shaky hand and waved him off. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry...moved too fast. Forgot my lungs are...being jerks to me right now."

Shiro frowned, but he leaned back and let Lance handle himself. This time Lance moved more slowly, and he did manage it on his own. He got up on his hands and knees, then looked around for his bayard.

Shiro had it ready and handed it to him. "If it's going to be too much for you, let them come. We can wait till they get over here to the giant trees and I can get the drop on them."

Lance shook his head. "Nope. Bad plan. Better to drop them in the field of leaves."

This was tactically true, and it was why Shiro had woken Lance up, but it still made him frown harder. Lance crawled down the branch, his face set, eyes focused ahead, and Shiro could only follow. In the same sniper position he'd used before, Lance got down on his stomach, his weapon forming as he moved. And there he was, sighting down the barrel, this serious and professional version of Lance that Shiro had never imagined meeting.

Shiro felt privileged, in a way, that this time he got to watch the process from the beginning. It truly was a kind of transformation, watching Lance move from the sometimes goofy, sometimes awkward kid he usually was into this intent marksman, completely focused on his target to the exclusion of all else. But...there seemed to be a hiccup in the works, this time.

There was a tremble in Lance's fingers. Not bad, not pronounced, but there. Shiro watched him carefully, and he saw the way Lance lifted his hand and stared at it with narrowed eyes, as if commanding it to be still. After a little bit, the trembling seemed to calm down, and Lance set his hands on his gun. One hand was by the trigger, finger extended but not in position yet. Shiro knew that Lance would not place his finger on the trigger until he knew he had the shot.

Then Lance lay there, sighting into the field. His breathing was deep and slow. He was forcing his body not to hitch and shake. Shiro turned to watch the field with him. The robots were getting closer, step by plodding step, and Shiro's heart moved up into his throat.

The patrol had come out of the forest only a few yards away from where the previous robots lay in the dirt, exposed to the sky. If this new patrol had spotted the last one, they would have known that trouble was nearby. They would have been on the alert, guns at the ready, looking around for Shiro and Lance with much more purpose than they were now. As it was, only luck had prevented that. The patrol just continued to move, step by step, closer and closer.

They were now past the original patrol and still moving. Shiro held his breath. Shouldn't Lance have dropped them by now?

He looked back to Lance, heart beating faster. Lance...

Lance was struggling. His breathing was unsteady, his body wavering. Just a little, but it was. He was clearly trying to make it stop, trying to control his breath the way he had before, but it... It wasn't working.

Shiro bit his lip. He should stop this. He should tell Lance to let them come, let him take care of it.

But Lance was trying...he was trying so hard. Shiro couldn't make the words come. He almost felt that it would be cruel to interrupt, to take back the request he had made. Lance wanted to do this, and Shiro wanted him to succeed. His fists were clenched, nails biting into his flesh-and-blood palm.

Then, the shot. Lance's finger slipped into the trigger and pulled, slow and easy. Shiro's gaze flipped back to the field, and he watched one robot fall. It disappeared into the leaves as if it had never existed.

The other robot went into a defensive stance, gun raised and ready as its head swiveled around. But they were too far away, too well hidden. Shiro could see a light glowing on the antenna on the back of the robot's head, but he knew no information was getting out. Nothing was getting back to the Galra command. Pidge was intercepting it before it could. She was protecting them, too.

Then Shiro heard Lance's breathing again, and oh, that was bad. He looked back to him, found his back heaving as he fought, his hands shaking on the gun. He couldn't be silent any longer.

"Lance..."

"Don't...say anything."

Shiro snapped his mouth shut. Lance's voice was breathless but sincere, still focused, still serious. His gaze was fixed on the field, even as sweat poured down his face and temples.

He drew a breath, long, wheezing in his tight throat and crowded lungs. Shiro could hear the phlegm, the moist obstruction, and again, that horrible little honk at the end of it. This was bad. It was so bad. But Lance paid no attention to him. He seemed barely aware of his body at all, every ounce of concentration poured into the task set for him.

Then that awful noise...stopped. Lance was holding his breath again. His face reddened, but his hands steadied. His finger slid into the trigger.

The sound of the shot, clean and loud. Shiro watched the second robot fall.

"Okay," he said instantly. "Okay, Lance, that's it, you can let go. There's no third one. I watched. I'm sure of it. Let go."

Lance did. He fell over on his side just like he had the first time, and his weapon vanished from existence. He was shaking all over, and his breathing was terrible. His eyes closed, and he tipped his head back against the branch and lay there limply, panting and heaving, heaving and panting.

Shiro reached out for him, pulled him up, propped him against his body the way he had in the night. Lance leaned back against his chest, shuddering with every breath. He did not resist Shiro's manhandling, but he didn't help, either. He simply had no energy to do anything, anything at all.

"C'mon, kiddo..." Shiro held Lance with one arm around his waist and reached up his other hand to wrap it around his forehead again, checking his temperature. He was not surprised to find that the fever was higher now, possibly higher than it had ever been. Sometimes he couldn't tell if there was a difference at all, but this time he could. Absolutely and with certainty.

This was bad. Shiro almost chuckled at his own thoughts, because that simple phrase was such a ridiculous understatement. This could be called bad the way that a war could be called troublesome.

"C'mon, buddy. Breathe. Just breathe."

Lance did. He closed his eyes, but Shiro knew he wasn't sleeping. The air rasped in his throat and honked deep in lungs, vibrating his bruised body and cracked ribs, which just made him shake harder, for he had no voice with which to whimper or cry out and no strength to wince or cringe. For what seemed like a long time, they sat there, breathing. Shiro fought to keep his own breaths calm and steady, hoping to provide a soothing rhythm against Lance's back, but it was hard to hold his own pace when Lance was struggling so mightily in his arms.

"Good job, soldier," Shiro murmured. "You did such a good job. You can relax now. You can rest. Everything's fine."

Lance's eyelids fluttered, then closed again. His breath seemed the slightest bit calmer.

Shiro closed his eyes, too, and tipped his head so his cheek rested on Lance's temple. "Everything's fine. Everything's okay. Just rest now. You can rest. C'mon, buddy. C'mon, kiddo. Just relax. Just breathe. Everything is going to be okay."

"Hurts..." It was the first thing Lance had been able to say for minutes on end, and it was barely audible.

"I know, buddy. I know it hurts. Just try to relax. Keep breathing. Everything is fine."

Lance's body was on fire. Shiro didn't know how much he even understood, at this point. He had to be so delirious, so confused. And he had still made that shot. Two of them. Because Shiro had asked him to, and he had wanted to do it.

"You're okay. You're gonna be okay." Shiro rocked them gently, back and forth, in the rhythm of the breeze. "You're okay. You're okay."

So slowly that Shiro might not have realized if he hadn't been paying excruciatingly close attention, Lance's breathing calmed. Still, he didn't open his eyes. Didn't move. He lay there against Shiro, allowing himself to be held. He was pure dead weight, a limp bundle of long limbs and lanky body, quiescent and still.

"I want to go home," Lance whispered. There's was almost no emotion in his voice, as if he had no energy for that, either. It was a plain statement of fact, one that he felt compelled to share.

"I know, buddy." Shiro brushed the hair back from his forehead and rocked him in his arms. "I know."

"I miss my parents."

"I know you do."

"I miss my brothers and sisters."

"I know." Shiro's voice had fallen to a whisper, too.

"My uncles. My aunts. My cousins."

"I know."

"I miss the ocean. I miss the rain."

"I know. I know."

Lance drew a deep breath, honking deep in his chest. Shiro tried to hold him still, but Lance still wasn't fighting against his grip. He just lay there, limp and exhausted, sharing with Shiro everything that he could.

"I miss Hunk and Pidge."

A lump rose in Shiro's throat. "I know. You'll see them again soon."

"I miss Allura and Coran."

"They're waiting for you."

"I even miss Keith."

Shiro smiled, small and twisted. He felt like his heart was being dragged out of his chest through his lungs, it was so difficult to breathe. "I'll keep your secret."

Lance huffed a silent laugh, barely moving. "But I'm glad you're here with me."

Shiro couldn't speak. He had no breath in his body, no voice in his lungs. He wanted this to be over so badly that he could think of nothing else. He wanted to take Lance home to the castle where he would be safe. He wanted Hunk and Pidge and Keith to descend from the sky in their lions and finally, finally rescue them from this hellhole.

Shiro swallowed. "I'm glad you're with me, too," he murmured. "You've done such a good job, Lance. Such a good job."

Lance smiled, a motion Shiro felt more than saw. Then he turned his head toward Shiro's face and leaned forward just a little. Just enough to hide his eyes against Shiro's neck. And he was quiet. Maybe he slept. Maybe he simply had nothing else he wanted to say or do.

Shiro held him close, felt the fever in his body, listened to the breath rasping in his lungs. He rocked him gently in his arms, and he stared over the field of giant leaves. He waited for whatever would come, rescue from the lions or capture from the Galra patrols. One of them would come, sooner or later.

All he could do now was wait.