Author's Note: Ugh, hi everyone. Guess what? We're still in the hospital. This is officially longer than anything I've ever written and I just keep thinking of things I want to add (I did scratch one scene . . . still not sure about that, but it seemed. . . .superfluous.) But we are getting somewhere. And I'm still having fun. How about you? Still fun? Frustrating?
Chapter Seventeen: Circumstantial Evidence
"Bad night?" Shiro questioned, looking back and forth between Keith and Lance, pausing just inside the door.
"No," Lance answered at the same time Keith said, "Bad morning." They looked at each other; Lance trying to beg without words for Keith not to say anything about the phone call. There wasn't anything that could be done about what he'd learned this morning, and Lance knew he only had enough energy to deal with one problem at a time. He was going to have to reschedule processing about his mom later. Something Dr. Delacroix had warned him would lead to his eventual nervous breakdown, but seriously? What was he supposed to do? His mom was over a thousand miles away and asymptomatic right now while Keith on the other hand . . . .
"What's that mean?" Shiro said, studying them, not liking the lack of information. "Keith, you all right? You're shaking – why is he shaking?" Shiro put the last question to Lance, turning toward him and handing him the cup carrier, then walking past to set down the file and the bags in the empty chair so his hands were free to grasp Keith's shoulders, trying to steady and support him.
The snarky, exhausted part of Lance wanted to answer this rudely, particularly because he never liked talking about patients or answering questions about them as if they weren't there. But Shiro looked almost as tired as Lance felt, tired, worried, and desperate. He handled Keith gently, brushing his hair away from his forehead so he could rest the back of his hand there, standing close and helpless. Keith closed his eyes, leaning against Shiro in grateful trust, obviously happy that he'd returned as he'd promised. Lance remembered what Shiro had walked into yesterday afternoon, how Keith had fainted after just seeing him for a few seconds, and he swallowed his sarcasm.
"Good question, but I'm not sure," Lance answered simply, trying to make it clear that he was including both of them in his answer. The shaking could be due to a number of things. Exertion from moving around so much this morning trying to comfort Lance. Keith's fever could be rising again, causing chills. Maybe it was low blood sugar from eating almost nothing the past two days. Actually, that one seemed the most likely. "But I bet some calories and rest would take care of it."
"Are you hungry, Keith?" Shiro asked, stepping back, switching the food to the bed and taking over the chair. Lance could smell it now, something in those bags was doused in grease and salt and Lance really, really wanted some. Keith looked like he wanted to rip the bags apart.
"Yeah," Keith said, sounding rather hopeless about it. Just because he was hungry didn't mean he could eat. Shiro started emptying the paper bags, removing items one by one and setting them in front of Keith.
"I wasn't sure, so I got a little of everything," Shiro explained, then suddenly remembered that Lance was still standing by the door with the coffee. "For you too," he invited. Lance slowly came closer, feeling like an outsider, but not as much as he had yesterday while watching them be together. Keith maneuvered himself cross-legged in the bed so Lance would have space to sit down at the foot of it. Yeah, Lance definitely felt more included today, less intrusive.
"I got you tea," Shiro half-apologized to Keith. "I didn't think caffeine would be so good for your heart right now." He handed over a cup from the carrier, which Keith accepted, holding it in both hands and staring at it with a concerned expression on his face.
"Let it cool and I think you can do it," Lance assured him, receiving a look of doubt. "Or maybe we could ice it?"
"Ice?" Shiro repeated, also looking to Keith. "Keith?"
But Keith had returned his focus to the cup, holding its warmth in both hands, breathing rather shallowly, dedicatedly not looking at anyone, not liking this much attention.
"Keith's mouth and throat are burned – fever blisters," Lance volunteered for him, not remembering if he'd already mentioned this before or not. A lot had happened; he couldn't keep track of which people had what information. "It'll be too painful to try and eat anything too hot, hard, or salty, or even to chew much probably."
This knowledge raised Shiro's eyebrows, and he redoubled his efforts to sort through what he'd brought, looking for something that would fit the parameters Lance had just set.
"It doesn't matter, Shiro," Keith dismissed, not wanting anyone to worry about him, not wanting Shiro upset that he had gone to the trouble of bringing food for nothing. "You guys go ahead and eat."
Still clutching the cup, almost tenderly, Keith leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Lance checked the stats on his oxygen saturation level, thinking it would likely do him some good to have the cannula replaced for a while. Lance felt the familiar weight of guilt, seeing how worn out Keith was from comforting Lance this morning, ashamed that he'd lost control of himself like that in front of him.
Meanwhile, Keith's answer wasn't good enough for Shiro, who had pulled a plastic cup full of yogurt and berries from the bag and was now carefully scraping the crunchy granola bits off the top of it.
"You've got to eat something, Keith," Shiro ordered, and Lance could hear the repetition in the phrase. This was not the first time Shiro had been forced to coax Keith into eating. He took the hot tea, replacing it with the yogurt cup. Keith glanced at Lance, as if asking for assistance, but Lance was back in full doctor mode now, which meant doing what Keith needed instead of what he might want.
"He's right," Lance betrayed him by siding with Shiro. "I don't have a problem spoon feeding you if I have to either." This was not as gentle as he wanted to be, especially after their morning, but he'd been with Keith long enough now to know that his pride would force him into action to prevent Lance from doing anything like that.
Keith huffed as expected, shaking his head, and then obediently tried to take small bites of the yogurt. As he did so, Lance inspected the other stuff, removing the egg from a biscuit sandwich and actually taking it to the sink to rinse the salt off it and cool it down.
"Are you kidding?" Keith scoffed when Lance brought it back to him, now slightly soggy, saltless, and cold.
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Lance checked. "You need the protein, but if you'd rather, I can go get you a can of Ensure that they use for the feeding tubes and you can drink that. It tastes like chalk, but you could live off it for years." Keith glared, but Lance put the egg on a napkin anyway, setting it on the blanket next to Keith's side expectantly. "It's better than pickle juice," he said, with the tiniest tinge of warning in it. Keith sighed deeply, and Lance knew he'd gotten his point across.
"Can you just quit looking at me?" Keith requested, eyes downcast, as if he were unable to move if he had an audience for his meal. Lance saw Shiro duck his head to hide a smile, and he relaxed into the idea that if neither of them glanced at Keith, he would eat.
"Lance, here," Shiro drew his attention by handing him his own sandwich, voice full of understanding and gratitude. Lance returned to the bed, also sitting cross-legged, but turned away from Keith, more towards Shiro. Even though Lance hated acting as though patients weren't in the room, it seemed that for at least this part, Keith preferred it that way. "Help yourself; there's plenty," Shiro said, rubbing his robotic hand self-consciously against the back of his head. "I think I went a little overboard."
"I can pay you back for it," Lance suggested, but Shiro shook his head, insulted.
"After all you've done? The least I can do is feed you," Shiro denied, pulling a sandwich for himself out of the pile on the bed. "Has the doctor been in yet?"
"Haven't seen her," Lance answered between bites. He didn't often eat this kind of thing, but damn, it was delicious. As he ate, Lance indulged in surreptitiously watching Shiro since he wasn't allowed to look at Keith. His outfit was identical to yesterday, but somehow Lance could tell that Shiro had changed into a new black sweater and different jeans. He sat in the chair with a structured sort of grace, appearing both at ease and ready to leap up simultaneously, and Lance caught him giving Keith rapid sidelong looks to check on him every so often. He was worried, but trying not to let anyone see it. Lance knew that feeling well, but he wished he could keep as composed about it. Recently, Lance felt as though he were losing his grip every couple of minutes, and it was starting to annoy him.
Shiro held his food in his real hand, beginning to sift through Keith's file again, balancing it on his lap and turning the pages deftly with his robotic fingers. Lance forgot to be so guarded and flat out stared.
A balled-up napkin smacked against the side of Lance's face, almost startling him into dropping his second sandwich as he involuntarily brought up a hand for defense. Realizing what had hit him, Lance turned to Keith, who was watching him disapprovingly.
"Have some respect," Keith muttered at him, misunderstanding why Lance had been watching Shiro's right hand so closely. Shiro glanced up, noticing immediately that he'd missed something.
"Keith?" He said as a request for an explanation. Lance picked up the napkin missile, intending on tossing it right back. Keith shrugged, going back to his yogurt. "Lance?" Shiro switched his attention since Keith obviously wasn't going to give him anything. Lance hurled the napkin back at Keith, hitting him lightly on the chest, wanting to point out the double standard. If Keith didn't want anyone looking at him, how come it was ok for him to watch Lance eat?
"I have nothing but respect," Lance defended himself to Keith, though he was still embarrassed at being caught ogling like that. "It's just impressive, ok?"
"What?" Shiro began, but then he seemed to catch up with the whole thing. "Oh, you mean this." He wiggled his artificial fingers, and Lance couldn't help but be awestruck all over again. Such. Fluid. Natural. Movements.
"Close your mouth," Keith ordered, way more used to it than Lance was. Plus Keith probably didn't understand. Had probably never seen what regular prosthetics were like. How clumsy and stiff.
"Sorry," Lance apologized, to Shiro – not Keith. "I've never seen anything like that before. It's –" He paused, not sure what word he wanted to use that wouldn't sound weird. He decided not to pick one and ask a question instead. "Where did you get it?"
"That's classified," Shiro answered, again with the practiced clip to his tone.
"You didn't tell me that," Keith said, slightly offended. Shiro smiled.
"That's what classified means," he retorted teasingly, and Lance swallowed hard so he wouldn't burst out laughing. "It's a prototype," Shiro said to Lance. "That's all I can say, but you're right, you've never seen anything like it. . . yet. Hopefully, they'll be more available in the future."
"Does it have any limitations?" Lance asked, too intrigued not to pry just a little bit.
"What the –" Keith began, but Lance shushed him.
"You wanted us to ignore you, so fine, I'm ignoring you. Keep eating. I'm just . . . really curious about this. You don't have to answer," he added to Shiro in what he hoped would be a respectful tone.
"It's fine," Shiro granted. "Not sure what you mean by limitations."
"Well, like . . can you do buttons? Shoelaces? Tie a necktie? Type? Use a pen?" Lance cut himself off before his list got too long, trying to curb his enthusiasm.
"Took some practice, but yes, I can do all those things."
"Wow," Lance breathed, wondering how much of Shiro's capability came from the elegance of the design and what part was just because Shiro seemed to be one of those people who always made extremely difficult things appear easy. Like grabbing Keith off the floor, for example. Lance leaned toward Keith now. "Impressive," he repeated, drawing out the word unnecessarily long to make a point. Keith shook his head again.
"I agree," a female voice purred from the doorway, and all three of them jerked their attention that direction. Dr. Delacroix wore lavender scrubs today under her white lab coat, her multitudes of tiny braids hanging loose for the moment. She leaned against the doorframe, one hand in her pocket while the other held Keith's chart, all his stats from last night dutifully recorded onto it for her review by Abbie.
Lance scrambled to his feet, hoping he didn't have anything on his mouth. He could see Shiro's startled expression about his reaction, but he just didn't understand who this woman was and how much Lance wanted to impress her. He still didn't want to be an ER doctor, and he wasn't convinced that what Keith suspected about Angelique's plans for him could be true, but he still wanted her approval. Or at least not her disapproval.
"Morning, Dr. Delacroix," Lance greeted her, wondering what accent he was using at the moment then deciding it didn't actually matter provided he wasn't using hers. "Sleep well?" For a second, he thought he'd crossed a line, been too familiar with her as he watched her eyes tighten above the mask she wore. You never could tell with her.
"Better than you did, I imagine," Angelique answered, coming all the way into the room. "Did you sleep at all, Lance?"
"Sure," Lance said, looking down at the floor so she wouldn't see the lie on his face. Well, no, she'd already seen it; he just didn't want to discuss it in front of the others. To his relief, she walked right past him on her way to Keith.
"How about you, darling?" She spoke very differently to Keith, as she had yesterday, her voice warm and completely judgment-free. It was wasted on Keith, though, who shied slightly away from her, looking to Lance as if he could answer for him. Lance nodded toward the doctor encouragingly. Come on, Keith, she's not going to bite you. "You're looking better than when you came in. Sitting up, talking, eating, very good," Dr. Delacroix continued a visual assessment since Keith wasn't answering. "May I listen to your heart, please?"
She was already putting the stethoscope earbuds in, assuming the affirmative. Shiro took the almost empty yogurt container so Keith could sit up a little more, allowing Dr. Delacroix access to his chest and back. Lance watched closely, wishing Keith could trust Angelique as much as he did. Maybe he shouldn't have told him all that stuff about how Angelique made students cry, but he'd also told him about how good she was at her job. Couldn't Keith tell that she was being so gentle with him? Or maybe it had nothing to do with Angelique. Maybe it was just Keith. The way Shiro was also watching, like he suspected Keith to physically push Angelique off him any second, Lance figured that was it.
"Deep breaths, love," Angelique instructed, listening, shifting the stethoscope to various positions to hear different things. Lance couldn't tell what she thought about what she heard since the mask hid so much of her face.
"Ok," she said neutrally, pulling back. "There's definite improvement, but your heart's still beating rather fast, and your temperature keeps hovering between 102.9 and 103.3." She spoke as she walked around the bed, opening a drawer by the sink without even looking and pulling out a package. A nasal cannula. Like Lance had wanted to put on less than half an hour ago but hadn't dared. "Let's hook your oxygen back up." Skillfully, she unplugged from the wall the mask Keith had been using in the ambulance yesterday, the one that covered the entirety of his mouth and nose, and replaced it with the less intrusive apparatus, turning the oxygen level to three instead of fifteen. "There. That shouldn't get in your way too much. How does it feel, lamb?" Keith raised an eyebrow without answering. "I know," she acknowledged, but Lance guessed Keith was reacting more to being called a lamb than the actual question. He wondered what Keith would do if he ever found out the other baby animal themed nickname Lance had been calling him all this time.
Angelique gave Keith a reprieve from questions as she gathered the EKG printout, a significant stack by now, hours and hours of data. "I'll review this as quick as I can," she promised, and Lance wondered how many uninterrupted minutes she would have consecutively to study it. When you worked in the ER, things could change every second. "Did we ever figure out the question about insurance?"
"We did," Shiro answered. "And, unfortunately, that paperwork was not complete."
"So, no insurance at all? Medicaid? Nothing like that?" Dr. Delacroix double checked, though there wasn't a lot of ambiguity about what Shiro just said. Lance felt his shoulders stiffen at the tone. It wasn't going to be like that, was it? Here too?
"Seems not," Shiro responded, sounding frustrated.
"Ok," Angelique responded with an efficient little click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, as if that answer meant nothing at all. Lance knew better, and it pissed him off. "Then I think that's all from me for now. Did you need anything, honey?" She asked one last question of Keith, though it seemed he was dead set about never speaking a word out loud to her.
"Can you do something for his back?" Keith asked in a rather short burst, surprising absolutely everyone in the room. He couldn't bring himself to look up from Lance's blanket, but his voice was clear. Dr. Delacroix's gold-tinged eyes flickered over to Lance.
"So it's like that, is it?" She said softly, almost to herself. Lance had no idea what she meant by that. From the look on his face, neither did Keith.
"Please?" Keith amended his request, raising his head. "It's a mess."
"I know, dear. I saw. How about you take care of him for me?" Dr. Delacroix said, reaching back into her pocket and pulling free a brand-new tube of antibiotic ointment. Lance felt his mouth drop open again, knowing that Angelique didn't just carry stuff like that around. It wasn't even from the hospital. She'd picked it up at some point, on her own, and now she held it out for Lance, who still stood awkwardly between the bed and the door. He reached out to take it from her, but she didn't let go right away, staring at him with her intense tiger eyes. "Since he doesn't seem to be able to take care of himself."
"I got it," Lance whispered to all she meant by that, causing her to tilt her head a fraction and relinquish the ointment into his fingers. Now with both her hands free, Angelique rebalanced the printout and Keith's chart, preparing to leave.
"Shiro?" Lance gave the pilot a split-second of warning before tossing the tube his direction, but he still caught it easily with his prosthetic hand without even appearing surprised. "Thanks; I'll be right back. Let me carry that for you, Dr. Delacroix?" The offer was part politeness and part a desire to speak with her outside of the room. She seemed to know exactly what Lance wanted, and she handed off the stack of paper readily, opening the door for him to leave ahead of her.
"Lance?" He heard Keith call to him on his way out, but he'd talk to him later. He needed to clear something with Angelique first. Except she cut him off before the door had even closed behind them.
"Wait," she ordered, gesturing with her arm where she wanted him to go. Her main office, where she'd taken Lance last night, was not located in the emergency room. Since it would take too much time for her to go back and forth, there was another, smaller office near the ambulance entrance for the ER doctor-on-call to use during their shifts. There was a computer there, several books, random storage supplies, and a desk for just the sort of data review that Angelique would be doing for Keith. Since it didn't belong to any one person, and ER doctors spent more time on their feet in patient rooms than anything else, there wasn't a whole lot to be said for the place except it was private.
"Just here will be fine," Dr. Delacroix instructed, clearing away a box of Manilla folders to make a spot for Keith's printout on the desk. "Thank you, Lance." She took a seat and began rifling through the sheets almost before Lance had removed his hands from them, scanning for abnormalities. Lance felt as though he were being deliberately ignored. It wasn't as if she didn't already know what he wanted to talk to her about.
"Does anything on that paper even matter at this point?" Lance finally spit out after waiting as long as he could for her to acknowledge that he was still standing there with her. She slowly pulled the mask down, revealing an expression that indicated she'd had enough from him already.
"Of course it does," she answered smoothly, unruffled, but her eyes had begun to heat up.
"I thought the ER was required to provide treatment regardless of whether or not a patient had insurance," Lance shot back. He may not have been there when Keith had transferred to the foster system. He hadn't been able to do anything to prevent Keith from being abused into his teenaged years, hadn't been there to speak for him during the trial, but he was here now and bound and determined that Keith not be written off again. Not without saying anything. At least trying.
"That's correct," Angelique agreed with him, but the edge in her voice meant that even though she was telling Lance he was right, she was about to educate him on why he was also wrong. "The ER is required to provide life-saving treatment to the point where a patient is stable regardless of that patient's ability to pay. After that, however-"
"So once he's not actually dying you kick him out, is that it?" Lance returned, disgusted. Not at her – just at the policy. He couldn't believe that it was going to be about money, again.
"Lance, listen to me –"
"No! He shouldn't leave! We don't know what his heart will do once he stops receiving the antiarrhythmic medication. He still has a fever; I don't think he can walk on his own yet. He can barely eat. Just because he's not in active heart failure doesn't mean he's stable." There was a tiny part of Lance that found it odd that he'd tried so hard to keep Keith out of the hospital, and now he was arguing to keep him in. But he didn't want to think about taking him home, watching as the medication wore off. What if he crashed again? Or – maybe Keith wouldn't come home with Lance at all. Maybe he'd go with Shiro and then Lance would never see him again.
Angelique leaned back in the old desk chair, keeping her delicate fingers wrapped around the printout, pulling it toward her. Her mouth tightened into a flat, frustrated line that accentuated her tone.
"Did you know that the words 'regardless of ability to pay' do not actually mean 'doesn't have to pay at all'?" She questioned him icily.
"I'm not in the finance program, Dr. Delacroix; I'm in the medical program. I thought you were too." Why was it always about the cost and not the care?
Dr. Delacroix's mouth and hands twitched; she bowed her head as if praying for patience, and Lance wondered if she were reminding herself that Do No Harm had been part of her Hippocratic Oath.
"Lance," Angelique began, but he already knew she'd be telling him more of what he didn't want to hear.
"Heart patients like Keith are monitored for at least three days." Lance steamrolled over what she'd been about to say. He knew he wouldn't like it; thus, he didn't want to give her opportunity to say it. "If he had insurance, you would have admitted him already."
"Yes," Angelique sighed, and Lance lost a bit of momentum as it hit him that she might be just as frustrated about this as he was. "I would have admitted him last night."
"Then why aren't you going to admit him now?" Lance demanded. Keep him here, safe and protected, out of court.
"Because at some point in your medical career, Lance, you'll understand that it is about money. And it's just as much for Keith's sake as it is the hospital's."
"That makes no damn sense," Lance pouted. How could it be for Keith's sake?
"That's because you're not giving me a chance to explain," Angelique responded, making Lance feel whiny and childish. And mad. "If I admit him, who is going to pay for it, Lance? Keith can't. I don't think you can. But someone will have to, and it will take one or more forms. The hospital can raise treatment costs for everyone else to make up the difference. They can garnish Keith's wages for years. They can file a claim against him and damage his credit for a significant portion of his life. You see where I'm going with this. Discharging him as soon as possible is the only way to minimize the damage on both sides." Lance looked at the unreadable lines of the EKG printout, knowing he was going to lose this debate and hating it. "The hospital can't deny life-saving treatment, but they can discharge a patient who is no longer experiencing a medical emergency. I cannot keep Keith here because of a fever, even one as high as his, do you understand?"
Even though Lance technically did understand, he discovered that he couldn't say so. His fists were balled up at his sides, his entire body tight at the predicament. It hurt worse to know that it wasn't even unjust, though unmerciful. It hurt to hear that yet another system didn't care about Keith, as a person, no one thought about what this would mean for him, how he could suffer because of it.
"Lance, please look at me," Angelique requested, her tone not in the least bit softened, but Lance somehow heard a new gentleness in it anyway. He knew his eyes were wetter than he wanted her to see them, but he lifted his gaze to hers, shocked to find compassion on her face.
"I don't like it either, at least I know that he won't be without all medical care when he leaves," she said, trying to be encouraging. "It feels more like a transfer than an abandonment knowing that you'll be with him."
"He almost died in my living room," Lance reminded her, bitter and uncooperative. "And I thought you told me not to perform ahead of my classes so I don't know what you think I'll be able to do for him?"
"I'm delighted that you were listening, but I don't think you'll have to go to such extreme measures to keep Keith alive now that we're raising his iron levels and he's not so severely dehydrated. I'm confident that you'll be able to look after him as a friend would, no special training required, and from what I've observed of you two together, I think he would prefer you helping him to anyone else. You just remember the other things I told you about taking care of yourself, will you?"
"I will," Lance made the promise, but even he thought it sounded empty. "But are you sure there isn't anything more we could do to keep Keith here?" He was doing it again, talking to Angelique like they were partners, speaking to her with far less respect than she deserved. But when he looked at her, she didn't seem to have noticed, or at least she didn't mind. She looked as though she completely agreed with him, that she'd been desperately trying to figure some sort of alternative for Keith too.
"I'm going to take my time with this," Angelique went on, patting Keith's report. "I'm going to take as much time as possible, actually. I probably won't get to it until you've been here just about twenty-four hours. I'll be checking it thoroughly, and in the meantime, Keith will continue to receive pain medication and fluids. I'm going to taper off the antiarrhythmic gradually over the next eight hours so we'll at least get a hint of what might happen to him without it. Neither of us wants him to be in danger or in pain. I need you to believe that."
Lance felt his anger chip away as he realized that Dr. Delacroix really was on his side, that she was deliberately going to stall her assessment in order to give Keith more time. What she'd just said soothed Lance. She couldn't break hospital policy, but she could stretch it. He should have known that it wasn't her fault. She was first and foremost a doctor who cared about her patient. He'd been raging at the wrong person.
"Thank you," he whispered, dropping his gaze again, ashamed. It didn't change much about the situation, to be honest, but even just this much was more than Keith had been given before.
"Would you like to go back to your friend now, or is there something else you wanted to tell me?" Her face was calm and knowledgeable, ready, sitting there as though she had all day to talk to him, that nothing could be more important than what he might have to say. A bit of question circled into Lance about how some of the more sinister rumors about her had gotten started. He suddenly felt as though she didn't deserve them.
He almost took her up on the invitation. He had his mouth open, ready to tell her everything that had happened last night and this morning. All about Keith's unfair trial, all about Lance's family, the phone call, what he'd learned about his mother, ask for her advice on what he could do about it. But he caught himself before he unloaded onto her again. Despite how she made it seem, she had so much more going on today than being there for him. She wasn't his mother, his teacher, employer, mentor, or really anything except the ER doctor-on-call who happened to be on duty when Keith showed up yesterday. Lance didn't know why he even felt compelled to speak to her the way he did. Especially since he'd found it so hard to speak to her at all before. Before he knew she kept his coffee cup on her desk. Before he heard Coran say that she'd been watching him. Before she had confessed that she was going to do all she could, and possibly more than she should, regarding Keith.
"You can only carry so much, Lance," she prompted when he didn't answer her, as if she knew he was holding back.
"Haven't hit my limit yet," he responded, though there was no humor in his voice as he'd intended.
"That's what I'm afraid of," she said, standing up, looking as though she meant to walk past him to open the door for him to go. She paused on her way by, staring at him so hard that he could hardly stand it, her gaze actually feeling as though it did have a weight, giving him one last chance to be honest with her. He deliberately looked away.
"Go on," she finally dismissed, much to Lance's relief. "Keith needs you."
Lance nodded, taking this responsibility seriously, wishing that he could have done more to champion him. He turned to go, but then heard Angelique say one more thing in parting, one last sentence that he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear or not.
"And you need him."
Angelique Delacroix, Lance decided, was the most mysterious person. He couldn't really figure her out. He didn't know how she managed to be so fierce and so gentle at the same time. How she could be so strict about policy yet somehow still manipulate it. Obviously, she had discovered the balance in her soul that she told him he needed to find for himself. He wondered how she'd done it or if she had even struggled with it. He wondered if she'd even be able to tell him if he asked. He also wondered how whenever he spoke to her, she never gave him what he wanted, but he somehow felt more loyal to her after she'd talked to him. Definitely mysterious.
"There you are," Shiro sighed in relief when Lance let himself back into the triage room a few minutes later, all the fight taken out of him. "Whenever you leave with her, I always worry on whether you'll come back or not."
"What do you think she's going to do?" Lance asked, half smiling and half apprehensive, actually curious to hear. How did Dr. Delacroix come across to other people?
"I don't even know," Shiro replied, rather unsatisfactorily, as he beckoned Lance over to them. "Come on; let's get this medicine on your back like she said."
"That's all right," Lance began, not wanting Shiro or Keith to be responsible for that. His back was tender, but it wasn't that bad. The ointment was being overly cautious, and Lance wasn't sure he wanted anyone touching him.
"Lance, get over here," Keith snapped, causing Lance to stare at him. "I don't know how, but she'll know if we skip it and you know you're the only one who's going to get in trouble about it, so let's get it over with already."
Lance convinced himself in the next three seconds as he went to sit on Keith's bed that he was cooperating only so Keith wouldn't get all worked up about it, but part of him was moved that Keith had thought to ask Angelique about his wound at all, that he'd been thinking so much about him. He knew it wasn't really appropriate, given their situation, so he tried not to let himself be too pleased about it.
"Take off your shirt," Keith demanded gruffly, making it clear that he would be the one applying the antibiotic, taking Angelique's instructions that he take care of Lance very seriously. Lance hesitated again, not really wanting to do that. He'd been vulnerable enough already this morning. Keith wasn't having it. "Lance, I'm sitting here two shoelaces away from being completely naked, so you don't get to be worried about taking off your damn shirt. Let's go."
Lance watched Shiro struggle with his face, not wanting to upset Lance by laughing about what was going on in front of him. To hide his amusement, Shiro decided to continue talking about Dr. Delacroix.
"You two seem to have a . . .rather unusual working relationship. You and the doctor," Shiro mused, keeping his eyes carefully away from where Lance was pulling his shirt over his head, too tired to fight about it. Keith put both hands on either side of the worst part of the scrape, and Lance had to hold back a groan. The heat of Keith's palms was surprisingly soothing, though Lance felt guilty to enjoy something like that. "Is she always so cold to you?"
"Lance spilled coffee on her," Keith volunteered as he took his time studying Lance's back. He hadn't even started putting the ointment on. Lance kept his gaze on his lap, feeling as though all his control over this conversation had been stripped off him just like his shirt. He heard Shiro chuckle softly.
"Here, Keith, it's open," Shiro said, and Lance could see him pass Keith the tube of medicine out of the corner of his eye. "She doesn't seem to be the type to hold a grudge about something like that," he continued, talking to himself now.
"And she's testing him," Keith went on. "She wants him to be her ER apprentice or something."
"She does not," Lance protested, unwilling to let this go any further. Why couldn't Keith let that go?
"No, I think Keith might be right," Shiro agreed. "She does act like she's holding you to a high standard. She must see a lot of potential in you."
"Well, it doesn't matter. I'm not interested in the ER," Lance closed the topic, shuddering as Keith began smearing antibiotic over the broken places in his skin. He heard himself involuntarily grunt.
"Sorry," Keith apologized for hurting him. "I can't believe a coffee table did this kind of damage."
"It was more the weight, speed, and angle that we fell on it," Lance responded automatically, almost as though he were speaking with Pidge at home. He curled his back, leaving his arms in his sleeves so he'd be ready to throw his shirt on again the second Keith finished, though he actually was becoming less and less in a hurry about it the longer Keith kept his hands on him, the heat in the touch relaxing all his muscles. After a little while, Lance noticed Keith's hands slow, resting against him for longer and longer stretches. He was getting tired. "That's probably good for now," Lance said, tugging his shirt on and turning to consider Keith behind him.
"Sure?" Keith slurred, exhausted, slumping back against the reclined mattress, his eyes clouded and heavy. Lance smiled kindly at him.
"Yeah, Lobito. Thanks for the help, but I think you should try and get some sleep now. Are you still comfortable? Nothing hurts?" At least he wasn't shaking anymore.
"What are you going to do?" Keith asked, not liking the idea of nodding off again while Lance and Shiro were still awake. Though from the looks of it, he probably wouldn't be able to help it.
"Homework," Lance suggested. "You may not be going to English tomorrow, but I probably am."
"Oh," Keith responded, putting a little energy into sounding surprised. "Right."
"Put your head down," Lance encouraged. Enjoy the pain medication while you've got it, he added sadly in his head, wishing there was some way that Keith could stay here until his fever broke. Who knew how much longer that would take? Keith submitted easily, closing his eyes.
"Shiro?" Lance questioned quietly after they'd both been silent long enough that Lance was certain Keith was asleep. "Can I ask what happened with the insurance? You sound like Keith was supposed to have some kind of coverage." Who dropped a ball on this? Who had made it so Keith wouldn't be able to get the treatment he should?
Lance was still sitting on Keith's bed, though he'd made room for Keith to stretch out. However, it seemed that Keith never slept extended at all. He curled while he rested. Not quite as tightly as when he'd been in pain, but still a defensive little knot snuggled close against Lance's hip. Lance absentmindedly rested his hand on Keith's ankle, watching him sleep, worried about him in several different ways.
He heard Shiro's hesitation in answering this, and Lance knew it was a personal question. Another thing that was none of his business. But he also knew that Shiro was going to tell him, that there was some invisible disclosure agreement between them. A trust.
"He is supposed to have coverage," Shiro admitted, sitting in the chair, also watching Keith. "Kasey had the documents all ready, but Keith never turned up to sign them."
"Part of the exit interview?" Lance guessed.
"That's right," Shiro confirmed, sounding disappointedly sad again. Lance was about to follow up with a question about what an exit interview was, but the words must have been too much on his face because Shiro went on without him having to say them. "When someone ages out of the foster system, like Keith did when he turned eighteen last October, there's an exit interview that goes over the changes. What support will stop and what will stay in place and for how long. Basically, everything ends when kids become legal adults, but Keith would have received Medicaid coverage until he turned twenty-five or until he found employment that would provide coverage for him instead. There's paperwork, but without Keith's signature, it's worthless."
"Where was he? Why did he miss the interview?" Lance asked, though he could probably guess what had happened.
"I don't know," Shiro said, but Lance could hear that he had his opinions. "I lost track of Keith after I asked to be transferred as his case worker. He disappeared from the group home, quit answering phone calls. He turned up once a month, never the same day or time, just long enough to get his stipend funds from Kasey at the office and do a really quick check in so we didn't have to send the police out looking for him, but that's about it. He avoided me. Kasey said he'd leave messages for him every few days to let him know a bit of what was going on, but that's it."
"Shiro," Lance began, intending on asking why he'd wanted to be transferred. It made no sense. Now that he'd seen them together, seen how much they loved and respected each other, seen how much Keith depended on Shiro, Lance just couldn't figure out why Shiro would do something like that.
"I'm not going to tell you before I tell Keith," Shiro answered again before Lance could even ask. "No offense, but that really is personal."
"Of course," Lance agreed, knowing he was asking too much to begin with. Anything that Shiro answered was a favor, not a right.
"You'll probably be there when I tell him anyway," Shiro followed up, his voice taking on a slightly lighter tone. "Seeing as you're becoming inseparable."
"We'll see if he still feels that way when his fever breaks," Lance said dismissively, because he knew first hand that being sick made people more emotional and clingy. He'd shown up in Keith's life during one of his loneliest, most vulnerable moments, so it wasn't surprising Keith had grabbed on to him. He knew better than to expect Keith's feelings about their friendship to remain the same once he recovered, though. It might even embarrass him to see Lance afterward, to be reminded of that vulnerability every time he saw him. He could want Lance to disappear. Or the court could force them apart. "He may never want to see me again."
"I doubt it. Once Keith's made up his mind, it's pretty much set forever. You should have seen him while you were out of the room. You would have thought you'd left for a three-year space mission without saying good-bye." That made Lance smile, and he patted Keith's leg as he slept, feeling genuine affection for him.
"He didn't really like it when you left yesterday either," Lance offered. "And I wasn't gone that long."
"What did you and the doctor talk about? Did she give you any more information about Keith's condition?"
Lance shook his head, growing serious as he remembered his discussion with Dr. Delacroix outside the room. "Shiro, were you able to get the court to postpone the verdict reading tomorrow? They're not going to make Keith show up to court when he's this sick, right?"
"They don't really care much about that," Shiro revealed carefully, watching Lance as he spoke as if he knew it would make him furious. He was right, of course, but Lance was also sitting very close to Keith and wanted him to continue to rest, so he kept himself still. "If he's still here in the hospital, then yes, I'll provide proof of the stay and they'll reschedule the verdict. But if Keith's discharged before tomorrow at ten, he'll have to show up – sick or not."
"That's awful," Lance said softly, once again hating people he didn't even know.
"But I thought you said that patients like Keith were normally admitted for three days," Shiro clarified. "So it's likely we'll get the extension and we won't have to worry about that part at least. I can submit the request tomorrow when the office opens."
"I guess I should have said patients with insurance are normally admitted for three days," Lance clipped bitterly. "Unless Dr. Delacroix finds something really terrible in that dataset of Keith's heart, she can only keep him here for twenty-four hours. He'll be discharged a little after four this afternoon."
"What? Really?" Shiro asked, surprised.
"Looks like the hospital and the court have something in common. Neither of them cares that Keith is sick."
Shiro was staring at Keith now, a whole new worry creasing his forehead. Lance could actually see him planning for this unexpected scenario, how he was going to support Keith from one kind of hell into another. Lance had innocently tricked him into thinking he had more time to prepare for it. He'd innocently believed that the hospital would act in the patient's best interest.
"Shiro?" Lance called him back from wherever he'd mentally gone. "They can't really send him to prison?" He thought back to the tiny room he'd found Keith in. The cell. Keith alone and sick on the bed. Keith couldn't go back to that.
"If I hadn't seen it happen already, I would have agreed with that," Shiro replied, his voice far away. "The Hunts can be incredibly persuasive, and they have all the resources."
"Can . . . Can I look at the file?" Lance requested, holding out a hand for the paperwork that Keith had hidden in his backpack. That seemed like such a long time ago now when Keith hadn't wanted him to see it. Back when he thought he could keep something like this a secret.
"Guess it won't hurt now," Shiro agreed, passing it over to him.
Lance pressed closer against Keith's legs, leaning into him slightly as he opened the file carefully on his lap, making sure that none of the loose papers inside slid out onto the floor. It was hard to tell where to start. He saw copies of the official charges, notes from the defense that he guessed the woman named Krolia had written across some of the pages. He paused to consider her handwriting; she seemed to favor all capital letters and exclamation points. And bold words like: fabricated, inconclusive, circumstantial, lies, privilege. Lance decided he liked her.
"Krolia seems . . passionate," Lance murmured as he flipped through the documents, seeing over and over where her red pen had scratched out and rewritten the trial as she thought it should have gone, smiling at some of the more colorful language.
"I haven't heard back from her yet," Shiro said, his voice balanced so Lance couldn't really tell his opinion of Keith's lawyer. "I don't even know if she's received my messages updating her about where Keith is. I couldn't find a cell number, so I had to leave them at her office phone. The weekend is really messing with efficient communication."
Lance returned to the papers; he didn't know what to think about what Shiro had just said, so his mind conveniently skipped over it. He was skimming the details of the original incident now. What the Hunts said about what happened. What Keith said. The testament of the girl that Keith rescued. Lance stared at her name – it was certainly different. He'd never heard a name like that before. He moved on to the pictures.
Most of them were from the first trial, the one for assault when Keith was sixteen. Photos of the victim – David – Lance remembered Shiro saying his name was David. There were pictures of his injuries. Looks like Keith had given both Lance and David matching bruises under their eyes. David, of course, was much worse. Keith had lacerated his lips, knocked out a tooth, actually broken one of his cheekbones, his jaw, and his nose. There were bruises along his throat that indicated Keith had tried to strangle him. Lance could only study them for a few seconds each before he had to turn them over. He didn't like seeing what Keith could be capable of doing to another human being, even if he might have deserved it. Under the photos of the beating was David's death certificate and the autopsy report.
"Ruptured cerebral aneurysm," Lance read quietly from the line of print indicating the cause of death. "Wait. What kind?"
He flipped through a couple more pages, finally finding the photos he suddenly wanted very much to see. There were MRI, MRA, and CT scans of David's postmortem brain, dark patches indicating the rupture, the spread of the blood. Lance read the report, how David woke up with a headache on a Monday morning six weeks ago. Texts to his friends indicated he suspected he was suffering a hangover, a souvenir of his weekend activities. He told them he'd feel better after lunch. His mother found him unresponsive in bed that evening.
"This can't be right," Lance whispered, continuing to read, looking back every few seconds at the scans. He started searching for any sort of medical representation at the trial. Hadn't anyone thought to ask an actual doctor about this? Lance read that the Hunts were convinced that David's aneurysm was a direct result of Keith's attack, that Keith had slammed the back of his skull onto the cement. Traumatic subarachnoid hemorrhage. But the force required to do something like that . . . was probably more than sixteen-year-old Keith could have managed. And that wasn't the term listed on the death certificate. There was a definite difference between the two kinds of bleeding. Right? It wasn't clear. Lance sifted through the papers faster, looking for any sort of medical history on David before Keith touched him. Had anyone else in his family suffered an aneurysm? Did he have high blood pressure? Lance already knew he drank; did he also smoke?
"Lance?" Shiro broke into the frenzy of his thoughts, mildly inquisitive but with a hint of concern in the name.
"Keith is not responsible for this," Lance said, louder, definitive, looking up to glare at Shiro, not because he was angry with him but because he was the only one in the room that Lance could share his anger and confusion with.
"What do you mean?" Shiro asked, resigned.
"If Keith had hit him with a car maybe we could say this was his fault, but with his bare hands over a year afterward? I don't think it's possible. Oh my God; the way you were both talking like there was no doubt at all. This is completely different."
"Can you slow down a little? How can you tell that it wasn't Keith's fault?" Shiro's words were no longer mild; they'd gained intensity, but he still enunciated with a specific grounding clearness. Lance suspected he was starting to get overexcited about this again.
"I . . well, I guess I can't say for sure, but if I can't know from these reports that it wasn't – they sure as hell can't say for sure that it was. Where's the rest of the documents?"
"There aren't any. Whatever I have is in that file," Shiro responded, leaning in, looking down at the papers as though he hadn't checked them before. Like he was trying to read whatever Lance had seen. "What do you think is missing?"
"A lot," Lance hissed. "Where is David's medical history? The notes from the hospital aren't here; I only see the police report. How many checkups did David have in the interim between when Keith hit him and his death? What was his quality of life during that time? Because it seemed pretty normal if he was partying with his friends on the weekends."
"You think his death is unrelated to what Keith did to him?" Shiro checked.
"I think it's completely impossible to prove that it was Keith's fault, and that's all we really need, right?" Lance was talking over his shoulder now, on his way to the hall, in search of Dr. Delacroix, moving quickly even though rushing wasn't going to get him anywhere.
"I don't know. Where are you going?" Shiro asked, watching as Lance opened the door, Keith's file in his hand.
"To get an expert's opinion," Lance called, headed out.
He spotted Angelique's braids at the nurse's station, where she was speaking with the staff there, her back toward him. From the phrases he could hear as he approached, Lance gathered that the ER wasn't too busy at the moment. There were advantages to having the entire city snowed in for the weekend.
"Dr. Delacroix?" Lance broke in to the gathering, certain that whatever they were discussing was nowhere near as important as the questions he had for her. Angelique turned with feline fluidity, her hand coming to rest on one hip. "Can I talk to you?"
"That depends on what you'd like to talk about," Angelique warned him. She was not interested in any more discussion about ethics and insurance, though as she studied his face, she softened, recognizing Lance's distress. "Is it Keith?"
"No, well, yes, but he's ok. He's sleeping. Can you take a look at these with me?" Lance opened the file, pulling free the MRA images of the bloodied brain. Angelique took hold of Lance's wrist instead of the papers, steadying him and twisting a little to get a better look.
"I don't really have time to help you with your homework, Lance," she chided, exhaling now that she knew there wasn't an emergency.
"It's not homework," Lance pressed. "It's way more important. Please?"
"Where did you get these?" Angelique asked, nodding toward the papers. Lance shook his head. He didn't want to tell her that, at least not yet. Not before she gave him her completely uninformed, unbiased opinion on what she was seeing in the scans. She locked eyes with Lance, making assumptions about what was happening here. There was something new in her face, a hesitant sort of pride.
"I'll tell you after you give me a diagnosis on what this is," Lance bargained.
The nurses were moving off now, repelled by the intensity of the situation, no longer wanting to be involved. Angelique removed the papers from Lance's hand, holding them up to her face in silent agreement to Lance's request.
"There's no diagnosis necessary," she told him. "With this kind of bleeding, I don't think the patient survived."
"You're right, but what caused the rupture? What sort is it?"
"It's hard to determine that from a scan. I can tell you this is a saccular aneurysm, sometimes called a berry aneurysm. It's the most common kind. This one is obviously very large. Was it causing symptoms before it burst, do you know?"
"I don't, but I don't think so. The patient woke up with a headache and thought it was a hangover. By evening, he was dead."
"That's sad," Angelique mused, and Lance stopped himself from telling her exactly how it wasn't all that sad. "It must have been awful for whoever found him, but no, I can't tell what caused the rupture from looking at this. It could have been genetic, or you said he thought he had a hangover – alcohol use can sometimes weaken the artery linings, making them more susceptible to bleed. Smoking too since it's linked to high blood pressure."
"What about trauma?" Lance guided her, feeling more confident since she hadn't come up with that one on her own. It meant it was one of the least likely culprits.
"Hmm, possibly? But no, I doubt it."
"Why? What makes you say that?"
Angelique looked up from the photos to stare at Lance, the desperation of his questions triggering her suspicion.
"Lance, exactly what am I looking at here?"
"Can you answer my question first?"
She squared her shoulders, then set the pages on the nurses' desk so she could be free to point. "In almost all cases of traumatic aneurysm, there is a skull base fracture present. I don't see one here, or evidence that there ever was one. Why would there be suspicion of trauma anyway? Did the patient fall before complaining of head pain?"
"I don't know. S-someone beat him up over a year before this happened, though. Could the events be related?" This question caused Angelique to turn all the pages face down on the desk, removing her hands and folding them securely under her arms. As though she had made a mistake in touching them in the first place and wanted to wipe them clean.
"Lance, are these evidence documents?"
"Remember when I told you yesterday that Keith was on trial?" Lance began, very cautiously. He didn't like how Angelique was talking right now. She sounded furious.
"The police officer who showed up with him was kind of a giveaway that something was going on," Angelique shot back, her lips pursed. "But I think you neglected to mention that he was on trial for killing someone."
"He didn't!" Lance insisted, then cringed as Angelique's hand snaked out and grabbed him behind his neck, her finger and thumb squeezing along either side of his spinal column. If she put any more pressure, Lance knew his knees would buckle.
"Keep your voice down," Angelique hissed. Lance braced himself against the desk in case she decided she wanted to crumple him to the floor. He curled over submissively, staring at the upside-down pages. "You're getting in over your head, Lance. How many times do I have to say to look out for yourself?"
"I'm doing the right thing," Lance insisted. "I can't let them put him in prison."
"If he's so innocent, then why was he beating someone up in the first place?" Angelique whispered, so close to Lance's ear that he could smell her shampoo. "Judging from these photos and your face, this seems to be a habit."
"I already explained my face," Lance dismissed. "And he beat up this son of a bitch because he was trying to stop him from kidnapping a girl. It's wrong what they're trying to do to him, and if there is any way I can prove it, then I'm going to try."
He felt Angelique's fingers relax on his neck. In another moment, her hands rested alongside his as she also leaned over the desk. He turned his head apprehensively to find her staring at him.
"Is this all you have?" She asked, her voice surprisingly rough.
"Yes. Is it enough?" Was she going to help him?
"I'm not sure. I need more time to look."
"Does that mean you'll help?" Lance asked. He took the papers, replacing them into the file, closing it, and holding it out to her hesitantly.
"You have absolutely no idea how to act in your best interests, do you?" She asked him, still staring at him, though they were both standing straight once more. "You have no self-preservation instincts at all." But Lance did not understand what she meant. He wasn't on trial. Nothing horrible could happen to him if Keith went to jail, though he didn't think he could live with himself if that happened.
"This isn't about me," Lance tried to explain. This was about Keith. This was about someone looking at the facts instead of making assumptions about him. Angelique reached forward, and Lance thought that she was going to take the folder. Instead, she put her hand on his shoulder. She had to reach up to do it; he was several inches taller than she was.
"That makes it even worse," she whispered. He leaned over her, wanting her to explain. Wanting to emphasize again to her that he was just doing what was decent. What was just.
"Draft me a statement," she demanded, regaining her composure. "I make no promises."
"Thank you, Dr. Delacroix!" Lance breathed his relief.
"You better be worth all this trouble, Mr. McClain."
"It's not for me," he repeated, not understanding.
"Oh no, trust me. I'm only doing this because of you."
"What?"
"Go on. I hope you know what you're doing."
Author's Note: Do you guys have any idea how much research I put into this thing? I think I spent two days figuring out all there was to know about aneurysms. It's been awesome. I just want to be as medically accurate as possible, and legally accurate, and . . . well, I'm going to screw up, but hopefully you'll forgive me. Does anyone like Angelique a little more than they thought they would or is that just me too? Also, who is excited to meet Krolia? (Not next chapter – but the one after that, I think.) First Lance has to convince a few more people that Keith is innocent . . . probably starting with Keith. Let me know what you if you have a minute. I always love feedback. Is there something you'd like to see more of? Less of? Want me to hurry it up a little? Let's chat.