Author's Note: Thank you so much. All of you. For reading and writing to me. For geeking out over this story. I really appreciate it. Let's jump right in, shall we?
Chapter Eighteen: Against Medical Advice
"She's going to help us," Lance triumphed as he returned to Keith's room. Shiro had done some cleaning while he'd been away. The food wrappers and napkins were gathered and disposed of; Lance's coat draped over the back of the chair instead of lying in a heap on the floor, and his backpack tucked up against the bed, out of danger of being stepped on or tripped over. Lance smiled as he noticed the differences, his respect for Shiro raising another notch. It seemed they had another thing in common; they couldn't just sit still and watch Keith sleep.
"Help us what exactly?" Shiro questioned, not wanting to kill Lance's sudden good mood, but he was definitely confused about it.
"Dr. Delacroix asked me to draft a statement. She's going to sign on as a medical witness for Keith."
"Oh, Lance," Shiro slumped, and this time he really was starting to damage Lance's spirits. No, this was a good thing. Lance was going to secure a statement from one of the most respected trauma doctors in the city, possibly the state, and she was going to put in writing her testimony – either that David's aneurysm occurred outside of anything Keith had done, or that it was impossible to determine what had caused it. Both scenarios in Keith's favor. What could be wrong with that?
Shiro considered him carefully, standing near the door with Keith's file, and his face softened. His expression of concerned incredulity shifted to his gentle smile, and he shrugged off whatever he'd been about to say. "That's great," he finished, and Lance nodded with certainty. That was a better attitude, even though Lance knew that Shiro was only going along with it to humor him. He would see. This was going to make all the difference.
As Keith slept, Lance threw himself into preparing the statement. He flipped the notebook from his backpack to a clean page then plopped himself right on the triage room floor, spreading David's photos in a semi-circle around him, staring at them from different angles, forcing the day nurse, Crystal, to step over them when she came in to replace Keith's IV bag and check his vitals. She hadn't been there when Lance had approached the nurses' station earlier, so she had no idea what he was doing, but she had the professionalism to not mention it at all. She did offer to bring them more coffee.
Shiro watched him from the chair, sometimes asking questions about what Lance could see in the scans, sometimes being overcome by what they actually depicted and needing to look away for a while. He asked Lance if he was all right continually, gaining in frequency as the morning dragged on. He made several phone calls, speaking in such low, smooth tones that even if Lance had been giving him his full attention he probably wouldn't have been able to understand what he was saying. Lance had to admit the rumble of Shiro's voice in the background was quite relaxing, a steady cadence blurring through his mind as he tried to focus on the scans. Despite his initial enthusiasm, it was getting harder to pay attention, to organize his thoughts enough to make a cohesive argument. His long night, and the night before that, was starting to weigh on him. He pressed his hands against his face, shook his shoulders, and kept working.
Shiro called him away for a break together to drink the coffee that Crystal brought and to finish off the breakfast sandwiches around lunchtime. Shiro hadn't been kidding when he said he'd gone overboard. Lance suspected he'd walked in and asked for two of everything. They saved one for Keith, just in case. Twice, Shiro tapped Lance on the arm, gently reminding him to eat as Lance kept zoning out, staring at the photos on the floor but not actually seeing them. The triage room grew increasingly fuzzy, and Lance slowed down in his work as he became unsure as to how he was going to get his point across, as he noticed he kept repeating the same not-quite-there statements. He just couldn't pinpoint exactly how to prove Keith's innocence, and it was exhausting and frustrating him.
It didn't help that, as usual, Keith did not rest quietly. Sometimes, his voice rose so clear that Lance was certain he'd woken up. Shiro stayed near his side, speaking to him, comforting him, allowing Lance to remain on the floor with his report. Keith didn't say much, or at least not much that made sense. He moaned wordlessly. He called their names in that heartbreaking tone that meant he thought he was being abandoned. He pleaded not to go back to jail. He apologized for nameless sins. At one point, he cried so hard about Lance's twin sister that Lance had to get up to put a stop to it before it broke him.
"Shh," Lance begged, stroking the side of Keith's face. "That's not your fault, Lobito. That happened a long time ago. Descansa."
"Who's he talking about?" Shiro asked, standing supportively next to Lance, watching him trying to soothe Keith, curious as to why this particular thing had pulled Lance from the floor in such a hurry. "Someone real?"
"My twin, but she's gone," Lance answered, rubbing calming circles over Keith's chest. "We were talking about her this morning; I guess it got stuck in his head. Keith, come on, buddy – you didn't hurt her. Basta."
"Lance," Shiro began, the sympathy thick in his voice. Combined with Keith was almost too much; Lance didn't want to listen to either one of them right now.
"I'm all right," Lance protested, though not very convincingly. He didn't know how to explain that Keith's crying somehow hurt worse than what he was crying about, but it was bothering him. He felt like lying his head on Keith's chest and sobbing with him even though that was a waste of time. However, he probably wouldn't have much of a choice about it if Keith didn't stop soon. "Keith," he pleaded, hearing the initial break in his voice. "It's ok. Please."
"Ok, Lance, take a break," Shiro insisted, shouldering between them, forcing Lance away from the bedside. "This is getting to you, and I know you're exhausted. Do you want me to take you home for a while so you can rest?"
"No, one of us needs to be here," Lance shook his head stubbornly, monitoring Keith's face as he also turned his head from side to side. "He can't wake up alone, and I'm not done yet with the statement. I'll just – I'll take a quick walk around until he switches to a different horror channel."
"Lance," Shiro said, and Lance knew he'd gone too far with that one. But it'd just been going on so long. How did Keith even have the energy to put into this while he was supposedly sleeping?
"You said he's always been like this?" Lance asked as he cleaned up the mess of documents from the floor. He didn't want them disturbed while he was out of the room. "Even when he's not sick he does this?" Because wow. But even as he said it, Lance knew that Keith could rest quietly. It was possible for him to be still, to actually rest. He'd done it last night, curled against Lance's chest. He hadn't moved or made any sound for hours.
"Not every night," Shiro responded, defensive about Keith. "But like I told you before, trauma has to be processed at some point. Keith won't allow himself to talk about things that bother him, but obviously that doesn't make them go away." So they came out during his unguarded moments, just bigger, harsher. "Or make them easier to listen to."
Keith continued to apologize for Rachel's death, and Lance stood with his arms full of papers, looking at him. He was still curled on the bed, fists against his chest, eyes squeezed shut, suffering.
"Go on, Lance," Shiro prompted. "And . . . I'm sorry about your sister."
"We were two," Lance dismissed. His heart ached for other reasons. He struggled to tear his eyes away from Keith. Perhaps he shouldn't leave. Perhaps he should fold himself against Keith again, see if that would quiet him as it had last night. "I don't remember her. Shiro, maybe I should -"
"I've got him," Shiro said, firmly, then he turned toward Keith, tugging at the clenched fists, somehow shutting Lance out before he'd even left the room. "Take a break, Lance." Lance closed his mouth and walked backward out into the hallway, resting his forehead against the door after he pulled it closed, clutching Keith's file under his arm, dazed. He wasn't sad about Rachel; he had discovered a long time ago that he could no longer summon much grief for her loss. There was no memory; therefore, there could be no real pain. What made him sad was that Keith had decided to pick that burden up for him, a hurt that Lance couldn't force himself to feel, but Keith had not only assimilated it, he'd made himself responsible for it. How many times had he done that? How many things did he blame himself for that he had nothing to do with? Like Rachel. Like David.
And Shiro. Lance liked him, respected him, but maybe he'd thought too soon that he was included in the special tightness that Shiro shared with Keith. Lance had almost forgotten that Shiro had been with Keith for years, that they were practically family. Of course, Shiro could handle Keith right now, quiet him down, help him relax. He didn't need Lance's help; he'd just made that extremely clear. Lance shouldn't really think that he was all that special, that he had any more right to be next to Keith than Shiro did. In all honesty, he had less.
"Lance, what is it? What's wrong?" The questions whispered close to his ear, and a gentle hand rested on his shoulder as he stood there thinking, fingers still loose around the doorknob. Lance could smell the increasingly familiar sharp scent of tea tree oil shampoo and knew that Dr. Delacroix was standing next to him. He didn't bother opening his eyes. He wondered if he would ever not be tired again. He wondered how it was that time moved so quickly and yet so impossibly slowly. He'd been in that triage room for days, except it hadn't even been one yet. He'd been trying to help Keith for his entire life, but not even a weekend had passed.
"Lance!" Angelique snapped, but not in anger. She shook his shoulder, trying a more invasive method to get him to answer her. "What happened?"
"Keith talks in his sleep," he murmured, still facing the door with his eyes closed, giving the simplest of facts, trying to pretend that they weren't slicing into him. "It's hard to listen to sometimes, so Shiro sent me out for a while."
"And how long has it been since you slept?" She asked, and he shrugged. It still wasn't about him. He could sleep later; he had things to do. She sighed, and Lance could tell she was frustrated with him. But he couldn't remember a time when she wasn't frustrated with him, so he wasn't about to summon any energy to worry about it now. "Que vais-je faire de toi?" She quipped to herself. Ok, so that was new. Lance decided that pushing Angelique into exasperated French was at least worth the effort of squinting at her, not removing his forehead from the door. He didn't know French, but it was similar enough to what he did know that he thought he got the gist.
"Help me keep Keith out of prison," he answered her softly. If she wanted to know what she was supposed to do with him, that was really the best and only thing he could think of.
"Not sure either of us have the power to do that," she informed him as she physically pried him from the door, turning him toward her, reaching up to place the back of her hand against his forehead. It took all he had not to irritably brush her off him.
"I'm fine," he repeated, standing straighter, forcing himself to actually look at her. "There's nothing wrong with me." Keith was the one in trouble, the one suffering. Lance didn't understand why Angelique would bother with him when the person who actually could use her help was crying in his sleep on the other side of the door.
"On the contrary," she returned, voice resolved, but then her expression crumbled as she decided to let it go and change the subject. "Come with me, please."
Lance rubbed his eyes and decided not to fight about it. Like yesterday, he blindly submitted to wherever Angelique wanted to take him. She had a hold on his wrist, pulling him through the emergency hallway to the small working office where they'd argued over insurance a few hours ago.
"Let's take a look at those scans again while I have a minute," she offered, closing the door and gesturing toward a chair. Lance had almost forgotten that he had taken the file out with him, but it was still there, tucked under his arm. He pulled it out rather numbly, setting it on the desk in front of her as she moved around him to take the other seat. "Did you have a chance to get started on that draft?"
"Sort of," Lance said, suddenly remembering every poorly-made argument in the thing. He'd worked so hard on it, and he'd been sure of every word he'd written down until this moment when she would be looking at it. Now everything seemed rough and inexperienced. Not even good enough to be called a draft.
"If I may?" Dr. Delacroix asked politely, so Lance also passed over the notebook, opened to where he'd started writing down his thoughts on the scans and Keith's lack of responsibility for the damage. Odd that the conviction he'd felt on the floor had turned into an anxious sort of embarrassment. But when had his best effort ever been good enough for Dr. Delacroix? Maybe she was right, maybe he was out of his league on this. But that's why he'd asked for her help in the first place.
Not wanting to watch her read his thoughts, and also because his head felt so heavy, Lance folded his arms on the desk in front of him and hid his face in the folds, waiting for Dr. Delacroix's assessment and instruction. It was extremely quiet here in this office, far from the main entrance and the nurses' station. Angelique herself sat with an almost unnatural stillness, reading, studying. Lance could hear the tick of a clock on the wall. Every so often there would be a soft whisper of a page being turned over. There were no windows, no pictures on the walls. Nothing but a weighted silence.
No, not quite silence. There was a deepness too. A lull, like a voice, humming in the background without ever focusing into discernable words. Lance hummed a little in response, acknowledging that he heard it, but couldn't bring himself to fully answer. If there was a question at all. There was the softness of his sleeve against his cheek, the curve of his spine over the desk, the clock. Time moving without him, running slow and yet still running out. Keith. His mom.
Lance hadn't noticed falling asleep until he was waking up again to the sensation of someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned, coming back slowly to consciousness. His entire body felt stiff from how he sat hunched against the desk. How long had he been here?
He shook off the touch, unlocking his spine and sitting up, opening his eyes to see Angelique pulling backward.
"Dr. Delacroix?" The last he'd seen her, she'd been sitting across from him, scanning his documents without expression. Now she stood next to him, closer to the door, watching him rather tenderly. "What time is it? Is Keith ok?"
"You two," she murmured, a hesitant smile just touching her lips. "That's almost exactly what he said when he woke up."
"You shouldn't have let me fall asleep," Lance accused groggily.
"You needed it," Angelique defended. "Though it would have been better if you'd been lying down. When you go home tonight, could you please make sure you get a decent amount of rest? Or Keith won't be the only one with a weakened immune system."
"You said he was awake? How long?" Keith was awake and Lance hadn't been there for it. Hadn't even been in the room. How would Keith take that? Somehow it didn't help that Shiro had probably been with him, sitting in that chair, forever still and patient and watchful, untouched by fatigue, completely in control of his emotions. It didn't help knowing that Shiro had done it first and for longer either. Lance began rearranging his body to stand up.
"He's only been awake a few minutes. That's why I came to get you. There's no need to rush; he understands where you are. Here, this is for you." She held out the familiar file and Lance's notebook. Lance took them with both hands, flipping the folder open automatically. All the papers were present, neatly clipped together now in some sort of pattern that must have made sense to Dr. Delacroix. In addition, his notes were there and an official looking document printed on hospital letterhead.
"You made an excellent start," Angelique complimented him as he scanned the statement. "You really are quite advanced." Lance barely registered the compliment as he was reading. He was surprised to recognize several phrases, whole paragraphs that he'd scribbled onto the notebook, now copied verbatim but organized and flowing into a full cohesive report. It basically read that the cause of the rupture in David's brain was impossible to state for certain; however, the likelihood that it had anything to do with Keith's attack was statistically and medically unlikely. It acknowledged the tragic loss of life, but denied that the evidence was strong enough to make that loss a punishable crime. Angelique had signed it.
"Thank you so much, Dr. Delacroix," Lance exhaled in awed gratitude. "This is perfect."
"I'm not sure what help it will be," Angelique began, then continued almost apologetically when she saw Lance's face. "But it seems important to you."
"If you only knew," Lance whispered, closing the folder and hugging it to his chest since it wouldn't be at all appropriate to hug Dr. Delacroix. She stood with her arms crossed, watching him, her face a complicated disarrangement. As though she couldn't decide herself what she was feeling.
"Lance?" She started to ask a question, but just as quickly changed her mind.
"He's worth it," Lance answered her anyway, willing to challenge anyone on that point. Worth the lack of sleep, the worry, worth the bruises, the time and effort. Because no one should be so surprised by kindness. "He shouldn't have had to go to trial in the first place."
"I agree with you," Angelique said, and Lance didn't know he needed her to say that until the moment it left her mouth. "On this point, at least." Lance wondered about the parts she didn't agree with, but suspected they had something to do with the amount of damage Keith had managed to inflict during the first attack, the one that had started everything. The matching bruises on David's and Lance's faces. But Lance didn't want to think too hard about that, or about what Pidge had warned him about Keith's lack of control.
"How is he doing?" Lance asked instead, wanting to go see him. He felt like he'd been away too long, that he needed to go to him right now. Make sure that Keith understood that it wasn't only Shiro who cared about him. That Lance hadn't actually even wanted to leave.
Dr. Delacroix's features settled into the slightly exasperated expression that indicated he wasn't asking the right questions, that he wasn't following procedure as well as he should. It wasn't exactly disappointment; it was somewhere between sad and annoyed. But again, as before, Angelique masked it quickly with a professional detachment. Lance could almost hear her telling herself that whatever she was thinking, or wanted to ask, was none of her business. She regained her composure in an instant, though she allowed herself a shake of her head.
"Let's go see," she said.
Lance nodded in agreement, following her once more across the emergency room floor to the triage room that had been Keith's entire world for the last day. When Lance and Angelique came in, Shiro's and Keith's heads lifted together. Shiro had pulled the chair close to the bedside. It looked as though they'd been interrupted during an intense discussion. Lance lowered the file to his side when he saw Keith's eyes fix on it. After the lengths Keith had gone to in order to keep that file a secret, it was probably a shock to discover that Lance had it anyway, and Lance didn't want him too angry about it before he had a chance to explain what he'd done.
"Hi guys," Lance greeted, clearing the sleep from his throat. "Sorry I took so long."
"Are you ok?" Keith questioned him from the bed, melting Lance's insides a little at the earnestness in his face and voice as he asked. Damn it, Keith; worry about yourself.
"That's my line," Lance retorted, not answering. He hadn't paid enough attention to himself to know if he was ok. This was one of the longest days he could remember, and so much had happened. They weren't even finished yet.
Lance invited himself to Keith's side, handing the file back to Shiro who secured it immediately out of sight. He wanted to take Keith's hand, as he would have if Keith had still been sleeping, but somehow seeing him with Shiro reminded Lance that they were still practically strangers. That they were not all that close, despite how he might feel about it.
"Now that we're all here," Dr. Delacroix interrupted the strange pause that had settled between Keith, Lance, and Shiro, pulling all their eyes toward her. "I'd like to go over the EKG report with you." Lance prepared to bite his tongue. He was not going to argue with Dr. Delacroix in front of Keith, not when she'd just handed him the piece of paper that could save Keith from going to jail. Besides, it wasn't her fault that the hospital policy was set up the way it was. She had to follow the rules. Lance would have to learn how to do it at some point too.
Keith took hold of Lance's sleeve, causing him to turn toward him. Keith looked worried, and Lance realized that it wasn't because of anything Dr. Delacroix had said, it was because Lance was suddenly tense. He forced himself to lean against the bed, relax a little.
"For the most part, it's encouraging," Angelique began. "I've been gradually lowering your dose of antiarrhythmic medication all day, and your heart rate has remained generally steady. It seems as though your iron and hydration levels will be the most important factors in keeping stress off your heart. I'll be sending you home with a prescription for Tenormin and a recommendation for an iron supplement."
"We're leaving today? Lance mentioned that there was a possibility Keith would be admitted for several days of monitoring?" Shiro inserted into the conversation hopefully, as if there were any chance that Keith could remain under the hospital's care. Lance admired his attempt, though Angelique narrowed her eyes at him for forcing her to have to address this outright.
"I did consider that," Angelique admitted, and Keith's hand tightened on Lance's sleeve. He probably didn't want to stay here that long, even if it would be better for him. "But given the circumstances, we will be sending Keith home today."
She wouldn't do that unless she was sure, Lance reminded himself. She said she would check the report carefully; if there had been anything concerning in it, she would have admitted Keith regardless of whether or not he had insurance. Lance had to believe that even though it still felt wrong.
"Home?" Keith whispered, as if the word meant nothing to him. He turned his face toward Shiro, and Lance's skin chilled. Home to Keith did not mean that abandoned apartment, the one that apparently wasn't even his. No, when Keith thought of home, he thought of Shiro's place, eating ramen on the couch. Though it still seemed that there was some hesitation about it. Keith hadn't been with Shiro for a long time, and whatever had happened between them had not been resolved yet. Keith still felt he was completely homeless, despite being sandwiched between Lance and Shiro. Despite how both of them would be more than willing to take him.
"The hide-a-bed at my place is open," Shiro told him kindly. "You can come home with me, Keith."
Lance felt like something was slipping away from him, that Keith was slipping away. That he'd wasted a chance. Shiro and Keith were staring at each other, having a silent discussion, so Lance shot a look toward Dr. Delacroix, as if she could or would do anything to stop this. Because he wasn't ready for Keith to go with Shiro. He wasn't ready for Keith to leave his life so soon. For some reason, he thought he'd be with Keith from now on. But it wasn't like he could say so. It wasn't like it should matter to him.
But then Keith turned to look at Lance, his expression torn, as though he were waiting for Lance to say something. Lance wasn't sure what that could be; if he wasn't going to be at the hospital, Shiro's place was obviously better. Keith had stayed with Shiro before, and now it would be completely legal. And it sounded like Shiro had an empty bed for Keith, whereas Lance could only give up his own or offer his pathetically short couch. So then why did it look as though Keith wanted to go with him? Or maybe Lance just wanted him to enough that he was seeing things that weren't actually there.
"Forgive me," Dr. Delacroix broke in with the phrase she used when she actually felt that no forgiveness should be necessary. "I was under the impression that Lance and Keith were roommates and he lived on campus? Is that not correct?"
"Keith's been staying with me since he got sick, but he doesn't live there," Lance clarified for her, though he felt certain that he'd explained how he'd found Keith. She already knew that they didn't live together, so what was she doing?
"Does it matter?" Shiro asked, just as confused as Lance.
"Perhaps not," Dr. Delacroix allowed, though her tone betrayed her words. "But I am discharging Keith with reservations. I thought he would be staying close to the hospital. Can I ask how far away you would be taking him?"
"I live in McKinley Park," Shiro answered, his shoulders squared, almost challenging. Lance saw in his body the memory of having to fight for Keith, how he was preparing to do that again. "It's a twenty-minute drive, a little more with the roads like they are now."
"Hmm," Angelique hummed disapprovingly, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe this would tip her into allowing Keith to stay. Maybe Shiro wouldn't be taking him away from Lance. Then they could delay the court hearing too.
"What do you mean reservations?" Shiro prodded, reining in any accusation in his voice. "If that's the case, shouldn't he stay here?"
"Unfortunately, hospital policy will not allow him to stay as he is technically stable," Dr. Delacroix defended her decision. "However, his temperature remains elevated, and he is still exhibiting flu symptoms, including a faster-than-normal heart rate. Since these symptoms contributed to the reason Keith was brought in, there is a slight chance he might need to return. Possibly very quickly."
"That . . that could happen again?" Shiro asked, sounding amazed at the possibility and that the doctor would allow Keith to be discharged if it were true. Shiro looked across Keith to Lance, as if checking with him about all this, sharing the memory of Keith on the floor between them, hardly able to breathe. Lance found it difficult to meet his eyes and remain calm for Keith at the same time. It still pissed him off. Remembering the frightening circumstances of coming to the emergency room just made it harder to not say anything he'd regret to Dr. Delacroix regarding hospital policy and exactly what he thought about it. That would not help.
"There is a small chance," Dr. Delacroix replied, still calm despite how her explanations were tensing up everyone else in the room. "But I believe that was an isolated incident. If Keith has enough fluids and takes the medication I'm prescribing for him, everything should be fine; however, I think it would be safest if he stayed close until he's completely recovered – meaning no fever and strong enough to go about his normal activities. I had hoped I'd be sending him home with an EMT who lived within walking distance of the hospital."
"That's fine," Lance offered, maybe too quickly, and there was an edge to his voice he hadn't intended. "Keith's welcome to recover at my place. That was the original plan anyway." Back when he didn't know who Shiro was, when he thought he'd have to protect Keith from him.
"But . . .wait," Shiro said, keeping up even though this was not going the direction he thought it would. He sounded exactly as Lance had felt a moment ago – like he thought he was about to lose Keith forever.
"You can come too," Lance invited, though where he was going to put Shiro was a complete mystery. If Keith took Lance's bed, and Lance slept on the couch, then Shiro was. . . what? On the floor somewhere? Under the table? But they'd have to figure that out. He didn't want to keep Shiro away from Keith, that felt cruel for both of them. They still had things to work out.
"You can decide among yourselves," Dr. Delacroix told them now that her points had been made. "I'll be back in a little while with the discharge papers and prescriptions, and I'll send someone in to disconnect you from the EKG machine and remove your IV."
"You mean now?" Shiro asked her, surprised at the suddenness. They'd been in this room for so long, going hours without anyone coming in to check on them at all. So much movement all at once was a little disorienting, even to Lance who knew all about it and had expected it.
"I can only keep Keith in this room for twenty-four hours," Angelique admitted. "So yes, we're starting the discharge process so we can clear the place by four fifteen. I'll be right back." She turned to go, leaving Shiro rather shocked despite Lance's warnings that this was exactly what was going to happen.
"Wait," Keith spoke up, unexpectedly. The first time he'd said anything since Dr. Delacroix had begun her assessment regarding the EKG data. Angelique paused mid-turn toward the door, a rather sad compassion in her eyes as she looked at Keith. Lance suddenly couldn't remember if she had looked at him at all during their discussion. Because it was probably bothering her to discharge him too. She didn't like it any more than Lance or Shiro did. In fact, with her experience and position, it probably cut into her more because she was the one who had to enforce the policy.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I should have asked. Do you have any questions or concerns?" She offered, considering him.
"Can't he do it?" Keith asked, nodding toward Lance.
"Do what, baby?" Dr. Delacroix clarified.
"The IV? He put it in so –" Keith trailed off.
Lance kept very still in the hopes that Angelique would be able to tell that he had nothing to do with this request and had not put it into Keith's head to even ask.
"I'm not supposed to," Lance told Keith gently. "That's out of my scope of practice, remember? Taking them out isn't a big deal, though. You won't feel it at all."
Keith nodded, as though he had expected that, but he looked uncomfortable about it. Lance remembered how little Keith liked to be touched by strangers. How he shied away from even Dr. Delacroix when she examined him.
"You want Lance to take out your IV, honey?" Dr. Delacroix questioned him directly. "Would you be most comfortable that way?" Keith nodded, looking ready to have his request denied. Lance glanced at her, wishing she wouldn't lead Keith on this way when he knew she wasn't going to let him so much as pick at the tape.
"All right," Angelique accepted, and Lance clamped his teeth shut so his jaw wouldn't fall into Keith's lap. She'd just . . .said yes? She hadn't even stopped to really think about it. Lance was never going to figure her out.
"I can?" Lance checked, just to make sure he'd heard right. All that talk about hospital policy and she was going to cave on this? Or maybe it was because she felt guilty about the hospital policy and wanted to give them something. Some small request to make up for what she couldn't do.
"Sounded like patient consent to me," Angelique told him, way too casually. As though they had never argued about it. As if she hadn't threatened Lance's EMT status over it. "It's low risk; you're trained, and I wouldn't mind watching your technique."
"Should I . . right now?" Lance asked.
"Preferably," Dr. Delacroix told him, rather teasingly. But what was he supposed to think about this? What had changed? Was it something she saw in Lance or something she'd noticed about Keith? Both? Still, Lance supposed it was a whole different game to remove an IV in a motionless and quiet hospital setting with a licensed MD supervising. He probably shouldn't overthink it.
Keith put his hand closer to Lance expectantly, some tension gone from his shoulders. He'd wanted to leave the hospital the moment he'd arrived. He didn't understand that it was an abandonment all on its own. But of course it was better that he not know that.
"Hang on, Lobito; there's a protocol," Lance told him, wrapping his head around how this was actually happening and walking past Angelique so he could wash his hands and put on some gloves. I'm not nervous, he scolded himself, feeling the flutterings of anxiety over being watched while he did this. I remove needles all the time. All the time. I never think twice about it. But Angelique had never watched him before either. He'd never thought she might be assessing him for something. He monitored his hands for shaking as he assembled what he'd need and noted the location of the biohazard waste receptacle.
But when he returned to the bed, gloves in place and ready to start, he locked eyes with Keith and immediately felt nothing but calm. Keith looked up at him with the same sort of expression Lance had seen him give to Shiro. Grateful, comfortable, trust. Like he was certain, more than anything, that Lance wasn't going to hurt him. Lance almost got choked up seeing that. It felt so special to be half of the grand total of humans on earth that Keith felt he could trust.
Lance proceeded with refreshed confidence to disconnect the IV line, first discontinuing the drip flow. Keith would be on his own now. The meds would likely wear off sometime in the next four hours, leaving him prone to the pain of the fever again. But Lance would be ready to do what he could to help. Because he was still responsible for Keith. He was taking him home. Another gift Angelique had given him.
He carefully peeled away the medical tape he'd applied in the ambulance, stabilizing the needle with his thumb to make sure it didn't twist under Keith's skin as he did so. It was like there was no one else in the room anymore. He couldn't feel Angelique's eyes on him. Couldn't tell if Shiro were even still there. He concentrated on Keith's wrist, deftly pulling the needle free with one hand and covering the site with a piece of gauze with the other.
"Put pressure on that," he instructed, though it wasn't a vein that would bleed very much. It was more for putting things into the body than getting blood out, the exact opposite of the kinds of veins Lance usually worked with. But having Keith hold onto the gauze allowed Lance to cross the room and properly dispose of the needle into the sharps container. Once it was gone, he put a simple bandage over everything. Nothing to it.
After that, he started disconnecting the EKG wires. First the lines, then the electrode disks sticking across Keith's chest. Surprisingly, this activity was more difficult because Lance had to reach around and inside Keith's hospital gown to get at them all. It made his face feel rather hot to do something so intimate, and then he felt stupid for thinking that this was more intimate than removing the IV. Being with Keith was a complicated thing, especially as he watched Lance the entire time, his eyes focused. Lance looked to Dr. Delacroix as a distraction, finding her impassive, standing in exactly the same place as when he'd started. He wasn't sure if that was good or not, but he figured if he'd been doing something completely wrong, she would have said something by now.
"All clear," he said, indicating he was finished. Test complete. If that's what this had been. Why did Keith have to put that idea into his head?
"Very smooth," Angelique acknowledged, though she was careful not to sound too impressed. "Looks like it's true what they say about you." She turned her attention to Keith. "Let your friends help you get dressed, darling. I'll be back in a few minutes with the discharge papers."
With that, she pivoted on her heel and disappeared into the hall. Lance exhaled, then wasn't sure if he'd been breathing that entire time.
"All right, Keith?" Lance asked, slightly winded.
"Told you," was all he said, and if he didn't look so fragile there in the bed with the hospital gown sort of dangling off one shoulder, Lance would have shoved him against the mattress.
"Would you stop it? I'm going to be a pediatrician, ok? With a nine to five practice, a gorgeous wife, a white-picket fence, and ten kids waiting for me to come home to dinner every night, got it?"
"Very American," Keith returned, though the humor was gone from his voice. He was suddenly staring at Lance's blanket again, rubbing his fingers thoughtfully across the cotton patch that had been part of one of Eva's dresses. "Ten kids?" He double checked quietly.
"Or more," Lance shot back with conviction. He wanted a huge family; he wanted to always be surrounded by movement and laughter, never alone again. "Now where did we put your clothes?" Lance found it a little easier to go forward now, preparing to leave the hospital, to return to his own place. It still made him mad, but at least Keith was coming home with him and not leaving with Shiro.
"I can't even remember how they got taken off," Keith admitted, and Lance looked at Shiro, suddenly drowning in that dark memory, the first little while when they'd arrived yesterday. When Keith was awake but only just hanging on to consciousness. When he couldn't move on his own, couldn't speak, couldn't really breathe. Lance would have to try his absolute best to make sure Keith didn't relapse to that point again. Just because Angelique had suggested staying close to the hospital didn't mean that Lance wanted it to be necessary.
"They're here," Shiro offered helpfully, handing over the white and blue plastic bag labeled Personal Items that had been tucked on the corner of the counter near the sink. Lance didn't remember how they'd gotten there, nor could he remember ever seeing the bag even while he'd been standing near the sink. He'd been thinking about other things.
Keith began pulling the contents out of the bag - his charcoal-and-maroon striped sweater that he'd worn to class on Friday, Lance's pajama pants, his socks and underwear. He moved slowly until he was sitting sideways on the bed, bare legs hanging over the edge, holding on to the mattress, reorienting himself to being upright, his bandaged hand immediately going to his head. Discharged with reservations indeed.
"Let me help," Lance said, unable to watch. He reached out to undo the first knot of the hospital gown at Keith's shoulder but paused when Keith cringed.
"It doesn't make sense for me to feel weird about this, huh?" Keith said, not looking at Lance. "I mean, I just let you take a needle out of my hand."
"It's not the same thing," Lance comforted him, even though he'd been in the room when the hospital staff had stripped Keith the first time. Even though he'd seen his scars, had just had his hands all over Keith's chest under the gown. Still, if their positions had been reversed, he wouldn't want Keith to dress him either. "I can leave if you want me to?" Lance looked over to Shiro again, but saw on his face that Keith probably wouldn't want him to do this either. But neither of them trusted Keith's strength enough to leave him to dress all on his own.
"Let me show you how we did it in boot camp," Shiro came to the rescue.
"You had to change out of medical gowns at boot camp?" Lance asked without pausing to consider if it were a good idea to challenge the validity of anything Shiro wanted to say right now that might be helpful. Especially since Keith looked more interested than timid now.
"Well, not every day, but yes, there were med checks where the whole squad would have to strip down into gowns and back again. I can probably get you into these clothes with my eyes shut, Keith. There's no buttons or snaps or anything fancy."
"Let's just get it over with before she gets back," Keith requested, sounding horrified at the idea of having Angelique in the room again.
"She doesn't hate you, you know," Lance defended Dr. Delacroix.
"I don't care what she thinks of me," Keith dismissed. "I want her to be fair to you."
"We're fine," Lance assured, wishing that Keith could understand why Angelique behaved the way she did toward him. How she was actually on their side for a lot of things. But he'd been asleep or just not there for Lance's quiet moments with Angelique – her hand on his head in the hallway, working on Keith's medical statement while Lance slept on her desk, buying antibiotic ointment for his back, and then manipulating the situation (whatever her motives had been there) to make sure Lance wasn't separated from Keith. Now that Lance was actually thinking about it, Angelique probably had to force herself to keep her distance to make sure that she wasn't favoring Lance too much. That was so weird. "But you're right; let's get this done."
In the end, Shiro did the hard parts – lifting Keith when necessary, keeping him steadily upright, while Lance did the finessing bits like socks and fitting legs through the appropriate holes in pants. The second time Lance reached over to undo the gown's tie string, Keith didn't move away. Lance noticed Shiro gazing sorrowfully at the burn scars on Keith's upper back, so he hurriedly tugged the sweater over them.
They'd barely finished when Dr. Delacroix reappeared with the discharge papers. She brought them in herself instead of having Crystal do it, another testament to just how involved she felt with them. Keith signed wherever she told him to without comment.
"That will be all from me," she said in parting, clutching the papers in both hands after securing her pen into her breast pocket. "When you get wherever you've all decided you're going to go, I want you to relax, darling. If you do what Lance tells you to do, then I likely won't see you again. Is there anything else before I go?"
"Thank you," Keith told her, only a hint of reluctance in the gesture, sitting once again cross-legged on the bed, this time dressed and with Lance's blanket folded in his lap. "No offense, but I don't want to come back."
"I get that a lot," she replied, chuckling, still as affectionate to Keith as she left as she had been when she'd first come to his side. Then she looked at Lance and immediately hardened, though not very much. "You on the other hand," she said to Lance. "I would like to see more of. I'll be in touch with Dr. Coran. I want to discuss your training plan with the two of you." Lance felt Keith's knuckles press against his hip, but he forced himself to look only at Dr. Delacroix. He wanted to tell her, without a shred of doubt, that he knew what she was doing and he just wasn't interested. But then he remembered the things he'd heard about past students she'd mentored – how successful they turned out to be. How they could get a job anywhere. How there were only a handful of them. It'd be stupid if he didn't at least listen to what she had to say.
"Sounds good," he said instead of what he'd been thinking of saying.
"I agree. All right then. Whomever is driving can bring your car around to the main entrance. Keith, darling, please put on a mask before you leave the room; Lance will get it for you. One of the techs will be bringing a wheelchair."
Her flurry of last-minute directions complete, Angelique gave them all one final nod and disappeared to the hallway. Shiro left next, zipping up his coat with his remarkable prosthetic with the same grace as if it had been his real hand. Lance began gathering his coat and backpack, looking about the room to make sure they weren't forgetting anything. He pulled a mask from the box out in the hallway and helped Keith secure it in place, explaining to him the reason Dr. Delacroix was asking him to wear it as he passed through the hall and the waiting room to the main entrance.
When the tech came with the wheelchair, both he and Lance helped Keith pivot into it, holding on to his arms carefully and then covering him with the quilt. Keith didn't look too happy about all the assistance, but he didn't say anything about it. In fact, he sort of shut down, concentrating silently on transport. He submitted tensely to whatever hands were on him as he transitioned from the wheelchair into Shiro's white Nissan Altima, a tricky maneuver considering there was so much disgusting slush at the entrance and Keith's boots were still sitting next to Lance's couch. He tore the mask off as soon as the tech closed the car door, but let Lance pull him down to rest his head on his lap while they drove.
Keith also allowed Shiro to carry him, one last time, just from the car to the carpeted entrance of Lance's apartment building. Lance helped him into one of the random chairs stashed around the study area near the front door while they waited for Shiro to actually park somewhere legal, monitoring his breathing, which was shallow and quick thanks to the effort of moving. Wanting to do something and not liking how quiet Keith was, Lance adjusted the quilt around Keith's shoulders, giving in to the desire to rub his back a little, feeling the tautness of his muscles even underneath the blanket. This was taking a lot out of him, mentally and physically.
"Almost there," Lance encouraged, though as expected Keith didn't answer him. He was breathing hard, but he kept his mouth tightly closed after Shiro returned and they both supported him quietly to the elevator and down the hall to the apartment, obviously despising every second of it. Like he'd forgotten during his time in the hospital just how weak he truly was, and now he was seething about how he couldn't even walk on his own. Lance did his best to ignore all of it, not make it a big deal, and he knew that Shiro was doing the same. Every little shift and catch happened with each of them vigilantly keeping their eyes averted, pretending they were alone even though they were all quite focused on forward movement.
Hunk broke through all of that in half a second. They stood in the hall, Lance searching one handed for where he might have put his keys, when the door was almost ripped off instead of open and Hunk practically pounced on them. Lance watched, astonished, as Hunk grabbed for Keith, who half-collapsed against him, almost all the tension in his body that had been accumulating during the entire trip breaking in an instant as he leaned against Lance's roommate. Lance reminded himself that he couldn't feel jealous about that. He should actually be grateful that they'd made it.
"Keith!" Hunk boomed so loud that Lance wondered if their neighbors were going to start poking their heads out. "Welcome back, man! We were so worried. Dude, you ok? For sure, you look better than when you left, but you still look awful. Lance, why does he still look awful?"
"How about we get him inside and then ask questions?" Lance reminded him, not quite successful at keeping the anger out of his voice. He wasn't angry at Hunk; he was still mad at the hospital for kicking Keith out.
Fortunately, Hunk was caught up in getting Keith into the apartment and onto the couch, so he didn't seem to notice the edge in Lance's tone. He chattered at Keith as he guided him inside, Shiro and Lance following more slowly. As Hunk took charge of Keith, Lance checked the place over, reacclimating himself to it. The scent of Hunk's baking extravaganza yesterday was still thick in the heat of the place, and there were still several loaves of bread and plates of cookies on the kitchen counter. Pidge was in the kitchen too, watching Hunk with concern.
"Hey Pidge," Lance greeted her, happy to see her despite their recent differences of opinion. He had a lot he wanted to explain to her.
"Hey Lance," she returned, emotionless, and she hid her face by taking a sip of something from a tea mug. "And Shiro."
"Hello," Shiro said pleasantly, standing near the door that he'd just closed, also looking around. Like the first time he'd stood in that exact spot, he seemed to fill the whole space, appearing too large, too mature, and honestly, too sophisticated to truly feel at home here.
"This is Pidge," Lance introduced her, trying to ease the awkwardness of their homecoming. "Our pet genius. And that's Hunk." He knew that Shiro had already seen them before, and they'd spoken together on the phone last night, but this situation was new and different. Shiro would be joining them, possibly for a long while. Lance thought he should tighten up the relationships.
"Nice to formally meet you," Shiro said, smiling that gentle smile of his.
"Sure. Can I interest you in a cookie?" Pidge asked politely, snatching up one of the plates and coming toward them. Lance grabbed one, and after a moment of thought, Shiro took one too. Then Pidge looked over to where Hunk was fussing over Keith, getting him settled under the blanket at the corner of the couch and seemed to lose all her hospitality. Yeah, Lance had to talk to her very soon. She was still coldly glaring at Keith like he was Jeffrey Dahmer.
"Keith wants to try one," Lance prompted her, giving her a little push toward the couch. She spun around and actually dropped the plate into his hands, barely giving him enough time to catch it without all the cookies spilling onto the floor. Lance glared at her, but she simply gave him an innocent little head tilt and returned to her mug in the kitchen.
"So what are you guys doing back?" Hunk questioned them, somehow missing the whole thing with the plate. Shiro hadn't, though, if his raised eyebrow was a clue. "I thought you'd be staying at least one more night."
"Keith's heart is steady," Lance tried to explain without sounding pissed. It was harder now that Pidge was acting the way she was. "They don't keep people in the hospital for fevers – even ones as high as Keith's – so they said we could go."
It seemed they all turned to look at Keith then, as if they could determine everything about him by staring. Keith bowed under all the scrutiny, intensely uncomfortable. He tugged the quilt tighter around him like a shield, curling up as much as he could.
"Why don't you guys tell us what you've been up to?" Lance invited, hoping they would start some sort of complicated explanation about something. Meanwhile, Lance brought the plate over to Keith, sitting next to him, gently putting his fingertips on his leg.
"It's been boring," Hunk shrugged. "It snowed, then it snowed some more. Um, did some baking. Watched like thirteen movies. Got the mail – oh, there's a package for you, Lance. From your family."
"You didn't open it, right?" Lance checked, sharply. If it was what he thought it was, Hunk's birthday present was inside.
"Thought about it, but no. Where's the faith?"
"Good." Lance felt Keith relaxing in tiny fractions, easing himself into the couch, into the conversation going on around him. That's better, Lobito. You were here before. You're welcome here. Lance wasn't so sure what to do with Shiro, though. He still stood near the door, eating his cookie more slowly than Lance thought was humanly possible, quietly observing.
"Shiro, you can come sit here," Lance offered, though he actually didn't want to get up, didn't want to leave Keith's side. But he didn't want to be rude either. Shiro's eyes fluttered shut in momentary relief as Lance prepared to trade him places. "Keith, did you want one of these?" Lance offered the cookie plate before he got up, though maybe he shouldn't have. Keith looked rather tortured about it. He wanted one, but again didn't think he could manage it.
"Maybe later," he said quietly.
"How are you feeling, Keith?" Shiro asked him, perching with characteristic military stiffness next to him on the couch. Lance stayed nearby to hear the answer.
"Disgusting," Keith answered.
"You want a shower?" Lance offered, knowing exactly how nasty he would feel almost three days into an illness and after a hospital stay. He also figured that they should make the most of the time they had left before Keith's medication wore off. "Wash all the hospital off you?"
"Hell yes," Keith emphasized his consent, his desire to get clean overcoming any awkwardness he might feel about using Lance's bathroom.
"Ok," Lance said as he starting thinking through the logistics of that. "Let's get that started then."
Author's Note: Oh, Pidge, you feisty little thing. By the way, it's tough writing with all five of them together – how do you masters DO THAT? Not long before the verdict reading. Hopefully Lance's report is well received; he worked so hard on it. I'm trying to pick up the pace a little on this. I'm doing my best to write it chronologically (that's not my strong suit) instead of skipping ahead to the stuff that I'm dying to write. I guess we'll all be patient together? Let me know what you're thinking. Favorite lines, things you're looking forward to.
Thanks again for staying with me. You're all very special.
