Author's Note: I know! I'm late, but hey, it's a super long chapter to make up for it? Hope you all like it! (Thanks so much for all your support. I really do love you. . .even though I make you wait for chapters.) Chapter Nineteen: Matter of Perspective
Getting Keith showered and dressed turned out to be the main event of Stony Island 316 with absolutely everyone participating in some fashion. Hunk prepped the room with fresh towels and washcloths, unnecessarily checking the soap and shampoo levels. Lance went through Keith's duffel bag for clean clothes, though he ended up donating his own University of Chicago hoodie and another set of cozy pajama pants since apparently all Keith owned were three pairs of identical black jeans. Lance was taller than Keith, but not enough for it to matter much when it came to comfortable, warm clothes that were supposed to be on the loose side. Shiro helped Keith off the couch while Pidge, grudgingly, pulled a cardboard box full of electrical debris closer to the wall to make space for both of them to walk back to the bathroom.
Which is where Keith decided he would rather die than have a single person help him any farther than the doorway.
"Lobito, we've been over this," Lance lectured, already standing in the bathroom so he could assist with the finnicky old plumbing and actually get the water a decent temperature. "Or don't you remember what happened the last time you were in here by yourself?"
"I got it," Keith snipped, pulling away from Shiro and leaning against the door frame. Lance took a second to be impressed. Keith actually presented a credible posture, tolerably solid, extremely determined. "I'm not going to stand up in there," he continued, gesturing toward the bathtub. Despite what he said and how he looked, Lance was worried. The heat of the shower could make Keith dizzy. The water would make everything slippery. Keith had almost passed out in here. Keith had almost died yesterday.
"I'll be in the hallway," Lance agreed, his teeth clenched. But there wasn't much else he could do. "Stay on your knees; everything's here for you including your toothbrush, and you should be able to reach it all from the floor." Which Hunk had practically carpeted in towels for Keith's comfort and to make it less slick. "Don't get the water too hot, and put your hands in first before you douse your head – that'll help adjust your body so you don't get too dizzy. Take your time, and if you need anything, just say so."
Lance could feel that he was being stared at, and he glanced away from Keith, who was sort of smirking at the floor, to notice that it was Shiro, again with his eyebrow raised and one corner of his mouth twitching up. Yeah, whatever, Lance didn't care if they thought he was nuts. Keith had enough going on already, and Lance was unwilling to go through the ordeal of getting Keith back to the ER where Lance would certainly have to endure Angelique lecturing him over any kind of head wound when it could have been completely preventable if Keith weren't such an ass about privacy.
"Why don't you just stay with him and keep your eyes closed?" Shiro suggested, meticulously pulling his features back to neutral when he saw Lance had noticed his staring. "You can do that, right?"
"Of course I can," Lance quipped, but he knew it was useless. "But I don't think Keith trusts me enough." He layered the challenge on thick. He understood, though. It wasn't so much about Keith trusting him; it was just embarrassing. And there was no way for Lance to make the point clear that being with Keith while he showered was more about keeping him safe than anything else.
"Ok," Keith burst out, frustrated. Probably mostly with himself. "If it'll make you stop freaking out, you can stay. You are the worst mother hen ever."
"Think you mean the best," Lance corrected, suddenly triumphant, refusing to be offended.
"Ugh," Keith hmphed, letting go of the door and kneeling on the towels. To Lance, who was watching maybe too closely, there seemed to be control in the movement. Keith had meant to do that; he hadn't collapsed. Maybe this wouldn't be like last time. Keith was still being bolstered by the hospital meds after all.
"All right then. Keith, if you're ok, I'm going to head out for a little while to see if I can find somewhere open that will fill these prescriptions for you," Shiro told him, watching their interaction carefully, no longer quite so amused but also not appearing very worried. "I'll probably need your ID; can I take it with me?"
"It's in his coat pocket," Lance volunteered for him, liking this plan. "Which is probably in the pile on the camp chair by the door." Shiro filling the prescriptions would help keep the heart medication constant in Keith's system. And Lance wouldn't feel so pressured about Shiro for the time he was away. "There's a 24-hour Walgreens up the street that would probably work."
"Thanks. I'll be back soon. Keith?"
"Yeah?"
"Cooperate. Lance is trying to look out for you."
Keith waved him off, though Lance saw him lift his head to watch as Shiro retreated down the hallway. There was a hint in his eyes that he was frightened every time Shiro went out of his sight. Terrified that it might be the last time he ever saw him. Even though their conversation here had been casual and friendly, there was still that momentary panic. Keith repressed it, visibly turning away, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. Lance closed the bathroom door.
"How much of my help do you want?" Lance offered. "Can I start the shower for you? The water's kind of weird."
"Fine," Keith acquiesced, again in a huff. Lance slipped past him in the tight space in order to flip on the faucets, habit allowing him to focus the temperature, keeping his hand in the flow until it adjusted where he wanted it. Behind him, he heard Keith struggling out of his clothes.
"Keith?" He checked. "Can I do something?"
"Just sit down and shut up. I've got it," Keith hissed. Keeping his back turned, Lance made his way around to the toilet, taking a seat and firmly closing his eyes. He knew Keith's sharp answer had nothing to do with him; that Keith was frustrated that something he had never thought much about was now so difficult. It made it easy to let it go. He settled in, folding his arms, and focusing on what he could hear over the pelting noise of the shower. He wished that Keith would narrate what he was doing, but that seemed a bit much to ask of him since he should save his energy for movement.
"I'm . . . sorry," Keith broke their silence after several long minutes. Lance guessed his clothes were in a pile on the towels now, and he was fairly sure that Keith was actually in the shower judging from the noise and how his voice sounded. But what did he think he needed to apologize for? Snapping at Lance? Because that wasn't necessary.
"We're good," Lance told him.
"No, this really sucks," Keith demanded that Lance pay more attention. Lance supposed apologies were not something that Keith did often, so maybe he should treat it with more solemnity. "You've got better things to do with your weekend than hanging out babysitting me."
Lance thought about that, but came up short. He honestly couldn't think of anything else he'd rather be doing right now. Keith needed him, and that was kind of his favorite thing. Plus, the more he focused on Keith, the less he could think about anything his brother had told him that morning. And he really didn't want to think about that yet, so the distraction was almost welcome.
"Nothing comes to mind," Lance denied mildly, not wanting to upset Keith anymore. It was like he wanted Lance to tell him he was right – that Lance was wasting his time and he desperately wished he'd never decided to check on Keith. That was completely untrue, though. Lance didn't even want to think about what might have happened if he hadn't spent his time worrying about Keith.
"But . . . Pidge," Keith went on, and now Lance really did have to get serious. Because Lance didn't think that Keith had noticed about Pidge, and he hadn't had a chance to explain to her that all her hostility toward Keith was unfounded and unnecessary. "I don't know what I did, but she's really mad at me. She doesn't want me here."
"Ok," Lance put the brakes on Keith's spiral into rejection. Especially since it was all in his head. Well, at least the part where Lance was concerned. "Stop right there. First of all, Pidge always looks like she's mad. Second, she doesn't actually live here. She's a guest just like you, so she doesn't get a say about who stays with us. If she doesn't like it, she can leave. Meanwhile, Hunk does live here, and he's pretty much adopted you. He's in the kitchen right now trying to figure out something you can eat; I guarantee it. And lastly, none of that matters because Dr. Delacroix said you should stick close to the hospital; I promised you I'd look after you, and I don't know why we're even talking about this."
Lance's little tirade silenced Keith. Lance waited for any kind of contestation from him about anything Lance had just said, but nothing came. It went on so long that Lance got worried.
"Keith?" He checked, though he hadn't heard anything disconcerting. It was so tempting to open his eyes, but not breaking Keith's trust was more important until he knew for sure that something was wrong. "I need you to say something, Lobito; you're kind of scaring me. You all right?"
"Y-yes," Keith answered, sounding overwhelmed again. Lance wondered how long it would take before Keith really understood that Lance was his friend, what that actually meant. Sometimes, it seemed he got it – teasing Lance in the hospital, putting medication on his back, asking for Lance to remove his IV, leaning trustingly against him. Then all of a sudden it would get to be too much for him, as if he just couldn't believe it, so he'd push at the boundaries to see if they were really there, to see if they would break. Had he done this with Shiro too? Yeah, probably more violently too since he'd been younger. There was still a little of it going on there even now. But if Shiro could be patient for years, then Lance could do it too.
"We want to help you, Keith," Lance assured him again. "You're not bothering anyone; we just want you to be ok. But, um, I do need to talk to you about Pidge a little bit." Because that had to be resolved. Especially if Keith could tell that Pidge was being deliberately hostile toward him. And they were already deep into a delicate conversation, so why not?
"Ok," Keith allowed, sounding uncertain, like something was about to be broken between them. "What's her deal?"
"So she's the one who told me about. . . you know. . the whole court thing, but she got it all wrong. I don't know what she was looking at or where she got her information, but it's just twisted and extremely one-sided. She knows what you did, but she doesn't know why, and . . .yeah, it's messing with her opinion of you quite a bit."
"I hear there's a club," Keith tossed out, but Lance could decipher the hurt under it. He moved on without acknowledgment.
"I wanted to ask if you'd be ok with it if I told them the truth?" Lance requested. "You don't have to agree," he added quickly. "But I don't like how Pidge is treating you, that's not fair, and I also don't like how that makes her mad at me because she thinks I'm ignoring her advice, and honestly, that's going to end up hurting Hunk's feelings because he hates it when we disagree about something. Plus, he's so innocent that I know he's going to ask you again about the police officer that came here looking for you yesterday, and I thought, since we are all friends and we care about you, that I could let them know what really happened? Set the record straight?"
Again Keith paused, silent and brooding. Again Lance wished desperately that he could get some kind of visual feedback since Keith wasn't saying anything. But all he heard was the faucet turning off, and then even the shower was quiet.
"Keith?" He prompted.
"How is that going to make her not mad at me?" Keith questioned bitterly. Lance couldn't see him, but he imagined him sitting there hunched over his knees in the bathtub, soaking wet and shivering, convinced that he was some kind of cold-blooded killer or something. That there was nothing Lance could say that would redeem him. That the truth wasn't good enough.
"What? How can you say that? It'll make all the difference in the world!" Lance squawked, unable to comprehend Keith's thought process here. By the time Lance had finished explaining, he was certain Pidge would change her mind. And everyone would be a lot better off if Pidge were content with the ethics of the situation.
"It might be different in Cuba," Keith droned, voice still tainted with that defensive bitterness. "But around here, the truth doesn't count for a whole lot, you know?"
Lance didn't know what to say to that because Cuba was a whole lot worse when it came to things like how much the truth actually mattered, and he really did want it to be different here. But he also knew that Keith had a sad point. The only reason he'd been sentenced at sixteen and put on trial now was because influence seemed to have more weight than the truth. And suddenly Lance's piece of paper, the one on oh-so-official hospital letterhead, seemed extremely fragile and possibly useless. And that might be the case in the courtroom. But in Lance's apartment things were fair.
"You don't know her," Lance said, quietly, sadly, bringing them back to the situation at hand. To the small hospitable haven of Stony Island where Lance did have at least some control. "But I do. She's like my sister. And I can tell you that if anything at all matters to Pidge, it's the truth."
"Tell them whatever you want," Keith conceded, his voice sounding as though he were hanging his head in exhaustion or defeat. "I just don't want to be there for it, all right?"
"Deal," Lance agreed, keeping his tone flat. He stood up, groping around the room until his hand found the towel that Hunk had left for Keith. "Here," he offered it to Keith, not wanting to attempt draping it over his shoulders since he still had no real idea where Keith was in actual space, though he knew he was still somewhere in the bathtub. Then he once again moved out of the way to allow Keith the room to get up, get dry, and get into his clean clothes. He listened to Keith panting at the exertion of these activities, and once Keith grabbed on to his shoulder. Lance automatically lifted his elbow on that side, feeling Keith's weight half-falling into him, preparing to somehow catch him even though he was blind.
"I got you," he assured, even though he didn't know if that were at all accurate. Turned out he didn't have to do much but sit still as a brace. Keith balanced himself; the weight on Lance's shoulder lifting but not leaving. Keith kept his hold, breathing hard.
"Trade me places?" Keith requested, and Lance used the hand on his shoulder as a guide to find Keith's other arm, taking his opposite elbow as he stood, pivoting them around each other and easing Keith onto the toilet lid. "You can open your eyes now," Keith allowed.
Relieved, Lance took visual stock of Keith, now sitting down with his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands, spent. He wore Lance's pants, but had to take a break before he finished dressing. Lance took the towel from Keith's shoulders to help him finish drying his hair, which was a dripping, shiny-black mess. Keith let him do what he wanted as he recovered.
"How you doing, Lobito?" Lance checked on him as he let go of the towel and grabbed Keith's hairbrush he'd brought in from the duffel. "Are you just tired or are you having trouble breathing?"
"Tired," Keith answered, for which Lance was grateful. So far so good. Keith uttered a low growl when Lance started brushing his hair, but he didn't move and didn't tell him to stop, so Lance continued as if he hadn't heard him. He thought about making a joke about how long Keith's hair was, maybe offer to braid it for him, but he decided against it. For all he knew, Keith just hadn't had the funds or the time to get himself a haircut for a few months and that's why it looked like this. Not that it was bad or anything. . . it was actually a rather good look on Keith, who was probably the only person in the world who could sport this kind of mullet and have it be . . . attractive . . . Lance bit his tongue, shaking the thought out of his head. Better keep his mouth shut and think of something else. He turned away to measure out a capful of mouthwash, noticing Keith's wince as he handed it over.
"It's got benzocaine in it," Lance said. "In theory, it's supposed to numb everything for a little while. Long enough to brush your teeth anyway, but I bet it'll sting for a second before it helps."
Keith looked at the cap as though Lance were trying to poison him, but in the end, he tossed it back, quickly bringing a hand to cover his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut as the chemicals came into contact with the blisters. His shoulders tightened alarmingly but then relaxed as the numbing stuff did what it was supposed to do. Lance wasn't completely sure how much it helped; Keith was completely stoic as he spit it out and thoroughly brushed his teeth. He kept the towel against his mouth for several long seconds after he finished, eyes closed again, until Lance thought he looked as though he were starting to sway and dragged him to sit down, helping him into the hoodie and inviting himself to put on Keith's socks for the second time that day.
"Back to the couch?" Lance offered when he couldn't think of anything else to do.
"In a minute," Keith said, eyeing the floor from where he sat as though he wanted to skip the couch and just curl up on all the towels.
"I can call Hunk in to help," Lance suggested, half teasing, remembering the last time Keith had been transported from the bathroom to the couch. What an ordeal it had been. "Or we can wait for Shiro to get back."
"You're enough," Keith insisted, in that strange way he had of making Lance feel somehow complimented in a less-than-ideal circumstance. He shouldn't feel good about Keith saying that, but he couldn't help but be pleased about it anyway. To make it impossible for Keith to read anything in his face, Lance gathered up Keith's stuff to take it out of the room.
"I'll be right back, but there's no rush," Lance said in parting. He replaced everything into Keith's duffel, then did a quick check of the rest of the apartment. Hunk was in the kitchen, of course, a few experimental dishes surrounding him with Pidge close by. She'd dragged one of the chairs into the kitchen and now sat on it backwards and cross-legged, resting her arms and chin on the backrest, trying to appear at ease, but Lance could tell even as far back as he stood that she was tense. Hunk had picked up on it too and was trying to coax her into telling him what was wrong.
"Everything good in here?" Lance tested the conversational waters.
"It was," Pidge clipped, glaring at Lance behind Hunk's back. Lance reined in the desire to roll his eyes, knowing it would be the lit match to gunpowder.
"Hey Lance," Hunk greeted, looking rather grateful to be interrupted from what Lance could only guess was a difficult one-sided conversation. "Where's Keith?"
"Resting in the bathroom. He needs a few minutes before moving again."
"Cool. I'm making him some saltless mashed potatoes," Hunk volunteered. "And maybe an omelet? I don't know; it's killing me to not use any spices at all. We'll have to invite him back for dinner another night when he's better so I can actually cook him something real, ok? Something that actually has a taste."
"Sure, Hunk," Lance gave in readily, ignoring the pang in his chest about how they might not see Keith again depending on what happened in the morning. It was so much easier pretending that future was never coming.
"Is Shiro coming back for dinner too? Should I make something different?" Hunk went on, stressed over the menu. And probably the static charge coming off Pidge, which was getting worse the longer they continued to talk without her.
"He's coming back; he just went to fill Keith's prescriptions, but don't worry about making us all different stuff, Hunk. We can eat mashed potatoes and omelets too," Lance comforted, his voice friendly even though he was locked in a stare down with Pidge. "Are you staying the night again, Pidge?" He asked her, figuring he should start planning now for how the sleeping arrangements were going to go.
"I don't know," she returned slowly, a sharpening knife. "I was planning on it since my first class doesn't start until late tomorrow, but I thought you had already given away my spot?" Her face. Her voice. She was slicing his heart open. He had to talk to her, but he didn't have time right now. He'd have to get Keith settled and comfortable first. Then maybe take her back down to the lounge? Wait until Keith fell asleep? But could he put it off that long? Could he stand her attitude long enough to even have dinner with her like this?
"No, Pidge; you're always welcome," Lance assured, trying to put something more to the tone. Try to make her understand that everything was fine. That he'd fill her in soon. He didn't think he was coming across very well, though, if her tight expression were any clue. "But there is a chance that Shiro will be staying here too. He's been separated from Keith for way too long, so I need to figure out where we're putting everyone. I wouldn't dream of giving away your spot; you're the only one who can sleep on the couch comfortably anyway."
"Shiro can have my bed," Hunk offered immediately. "It won't kill me to sleep on the floor a night or two."
"Anyway, we'll work it out," Lance said, suddenly wanting to put off making decisions even though he was the one who had brought it up. He didn't want Hunk sleeping on the floor, even though he seemed more than willing to do so. But obviously the mattress to person ratio was terribly skewed, so there wasn't a good way out of it. "One thing at a time, I guess."
"I have a suggestion," Pidge spoke up, and Lance knew what she would say. Why doesn't Keith go home with Shiro? Why do they both have to stay here? Why do you feel so obligated to house and feed these people, especially when one of them is a complete stranger and the other a murderer?
"Shiro lives too far from the hospital," Lance shut her down before she could go any farther. "Dr. Delacroix said Keith should stay close in case he has another cardiac emergency."
"Oh, ok, so now what Dr. Delacroix says is important all of a sudden? You're going to listen to her? Last time I checked, you were going to stay as far away from her as possible and now you're going to pay more attention to what she says than to what I told you? What the hell is wrong with you?" Lance didn't think she'd meant to say that last part, but somehow it had slipped past the 'let's not worry Hunk' restraint.
"Whoa, Pidge, what's up?" Hunk turned from whisking eggs to include himself in what was going on behind him, gauging where the shield of his personality was needed the most.
"I can't believe you brought him back with you," Pidge went on, ignoring Hunk, piercing Lance with both her words and the anger in her face, apparently deciding that there was no point holding back anymore. "When is it going to be enough, Lance? How bad does it have to get? When are you going to listen to me?"
"Maybe you should listen to me," Lance returned. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he remembered that Keith was still waiting for him in the bathroom, that he didn't really have time for this, but in the very next second, he'd decided that since this was broken open now with Pidge, he should take care of her first. "He's not what you think he is."
"Whatever," Pidge denied with an annoying shrug. Everyone in the room was extremely used to Pidge being right, about everything. Lance had seen her perform this exact move on one of her classmates after an argument about a supposed error in a math formula that had taken an entire notebook page to write out. It was something that Pidge did when she had presented the facts and whoever she was talking to stubbornly refused to accept them. She'd told Lance that it was useless arguing with overly emotional people. Whenever she hit the point where she'd determined someone was not thinking with their brain anymore, she just stopped talking to them because it was useless to continue arguing with someone who wouldn't listen to reason. It had made sense at the time, but Lance had never thought she'd do it to him.
"What's with you guys?" Hunk broke between them, putting a hand on Lance's chest but wisely not touching Pidge. "Why are we arguing about Keith staying here when we all know that this is something Lance does all the time and it's never a big deal?"
"Because Lance has never brought home a violent criminal before," Pidge said coldly.
"He's not," Lance began, but he was drowned out by Pidge. She growled wordlessly, allowing the sound to escalate into a frustrated scream. Now she wasn't even going to let him explain? Lance was suddenly struck with a desire he'd never entertained. Even though he'd just said that Pidge was always welcome, he was thinking very hard about sending her home until she'd calmed down enough to hear him out.
"I would really like to know what's going on here," Hunk interjected, the calmest in the room, looking worriedly at Pidge. Lance wondered how often Hunk had to witness her behaving this way. It was a first for Lance. He'd never made her this angry before. Never had a reason.
"We weren't going to tell you," Lance said, putting emphasis on each word, reminding Pidge about their agreement. She folded her arms, twisting away from them on the chair, unimpressed.
"But we changed our minds," she quipped. "When a police officer showed up talking about a verdict hearing; you went off to the hospital and had every opportunity to leave Keith there and no one would have said that you didn't do more than enough for him. You ignored everything I told you, everything you said you were going to do, and brought him back here anyway. So yeah, deal's off. Hunk should know when you bring murderers home, Lance. But hey, if you don't want to tell him things like that, here's a clue - maybe you shouldn't do it!"
"M-murder?" Hunk repeated, rather wobbly. "Keith?"
"No," Lance denied.
"Lance!" Pidge shrieked.
"You need to check your facts!" He yelled back at her, surprised at himself. "And accept that it's possible for you to be wrong about something for once!"
"I did my research; all I have to do is look at your face!"
"You guys!"
Lance could barely register Hunk between them, keeping them apart, making sensible pleas for them to chill out so they could talk this over. But Lance was already furious at people he didn't know, who he would never see, situations he couldn't control, and suddenly it was all coming out at Pidge. The person he didn't want to be mad at, the one he didn't want to hurt.
"My face is my fault," Lance insisted, leaning against Hunk's hands on him, talking around his roommate like he wasn't even there. "It's because I did what you're doing now, Kate – making assumptions and thinking I knew everything that was going on. Well, newsflash, you have no idea. Keith didn't kill anyone, got it?"
"Then why'd he confess, you moron?" Pidge retaliated, half standing from the chair, one foot on the ground, the other knee in the seat, hand gripping the backrest. Hunk looked back and forth between them, utterly confused and desperately wishing the hostility level would decrease.
"Because he doesn't know how traumatic subarachnoid hemorrhages work and apparently neither did anyone at the trial!" Lance shouted.
"All right, House, and what's on next week's episode?" Pidge scoffed, which just infuriated Lance, even more so when he didn't understand what random television series she seemed to be referencing. Pidge took the pause to wedge her insult in deeper. "You think an EMT knows more than the medical professional they called in to witness at that trial?"
"Hey Pidge," Hunk tried to cut in, though he seemed to not know what his role should be here. He appeared torn between trying to stop them or allowing them to get it all out of their systems while acting as a referee.
"No," Lance felt himself spiritually stepping down, not knowing how to quickly get across the messiness of the situation. It was getting out of control in the wrong direction again. No wonder Keith's first instinct was to hit people – Lance was starting to see the appeal. He was certain people would listen better if they couldn't speak. "It shouldn't even matter; this should have never been taken to trial."
Pidge almost slammed her hands against her face in frustration, groaning at Lance's dedication to being ignorant. "How?" She pleaded to the ceiling, her fingers trailing down her face as though she were trying to peel her cheeks off. She looked ready to either scream or cry, maybe both. Her apoplectic fit forced Hunk to chance it touching her, resting one of his huge hands gently on her arm. She shook her head while Hunk turned to Lance, frightened in his worry.
"Lance?" He timidly begged. Lance knew that this was the only chance he was going to get. He needed to speak fast and very clear.
"Keith stopped a kidnapping almost two years ago," Lance dove in to the shouting reprieve, no longer talking to Pidge, who was now staring, furious, at the floor. He didn't want to talk to her anymore anyway. But he could talk to Hunk, who had no previous knowledge of any of this, and also no pre-formed opinions. "This guy, David, had grabbed his ex-girlfriend in a parking lot and was trying to force her into his car. Keith was the only one who saw it. He ran out to help, and they got into a fight. David went to the hospital, and Keith went to a juvenile correctional facility for six months. Which also shouldn't have happened, but apparently David's family has a lot of power in Chicago, so they got their way about it."
Pidge's posture changed. She'd folded her arms tightly around herself again, turning her face even further away from Lance, as though she didn't want to hear this. Meanwhile, Hunk's eyes grew larger with almost every word. He shifted closer to Pidge, as if to protect her.
"Fast forward to six weeks ago," Lance continued when no one said anything to challenge him on any point thus far. "David wakes up thinking he's hungover, but what's actually happened is a ruptured brain aneurysm. A mysterious medical anomaly that could happen for any reason to anyone. His mom finds him dead that night in his room. The family is grieving; they want an explanation. They want someone to blame. Keith's the perfect target; the death does seem to be a consequence of the fight. They go after him again, this time for manslaughter and as an adult. Keith confesses to beating him up, everyone already knew that, but Keith hasn't even seen David for over eighteen months, never touched him or went near him again. He may have messed him up, but he didn't kill him. But even if he had beaten him to death on the spot, that wasn't what he was trying to do. He only wanted to save that girl. He's been dragged through hell for trying to do the right thing, and I'll be damned if he has to put up with it here too. He doesn't deserve it, so lay off of him."
"Um, ok, wow," Hunk breathed, his face all twisted up, having received the information he'd wanted, but now looking like he wasn't sure that he had truly wanted it at all. "That's . . . a lot to take in. That's heavy stuff, man."
"That's the real truth, Kate," Lance could feel the sneer in his voice and didn't like it, but he wasn't ready to let go being mad yet. "And I will go against you, all the medical professionals, the richest snobs in this city, the entire American legal system, and anyone else who tries to say it's Keith's fault. Because I'm going to do the right thing too. That may make me look stupid to you, but no one has ever doubted which one of us is smarter."
Pidge glared at him, eyes surprisingly full of tears, and Lance felt himself soften immediately, realizing in that moment how harsh he'd just been. With Pidge.
"What happened to the girl?" She asked, her tone flat, as though she didn't really care.
"She's fine," Lance said, wondering why that would be the question Pidge would ask first. "She's a student here – political science or something like that."
"It didn't mention her anywhere in what I read," Pidge mused to herself, and Lance almost asked her exactly what she had read and where she'd found it before deciding that it didn't matter as much as smoothing the raw edges of their argument. "How can that be true?"
"Your information wasn't wrong," Lance told her, quieter, more gently, ready to start making it up to her, ready to get back in sync. It should be easy now that everything was out in the open. Now that Pidge had all the facts. "Just incomplete and probably biased. It's like they're trying to set Keith up -"
"Stop talking," Pidge whispered and without a moment's notice she was headed stiffly toward the door, ripping through the coats on the chair to find hers, stepping quickly into her boots. "Just shut up; I don't want to hear anymore."
"Pidge," Hunk entreated, going after her as soon as it was clear that she was preparing to leave. "What are you doing? Come on; don't be like that."
"Don't," Pidge told him, ducking out from the hand Hunk tried to put on her, unable to look at either of them.
"Pidge, you don't have to go," Lance told her. "I know you were trying to do the right thing too; you just needed more information." He also reached out, to try and take her coat away, to grab onto her to keep her with them if he had to. She slapped at his hands, not making contact, but forcing him to draw back. He wasn't going to make her stay if she didn't want to, even though this was not how he thought she'd react. "Pidge, let's work it out."
"No, I'm out," she returned, doing her laces up with shaking fingers. "I can't do this right now." That statement was so cryptic; Lance couldn't even guess what she meant. She didn't bother with her zipper or putting on her hat or mittens. Instead she bundled them all against her chest, holding them tight against her with one arm so she had a hand free to open the door. Lance and Hunk both stood helplessly watching her, wishing she wouldn't leave, wondering why she was so intent on it. Lance had been so sure that she would understand.
Lance let himself hope when she paused in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder with her hand clasped tightly on the doorknob. She'd changed her mind. He almost took a step toward her until he saw the expression on her face. Somewhere between fury and shame.
"You really believe that?" Pidge asked, not skeptically. There was too much sadness in her tone. "That Keith risked himself to save a girl he didn't know?"
Pidge asked him things like this often, more to gauge his sense of naiveté than because she actually thought he was lying to her. It was how she determined his grasp on culture, science, and human nature. It was her way of placing him into an emotional and psychological category.
"It wasn't supposed to hurt you, but yes, I do," Lance tried one last time to get her to come back in. "Please don't go yet, Pidge." He was about to apologize, but she cut him off.
"I'll call you later," she gave the emptiest-sounding promise that Lance had ever heard, gullible or not. Pidge closed the door behind her.
Lance looked to Hunk, who stood there stunned with his mouth half open. "You gonna go after her?" Lance asked, figuring that between the two of them, Hunk had better odds on getting through to her.
"No point," Hunk explained, resigned, though it was obvious he wasn't happy. "She'll figure it out eventually."
"And what about you?" Lance asked. "What do you think about all this?"
"I think I'm opting out of thinking about it," Hunk allowed, still staring forlornly at the closed door, a different kind of puppy who had been abandoned. "This is what you and Pidge took a walk for yesterday, isn't it? She wanted to tell you about Keith without me finding out."
"Sorry, big guy, we didn't want you to worry. That was when we both thought Keith would be back on his feet and out of our lives by now. We probably shouldn't have kept it a secret from you."
"No, it's cool. To be honest, I kind of wish it was still a secret."
"I know what you mean," Lance agreed miserably.
"But you trust him, right?" Hunk checked, meaning it when he'd said he wasn't deciding a stance on Keith. He would blindly accept Lance's take on the situation.
"Yeah," Lance said without reluctance, remembering how Keith looked as he spoke, how his eyes were far away in memory, reliving the night in the bookstore parking lot where he had saved a girl but ruined his life. "He told me the truth."
"Ok then," Hunk said, as if that were all that needed to be said, heading back to the kitchen where he'd left his bowl of half-whisked eggs. Lance knew him well, so despite his casualness he could see how hurt he was that Pidge had gone. How it was bothering him not to take her side on something. Hunk had just touched the whisk again when something struck him and he turned toward Lance, quizzical. "But . . . did he actually hit you in the face? Because I thought you ran into a door."
"No," Lance sighed, knowing that this moment had to come eventually. "He punched me."
"Um, why though?"
"Because I didn't listen to you," Lance said. "When you were telling me that Keith probably had a good reason for missing all our homework appointments. He was sleeping in class, and that made me so mad at him, I just didn't even think about figuring out why. I shocked him awake, and he's one of those people who do the fight thing over flight when they're surprised. He wasn't even thinking about what he was doing. It was my fault. How long do you think it'll take Pidge to come back? Do you think she'll forgive me?" Because Lance would rather talk about that than the bruise on his cheek. And Hunk knew her better, could make the best guess.
"Dude, it's going to take a while. This is kind of more serious than the day you beat her at chess. I've never seen you yell at anyone like that, and . . . well . . . this whole situation is crazy, isn't it?"
"Sorry I dragged it home with me, Hunk," Lance apologized. He didn't think he would have done anything different, even knowing everything he knew right now, but it still felt wrong to involve Hunk without his permission, felt wrong to have kept it a secret for so long. "I didn't mean to ruin everything."
Hunk didn't answer, but he did leave the counter to give Lance a hug, wrapping him in his broad arms and squeezing almost to the point of pain. Lance relaxed, not being able to hug back, but bringing his hands up to rest against Hunk's biceps.
"I wouldn't say everything's ruined. At least not forever. We'll be ok," Hunk promised. "Hopefully Keith will be too. Maybe you should go check on him? He's been back there by himself for a while."
"Uh, yeah," Lance acknowledged as Hunk released him. He hadn't meant to leave Keith stranded in the bathroom so long. Hadn't intended to have a shouting match with his adopted sister either. Had never dreamed waking up Friday morning that this would be how his weekend turned out.
As Lance stepped away from Hunk, he felt Pidge slip painfully out of his soul a little. A piece of a connection lost or broken. Because there was nothing he could do now except wait for her to decide what her next move would be. Whether she could forgive Lance and believe Keith or if she wouldn't be able to accept anything Lance had told her. Lance paused to look over his shoulder at Hunk in the kitchen, noticing the absence of the tiniest person with the biggest personality he had ever seen, marveling at the massive hole she had torn into the feel of the place. Because it did feel emptier now, not the way it had when it really had been just Hunk and Lance, before Hunk had ever brought Pidge home. Not how it felt when she was at class or sleeping at her own place. No, now that she'd been so much a part of their world, the apartment actually felt colder without her.
Lance just couldn't believe she'd run away. He thought he knew her.
He flipped on all the lights as he made his way back to the bathroom. The kitchen light was already on, but the rest of the apartment seemed relentlessly dark here in the aftermath. Lance switched on the living room light, then the one in the hall . . . which is where he almost tripped on Keith, who was sitting braced against the wall just out of sight of the living room.
"Geeze, Keith!" Lance yelped, shocked to find him there on the floor. How had he gotten there? Had he been listening? How long? Lance went to his knees beside him, checking him over for physical and emotional damage. "What are you doing? You were supposed to wait for me."
Keith lifted his head slowly, his expression a variety of pain. Yeah, he'd definitely heard everything.
"Still think the truth matters to anyone?" He asked morosely. You think I matter to anyone? Lance heard the inaudible question twisted up hard in Keith's words and that something inside him ripped a little more. He leaned in close, cupping a hand against Keith's face and touching foreheads, trying to force it closed again. Keith didn't move.
"It matters to me," Lance said firmly. How could Keith not see that? Hadn't he heard Lance losing his friend out there defending him? Lance sat back, shifting his hand from Keith's face to his knee. "Are you ok?" Lance checked.
"No," Keith answered, quick and sharp and honest.
Hunk's shadow appeared next to them; Lance's shout pulling him over to see what was going on. "Oh," was all he said, seeing Keith and Lance together on the floor.
"I should leave," Keith abruptly volunteered. "I'm messing everything up. You didn't sign on for this."
"It sounds like you didn't sign on for it either, buddy," Hunk told him, leaning against the wall across from them after stepping lightly over the tangle of their legs to get to Keith's other side, gazing benevolently down at them. "And my vote is no on leaving, but I do think we should get you off the floor. Come on."
Keith looked up at Hunk as though he hadn't understood a word he just said. Or maybe that Hunk had no idea what he was offering. Lance was struggling to get his emotions under control. There were so many, and they were all powerful.
"Not going to pick you up this time," Hunk said as he took hold of Keith's wrist and began pulling him forward so he could slide his other arm behind his back. "Lance?"
"Oh, right," Lance realized that Hunk would need him on Keith's other side, though Lance took Keith's hand instead of his wrist, since he was on Keith's right and he didn't want to hurt him where his IV had been. Most of Keith's strength seemed to be gone, but Lance couldn't tell if it was because he'd used it all in getting down the hallway on his own, or if it had drained him to hear Lance and Pidge fight about him, or if he were just too overwhelmed by Hunk's unexpected kindness. Probably some combination of everything. He shook under their hands.
"Man, you really are burning up," Hunk said piteously as they clumsily made their way the few steps over to the couch. "How long is it going to take for him to feel better, Lance?"
"Shouldn't be much longer," Lance answered, more than half guessing, wishing he could make that the truth just by saying it. He no longer sounded very convincing. "But Keith's immune system was damaged by anemia before he even got sick, so it's moving slower than normal. I can't say for sure how much longer." He was doing it again. Talking about Keith like he wasn't there. Like he wasn't physically shuffling toward the couch between them, like they weren't the only things holding him upright. But Lance thought he heard the softest of restrained sobs and figured that Keith would very much like to disappear right now. He wanted to be ignored. At least for a little while.
Hunk sensed it too, sitting Keith down and disappearing back into the kitchen without another word. Meanwhile, Lance made himself busy finding where his quilt had disappeared to, wanting to bring it back to cover Keith. Now that the lights were on indoors, he also went to the sliding glass balcony door to draw the curtains closed, noticing that the snow had picked up again, heavy flakes not so much drifting as hurtling to the ground. He tried to remember how far away Pidge lived, how far she'd have to walk in this before she was warm and safe again.
"Five minutes," Hunk broke into his thoughts, jerking him into finishing with the curtains, hiding the storm from view.
"What's that?" Lance questioned, not following what Hunk meant, looking quickly at Keith, who was huddled in a little ball at the end of the couch closest to the hallway and the kitchen, face hidden in his arms.
"Her place is a five-minute walk from here," Hunk explained. "She'll be fine."
Lance nodded numbly, taking that in, then started wondering how long he should let Keith sulk like that on the couch before he started trying to comfort him somehow. He'd only taken one step toward him before needing to switch directions toward the door. Someone was knocking on it. Someone who couldn't be Pidge because the sound came too high for her. And she never knocked anyway.
"I made it," Shiro said in greeting as Lance opened the door to him. He was soaking wet with melting snow, pushing his dripping hair backward from his face with one hand. In his other, he carried a Walgreens bag. "Thought I'd have to call you to get in the building, but someone let me in."
"Sorry! I should have let you take my key card. Come in," Lance invited, hoping Shiro's powerful figure would somehow make up for what was suddenly missing.
"It turned out fine. Here, you probably know what to do with these better than I do," Shiro offered the handles, unconsciously looking around the apartment. Lance accepted the bag, stripping off the multiple layers of packing to get at the prescription bottle of heart medication and the iron supplement so he could check the timing and the dosage requirements. Meanwhile, Shiro made a beeline for Keith, who had timidly raised his head to see when he heard him at the door.
"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," Hunk called out from the kitchen. Only Lance heard him mutter under his breath, "such as it is." He knew that it was going to bother Hunk that Shiro's first sampling of his cooking would be so simple. He'd have to make a comment about how it wasn't anything like Hunk's normal masterpieces to make him feel better. He could at least do that after chasing Pidge out of the place.
"What'd I miss?" Shiro asked, not in the casual tone of a passing remark either. Even Shiro, who was new here, was noticing that something was going on. "Keith, you're shaking again, what's wrong?"
Lance turned from where he'd been making a new home for Keith's medicine on the kitchen counter to see what was going on in the other room. Shiro's dark head had joined Keith's on the couch, but it seemed as though Keith really didn't want anyone to look at him. He curled away from Shiro, hiding his face again.
"What happened?" Shiro demanded, this time from Lance, who was mostly focused on Keith. He must be feeling so trapped right now. Out of place, out of options, and unwanted. Like he didn't belong anywhere. "Where's .. . um," he seemed to forget Pidge's name, so he held out a hand at about her height instead.
"Pidge had to go home," Hunk said, dedicatedly calm about it, dishing food onto plates. Lance watched Keith wince, but wasn't sure if it was the name or Hunk talking about going home that did it.
"She couldn't stand to be in the same room with me," Keith murmured darkly, the statement dramatically narrowing Shiro's eyes as he leaned in closer to Keith.
"It's not like that," Lance protested weakly, but he didn't have another explanation. Hunk gave him a moment's respite by handing him plates for Shiro and Keith. "Here, guys, it's a kind of weird dinner, but you should be able to eat it, Keith."
Keith didn't look like he wanted to eat anything. He uncurled enough to take the plate, but sat there with it on his lap, his hand holding it just enough to make sure it didn't fall to the floor. Shiro took his own portion but placed it immediately on the coffee table. He went to put an arm around Keith's shoulders, but Keith flinched away from him.
"You don't have to," Keith told him. "You can go too; I've wasted enough of your time."
"You have never been a waste of my time, Keith," Shiro assured him, resting his arm around Keith despite his words and actions. Lance found he couldn't step away from them, even though he knew he should for privacy's sake. He didn't want to leave Keith's side. Instead, he tucked himself onto the floor beside them, also putting a reassuring hand on Keith.
"Then why did you transfer?" Keith begged, months of hurt attaching to the brand-new wound that Pidge had caused. How it all seemed to culminate into one dominating trend of pushing Keith to the side. Of leaving him behind.
Shiro looked uncomfortable, as though he didn't want to answer the question. "This isn't where I wanted to talk about that either," he confessed, then hurried to explain as Keith tightened up again. "I mean, I wanted to take you out for dinner . . . this isn't how I pictured it. But you've got the wrong idea about it, so maybe now should be the time."
Keith looked at him, utterly confused, lip trembling a little bit.
"Just remember – I wanted to tell you this months ago," Shiro reminded him. "I asked to be transferred so I could start the adoption process for you, Keith. I wanted us to be family – legally."
"W-what?" Keith almost gasped.
"A social worker isn't allowed to adopt a minor that they are directly working with – it's a conflict of interest. I had to transfer if I even wanted to start the paperwork, and I couldn't have been working with you for at least three months before I could submit anything. I picked Kasey because I thought he'd be the only one in the office besides me that you could put up with."
"You're kidding," Keith struggled. Lance tightened his hold on his hand, wondering if he was going to fall apart. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because there was a chance that something would go wrong and it wouldn't go through," Shiro admitted. "I didn't want to make you any promises that I couldn't keep or get your hopes up about something that I couldn't follow through on. You've had way too much of that."
Lance took Keith's plate for him, knowing that he was two seconds from losing his hold on it. Once it was off his knees, Keith drew them up again, turning toward Shiro, who readily wrapped him in both arms and pulled him in close, protected. Lance could hear Keith sobbing into Shiro's sweater.
"I withdrew the submission last October after your birthday," Shiro went on. "Took the decision away from them – they were taking too long on it. Now that you're an adult, we just have to fill out a simple form and turn it in at the county clerk's office. I've got it at home; it just needs your signature."
"And I can come stay with you?" Keith managed, breathing hard, almost too overcome to speak.
"I really hope you do," Shiro answered, genuine. "I've missed you a lot, and no one can say we can't anymore."
Lance took a quick glance over his shoulder as he noticed that Keith wasn't the only one in the room crying. Hunk had his face hidden in a dishcloth, trying to keep quiet so as not to disturb the touching scene on the couch. Lance remembered meeting Shiro yesterday, how earnest he had been in finding Keith. I need to talk to him; it's important. That's what he'd said. It made so much sense now.
"I want to go home," Keith whispered, wrenching Lance's heart. He wanted that for Keith, wanted him to have a home. But he also remembered that it just wasn't possible for him yet. He had to stay close to the hospital. Had to go to court in the morning. They weren't quite free yet to be together the way they wanted.
"I'll get you there," Shiro promised, though Lance noticed he was careful not to say when. He actually looked at Lance over Keith's head, his expression tight with worry. He ran his hand up and down Keith's back. "Easy now, Keith, calm down. Maybe I should have waited a little longer; this seems a little much for you to handle."
Because Keith was still shaking, hard, tucked up against Shiro's chest, looking small and breathing raggedly. He looked like he needed a distraction, something to take his mind off everything for a little while until he could go through it more slowly. Or at least he needed everyone to stop paying so much attention to him.
"Hey Hunk," Lance called to his roommate. "Put on that annoyingly cheerful playlist."
"Wha . . .oh, yeah, sure, good idea," Hunk caught on almost instantly, synching his phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen and letting his cleaning music fill the apartment. Fill the corners and drown out the wind, cover Keith's crying, and replace the pieces of conversation that Pidge would have contributed if she were still here.
"Congratulations, Keith," Lance said softly, patting him on the knee before getting up to join Hunk at the table, letting them be together, at least for a little while. Let them pretend that there was nothing going on. That nothing could separate them again. Just give them a little bit of time.
He kept watch out of the corner of his eye as he ate with Hunk, watching as the tension left Keith. Watched as Shiro spoke to him softly, too low to hear over the music, coaxing his plate back into his hands. He ate less than half, but at least he ate something. Shiro didn't seem to notice anything he put into his mouth; he was completely focused on his new . . what? Not son, they were too close in age, that would have been weird. Maybe brother? Yeah, that seemed more appropriate. Keith and Shiro were brothers now. Or they would be as soon as they could get that form signed and filed.
They stayed tight like that until it became obvious that Keith was fading. The shivering became less an emotional problem and more of a physical one. Shiro pulled the quilt tighter and tighter around him as the evening went on, and Keith squirmed ever closer to Shiro in an effort to get warm.
"Lance?" Shiro eventually called him over, after the dishes were cleared, washed, and dried. After Hunk had excused himself to his bedroom for a while. Lance suspected he went to call Pidge in private, but he was secretly relieved about that. Hopefully, Hunk could talk some sense into her. Lance paused in the homework he'd brought to the table to see what was going on, ready to be of service. "I don't know what's wrong; he won't tell me."
"My guess is the pain meds are wearing off," Lance explained, watching Keith, who was barely awake. He'd dozed off several times while talking with Shiro, probably planning their future. "Huh, Lobito?"
The frustrated half-glare was more than an answer for Lance. He returned to the kitchen to get Keith a glass of water, the heart meds, and something for whatever pain he was in. Shiro helped him take it while Lance went to his bedroom for the familiar notebook, the stethoscope, thermometer and everything else he'd been using for Keith before they went to the hospital. It was time to start keeping track of those things again.
"Temperature 103.1," Lance said out loud as he documented it. "Heart rate is ninety. Blood pressure is . . . not too low, and your oxygen is good. But I think we should get you in bed, Keith. Are you staying, Shiro? The couch is kind of small, but you're welcome to it."
"No, thank you, but I can't stay," Shiro declined again. And again Keith reanimated immediately at the news.
"Shiro?" He said his name more as a request.
"I need to get ready for tomorrow," Shiro said gently. "I need to find your suit for one thing, but I'll be here to pick you up around eighty-thirty, ok? Lance will call me if you need anything."
Lance nodded, accepting the plan, preparing himself for the last night Keith would be with him.
"M-my suit?" Keith seemed confused, which made Lance worried. Shiro and Lance exchanged glances.
"For court," Shiro explained. "Remember? Your verdict hearing is tomorrow at ten?"
"Tomorrow!?" Keith rasped, alarmed, and Lance realized their mistake. It seemed that everyone knew about the court date and time. Officer Guist, Hunk, Pidge, Lance, Shiro. Hell, even Dr. Delacroix knew. But it seemed that every time this information had been shared out loud – Keith had been either out of the room or asleep.
They'd all forgotten to tell Keith.
Author's Note: Ouch! Sorry Keith; we thought you knew. So much emotional whiplash here; are you guys ok? This chapter was a doozy for me. I actually really struggle writing verbal arguments, though I'm so satisfied after they're done. (Pidge, you need to come back!) One more long night guys before the verdict. Hang in there.
