Author's Note: What's this? I'm posting early? (as in very early, I should be sleeping; it's weird). I know, but there is a scene here that I've had just burning into my head for weeks now and I was dying to get it written and out there. Hope you like the early chapter (to make up for all the late ones?) Chapter Twenty-Two: Closed Court
After a little more pushing and persuasion, Shiro returned to the bathroom to help with Keith, and Lance hurried to his room to change, grateful that he'd already cleared his schedule for the day, though he went back and forth on whether it was a good idea for him to go. On one hand, he was relieved to not be separated from Keith yet, but another part of him worried about what he might be forced to helplessly watch after the verdict was read. He pushed past those dark thoughts and the hanging sets of scrubs in his closet to access the uniform pieces he kept pressed and ready for his monthly ambulance runs and certain certification trainings.
EMTs in this area of Chicago wore sky blue button-downs tucked into navy pants so dark that they looked black from a short distance. Lance chose his long-sleeved version of the shirt, his first initial and last name stitched above the left breast pocket in navy thread, and his hard-earned blue first responder patch likewise secured to his sleeve over his left bicep. The patch indicating his volunteer connection with the Chicago Police Department was sewn on his right. It didn't give him any sort of authority, but it meant that the department's insurance would cover him in the event of being sued by a patient riding his ambulance.
Once he was dressed down to the heavy black boots, he quickly put together a kit, not in his monstrous medical bag, but in his backpack, which he first emptied for the occasion. He wanted his stats notebook, two pens, his phone and charger, the blood pressure cuff, thermometer, and pulse oximeter, some emesis bags in case Pidge's weird aromatherapy mind trick didn't work for long plus all of his individually wrapped packages of alcohol pads to make sure it could work as long as possible. He finished by draping his stethoscope around his neck, secured under his collar like the medical version of a necktie.
Satisfied that he'd taken all he'd need from his room, Lance went to continue packing in the kitchen, where he unexpectedly ran into Hunk, who was staring blearily at their current bag of coffee, obviously still a little weirded out and pale from all the commotion this morning.
"Doing ok, Hunk?" Lance asked him kindly, receiving a slack-jawed, disoriented stare in response.
"I need coffee," Hunk droned, rubbing his hands over his face, looking Lance up and down between his fingers. "What's with the uniform?"
"Apparently, I am going with Keith and need to look official," Lance answered, securing Keith's medication and two unopened water bottles into the backpack. He wondered how long they'd be gone. Maybe he should pack more?
"Dude, no, to court?" Hunk clarified, sounding maybe a little too worried. Or surprised? Skeptical? Whatever the emotion, there was too much of it. "What about your classes? What about work?"
"Hey, chill," Lance tried to calm his friend. "I took care of all that already; they all know I'm not coming. You shouldn't be more worried about it than I am; what's going on?"
"I don't know, man; this is not really your area. And what if Keith ends up .. you know, not coming back . . . you can't unsee stuff like that." Hunk answered while messing around with the coffeemaker, though he was not doing a very good job of it. Normally Lance made the coffee since he was almost always up first. Hunk didn't seem to even know how to do it. Either that or he'd finally hit his last nerve on this whole Keith situation and it was rendering him incapable of function. You could only push roommates so far. Lance decided to intervene before Hunk dumped the grounds into the top before he put in a filter. "Knowing you," Hunk continued, though he was staring into the bag as though someone else were holding it. "You'd probably blame yourself. It would haunt you forever."
"Hunk, bro, go sit down," Lance instructed since he was still acting like a person in shock, or maybe he was just sleepy, but either way Lance elbowed him away from the counter and physically removed the scoop from his hand before he ruined their coffeemaker. And this wasn't really a morning that either of them could go without coffee. "I'll be fine; it's Keith I'm worried about. I can't let him go alone."
"Um, technically Shiro's going with him, so he won't be alone," Hunk pointed out, not leaving the kitchen to sit as Lance had told him to do, but his speech was speeding up slowly, not sounding quite so spacey and strange. "I think it's more you can't stand waiting here at home with the rest of us to find out what's going to happen."
Lance tightened up slightly at Hunk's uncomfortably accurate observation. No, he couldn't stand staying at the apartment while Shiro took Keith away, where Lance may never see him again. And honestly, he didn't think Hunk and Pidge could stand him if he were to stay behind anyway. He knew he'd be a pacing, fidgety wreck until Shiro could give them an outcome. It was for everyone's sake that he was tagging along, really.
"I'm going anyway," Lance decided, silently congratulating himself on sounding calm and resolved, steadily pouring water into the machine and starting it up.
"And I knew you were going to say that," Hunk sighed, leaning tiredly against the sink, closing his eyes.
"Hunk, seriously, you ok?" Lance pressed, getting actually worried about him.
"It's just been a little roller coaster-ish this weekend," Hunk admitted, though he pulled himself together enough to stand straight, opening his eyes to consider Lance again. "You ever feel like you're living the moments where everything you were used to is going to just be, like, gone forever? Do you think you can notice things like that when they're happening, or do you think that's something you can only tell after the fact?"
"Is this astro or metaphysics?" Lance asked, slightly teasing though he knew exactly what Hunk meant, but he was surprised that Hunk had noticed it and that he could express it so easily. That tangled, slippery weirdness that was making the apartment feel like a place Lance had never been before – all the familiarity just suddenly vanished, a door closing, a shrinking, a change in the wind. Nothing had actually changed, but it felt like it was going to. He'd thought it was just his own life that was at worst falling apart and at best rearranging. Or maybe it was just Lance's life and Hunk's empathy was locked in high gear so he was feeling it too.
Whatever the case, Hunk gave him a flat, unimpressed stare, and Lance was reminded that Hunk hardly ever got up this early. He was never awakened by vomiting strangers in his bathroom. He'd never had to watch Lance and Pidge argue to the point where she'd left in a huff. He'd never brought police officers into the apartment, stayed up all night packing snow into Ziploc bags while unknowingly listening to an unconscious person repeatedly apologize for murder. Hunk was such a rock of support for Lance, over and over, that he'd grown too accustomed to him adapting endlessly to the variety of chaos that seemed to follow Keith.
"I think every moment changes something," Lance told him, not teasing him anymore. "One decision leads to several more but blocks off others. Most of them are so small and insignificant that you don't notice, but I guess every so often, choices make big enough changes that you can feel it, that you know you're making an altering decision. Or that the next decision you make will mean you can't go back to where you were before."
"Definitely meta," Hunk said, and Lance wasn't sure if he were teasing him or not. He also wasn't sure what life-altering choices Hunk might be talking about. What there was in either of their lives that made him think it would never be the same again. He wondered if he should ask. Lance started slicing one of Hunk's remaining loaves of bread from Saturday night, dropping two pieces into their toaster. Shiro came into the living room briefly to retrieve the garment bag from off the couch.
"Need any help?" Lance asked him, ready to assist though he wasn't sure if Hunk were ok to be left alone yet either.
"Not yet," Shiro said. "It's pretty slow going in there."
"Pidge's thing still working?"
"So far so good," Shiro answered, sounding relieved. "I'll call for you if we need you; finish what you're doing."
"Do you think," Hunk began as Shiro disappeared down the hall again. "Think that it'll be like this all the time with Keith, or will things calm way down after today?"
"It'll settle," Lance immediately stated. Keith's whole life seemed to be tainted with intensity, but it was quickly moving away from them. A storm crossing to the other side of the lake. "One way or another," he murmured almost to himself. Though things would slow down, going back to the old, but different, normal - none of the future scenarios were appealing to Lance. They all seemed rather empty.
"That's good," Hunk sighed, not understanding. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I wanted you to find someone, but I always figured it'd be some cute and quiet nursing student who would be cool with you making all the plans. Someone a little more predictable and . . . less intense, you know?"
"I don't know," Lance played dumb, his voice cooling as he transferred the finished toast to plates and began frosting them with butter and Hunk's homemade strawberry freezer jam. He added two more slices of bread to the toaster and checked the level on the coffee, then the time, which was maddeningly moving closer to ten. He wasn't even sure how far of a drive the courthouse was, but he figured they would have to leave very soon now.
"Except you do," Hunk said, not allowing Lance to be vague. "And hey, it's not my place to judge or anything, but it would be nice if things could just settle around here for half a minute."
"I thought you said we should get ourselves an A, complete our S.T.A.R. set?" Lance poked, a defensive technique because he didn't want to get into it yet. Didn't want to tell Hunk he was right or wrong, didn't think he'd get very far convincing him. Probably because he didn't know which way to convince him. And it didn't matter.
"That was before I knew how exhausting it was going to be to have one," Hunk returned.
"It'll be over soon, Hunk, he's not staying," Lance said, handing him a plate full of toast. "I'm not even sure he's coming back here after today. He'll either be going with Shiro or –" Lance stopped himself before saying it out loud.
"That's the other part I'm worried about," Hunk said, as though glad that it was Lance who had brought it up, though Lance wasn't sure what he'd done. "Since Keith doesn't seem to be the type to stay in one spot or with one person for very long . . . are you going to be all right with that?"
"Dude, I've only known him for one weekend," Lance answered glibly, hoping his voice would hide how not okay he would be with that.
"Yeah, I know, but you just said yourself that there are some choices you don't come back from."
Lance heard himself growl, though Hunk didn't deserve it. He poured his friend a cup of coffee, adding sugar and cream the way that he liked. "Some choices aren't ours to make," he told him, raising his own mug and heading toward the bathroom. Hunk was too on point, reading Lance's emotions better than Lance could himself, as usual, and Lance wasn't ready to have a therapy session about this. "I'd stay here if I were you," Lance recommended as he walked away, more than ready to escape, even though he might be walking into something even worse than what he was leaving. "And sit down."
The bathroom remained crowded when Lance returned to it. Keith was perched wearily on the edge of the bathtub now with his shirt off but no other progress had been made into getting him into the suit. Pidge had kept Lance's wet washcloth on the back of his neck, but he was holding the alcohol bottle himself now. Shiro kept anxiously checking his watch while Pidge seemed to be coaxing Keith into taking something she had in her hand.
"Wait a second," Lance paused them as he entered the scene. "What is that, Pidge?"
"Something you wouldn't have even known about if you'd finished your coffee in the kitchen and waited two more minutes," she said, a little tersely. He pushed into her with a glare, demanding that she answer. Medications, though plentiful, didn't get dispensed lightly around here. "But it's Xanax if you must know."
"Xanax?" Lance was surprised. Is that what she'd gone out to get this morning? But where? "What's the dosage?"
"Point five milligrams," Pidge answered. "It'll get him through the day, I figure. Or at least the next four hours."
"But where did you get it?" Lance asked, a little worried about the answer. Pidge rolled her eyes.
"This is why I was rushing you," she said to Keith before returning to Lance's question. "It's not mine, it's not expired, and I didn't steal it, but that's all you need to know." Lance wasn't sure he could accept that as an answer, though he also didn't think he could approve of any method of acquisition. What did it mean that Pidge recognized what was going on with Keith and then immediately knew exactly how to get her hands on a dose (or several) of Xanax within thirty minutes before nine am on a Monday morning? Was she lying to him? Maybe it really was hers. But what would she need it for? And how often?
"Is it safe?" Shiro asked, watching the exchange, and Lance thought about that. Went through what he could remember about the effects, and side effects, of that particular drug and also what it might do when taken with Keith's other, legally prescribed, medication. Then he thought of all that Keith might have to do today starting with just getting him into the car and realized that if the pill that Pidge held in her hand could ease any of that for him, Lance would be more grateful for it than anything else.
"Yes," Lance relented, though his jaw wouldn't unclench very well for him to say it. "But we're not done talking about this," he warned Pidge, wanting to know what sort of campus black market existed for this type of thing and how she'd found out about it. "Go ahead and take it, Keith, if you think you can keep it down."
For the first time since Lance had come back, Keith lifted his head to look at him, reacting to Lance speaking to him specifically. He peeled his eyes off the floor in slow motion, as though he were already drugged, but he did a much faster double take when he saw Lance in the doorway, then checked him up and down much like he'd done the very first time Lance had met him in his room – though without the hostility. It made Lance want to fiddle with his buttons to make sure they were done up correctly.
"Holy shit," Keith muttered, averting his gaze, inhaling deeply from the alcohol bottle. Lance didn't know what to make of that, but it made Pidge smile and shake her head a little.
"Cleans up nice, doesn't he?" She said as she handed over the small white pill and reached backward toward the sink for Keith's Gatorade cup – though it was now half full of water. Keith had to gag the pill down, keeping his hand over his mouth and his eyes tightly closed in concentration.
"Your turn to get dressed now, Keith," Shiro instructed gently, coming closer to assist. "Sorry, but we only have a few more minutes. We'll have to drive slow as it is; the roads aren't great today."
"Could you check on Hunk for me?" Lance asked Pidge, partly because he knew that the less people here watching Keith get dressed the better. "Make sure he's eating and not still staring at nothing in the kitchen?"
"When did I become a physician's assistant?" Pidge quipped, though she gently patted Keith on the shoulder as she made her way out of the room, not minding the task Lance had given her in the least and they both knew it. Lance switched out the alcohol bottle clenched tight in Keith's hand for a sterile wipe to make it easier to do things like put arms in sleeves and to test the effectiveness of the smaller wipe against the more concentrated solution in the container. Shiro and Lance teamed up practically silently to get Keith dressed, with Keith doing his best to not be dead weight between them. Lance noticed that he could almost stand on his own power today, thank you iron infusion, though did not have the balance to put on pants yet. Throughout the process of dressing, Keith's body loosened, his fingers relaxing, the tightness leaving his shoulders as the quick-acting Xanax shut down the panic in his brain. He raised his eyes to Lance, watching him brazenly as Shiro knelt in front of him to knot the tie, something that Lance had wanted to witness, but found himself instead staring back at Keith.
He was used to it now, how Keith stared at things, hard and unflinching. When Pidge stared at Lance like this, they could communicate. He could clearly see what she was thinking, and she seemed to have equal ease in reading him. But Keith was closed. Lance could see pain and desperation, though it dulled almost as he watched due to the drug. He could see that Keith hadn't really been joking when he'd asked Lance to let him die, that he wished so hard that he didn't have to go do this terribly hard thing that was his only reward for trying to do something good. And then there was something mysterious, like the color, emotions that were plainly visible but untranslatable for Lance.
"Aren't you late for class?" Keith finally asked him as Shiro finished the tie but left it hanging loose around Keith's neck, presumably waiting until the last minute to discomfort Keith in any way by tightening it.
"I'm not going to classes today," Lance half-confessed, surprising himself by how embarrassed he was about admitting it. All the work that had brought him to this campus to allow him the privilege of attending classes, even semi-stupid ones like their English 101 that was actually almost finished now, and he was wasting it. "Or work. I'm taking the whole day off."
"Lance is coming with us," Shiro answered for him. Keith's eyes widened, his chin coming up in pride even as his expression softened into relief, and any guilt that Lance had felt before about skipping his classes and calling in sick to work disappeared. This was undoubtedly the best use of his time.
"EMT escort service," Lance said, not being able to help himself from bowing just a little bit, trying to break through the weird tension in the room, the way Keith continued to stare. "I'll waive the fee considering this is your first time."
Keith didn't say thanks in words, but his whole body communicated gratitude. Shiro took hold of his arm and helped him stand up, allowing Lance to study the effect of Keith in a suit, though it fit him rather poorly. It was too loose, for starters, as though someone had purchased it for him with the idea that he would grow into it, or perhaps it wasn't even his. Maybe Shiro had borrowed it for him to wear today. It made him look rather small and extremely vulnerable. He was gaining a little color into his face, the fever flush was back now that the Xanax was taming the nausea, but Keith still had deep shadows under his eyes, which were also off, too bright. If it weren't for the flush, Lance thought they could have easily laid him out on a table with his arms crossed over his chest and he would have presented a very credible picture of a corpse. Unbidden, Lance heard the words "dead man walking" shiver through his memory. It'd come from a movie; he couldn't even remember which one, but that particular line sliced him open so sharply that he heard himself take a little gasp.
"Come here," Lance begged more than directed, suddenly wanting to take Keith from Shiro, wanting his weight on his arm, his heat against his side. Still here. Still with him. Shiro gave Lance a look of surprised compassion, but he did transfer Keith to his arms.
"I'll go get the car," Shiro offered once he was satisfied that Keith only needed one of them to help him walk this morning.
"Next time we get dressed up," Lance said lightly, trying to hide how deep and hard his emotions were cutting into him. "Let's make sure we're going to a better party." Keith leaned heavily, used to walking next to him this way now, his hand across Lance's back, holding to his shoulder right above the patch. Lance's arm draped across the back of Keith's waist, though with the suit he found it impossible to tuck his thumb through Keith's belt loop. He settled for grabbing onto the fabric of his pocket.
"Deal," Keith panted as they made their way through the narrow hallway and into the living room. Pidge helpfully brought Lance his backpack, which he slipped over the shoulder that Keith wasn't holding on to. Hunk looked up from the table, his face crashing into tears immediately on seeing Keith.
"Thank you," Keith paused to say to them. Lance held on to him tighter, sensing a sudden weakness in him, as though he'd buckle any second from either strain or sentiment. "It's been an honor to meet you." Lance felt tears sting his eyes even as he smiled. Keith sounded so much like Shiro in that sentence.
The carefully-contained tears in his voice and the select choice of words completely broke Hunk, who burst out with one initial sob and then quieted into a steady but impressive flood. Pidge studied the tabletop with extreme dedication, her face slightly turned away, fighting her own emotional battle, but after only a few seconds, she bolted to her feet and rushed at Keith, hugging him around the waist. Lance kept them all balanced as Keith bowed slightly over her, his tears disappearing into her hair. Never one to be left out of a hug, Hunk was right behind her, throwing his arms around them all, as far as he could reach. And though time did not actually stop in that moment, Lance could almost pretend that it had.
"D-dinner's at six," Hunk sniffed when they all carefully extracted from each other, eyes wet and downcast. "Don't be late."
"We'll be back," Lance heard himself promise, watching Keith cover his mouth with his hand again, though this time it was for a different reason.
"Take care of our star," Pidge instructed Lance, who felt as though the floor were tipping underneath him. The walls of the apartment moved outward, the light changed. As Hunk and Pidge moved away, the distance felt much greater than it actually was. Lance looked desperately to Hunk and received a sad nod of acknowledgement. He could feel it too.
"I will," Lance agreed solemnly, and began walking slowly away from them. Out the door, down the hall, into the elevator. Keith's strength waned as they walked. His steps becoming slower, almost tripping because he couldn't seem to put forth the effort required to lift his foot enough from the floor. Lance held him up, guided him forward, the Dead Man Walking line marching in time in his mind to their pace across the floor despite his internal begging for it to shut up.
Shiro met them at the door, giving Lance back his keycard and taking up guard on Keith's opposite side. Which was good as the cold always beat into Keith hardest, and he reacted to it as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Lance eased him into the backseat and hurried in next to him so he could lock them into the warmth of the car.
Without invitation, Keith immediately put his head down on Lance's thigh, breathing hard after all the movement, the alcohol-drenched wipe held tight against his face. And he was still crying. Lance could feel the tears soaking into his pants, feel the trembling of it shaking through Keith, so he gave in to the desire to rest his hand on Keith's head, slowly stroking his hair. Shiro looked over his shoulder to check on them, his eyes worried and hopeful at the same time, before he pulled the car away from Stony Island and into a world that was covered in snow, hard edges, and incorrect assumptions.
Lance hadn't been paying much attention outside of the apartment, there hadn't been much reason, but now that Shiro was taking them off campus, Lance found himself staring at the iconic city that he didn't actually see much of. They quickly were past Hyde Park and the shopping center where Lance sometimes went with Hunk. Shiro was driving them north along Lake Shore Drive, and Lance watched intently the sunlight on the water. It didn't compare to the beaches he'd grown up on. It made Lance cold just to look at it. The shoreline was frozen over, giving way to broken gashes of icy waves, and then further out was the black-ish choppiness that refused to reflect the sun's brightness properly.
And it was bright. Not snowing for the moment, but the blue of the sky seemed to promise that the storm, at least this one, was over. Not that it hadn't left the city anything to remember it by. The plows were still out, doing their best to clear the side streets. Along the lake's path there were hardly any joggers or dogwalkers, and those who had decided to brave the outdoors did so in layers and layers of scarves, ponchos, and thick hats. And while Shiro never faltered in his perfect control of his vehicle, Lance could see that the roads were covered in patches of ice.
All the while they drove, Lance stared at the water that wasn't at all like the ocean, and tried to think of something comforting to say to Keith. He came up short each time; nothing seemed appropriate. He continued to rub his shaking shoulder as Keith wore himself out with tears, both the ones he shed and the ones he gulped back. Every few seconds, Lance was aware of Shiro's soft black eyes glancing at them in the mirror.
"So Lance?" Shiro began, apparently deciding that since neither of them could think of anything to say to Keith, the next best thing would be to talk to each other. "You and your friends are quite the talented group. How did you all come to know each other?"
"I got lucky," Lance answered without hesitation. "Hunk and I were just assigned to the same apartment without ever meeting. I think they put us together because they thought we have similar backgrounds? Like they were sitting there with all the names and figured the island boys should stick together or something."
"Oh, so it wasn't your decision. Good thing you ended up getting along so well."
"Hunk gets along with everyone," Lance pointed out. "Well, no, I guess that's not quite true. I've seen him act pretty cold towards a few people. He has a sense about this kind of thing. He's friendly to just about everyone, but if he ever doesn't like someone, you don't ask why, you just keep away from them. But yeah, he and I synched up quick, but it felt like we'd been friends for a long time before we met, which doesn't make sense, but that's how it felt to me. It's hard not to like someone when you walk into an apartment, fresh from customs at the airport and scared to death, and the first thing you see is a huge smile and a cup of chocolate. I'm just glad he puts up with me."
Keith squeezed his knee at that comment.
"And your other roommate? Is her name Pidge?"
"No," Lance smiled, watching as the lake disappeared when Shiro pulled onto the Stephenson Expressway and started heading west. "And Hunk's name isn't Hunk either, but to be honest with you, I think I've forgotten Hunk's actual name. It's long and has, like, two apostrophes in it. But Pidge's name is Katie, and she's a friend, not a roommate. Hunk started bringing her home sometimes to work on physics stuff and robotics. Then the sometimes turned into all the time and now she has her own key and it's weird when she's not there."
"Are they together?" Shiro asked, not to be nosy, but in an attempt to continue to fill the oppressive silence of the drive. Lance tried to laugh.
"If you ask them, no, but if you asked literally any other person who has seen them together for longer than five minutes, it's a definite yes," Lance said, watching the businesses along the streets pass, reading the signs, missing the lake. It might have been disappointing, but at least it was familiar.
"What about you?" Shiro continued. "Are you with anyone?"
Lance's soul snapped shut like blinds being pulled over a window. Keith tightened against his leg, and his mouth felt dry all of a sudden. He knew that Shiro was still just trying to make conversation, to keep Keith's thoughts off where they were going, to keep it light and easy in the car, but this innocent question seemed too personal, somehow invasive.
"No," Lance answered, staring intently out the window, the light extinguished from his voice, Keith's fevered body heavy and twitching on his lap. "I don't have the time for that kind of thing." He offered as an excuse as to why he was alone, effectively killing the mood and allowing the cold to rush back into the car. Shiro gave him a quick, repentant look through the mirror, and Lance could tell he was sorry he'd asked, that he hadn't meant for it to be a touchy subject.
"You had a date on Friday," Keith offered helpfully, his voice quiet and breathy from Lance's knees. He shifted against the seat, twisting around.
"Yeah, that's true," Lance admitted, watching Keith with increasing concern, hoping to quickly open up discussion again so he could safely change the subject.
"That you canceled because of me," Keith went on, a little bitterly, like he was ashamed of costing Lance his social life even though Lance had already tried to absolve him from any guilt about that. Lance ran a gentle hand through Keith's hair, wanting to still him.
"Don't be sorry about that because I'm not," Lance told him. "It would have been our first date, and I probably would have made a fool of myself. She's way out of my league, so maybe it's better to not know how it would have gone."
"You sound like you're never going to see her again," Shiro pointed out, his tone careful now. "Couldn't you reschedule?"
"I'm not sure," Lance answered, wishing they could talk about something else. "It was kind of a miracle that I got the first one, and she . . . well, to say she was disappointed would be an understatement. She's not the sort of girl you cancel a date with and then get another chance. Keith, what's going on with you? Need us to stop for a minute?"
Because Keith had not stopped fidgeting ever since their discussion had centered around Lance's romantic endeavors. He'd pulled his legs up on to the seat, tucking into a smaller ball, then tried to stretch in the tight space, and now he was trying to sit up, but not straight, in obvious distress.
"Are you feeling sick?" Lance asked, reaching for his backpack so he could retrieve one of the blue emesis bags in case Shiro couldn't get stopped in time. There wasn't a good place to pull off of the expressway, and even if they'd been on a side street, the piles of snow everywhere blocked most of the street parking.
"Keith?" Shiro questioned from the front, unable to give them his full attention as he frantically searched for somewhere he could stop.
"It's not that," Keith answered, and Lance could see now that he was sitting up that he was more flushed than pale. He lifted the saddest puppy eyes to Lance, turning to him again in search of relief. "It's my back," he admitted. "It feels like it's going to snap in half."
"Oh!" Lance exclaimed, relieved despite the circumstances. "Geeze, that's bad timing. You can't ever catch a break, can you, Lobito?"
"It means something?" Shiro asked, his driving calming again.
"It's the last stage of this version of the flu," Lance answered them both, though he was looking directly at Keith, his face and voice both calm. "It hurts like hell, but it means that Keith's fever will break soon." He reached for Keith, helping him turn on the seat, helping him curl tight against Lance's hip and chest, as though cradling an infant. The only position of comfort he'd found was consistent with each patient. At least for a while, but with this kind of unrelenting pain, even ten minutes was a blessing. With one arm he reached around Keith, holding him close and with his other, he slipped under Keith's suit coat and untucked his shirt, palming the place on Keith's lower back where he knew it would be the most painful, knowing from past experience that there wasn't much that would sooth this, but the heat from a hand would do at least something. Keith whimpered, resting his head trustingly against Lance's chest, even though the buttons and patches that were part of the uniform probably weren't as comfortable as the long sleeved Tshirts and sweaters Lance had been wearing all weekend.
"How soon?" Keith grunted with his teeth clenched.
"I shouldn't have said soon," Lance backtracked. "We're talking several hours. In your case, it could be more than twelve." Another whimper. Lance pulled him as close as possible in the strange position in the backseat. He just has to sit there, Shiro had said. Except just sitting had now become excruciating for Keith. "It doesn't feel like it, I know, but it means you're getting better." Keith twisted a little to give him an uncertain look, and Lance didn't blame him.
Shiro pulled off the expressway and started driving north this time. Everyone quieted, sensing their destination was close. Lance held Keith, and though he was unable to assure him in English, somehow it didn't seem so futile doing the same thing in Spanish, more lullaby than empty words that way. "Va a estar bien," he murmured, keeping his hand tight and warm against Keith's back. "Está casi terminado." Shiro continued to check on them in the mirror, his glances more and more frequent as he noticed that Lance was no longer speaking English. Like he wanted to ask about it but didn't know how. Lance didn't offer an explanation. If Keith and Shiro could have secret phrases and inside meanings, then Lance could have that too.
All too soon, Shiro was pulling off California Ave and onto a sort of drive, and Lance was looking up at a concrete block of a building with eight intimidating columns stretched evenly across its face. The courthouse even looked like it was covered in prison bars, all the windows slit with stone. Lance involuntarily swallowed.
"Ok, you two," Shiro instructed. "I'm dropping you off here because the parking lot is up past 26th street. Leave your phones in the car; you won't be able to bring them in. Lance? There's a little reception area in the front entrance, just past the metal detectors. Wait for me there."
Lance tried to keep his mind from running into a wildfire of details. He'd just been handed the position of Incident Commander in Charge again, except he was out of place here. He'd never seen this building, had no idea what was inside. Hadn't known, though he should have expected, that he would be single-handedly responsible for assisting Keith through the front door.
"Right," Lance whispered, wishing his voice sounded stronger for Keith's sake. "Here, Keith, before we go in." Keith twisted agonizingly from his lap as Lance reached for his bag again, pulling out his phone as instructed as well as an emesis bag, more alcohol wipes, and his most comfortable, reusable black face mask. He took it upon himself to stuff the bag and wipes into the inside pocket of the suit jacket, and then tucked the loops of the mask over Keith's ears, slipping his fingers around the edges to adjust the fit. He didn't want Keith to have to wear it, but he was likely still contagious and they were entering a public place. Just because he and Shiro were willing to take the risk on not catching anything from him didn't mean that Lance could knowingly inflict that risk on anyone else in that building.
He took a couple more seconds to simply hold Keith's face in his hands after the mask was in place, looking at the effect. Covering Keith's mouth and nose made his eyes seem even larger, and the color of the mask darkened them. Lance's nerves struck him hard in that moment and he found himself defensively breaking into a weird giggling fit. Keith's eyes narrowed.
"Lance?" Shiro questioned warningly. Like he might be regretting his decision to bring Lance along, and who could blame him for that? Even Lance hadn't known he was finally going to have a nervous breakdown in the car seconds from the front door of the courthouse. Though looking back, he probably should have known it would be Keith's eyes that would break him.
"Got it," Lance managed, calming down, exiting backward from the car so he could give Keith a supportive hand. "Come on, Tuxedo Mask." He could tell that Keith didn't get the joke, that it was not that great of one, and the timing was the worst, but he had to say it. Had to push for something normal in the situation, seek out anything he could control as he escorted Keith into this cold, concrete building. One that Keith might not be coming out of.
Bag on one shoulder and Keith clinging to the other one, Lance steeled himself to be strong, to support and defend Keith as much as he was able. Keith walked hunched at his side with an almost limp from the pain in his back, from the debilitating weakness of the past few days, with the dread of what was waiting for him that the Xanax could dull but not fully remove. Together, they staggered up the three steps and across the icy entryway to the glass front doors, covered in official postings and notices with the words George N. Leighton Criminal Court Building arched over the two central entrances.
As Shiro had warned, each entrance had its own metal detector and a security officer in full uniform to man them. Lance prepared himself for a rough procedure, but the entrance guards were amazingly accommodating. They expectantly stopped them to ask for names and what business brought them to court today, but they quickly noticed that Keith needed extra help. Within minutes, someone had brought a wheelchair, and they gently patted Keith down instead of wheeling him through their machine. They inspected the contents of his pockets, but replaced everything when none of it was of particular concern, speaking to him with calm reassurance through the whole thing.
Lance had a slightly harder time – he was covered in gear. He had to remove his stethoscope and belt. They had him take off the black boots, and the contents of his backpack was carefully scrutinized. Lance suspected that they were going to confiscate the water bottles and the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that Hunk had apparently packed in secret that Lance was surprised to see when the guards pulled them into the open. But in the end, they allowed everything through once Lance had shown them his ID and his volunteer EMT card.
It was Keith's turn to laugh uneasily as Lance came away, pushing the chair with one hand and carrying his boots with the other toward the waiting area that Shiro had mentioned.
"You'd think you were the criminal," Keith told him as he sat uncomfortably in the chair watching Lance retie his laces.
"That was actually a lot better than I thought it was going to be," Lance returned, finishing up and looking toward the doors for Shiro. "How are you doing?"
"Just don't ask."
Lance reached over to pat Keith's knee, appreciating the wheelchair at the same time he hated how it was keeping him so distant. Keith put his hand over Lance's, needing the contact, unable to sit upright, and still trembling. They sat silently together this way for several more minutes, waiting. There weren't many people in this area of the courthouse, but the ones who did move past them did so with nervous glances at Keith, who bowed his head so he wouldn't see how everyone was avoiding him. Lance hated them for it, but understood. Keith looked terrible, part plague victim and part Hannibal Lecter.
"There's Shiro," Lance told him comfortingly as he spotted the entirely black suit coming past the brightness of the doors. There was expectedly a bit of an issue with the metal detectors and Shiro's prosthetic. He had to remove his suit coat and roll back his sleeve so he could be examined, though he took it all with the familiar grace of someone who is asked to do this sort of thing all the time.
He spotted them quickly after he was cleared to enter, and Lance watched him stare at Keith as he crossed the polished floor to where they waited. Without a bit of a pause, he went down to one knee in front of the wheelchair to make eye contact with his adopted brother, reaching up to place a hand at the back of Keith's neck. He wisely did not ask Keith how he was doing, taking all his answers from just studying him this way.
"We're on the fourth floor," Shiro told them, standing to take custody of Keith's wheelchair, pushing it with certainty towards the elevators. Keith shrank into the seat, curling miserably to one side, ashamed and terrified. Lance flanked the chair, keeping an eye on Keith even as he took in the building.
For some reason, he'd expected it to be covered in dark wood paneling, but it was much more modern than that. The walls were painted a light dove gray, the tile almost the same color as the hospital. Instead of wood trim there was galvanized metal, and it seemed as though all of the doors, at least on the main level, were made of glass. The outside of the courthouse looked as old as the city itself, but the inside had been updated pretty recently.
The fourth floor was nearly identical to the first, though the doors up here were much more solid, because up here was where the secrets were. Where trials happened. Pictures of past judges, administrators, and donors lined the walls at regular intervals along with several pictures of what Chicago had looked like when this place had been built. The hallway eventually gave way to another waiting area, but Lance knew they were close before he saw it because he could hear Krolia long before they got there.
She didn't see them; her entire focus was on her phone as she paced in a frenzy along the far wall. They all stopped just a few steps away from blocking the hallway, though Lance was the only one who did so in shock and not out of respect for the privacy of her conversation. However, at her volume level there was nothing private about it.
"Keith, that's your lawyer?" Lance sort of gasped the question.
"Yeah," Keith confirmed, not near as emotional about it as Lance was, but he'd spent more time with her and had built up some immunity to her presence.
"Dude, you have nothing to worry about," Lance breathed, watching Krolia. What Keith had mentioned was true; she was taller than Lance, but not by very much. Still, she seemed taller because she was indeed an extreme kind of thin. But there was no weakness to her figure; she was as strong as a slim steel rod, and as she paced there in her blood red stilettos, Lance had an abrupt revelation as to what people meant when they were said to be dressed sharp.
Krolia wore a pale gray pantsuit with claret pinstripes that had been pressed immaculately smooth and fit her so perfectly that there was no way it had not been made for her. As she made an angry turn, he got a glimpse of the front, noting the modesty of the neckline and how Krolia deflected attention from where her buttons started to a rather stunning pendant of an eclipsing moon on a thick silver chain. Her hair was dyed – again the deep red color that she seemed to favor, and cut short, the kind of style that seemed post-apocalyptic in its chaos but was actually accomplished with tiny strokes by a trained hand with a razor. She'd gelled it so that it stood out from her face in wavy sorts of spikes that would have looked more goth than professional on anyone other than her, but which cooperated extremely well with the sharp features of her face and gave her a vampiric, ageless, paleness to her skin tone.
"I don't care about the snow," she was yelling into the phone. "We all live here; we all know about the snow! I got here early – my client is here from the fucking hospital, so bad roads are hardly an excuse, Phillip. Everyone's here, so you get your asses down here too. Now!"
So it seemed she had noticed them after all, though she'd made no acknowledgement until after she'd hung up, looking rather unsatisfied that all she could do was click a button instead of slamming a receiver into a wall.
"The Hunts are having trouble getting through the snow," Krolia sneered distastefully in greeting as she stalked the waiting area toward them. "They would like to postpone until this afternoon so the plows have more time to clear things." She had her lips curled in a predatory way, and she moved with a rather sinister intensity. God, she was glorious. Lance felt his heart speed up, amazed that he could be both terrified and partially aroused at the same time.
He remembered one of the songs that Hunk liked listening to, some strange zippy thing where the singer attempted to describe his idea of the perfect woman. Surprisingly, though it made reference to her physicality, it was more about her persona, and Lance had thought the whole thing so out there that it was almost incomprehensible to him until the very woman from the song was suddenly standing here in front of him – albeit in a pantsuit instead of a long jacket – though now Lance understood what fingernails looked like when they shined like justice. Apparently, justice was the color of blood and the nails were so long they could maybe slit throats. And Krolia's voice, that was definitely dark as tinted glass, also carried a hint of a growl in every syllable.
Like Shiro, Krolia went immediately to her knees in front of Keith, though she did not soften. If anything, she tensed up at the sight of him, her fury almost visibly steaming off her clothes. From his position behind Keith, Lance could now see that Krolia had gray eyes that were just like the rest of her - sharp.
"Oh my God, Kit, look at you," she told him, a wild sort of affectionate worry in the words, reaching out to touch him, cupping her hands around each of Keith's elbows. The arch of her eyebrows drew inward, and she frowned at Keith's condition. "I'll make them hurry, ok?"
Keith nodded, and Krolia pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to efficiently wipe Keith's eyes for him. Her motions were sure, but as Lance studied her closely (couldn't keep his eyes off her) he could tell that she was uneasy with this. That nurturing was not her strong suit, and she would much rather cage-fight someone than deal with anything emotional. It was taking a lot of her energy to behave this way toward Keith.
Meanwhile, Keith was struggling not to cry, almost choking behind the mask, allowing himself to be weak in Krolia's presence, probably because Krolia herself seemed more than strong enough for both of them. In a fight anyway – Keith's tears were distressing to her.
"Why the hell are you muzzled like a dog?" Krolia asked fiercely, taking it upon herself to start removing the black mask, and Lance moved before he thought about it, putting a hand around her wrist to stop her. And though he knew she was moving slow, her attention snapped onto him with a ferocity that made it seem far too quick and hard. Lance found he could no longer speak.
"Keith's wearing a mask because he's still contagious," Shiro spoke on his behalf, not seeming intimidated in the least by Krolia's presence. Military. "We're trying to minimize the risk."
"Damn the risk," she said to Shiro. "I hope he infects everyone in that room, and they'd deserve it for forcing him into this freak show."
"It's ok, Krolia," Keith's words were hard to hear, but they were all close enough to him that he was understandable. "The mask is to protect you. You're the one who will be closest to me in there, and I really don't want anyone to catch this, least of all you."
"That's sweet, Kit, but I don't mind if you want to take it off. You look so miserable."
"Taking the mask off isn't going to help with that," Keith informed her, and Lance watched her jaw clench as she realized that Keith was suffering and there was absolutely nothing she could do, no one she could fight, that would make it any better for him. The tension in her arm changed, causing Lance to release her – more than a little frightened by what she might do. She stood with a controlled slow elegance that trembled into Lance's stomach. Holy shit, this woman was scary.
"I'm going to rip their throats out," she promised with a cruel smile, and Lance swore that her canines were longer than normal. She looked like she actually might have fangs. "You see if I don't. If they don't let you off today, I'm going to descend on them with so many appeals and mistrial accusations it will rival the plagues of Egypt."
Lance felt that unhinged giggling threatening to burst out of him again, so he bit his tongue hard to prevent it, clinging rather desperately to Keith's shoulder. He'd heard violence as a form of affection before, from Pidge, but she was nowhere near Krolia's level. When Pidge said she would murder you, it was cute. When Krolia said the same thing, it was terrifying. She handed Keith her handkerchief.
"So what are the chances of this being postponed?" Shiro cut in with the most practical of questions. Lance would like that answered too. Would it mean that they could take Keith home and wait another day? Another week? He wasn't sure if that would be a good thing to have this continue to hang over Keith that long. On the other hand, he wouldn't mind if it could be pushed back until the snow completely melted.
"Zero," Krolia assured. "If the Hunts can't make it, we'll proceed without them. Just because they want to watch doesn't mean their presence is required. All the main cast is accounted for." She turned her harsh gaze onto Lance again. "Plus an unexpected extra. Takashi, who is this? I told you the courtroom is closed. It was already a hassle to get you allowed inside."
Lance did his best to stand straight and look professional, like he had every reason to be here, though he was so far out of his element.
"This is Lance," Shiro made the simplest of introductions. "He's an EMT from the hospital, training under the ER doctor who treated Keith. And if I get to pick which one of us goes in with Keith, it will be him over me. Though I thought if anyone could get us both in, it'd be you."
Krolia smiled again, this time sly, her eyes narrowing at Shiro, knowing exactly what he was trying to do in order to get something from her. However, Lance could see that Shiro had played his hand correctly. He'd touched something in Krolia by challenging her, though she wasn't ready to give in just yet. Instead, she walked around Keith, staring hard at Lance, who didn't have to look up very often to meet someone's gaze and found it extremely intimidating. Krolia smelled like very fancy soap and whiskey, a mixture that was intoxicatingly attractive to Lance, and he felt that if this woman had only come this close to strangle him, he'd likely submit without hesitation.
"The ER doctor, you say," Krolia spoke low, the growl still there. "And is this the EMT who helped her prepare the testimonial in Kit's file?"
That's right," Shiro confirmed, not sounding very sure all of a sudden. As though they'd discussed that piece of paper at length last night in a not-so-positive way.
"In that case, he's waiting for us right here," Krolia decided in an unpredictable flash. And Lance suddenly found that he could speak after all.
"What?" He said, confused. "Why?"
Krolia was on him immediately, grabbing his chin, the sharp points of her perfectly manicured nails pricking into his cheeks, rendering him speechless again.
"Because you're the sort of person who causes trouble," she told him dangerously. "The kind who doesn't understand how things should be handled via proper channels, who isn't going to sit still and keep his mouth shut. And that's the last thing I need when we're in there. What were you thinking, taking confidential evidence from a closed court case and displaying it in the ER? Asking for unsanctioned medical testimony? You just be grateful that I shredded it before anyone else found out what you did."
"You . . . shredded it?" Lance choked out past the grip she had on his face. All that hard work, all that he'd asked of Dr. Delacroix, all for nothing.
"You're welcome," she hissed.
"Krolia, please," Keith interrupted, grabbing on to Lance's arm and using it to get himself out of the wheelchair, in preparation to stand between them. But the pain in his back was too much for him to stand straight, or on his own. He winced, folding alarmingly forward, and Lance braced him while Krolia again took hold of his elbows, scrutinizing the situation. Shiro hurried to Keith's other side to help keep him from falling, and he sagged between them all, but stared strong at Krolia. "We didn't know; he was just trying to help me."
"You of all people should know that intent doesn't always justify the crime," Krolia said, as if unable to yield on any point.
"Please, Krolia," Keith begged a second time, but for a different thing. "He's my friend."
"Please, yourself," Krolia shot back. "Enough of this; Kit, you're shaking. Sit back down."
As Shiro and Lance helped Keith return to the wheelchair, Krolia sighed, watching Keith's pain as though it belonged to her, then turned her burning gaze back to Lance. "If I do this," she began her conditions. "You sit in the back and do not move or speak. You call absolutely no attention to yourself, do you understand me?"
Lance's instinct was to return with a "Sí, Doña," since she was so formidable, but he switched it out to a simple, "Yes, Ma'am," that didn't seem to pacify her in the least.
"No guarantees either," she gave a final caveat. "But I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, wait here."
Author's Note: Yes, let's all wait for Krolia . . even though it's maddening. But hey, they finally met each other. We finally got into the courthouse. Things are happening. Just gotta wait a little longer. Where are those Hunts?
