Author's Note: Oh my goodness, everyone, how are you doing? The world sort of ended, didn't it? And so quickly. My place of employment shut down and now we're all working remotely. My family packed up in the dead of night and fled the state to our other house In The Middle of Nowhere. (Seriously, we don't even have Internet, I'm using the Hot Spot on my phone to post this for you; you're welcome.) And we're one of those families where we are busier now than we've ever been. My husband is working as fast as he can to help people who are now severely struggling financially. I'm also still working and keeping my kids busy (taking care of chickens and fishing for our dinner is helping with that – yeah, that far into NOWHERE, that's where we are). But anyway, the point is, we are all healthy and well and actually quite blessed. I'm worried for the world right now and doing my best to send happiness and good thoughts out into it. By knitting socks the color of sunshine and sending them to a friend as a surprise. By writing letters to people I haven't spoken to in a while. And by giving you guys something new to read. Let me know if you're ok!

Chapter Twenty-Three: Breaking Point

The moment Krolia's powerful form disappeared down a different hallway, Lance's brain suddenly supplied him with everything he should have said to her. Too late, he internally growled at himself, hating how it was always like that. His spirit retreated, sulking, coiling around one of the last things Krolia had said that Lance couldn't shake, couldn't believe.

"She shredded it," he whispered to himself, still staring after her, still paralyzed in the aftermath of her presence. But saying those words out loud clicked his neurons functional again, and he whirled on Shiro. "She shredded it?" He repeated, this time with high-pitched accusation.

"Lance?" Keith questioned, still tapped into Lance's emotions. Meanwhile, Shiro raised his hands in good-natured defense.

"I'm sorry, Lance," he apologized immediately. "I know how hard you worked on it, but it can't be used and it's better if no one knows it ever existed. I was certainly going to tell you, though not quite like that. I should have never let you see what was in the file to begin with; she's right, it was confidential. "

And not only had all that work been for nothing, now the fact that he'd even tried had biased Krolia against allowing Lance into the courtroom with Keith. Lance folded his arms, forcing himself to stand still for Keith's sake, though he wanted to storm after Krolia. Wanted to start throwing chairs.

"If it helps at all," Shiro continued, but Lance had very little hope of anything he was about to say being actually helpful. "Krolia did say that it was an elegant and impressive argument." Lance exhaled so hard through his nose that it came out as an angry snort. No, that did not help. At least, he didn't want it to help.

"It wasn't homework; I don't need a grade," Lance snapped, turning his face away, hoping that any blush on his face would be read as anger and nothing more.

"She also said," Shiro went on, voice slower as though he were weighing his words carefully. "Well, she mentioned that should we need to go any farther with this than today, she'd be interested in contacting Dr. Delacroix to ask for her analysis in a more official capacity. However," here Shiro looked very pointedly at Keith. "No one thinks that will be necessary."

Lance found himself almost overpowered in the need to move, quickly and furiously, though he knew that Keith hated it when he did things like that. It was probably driving Keith crazy enough already with Lance standing here drumming his fingers against his arms, eyes scanning over the room, counting the chairs instead of throwing them to try and get a hold on himself. Would Krolia even try to get him in at this point? It'd be so easy for her to return and shrug and pretend she'd done her best.

And where did she get off insinuating that he was a person who caused trouble? She had been the one with her fingernails practically in his throat. She was the one who yelled obscenities into phones and threatened death for minor infractions, terror clinging to her like a perfume. And he was the one she was worried about in the courtroom? She was worried that he wasn't going to be able to control himself? She'd seen him for less than five minutes; they'd barely spoken to each other, and he'd been nothing but the picture of calm cooperation. Lance heard himself make that furious exhale again at the sheer hypocrisy of it.

"Lance, hey," Keith was calling him, making him shake his hands loose, getting ready to refocus. Keith reached out to him, his eyes enormous over the mask, his other hand pressed against his chest. "Why don't you take my blood pressure or something?" Lance blinked, confused at the odd request. "You know, before we have to do something about yours."

Lance's lips jerked upward in a worried sort of smirk, not wanting to admit how witty that comment had been, nor how much he'd needed it. While Keith and Xanax were turning out to be an interesting combination, Keith shouldn't have to push himself like that to calm Lance; that was the exact opposite of his reason for coming.

"I suppose you think you're funny," Lance responded, pulling all the emotion out of his voice. He took a step toward Keith and took hold of his hand for no other reason than he wanted to touch him, noticing the tremor still all down his arm. Then Lance too went to his knees on the floor in front of the wheelchair. Keith might have been joking, but it did seem that now would be the perfect time to get some stats and finally have Keith take his heart medication. It looked like he might be a little overdue on the dose, and who knew what was going to happen in the next few minutes, when Krolia would come back. "But that is a good idea."

"Wait, you actually brought it . . of course you did," Keith sighed as Lance pulled the blood pressure cuff free of his backpack. Keith winced as he moved, his eyes closing involuntarily against the deep ache in his lower back, but he put forward his arm so Lance could strap the cuff to it. Lance didn't comment as he watched Keith deal with the pain. He pulled his stethoscope out from under his collar instead, pushing himself into what he knew best. It wasn't exactly helpful, but it was at least comforting. For him, at least. Meanwhile, Shiro pulled up one of the chairs, sitting close to them and watching.

"Why is it whenever I get mad, your heart is the one that acts up?" Lance asked quietly as he listened to Keith's pulse via the stethoscope. For the most part, it was beating fine, but every so often as Lance changed position, putting a hand on Keith here and there to also shift him into place so he could hear better, he heard a definite jump and then racing for a short period of time.

Keith appeared rather startled and a little afraid of this rhetorical question, stiffening in the chair enough that Shiro put a comforting hand on his arm. Lance listened to his heart shudder.

"I . . . don't know?" Keith answered hesitantly. "Should I know?"

"No," Lance assured, concerned. "Don't look so scared, Lobito; I'm messing with you. I don't think there's any actual correlation." He'd thought that they were both using humor as defense today, but judging from Keith's reaction to what he'd just said, apparently, he'd been wrong. "Your heart is definitely getting better. It's still jumpy, though not as extreme as it was, but to keep it tamed down, let's get some medicine into you."

Lance removed the blood pressure cuff and took a moment to write everything down from his stats check. Temperature an encouraging 102.3, blood pressure nice and even at 105 / 70, heart rate still fast at 90, and oxygen saturation level doing ok at ninety-four percent. Those numbers on anyone else would have caused Lance to scramble into full treatment mode, but they were such an improvement for Keith that all he felt was tired gratitude.

"Here," Lance handed Keith a water bottle that he'd opened for him and his first 50mg dose of Tenormin for the day. "We'll wait on the iron until later tonight since you haven't eaten anything yet and sometimes iron supplements can upset your stomach. But do you think you can keep this down for now?"

Keith nodded, accepting everything Lance gave him, but then seemed not to know how to take the medicine with the mask on.

"You can take that off," Lance gave him permission. "No one here but us. Go ahead."

Keith still hesitated, looking guiltily at Shiro, as if it had just now occurred to him how close Shiro had been in the last couple days. Every expression was magnified in his eyes since they were the only visible portion of his face.

"It's all right, Keith," Shiro told him, reading him easily. "I didn't ever stop to think about it either, but I'm not worried. Take it off and take your medicine."

Keith pulled the mask off his ears and under his chin, ready to be tugged on again at a moment's notice, and dutifully did as he was told. He seemed to swallow much easier than the last time Lance had watched him take a pill, so he pulled one of Hunk's sandwiches out too on the off chance that he could be as successful in getting Keith to eat some of it.

"No," Keith protested before Lance had even mentioned him taking a bite.

"You sure?" Lance encouraged, not wanting to push too hard, but who knew how long they were going to be stuck here today. This might be Keith's only chance for calories for hours. "Hunk made it."

Keith stared at him, unimpressed, and Lance knew why. There wasn't a whole lot that could be done with a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"And by made it, I mean the bread and the jam, and I think he might have grown the strawberries himself – he's got a little plant on the counter next to all the herbs. This isn't just a sandwich anymore. This? This is –"

"Would you shut up?" Keith blurted and for a second Lance thought he had indeed pushed too hard, but then he saw Keith's open hand. He smiled in relieved triumph and passed over the sandwich, watching as Keith tore it in two, very unequal halves. "Here." Keith gave back the much bigger piece. "Since coffee isn't much of a breakfast either."

Lance didn't dare tell Keith that coffee had been Lance's breakfast for over a year now. At least on weekdays. Instead he pulled the second sandwich from the bag to offer to Shiro, who declined with a polite shake of his head.

Lance ate for the sole reason of trying not to make it awkward for Keith to eat alone. Keith took extremely slow and small bites, pulling them from the sandwich with his fingers instead of his teeth. And all throughout, he shifted in continuous and increasing discomfort, until he had to give up on the sandwich completely, rewrapping it in the plastic Hunk had protected it in so his hands would be free to shift him from the wheelchair, heading to the floor.

"Keith?" Lance checked him, preparing to catch him if necessary.

"I can't sit like that anymore," Keith practically gasped, joining Lance on his knees, trying to find some relief for the cramping ache in his back. Lance knew it was rather futile. Since the cause of the pain wasn't due to position or muscle strain, there wasn't really a good way to move or sit that would improve it. But Keith still curled over, again resting his head against Lance's lap, not knowing any of that, trying to find some position of comfort.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Shiro asked, also drawn to the floor by Keith's suffering, watching him with pity.

"A heating pad might help," Lance said, knowing it would be impossible to procure one in this place. "But mostly it just has to work itself out." Both he and Shiro had their hands on Keith now, resting their palms against the stiff fabric of the suit coat drawn taut against the curve of his spine. "It'd be nice if Krolia really would hurry them up." So we can take Keith home. Please let us be able to take Keith home.

"Why does it hurt so much?" Keith whimpered, sounding so done with everything, almost angry. Lance took a breath in preparation to answer, but then realized that Keith probably didn't actually want to hear about the dead and dying virus gathering into his kidneys, how knowing what was causing the pain wouldn't really help. "I can't get away from it."

Shiro and Lance exchanged glances over Keith's crumpled body. Shiro seemed to be asking more questions; didn't Lance have any other ideas for soothing this? And Lance was simply frustrated because yes he did have ideas but none of them were possible on the cold tile floor of a courthouse waiting room. Still, he looked around, hoping something would come to him.

"Keith? Hey, take another drink for me," Lance requested, gently pushing Keith upright. Because flushing the kidneys would help make this part go faster, which meant hydration and movement. "Then we're going to take a little walk over to that wall."

"Lance," Keith began, defeated.

"I know," he acknowledged. It was going to suck, and it was going to hurt, but this really was the best he had to offer. Keith obediently swallowed another mouthful of water before relinquishing the bottle to Shiro for safekeeping. Then he allowed Lance to pull him to his feet, with much difficulty, and together they made their way to the far wall where instead of chairs, Lance had spotted a smallish, padded bench seat underneath a huge portrait of George N. Leighton himself. Keith walked as though all his tendons had been pulled too tightly and no longer had enough elastic in them to allow any of his limbs to bend.

"Shiro," Lance called over his shoulder only to realize that Shiro was right behind him, walking silent and keeping guard. "Oh! Would you mind sitting down there? I'm going to have you hold him." For a moment, Shiro looked confused, not about the direction, but on why Lance was asking him instead of doing it himself, maybe. The reason was simple, but Lance didn't want to say it out loud. He wanted Shiro to hold Keith because he was stronger than Lance. Also, because Lance was going to use his hands as a natural heating pad, and well . . he had both hands available for the job.

"Here we go, Keith," Lance helped him settle in against Shiro, who had his arms open and ready for him. "Like we were in the car."

Ready to follow any suggestion that might alleviate the pain, Keith rested easily against Shiro's chest while Lance went to the floor again, reaching both hands up under Keith's shirt to press them against the small of his back, over the lumbar puncture scars, leaning into it to put deeper pressure into the touch. Keith groaned as the pain changed, but Lance knew that sometimes even a different kind of pain was its own relief. Shiro tightened his hold, and Lance could see how much Shiro wanted to keep Keith with him in the gesture.

"Where did Krolia go?" Lance murmured, wondering why she'd been gone so long when she seemed to be made of rush and movement. He wasn't certain what time it was; the lack of clocks in this space seemed to be a deliberate choice to keep those waiting disoriented and frustrated. But Lance was certain it had to be past ten.

The irony of Lance's impatience wasn't lost on him. He'd wanted to push this back as long as possible, but now that they were actually in the building and ready, he wanted to get it over with immediately. Because the tightness of the anticipation was making everything worse, here where it was obvious that there was no going back or getting out of it. Now that Lance knew there was only one way out and that was forward, he wanted to just get going. What was taking everyone so long? What had to get done and finished for them to sit in a room and hear a verdict being read? Not that he knew much about it, but it seemed a simple enough thing. Something that could be done and dusted in half an hour.

Lance knelt on the floor with his hands pushed against Keith's back long enough that his own back was starting to ache from maintaining the position. He forced himself not to shift, not to fidget in any way, not to give Keith any reason to think he had to move and not wanting Shiro to be the only one capable of sitting motionless for however many hours this was going to take. In the end, it wasn't his own discomfort that forced him to his feet. It was Keith's.

Keith had started the gasped-loop breathing again, holding his breath as if that complete stillness would do something, twitching and trembling in Shiro's arms until Lance just couldn't take it anymore. This was stupid; if no one was coming back, then why didn't they just walk out? If no one could be bothered to update them on what was going on, then did they really have to stay?

"Lance?" Keith croaked, shuddering as Lance removed his hands from him to stand up. "What?"

"Breathe deeper, Keith; I'm going to find Krolia," Lance decided affirmatively. "It's crazy the way they're treating you. They were so insistent you be here on time and now they're going to ignore you? Not on my watch."

"Lance, stay here," Shiro intervened, looking like he wanted to jump up and grab Lance's arm to keep him from running off.

"Relax," Lance assured, or maybe warned; he didn't want to upset Keith. "I'm just –"

"Intending on proving my point, Acere?"

Lance's spine straightened without any prompting from his consciousness, hating how he couldn't ever just feel one sensation at a time when it came to Krolia. This particular emotional cocktail was one part guilt that she'd caught him doing exactly what she'd told him not to do, one part fury for making them wait so long that he'd thought it necessary to defy her, and one part impressed confusion as to how she'd correctly addressed him in Cuban slang. The one thing he wasn't feeling this time around was frightened or intimidated. Watching Keith suffer had removed both of those.

"Not sure what you're talking about. What point? Did I actually do anything wrong?" he challenged her with his back still turned. "What about the part where you said you were going to hurry? What happened to that?"

"Lance," Shiro warned quietly as he helped Keith to sit upright beside him on the bench because of course Keith couldn't stand to continue being held when there was a larger audience than Lance around to see it.

"I know it's not your fault," Lance backtracked, but only slightly, finally shifting to turn and face her. "But waiting around like this isn't good for him, so what the hell is taking so long?"

Krolia met his gaze with an intense calmness that almost buckled Lance's resolve, almost made him apologize for his outburst, but then he saw that she wasn't alone this time. There was a man at her side, no, not actually next to her. He stood a few paces back, watching the proceedings with a critical purse to his lips. He wore a tan suit with an admittedly impressive blue paisley tie, and he stood with a presence that indicated how little he cared that he was so many inches shorter than Krolia. There was an impatience in his stance as well, in the tilt of his hips and in the hand that he lifted to adjust his glasses. The immediate disgust that flooded Lance just from looking at him kept him standing straight against them both, a demand for an answer in the strength of his posture. Krolia's head tilted at Lance as he let the silence draw out, a tiny smile just touching her mouth – not quite the reaction that Lance had expected for his behavior.

"Ok - I see why you like him now, Kit," Krolia said to Keith, who was pulling his mask securely back in place now that she'd returned and brought company. "And to answer your question,we're waiting for the judge now as well as the Hunts. This storm has pushed more sessions back than just ours. However, now that Mr. Rozensweig has finally arrived, he's insisting that it's time for Kit to come with us."

Lance glanced backward at Keith, meeting his eyes for a moment. There was a drugged calmness to them, a weariness that was beyond emotion, as though Keith were too tired for even fear at this point. He reached out almost casually to Lance to help him stand up, compliant, submissive. Like this was all too familiar for him. Like there was no reason to resist or question. Lance copied him though his spirit ached inside to see Keith's so broken, pulling him to his feet and drawing his arm around his shoulders, keeping him close as if he could share his strength. Shiro did the same on the other side, ready to escort Keith where ever he was supposed to go.

"Tamsyn, what is this?" The man, the Hunts' lawyer, said to Krolia, more than a little put out, his voice higher than Lance expected considering the darkness of his expression. It made Lance dislike him even more. Lance took a deep breath to tell him off, forgetting that he didn't actually have to do that himself seeing as Krolia was standing with them and was much more capable.

"I've already explained, Phillip," Krolia responded coldly, deciding to also address him by his first name in return for him using hers. "He's been in the hospital all weekend and still needs medical attention. I told you that there was an EMT assigned on call in case of an emergency."

"What? This kid?" Phillip snorted, gesturing vaguely at Lance, who felt his chin jerk upwards. He was getting a little tired of being dismissed this way because of his age and appearance. "Looks more like he's going trick-or-treating to me, Tamsyn; you could have tried harder."

"I am an EMT," Lance protested forcefully, but Krolia glared him into silence before he could go into a tirade about why it would be a good idea for him to stay with Keith. He wasn't even sure where they were going to take him if the meeting had been pushed back.

"If you say so," Phillip gave in condescendingly. "But you can do your job from here. We'll know where to find you if we need you."

There was so much wrong with that Lance didn't know where to start. He didn't even have a phone on him; it could take several minutes to send someone to get him if necessary. Not to mention that if he just stayed with Keith he could monitor him better than anyone else in the room and probably keep an emergency from happening to begin with.

"I recommend keeping them together," Shiro cut in on Lance's behalf. Or maybe Keith's. Maybe both; it was hard to tell. Lance didn't like how the conversation was going, didn't like anything about the room or the atmosphere or Phillip. "He can take my place, if it's a matter of numbers."

"It has nothing to do with numbers," Phillip said, speaking much more respectfully to Shiro than he had to any other person in the waiting area. Because Shiro's strong presence just encouraged that sort of thing. "It's a matter of privacy. My clients are grieving. They don't need the unexpected presence of so many strangers crowding them during this difficult time."

"Phillip," Krolia began.

"Enough, Tamsyn," he bravely cut her off. "Quit stalling. Or should I go get the Deputy Sheriff to speed this up?"

Krolia looked down on Phillip as though she'd love nothing more than to get him alone in a dark alley somewhere. She had her mouth slightly open, her lips curled back, reminding Lance of a wolf when it's about to tear out a throat. He waited expectantly for her to do just that, some verbal attack that would cut Phillip down and bring him around to her way of thinking. Go on, Krolia, Lance mentally encouraged her, actually a little excited to watch. Tear him to pieces.

"That won't be necessary," Krolia snarled, and Lance felt completely betrayed. Where was the fight in her? Why had she given in so quickly? Was she really that mad at him for trying to write that testimonial? Watching her back down here also made Lance wonder what the actual trial had been like. Had she truly fought as hard as she could for Keith's freedom? Done all that was possible to do?

"Then let's go," Phillip droned, motioning for them to head down the hall to some mysterious destination.

"Give us a minute. God knows you've had more than you deserve, and you know they aren't here yet," Krolia shot at him with such fierceness that for a half a second he looked properly afraid. When she turned back to Keith, she was gentle again.

"Now that the Hunts could enter the building at any moment, it's time for Kit to go into protective custody," Krolia explained quickly. "Both parties need to be kept in secret, separate locations for their own safety until the judge arrives. For your information," she looked pointedly at Lance, who knew that he was glaring at her but he couldn't seem to stop. He just couldn't believe she'd given up on him so easily. "It's a much more comfortable room than this one. I've got you a couch and everything, Kit, since apparently no one knows how long we're going to be stuck here."

"But there really is no way to allow Lance to stay with us?" Shiro double checked, as though he too had noticed how quickly Krolia had folded. "I'd feel more comfortable with him around; Keith's . . . not as stable as he looks. If something happens, it will be unexpected and fast."

"Unfortunately, I can't even let you go with him for this part," Krolia informed them, which made Keith seem to wake up a little between them.

"Not even Shiro?" He asked, a little bubbled question of fear, and Lance could feel his breathing speed up since he was still so tight against his side. "I thought you said he had permission. He's my brother."

"Sorry, Kit," Krolia really did seem to mean it. "That's not legally recognized yet, and those are the court rules. Takashi will be waiting for you in the courtroom when the time comes. The only person who can stay with you right now is me, and I will as long as I can."

Keith looked again to Lance, then to Shiro, a desperate sort of study, like he wanted to remember what they looked like because he expected to never see either of them again. And even though Lance was furious and frightened, he forced himself to smile supportively. He took over the full load of holding Keith upright while Shiro went across the room to retrieve the wheelchair, deciding at the spur of the moment to grab Keith in a parting hug, wishing he could hold him tight enough to stop him trembling. He felt Keith's hands on his back, felt him bury his face against his neck.

"It's ok, Keith; I'll just wait for you here," Lance said, as though it didn't matter, as though it wasn't a big deal at all. "They'll come get me if you need me. Right?" He asked Krolia, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. She looked at him with an amused sort of pride.

"Certainly," she confirmed.

"I'll see you soon," Lance told Keith with as much conviction as he could, helping him sit, preparing him to be wheeled away by Krolia. He wanted to say something else, wanted to stroke the side of Keith's face, wanted to put his hand behind his neck and kiss him. But he didn't want to say good-bye, didn't want to put any hint into the universe that he thought Keith might not come back. So he grasped his hand in parting, a good luck instead of a good bye, and then watched helplessly as Krolia bent down over the handles of the chair and wheeled Keith away behind Phillip to an undisclosed location somewhere in the building where she would supposedly stay with him, supposedly take care of him. Though Lance had already seen that Krolia wasn't big on the nurturing scene. He hoped she at least wasn't kidding about the couch. He wanted Keith to be able to lie flat, ease the strain on his back as much as possible.

Keith had his head turned, twisted in the chair to look back at Lance and Shiro, keeping them within his sight until Krolia turned him down a different hallway, completely out of their view, possibly the last they would ever see each other. It was only when he was fully gone that Lance raised his arm to wipe the tears out of his eyes and gave in to his own pain from the separation. Shiro noticed immediately and gently put his arms around him, allowing him to seek comfort against him as if they were old friends.

"She didn't even try," Lance wept against Shiro's black suit.

"We don't know that for sure," Shiro somehow remained free of judgment on the subject. "This place doesn't allow for much flexibility."

"If that were true, we would have been done and on our way home by now," Lance returned, exceptionally bitter. "They're still playing favorites." It just felt so incredibly personal, even though Shiro had been denied permission to stay with Keith too. The way that man had stared at Lance, though, the obnoxious smirk on his face, not believing that Lance was who he said he was when he'd worked so hard at it.

Lance stepped backward, suddenly too angry now to cry, and Shiro released him. They stood together in silence, in a strange place with an uncertain future. How long would it take? What was going to happen? Would Keith be ok without them? Would Krolia coax him to drink? Would she really stay with him? Questions that Lance wanted to ask out loud but didn't because he knew that Shiro didn't know anything more than he did. And the only people who did know weren't around to ask and probably wouldn't answer even if they could.

"There you are," a rather familiar voice broke into the moody standoff. Lance raised his eyes from the floor to see Officer Guist joining them, his uniform slightly different from the security guards at the entrance, an actual revolver holstered on his belt. "Oh," he continued as he recognized Lance. "And you're still around too, huh?"

"Hey Fritz," Shiro greeted, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Lance even as he took a step forward to shake hands with the officer. "You're assigned to us or are you on your way to something else?"

"I'm with you, have been from the beginning," Guist answered. "Krolia said you were here, asked me to take you into the courtroom to wait. Most of the jury is already there, so once the judge arrives, the doors will be locked right away."

Krolia might have told Guist that Shiro was there, but Lance knew that he'd been left out of the invitation because Guist had been surprised to see him. Shiro seemed to come to the same conclusion.

"She didn't say anything about Lance coming too?" Shiro checked.

"Sorry, no, just you," Guist returned, looking apologetically at Lance, who tried not to wilt like a teenager. He was in uniform. He was a professional. He was going to act like it even if no one was going to treat him with any sort of dignity or respect. "He'd better wait here."

"That's so stupid," Lance judged, but switched topics rapidly when both of the older men gave him dark looks. "Watch him for me," Lance advised Shiro, feeling slighted and ignored and helpless. "Make sure they let him have water and they don't make him stand up too long. Don't let them hurt him."

Officer Guist watched Lance very solemnly as he spoke, his gaze shifting every so often to Shiro as if to check that Lance wasn't being overly protective or dramatic about this. But Shiro was every bit as serious in accepting any advice Lance had to offer.

"If you can, tell Krolia to pay attention to his breathing," Lance finished. "Make sure he's not holding it like he keeps doing. Have her speed the meeting up as much as she can; he really shouldn't even be here and they've already kept him waiting so long."

"He's still that bad?" Officer Guist asked, breaking a little hesitantly into the exchange. "I thought – well, they let him out of the hospital, right?"

"He's getting better," Lance acknowledged, though he was picturing Keith in the wheelchair. "But he's a long way from recovered. I . . . I have his medication if . . . you know, if he . . if they decide. . .he'll need it. Maybe you should take it?" Lance offered his backpack to Shiro.

"No, you hold onto it," Guist told him, putting a hand over Lance's to gently push the offered bag back toward him. "We'll come find you if we need to get it."

"But," Lance wanted to beg to be allowed to come with them, furious that no one seemed to be taking this with the seriousness that it required. That no one cared about Keith enough to even try to keep him safe.

"I'll make sure to bring you to him to retrieve anything he might need," Guist said again, this time weighing his tone with a meaning that Lance understood. He was trying to do him a favor. He was trying to make it so Lance could see Keith again, one last time, if everything went horribly wrong in that courtroom and the jury had reached a guilty verdict. It was such an unexpected kindness that Lance wasn't sure how to acknowledge it. In the end, all he could do was sigh, rather shakily, holding his backpack to his chest with both hands.

"Ok," he gave in for the second time in the past twenty minutes, realizing that he was going to be left alone in this waiting room. He'd canceled all his plans for the day knowing that he wouldn't be able to concentrate on classes or work, but he'd never expected that he'd spend his time waiting to learn about Keith's future all alone in this place.

"Thank you, Lance," Shiro told him, putting a hand on his shoulder, not like an adult comforting a child, more like a soldier extending respect for Lance's different, but not any less difficult, part in all this.

"Take care of him," Lance responded, rooting himself to the spot and focusing his gaze on the legs of the nearest chair so he wouldn't have to watch Shiro leave with Guist to a place he was not welcome. He wanted to be worthy of the gesture that Shiro had just given him, wanted to prove that he could be whatever kind of brave was required.

"Hang in there, kid," Guist said before he left. And Lance did. He hung in there, motionless, as he listened to their footsteps fade around the corner. He hung in there as the silence of the clockless waiting room closed in around him, as though this place existed outside of time. When he finally did move again, it was to cast a scowl at the portrait of George Leighton, the person responsible for the construction of this building. Then Lance finally gave up and tossed his backpack into a chair to indulge himself in pacing. Hell, he was alone; no one was going to get annoyed watching him if there was literally no one but a portrait on the wall to see.

He counted steps as he stalked around the waiting area, punctuating the numbers with furious little pangs of indignation. Krolia hadn't even tried! Keith was alone with her. They were all taking so long to get things going; why the hell were they taking so long? But then again, he had no way of knowing exactly how long he'd been here. No phone to check in with Hunk and Pidge. No windows in this area of the building to even give him a guess as to how the sun was progressing in the world outside. There was nothing but gray walls and stiff plastic chairs and solitary waiting as far as he could see.

So he paced, changing direction through the chairs at random, like someone trying to dodge a bullet, worrying even though he knew it would do nothing except make him tired and frustrated. How had this even happened? What was he doing here? Not helping, that's for sure. Had he given Keith enough alcohol pads? Would he even need them? How long would the Xanax dose keep him from throwing up? Would it speed anyone up if he were to start?

"Wow, kid, you're worse than the one on trial."

Lance's body responded to the voice before his brain recognized who it was, tightening and twisting toward it, raising a hand as though he expected someone to hit him. Because he was waiting for a blow, just not a physical one. Guist actually took a step backward, checking Lance up and down, noting the tenseness in him.

"Yeah, well, he has chemicals to help keep him calm," Lance said mostly to himself, not backing down much, though he did lower his arm. No sense in looking ridiculous, except it was probably too late.

"You really hate being away from him, don't you?" Guist drawled, as though he were bored, as if he had all the time in the world.

"It sort of defeats the purpose of why I came," Lance returned, reminding himself that it wasn't Guist's fault, again, that he was just doing his job. Like last time.

"Yeah, I was thinking about that. Here, Keith asked me to bring you this," Guist held out a can of soda. Lance very hesitantly reached out to take it. An extremely chilled ginger ale.

"It's not his, is it?" Lance asked, guessing that if Krolia or someone had bought it for Keith that he would turn it down and instead offer it to Lance. Because he was like that.

"You two," Guist sighed. "No, he has his own, and yes, he's drinking it. Watching him you'd think it had hot sauce in it, but he's drinking it." Guist unexpectedly took the can back from Lance, but only to open it for him, ramping up Lance's social obligation to actually drink it so he wouldn't be wasting it. Even though he couldn't remember ever drinking ginger ale before. "Says to tell you he's ok."

"Of course he did," Lance murmured, accepting the drink for the second time, knowing that Keith was so not ok that he wondered why he'd even bothered trying to lie to Lance about it. He should know that it wasn't something he could get away with, despite Lance not being able to see him anymore.

"So why'd they release him from the hospital anyway? Because you're right; he still looks rough." Guist kept talking, appearing at ease on the surface, but Lance wondered if he actually were as comfortable as he looked. Or maybe this was another part of his job. Though Lance couldn't think as to how making small talk in a waiting room could possibly be included in a Deputy Sheriff's job description.

"Long story," Lance dismissed, still feeling uncooperative and mad. It wasn't any of Guist's business anyway. "Though a big part of it was because Dr. Delacroix thought I'd be watching him."

"Dr. Delacroix? She's the one I spoke to, right? The one in purple with all the braids?" Guist materialized yet another can of ginger ale apparently out of thin air and also cracked it open, as though they were friends sharing a drink after a jog or something. He was so casual about it that Lance felt himself relaxing automatically in response. "You know her first name?"

"Angelique," Lance supplied, monotone, studying Guist. What was he really doing here? Lance wasn't even supposed to be here, so why send Guist to babysit him? Guist took a long pull from his can, swallowing as he nodded to himself.

"She seems . . . efficient," Guist continued, staring at the portrait across the room from them, putting a nonchalant hand against the top of one of the chairs. And just like that, it clicked in Lance's head. Guist was interested in Angelique. He was probing Lance for information on her.

"She's a force of nature," Lance corrected.

"I can tell. Do you know if she's, um," Guist faltered, shrugging as though he had changed his mind about asking that question.

"Single?" Lance gave him the word he hadn't been able to say, feeling as though he'd been handed a little bit of control. He wondered if he could use this. Maybe exchange information about Angelique for . . what? Getting into the courtroom? Sneaking in to check on Keith where ever he was right now? He wasn't even sure that Guist could do either of those things, they could both be against the law. But then again, Lance couldn't give Guist what he really wanted either since he couldn't speak for Angelique. Maybe they were both coming to this table with no cards at all.

"Yeah," Guist brought him back to the conversation. "Is she?"

"As far as I know the tiger is a solitary creature," Lance said, surprising himself by being playful in his answer. Guist stared at him, puzzling him out, probably trying to figure if Lance were making fun of him. "Yes, she's single. Never married," Lance amended. "The emergency room keeps her busy, you know."

"I bet. You got her number?" Guist asked, his voice strong but his posture humiliated. He'd probably never had to ask a teenaged boy for a woman's number before.

"You got a death wish?" Lance returned, wondering what Angelique would do if Guist were to ask her out. Would she laugh at him? Would she actually agree? He couldn't really imagine them together. Their separate intensities would surely burn each other out, right?

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, boy?" Guist shot back, voice not quite as smooth and calm as before, enough of a stab in it that Lance could feel the wound. He took a step backward, remembering what Guist had told him in the hospital a couple days ago. How he should go home, get away from Keith if he knew what was good for him. How Keith would bring him nothing but trouble. How he'd been right, but probably not the way he thought he would be. A soft shine of regret instantly went over Guist's blue eyes, and he took another drink of his soda to bring their interaction back to neutral.

"Look, kid," Officer Guist began, obviously intending to try and repair what he'd just done to their dynamic. "No, sorry, it's Lance, isn't it? I got to admit, you don't look much like a kid today." Lance gave in to Guist's attempt at repentance by meeting his gaze, waiting to hear what he had to say. "That was out of line; you're right. It's not like I know him, not anything more than what's been shared at this trial."

"You know he's innocent, right?" Lance demanded. "If you were there for all of it, then you have to know that."

"Innocent isn't the word I'd use," Guist said softly, reluctantly, as though he knew that by sharing his real thoughts on the matter with Lance, he'd be removing any shot he had of getting Dr. Delacroix's number from him, but he felt he needed to share all his information with Lance anyway. "He made some bad choices. Nothing I'd throw him in jail for, but still – there's a lot of anger in him."

"There's a lot of kindness in him too," Lance returned, though he couldn't look at Guist anymore when he said it. "It'd probably be easier to notice if anyone could ever believe that it was there."

"I do believe it," Guist allowed. "And I did notice, now that you've brought it out of him into the open for everyone to see."

"What are you talking about?" Lance asked, tired, staring at the open can of soda in his hands, wishing he could pull his sleeves down to protect his fingers from the cold of it. "It was always there; I had nothing to do with it."

"I was just with him," Guist shared, and now he had all of Lance's attention.

"How is he?" Lance interrupted to ask, remembering that he'd wanted to ask that a long time ago, before they'd started talking about Dr. Delacroix. Guist smiled softly at him, shaking his head.

"He looks awful; he's in a lot of pain, you can tell in a second. But all he wanted was to know about you. If you were ok. Where you were; if you were still here, could I please let you know that he was all right and not to worry about him. Before, in the courtroom, or the times when I'd be escorting him in and out, he never said a word, wouldn't look at anyone. He'd just sit there with his arms folded, glaring at the world and barely answering the questions that were asked him. When he did say anything, it was quick and hard. And he never asked for anything, not once before today. And yeah, I think that has everything to do with you. That's why I came to get you."

"What?" Lance checked, not allowing himself to hope too hard.

"I say, he looks awful. And my first aid training doesn't hold a candle to yours, for sure. I know the lawyers are fighting back and forth about you, all talk and nonsense, and they're never going to get anywhere with Judge Kolivan with it. He can't give in to either of their requests to keep you in or out without some sort of time-wasting backlash, so I'm going to make the call instead. Because in my completely unbiased opinion, he needs medical assistance, which means he needs you, and he needs you with him instead of across the building. So get your supplies and come with me."

"Why . . . why are you doing this for me?" Lance had to ask, taken completely by surprise. He'd thought maybe Krolia would ask for him, but Officer Guist?

"You know," Guist said, closing his eyes and turning his head away. "Despite your first impression, I'm not actually a jerk. I have a son of my own – a little older than you two. He lives in New York now, but I remember what it's like."

"I'm . . . really sorry," Lance apologized for the harsh and hurtful things he'd ever thought about Officer Guist, feeling the need to do that even though he'd never said any of them out loud to him.

"Me too," Guist returned. "So are you coming, or what?"

"Y-yes, of course," Lance began rushing, but then thought of something and took out his notebook first, setting the untasted ginger ale on the floor so his hands would be free. "I don't have Dr. Delacroix's number," he confessed. "But I do have her email address if you want it."

"I'll take what I can get," Guist said, smiling at Lance, who wrote down the address as quickly and neatly as possible, tearing out the entire sheet and beginning to hand it over. Though he stopped with his arm half extended, which made the officer also pause questioningly in the act of accepting it.

"This wouldn't be considered some kind of bribe, would it?" Lance asked, not wanting to get anyone in trouble for what was going on here. Guist burst out laughing, reaching forward to snatch the paper out of Lance's fingers.

"No, considering I was going to do this anyway," he answered when he could talk again. He started walking and Lance fell into step beside him, both of their boots sounding hard and heavy in the empty hallway. "Though if you wanted to chat me up with the doctor, I wouldn't say no to that."

"What should I tell her?" Lance asked, pretty much ready to agree to anything Officer Guist wanted now that he'd made it possible for Lance to stay with Keith.

"That I'm kind, hard-working, and dedicated," Guist offered, thoughtful and yet still smiling as if he were joking with Lance. "I don't know, kid - Lance - you don't have to tell her anything. If I can't get a woman on my own then I don't deserve her."

Lance was starting to be of the opinion that if anyone might deserve Dr. Delacroix, it could very well be Frederick Guist.

"She has Fridays off most of the time," Lance gave him, now actively trying to be helpful, though he hoped Angelique wouldn't kill him for doing this. "Except she usually spends her days off at least partly in her office. You could bring her coffee and tell her to come take a break with you. Take her on a walk; it's a psychologically-proven fact that people get along better when they are physically moving forward side by side." Like they were doing right now.

"No joke," Guist accepted, then paused, forcing Lance to stop and consider him. "Now some instructions for you." Lance prepared to pay strict attention; Guist's sudden change in presence told him that this would be important. "Don't speak to anyone except me, Keith, and Ms. Krolia. If anyone else says anything to you the only phrase that you are allowed to say, to repeat as many times as necessary is 'I have clearance.' Do you understand?"

Yea – yes, sir," Lance acknowledged solemnly, thrown a little off guard by the abrupt change in his mannerism.

"Ok. Then when we go into the courtroom, you do not speak at all unless the judge or I address you directly. Do not move from the place I tell you to sit unless I also tell you to move. Draw no attention to yourself if you can help it. Got all that?"

"I got it," Lance answered promptly, not wanting to ruin anything now that he'd gotten this far. Guist nodded and knocked on the door that Lance suddenly noticed they were standing in front of. The doors of this floor were all one kind of gray or another, but this one blended particularly well into the wall, even the handle camouflaged by being such a slim, tight-fitting rod that almost disappeared into the trim. A different kind of waiting room – protective custody.

"Are we ready?" Krolia's tight, quick question came as she opened the door from the inside.

"Almost," Guist answered, putting a hand on Lance's back to push him gently forward. Lance forced himself not to wince. "Your client looks like he could use a medic."

Krolia opened her mouth, her face absolutely impossible to read, and she didn't move backward to allow Lance in, which meant that Guist was pushing Lance almost into her. He was now so close to her that he could see that she wore multiple pairs of earrings. Dangling moons to match her necklace, a tiny wolf's head, crystal stars, blood-red studs, a miniature dagger, and a thin ring around the very top of her ear. He could also see the place where she had removed her eyebrow ring for court. Or maybe that was just a scar. She smelled so good.

"Officer," Krolia began, completely unphased by how close Lance was standing next to her now, unrelenting, but Lance interrupted.

"I have clearance," he said with conviction, then tried to see past her into the room, tried to see where Keith was behind her.

"There you have it," Guist almost snickered, giving Lance one final push that forced Krolia to step aside.

"It's on you then," Krolia told him.

"Better that way," Guist replied, nonplussed.

"Thank you," Krolia finally said, and Lance turned around from trying to find Keith to echo her.

"Yes, thanks so much. For all of it. Really."

"See you later, Lance," was all Guist gave them before taking his leave, his boots again sounding heavy and official as he walked away from them.

"Well," Krolia turned her attention to Lance after she'd closed the door. "Aren't you a lucky bastard? Guist doesn't stick his neck out like that for anyone." Lance didn't know what to say to her that wouldn't sound smug. It wasn't like he'd asked Guist to bring him here. He knew he was lucky, but after what Krolia had just said, now he truly understood how much.

"Krolia?" There was Keith. The room made a quick twist left just beyond the door, then it opened up to a narrow sort of room with another door on the far end of it. There was a small conference table with four chairs and one gray and blue plaid sofa. The kind that can be found in offices, not homes, not appearing to be all that comfortable, but at least it was better than nothing. Probably a lot better than any of the chairs in this place, especially the wheelchair, which had been folded up and tucked between the wall and the table. Keith looked as though he had been lying down on the couch, though he was sitting up now, looking worried that they'd been summoned.

"Lie down, Kit," Krolia instructed, looping a strong arm through Lance's and dragging him with her into the room. "We're still waiting, but the Deputy Sheriff brought your EMT."

"Hey, Lobito," Lance greeted him lightly, ignoring the half smile that Krolia gave him as he said it. He was starting to suspect that she spoke Spanish at least a little and made a mental note to himself not to say anything incriminating while she could hear him. Not that he knew what he could possibly say that would be incriminating, but it sort of unsettled him anyway.

"Lance?" Keith sounded so relieved, the tension leaving his body fully visible even from a few paces away. "How'd you get here?"

"I bribed Officer Guist," Lance said, shrugging as though he did underhanded deals like that every day. Krolia let him go, and he continued toward Keith, monitoring his condition with visual clues. He looked like he wanted a huge dose of morphine, a comfortable bed, and a week-long nap.

"With what?" Keith asked, confused and possibly even more worried. Lance grinned at him, though he hadn't expected to be believed so easily.

"A date with Dr. Delacroix," he answered, then watched Keith's mouth drop open so dramatically that it could be seen even under the mask. He heard the soft rustle of fabric behind him as Krolia folded herself onto one of the chairs at the table, watching them quietly. It unnerved him a little that she could hold so still.

"Holy shit," Keith exclaimed as the idea of that fully settled on him. "That'll be –" He cut off, sneezing abruptly into his elbow on reflex even though he was still wearing a mask. Then he tightened in pain, resting his arms against the cushion of the couch, leaning far over to the side. Lance knelt down next to him as he dropped his forehead into his hand on the seat, groaning a little.

"Kit?" Krolia asked, standing much faster than she'd sat down, coming around Lance to slip onto the couch between the armrest and Keith's bowed head. Lance had his hand on Keith's shoulder, knowing what had happened. The force of sneezing had slammed hard into Keith's head and back, intensifying the pain he was already in. Not an emergency, even though it sort of looked like one with Keith not being able to finish his sentence and crumpling over onto his side like that. Lance stared at Krolia, amazed at her concern. She glared back at him.

"Well?" She snapped, jerking her head toward Keith, and he heard the rest of what she wanted to say. You got yourself in here, so aren't you going to do anything?

"Keith," Lance focused his attention, using his Incident Commander in Charge voice mostly for Krolia's benefit. "Bless you, but I expressly forbid you from catching a cold on top of all this, you got it?" Even though he knew that happened all the time. Colds loved to take advantage of weakened immune systems like Keith's, and they frequently began at the tail end of other illnesses. Lance couldn't imagine how awful it would be if Keith had to go through that too.

"Ok," Keith agreed, his voice muffled by the mask, his hands, and the couch cushion.

"Your back's getting worse?" Lance asked, mostly for confirmation. "You probably have a headache by now too, right?"

"Yeah," Keith said, tensing but then relaxing when Krolia put a hand on his forehead.

"I have Excedrin," Krolia offered, which didn't surprise Lance. She seemed the sort of person who probably worked herself half to death through the night until dawn and then chewed the pills in the morning for breakfast. Though Lance could also sense the unease in her. She did not like seeing Keith this way; it was too far out of her element. And however against it she'd made herself seem, Lance could tell she was relieved he was here.

"He can have some," Lance allowed, taking out his notebook again to write down this newest set of drugs going into Keith while Krolia got up to find the medication in her briefcase. She was on her way back to the couch when there was another knock on the door, causing her to hurriedly hand over the individually wrapped dose to Lance. Keith pushed himself upright again, looking fearfully at the entrance.

"It's going to be ok," Lance assured him as he opened the package and got out his second bottle of water. "It's almost over."

"Lance?" Krolia unexpectedly called him, and he turned toward her from where he knelt on the floor by Keith. "Judge Kolivan wants to see you."

Lance shared a quick look with Keith, trying not to let any worry he felt sneak past his eyes. The judge? Wanted to see him? He smiled, putting the medicine and the water into Keith's hands so his would be free when he stood up.

"¿Voy a regresar?" He asked her, testing his theory about her language ability with a question he didn't necessarily want Keith to know the answer to. He wanted to lie to him and assure him that they would see each other again. That he would be coming back.

"No sé," she responded fluidly, answering multiple questions at once, even though she didn't actually know. "Pero ahora tiene que ir."

"Ok," Lance accepted, mostly because he really didn't have much choice about it. He leaned over Keith, who shifted his eyes quickly between Lance and Krolia, not liking how he'd been left out of their short conversation. Lance reached out to brush his hair away from his forehead, as intimate a touch as he dared right now. "Drink as much of that as you can, it'll help your back. I'll see you soon." And even though he had only just arrived, Lance shouldered his bag and once again stepped past Krolia toward the hallway.

He was surprised to see Guist waiting for him, but then realized that it made more sense for Guist to be the one escorting people through the building instead of the actual judge. Guist took his arm this time, not a rough grip, but definitely a firm one, the kind of hold that he used to bring defendants into and out of courtrooms, a double protection against them trying to run and for tripping if their hands happened to be handcuffed. Walking this way was probably instinctual to him in this place. Guist started talking before Lance could ask anything.

"The judge just finished, and Keith's case is next. I've told him a little about what's been going on, but I want you to explain the medical situation in detail as well as give an account as to where Keith's been since Thursday. Don't be afraid, but do be respectful."

Lance swallowed, not sure he could help being afraid. The gray walls seemed more like concrete to him now as he walked. The lights were dimmer, at least in his imagination. He thought back to Keith, sitting in pain on the couch with Krolia, and thought about all the time he had spent in this building the past two weeks. He thought about what a pest he had been with all the texts to meet he'd sent to Keith while he'd been dealing with this situation. Unrelenting stress and uncertainty. No wonder he'd gotten sick.

It was a good thing that Guist kept hold of Lance's arm. He was so overwhelmed by what was going on and what was about to happen that it was difficult to pay attention to something like watching where he was going. Not that he knew where they were going, but it seemed they'd walked the entire length of the building before Guist tugged him to a stop in front of an office door. Judge R. J. Kolivan was embossed on a placard inserted into a slide on the wall. Lance wanted to pause here, catch his breath even though he wasn't out of breath, but he definitely wanted to collect himself somehow. Guist needed no recuperative moment and simply knocked with familiarity, beginning to open the door before the deep call came for them to enter, dragging Lance in behind him.

For a moment, Lance was stunned. Everything in this office seemed enormous. The desk, the two oversized armchairs in front of it, the massive high-backed burgundy seat behind it. Monstrous paintings of wildlife were displayed on two of the walls – moose in the snow, a couple of bears fishing for salmon in a river. Twin gargoyle-sized bookcases stood guard in the back corners, bearing the weight of hundreds of thick, hard-bound books. Two large filing cabinets sat beneath the paintings, and the air of the place felt solemn and ancient.

"Judge Kolivan," Officer Guist broke the pressed quiet. "This is Lance McClain, the EMT escorting Mr. Kogane."

"Thank you, Officer. Please stay with us," said the judge in the deepest voice Lance had ever heard. He decided to channel Shiro and stood in his best imitation of parade rest, trying not to stare too hard at the man behind the desk, a file open in front of him and a pen at the ready for notes. Like the rest of the office, the judge himself was an enormous man. Big enough that he didn't really look like a judge. He looked more like an Olympic wrestler. His shoulders were so massive that Lance doubted he could sit back comfortably in his chair. He had a broad nose which fit well against his broad, squarish face, and skin darker than Reggie's. The only thing light about the judge was his graying hair.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. McClain. I have some questions for you, if you're willing?"

Lance swallowed again, trying to coat his dry throat as he stood in the judge's deep brown gaze. His eyes were not fierce like Krolia's or soft like Shiro's. They were somewhere between – completely impartial. Lance found that all he could do was nod.

Judge Kolivan offered them seats in the large chairs and began asking his questions. How long had Lance been an EMT? How long and in what capacity did he know Keith? What exactly happened after Keith had left the courthouse on Thursday evening? What medical limitations was Keith struggling with currently and what were the risks involved in keeping him from resting at home? Was there anything else that Lance thought the judge needed to know?

Lance gave the most thorough answers possible without babbling. He told the judge that he hadn't known Keith when he tracked him down on Friday morning after class, but now that he'd spent practically every moment since then with him, they had become good friends. He almost spoke about the document he had written with Dr. Delacroix but decided at the last second that he'd better not. He also did not ask to be allowed into the courtroom; Officer Guist did it for him.

Guist confirmed what he could about Lance's story. How he had witnessed Keith collapse himself on Saturday afternoon. Had seen Lance take him away to the hospital in an ambulance and spoken with the ER doctor there regarding the severity of his condition. He closed with his opinion that Lance be allowed admittance to the courtroom despite the Hunts' insistence that it be closed.

"I see," Judge Kolivan toned thoughtfully over the fingers he'd pressed together at his chin. "Very well. Officer Guist if you could please have Mr. McClain assist you in escorting the defendant into the courtroom and then finding him a seat where he can monitor? We will keep the proceedings as brief as possible."

"Y-your honor?" Lance practically squeaked, so grateful that this had been granted to him that he was surprised he was taking a chance in asking this question.

"Yes, Mr. McClain, what is it?" The judge asked quietly, though he was now looking down at the file.

"If Keith is . . . if the jury says he's guilty, what happens to him?"

"Ah," Judge Kolivan breathed, and raised his head again to look at Lance, not unkindly. "He won't be thrown immediately into a cell, if that's what's worrying you. There is a medical wing at the prison where he will receive any and all necessary treatments. He won't be transferred into the facility until he's fully recovered."

"Oh," Lance exhaled, though this answer didn't really make him feel any better. He actually thought it was odd that the prison would be prepared to offer Keith more treatment than the hospital. It seemed a little backward. Still, no matter what, Lance didn't want Keith to go there.

Officer Guist was standing now, reaching down to also pull Lance to his feet. Because it seemed that now was really time to get started. The waiting over. The uncertainty nearly at its end. All the movement back and forth to this room and that room and who goes where all sifting down to this one last walk to pick Keith up and take him into the courtroom.

"Thank you, Officer," Judge Kolivan said one last time. "I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes."

Author's Note: Yes, I wanted Krolia's first name to be Tamsyn – I don't know; it works for me. And no, I don't actually know how things go inside of court buildings. I'm doing a lot of guessing here – and retelling a few things that I've heard from people I know who have had to be there for some reason or another (not manslaughter, thankfully). Thanks for hanging in there this long – there's no way to drag it out any more. Though that wasn't what I was doing. Verdict's up next. Fifteen minutes. Or you know, whenever I can find some writing minutes now that I'm working from home and homeschooling my three kids.

Still love you though! And this story. Thanks so much.