You Could Have Told Me

by Karin-Sama3

College AU where Lance is a driven pre-med student unfavorably partnered on a project with a raven-haired slacker who has been cutting class for two weeks. After an angry confrontation leading to Keith staying over at Lance's apartment, Lance learns that he shouldn't judge people too quickly. I've written the story I wanted to read and thought I'd share.

25. Irreconcilable Differences

Author's Note: My apologies again for the long wait between chapters, everyone. Now that Keith is feeling better, we've entered a rather delicate place. Plus, I'm still being a schoolteacher and a full-time employee, and there are all these people and animals around that seem to be under the impression that I'm responsible for feeding them. Still, I made some time for you all. Because I want to keep moving forward with this story – there are so many scenes I want to get to. Let's get to some now, shall we?

Chapter Twenty-Five: Irreconcilable Differences

Lance debated long and hard early Tuesday morning, standing in his scrubs near his bed, staring at Keith, his arms folded and his fingers drumming along his biceps. Should he risk it? Would it be ok? Probably?

There was such a difference in Keith's rest now. He still kept his hands curled against his chest, though he no longer appeared to be in pain. His breath came easily, deep and sound. For as long as Lance had watched him yesterday and again this morning, he hadn't moved or murmured in distress. No nightmares. No fear. Just a beautiful, dark-haired boy enjoying the pure sleep of a recovering patient – true rest. Which meant that Lance could very likely head out to his biology class and return before Keith ever woke up. Lance had almost picked up his backpack and left three times already, certain that this would be the case, but then that damning "what if" made him pause, look closer at Keith's face, and wonder if it truly would be safe to leave him. He'd been with Keith practically every second since bringing him home last Friday. It no longer felt natural to be a separate entity from him, and it felt especially wrong to leave him on purpose without even telling him where he was going.

And yet. Lance had a lot he was supposed to do today. The biology class was just the beginning. Directly afterward, he was due for a morning shift at the donation center. Then there were two more classes back to back in the afternoon, and finally, worst of all, Lance was on-call tonight with the ambulance. A twelve-hour shift that started at six and meant that Lance wouldn't be home longer than a few minutes at a time until dawn tomorrow. Lance guessed that the classes could be skipped, but it meant that Lance would be even further behind, would then have to carve even more time from an already tight schedule to dig himself out from under the work and instructions he would miss. He could tell the donation center that he needed another day off, but it felt wrong to leave them short-handed again, especially since he hadn't been all that truthful with them in the first place. But really it wouldn't help much to skip anything because there was absolutely no getting out of the ambulance run. Especially since Lance had asked to be scheduled today, specifically, in order to keep his Saturday free for Hunk's birthday. He'd known when he switched it that he would probably regret moving to a weeknight, but that was when he'd only been thinking about how he wouldn't be able to sleep in the morning after. Now that it meant leaving a recovering Keith alone for the entire duration of a night, it seemed a definite unfixable mistake.

In the end, when he really should have already been walking to class, Lance wrote a note for Keith in case he woke up before Lance got back. He told him where he was going, what time he thought he'd be home. He explained where he had left Keith's medication with instructions on what he was supposed to take, and when, and he underlined the sentence a couple of times to emphasize that Keith should take everything with food and he was welcome to whatever he thought he could handle in the kitchen. Lance begged him to take it easy, please don't overdo it today. He reminded him that even though he probably felt better, he would still need a few rest days to get his strength back. Shiro was coming over later to keep him company. Hunk had promised to stay close to the apartment today. In case Keith had forgotten, Lance wrote his cell number again, asking for Keith to call him for anything. For anything! He wrote that he'd rather drop everything and come home early than have to pick Keith up in the ambulance later.

Writing that forced Lance to look at Keith one more time, wondering if that could be a possibility. What trouble could Keith get into with his fever finally broken? With his heart medication working and his iron supplement balancing out his anemia, what were the odds that he could relapse at this point? Small, Lance decided, if he didn't try anything too strenuous. Lance wrote it out one more time that Keith needed to stay down. Take frequent breaks. Take naps, for heaven's sake. Stay in the apartment, stay in bed if he could stand it. Just stay. Please.

Lance carefully placed the note on his mattress near Keith's head, then somehow tore himself away from his room without touching Keith. He'd be all right. Lance knew he would. The worst was over, the trial was over, and Keith would only improve from now on. But that wasn't all that was truly worrying Lance. In fact, knowing that Keith was getting better was actually troubling him more. Because it meant that there would be nothing keeping him at Lance's apartment. Nothing to keep them with each other anymore. If Lance weren't taking Keith's temperature, comforting him in the dark, he no longer had a reason to be near him, to touch him. Lance could probably stretch this out for another day, maybe as many as three, but then he knew that Keith would pack up his duffle bag, thank Lance for all he'd done, and disappear with Shiro. He might never see him again.

Or would he? Maybe they really were friends now? But that was something else bothering Lance. Could he just be friends with Keith? Could he sit with him in class, invite him to Hunk's birthday, and then just . . . be casual with him? Now that he'd held him, carried him through his darkness, now that he'd kissed the back of his neck. Could he continue with Keith and pretend none of that had happened? Lance battled with this all the way to biology, not sure exactly which scenario would be worse, then tried desperately not to think about either possibility so he could concentrate. He found it almost impossible and wondered if this was just how it was going to be now. If Keith had somehow broken his ability to think clearly, to focus on anything that was happening around him. Which, of course, distressed and distracted him even more. He had things to do; he had to be able to pay attention to them. Still, he focused more on what Keith might be doing at his apartment than the lecture, and then hurried to check his phone the moment the professor dismissed them.

Lance was halfway relieved and halfway disappointed when there were no messages from Keith after class. The good news was that Keith didn't need him. The bad news was exactly the same thing. He sent Keith an update text just in case, letting him know that he was on his way to work where he wasn't allowed to have his cell phone turned on. If Keith needed him, he could call the donation center directly and ask for him. As he walked through the winter-covered campus, Lance reprimanded himself about keeping his head in the game. Drifting off during a biology lecture was one thing. Not paying attention when hooking a donor to a centrifuge was completely different. He would have to put Keith out of his mind.

He was almost completely ready to do that by the time he got to the donation center. Or at least he'd rescheduled his brooding about it to a better time. But then he ran into some confusion that upset the whole concentration thing. He was barely out of his coat and clocked in when one of the newest techs, Brett, suddenly appeared next to him. They had Thursday night shifts together normally, and Lance had done most of his training with him, but it was out of place to see him on a Tuesday morning. It was also strange for Brett to come directly to him; Lance normally had to go find him when they were supposed to work closely together. He needed quite a bit of direction on what to do and when.

"What are you doing here?" Brett asked him, staring him up and down suspiciously, like it wasn't possible for Lance to physically be here, despite the obvious evidence standing directly in front of him.

"Um, working?" Lance replied, caught off guard. What kind of question was that? He could just as well ask Brett the same thing; this wasn't his usual shift time. Brett stood as tall as Lance, but bigger. Broader in the shoulders, in the waist, even his hands and voice were bigger. And no matter what, he always looked like he'd skipped shaving. "What are you doing here?"

"Steve called me in to cover for you," Brett answered, defensive, also looking confused and slightly offended. Like he thought someone was trying to waste his time. Lance thought there must have been a misunderstanding.

"Yesterday?" Lance clarified. He'd written Steve, their supervisor, on Sunday night and let him know that he'd be gone on Monday. He felt sure that he'd only asked for one day off; there'd been no need to call Brett in for today. Actually, Lance felt slightly annoyed that Brett had been called in to cover for him at all. They were nowhere near the same level. But then again Lance hadn't given Steve a whole lot of notice for his absence. He'd probably brought in the first person who said they could spare the time. It wouldn't matter to Steve that Lance didn't really approve of Brett; he just needed someone to cover the shift. And Lance knew he wasn't being fair in his assessment since Brett was still learning, but it made Lance tense to even watch him. He was just so . . . big, and he moved so fast, every gesture sudden and choppy. He made Lance nervous.

"Yeah, yesterday," Brett confirmed, still watching Lance in an interrogatory manner. "But he said you'd probably need today off too."

"Well, I don't," Lance heard himself say, then paused. What was he doing? If Steve already expected him not to be here, then shouldn't he just put his coat on again and leave? It'd be an easy thing; Brett was already here and expecting to work for him. Though he didn't feel all that comfortable leaving his patients in Brett's novice care. He'd barely stopped Brett from ramming a needle completely through a donor's vein the last time they'd trained together. He wondered how well he'd done yesterday on his own. Had it been the first time he'd been on his own? Or maybe someone else had monitored him.

"You sure about that?" Brett continued with the annoying questions, staring conspicuously at Lance's face. At the healing bruise that was making its way toward the grotesque yellow, green, and brown color, hanging on to purple still in the center. Lance didn't like the tone or the stare, even though he knew better.

He doesn't mean it as a challenge; Lance told himself firmly, forcing himself not to bury his face in his hanging coat. There is no need to rise to this; he's just asking a question. He's not a bad guy; he's not trying to rub you the wrong way. The Texas drawl in Brett's accent was making it seem like something more than what it was, and Lance knew that, but he found himself ruffled at it anyway. It doesn't matter, he repeated. Take this as the opportunity it is and just go home. That's three hours in the apartment that you weren't expecting to have today. Lance looked at his coat . . . for just a few seconds too long.

"Lance, good, you made it." Hello, Steve, what impressive timing you have. Lance sighed. "I wasn't sure you'd be ok working today."

"Apparently," Lance muttered, holding on to his coat sleeves, a little surprised at his own rotten mood. It was unusual for him not to want to be at work. Steve walked up, shorter than both of them by several inches, and yet he owned all the authority of the group. Steve wasn't a doctor, but he was a skilled phlebotomist, and he'd been running the campus donation center probably longer than Lance had been alive.

"I called Brett in just in case," Steve explained the Texan's presence. "But since you're both here, Lance, I'd like Brett to shadow you this shift if you're feeling up to that?"

Now Lance had to turn and look at his supervisor. He was too tired and honestly unmotivated to keep up with whatever was going on here. Brett was going to shadow him? Now? He really should have asked for another day. Or left a little sooner.

"I guess so?" Lance replied, more a question than acceptance. It wasn't really up to him what Steve wanted to do with the staff. Steve nodded at him, apparently trying to communicate some information to Lance with the gesture.

"Wait," Brett said, caught off guard. "I'm confused. Is this a training or a shift?"

"You get paid the same either way," Steve reminded him, attempting good humor. "But it's a training, for the record." Oh, Lance thought he understood now. Brett had probably made some mistakes yesterday while covering for Lance that Steve wanted to remedy with another training. Lance wasn't sure how he felt about this; it was almost like Steve had tricked them into it. But not really. And Lance had trained Brett before, which actually didn't say much for him now if Brett was screwing up. Maybe this was a punishment for both of them – a statement that Brett needed to learn more and that Lance needed to teach better.

"Brett, you're just watching Lance this morning," Steve clarified exactly how he wanted things to go. "Really watch him; he's the best we've got. Before you leave, we'll do a venipuncture test to make sure you've got it."

"On a donor?" Lance asked, wanting to make sure he'd understood that correctly.

"On you," Steve volunteered him, which put pressure on Lance to make sure Brett knew what he was doing since he'd be sticking a needle into Lance's arm in a few hours in front of Steve. Lance did not shift his eyes heavenward, but he wanted to. Today? Really? This had to happen today? He supposed he'd known that there would be repercussions from taking an entire day off for Keith, but he hadn't thought that it would mean he'd have to actually bleed for it.

He felt Brett's eyes on him, not hostile, maybe wounded. This was quite the blow to his ego. He'd thought he'd already successfully completed training. He's not a bad guy, Lance reminded himself. Steve has a point; if you taught him better, you wouldn't be doing this.

"Go on and get ready," Steve instructed Brett, appreciation in his tone, doing a great job of ignoring the dark expression on Brett's face.

Brett set off immediately to wash his hands and don his lab coat, stock up his pockets with tape and gauze. Lance automatically moved to follow him, but Steve put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Lance closed his eyes for a minute, waiting for some kind of reprimand on his training.

"You all right, Lance?" Steve asked him, which took Lance by surprise almost more than anything else that had happened this morning. Maybe because he didn't know. The real world, his normal schedule, seemed weird and wrong to him all of a sudden. Part of him was still in his room, watching Keith sleep, thinking about what was going to happen now. He knew it was slowing him down, but he hadn't thought it was enough for anyone else to notice.

"Fine," Lance responded automatically, the translated answer to 'it's so complicated, we don't have time or energy to get into it.' Steve looked doubtful, but since what he'd wanted was to have Lance and Brett here at the same time, he eased into acceptance of the answer.

"Let me know if that changes," Steve requested before heading off toward his office. Lance admired Steve's office quite a bit. It was the only medical room Lance had ever seen that did not have stacks of paperwork all over it. Steve kept his things tight and orderly. His office, his shifts, his training schedules. Everything in place.

Lance also went to his place, shrouding himself in the white lab coat and getting ready to show Brett, again, how to successfully place a needle. It actually turned out to be a good thing to have a shadow on his shift. Having Brett at Lance's side kept Keith out of his head. It meant he couldn't zone out; he had to verbally narrate everything he was doing and why. He told Brett how to rely on what he felt instead of what he could see. They spoke at length about angle and pressure. Brett proved a good sport and a good student, answering correctly all of Lance's questions. But then again, knowing what to do had never been Brett's problem. During the next three hours, Lance took care of twenty-four donors and only had time to wonder how Keith was doing twice. He'd also almost forgotten about Brett's test. If Steve hadn't come to get them shortly before the shift was up, Lance might have said good work and good-bye to Brett and left without giving it another thought.

"Ok, guys, come on," Steve invited them into the back area behind the cashier's office. There were a few cots back there, reserved for patients who were feeling faint or for this sort of training test. "Let's see how it went."

Lance would feel more victimized by this if he hadn't done it himself when he was new, cannulating his own trainer last year when he'd started working at the donation center. He'd also been on the receiving end of a needle many times for new trainees. It was never a big deal, but Lance discovered he was actually nervous having Brett do it. Even though he knew that Steve would be there and nothing really awful could possibly happen with a #14-gauge catheter. It's not like Brett could kill or maim him. Still. He wanted it to be over.

"Show him we know what we're doing," Lance told Brett, trying to sound casual as he positioned himself on the cot and extended his arm. Brett didn't look very concerned about the test. He looked like Lance felt – like he wanted to get it out of the way. A little like he had something to prove. As usual, he moved too quickly.

"Take your time," Steve invited, not knowing that Brett wasn't rushing because he was nervous about being watched. This was just his normal pace. Lance pressed his lips together tightly so he wouldn't say anything. It wasn't fair to Brett to tell him to do things he was already planning on doing. Not that he had much heads up to give Brett any instruction. The Texan was moving almost frighteningly fast through the prep work. Tearing open the cannula kit, ripping off pieces of tape with a surprising lack of grace. It was making Lance twitchy watching him, but there wasn't anything to be said about it as Brett wasn't doing anything wrong yet.

Lance bit back a grunt as Brett stabbed him with the catheter, forcing himself not to wince. Ouch. He'd hit the vein true, as evidenced by the backsplash that pumped up into the guard, but Lance thought he could use a lot more practice on how to get access without it being torture for the patient. He hadn't collapsed the vein or rolled it, just jabbed into it too hard, like he expected Lance's skin to be more resistant. Despite this, the venipuncture had been a success. Lance looked to Steve for his assessment and saw that his expression mirrored Lance's feelings exactly.

"What do you think, Lance?" Steve asked, once Brett had reversed the whole process, removing the needle and disposing of it properly. The yanking it out part hadn't hurt, but watching Brett go at it caused Lance to tense up his arm in expectation that it would, an anxious tingling in all the nerves around the puncture site. Lance paused in his answer, pressing a gauze pad to the inside of his elbow.

"The steps were all there and correct," Lance allowed. "He did it right."

"But?" Steve prompted, and Lance wondered why he was making him say it.

"But it hurt," Lance confessed, looking apologetically at Brett. "Try slowing down. Pretend you're trying to cannulate a water balloon without popping it. In fact, I'd practice that, if I were you." Because it wouldn't do much good to have a tech on the floor that donors flat out avoided because they knew they'd be stabbed.

"That's impossible," Brett scoffed, with a forced laugh as though Lance had made a joke. Lance shrugged, not really caring if Brett took his advice or not at this point. He was ready to leave.

"No, it's not," Steve contradicted authoritatively. "I've seen Lance do it, and I agree. Get yourself some water balloons and polish up your technique. Lance? Is that going to bruise, do you think?"

"Too soon to tell," Lance admitted, though he was almost certain that it would. There were so many variables that went into a venipuncture. How much fluid was in the vein, how hard the needle had gone in, the angle, the depth, how easily the donor bruised in the first place, and what the donor did with their arm after they were finished. Sometimes a tech could bruise a donor on one visit, but then have everything go just fine the next time. Lance knew of a girl that bruised from her wrist to her shoulder on her first donation, but then never bruised again on subsequent visits. Basing Brett's performance on whether or not Lance's puncture site bruised wasn't really fair in Lance's opinion, especially since he knew he'd be working tonight. He decided to take it out as a factor in the decision-making process. Some techs hurt more than others; there was no getting around it except to have them practice. Since Brett had done the steps correctly, there wasn't any good reason not to let him practice. Though Lance intended to keep Brett away from the more delicate donors on Thursday, if he could help it.

"So do I pass?" Brett asked, rather impatiently.

"Yes," Steve allowed, slowly. "But slow it down. I had some complaints about you yesterday, and I'd rather not hear any more."

"Complaints?" Brett said, standing straighter. "About what?" Lance started to get up. He could guess exactly what the complaints had been about, but this conversation sounded as though he didn't need to stick around anymore. If he was quick, he could run home to change, eat, and check on Keith before his next classes.

"I gotta go," Lance excused himself quietly between Steve's explanations and Brett's defensive responses. "Thanks for covering for me yesterday."

He didn't think anyone even heard him, but he didn't care all that much. He wanted to get home. Except the place was deserted when he arrived. There was a note on the table from Hunk. He said that Shiro had come to pick up Keith, who looked pretty decent today, so Hunk was out with Pidge, but he'd packed Lance a lunch to take on the ambulance shift with him. He'd also left him a yam burrito to eat now.

Lance stood at the table, awkwardly reading the note repeatedly to see if there was anything more to it, though he didn't know what he expected. He thought about calling Shiro as he made his way to his bedroom to switch out the books in his backpack and change from his scrubs into his EMT uniform. This would be the last time he'd be home today. He felt a little let down that there was no one here for it, but then remembered that he'd be the one gone the most today, so it wasn't like he could expect for everyone to just sit around waiting for him to show up.

The note that Lance had written for Keith this morning lay open on his desk next to his chemistry book. At least Keith had seen it, though apparently he was going to ignore Lance's suggestion that he continue to rest. Lance picked up the paper, intent on crumpling it up and throwing it away when he saw that Keith had written him a reply. Lance set down his backpack completely so he could hold the page with both hands. He needed to really study the note as Keith's handwriting wasn't that great.

Thank you, he'd written. I'll be with Shiro. We're going to finish the adoption paperwork today, but then I'll be back.

He hadn't bothered to sign it, but the most important thing about the note was the part where he said he'd be back. That eased Lance a little about coming home and finding him gone. At least it wasn't a permanent thing. Lance shot a glance to the corner of his room, comforted to see Keith's duffle bag still there. He wouldn't leave without that.

After so much note reading, Lance again had to hurry. He buttoned into his uniform, zipped up his reorganized backpack, and barely took the time to reheat the burrito before scarfing it down, eating the last few bites in the hallway on his way out again.

Then there was just chemistry and early child development for the next several hours, and one last phone check before Lance was back at the hospital, though this time on the other side of it, back at the emergency room. Dr. Delacroix might have been here earlier, but she'd already finished her shift by the time Lance arrived. He wondered if Officer Guist had emailed her yet, and if she'd been pissed or pleased if he had. Lance stowed his backpack and lunch in his assigned locker, padlocking them inside. He had to leave his phone there too. He put it in reluctantly after noticing, again, that he hadn't received word from anyone at all today. Had they all just forgotten him or something?

It wasn't Grayson and Stefany scheduled with him tonight since he'd changed his normal shift day. They worked Saturdays. Today he was with Connor Shaughnessy and Dante Medina – names he knew, people he did trainings with, but neither of them were familiar to him in a work environment. They'd never done a shift together, just meetings. They arrived just a few minutes after Lance, even though he'd arrived early.

"Hey, McClain, we never ride with you!" Connor greeted him, fresh and enthusiastic, extending his hand to Lance.

Lance recognized Connor almost instantly, remembering his heavily freckled face. He also remembered that Connor and his wife had recently had their first baby; there'd been a little shower at the last First Responder's meeting about it, though Lance had never seen the newborn or Connor's wife in person.

"I asked to switch my day," Lance admitted, reaching out to take Connor's hand. Connor gripped him tight and friendly, pulling him close so he could pat him on the back before letting him go. It made Lance feel a little better about his day and his upcoming night in the field. It eased the lonely, abandoned emotions he'd been fighting since he left home this morning, the ones that had deepened when he came home at lunch to an empty apartment.

"Couldn't take the weekend traffic anymore, huh?" Dante put in as he opened his own locker. "Wanted to try a boring Tuesday graveyard?"

That actually sounded magnificent to Lance at the moment. He was still so tired from the weekend, from sleeping for only a few uncomfortable hours at a time, from being on high alert and monitoring for so many straight days. A boring night waiting around for a call would be the next best thing to sleeping in his own bed.

"I hear you guys have more fun and less bullet wounds," Lance returned, almost feeling playful. It's ok to feel normal, he told himself. Keith's ok. He's coming back. You'll see him tomorrow. You're going to have to figure out how your life works now that you can't be with him all the time.

"Oh? Is that what they told you?" Dante asked, and Lance couldn't tell if the older man was joking with him or not. Dante had run the weeknight graveyard shift for almost fifteen years. Lance had met his wife a few times, a seemingly shy woman who had the most amazing smile, especially when she looked at Dante. They had five children, all of them boys. Dante would be the Incident Commander in Charge for tonight, which Lance accepted with relief. He wanted to be told what to do for a while, and hopefully, things really would be boring.

"Dante, come on," Connor shoved him. "You're freaking him out." The way Connor spoke here told Lance that they both considered him a kid, which made sense on Dante's side, but Connor was barely thirty. Part of Lance wanted to protest this view, but part of him wanted to use it to his advantage. He placed his hand over his venipuncture bandage, which was starting to ache. Brett had really been rough with him.

"What, McClain?" Dante exclaimed with exaggerated surprise. "He doesn't freak out; look at him! He's rock solid." He switched his attention over to Lance, becoming instantly serious. "But we do need to go over a few things, because I heard some rumors about you and I'd like to validate them before we're called out. Fair?"

Lance compelled his shoulders not to slump. Rumors? He couldn't even imagine.

"Fair," he replied, mostly because he didn't have a choice.

"Ok then, true or false. Your face got messed up in a bar fight last weekend?"

Lance choked on a laugh. He still wasn't sure if this was going to end up painful for him, but it wasn't starting off so bad.

"False," he responded, glad that he could tell the truth. "It was a combative patient on Friday morning." Or at least be truthful enough.

"All right. Next question. I heard you cannulated a patient on Saturday, even though you were unauthorized and off duty, is that true or false?" Oh. So that piece of information had made the rounds already? Lance sighed, but he refused to look away from Dante. He'd already endured Dr. Delacroix about this; he wasn't going to be intimidated by it now. Though he could see that this was going south in a hurry.

"True," Lance confessed, which made Connor whistle from his witness position on the sidelines.

"And you ignored protocol and Stefany Lopez's directions?" Lance took another long breath, wondering if it would help if he explained himself. If he could make Dante understand how that had been an anomaly for him.

"Also true," Lance answered simply, judging from the expression on Dante's face that he didn't want excuses or explanations. How they were both all the same to him, and he wasn't all that happy by Lance's response.

"Last one," Dante continued darkly. "True or false. You are not going to be pulling any of that Maverick shit on me tonight. You're going to do everything I tell you when I tell you."

"True," Lance said with conviction, staring straight into Dante's dark eyes. Dante held his gaze, gauging his answer, looking every bit like a father with five sons.

"Good," Dante released him, and so the night began.

Lance quickly found out that there was nothing much different between Tuesday or Saturday night. About the same amount of crap happened. They responded to a horrible traffic accident where they took one of the drivers to the ER and left the pieces of the other for the coroner. There were no drive-by shootings, but there was a domestic violence call that required police backup. They went almost to the edge of their area to see to a little girl having a seizure who was fine and then turned around when a call came in from a terrified roommate who walked in on a botched suicide attempt. There was an obese man with angina pain and a Spanish speaking woman in labor whose husband delivered her baby on the side of the road on the way to the hospital.

Quite a lot going on in the dark, cold of a January night when all should have been peaceful and sleeping. Lance was always amazed at how many people were awake all night long. How there were always other cars on the road when the ambulance went out. Always lights on in the houses and apartment buildings, in the offices and the gas stations. All the activity that happened after the sun went down. How it all meant that he was not going to get a break.

Between calls, Lance assisted Dante and Connor in taking care of the vehicle. Making sure it was always filled with fuel. Putting things away that had been knocked down or replacing items that had been used. Sterilizing after blood spills, writing up the paperwork in the aftermath. Running, moving, shifting from trying to remember what the date was, before or after midnight, to grabbing his coat and rushing for the door. Through it all, Lance deferred to Dante and Conner. He meekly accepted every request they put to him, a diligent robot, though Dante was kind by protecting Lance from the worst of the traffic accident fatality.

It was also Dante who shook his shoulder somewhere around six in the morning after Lance had fallen asleep waiting in the back of the ambulance. He woke up startled at the company and the environment, embarrassed that he'd nodded off when he should have been cleaning.

"Where are we going?" Lance asked, trying to wake himself up, focus on the next emergency. Dante held him still.

"Home," Dante answered. "The next shift is here and I've already gone over everything with them. Go get some sleep, McClain. Great job last night. I hope to ride with you again."

"Thanks," Lance slurred, exhausted despite his catnap. He wished he could go home and sleep, but his English class was in two hours. He'd have just enough time to get his stuff, go home to shower and change, drink some very strong coffee, and then head out again. He checked his phone as he put on his coat and backpack. This time there were a few texts. One from Hunk congratulating him on remembering his dinner and wishing him good luck on the run. One from Pidge asking if he'd been involved with the traffic accident last night. The last was from Keith.

Are you always this busy?

Lance smiled through his exhaustion. His impulse was to respond right away, but he stopped himself when he remembered it wasn't even six thirty yet and Keith was definitely asleep. Also, Keith had sent the text last night at nine, so it wasn't like he was still waiting for an answer. It would be better to just get home as quickly as possible. See if Keith were even there. Because even though he said he'd be back, that didn't mean he'd be back that night. Or today. Knowing that Lance would be gone might have meant that Keith had slept at Shiro's last night. Only one way to find out.

Lance's body protested the pace he set on the way home through the icy air. His muscles were weary; he didn't even want to look at the place where Brett had pierced him after all the heavy lifting he'd done. His back ached and burned at the same time, making Lance guess he had been a little too casual about getting antibiotic on it the last couple days. Mostly, he was just a crushing sort of tired. Like he was every night he stayed up with the ambulance, but this time he couldn't just go collapse into bed and sleep most of Sunday after he hung up with his family.

You knew you'd regret this, Lance reminded himself as he slogged through campus on his way home. By the time he'd reached his apartment building, the sun was just making its appearance over the lake, somehow looking different since Lance had also watched it go down the previous night.

He eased himself into the apartment, trying to make as little noise as possible. Hunk could sleep through just about anything, but Lance wasn't sure who else might be here. It wasn't often that Pidge slept over on weeknights, but last weekend had changed a lot about the apartment – particularly the who was there and when part.

The couch was empty of everything except the familiar afghan, meaning that Pidge hadn't spent the night. However, Keith's coat and boots were in the tangle by the door, which meant that he had. Seeing that eased Lance's heart. He'd stayed. The table was an endearing cluttered mess of electronics again, and the rich scent of coffee was heavy in the air. Hunk had apparently reconciled himself to the coffeemaker and even fixed the timer so it would be ready for Lance the moment he walked in the door.

"Thank you, Hunk," Lance murmured as he leaned against the counter, steadying himself to pour the strong brew into the biggest mug they owned. Knowing it was way too hot to try and swallow, Lance did the next best thing and hugged the warmth close to his chest, keeping it near his face so he could inhale the steamy blackness of it, and taking it with him to the couch. He had to set it down for a minute so he could undo the laces on his boots, tucking them to the side. Then he reclaimed the mug and stretched out as much as was possible on the couch, sagging sideways into the back of it and closing his eyes. For just a minute. Just until the coffee was cool enough to drink. It was a bit of a risk to sit still like this, and he knew it, so he positioned himself so that if he did end up falling asleep, he'd douse himself in scalding coffee.

What he really wanted to do was go into his room and check on Keith, but he didn't want to wake him up. He'd have to go in there eventually, for his clean clothes and the textbooks he'd need for the day. Since he wasn't sure if he could do that without disturbing Keith, he figured he'd wait so he'd only wake him once, if at all. Though it turned out that he'd already woken Keith, just from walking in the door.

"Lance?"

Lance opened one eye, too tired to even startle at the unexpected voice. But when he saw Keith standing at the edge of the couch, one hand resting on the wall as he leaned against it, Lance forced himself to a sitting position. He knew it was mostly because he was exhausted and on the couch, but he'd never seen Keith looking so tall. It was rather a surprise.

"Hey, Keith, sorry I woke you," Lance managed, his voice all croaky from being up all night. He tried a sip of the coffee, discovering it was the most powerfully delicious stuff he'd had in a very long time. It made him close his eyes again, sighing appreciatively. "Guess I'm used to Hunk being a heavy sleeper. How are you doing? Feeling better?"

"I'm fine," Keith dismissed, obviously not wanting to talk about himself, staring at Lance in that unnerving way again. Like he wasn't sure who Lance was, but Keith intended to find out. "Is this something you do all the time?"

"No, just once a month for training." Lance took another careful swallow of coffee, trying so summon more energy for Keith, who had perched on the chair and looked ready to have some kind of conversation, though Lance would prefer talking about Keith than about last night. "It was bad timing on this one, but I asked for it."

"How'd it go?" Keith asked, rather gently, as though he weren't sure about Lance anymore. Like something had happened in their day apart. "We heard there was a car accident. Did you have to go to that?"

"Did Pidge have her police scanner over here or something?" Lance asked, shaking his head, trying not to make this a big deal. He'd told them before not to listen to it when he was on call. It made Hunk worry and it made Pidge ask him way too many questions the next time she saw him. Lance gingerly leaned back into the couch, drained, watching Keith nod almost guiltily.

"We were there," Lance finally gave in, doing his best not to picture too vividly how bad that had been. Dante had taken one look on scene and half-shoved Lance back into the bay, forcing him to wait on radio until he and Connor brought the surviving driver over to him. He hadn't even wanted Lance to see the other one. Even so, the victim they'd brought to the hospital only barely made it. Lance wasn't all that sure he'd be going home.

"Hey," Keith called to him, shaking him from the memory, bringing him back to the apartment. "Why don't you go get some sleep?"

Lance pushed himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the couch, less in danger of drifting off. He took a long swig of coffee.

"Because I can't," he answered, trying to sound more alert. "I've got class in an hour." Technically, so did Keith, but Lance wasn't in favor of Keith walking all the way there in the early morning cold. It was a little too soon in the recovery period for that. And Lance hadn't done a stats check on him in over twenty-four hours. Some doctor he was.

"Class?" Keith repeated incredulously.

"Yeah, you know," Lance told Keith, keeping his tone light, like this was something he did all the time. "English class? Starts at eight."

"What are you crazy? Just skip it," Keith lectured, and Lance seriously considered it. It didn't make much sense, though. After English, Lance had a critique and debriefing meeting at the hospital for last night's run, and then his rescheduled Spanish oral. Skipping English wouldn't help him much. Not only that, Lance knew that getting only a few hours' sleep at this point would make him feel worse than not getting any sleep at all. Better stay up and stay moving. He could sleep tonight. Probably.

"I wish," Lance practically groaned, drinking more coffee. Such good, happy coffee. "I've got a meeting at the hospital right after that I can't skip, so there's not much point."

"So when are you coming back?" Keith asked, almost angrily. Lance looked at the ceiling, thinking about that. The question and the tone.

"My shift at the donation center ends at eight tonight, so however long it takes me to walk home after that," Lance answered. Keith looked enraged about this answer. "Unless you need me," Lance amended, seriously, trying but failing to meet Keith's gaze. "If you need me to stay, I can get out of almost everything except the meeting at the hospital, but that shouldn't take more than a couple hours. So how are you doing? How did yesterday go for you? You were gone when I came home for lunch."

"Shiro took me to the clerk's office," Keith offered, his voice melting slightly though his face remained mad. "We weren't gone all that long."

"So you're legal now?" Lance asked, liking how the conversation was turning away from him, though he hoped he could figure out what he'd said that had infuriated Keith soon. "Are you going to change your name or anything?"

"No," Keith said quickly, as though he'd never entertained that thought for very long. "I'm keeping my name, but everything's official."

"Congratulations," Lance toasted him with the last of his coffee. "I'm glad for you. Though I'd hoped you'd stay here and take it easy yesterday."

"It took less than two hours," Keith defended himself, but there was something in his voice that told Lance that Keith was pretty pissed at how tiring his small excursion out of the apartment had been.

"Bet it wore you out, though," Lance ventured, and this time Keith full on glared at him. It made Lance pause, remembering how Keith had acted when they'd first met, how wild and fierce he had been. Now that he was getting better, it seemed that part of him was returning. Keith turned his head away, hiding his expression, putting Lance off balance. He thought he was getting to know Keith, but he should have known that Keith would be a completely different creature once his fever broke.

"Give yourself a break," Lance tried to fix what he'd just done. "You almost died less than three days ago. You think you can just jump back into what you used to be able to do?"

"Yes," Keith said, curtly. And Lance could hear it. In Keith's mind, he still wasn't completely free, and it was messing with him. The court had freed him. The foster system had freed him. But his body was keeping him a prisoner still. And Lance felt guilty that something that was so frustrating to Keith was something that he was taking advantage of. Something he needed to go on, just a little longer. Though he had to admit, he was struggling to find the time that he wanted to be with Keith, to experiment on how they were now that he was getting better. It wasn't working the way he'd wanted; his schedule was too brutal for any extra or new activity.

Lance found himself reaching out to Keith, as he'd done countless times over the weekend, intending on resting the back of his hand on Keith's forehead, a rudimentary gauge of his temperature. To his astonishment, Keith actually flinched away from him, a gesture that twisted hard in Lance's spirit. It was happening. Keith was pulling away from him, from the experience they'd shared. It had been terrible enough that Keith wanted to distance himself from it. Meaning, he didn't want to be here. Didn't want Lance to touch him. Here soon, he may want to forget about Lance entirely, a remnant from a past he wanted to leave far behind.

"I'm fine," Keith repeated, adamant, though Lance could hear his heartrate in his voice. Speeding up.

"I know," Lance agreed, still wanting to touch Keith but no longer feeling as though he were allowed to. "Can I do a stat check anyway?"

"Really?" Keith asked, frustrated, and this time he sounded tired.

"Please?" Lance pleaded, standing up with the expectation that Keith would follow him into his bedroom where his notebook and stethoscope were.

"You're unbelievable," Keith huffed, but he also got to his feet. Lance noticed with relieved apprehension how much easier it was for Keith to stand, to walk on his own without leaning on the wall. The slight hunch in his shoulders was the only clue that he wasn't quite at a hundred percent yet. Lance still had a little time.

Keith kept his gaze on the floor all the while Lance took his readings. His blood pressure read normal, as did his oxygen level. Though his heart rate was still slightly higher than average at seventy-six and his temperature too came in at 99.1. Lance was starting to wonder if Keith was one of those people who just ran hot all the time, but he'd need so many more readings over the next week to figure out if that were true. But he didn't think that Keith would allow this too many more times.

By the time Lance was finished, Keith looked as sleepy as Lance felt. All Lance wanted to do was curl up on Keith's chest and close his eyes too, but that was dangerous to even daydream about. Lance busied himself putting his med gear away, pulling out his clothes and scrubs from the dresser, and rearranging his backpack again. Keith watched him quietly, his expression rather perplexed and the tiniest bit angry still.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," Lance told Keith where he was going. "You should get some more sleep. How's your mouth? Could you eat anything yesterday?"

"Not really," Keith muttered after a long pause, as though he didn't want to tell Lance that information.

"I know it's annoying," Lance admitted, sad that his apartment had become a prison all on its own when he'd hoped it would be more welcoming and comfortable for Keith by now. "But I'd like for you to stay here at least until you can eat normally, all right? Then I'll know you've made a full recovery. Until then, just rest as much as possible. You don't have anywhere you need to be, do you?"

"We're meeting Krolia later," Keith said. "And her friend in finance. There's still a lot of paperwork to get through, I guess."

Lance didn't like the sound of that. Shiro was coming to pick Keith and take him out again? Didn't he understand that Keith needed to rest?

"Try not to overdo it," Lance reminded him.

"Look who's talking," Keith murmured, though he was obediently tucking himself back into Lance's bed.

"Take your meds later," Lance went on as though he hadn't heard. "And don't forget to eat. If you need me, you can call me. I'll come home. Ok?"

Lance could no longer read Keith's expression, though after another long pause, he did nod in agreement to Lance's offer. It was all Lance could do to not smooth the quilt over Keith, run his fingers through his hair. He sighed away his longing and gathered his things, closing the door softy on his way out.

The rest of the day went by in an exhausted blur. Lance sat in the back during English, the place where Keith had been when they'd first met. For part of the lecture, Lance had to stand up or he'd have been the one sleeping through class.

The debriefing at the hospital went almost as Lance expected, though it was Dr. Delacroix who went over the cases with him, going through them one by one, asking him what had happened, if anything had gone wrong, if there was something he would have changed or improved if he'd had the chance to do it over. The words continued back and forth between them until they'd run through every op of the night; Dr. Delacroix intent on his every sentence, making him feel again like he was taking a test. Only when they'd discussed every call at length did Angelique turn to other topics – asking about Keith and the trial. Asking if Lance had suffered any delayed panic response to any of the cases on the run. She seemed satisfied by his answers. Keith's fever was broken; he'd been acquitted. Lance hadn't been shaky at all last night.

He lied to her only twice. The first time when she asked if he was taking care of the wound on his back. The second was when she'd asked him if he was ok. He could tell that she'd seen right through him. But before she could ask again, he threw her off balance by asking about Officer Guist. It made her head tilt, and she amazingly lost ten years from her eyes as she confessed that yes, they were going to go out on the weekend. Lance wished her good luck and made to leave before she could press him about anything else. She looked startled at the rush, but allowed him to go when he said he had to get to class.

Where he zoned out completely while giving his oral presentation, though afterward his teacher told him he hadn't missed a single word. He would have skipped his ballroom dance class if attendance wasn't a mandatory grading point.

Before he knew it, he was back at the donation center. On Wednesday. He worked the floor, without a trainee this time, and thought back to last week. When he'd had his first conversation with Allura about the book she was reading. When they'd made plans to meet and talk about it. When that had been the thing Lance wanted most in the entire world.

Between donors, Lance watched the clock, silently enduring the teasing from his coworkers for paying so much attention to it and how it was nearing six. He hadn't thought much about it, but now that he was here, he did want to see Allura. Wanted to hook her up to the centrifuge as though nothing had happened between them. Or maybe he wanted to get her started and then stay beside her to explain exactly what happened, force her to understand that he'd made the right choice.

But then six came and went, and Allura didn't come. The teasing changed for a little while afterward, queries about what Lance had done to offend his pretend-girlfriend. If they'd fought or if she'd just gotten tired of him staring at her like that. Though it wasn't long before all the teasing stopped completely and new questions and apologies started. Lance, we didn't mean anything. Maybe she's just busy this week. Don't worry about it. Are you all right?

The last one was repeated so many times that Lance got frustrated replying to it. Yes, he was fine. Just leave him alone already. He was just tired. So, so tired. The disappointment was nothing compared to the ache of exhaustion. It took so long for six o'clock to turn into eight, for Lance to retrieve his coat and backpack, shield himself as best he could, and head finally toward his apartment. To Hunk and maybe Pidge. And Keith.

When he walked through the door after the long, cold trip, his apartment was full. Dinner was there on the table, though just one serving that Hunk had prepped for him. Pidge had her laptop on the couch, her feet up on the coffee table, reading something to Hunk as he tended to his herb garden on the kitchen counter. And Shiro sat at attention, his elbows on the table with his fingers pressed together, just touching his lips. Keith was nowhere to be seen, but Lance saw his coat again in the pile on the camp chair, so he had to be somewhere in the apartment as well.

"Lance, you look like a zombie," Pidge interrupted herself to comment, which brought Hunk's attention from his miniature rosemary bush.

"It's been a long day," Lance defended, hoping not to sound too sharp. He slumped into a chair across from Shiro and stared at the plate Hunk had made for him, not even being able to tell what it was. He wondered if it were too late to suggest that Hunk make another pot of that glorious coffee.

"Yeah, your day is at what? Thirty-eight hours and counting?" Pidge continued, closing her computer. Lance dragged his eyes over to glare at her. She knew why he'd changed his ambulance schedule. They'd planned the whole thing. It was up to her to keep Hunk out of the apartment so Lance could cook and get ready for birthday festivities. His pointed look seemed to jog her memory about it, and she stopped smirking.

"Where's Keith?" Lance changed the subject, absently picking up his fork to sample whatever Hunk had made for him. Not even noticing if he were actually hungry or not, but he knew he must be. "How's he doing?"

"He's lying down," Shiro answered, speaking for the first time but not moving. "He was waiting for you but was having a hard time staying awake. Now that you're here, though, we can get going."

"What?" Lance paused, swallowing his bite without chewing. "No, don't. If he's asleep, don't wake him up. He's fine where he is."

Shiro blinked with exaggerated slowness, carefully lowering his clasped hands onto the table. "Lance," he began, and Lance knew exactly where this was going. It doesn't make sense for Keith to stay here anymore. He's taking your bed, and you definitely need it. Both excellent points, but Lance didn't want to hear them.

"Could he eat today?" Lance cut Shiro off. "Was he dizzy or breathless at all?" You know, when you took him outside against my advice? Lance may be dragging this out, but Shiro was rushing it. Shiro took a deep breath, locking eyes with Lance.

"He ate," Shiro disclosed, as though giving an official report. "But it was a struggle. And you're right, he was getting dizzy and breathless toward the end of our meetings today."

"Then he should stay here," Lance decided, adamant about it. Shiro's mouth twitched.

"For how long?" He demanded. Because as much as Lance wanted Keith to stay, Shiro wanted Keith to come with him. He was Keith's brother now, legally. Lance was . . . nothing. Though Lance did wonder why Keith had been waiting for him to come home. Maybe to say good-bye like Shiro suggested?

"Until he's fully recovered," Lance said, then decided that he respected Shiro enough for a better answer. He couldn't be selfish about this. "When he's strong enough that a simple meeting doesn't exhaust him to the point where he's in bed asleep before eight at night. When he can eat like a normal person." Because eating normal food would settle the anemia, which would relieve Keith's heart, ease any dizziness or weakness that was leftover from all of this.

"Then I guess we'll wait until you give the ok for him to be officially discharged," Shiro said, lightly enough, but Lance felt wounded by it. Like he was keeping Keith here against his will, but he didn't want to believe it. "I'll come by tomorrow to check on him again. Will you be here?"

Thursday. Lance's longest day of the week. He'd be gone by seven thirty in the morning, and wouldn't be back until a little after eight. Lance was never home on Thursdays. Keith was making him realize that he was hardly ever still at all.

"If Keith needs me," Lance promised. "I'll be here."

Shiro looked worried, conflicted. He got up gracefully from his chair, said good-night to Hunk and Pidge, thanking them for keeping him company, for giving him dinner, for helping with Keith. Lance's friends responded cordially, exchanges happening over Lance's head as he stared at the uneaten food on his plate that he hadn't wanted much in the first place and knew he couldn't finish now. He was so tired.

Lance tried to stand up to see Shiro out, but Shiro put his robotic hand on Lance's shoulder, keeping him in his chair. Lance only had enough energy to stare at Shiro's shoes, waiting for whatever he still had to say.

"It'll be all right, Lance," Shiro told him, making Lance's breath catch in his throat. How did he know? Sure, it would be great for him. He and Keith were family; nothing could take that away from them anymore. Lance just nodded as if he believed it, and Shiro disappeared into the hall.

He'd no sooner closed the door than Hunk and Pidge were at the table with Lance, staring at him in concern and curiosity. He didn't want to talk to either of them.

"Sorry, guys," he apologized, this time succeeding in standing. "I just want to go to bed, ok?"

"Makes sense," Pidge allowed.

"You can take my bed," Hunk offered. "I can sleep on the couch tonight." Lance smiled at his roommate, genuinely touched.

"Hunk," he said. "There's no way you can sleep on the couch. I'll be just fine on the floor. But," he amended as he saw that Hunk was sad at being refused. "If you wanted to do that magic coffee timer thing you set up yesterday, that would be amazing."

"Coffee?" Hunk said, confused.

"You know, you fixed the timer so it was ready when I came home? That was the best cup of coffee I've ever had."

"That was Keith," Pidge volunteered when Hunk still looked lost. "He made the coffee. He set it for tomorrow too."

"He did?" Lance repeated, wrapping his head around that. Though now that he thought about it, Hunk's coffee making skills were surprisingly awful compared to what else he could do in a kitchen. But it was still confusing to Lance to hear that Keith had done it. "Huh."

Lance turned toward his room, but Pidge asked him one more question before he took a step.

"So Lance? It's Wednesday. Were you able to talk to Allura? Set everything straight?"

"She never came," Lance replied, his head hanging, not turning from where he stood facing the hallway. He also didn't wait to hear anything more; he hurried into the warm darkness of his room where Keith once again slept quietly in his bed.

Lance plopped into his desk chair, too tired to move, watching Keith. That broody punk had just sat there and watched Lance drink his coffee without saying a word about it. What the hell did that mean? Did it mean anything?

The only thing Lance knew for sure was that his time with Keith was coming to an end. And even though he was exhausted, he sat there with his eyes open for much longer than he should have, watching Keith breathe, wishing he would wake up so he could talk to him, wishing that he would just continue to sleep for days and days. Wishing that he knew what Keith wanted. Wishing it was the same thing that Lance did.

"No me dejas," was the last thing Lance remembered whispering.

Author's Note: Aww, Lance, you're making ME tired. How is everyone else doing? I know there wasn't a lot of Keith and Lance in this chapter – if you missed it, that was kind of the point. How is our busy doctor-to-be supposed to make time in his schedule for a boyfriend. . . when he's not even sure if the boy in question is interested?

Dilemma.

But, Lance, my sweetheart – you can't keep sleeping on the floor, or the couch, or staying up all night watching Keith sleep. You can only do that so long – as we'll find out next chapter. Let me know what you think, my dears. You know I love hearing from you!