Author's Note: Hey there! My kids have discovered this new thing where they Leave Me Alone for hours at a time. I'm still getting used to that, but it does leave me with more writing time without having to do it in the dead of night. I mean, I know it's the dead of night right now, but it's ok. Thank you everyone for your sweet concern for my well-being. You're all just the most amazing readers I could have ever hoped for.

In fact, let's talk about that for a second. I really appreciate you, honestly. Writing this has been so very fulfilling for me, AND it has brought me a richness in readership beyond my expectations. It has turned into real, honest, exists in real life friendships (thank you – you know who you are).

And I do have to mention John Cena (as he / she / they left a comment as a guest) – friend, I read that review every single day. Thank you for taking the time to write it. Thank you to all of you; you mean so much to me.

As for this chapter – it spans quite a bit of time. Three years or so. And if it reads a little hazily, a little all over the place where you aren't quite sure where you are in the timeline – it's Supposed To Read That Way. I think it captures the essence of Allura and Lance's relationship. I did want to give that to them, to Allura especially. I hope you enjoy (and yes, Keith is coming back, very soon!)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Matrimony

For the next three years, Lance tried to get used to it. God, he tried. For her sake. For his sanity. For his friends that had moved on. They were so busy that most of the time, it was easy to pretend that the getting used to it had already happened. He didn't have to think about anything too much, not anything past the next check on the list. Both Allura and Lance exceled at making lists and keeping calendars. And they both had plenty to fill them with.

They got very good at it, at whatever this was that they were doing together. It felt a lot like playing house, except they weren't playing at all. In fact, it almost felt too serious. Lance knew he and Allura were in a relationship, a dedicated one, but it seemed to progress without his knowledge or input, and he paused every so often as the revelation hit him over and over that this was not his imagination, and that he wasn't eight pretending to cook dinner with his primas in the mango orchard. This was really happening.

Not long after their stay at the hotel, Allura bought a contract at Stony Island and turned Lance's apartment into their home. She pranced through the door with a box of books like a certified Disney princess about to break into song, thrilled to finally be living on campus, living somewhere that wasn't her childhood bedroom on the estate. Hunk's single remaining herb plant on the counter thrived under her care, though Lance had to sneak the ugly afghan and the camp chair by the door out of her donation pile and into his closet. He didn't know why; they weren't even his or Hunk's. But he didn't want them to leave the place. Couldn't let go of them. They acted as a sort of anchor for him – reminders of the times when things had been real. When the camp chair was buried under familiar coats and Lance would pull the afghan over Pidge's head as they watched the movies she decided were essential to American culture. Back when he thought he knew what he was doing. Allura didn't notice he took them, or at least she acted like she didn't.

Hunk's room transformed into Allura's, his yellow and black plaid bedspread replaced with her pale blue gingham one. His stacks of video games and electronic whatevers turned into neat rows of shoes and hundreds of books with hardcore titles. The Once and Future King, Relentless, You Are a Badass, Building People, Extreme Ownership, The Jackrabbit Factor, #Maxout. Lance actually did enjoy Allura's room – the contrast of the soft feminine clothes and colors with the intensity and power of the literature amused him. And while Lance remained fiercely devoted to Hunk, he had to admit that the room smelled a lot better with Allura staying there, equal parts lotion and bookstore.

As a couple, they spent time together when they could, as often as they could, but mostly they had rapid conversations over text or phone, or they would frequently shoot through the bullet points of a moment as they passed each other in the apartment, crossing paths between separate appointments. Variations on a never-ending theme.

"I'm on my way out. There are leftovers in the fridge from the auction last night. My mother sent them over. I think she thinks we're starving?"

"We kind of are? I'll try to make it to the grocery store tomorrow, but I'll be home late tonight."

"Me too. How did your anatomy test go?"

"Great. You've got the city council meeting tonight, right?"

"That's right. I'm speaking."

"You'll be fantastic. We're out of milk; are you still drinking that almond stuff?"

"Yes, but just get both. I know you don't like it. Don't forget we're meeting my family for the gala on the weekend. I put it on your calendar already and your clothes are labeled in the closet for you, ok?"

"Sure. Thanks."

"Bésame por suerte."

"Hey! Bien hecho."

They had coffee at Hallowed Grounds between classes on Mondays and Thursdays, phone calls with his family on Sunday mornings, and dinners with her parents on Sunday nights. Allura continued to donate plasma on Wednesdays until the evening Lance had to catch her as she collapsed on her way to the cashier.

He should have seen it coming, really, now that she'd been living with him for a long while and he could watch how she threw herself, all heart and soul, into everything she did. He admired her tenacious momentum and energy; the amount of work she could do was truly impressive, but Lance also knew that everyone had a breaking point. The last Wednesday she came in, he could tell immediately she was exhausted, knew she'd been volunteering for a local political campaign and pulling excruciating hours for the past five days, and her chart indicated that her protein count was just barely over the minimum requirement. He knew fainting was a possibility, but somehow he didn't really think that something that like would ever happen to Allura. She was so steady and strong, never had a moment's problem with donations. Consequently, it scared him to death when she dropped. He managed to catch her securely and lowered her to the floor safely, but the feel of her, limp in his arms, began to haunt him mere moments after it was over. What if he hadn't caught her? What if he hadn't been there? Why hadn't he just sent her home instead of allowing her to donate? Even though he caught her, he still felt like he'd failed her. And not just today either.

She opened her eyes after only a few seconds, but he clocked out on the spot so he could make sure she got home all right, and even though she acted like he was being over-protective, she was still pale and shaky and didn't say anything as he fed her full-sodium soup and put her to bed as though she were six. She wasn't looking well the next morning either; Lance found her wearily gathering her things together to head out to her first class.

"Nope, I don't think so," he exclaimed firmly, tugging her bag from her loose grip and tossing it over his own shoulder, taking her waist and wrist to turn her right back toward her room. He was not going to be responsible for allowing her to damage herself today. He still felt guilty about what had happened at the center and wasn't about to take any chances.

"Lance, please," she protested, though without energy. "I'll be late."

"You're not late," he returned calmly, still walking her away from the front door. "You're just not going."

"Lance, now really; I let you fuss yesterday, but I have a lot to get done today."

"No, sorry; you're taking the day off."

"Lance."

"I'll call your parents."

The threat almost made her buckle. Her parents had never really approved of her donating in the first place, so if Lance called and told them what happened, it was sure to start all sorts of repercussions that she didn't want or need in her life. He knew he wasn't playing fair, but what sort of boyfriend would he be if he didn't take care of her? A hard thought stabbed him in the side – how well have you really been taking care of her?

Once it sunk in that he was being completely serious, she submitted meekly to being tucked into bed again, though she had her mouth set in a frustrated line and kept her eyes turned away.

"I'm just looking out for you," Lance half-apologized, knowing he'd be exactly the same about it if their positions were reversed. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if someone told him he wasn't allowed to tackle all the assignments on his own list for an entire day, but still. This was different. This was Allura. He had to step up and now seemed the perfect time. "Yesterday just proved that you've been pushing too hard, and you need to take a break. I'm just sorry I didn't make you do it sooner." He spoke as he supplied her with a full water bottle and her backpack, thinking of what else she'd need so she would have no reason to get up while he was attending to his duties outside the apartment. His Thursdays were still completely booked, so he'd have to hope that she'd be a good girl and stay where he put her while he was gone. Maybe he should call her parents.

"How come you never have days like this?" She asked him confrontationally, watching him shifting things so they'd be within her reach, pulling up her calendar on his phone so he could see just how many things he'd have to cancel for her today.

"I don't donate plasma," Lance tossed off, too casually. It wasn't that he was afraid to donate, or didn't want to – as a Cuban, he wasn't legally able to. Her face said she wasn't satisfied with his answer, or maybe he'd answered the wrong question.

"No," Allura protested, almost sounding angry about it. "That's not what I meant."

"Lay your head back," Lance instructed, brushing his hand against her face, surreptitiously checking her temperature, assured that there was nothing wrong with her but fatigue. . . and frustration at herself. Being stuck in bed seemed to be damaging her self-esteem. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Princess," Lance tried to comfort her. "Your schedule has been absurdly demanding for months, and it's extremely difficult to keep your fluid and protein up enough to continue to donate as long as you've been doing it; something had to give, and now your body is insisting that it needs to rest. It happens all the time."

"Not to you."

Lance perched on the edge of her bed, wondering what this was about. Why she said it like that – like they were in some sort of competition on who was busier. His silence as he considered her emotions caused her to continue, trying to explain them out loud.

"I mean you never stop, but it never seems to affect you. You're running harder than I am, stay up later, get up earlier, but I'm the one passing out and you're the one catching me. Everything just seems so easy for you. You're never late; you never burn out, and you never get sick even though you spend ninety percent of your life in a hospital. That's hardly fair; you could at least tell me your secret."

Lance took her hand, not knowing what to say. She was completely wrong. He was perpetually exhausted, but he didn't dare stop to think about it. He felt like a shark, the ones that have to continue to swim or else they'll drown. His life was a dream, imaginary, and the only way to preserve it was to press forward. Keep running across the bridge because the boards are dropping out underneath you. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. Lance honestly didn't know why it hadn't caught up to him yet, didn't know how he hadn't collapsed. He also didn't know how he'd been so successful in keeping his emotions about it from Allura – from everyone. But he did know that if he paused too long, thought too much about it, everything probably would come crashing down at once.

"I don't really have a secret," Lance assured her, hoping it didn't sound too much like a lie. "And it doesn't mean that I'm strong and you're weak because you are definitely strong, Allura. In fact, in a lot of ways, you're stronger than I am." In fact, the reason she was probably down right now was likely due to how much brighter she burned through her life, how much she cared about things. She had a mission and a cause and she constantly poured energy into both. She was a lot like Lance had been when he first came to America. She had something to prove and debates to win, and she was putting everything she had into it. Lance had almost forgotten what it felt like to do that. To be so certain about something.

Her eyes were shining with frustration and something else that Lance couldn't identify. It felt like forever since he'd been able to read something in someone's eyes, a talent it seemed he had lost somewhere. The nuances were missing, blurred, incomprehensible.

"I don't feel strong," Allura whispered, and he kissed her forehead, suspecting that this had nothing to do with plasma. But he didn't understand her and didn't know if he could ask.

"You will," he comforted, standing up. "Once you're hydrated and rested again. But your donation days are officially over."

"Lance," she protested. "The center doesn't have any rules like that at all."

She was right; there was nothing preventing her from donating again. The only policy about passing out was that a donor had to take an eight-week break if it happened while they were in the middle of a donation. If they fainted after they were finished, they could come back anytime.

"Well, I do," he over-ruled. "I don't want to see you like this ever again. Besides, you haven't really needed to go the plasma center for a long time now."

"What? Why?"

"We're already dating, Princess," he revealed jokingly, hoping to pull her up somehow from this strange dejection she was experiencing. It made him uncomfortable on too many levels. He wanted to get away from it, but he didn't want to leave her trapped in it either. "We live together now; you don't have to maintain the pretense of saving the world just to spend time with me once a week anymore, you know."

"Oh, you!" She groaned and threw her pillow at him. "I am going to save the world," she pouted, but didn't say anything else about doing it via plasma donations.

Lance kissed her good-bye, dedicatedly replacing the pillow behind her back so she could recline. "I know," he agreed with her, serious again, pouring belief into his tone. "Start by drinking some water."

They didn't speak any more about it after that. Not about donations or about how Allura somehow felt that she needed to keep up with Lance. He explained to the few coworkers who asked why she wasn't coming in anymore that he and Allura weren't fighting, that they hadn't broken up, but she was taking an extended break from donating. He joked they should put up a plaque in her honor since she'd been coming in so steady for so many years straight. He wasn't too surprised at this point when they actually did, and he liked how pleased she was when he showed it to her. Her name on another wall, yet this one seemed to mean more to her since it existed outside of her family. This plaque was her accomplishment alone. Somehow, he thought that she could handle not going to the center anymore now that she felt as though she had contributed enough – that she hadn't failed, it was more like she'd fulfilled a requirement. A check on her extensive list.

And even though they now had proof that there was a limit to how hard they could push, neither of them slacked in their paces. If anything, they amped it up as they kept working hard towards the ends of their Bachelor's degrees. However, now that they had been introduced into his head, Allura's words would come back to Lance sometimes, like an ice cube down the back of his shirt. You never stop, and it never catches up with you. He wondered if he were just too numb to break anymore. But every so often something in his chest would hitch, images would begin flipping rapidly through his mind, and he'd feel his hands start shaking, so he quickly slammed into whatever task he had next to keep it at bay. He'd come so far. It would kill him to fall now. He just couldn't allow himself to think about what she said. Scientifically speaking, a bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly – but it does anyway because no one told it that it couldn't. He couldn't think about what Allura said. He just had to keep going, stick to the routine. Fortunately, there was a routine for everything. There was always something to do, something going on. Something to distract himself with.

There were classes and lectures, labs and paperwork. He and Allura studied together on the couch when it snowed; Allura pausing Lance in his work often to share a particularly insightful quote that she liked. They took turns doing meal prep on Saturdays because neither of them really liked to cook and it was almost impossible to take time for it during the week. He let her pick out his clothes for whenever they went out together, a myriad of dinners and galas and charity auctions. The rest of the time he just wore scrubs.

While Allura attended city council meetings and political rallies, Lance actually did spend ninety percent of his time at the hospital. He divided his hours between the plasma center, Dr. Coran on the third floor, and Dr. Delacroix in the ER. He assisted with emergency surgeries. He placed sutures. He trained with the Life Flight nurses and taught first-aid courses to university faculty and staff. He did an unbelievable amount of scrubbing up and taking vitals. And he threaded IVs like it was his calling in life.

And it was perfect. Except for how it wasn't real. How Lance felt like he was part of a sitcom television show where everyone seemed to know what was going on except for him, though he was doing his best to keep up with everyone else around him, afraid of the fall. He tried to explain it to Hunk one night as they were on the phone together but couldn't quite find the right words. He staggered through the issue only to have Hunk verbally shrug at him.

"I think it's called adulting, dude," Hunk told him. "You'll get the hang of it; you're doing fine."

Then they talked about the Hubble space telescope, some man named Walt who did maintenance on it, and the methods they used for data collection, and Lance listened to all that Hunk said, but he couldn't stop thinking about how he was surrounded by people who seemed to be "adulting" so easily. Like Hunk and Pidge – they had bought a house together, for heaven's sake. Like, they had an address now that didn't have a second line to it. No Apt F or anything like that. They lived in a house with no shared walls, no one living above or below them who cared how loud they wanted their music. Their backyard fence was completely obscured by bright pink and purple bougainvillea. Hunk's counter herb garden was now an external kitchen garden complete with a lemon and kumquat tree. He and Pidge were first authors on publications in peer-reviewed journals, and they complained vehemently about having to respond to reviewers and create annual funding reports instead of building astonishingly sophisticated robots and the computer programs to run them.

It was crazy. Insane how Lance could find himself in the ambulance putting pressure on a bleeding wound, hyper-focused and outside of time, where seconds stretched out impossibly long and then suddenly, he'd be standing outside with Allura on a balcony at twilight with a champagne glass in his hand three months later. As though his life weren't progressing in a linear fashion, more like his timeline was a ball of silly putty in the hands of a four-year-old who kept stretching it out between his fingers and then scrunching it up again without warning. Everything was slippery and just slightly foggy, as though he functioned on autopilot and only occasionally lifted his head to see where he was and what was going on.

But he didn't have much choice. Because dreams move forward in strange ways without a lot of conscious control. But he continued to try. Tried to slow it down, tried to focus. Tried to be present, an active participant in his own life. Tried to plan so it would feel as though he were at least in a boat as he was being swept down a fast-moving river. He practiced looking at things, forcing himself to attach emotions to what he saw, tried not to be numb.

He did like watching Allura's hands as she put up her hair, or chopped vegetables, or did her makeup. The ritual of simple things. The movement of her finger across her lower lip as she concentrated on whatever she was reading. He paid attention to details like those, thinking things to himself about how lovely she was, how talented, how intelligent and driven. How lucky he was to have her. How they'd been together for six months or nine months or twenty. How he wished he appreciated her more. How he should probably talk to her. How he couldn't talk to her. How it was too late, and he didn't need to talk to her.

It didn't actually matter. The talking. Not about real things. Because Lance had developed an affinity for saying only and exactly what everyone wanted to hear, for writing his life the way it was supposed to be and not the way he perceived it, trying to force himself to believe that what he said and what he wrote was the truth. He had plenty of opportunity to convince himself. It seemed he was always updating someone on what was going on. He called his family. Had regularly scheduled check ins with Hunk and Pidge. Had almost daily meetings with Dr. Delacroix. He emailed back and forth with Shiro. And he answered the same question over and over and over.

How are you?

I'm great, Mom. We're getting ready for the annual Christmas party at Allura's dad's company. Allura said they're ordering shrimp cocktail for two thousand. Um, no, I don't actually know where they get that much shrimp . . I guess they buy out Thailand?

Super busy, Pidge, but you are too, aren't you? Did you ever resolve that formula you were trying to prove? What about that jerk who called you out at the last forum meeting? Did you make him cry when you dismantled his theory?

Life is good, bro. Your basil plant says hi. Allura's taking excellent care of it.

I'm fine, Shiro; how about you? Have you heard anything from Keith? Seen him recently?

Because while Lance sent hundreds of letters to Lackland, the responses back were few and far between. At first, a letter turned up once a week like clockwork, stamped with an American flag postmark. Lance and Keith wrote pages and pages to each other. Lance talked about Dr. Delacroix and his training in the ER and about all the new places Allura was showing him. Keith talked about training, and the food, and he wrote at length about the planes and how long it would be before he could touch one. Lance talked about Allura moving in, about telescopes, about how Mrs. Lyons' Charity Aid ladies had all seemed to adopt him. How one of them was teaching him how to knit. Keith invited Lance to his training graduation. Lance desperately wanted to go but had to decline as he was acting as a TA for a biochemistry class, along with about fifty other commitments.

Lance asked if Keith were coming with Shiro to the wedding, but Shiro replied that Keith was sorry and wouldn't be able to join him.

The news crushed Lance. He'd been certain that Keith would be there, especially if Shiro came, and it seemed strange to have the event without him. Because, truly, the wedding would have never happened without Keith, though it had been far from anyone's minds at the time. Still, the day Keith was rushed to the ER, it introduced Officer Frederick Guist to Doctor Angelique Delacroix, and their consequent romance was a surprise to everyone. Not that they weren't compatible or anything . . just that, especially for Lance, Dr. Delacroix seemed to be a force that could only exist on her own. She burned too bright for anyone else to touch. The thought of her getting married rather unsettled Lance. He had always thought that ER doctors could either be married or they could be ER doctors – he'd seen that trend repeatedly all throughout the hospital. The fact that Dr. Delacroix was going to be both shook him.

They were much closer now, Dr. Delacroix and Lance. He actually spent more time with her than he did with Allura. During all her shifts, he remained at her side and they often ate lunch together in the hospital cafeteria as they debriefed cases. Sometimes Guist would join them.

After a year, Lance could anticipate the majority of her decisions and often handed her tools she needed without her having to ask. And he started addressing her as Doña, a term of respectful endearment because saying her full name and title often took too long in the heat of the moment. She'd balked at first until Lance had a chance to explain to her what the word was and what it meant for him to use it. Then she seemed hesitantly pleased.

Lance seemed to be the only thing Dr. Delacroix was hesitant about. She seemed at odds about him – one day drilling skill sets into him so hard it brought him to the brink of tears and the next treating him as though he should be protected from the sight of blood. Sometimes when she snapped at him, she'd call him another name, but she would not talk about it when he asked her afterward. Lance noticed that she was most gentle with him the days after she called him something else. She asked to see his hands almost constantly, frequently taking them in hers, turning his palms up and pressing her thumbs against the underside of his wrists. He grew skilled in making sure that whenever she did this, his hands remained steady. He learned how to keep eye contact. In those moments, it was a good thing to be numb. He did what he could, did his best to keep up with her, stopped asking about the name.

Lance noticed that Guist turned up for lunch more frequently, but even though Lance watched them together, watched how he kissed her, watched as her face lit up when she saw him – it was still a shock to learn they were getting married. She never talked about her life outside the hospital. She'd given no hint. In fact, he learned about the wedding when Angelique flipped an invitation at him on his way out the door, exhausted after a shift with her. She barely looked at him as she shot it into his hands; she didn't even break her stride. He had to follow her to her office to ask her about it.

"What is this?" He asked, unfamiliar with the size and shape of the envelope she had just given him. It wasn't a patient file. It wasn't a case study. It wasn't a textbook. It did have his name on it, in a calligraphy script that Lance knew for certain hadn't been penned by Angelique.

"It's a wedding invitation," Angelique told him brusquely, straightening the other paperwork on her desk in preparation to leave. This confused him. Why would she be giving this to him? Had someone stopped by the ER while he'd been busy and left it for him? But who? The only couple he remembered getting engaged recently was Romelle and Ben, but their wedding date was set for the fall, so they wouldn't be sending out invitations this early, right? The envelope was sealed only by a golden sticker, so Lance opened it up for inspection, standing in the office doorway, shocked when he saw the names printed on the stiff card inside.

"You're getting married?!" He hooted at Dr. Delacroix without thinking, earning himself a glare.

"Is there a problem with that?" Angelique demanded. Lance internally retreated, though he struggled to picture her in anything other than scrubs and a white lab coat, tried to imagine her standing next to Fritz, exchanging vows and rings and everything. Though, really, why not? Why shouldn't they be happy together? Because you couldn't be in a relationship and be in the ER at the same time. It just didn't work. All the greatest doctors Lance had seen were either single or had broken romances. Angelique getting married seemed like a huge risk, and honestly, the only reason Lance and Allura had lasted so long doing what they did was because . . .

"No," Lance amended, abruptly switching his brain to another channel, staring at the card, trying to remember what the right words should be for situations like this. "No, it's great, Doña. Congratulations."

She softened more in that moment than Lance had ever seen her. Her smile was light and brilliance, and she turned her gaze downward to her desk. He realized he'd never seen her so genuinely happy before. It looked amazing on her. He suddenly wished hard for her to get everything that she wanted in marrying Officer Guist. That it would work out for them. And maybe if it worked for her, then maybe it -

"I hope you'll be there," she expressed, scattering his thoughts. "We would have never met without you."

"And here I thought nothing good happened that day," Lance said lightly, though his memories of that time were tainted and strange. There'd been so much pain and fear then. And yet, Lance would have walked out of this office and back into that triage room with Keith in a heartbeat. Any time. His steps always slowed when he walked by it now, remembering the night he had spent with Keith inside. And he wanted it back. To go back to that time, awful as it was. Just so he would have Keith so close again. Just so he could do it over. He knew it was a stupid thing to want and tried not to think about it.

But thinking about Keith must have been all over his face as he stood there with the invitation in his hands because Dr. Delacroix suddenly presented a second envelope to him. This one had Keith's name on it.

"It was a horrible day for him, but I can't say I'm sad it happened," she said, quietly, as if she knew this was a delicate topic. "You know where to find him, I assume? Could you get this to him?"

"He's in the Air Force," Lance answered, his voice far away, still in the triage room years ago. He wondered sometimes if he'd ever really left. "I can send it to the address I have, but I don't know how long it takes to actually reach him."

This information seemed to confuse her. She tilted her head at him, reading his body language and tone. He forced his shoulders back, tried to hold eye contact with her.

"You two don't talk anymore?" She asked, bluntly, which was actually how Lance preferred for her to speak to him. "I thought you were inseparable."

"I mean, I write him," Lance defended, as though he wanted it clear that if they weren't close anymore, it had nothing to do with his lack of effort. "But I don't know where he's stationed right now, and it can take months for him to reply."

She softened again. Sympathetically this time. She reached out for Keith's invitation, intending on taking it back, on not making it Lance's responsibility. He unconsciously pressed it against his chest, unwilling to part with it. He wanted to be the point of contact for Keith. He wanted it to always be this way – if someone wanted to find Keith, they would ask Lance where he was. Because he'd always know. Best friends always know. Or they should.

"I'll send it," Lance promised. "Maybe he'll come."

"Maybe," Angelique echoed, withdrawing her hand, though she sounded like she already knew that he wouldn't. "These years, though; they're so full. Both of you so busy learning who you are and where you fit in this world. Be patient. Don't rush."

Lance was certain there was wisdom in what she was telling him; he just wished he understood it. Be patient with what? With Keith? He was nothing but patient with Keith. But how was it not supposed to hurt when Lance learned that almost all of his friends had more contact with Keith than he did? It came in conversations all over the place. As though messages from Keith had to come to Lance via other sources – papercut painful postscripts. Keith says hi. Keith says good luck. Keith says he's fine.

Lance took it. Better a P.S. than nothing at all. And he kept writing. Kept sending the letters to Lackland because he didn't know where else to send them. Kept talking about whatever random thing was happening in his life because he couldn't tell Keith any of the real things he thought about as far as they were concerned. The things he tried not to think or feel. I miss you. I wish I could see you again, talk to you again. Do you still have my hoodie? Do you think of me when you wear it? Did you know that I didn't want you to go? Did you know I was falling in love with you? Maybe I should have told you that. I'm still in love with you; I try every single day to not be in love with you; I think I've broken all my emotional response trying not to be in love with you. Would it have been the right thing to tell you that? Would it have made a difference? Would you hate me if you knew? I hate that it's too late now. I hate that you're so far away, and I don't even know where. I hate that you talk to everyone else more than to me. I hate how my life is perfect and I don't even like it.

Lance didn't say anything like that, but he continued writing all the other, less important things. About finals. About galas with Allura and her parents. About books on anatomy and labs with cadavers. He kept taking and sending pictures. And just when he would be ready to give up on Keith all together, when he thought that it was finally time to just break all ties because there was nothing there and never going to be, and he was just so tired of hurting and trying, and maybe it would all go away, maybe everything would be fixed, if he could just let this one thing go – then, as if on cue, something would turn up from Keith. Something tangible – a letter, a package – and Lance's closure about their relationship would tear itself to shreds as he'd carefully inspect whatever it was Keith had sent.

They always came to Lance battered, much like Keith had himself, as if they'd traveled halfway across the world and passed through many hands to get to him. Lance hated that he liked that – the unintentional symbolism of it. They were forwarded through Texas, so Lance was never quite sure exactly how far they'd journeyed to get to him, and Keith never actually specified where he was, but that part didn't matter so much. The point was Keith hadn't forgotten him. The point was that even though Keith corresponded with Hunk and Pidge more often, and actually seemed to stay with Shiro frequently, he never mailed anything physical to anyone except Lance. Never took the time to handwrite anything to anyone other than Lance, a detail that drove Lance insane. Still, whatever Keith's motives, Lance always took his time with the mail, treated each one with reverence. Reading the letters slowly, repeatedly, fingering the pages that Keith had once handled, trying to guess where Keith had bought any of the things he mailed to him.

He sent Lance a small wooden box of exceptional tea that tasted of coconut and caramel. A CD from a pianist that Lance hadn't heard of. Another CD with nothing but the sounds of water – rainstorms, creeks splashing. Spanish copies of A Tale of Two Cities and Jonathan Livingston Seagull. A package of hard burnt-rice-flavored candy with Asian lettering on it that Lance loved so much he forced himself to only eat one piece a week to make them last as long as possible.

And each time he'd get a letter, he'd hug Allura a little tighter the next time he saw her. Tried to do something extra nice for her during the few days that followed. Because reading between the lines of Keith's words, slowly letting that candy melt in his mouth, felt like cheating on her. Like he was having some weird secret affair with a shadow or a memory or a wish.

She noticed; she'd comment. Say fly-away things like, "you're extra cuddly today," or "did I do something special to deserve this?" or the one that deeply cut into Lance even though she said it teasingly, "are you hiding something?"

He didn't want to be hiding things. He wanted to be what she thought him to be. What his mother and his friends all thought him to be. The person he'd left Cuba to become. So he read one more book Allura recommended. Made one more meal that she liked best. Learned to knit hats. Vacuumed the living room, cleaned the refrigerator, and pushed his feelings further and further under. And most days, it was fine. Most days, Lance was numb but moving. Sometimes, he was even happy in a complicated sort of way.

The day it all started unraveling began just like that. Happy in a complicated way.

Allura came with Lance to the wedding, which took place on a Saturday at the end of May, three years into their relationship, and the day following Lance's monthly ambulance night shift. Allura let him sleep as long as possible, but still had to wake him up to get ready to go. By that time of the morning, his room was filled with warm sunlight, which Lance normally liked, but today the sun seemed almost painfully bright. The edges of his vision blurred as he went through the motions of getting up and shaving, and he couldn't tell if it was the bright sun or staying up all night causing it.

"Here." Allura returned while he was in the bathroom, presenting him with a mug of strong coffee.

"How'd you know?" Lance sighed, accepting it gratefully and groaning in relief as the hot liquid burned its way down into his system. Allura's coffee hit more like a shot than anything else, which made sense seeing as her only purpose in making or drinking it outside of being social was exactly why she was giving it to Lance right now – a necessary caffeinated wake-up jolt.

Allura leaned against the doorway of the bathroom with her arms folded, watching him finish cleaning the sink and his razor. "Well, three hours of sleep is hardly enough for anyone to face a busy day uncaffeinated – even you. I wish you could have traded someone for a better night."

"The only available night to trade conflicted with the Union Banquet," Lance reminded her, taking another long swallow of coffee. "It's all right; I don't know if a good night exists for this."

"How was it?" Allura asked, just a touch concerned. She'd still been asleep when Lance came home early this morning. Lance shook his head, then leaned immediately on the sink when the movement made the room spin. Wow, shouldn't have done that. "Lance?"

"We didn't lose anyone," he told her, blinking away the last few seconds. He hoped that was all the information she required. Her question had already started the flashbacks. Another overdose. An electrical fire in an apartment building. A fourteen-year-old girl whose parents discovered her bulimia because she accidentally got an entire spoon stuck down her throat trying to induce vomiting. Lance put down the coffee mug on the sink before Allura could see it shake and took a step toward the doorway to grab her tight. We didn't lose anyone, but that girl's eyes. The fear. The sadness. The mother's face as it dawned on her what her daughter had been doing to herself.

Allura returned his hug, whispering an apology into his ear. "I'll stop asking," she promised, and for a few minutes, they stood silent as Lance struggled with his thoughts. Sharks cannot stop swimming. Don't think about last night. Think about Allura right here next to you. Feel her breathing.

"You look nice," Lance changed the subject when he trusted his voice again, stepping back to admire her. She'd already put on a modest, white tea dress with a floral print. It swayed delicately around her knees when she moved and had gathered ruffles at the shoulder. She wore the rose pendant Lance had given her on her last birthday, and styled her hair so that it somehow seemed loose but still stayed off the back of her neck. Her makeup was done the way Lance liked best, soft and barely noticeable. Every detail on her simultaneously soft and yet still clean and crisp. And she smelled amazing, as always.

"I've laid your cream suit out for you," Allura told him, and he thanked her. They moved forward as if the last minutes hadn't happened. As if last night hadn't happened. They didn't have time to dwell on darkness like that. Not today. Today was supposed to be about Angelique and Fritz. Today was supposed to be happy, full of promise. Because even though Keith wouldn't be there, Shiro would be. And even though Lance was tired, he was excited to finally introduce Allura to Angelique. They'd never met before.

By this point, Lance could knot his own neckties, but he asked Allura to do it anyway. She seemed to want to be near him, and his head was still foggy despite the coffee. She'd chosen the ocean-blue bowtie that she'd given him at the hotel, that first night they'd stayed together, and he could tell that she was remembering that day as she stood in front of him, smoothly pulling the fabric into place. Her eyes were tinged with nostalgia.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" She asked him, but he had no idea how to respond. "So many weddings. We're scheduled to go to four in June, Ben and Romelle are in September, and Ella texted me last night that she and William just got engaged too."

"It's like everyone we know is getting married," Lance said, then abruptly shut his mouth as his own words shocked him still. He locked eyes with Allura, noticing that she seemed similarly stunned by what he'd just said. All their friends were getting married. The friends that had started dating at the same time or even after they had. Was she bringing it up because she thought that they should . . but he hadn't even thought about it. How could he think about it with so much other stuff going on? How could he think about it when all this was just a dream anyway?

"I guess I'll have to brush up on my bridesmaid etiquette," Allura commented coolly, breaking the tension a little. Lanced sighed in relief, grateful all over again that she was the way she was. That they were not going to talk about this right now. "Are you ready?"

"All set. Do you want me to drive?" Lance asked her even though it was a complete joke. He still didn't have a license or a car and no real reason to get either since the only times he ever left campus involved going somewhere with Allura or riding the back of the ambulance.

"Maybe on the way home," Allura responded, the same words they used every time, routine and familiar. One of a thousand little rituals that they had for everything that safely defined the boundaries of their relationship. It felt comfortable to repeat the exchange, comfortable to get into the front seat of the Rav4, and even comfortable to drive north on Lake Shore Drive, as if they were headed toward the aquarium. Today was just like the countless other events they'd already attended. Get dressed, drive somewhere fancy, shake hands, make polite conversation, and smile. Though today Lance found it difficult to shake off the disquieting thought about everyone getting married, and he couldn't bring himself to look at the lake, a sight he normally enjoyed in the warmer months when they took this road. Today the sun was too intense on the water. Instead, he kept his eyes closed, his head leaned back on the seat, focusing on the softness of Allura's hand in his while she drove. He could tell she looked over at him every once in a while because periodically she would tighten her hold, a momentary pressure.

"Oh, how charming," Allura commented quietly, pulling away from the lake and into more shaded, secluded streets. "Such a sweet place for a wedding."

Now that they were under some trees, Lance thought it safer to look around. The wedding venue was located just off of Lake Shore Drive, but you'd never know that these quiet, sophisticated lanes were anywhere near one of the largest tourist hubs of the city. Angelique and Fritz had decided to take their celebration to the heart of Chicago's original Gold Coast, an elegant collection of fine, old houses owned by the once-famous of the city – Kimball, Coleman, Field, and Pullman among them. Most of the houses were still privately owned, though some of them were turned into museums and art galleries, and some were available to the public for events.

Since Keith wasn't able to attend the wedding in person, the couple had done the next best thing to include him by choosing to be married at the Keith House, an old mansion designed in Victorian Châteauesque style, built in 1870 by banker and merchant Elbridge Keith. Not only did it bear Keith's name, it also stood next to the Chicago Women's Park and Gardens, which somehow seemed an absolutely perfect tribute to the bride.

As they parked Allura's car in the cul-de-sac reserved for the event and began making their way, arm and arm, into the house, Lance did his best to shake off the grogginess he still felt, especially when people started calling to him. There were several faces here that he recognized from the hospital. The ones he didn't know carried the demeanor of the police force, so he assumed that they were friends of Officer Guist. The Keith House was grand and lovely, but could only be used for intimate gatherings of up to ninety guests. Walking around made Lance think that somehow Angelique had managed to squeeze in quite a few more than that. The place was full of people on all the levels.

For the first half-hour upon arrival, Allura and Lance toured the house, taking in the art and delicacy of the place, exchanging pleasantries and introductions with the medical staff that Lance knew, commenting time and again how unusual it was to see them outside the hospital, so clean and dressed up. Hardly recognizable in this space. It felt more like one of the fancy places Allura would take Lance to instead of the other way around, and Lance wasn't sure he liked being on this side of the introductions. Normally, he stood silent and smiling as Allura did most of the talking. As they made the rounds of the house and the host, never going more than a few steps without running into someone who wanted to greet Lance and ask about Allura, Lance found himself wishing more and more that they could get started. His mind was still clouded, and all the movement and chatter of this place was making him disoriented. He felt slightly dizzy and almost sad. Which didn't make sense – it wasn't like he had any reservations about the event or the lovers participating in it. But as he looked around, looking at the decorations, signing the guest book, and realizing that this was just the first of a long string of weddings he and Allura had been invited to this year, he couldn't help but feel something almost like dread, and he wanted to just get it over with and go home.

It helped when Shiro found them, looking resplendent in his Air Force dress uniform. Lance hugged him as tightly as he wished he could hold Keith, relaxing for a moment against Shiro's strength, delighted to see him after three years of separation, feeling safe and solid for what felt like the first time since Shiro had left for Texas. Shiro didn't let go for a long while, but Lance still wasn't quite ready when he did. Shiro stayed with them after that, catching Lance up on his latest news. He acted in the military PR department now, among other things, a spokesman for the force, handling special events, press releases, and flight displays. He expressed again Keith's apologies on not being able to make it, though he didn't actually answer Lance's question of where he was. Lance figured it must be some sort of classified information, then worried about that. What did Keith do in the Air Force that would require his location to be so secret? Was he part of some special ops force? Did that mean he ran missions that were more dangerous than normal? But Shiro assured Lance that he was safe, that he was doing very well in the program. He'd gained many new friends and the respect of both his superiors and peers. And Lance pretended to be ok with that.

Eventually, they all made their way to the back courtyard and found their seats in the hot, May sunshine. Allura held to Lance's arm, looking about her at the plants, the bunches of lilac, the clean, white bows on the chairs, the lights. She commented repeatedly on how beautiful everything was. She asked Lance for information he'd already told her about Angelique and Fritz, how they'd met, what they were like.

"It's so strange," Lance said quietly after he'd told her the story again, drowning in memory. "All of this because Keith almost died."

Allura hugged his arm, and he could tell that he'd tainted the elegance of the occasion somehow. He shouldn't have said that, but it was heavy in his mind. That and Keith's absence. He found himself turning to Shiro, meeting his gentle, black eyes.

"He really is ok?" Lance heard himself ask, though he'd already asked it. But Shiro was sitting right next to him. His answer couldn't be cloaked by the anonymity of a text or an email, and Lance didn't know when he'd ever have another chance to ask him in person. If he'd ever have another chance to see Keith again. If it would be a good idea for him to ever see Keith again.

"He really is ok," Shiro answered, the truth of it obvious on his face. Truth and something more. Something sad? Or remorseful? Something secret. "He misses you."

Those three tiny words struck Lance above his left eye, a sudden flash of unbelievable pain. "I wish he could have come," Lance whispered unsteadily, recovering from what Shiro had just said, putting his palm on his forehead.

Shiro didn't respond to that. It seemed he might have been worried that he'd already told Lance something he shouldn't. Maybe Keith didn't want Lance to know he missed him, or maybe that part wasn't true and Shiro felt bad about lying to him.

"Lance?" Allura said his name quietly on his other side, and he patted her hands reassuringly where they clasped around his bicep, reminding himself that she was here, that she'd been here the whole time. That they were together and suddenly thinking about weddings. Because they were sitting at a wedding, and Lance should be nothing but happy about all of it. Keith was ok. The flowers were perfect. Allura Lyons was sitting next to him, holding him.

Keith missed him. The sun was so bright. Lance was suddenly overwhelmed by torrents of things that he'd been dedicatedly trying not to think about.

The pain hit again, and Lance swallowed, taking a couple deep breaths, confused and conflicted. What the hell was going on with him today? He needed to keep it together, though. So Lance did his best to ignore the emotions that came when he thought about Keith missing him and what that might mean. Instead, he focused on small details like the ivy growing alongside the building and the petals on the walkway. Allura's and Shiro's presence on either side of him. And he tried to shake away the ache that was settling into his heart and especially his head, a discomfort that continued to grow even as he dutifully tried to pretend it wasn't there at all.

He didn't have to try quite so hard when things actually got started and he could distract himself with the ceremony. He couldn't help but smile to see Fritz standing at attention at the altar, wearing a tuxedo instead of his uniform. Fritz looked blissfully foggy, as though he wanted to take in all that was around him, but he was somehow unable to. Like he was too happy to compute. And Lance watched him short-circuit as the bride's march began and Angelique appeared at the end of the aisle.

"Oh Lance, she's brilliant," Allura whispered in a gush of amazement near his ear, and he had to agree. "You never mentioned she was so lovely." He hadn't, because he hadn't really thought about it. Angelique was grace and certainty, but now that he saw her outside of work, he finally noticed that, yes, she was also beautiful. All Angelique's braids had been undone for her wedding. Instead her long hair was crimped and tucked under, and she wore a crown of flowers in place of a veil. She walked with strength and purpose, an emblem of feminine power and all of its intoxicating mystery, taking her place at Guist's side where he accepted her with obvious honor.

They'd written their own vows, which somehow seemed appropriate for them. They spoke to each other of support and dedication, acknowledging that each of them led intense lives and they pledged to serve each other as each of them served the community. Allura's hand felt soft and relaxed in Lance's; he almost forgot that he was holding it. He found himself feeling inexplicably homesick, blinking more often than normal in the bright courtyard, every now and then raising his fingers to push against that place above his left eye. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the pain that was gathering there, but Lance forced himself to focus only on his friends in front of him. He was no stranger to pushing away pain, after all.

Fritz and Angelique exchanged simple rings of practical silicone, owing to the nature of both their jobs, but there was nothing practical about their kiss. Fritz swooped all of Angelique and her gown up into his arms, holding her like she was a rainbow, and he didn't return her to her feet after their kiss ended. He carried her all the way down the aisle as easily as she carried her bouquet while his friends on the police force cheered and whistled. And Angelique didn't stop smiling the entire time.

Once they disappeared into the house, the guests also got up to relocate. Lance allowed Allura to lead him out of the courtyard, his vision more than a little blurry now. Something heavy was tangled in his stomach, but he didn't know what or why. He heard Allura speaking, talking about the elements of the ceremony she liked best, what sort of things she was going to pass on to her other friends about what they may want to include in their upcoming weddings, her favorite words of the vows.

The entire congregation shifted over to the Women's Park and Gardens where the pictures and reception would take place. It seemed more people had been invited to the reception than to the ceremony; the grounds were awash in dizzying colors and crowds. There was an enormous white tent and more lights, plenty of tables and chairs, and one long table where caterers were preparing to serve a luncheon. The cake was covered in violets and pansies and looked as though there was enough of it to serve not only everyone present but also half the population of Chicago.

They walked around the grounds as they had walked around the house, inspecting the decorations, looking at the gardens themselves, making comments on what they saw. Lance didn't have much to add and mostly just listened, though he did keep moving. It was easier to keep moving. At one point, Shiro placed an icy water bottle into Lance's hands.

After a while, the newlyweds joined their guests again, and a line quickly formed to speak with them and take a photo. It felt like forever before Lance, Allura, and Shiro made it to the front to offer their congratulations. Shiro shook hands with Fritz, clapping him on the shoulder, while Angelique grabbed Lance without any of the inhibitions of professionalism that usually kept them at arm's length from each other. It threw him rather off balance; she'd never been physically affectionate toward him before.

"I'm happy for you, Doña," Lance murmured in her ear, his voice thudding hard above his eye despite the low volume. Angelique pulled back, but kept the palm of her hand fondly against his cheek. He couldn't help but lean into it a little.

"Thank you for coming," Angelique said with sincerity. "I'm so glad you could be here."

They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, the gold in Angelique's shining out in the sun more vibrantly than Lance had ever seen. Lance thought his heart might break, or he might break, something was going to break apart any second now. He wanted to tell her all about it in that second, as he looked at all the love in her eyes. He wanted to drop to his knees on the grass and rest his aching head in her lap and tell her everything that he was doing wrong. Tell her everything that he didn't even dare tell himself.

He heard himself exhale in a manner that sounded more like a sob than anything, and he quickly held his breath so he wouldn't do it again. Because he absolutely could not break. Not here. Not at her gorgeous wedding – the happiest day of her life.

Instead, he blindly reached behind him for Allura, who put her hand into his readily, and he pulled her into the circle, allowing the women to meet for the first time. He swallowed hard, staring at the ground, keeping himself balanced with a hand on the small of Allura's back.

"Congratulations; you look so beautiful," Allura gushed, clasping hands with Angelique. "I'm delighted to finally meet you."

"Likewise, love."

They went back and forth for a little while, talking about hair and dresses, flowers and a tiny bit about Lance. Soon, they also had Fritz's attention. He hugged Lance a little too roughly, then held out his hand to Allura, giving Lance a side-long look as he did, as though he were confused.

"And who's this?" Fritz asked, as if it weren't completely obvious.

"My girlfriend," Lance responded, wishing his words were clearer. Fritz's hug had left him slightly motion-sick. "Allura Lyons."

"Girlfriend?" Fritz repeated, a crease appearing between his eyes, and Lance could tell it was an effort for him to keep from frowning. "I didn't know you were. . ." he cut off, as if realizing that he was speaking out loud. "Good for you two. Thanks for coming," he amended brightly.

It was rather a relief that there were still many guests behind them waiting their turn. It made it more a polite gesture than awkward for Lance to pull Allura away, allowing the next person in line forward to wish the bride and groom all the best. Lance hoped Allura would take Fritz's words as a joke instead of what Lance thought he'd been about to say. But he couldn't forget the look on Fritz's face as he considered them together. Like he was expecting Lance to be there with someone else. It'd been the first time since Hunk and Pidge had spoken to him in his room that Sunday after Hunk's birthday that someone had ever even hinted that his relationship with Allura might not be the right thing. And it bothered Lance. This entire day was getting to him, cracking something open, and he didn't think he'd be able to stop it this time. But, as usual, he was going to try.

The reception progressed as expected with the luncheon and the drinks, talking and laughing, taking pictures of the event to pass along to Hunk, Pidge, Keith, and the rest of the McClains in Varadero. There were toasts given, and Lance was surprised when Angelique asked him to stand up, recognizing him as her gifted apprentice and thanking him for bringing the two of them together. They laughed as they told the story of that day to the entire assembly, and Lance smiled but it was heavy and hard to do it. He wished Keith had come. He didn't really know how badly he'd wanted it until he was here without it. Hearing Fritz and Angelique's version of the events brought back so many memories of when Keith had been with Lance, and reminded him hard of Pidge telling him how much he'd regret it if he didn't tell Keith how he felt about him. She was right, of course, but how could he have said anything? How could it have worked? Waves of disappointment, homesickness, and loss continued to hit Lance as the reception continued, bewildering him at how strong they were, how he could feel like this in the presence of so much happiness and beauty around him. He wasn't alone. This was supposed to be a good day; they were celebrating something good. Why did he feel sick about it? What was wrong with him anyway?

The vague ache from earlier sharpened into an actual, stabbing pain above his left eye. As the hours went by, it became disorienting to shift his gaze, so Lance sat still at one of the tables, quietly drinking water, listening to Shiro and Allura talk – to each other and sometimes to others who came up because they recognized Shiro from somewhere. Shiro seemed pleased to hear that Romelle was getting along well, that she too was planning on getting married this year. Allura explaining all that had happened with her friend seemed to pull their discussion forward to future events.

"So, Lance, you're graduating next month, aren't you?" Shiro questioned him, and he summoned all his energy to answer.

"That's right, but it's not a big thing - it's just another step toward my M.D." He wasn't even thinking about his graduation because it was so far from actually being finished that there didn't seem to be much point. "I have a quick week break and then I'll start on the graduate studies portion."

"Give yourself some credit; it's still admirable," Shiro said, not allowing Lance to be dismissive of all the work he'd already put into his education. Lance wished he could show more appreciation for that. It had taken quite a bit of effort to get as far as he had. And he was the only McClain to have ever completed a secondary education, to go to college at all. Shiro turned back to Allura. "Are you graduating as well?"

"I am," Allura replied modestly. "With my bachelor's in political science."

"Summa cum laude," Lance quietly supplied for her when it seemed she was going to be too humble to add it herself. God, his head hurt.

"Really?" Shiro said, appropriately impressed. "Congratulations. That is quite an accomplishment."

"Yes, well, I'm not the only one," Allura dismissed, though Lance knew she was extremely pleased. "Lance is graduating cum laude too."

"As hard as you two work, I shouldn't be surprised," Shiro acknowledged. Lance felt his eyes on him, but couldn't bring himself to lift his from the table. "So what are your plans after graduation, Allura? Are you starting a graduate program too?"

Allura's pause went on so long that it broke past the pained haze that Lance was trying to breathe steadily through. He made the effort of looking at her, noticing the blush, how far away the question had taken her. Lance realized he'd never asked her that. He had no idea what she was going to do once she'd received her degree.

"I'm not exactly sure," Allura finally answered. "I guess I haven't really given it much thought."

Lance's stomach dropped, a chill on his skin despite the warmth of the day. She was lying. He'd never seen it happen before, but he was one hundred percent certain that she was. Haven't given it much thought? No way. Impossible. Allura was so dedicated to having her life planned and perfect that she had an entire spreadsheet all set documenting what gifts she'd be giving her family and friends for the next ten years' worth of Christmases, birthdays, and anniversaries. She did not leave anything to chance, and she gave everything plenty of thought. It had taken her two weeks of research to decide what brand of toaster to purchase. There was no way she hadn't thought about what she'd do after graduation. So why was she lying? Sensing him staring at her, Allura met his eyes for one careful second before shying away again. She looked guilty. Lance took another deep breath, focusing on not throwing up. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Shiro assured Allura, even though he was looking at Lance. "We all end up right where we need to be eventually. Look at them," he gestured with his robotic hand toward where Fritz and Angelique sat at the main table with their heads together. "He had to go through one unhappy marriage and she had to wait almost fifty years for him, but eventually . . . it all works out how it's supposed to." Lance wasn't sure how they went from speaking about post-graduation plans back to relationships, and stranger still was how Shiro's words seemed to settle him, at least for the moment. But Shiro had always been calming like that.

"And now, according to that great plan of life, I need to get going. It's been great to see you again," Shiro was saying now, changing topics, preparing to stand up.

"You're leaving?" Lance asked. Despite how hard it was for Lance to sit at this table right now, he hadn't even thought of leaving because he wanted to spend as much time with Shiro as possible. It was the closest substitute for being with Keith, and he didn't want Shiro to go yet. They had been together for the whole day, and yet, it wasn't long enough to make up for the time they'd been apart.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I have a flight to catch in a few hours. I'm due in D. C. early tomorrow morning." Shiro was on his feet now, and Lance struggled to get up too.

"I'm glad you could find the time to come," Lance said. He felt like he could lose his balance any second, so he kept one hand on the table. Shiro embraced him one more time, and Lance wished with everything he knew that Shiro could stay longer, that Lance had been able to concentrate more while they'd been together. That he hadn't wasted this precious time being distracted by a stupid headache.

"It'll all work out," Shiro promised, cryptically, an answer to a question that Lance hadn't asked. Lance allowed himself to rest his head against Shiro's shoulder, hating how weak his knees felt.

"Tell Keith I miss him too," Lance requested, and Shiro patted his back in acknowledgment.

"I will," Shiro promised solemnly before letting him go. He then hugged Allura briefly and gently before making his way over to also say good-bye to the newlyweds. Allura took Lance's arm before he could sit down again.

"I think I'd better get you home too," Allura said. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"Home sounds good," Lance agreed, and he never meant anything more. Never wished harder that the apartment felt more like the home it used to. Allura's sweet touches were nice, but what Lance really wanted was the cardboard boxes under the partial wall, the camp chair, the afghan. Hunk laying out loaves of fresh-baked bread on the counter and Pidge and Keith sitting on the couch in the middle of slamming each other in a video game. He didn't acknowledge how much he missed that; it hurt too much. But since there was nothing but pain for him right now anyway, it kept creeping up on him.

As Allura guided him through the park and back to the car, Lance felt time slipping away. Like it did the last time things changed utterly and dramatically in his life. He was standing at another crossroads; it was time to make another huge decision. One that would impact him for the rest of his life. He just wished he knew what it was, what the best choice would be. But instead he just felt uprooted by a heavy wind. Because all their friends were getting married. Because Allura lied. Because they were graduating next month and that meant something significant. Something was broken, and Lance suspected strongly that it was him.

Lance melted into the front seat, noticing immediately that it was extremely uncomfortable. He twisted, eventually leaning his elbow on the center console and resting his forehead in his hand. He couldn't hold it up anymore, not while they were in a moving vehicle. It hurt so much it was making him sick, and Lance had no real reason to keep up any pretense anymore. Allura kissed the back of his neck as she got behind the wheel, sending a shiver rippling uneasily through his stomach. He swallowed.

"You poor thing," Allura said softly. "How much longer are you going to have to do ambulance shifts?"

"The rest of my life," Lance slurred, knowing that Allura was misreading his posture, thinking that he was just overly tired from last night. And that might be part of it, but it definitely wasn't even close to all that hurt right now. He wanted to ask her about what she'd said to Shiro. Wanted to ask her what she really had planned for after graduation and why she didn't want to say. But he didn't want to talk. Didn't want to hear his voice in his head. Now that he was in the car, he couldn't muster the energy.

Allura put a hand on the back of his neck for a second, cool and surprisingly soothing. He sighed as she started the car. It wasn't a long drive home. Then he could get out of this suit and under his quilt, pretending it was just the exhaustion of the night shift that was bothering him. Allura wouldn't question him. She hardly ever did.

Her phone rang before they were out of the cul-de-sac, a harsh sound that came through the car speakers via Bluetooth connection. Lance winced without meaning to, curling into a tighter ball, as Allura pressed the button on the dash to answer.

"Hello, Mother," Allura greeted Melenor. "Good timing."

"Hello, sweetheart," Mrs. Lyons said, her words piercing into Lance's brain. Melenor's voice was normally sweet and low, but tonight, coming through the car speakers, it seemed unnaturally shrill and loud. "Are you still at the wedding?"

"We just left," Allura told her, navigating the route back to Lake Shore Drive. It wasn't all that late, maybe four thirty in the afternoon, but Lance felt like they'd been at that wedding for three straight days.

"Oh, that is good timing. Excellent. I thought, since you're already dressed up, you might like to come with us tonight? Your father is taking me to see Vivaldi's Gloria at Orchestra Hall, and we thought we'd get dinner at the Berghoff beforehand. We could meet you there in thirty minutes or so, if you'd like to join us."

Lance didn't mean to, but he heard himself make the tiniest groan at the idea of going anywhere else tonight. Especially if that anywhere else included eighty instruments all being played at the same time. Or lights. Or food. Or sitting up. Holy shit, what the hell was this? He'd never experienced a headache like this before.

"Thank you, Mother, but we're ready to just be home," Allura declined smoothly, filling Lance with devoted gratitude. Then guilt as he realized she absolutely was the best girlfriend in the world and he did not deserve her. "I'm sure it will be wonderful, but I think we're both too tired to appreciate it tonight."

"Perhaps another time then, dear. Tell me, how was the ceremony?"

Lance clenched his jaw, hating that Melenor wanted to chat right now, hating that he was trapped in this small space with it. Hated the technology that allowed the phone to connect to the car. He lowered his head a little more as Allura made a nauseating turn. He knew they had just started on the way back, but he really hoped they'd get there soon.

"It was so beautiful," Allura related. "Dr. Delacroix used lilacs and ivy, and the entire courtyard was done up with lights and flowers. They wrote their own vows too, and he actually did sweep her off her feet and carried her down the aisle."

"Princess," Lance whispered into the console, knowing that he hadn't been loud enough to be heard. He wondered if he could just reach over and turn the volume down on the call. Every time Melenor spoke, anytime anyone spoke, it was like a gunshot above his eye. He wanted silence. And darkness. And he'd really like to get out of the car.

"That does sound charming. Remind me, though, what did they decide for the venue?"

"Allura," Lance tried again, still too quiet. He didn't even hear himself that time. He swallowed. Shit. Really? No, he just had a few more miles. He'd be fine. He'd lasted this long.

"The Keith House near the Women's Park and Gardens. That's where they set up the reception."

"Oh yes, I remember. That is an exquisite choice for a small event. Of course, for you and Lance, we'll have to book somewhere with much more space."

What the hell? Oh, God, no. This time Lance's moan was much more audible.

"Mother!" Allura squawked, the most ungraceful sound Lance had ever heard her make. But he didn't have any time to think about it. He had to get out of the car. He took a deep breath so he could speak loud enough to be heard. "We haven't even talked –"

"Allura, pull over," he interrupted, sharply, already turning toward the door handle as if he'd just leap out of it regardless of whether or not she got stopped.

"Lance?" She questioned, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Please," he begged, panting, suddenly way too hot. "Right now."

He heard Melenor asking increasingly frantic questions about what was going on, but neither of them answered her. Allura obediently and quickly pulled to the shoulder along the long grassy stretch between the drive and the lake. Lance didn't have time for her to come to a complete stop; he barely had time to get the door open. He didn't even bother trying to stand up and get out of the car properly; he sort of fell out of his seat and onto the ground, hardly in control enough to try not to get anything on his suit as he threw up what seemed like everything he'd eaten in the past week. Each time he curled over, it increased the pressure over his eye until he thought his skull would have no choice but to split open. He kind of wanted it to happen. It would be a relief.

As it went on and on, Lance felt Allura's hands bravely reach around him, unknotting his tie and pulling it clear. She even somehow managed to undo the top couple buttons of his dress shirt. Then she waited at his side, one hand on his shoulder, quiet and patient. She didn't fuss or freak out. Lance couldn't think to admire that at the time, but he did later when he was going over it in his memory.

"I'm sorry," he choked when he could speak again. When he was done. Please, let him be done.

"You should be," Allura admonished him, but she did it gently. Lance sat back a little on his knees, but realized quickly that he didn't want to lift his head at all, so he curled up, one hand bracing him on the ground and the other pressed hard against his eye. He'd expected vomiting would help him feel better, but there was surprisingly little relief. His head was still killing him. "I thought you were just exhausted; why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well? Why do you always pretend like everything's fine when it's –"

She stopped herself with a frustrated exhale. "Never mind. Do you think you can make it home? Or should we wait here a little longer?"

Lance wanted another minute, another hour, the rest of the night. He wanted to fall to the side on the grass, close his eyes, and sleep. But obviously, he'd have to get up and get back in the car at some point. He tested himself by looking over at the car first, noticing that Allura had pulled up at an angle in her haste, noticing that he'd left the car door open.

Instead of answering, he painfully began moving toward the Rav4. If he rolled the window down and kept his eyes closed. If he braced himself on the door, kept his head resting on something. If Allura didn't talk and neither did anyone else, especially not about marriage, then he thought he'd be able to make it the rest of the way to the apartment.

"Do you need any help?" Allura asked, keeping next to him.

"No," Lance groaned, not wanting anyone to touch him. He just wanted to lie down and not think. He wondered what kind of pain medication he had at home that had the best chances of knocking him out for the next sixteen hours. Or longer.

He actually wasn't all that sure he wanted to ever wake up.

Author's Note: Or notes. Did you know there really is a Keith House where you can have your wedding? It really is next to the Women's Park and Gardens. There really is a Berghoff Restaurant and Everest is a real place on the fortieth floor of the Chicago Stock Exchange.

Also, those burnt-rice candies? They're awesome. I was skeptical when a coworker brought them back from a trip to China, but yep, love them. They're great.

And I know migraines look different for everyone, but I'm writing Lance's the way mine usually go. Same pattern, every time. This was his first, but the way he goes through life, it won't be the last one he'll experience. In fact, things are going to get lonely and strange for our boy. But Shiro's right – nothing happens TO us, everything happens FOR us.

If you have a minute, I always love to hear your thoughts.