Author's Note: Once upon a time, there lived a little boy who grew up to be the man I fell in love with. I've based almost all of Keith's medical history on him. Though I am nothing like Lance, so we struggled a heck of a lot more. There's a lot of med stuff in this chapter because I LOVE IT. I hope you enjoy it too.

Chapter Three: In Case of Emergency

"What?" Keith said, bewildered, quiet, not quite keeping up with what Lance had just suggested. It had been rather sudden; Lance had sort of surprised himself, but now he was committed. Lance gently pushed Keith sideways onto his bed so he could lie down while Lance began to assemble his stuff, taking control.

"You shouldn't stay here by yourself," Lance pointed out simply, horrified and amazed that he could stand at the center of the bedroom and almost touch the walls on each side without moving. "We'll both be more comfortable at my place." The rightness of the decision put him into motion. He started pulling open Keith's dresser drawers, searching for pajamas.

"Hey, wait," Keith protested, propped up on the bed, still shivering. "I can't go home with you."

"I'll give you ten seconds to give me a good reason why not," Lance contested, not turning around, coming to a realization that all of Keith's belongings could fit quite easily into the one duffle bag he'd located in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Who was this guy? If only they had been able to complete the biography assignment so Lance would know at least a little bit about him, because in the last few hours, Keith had become an almost irresistible mystery. Where did he come from? How'd he get to the University? Where was the rest of his stuff? Was this really all his stuff? Since his illness was new, Lance guessed his symptoms probably started either this morning or last night, where had he been for the last couple weeks? And probably most important of all – what happened to him? What sort of life had left Keith alone in this room with no friends and so defensive? Because punching is not a natural startle reflex. Humans aren't born that way; they train it into themselves either through militant or traumatic repetition.

"I don't even know you," Keith repeated what he'd said to him this morning. Lance paused in his rummaging through the drawers to whip out his wallet, plucking out his ID, his CPR certification, and his volunteer EMT card and handing them to Keith for inspection.

"My qualifications," he countered, trying to keep something like humility in his voice. "And if that's not good enough, I can also get you a copy of my CV and we can phone in some testimonials if you need them." Keith stared at the cards, his mouth open. Lance couldn't tell if he was impressed or if he were thinking that Lance might be a little too serious about life. He'd received both responses and they looked almost exactly the same.

"But . . . aren't I contagious?" Keith asked, looking truly pitiful, almost desperate. "You could get sick too if I go with you."

Lance smiled, bending down to take back his cards. "Nice try," he complimented. "But I did get a flu shot, and I've already taken care of like five other people this winter, including my roommate, who went through this. So far so good. I think we're all going to coast through on temporary immunity. I wouldn't say the same for all the poor souls who share the first-floor bathroom with you if you stay here, though. Coming with me might actually help in not spreading this around. And if you stay at my apartment, you won't have to see any of your neighbors and have them ask you why you look like a plague victim. I'd consider that a plus. What else you got?"

"You're crazy," Keith told him. Lance allowed him this opinion, he wasn't the first to have it, but it certainly didn't qualify as a good reason.

"Yeah, well, I did get punched in the face this morning. Could be blunt force head trauma," he answered flippantly, then wished he hadn't been quite so casual when he saw Keith's eyes flicker to the bruise on his cheek, his expression crumpling into shame. Then into something like horror. It bothered Lance enough that he stopped moving around the room, coming to the bedside, kneeling beside it so Keith wouldn't have to look up at him.

"Look, I get it," Lance comforted, turning serious. "I know what I'm asking you to do, and I know it's hard. You don't know me; you're right. I was a jerk to you this morning. But I am sorry for that, and I am good at this. I understand you don't need me to, that you'd probably make it through all right if you stayed here by yourself, but I also know that this year's virus is a bitch, you're just getting started into how bad it's going to be, and it's going to be a white-out this weekend. Please, come with me. Let me help you."

"How long?" Keith asked instead of trying to list another reason, though he still sounded more than a little worried. Hesitant. His voice breathless from the strain of keeping himself upright on his elbow.

"Until you're better," Lance answered, casual, not giving an estimate as to how long it would take. It always varied person to person. Hunk was only down a couple days; Pidge almost a solid week. He didn't know Keith, hadn't really even examined him yet. "However long that takes," he finished, then stood to pack the rest of Keith's clothes and hygiene articles, knowing that he'd won the exchange, that Keith had submitted to his plan. He still wasn't sure it was a good idea, but Lance knew he'd do it. He turned his attention to the backpack on the desk, the dresser drawers completely empty. Keith wouldn't be up for doing homework this weekend, but his wallet was possibly in there, his keys, his phone. Lance had only just started unzipping it when Keith unexpectedly freaked out behind him.

"Don't!" Keith barked, jerking all the way up, trying to lurch over to grab his backpack out of Lance's hands. "Don't open that!" The strong reaction triggered immediate obedience in Lance. What on earth? This wasn't a half-hearted effort to protest going with him. This was genuine fear. He dropped the bag, lifting his hands to show that he was no longer touching it. But he was instantly curious, a little apprehensive. What was in there that Keith didn't want him to see? Lance turned to him, monitoring his mottled complexion, both pale and flushed at once, his panting, the look of terror in his face. What kind of guy cared more about hiding what was in his backpack than what was in his underwear drawer? Despite the intrigue, concern won out. Lance wanted Keith to trust him, and he didn't want to cause him unnecessary discomfort (though it might be too late for that), so he snagged the straps of the bag and brought it over to the bed, still securely closed.

"Sorry," he said, calmly, steady, wanting to ease the tension in Keith. They were precariously balanced in their relationship. It could still go either way. "I was going to pack your phone and ID and thought they'd be in there," he explained what he'd been doing. Transparency was always good when building rapport. Lance twisted to grab the half-full duffle bag off the floor, setting it gently on the chair where he'd been sitting. "But I'll let you do that part."

Keith nodded, his jaw tight, coming down hard from what that little episode had done to him. Very hard. Lance could see his hands shaking as he pulled the backpack onto his lap, saw him struggle with his fine motor control to get a grip on the tab for the zipper. Filled with compassion and a little guilt, Lance sat beside him on the bed, resting a hand against his back.

"Or we could just take the whole thing," Lance suggested softly, since he couldn't help with the zipper and he couldn't take watching Keith try anymore. Keith spread his hands over the still-closed backpack, and Lance felt him relax under his hand.

"Ok," Keith agreed, weakly, allowing Lance to take the bag again, efficiently tucking it into the duffle and zipping it out of sight.

"There, all set. Now, you should rest a little," Lance commanded, shifting to make room for him to lie down again, slowing his voice to encourage the same reaction of Keith's circulatory and respiratory systems, both of which were still racing. "Breathe deep and get your heart rate down while I get us a ride."

Keith curled up on his side on the bed, spent, arms and knees tight to his torso, staring at Lance who perched on the edge next to him. The hint-glimmer of trust was still there, but more than half-drowned in suspicion and pain. He looked so miserable, and Lance knew it was going to get worse.

"You poor bastard," Lance whispered, unthinkingly reaching over to brush Keith's hair away from his face, comfortable touching strangers thanks to his training and job. Keith stayed still under his fingers, but Lance could feel how stiff he was, how tense. Not used to being touched, or at least not gently. "It's gonna be ok," Lance reassured. "I'm going to take care of you." He watched Keith's eyes mist over to the point where he was forced to close them and bury his face into his pillow, embarrassed and uncomfortable. Knowing his entire body ached, Lance squeezed Keith's shoulder very carefully before getting up, giving him some space to collect himself and pulling his phone out again in order to call Hunk. Even though it was a straight shot down 57th Avenue to his apartment, it was way too far for Keith to walk. Especially in the snow.

"Lance, hey, what's up?" Hunk answered. Lance took a couple steps away from Keith, turning his back, looking out the solitary window. The snowfall had officially started, though it wasn't too serious yet, the flakes still big and fluffy. "I was just going to call you."

"Hunk, where are you?" Lance asked. He hadn't meant to start with that, but he could tell from the weird echo on Hunk's side that he wasn't at home. He was somewhere with a much higher ceiling, no carpet. The buzz of several other people in the background.

"The Geo building," Hunk replied, a pleasant surprise. Lance tilted his head a little to shift his view out Keith's window, discovering that it was indeed possible to see the Geo building from where he stood. "We're putting a kit together and then heading over to the Museum. Looks like conditions could be perfect for thundersnow tonight."

"Wait a second," Lance said, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. What the hell was thundersnow? It sounded like a Magic the Gathering card attack. "Back up. Who's we? I thought we were barricading ourselves in the apartment tonight."

"Yeah, we were, but then some of Pidge's geoscience friends were telling her about the study going on at the Museum tonight on the weather, and it sounded pretty cool, so we're here with them packing up some measuring stuff and barometric scanners and then we're going to order pizza and watch the storm from the observation deck on the museum roof. It's going to be awesome! Did you want to come?"

"You sure you want to do that?" Lance checked, rather overwhelmed by the drastic change in plans. Plus, it sounded sort of ominous. If there was thunder, that meant lightning first, right? In a blizzard. Somehow, it didn't seem so smart to watch that kind of thing surrounded by electronics under a glass ceiling on a roof right next to a huge body of water. "I mean, that's not really physics, is it?"

"Everything is physics, Lance," Pidge told him, cluing him in that he was actually on speakerphone. "Earth, space, weather, electricity, your tendency to worry too much."

"Ok, Doctor Who," Lance shot back, not really liking the whole idea and coming off hostile.

"Yes, and time, also physics, well done," Pidge retorted, ignoring his tone. "So are you coming? Bring your date; it'll be fun!"

"No, I can't," Lance denied, his insides tangling up as he remembered, again, that he had a date tonight. He checked the time. Not quite two in the afternoon. He had plenty of time to get Keith set up and comfortable at the apartment before seven. "I was actually calling because I need a ride."

"What's going on?" Hunk's voice clear on the line again, and Lance smiled because he wasn't the only one who maybe worried too much.

"Looks like I'm breaking a fever tonight," he responded, which was a surprisingly common activity for him. He was getting a bit of a reputation, actually.

"Whose? Yours? You ok?" Hunk's questions toppled over each other. Ever since his own battle with the flu a little while ago which consequently led to Pidge catching it after him, Hunk was more than a little sensitive about Lance coming down with it too. Lance didn't blame him; Pidge had scared the shit out of both of them. She'd been so very un-Pidge-like – staring into space, sobbing at any little thing, clingy. She writhed in her sleep, moaning in such a terrible way that it made Hunk pace incessantly, asking Lance over and over if there was anything else they could do for her. The only way they'd found to keep her comfortable was having Hunk cradle her like an infant on the couch while Lance played the original Legend of Zelda for almost thirteen hours straight. The whole thing had bothered them all so much that they didn't talk about it and Lance had taken the Zelda game and hidden it in the residence hall study room.

"I'm fine, Hunk," Lance reassured. "It's Keith – my English partner? He's not doing so well. I'm here with him at Snell, but it's one of those rooms that has nothing but a bed in it so I talked him into coming over to our place. It's too far for him to walk, though."

"Oh, you found him," Hunk expressed an odd mixture of sympathy and relief. "Poor guy, but at least now you know what's been going on there. Told you he probably had something. Wait, Snell-Hitchcock? Isn't that like right across the street?"

"Yeah; I'm looking at the Geo building right now," Lance said, deciding not to tell Hunk that Keith's illness could maybe explain where he'd been last night but not the previous weeks. "I can get him out onto Ellis, I think. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, sure, of course. Give me maybe ten minutes? Can he make it to the corner of Ellis and 57th?"

Lance glanced over his shoulder at Keith, almost dropping the phone to discover him awake and staring at him. His expression was hard, hurt, a little scary. He looked like a wolf more than a dog now, his eyes bright enough Lance couldn't really tell what color they were, intense.

"I think so," Lance said, trying to keep his voice steady, making an effort to maintain eye contact with Keith. Really, how high was this fever? Lance was looking forward to getting Keith to a place where he could find out, start a chart, start doing something helpful. "I'll call you if we can't and we'll figure something else out."

"All right, see you in a few," Hunk solidified the plan. "Hey Pidge –" Lance heard him say as he hung up, and he knew that she was having the whole thing explained to her now. He tucked his phone into his pocket, mentally preparing himself for the tricky and uncomfortable business of getting Keith from here to there. He'd walked himself home from English class, but that had been hours ago, probably before he'd even realized he wasn't feeling well.

"Ok, Lobito," Lance began, attempting to keep his voice light, like this was no big deal and wouldn't be all that hard, like what he'd just seen in Keith's face hadn't scared him a little. He wondered if he could hear him, though. Keith's eyes were heavy. Lance had never seen anyone stare the way Keith did. "We're meeting my roommate on the corner so he can drive us." As he spoke, he closed the distance between them, taking Keith's wrist so he could check his pulse again. Still racing. The sooner they got him settled the better. Lance used his grip on Keith to help pull him to a sitting position, moving slowly to allow his impaired system time to recalibrate his equilibrium.

"Are you sure this is ok?" Keith muttered, the softness of his voice in no way matching the fierceness of his gaze. "Your roommate doesn't mind?"

"Hunk? No, he's the best; you'll see."

"It sounded like an argument," Keith pointed out, and Lance was surprised he had paid that much attention, even though he'd misunderstood.

"Not about you," he answered gently. "Trust me; they're cool with it."

"They?" Keith checked, sounding confused, and Lance realized that he hadn't mentioned Pidge yet. She and Hunk were together so much that they seemed like one entity to Lance at this point, and he sometimes forgot that she didn't actually live with them.

"Hunk's friend, Pidge, will be with us this weekend too," he explained. "Which is good; they're fun to watch. I can only understand about thirty percent of what they say, but when they go at it, it's better than anything on cable."

Keith looked unsure still, especially now that there would be more people than he thought involved. Lance had seen this expression before. He was thinking he'd made a mistake in agreeing to this. It was one thing to almost trust Lance, but to extend something so fragile to people he hadn't seen yet was asking too much.

"They're my best friends," Lance assured, without reservation. "There's nothing to worry about. So let's get going before the storm gets bad. Can you stand up?"

He could, but it was an obvious effort. Lance thought he heard him mumble, "I can't believe I'm doing this," under his breath, but it wasn't clear and Lance didn't ask or really give him any time to change his mind. Instead he slipped the duffle bag strap over his head, guided Keith into the hallway, and locked the door to his empty room behind them.

"What's the shortest route to Ellis and 57th?" Lance asked, knowing he could figure it out if he were outside, but he wanted to keep them in the warmth of the residence hall as long as possible. Keith glanced around as if he wasn't too sure about it either, but oriented himself enough after a couple seconds that he could point. Lance took Keith's elbow to aid his balance when walking, but it seemed that now they were out in the open, outside the tiny room, that Keith didn't want to be touched anymore. Not where they could be seen.

"I can walk," he said, a little gruffly, pulling away, and Lance caught himself before he rolled his eyes. Working around bravado was so inefficient, but since it had been a triumph to get Keith up and out of the apartment in the first place, he was going to let it go.

"Then lead the way," Lance invited indulgently, letting his hand drop to his side but keeping careful watch. Keith seemed the sort of person who would push himself too far for pride's sake, and it was easier to keep someone upright than picking them up again after a fall. Though it appeared Keith wasn't lying; he could walk. Like a drunk, but at least they weren't going very far.

"Almost there," Lance encouraged, reminding himself every few steps that even though Keith was hunched over like an eighty-year-old man, he was still technically walking so he should keep his hands off. He didn't know if it were true or not, if they were almost anywhere, but it felt weird to watch Keith without doing anything to help, even if it was just verbal reassurance. Still, it couldn't be long now. Then he could get Keith into some more comfortable clothes and under a blanket, take his temperature properly and see if he could be persuaded to eat anything. They moved through the dormitory slowly, Keith out of breath and Lance watching him, putting together his to-do list for how best to take care of him. He was paying so much attention to his future preparations that it startled and worried him when Keith stopped for what seemed like no reason at all.

"What's up?" Lance asked, tensing, ready to catch Keith if he needed it, growing confused when Keith gestured ahead of them.

"Is that your roommate?" He said, and Lance turned his head toward the glass exit door, smiling broad enough that it hurt his cheek as he recognized Hunk on the other side, standing there waiting in his enormous Carhartt coat and fur-lined Canadian trapper hat. He'd cupped his hands against the door, practically had his face squashed against it as he did his best to see in against the glare of the weak winter sunlight, unable to let himself in without a resident's keycard.

"The absolute best," Lance confirmed, feeling a mix of pride and affection as Hunk recognized them and started waving with both hands, as if they couldn't see him standing there. Keith started moving again, slowly, but Lance went on ahead to open the door for Hunk, meeting with more resistance than he expected as he tried to shove it against the wind.

"Hey Hunk," he greeted. "Thanks for coming."

"No sweat," he responded, nonplussed and used to it. "Glad Pidge told me the right door." But then he paused, mittened hand shooting out to catch Lance by the chin. "Dude, what happened to your face?" Lance twisted away both because Hunk's hand was freezing and because now was not the time for that discussion.

"Let's help Keith first," Lance delayed, shifting Hunk's attention back to the point of his bringing the car over here. Hunk looked like he wanted to press him, but by this time Keith had joined them at the door, surprising Lance by reaching out to hold onto his coat sleeve. Lance looked imploringly at Hunk, hoping it was as obvious to him as it was to Lance that Keith was in bad shape and they shouldn't waste any time.

"Right," Hunk agreed, eyeing Keith pityingly, automatically moving to his other side to sandwich him in support. "Come on; I left the car running for you."

Two steps out into the cold, Keith's body folded on him. Not a collapse, just an automatic tightening response to the drastic change in temperature. Lance heard him swear in a hiss of discomfort, his eyes squeezing shut, all his limbs pulling in to his core. It made sense. Lance felt his own muscles doing kind of the same thing, just on a much less debilitating scale. It was freezing out here in the wind. Hunk was the least affected since he'd been out more recently and for longer. He enclosed Keith in his broad arms, half carrying him to the car.

"We got you," Hunk told him, tucking him into the backseat. Lance put a grateful hand on his back as he came up behind him, and they shared a quick glance before Lance ducked inside next to Keith. Hunk looked a little worried, wincing as he noticed Lance's bruise again, but shrugging it off and making his way around to the driver's side door.

"Halfway there," Lance noted, trying to be cheerful as he tucked his long legs into Hunk's Civic and pulled the door shut. But he doubted Keith could see anything positive in his situation at present. He was curled up against the back of the seat, arms around himself, shivering rather violently, clenching his teeth to try and keep them from chattering.

"You guys ok back there?" Hunk asked, watching them in the rear view mirror, his expression tight, like he felt he should be doing something but he didn't know what.

"We just need to get there, Hunk," Lance instructed, not looking forward to getting out of the car again. "Sorry, Lobito," he apologized to Keith, who squinted at him, unfamiliar with his new nickname. "Geeze, come here." Without asking, he pulled Keith down onto his lap, folding over him to try and stop the chills rippling all throughout his body. Hunk pulled the Civic carefully onto 57th for the quick mile-long drive to Stony Island. "It's close," Lance promised, rubbing a hand up and down Keith's arm as he shuddered against him. "And when we get there, we'll get you set up in some PJs and under a blanket and you won't have to go outside again." Keith couldn't answer, but he didn't try to move away.

"So, Lance, what did you do to your face?" Hunk asked again as he drove, not willing to let that go. Lance felt Keith flinch.

"Something stupid," he told the truth . . .slant again.

"It looks like someone clocked you, man."

"Really?" Lance spoke up quickly, not liking the effect this conversation was having on Keith. He didn't think it was possible for him to tighten up anymore. It was making the shaking worse. "Like a fight? Honest? Does it look cool? Do you think I can run with that? That I got in a fight?"

"You?" Hunk scoffed, exactly as Lance had intended. "Probably not. What'd you really do? Run into a door? Slip on the ice or something?"

"It wasn't my most graceful moment," Lance sort of confessed without actually revealing anything.

"I keep telling you – walk like a duck. And slow down! I know you think you're late to everything, but you seriously aren't. Be more careful." Hunk gave him the lecture, but Lance could tell that he still wasn't sure about the explanation, or rather the lack of explanation regarding his injury. He would tell him, he promised himself. Just not right now.

"I will, Hunk."

Keith twisted a little so he could look up at Lance, who stared back, his mouth tightly closed, hoping Keith was with it enough to read his expression. Keep quiet. Lance thought he detected slightly more trust in Keith's eyes, wonder, surprise. He continued rubbing his arm, sighing.

The trip from the car to the apartment wasn't any easier. Keith's muscles were so frozen that it took both Hunk and Lance to guide him, leaving the car illegally parked as close to the door as possible with the hazard lights on. By the time they got him into the elevator, up to the third floor, and into their room he was moving slightly better, but the trip had taken a lot out of him. They eased him onto the couch, letting him recover for a minute.

"I gotta jet," Hunk excused himself. "Can't leave the car there." Lance turned toward him, keeping one hand on Keith's shoulder.

"Thanks, Hunk," he said again.

"No problem. Listen to Lance and feel better, buddy," Hunk called over to Keith. "See you tonight," Hunk said to Lance. "Not sure when, though."

"I still think you should skip that," Lance tried one last time. "Have you seen the sky? The lake? The twin vortexes of doom?" Hunk rested his hand on top of Lance's head, patting him as if he were a child.

"That is exactly the point," Hunk affirmed, not moved in the least, actually sounding excited. "Relax. It's not like we'll be far away. Besides, you're going to be so busy you won't even miss us. Dinner's over there for you." He pointed to the counter where his trusty crockpot was quietly simmering away. "Don't touch it until six." Hunk started backing up. "Good luck on your date. Oh and hey, Physician," he said the last thing from behind the door he'd started closing. "Don't forget – heal thyself!" Lance waved him off, regretting that Pidge had ever taught him that expression. He wasn't ignoring his face, exactly, it's just that there wasn't really anything he could do for it that he hadn't already.

Hunk's steps faded down the hallway, back toward the elevator, and Lance took a deep breath, placing his coat on the camp chair, ready to focus all his attention. Keith was staring again, tired and questioning.

"How are you feeling?" Lance asked, wanting to ruffle his hair. Instead, he knelt down to undo the laces of his boots. Keith's hands joined his, pushing him away, not willing to let Lance take his shoes off for him.

"Like I just got kidnapped by the Hallmark Channel," Keith answered, voice still rather weak and breathless, but snark was usually a good sign that things weren't too bad. Patients who kept their sense of humor normally recovered faster. On the other hand, patients who didn't answer questions properly were harder to treat.

"Get out of your coat and get comfy," Lance said instead of acknowledging the joke, setting the boots to the side of the couch so they wouldn't be tripped over. It was more a compliment to him, really. A testament that his apartment was just as homey to other people as it was to him. "I'll be right back with my stuff." He left Keith on the couch to retrieve his med bag, pausing just briefly to look out his bedroom window at the Museum, at the gathering intensity of the storm. Rainstorms didn't bother him. In fact, they were one of his favorite things about nature, but frozen water falling from the sky was different. It seemed more menacing somehow.

He hadn't been gone but a minute, but when he returned to the living room, Keith had wriggled out of his coat, draping it over the arm of the couch, and was now resting his head on it, eyes closed, feet still on the floor, slumped over rather awkwardly. Lance pulled out his notebook. Time to get some stats. He started with Keith's name and the date at the top of the first blank page.

"All right, Lobito," he called, letting Keith know he was back. Keith pushed himself up, but not all the way.

"Why do you keep calling me that? What's it mean?" He asked, but Lance just smiled.

"It's what I do. You think Hunk and Pidge are real names?" Keith's brow furrowed, as if he hadn't thought about it before. "I'll stop if it bothers you." He received a slight head shake in response. "Here, tuck this under your tongue for me."

He checked Keith's pulse and eyes again, his blood pressure and oxygen level, noting everything down in his notebook while Keith watched him quietly, his face balanced somewhere between overwhelmed and impressed.

"102.7," Lance repeated aloud as he wrote the temperature down, doing his best not to sound too worried. At her worst, Pidge hit 102.9, but Keith was a long way from that point still. "Is that typical for you? Do you always run high fevers like this?"

"I should know the answer to that, shouldn't I?"

"Maybe not, but let's get serious for a minute," Lance said, sitting beside Keith on the couch, facing him directly. "I don't want to scare you, but I know for a fact that when the sun goes down, fevers go up. You're already plenty high, so I need some information just in case. Do you have any allergies to medicine or anything else?"

"No," Keith answered, looking concerned.

"When was the last time you took any medicine, or had anything to eat or drink?" Lance hated asking these questions; he tried to skip them when he could. But it was easiest to get answers right now, before there was an emergency. If there was going to be an emergency.

"I. . don't know. I didn't take anything. I had coffee this morning?" Lance felt like he needed to hold Keith's hand again. He wasn't even asking anything hard yet, but it looked like Keith was scared to death.

"And food?" He prompted. "When was the last time you ate anything?" Why can't you remember?

"Last night," Keith seemed semi-sure about the answer. "Six maybe? A sandwich from Subway. It was gross." Lance couldn't help it this time; he reached over to squeeze Keith's hand.

"Relax," he comforted. "You're not on trial or anything." Keith winced, his hand clenching, almost a spasm; Lance frowned at him. What made him do that? "I'm just getting a picture here to see what's in store for us tonight. Is there anything you can tell me about your medical history? Do you know if you hallucinate? Are you prone to seizures? Is there anything you can remember working for you to help you feel better?"

"We read that I had a seizure once," Keith said, sounding young again, this memory obviously very old for him. What did that mean? He read? With who? Didn't anyone take care of him when he was sick? Maybe he just never got sick?

"Ok," Lance encouraged, wondering if he might have gotten into something above his skill level. He'd never seen a seizure before, but if Keith's temperature went up any more and he had a history, then tonight might be the night. "How long ago? What happened?"

"I was two," Keith said, shrugging slightly. "I don't remember. It came up when we were registering for school." Two. Ok.

"Was it a febrile seizure?" Lance asked, trying to help him. Not too uncommon for very young children, but a condition that could follow him into adulthood.

"That sounds right? The notes said I wasn't breathing when my dad brought me to the hospital. That he had blood on his shoulder. Is . . .is that what you're asking for?" Now that wasn't typical. Unless.

"That's exactly what I'm asking for. Can I look at your back a second?" Lance asked, straightening, ignoring Keith's look of confusion. It was kind of becoming permanent, that bewildered look, but it didn't hinder his cooperation. He scooted forward while Lance leaned over him, pulling up his shirt, careful not to let his bare hands touch the over-heated skin. Yes, there it was. At the base of Keith's spine, a lumbar puncture scar. Two of them, actually. "Did you read anything about meningitis?"

"No," Keith said slowly, processing the word. "What are you looking at?"

"Someone took a sample of your spinal fluid," Lance explained. "There's still a scar here that you probably never knew about. They were testing you for meningitis. But ok – you didn't have it, and that's the only seizure you remember . . . well, that anyone told you about?"

"Yeah," Keith confirmed, still looking scared. The exact thing that Lance hadn't wanted. But he hadn't known then that Keith's answers to his mundane questions would be so scary. If he hadn't been diagnosed with meningitis, then what was up with the blood? The not breathing? And he couldn't tell him anything else about what he was like when he was sick. Lance considered him carefully, sitting there all wretched and frightened. He felt conflicted. When he thought up the idea to bring Keith here, he'd just thought he would be making sure he drank enough to keep himself from getting dehydrated, that he'd have some company and comfort. He didn't think he'd be monitoring him for anything intense. He'd even planned on leaving him alone to sleep for a few hours while he went to his afternoon class and later on his date at the library.

Now it was very clear that he wasn't going to go to either.

"Why do you look like that?" Keith asked him, and he smiled in spite of his thoughts. Stress wasn't helping Keith at all.

"Just thinking," he explained. "We should be ok. Thanks for going over that with me. I know it kind of sucks, but it'll help me in the long run." Keith sagged against the back of the couch, seemingly unable to hold his head up anymore, looking partially relieved. Time to let him rest, and hopefully his illness would progress peacefully.

"It'll also help me if you let me know how you're doing," Lance said. "If something changes, ok? I know you're the kind of person who hates talking about that kind of thing, but even skilled as I am, I can't tell everything just from looking at you. Can you do that for me?"

Keith shrugged, which Lance translated as agreement.

"One more thing and then I'll let you sleep, I swear," Lance said, hating that he had to ask this, but he really thought he needed to ask after what he'd just learned. "It's overkill, but you've probably gathered by now that's my calling card. But just in case, where is your ID and who do I call in case there is an emergency? Your dad?"

Keith maintained eye contact with Lance as he pulled his wallet from his coat pocket, showing it to him and replacing it. Good. One down. And Lance wouldn't have to rummage in the forbidden backpack for it.

"Now how do I get in touch with your parents?" Lance repeated.

"You can't," Keith answered, and Lance could tell that he really didn't like saying this out loud. He was sorry that he needed him to. "Mom left when I was little and my dad died when I was four." Lance swallowed any verbal expression of sympathy. He didn't think Keith wanted it.

"All right," he soothed, staying practical. "So who do I call?" He thought of lots of other questions too. What had his father died from? Something that he'd passed to Keith in his genetics? Where was his mom? Who had looked after him from the time he was four until now? Though it suddenly made sense that they would have needed doctor's notes for whoever his guardian at the time had been to register him for school. "Keith?"

"Shiro, I guess," Keith said, looking down now. Lance reminded himself to be patient, that Keith wasn't being difficult and secretive on purpose. It also became clear to him about why he could have been avoiding the biography assignment. He probably didn't want anyone to know any of this.

"Who is that? Are they listed in your phone?" Lance pressed a little more. It was just too important not to. "Should we call now to say where you are?"

"Don't call him!" Keith snarled, similar to when he'd freaked out over the backpack. "He'll think . . .Don't call anyone; just forget it."

"Whoa, calm down," Lance said steadily, regretting getting Keith all worked up again by something so seemingly innocent. He'd flushed alarmingly, panting. Lance now had way too many questions. Who was Shiro? Why not call him? Why so frantic about it? Keith looked like he was going into shock. "I won't. Now put your head down before you throw up."

Lance tugged Keith down onto the couch with absolutely zero resistance. He had meant to tuck him into his own bed seeing as Pidge would actually be sleeping on the couch tonight. She was the only one short enough to do so comfortably. But that could wait a while – until Keith was stable again. Lance went quickly into his bedroom to snag his pillow and the quilt, returning to find Keith still breathing hard, lying on his side, one hand clenched in the fabric of his coat. Yeah, there was no way Lance could leave him. He covered him tenderly, helping him lift his head a little to slide the pillow underneath it, keeping his mouth shut, listening to the wind picking up outside, putting pressure into the apartment, letting everything slow. Lance settled cross-legged on the floor, resting his palm against Keith's burning forehead, which made him flinch at first but then his expression smoothed.

"I'm sorry," Keith murmured, worn out, emotionally and physically exhausted.

"Me too," Lance answered quietly, feeling the beginning of doubt peeling back at the edges of his training. It seemed the more questions he asked, the deeper the mystery of Keith became. But Keith wasn't here so Lance could solve that mystery. He was helping him get well, that was all. He needed to keep his personal curiosity out of it. They weren't friends, and Keith didn't owe him any explanations. "I'm going to make you some soup," he said, pushing his emotions down. "You probably don't feel like eating it, but it's been over twenty hours since you ate anything and dehydration isn't going to do you any favors. Just keep breathing steady for me."

"Ok," Keith whispered.

"I'll be in the other room for a minute. I need to make a phone call."

Keith didn't answer that one, and Lance stood up again, moving away, feeling the long night he had ahead of him stretching his soul, making him uncomfortable. He'd done this many times over, for people much closer to him. This felt different. He stared down at Keith, imprinting the sharp lines of his face, the twitch of his shoulders. What is it about you, Lobito? What is it that makes me do things I never do? Slamming down his textbook this morning, getting angry enough for violence, breaking into a room, bringing a stranger home with him. Canceling his date with Allura.

That brought him up short. Was he really going to do that? Dial her number and tell her he wasn't coming four hours before they were supposed to get together? The girl he fantasized so much about . . . except today, the one day where he should have been thinking about her nonstop. He was going to screw up this one chance he had with her?

Keith's hand gradually relaxed as Lance stood watching him. His body forcing him to let go. Lance folded his arms, knowing his choice had been made a long time ago. Keith needed him; Allura . . . humiliating as it was, honestly didn't. Lance moved unconsciously to his room, staring out the window at the snow, which was falling faster now. Tiny, blurred flakes whipping around the Museum, the lake. He pulled up her number in his contacts, holding the phone in both hands.

"Damn it, Keith," he muttered out loud, pressing the call button without looking at it.

Author's Note: Yeah Keith, you had better be worth all this trouble. You poor little wolf pup.