Author's Note: Sorry, everyone, I know last chapter was hard and what on earth am I doing to your poor darling Keith? Take heart – it's not over yet. We don't have all the information. Keith hasn't told his side of the story yet. Sadly, he will not be telling his side of the story for a while. He's going to be busy this chapter doing other things . . . like staying alive. Enjoy!

Chapter Ten: Hypotension

Several details came to Lance's notice almost simultaneously as he stepped into the living room. The first was Pidge, standing awkwardly, almost shyly, at the dining room table, steadying herself on it with a hand, for once appearing to Lance at her actual height. It hit him hard how tiny she really was, and he felt a pang of brotherly devotion for her. I'm here, he nodded at her. I'll take care of it. Whatever's going on here; you're safe with me.

Relief smoothed Pidge's face as Lance joined them, something familiar in this new and frightening situation. She also looked pointedly innocent. Lance could see that she wanted him to understand that she had nothing to do with this. While she suspected what was happening, she was not responsible for bringing it about. Lance held out a calming hand to her, a soothing gesture from a few steps away. He knew that. He didn't blame her.

The last big thing Lance noticed after his rapid exchange with Pidge was that in addition to Dean Craig and the officer, there was a third person standing just outside the open doorway to the apartment. He could see how Hunk missed him, positioned behind the other two and wearing black, giving no visual clues as to who he might be or why he might be here. Lance met all their eyes one after the other, trying to look like he had nothing to hide, and he wondered why he felt so guilty when he had nothing to feel guilty about and he didn't even know for sure why all these people were suddenly looking for him.

Because they had asked for him, specifically. Hunk said that they'd asked for him. Not Keith. This might be completely unrelated. Except Lance knew that it wasn't. Somehow, this had everything to do with Keith. The atmosphere in the apartment seemed suddenly charged, full of static electricity, as Lance came to a stop just past the coffee table, putting himself in the middle of the room, hopefully into a position of authority. You have nothing to hide, he reminded himself. You've done absolutely nothing wrong. Just get this over with so you can get Keith some help. Who knew what was going on back in his bedroom, how Keith was doing? He'd looked so scared, which would be detrimental to his heart rate.

The Dean came forward first to meet Lance, acting as the mediator in the exchange, arm extended as if he wanted to shake hands. Lance wanted to fold his arms and tuck into himself for protection, but that would clearly send a wrong message, so he forced himself to close the distance, take one unhurried step forward, and shake the Dean's hand as if they were old friends instead of meeting in person for the first time right this second. He noticed how the Dean's eyes shifted to his cheek and then quickly away again, very pointedly trying to pretend like he hadn't noticed anything unusual about Lance's face. Lance was grateful that at least they weren't going to have to talk about that.

"Sorry to disturb you," the Dean apologized, his voice betraying that he may live in Chicago now, but he'd grown up much farther south. He was as tall as Lance, pale and bald, with striking ice-blue eyes. Lance decided from the grip of his handshake and his tone that he genuinely meant it, that he was just as ruffled about this as Lance was. That he was not at all comfortable about escorting policemen into his resident apartments. He pulled Lance closer to rest his other hand on his shoulder, touching heads with Lance and whispering in his ear. "I don't know what's going on here, but I suggest you cooperate; they have a warrant. I had to let them come up."

It was all Lance could do to not react to this helpful, though almost threatening, little tip. Was it supposed to be friendly? Lance felt a nervous smile creep onto his face, his defense mechanism switching on, his fingertips tingling with adrenaline.

"Are you Lance McClain?" The police officer asked, executing a perfect dominance posture, filling the doorway, obscuring the mysterious third man still standing outside in the hall.

"The one and only," Lance answered, trying to be casual, a test of his voice. A little shaky. He'd have to firm it up.

"Mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?" The officer continued, following standard language and protocol, sounding like every cop television show Lance had ever seen. He looked the part too. He was also tall and lean like Dean Craig, though younger, maybe mid-forties, sandy hair buzzed close to his head, the very picture of an Honorary Aryan. He offered his badge for Lance to read – Officer Frederick Guist, CPD. Lance wanted to tell him to leave, that he was too busy just now to answer anything.

"Uh, sure," he heard himself agree, voice still shaky, confused, remembering the warrant. Just get this over with. Keith is waiting. "Are you guys from ICE? Is this about my visa? Because I just renewed it last September. I can get you the paperwork if you need to –" Because he didn't want this to be about Keith. He didn't want to deal with this right now, not when Keith was in his bedroom, thinking he couldn't breathe, not when he hadn't had a chance to check his stats yet.

Officer Guist ignored his nervous chatter, began talking over him as if he also just wanted to get this over with. "We're looking for a missing person – Keith Kogane. His phone records indicate that you were the last to correspond with him. We understand that you were to meet him last Thursday evening at eight thirty pm. Did you see Mr. Kogane at that time and do you have any information as to where he might be right now?"

Dean Craig had moved out of the line of fire now that the interrogation had officially started, standing closer to Pidge, looking concerned. Pidge looked apprehensive, despite how she'd expressed her desire for Keith to be taken away to prison such a short time ago. Lance knew she hadn't really meant it. Not when the reality of that was standing here in the apartment, badge, belt, gun, and all.

"He didn't meet me at the library. He never showed," Lance answered, telling the truth the wrong way again. He saw Pidge's eyes widen across the room.

"And do you have any information as to where he might be now?" The officer repeated, not accepting that Lance had only answered half the questions.

"What do you want with him?" Lance checked, wanting to find out their true intentions here. Because Keith could not be arrested right now. Lance had to protect him from that. Surely, they would have some compassion for him if Lance told them what sort of shape he was in? That he needed medical attention; he needed to be treated gently, professionally, and soon. The officer stared at him, hard, uncompromising, making it clear that he absolutely would not understand.

"Go ahead and tell him, Fritz," the man in black said quietly, a deep, surprisingly reassuring sound. The good cop? But he wasn't in uniform. Or maybe he was; Lance couldn't really see him yet as he was still keeping back in the hall. Officer Guist shrugged, like this was the least important thing he had been assigned to do today, letting Lance know that the person really in charge here was the one he couldn't see.

"Mr. Kogane is required to present himself at the Circuit Court of Cook County on Monday, January twenty-first, at ten am," Officer Guist rattled off, as if he were reading something. "I am legally obligated to deliver to Mr. Kogane the official summons for a sentencing hearing at that time, but was unable to locate him at his last known address and have been unsuccessful in reaching him by phone. Can you give me any information as to where he can be located?"

A summons. For the verdict. That meant the jury had decided about the murder. Lance felt a flash of heat bolt down his back and the room got slightly hazy for a second. Almost as if he were the one on trial.

"You're not going to arrest him or anything like that?" Lance asked, knowing his questions were weird, knowing that this would give him away that he did know where to find Keith. They were probably suspicious already, though. But if all they needed to do was give him a court summons . . . no, Lance still didn't want them to see him. The shock wouldn't be good for him right now.

"Not at this time; however, if Mr. Kogane fails to appear, a warrant for his arrest will be issued and he will be cited for contempt of court."

"But if he doesn't know about the hearing, how is he supposed to show up?" Lance asked, surprising himself with his own audacity, making Officer Guist tilt his head to the side, his nostrils actually flaring in impatience. Lance couldn't even blame him; he knew he was being difficult. He also knew that Officer Guist was his least favorite person in the room right now, even though he was just trying to do his job. He didn't know that Keith hadn't abandoned his apartment on purpose. He didn't know that he was in so much pain, that he was so scared. The problem was he also didn't care. The problem was he identified Keith as a murderer, as a runaway, someone trying to hide from the consequences of his actions. And he likely wouldn't change that opinion even if Lance told him the truth or the current situation. He might even feel as though Keith deserved it. That's what was making Lance hate him.

"It is the responsibility of Mr. Kogane to notify the court of any contact information changes including new phone numbers and addresses, whether temporary or permanent," Officer Guist explained, coldly. "As he is well aware. If you cannot give us any information of his whereabouts and I am unable to speak with him, then the documentation I left at his last known address will serve as sufficient notice and he will be held accountable for appearing at the appointed time."

That actually sounded good to Lance. He had the details now; he could pass the message to Keith – later, when he was settled and safe in the hospital with proper meds and monitoring equipment, when there was a whole staff available to help Lance if something were to happen. Lance wondered if Keith would be required to "present himself" in court if he were still in the hospital on Monday morning at ten am. He wondered if a doctor's note was good enough to postpone a sentence hearing, and for how long. He was certain Coran would write him one. He wanted more time before Keith was sentenced for him to heal, for Lance to understand what had happened. He hadn't even had a chance to talk to him about it yet.

"I guess we're done then," Lance heard himself say, steady and clear. Because he sure as hell was not allowing this officer and his shady bodyguard anywhere near Keith, despite his assurance that he wasn't there to arrest him. He was too gruff, too intimidating, apparently merciless, and he was certain to set off Keith's heart. "If I see Keith, I'll tell him to check his messages." Tell the truth – tell it slant. Go away now.

"Young man," Officer Guist began, getting terse, and Lance felt his chin lift automatically in response. Every time he'd been "young manned" all his stubbornness came to the surface like oil rising on water, brought out every rebellious gene in his body. "Do you understand that -"

"Fritz? May I?" The shadow man cut in, gently, a hand appearing on the officer's shoulder from behind.

The officer stepped aside to allow his partner entry with a sort of 'be my guest' kind of flourish, looking at Lance rather roughly, a little bit threatening, as if to say that Lance was in for it now. Though the voice from the hall had been soothing, Lance felt as though he'd made a big mistake as the unidentified man came into the light of the apartment, into full view. He was almost as tall and broad as Hunk, but cut, broad shouldered but narrow waisted, and he had military written all over him from his hairstyle to the way he moved, though he was wearing civilian clothes, a simple black sweater and jeans. His features were vaguely Asian, disfigured slightly by two scars - one that dipped into his right eyebrow and one that slashed across the upper bridge of his nose. And there was a distinct white streak in his otherwise black hair, right at the center of his forehead. Poliosis, Lance's brain gave him the medical term for that particular coloring. A mostly hereditary physical trait but sometimes it came from illness, stress, or injury. Judging from the scars, Lance would place his bets on the latter. Lance suddenly felt as tall as Pidge, more intimidated by this man than the police officer. What was he going to do now?

The man in black also reached a hand out to Lance, making his insides squirm as he noticed that his right arm was missing and that he was extending a prosthetic. Lance forced himself to put his hand out even though it felt like he was purposefully exposing himself to something dangerous, like a lion or a loaded bear trap, watching as his skin was enveloped in smooth carbon fiber. Extremely smooth, and not the least bit clumsy. Wow. Lance found himself suddenly marveling at it as they shook hands. This was not an ordinary prosthetic – it was too elegant, too sophisticated, sleek. Lance wondered where he could have received such a thing and how he'd paid for it. The dexterity in the fingers as they closed around Lance's was fluid enough to write a dissertation on. He could probably thread a freaking needle if he wanted to. If they weren't in a sort of standoff about Keith, Lance thought he would very much like to sit down with this man and learn all about his robotic arm. There was a part of him that wanted to drag him over to Pidge right now so they could both pull back the sweater sleeve and start poking at it. For some reason, it brought to his mind the joke they had tried to put together about their soup – a physician, a physicist, and an engineer walk into a room to make a robotic arm . . . and if that happened, it would have turned out just like this. And it was anything but a joke.

"Holy crow," Lance breathed before he could stop himself, completely awe-struck. "That's beautiful." He bit his tongue before he said anything else embarrassing. Normal people didn't geek out about things like that; it was inappropriate and extremely ill-timed.

To his credit, the man held still, leaving their hands clasped, letting Lance admire his mechanically replaced limb, and he didn't say any of the things that Lance would have said if their positions had been reversed. Stupid, immature, tension-easing things like, "take a picture" or "my eyes are up here." The thought made Lance lift his gaze, finally making eye contact, noticing immediately that the gentleness of this man's voice extended also to his black eyes. The man smiled softly as he realized he finally had Lance's full attention.

"Takashi Shirogane," he introduced himself with an efficient sort of clip, and Lance wondered how much of a struggle it had been for him not to say his rank along with his name. Because he was military, or had been. No doubt. So what was he doing here now, looking for Keith? He released Lance's hand, hiding the distracting prosthetic behind his back, falling automatically into parade rest. "You're Keith's friend?" He sounded kind of hopeful about it.

"I don't really know him," Lance denied. "We have a class together. English. We're partners for an assignment." He paused to look at Officer Guist, who was fiddling with his radio near the door. "But you probably already know all about that."

"From the texts, yes," Takashi nodded, but grew serious quickly, leaning closer and lowering his voice, as if sharing a secret. "Can you tell me if he's all right? I'm really worried about him."

Lance studied Takashi some more, hearing the nuance in what he said. He was nothing like the officer. He was telling the truth; he was invested. Lance found himself wanting to tell him all about it, to share his own worries about Keith with him. He felt that they would understand each other perfectly. But he just couldn't do that. There was too much risk to Keith.

"I . . don't know . . ." Lance stuttered, unsure what to do. He couldn't look at Takashi anymore; he'd run out of half-truths and the heart to say them. He just wanted everyone to leave.

"Please," Takashi went on, earnestly, lifting his hand as if he meant to grab Lance's shoulder, but lowering it again awkwardly as he changed his mind about touching him. "I really need to find him; it's important. Won't you help me?" Me. Not will you help us find him; he'd excluded his companion. He was asking for himself; this was personal to him. Lance wished he'd come alone. The apartment was too crowded right now to communicate properly. There was too much threat in the room, and Keith was so fragile.

"That's complicated," Lance whispered, for only Takashi to hear. "It's not a good time right now." Come back later, without the police, and I'll let you see him. But . . .

"What do you mean?" Officer Guist asked, making Lance realize that even though he didn't look like he was paying attention, he was still entirely focused on what was going on. Lance shot a look over to Pidge, who hadn't moved, hoping she could give him some guidance on what he should do here.

"It's him," she mouthed soundlessly to Lance as they made eye contact, but he didn't understand what she meant.

"Do you know where Keith is?" Takashi questioned, a little sharper, pulling Lance's attention away from trying to figure out what Pidge was trying to tell him. It wasn't an unfriendly edge, more like he really wanted to see Keith and couldn't wait any more to find out.

"I just," Lance hesitated, feeling detached and antsy, like he wasn't ready for this. Why couldn't they just leave them alone? "I can't let you see him now." There, Lance might as well have confessed that Keith was here, or at least that he knew where they could find him.

"Why?" Takashi asked, looking at Lance in concern. Disappointed and uneasy.

"Is he here?" Officer Guist said, almost at the same time, sounding angry. Lance held up his hands defensively, wondering how much trouble he was going to be in for deliberately withholding information from law enforcement.

"He . . . he is, but –" Lance faltered, feeling like there wasn't enough air in the room. Hunk and Pidge had once packed over thirty scientists in this very space, triumphantly declaring that the collected IQ of the apartment in that moment was higher than a full session of Congress. You couldn't move in the room without squishing against someone, and still it had felt more open and breathable than it did right now.

Probably because Officer Guist was suddenly looming over him, as near as he could get without touching him, eyes flashing, looking like he wanted to take Lance and shake the information out of him. Surprisingly, Takashi's simple look of pleading was worse.

"Where?" Guist asked, almost growled, so close that Lance could smell that he was chewing cinnamon gum. Lance told himself, quickly and repeatedly, not to cower. He needed to explain himself very quickly, needed to make them understand that they could cause serious complications if they went storming around the apartment. "Take me to him."

"No," Lance denied, still protective even though he was frightened and intimidated. It was a bad move, and he knew it. Knew that they still had a warrant and could search the entire apartment if they wanted to. There wasn't a real reason outside of politeness that they were still standing near the door, giving him one last chance to give them what they wanted. "He just can't . . . let me explain," he begged, hoping he could, hoping they'd let him.

Except he didn't have to. Lance heard Pidge call his name, trying to get his attention, and when he straightened from under Officer Guist's fury to see why, he saw that Takashi was staring, open-mouthed, toward the hallway. Lance checked over his shoulder, half turning, and groaned to see Keith, white-faced and shaking, leaning on the corner where the hall to Lance's bedroom gave way to the open living room space. He'd come to investigate the raised voices, why Lance was taking so long. Again ignoring Lance's instructions to stay where he was, stay still, keep his head down. Hunk was standing behind him. Lance wondered if he'd even tried to keep Keith in the bedroom, but reminded himself that Hunk knew nothing about the trial or anything else. He'd had no reason not to let him come see what was going on.

"Oh, Keith," Takashi moaned in shock and sympathy, just loud enough for Lance to hear. Keith was staring at Takashi, in terrible obvious pain, and Lance saw his lips move. He couldn't hear; he was too far away and Keith might not have even made a sound, but Lance knew what he'd said, had listened to him say it over and over for hours. Shiro.

Of course. Shirogane - Shiro. That's what Pidge meant; she'd figured it out before Lance. It was Shiro, here, searching for Keith even though Keith didn't think he would care, didn't even want to call him. But Shiro had tracked him down anyway. I really need to find him. It's important. I'm worried about him. Is he all right?

Keith was definitely not all right. Lance saw Keith sway, too weak and dizzy to be standing up in the first place and the shock of seeing Shiro suddenly in the apartment was making everything worse, even if he was happy to see him, though Lance couldn't tell if he was or not. But he could see that Keith was seconds from blacking out.

"Keith, sit down," Lance commanded, sharp and immediate, taking charge, not knowing if he'd have enough time to get to his side. "On the floor. You sit down right now."

It didn't look like Keith heard him. He continued to stare, hard, at Shiro, his speeding breaths visible in his diaphragm. Then Lance watched his vision go unfocused, watched him start blinking rapidly, shaking his head a little as if to clear away the hot buzzing of his crashing consciousness. Lance darted for him, hoping to make it in time to catch him, but Officer Guist grabbed his arm. Not because Lance was doing anything wrong, just that it had been programmed into the officer to immediately restrain anything that moved in a fast, unpredictable way. He let Lance go almost immediately as he realized what Lance was trying to do, but just that tiny delay was too much. Keith was already falling.

"Hunk!" Lance yelled across the room, but Hunk had not been blessed with a quick reaction time, and Keith was falling forward, away from him. He made a clumsy, too-slow attempt and missed.

Lance made a desperate jump across the room, sort of like a baseball player diving to catch a ball, colliding with Keith on his way down, Keith's head hitting Lance squarely in the chest and knocking them both to the floor. They crashed against the coffee table, shoving it across the carpet. A corner caught Lance in the back as he fell, scraping a long, painful gash into his skin through his shirt the entire way down. He grunted, but the only thing he was really focused on was cushioning Keith's head and neck. They landed awkwardly against the shifted table; Keith unmoving, hot and heavy across Lance's torso. Lance floundered, pinned painfully on the corner of the table, trying to get them upright, get out from under Keith so he could see what sort of shape he was in, see what he needed to do to get him conscious again.

Shiro turned out to be the fastest responder in the room, coming immediately to help lift the unconscious Keith from off Lance, who scrambled to his knees, ignoring whatever the coffee table had done to his back to see what Keith's status was, realizing that the decline that had started earlier in the bedroom had progressed to something critical. Adrenaline pulsed into Lance's system in a fire hose rush, and he got ready to use it. Incident Commander in Charge.

Lance allowed Shiro to keep hold of Keith and began calling out instructions. "Sit him up, no, up; keep pressure off his chest." He started pulling on them, rearranging them to his specifications, grabbing Shiro's artificial arm without thinking what he was doing and bringing it across Keith's collarbone, above his heart, leaning Keith forward over it in a tripod stance to ease his breathing. Shiro instinctively brought his other hand around Keith's forehead to keep his face from dropping too far forward. Lance nodded appreciatively. "Hold him steady like that; make sure his airway stays clear. Don't let his head fall. Hunk – my bag, please. Pidge, bring me a cold wet dishtowel. You!" He barked the last at Officer Guist, who was standing off to the side, coming to terms with what the hell was going on in front of him. "Call an ambulance."

"Keith," Shiro was calling tenderly to the boy in his arms while Lance gave orders to almost every person in the room. "Oh God, you're burning up." Lance felt a hand on his arm and knew it was Pidge, so he reached up without looking to accept the wet towel, wrapping it around Keith's throat. He was about to ask for another one when Keith opened his eyes, coming back from his faint and beginning to struggle against the hands that held him, disoriented and terrified.

"Don't move," Lance told him, firm, placing a restraining hand on his back at the same time Shiro tightened his hold. Lance settled his fingers against Keith's carotid artery, noticing the irregular pound of Keith's heart, full throttle arrhythmia. Not good. "You passed out and fell." And it was the worst thing you could have done. It was like he'd broken something by losing consciousness, as if the only thing keeping him this side of critical had been his own stubborn resolve. Now that he'd fainted, he was crashing. Lance was surprised he'd been able to regain consciousness at all. "We've got you. It's going to be ok."

"Lance," Keith said, breathless, weak, hurting, and frantic. "Lance . . . something's wrong."

Lance registered a thump at his side – Hunk putting the med bag within reach. He hurriedly pulled the blood pressure cuff and the pulse oximeter out, strapping them to Keith as quickly as he was able.

"I know," he assured, trying to sound steady and calm, looking at the oxygen reading, waiting for the cuff to finish deflating. He'd only seen this kind of thing happen once before, to an elderly woman he'd picked up in the ambulance from a dialysis center. It had something to do with dehydration. She'd completely bottomed out; they hadn't been able to save her. Lance checked the oximeter. Keith's level had dropped to ninety percent. Shit. "I'm going to fix it. It's your heart; remember we talked about your heart and relaxing? You need to do that now. Breathe as deep as you can for me, yeah? Your heart needs some help, so you need to give it more oxygen to work with. And stay calm." Next the blood pressure reading – 80 / 50. Damn it.

"Lance," Keith begged, trusting him. Lance tried to think. Keith's pulse was close to 140 beats a minute, but speeding up with every passing second; he was deteriorating way too fast. His numbers weren't matching the dialysis patient yet, but they weren't that far off. Lance reminded himself that he needed to stay calm too. "Lance, I can't breathe."

"You can," Lance told him, filling his voice with certainty. "There's nothing wrong with your lungs; you understand me? They're clear. They're working just fine. So you just keep focusing on taking deep breaths and stay awake. Ok? Stay with me." Please, please stay with me. Lance knew that Keith probably felt as though he were drowning right now. The ineffectual beats of his heart were weakly pumping blood throughout his body, resulting in the lowered blood pressure, and also decreased oxygen to his organs. Keith's brain was receiving screaming signals from everything that used blood that something was not working, that there was no air. Lance couldn't imagine how terrifying that would be, or how he would possibly stay calm in such a situation. But Keith was doing his best, both his hands clenched in fabric, Shiro's shirt on one side and the hem of Lance's on the other.

"Fritz," Shiro called sharply to the officer. "Where's that ambulance?"

"Three minutes out," Guist responded.

"Will someone go down and let them in?" Lance asked. Dean Craig looked more than willing to leave, his face almost as pale as Keith's.

"On it," he said, dashing for the hallway. One less person in the room, though at this point, it didn't matter anymore.

"Hunk," Lance called without taking his eyes off Keith, knowing that his roommate was standing somewhere close, watching, freaked out. "I need some pickle juice in a cup." Then he remembered about Keith's mouth, all the fever blisters. It would be agonizing for him to drink it, but it was the only thing Lance could think of that might help keep his blood pressure up while they waited for the ambulance, might keep Keith from going into complete cardiac arrest. "And a straw if you have one."

Lance could feel Shiro's gaze on him, hard and wondering, hopeful but not quite trusting. He knew it sounded crazy, but the pickling brine was as close as they were going to get to a chemical defibrillator. What Lance really needed was supplemental oxygen and Bretylium, but that was on the ambulance.

"Lance," Keith panted, his voice raising in pitch, twitching in distress, getting panicky. Lance recognized the movements, again using the previous patient as a reference. Keith's muscles were cramping up from the lack of oxygen and fluids.

"Listen to me, Lobito," Lance ordered, putting his head close to Keith's so he'd be sure to hear him. "I know it's really painful and scary right now, but you've got this. I promise, you're going to be fine, but you need to stay calm. I've got oxygen coming for you; it'll be here any second. Hang on."

"Here," Hunk said from right behind Lance's vision, handing the cup to him over his shoulder. He'd even managed to find a straw. Best wingman ever. Lance snatched it as fast as he could without spilling any, the tang of it sharp in his nose.

"Keith, I'm going to have you drink this. It's going to hurt like hell, but we need to keep your blood pressure from dropping anymore and it'll help with the cramping." He held the straw to Keith's mouth, actually poking him in the lip because his eyes were closed tight against the pain he was already in. Keith opened his mouth and obediently used his next panting breath to suck up some of the salty brine.

And immediately gagged on it, his entire system shocked by the extreme taste and the burn of the salt. Most of the mouthful ended up on the carpet and Lance's thigh. Keith coughed thickly, and Lance worried that he might have just made everything worse.

"No, you don't; don't you dare throw up. Keith, I need you to breathe. Take a second," Lance paused, but not for very long, watching Keith attempt to swallow the taste of the juice out of his mouth, doing his absolute best not to vomit, distracting him by patting him on the back at steady intervals. The pace he wished his heart was beating. "Ok, now that you've got that out of the way," Lance went on after it looked like Keith were as recovered as he was going to get, as if it had been no big deal and he'd expected it. "Let's try again."

"I can't," Keith whimpered, drawn up tight in Shiro's arms, releasing Lance so he could cling to Shiro's sleeve across his chest. "Lance, I can't." I know, Keith. I know this is really hard and you're scared to death. I know I'm asking you to do something that makes no sense to you, but you keep calling my name because you trust me, because you are expecting me to make this better, and this is all I've got.

"The only thing you can't do is give up," Lance encouraged, but not so gently. "Now try again." You've got to.

Keith's head drooped, exhausted by the frantic beating of his heart, by his own panting, by the pain. But his blood pressure was still dropping. Just when Lance thought he'd have to tip Keith's head back and spoon feed him strawfuls of pickle juice, he weakly drew up another mouthful. And this time he was prepared for how awful it would be and kept it down, swallowing with difficulty.

"Again," Lance ordered, after allowing him to take a couple rest breaths.

Keith managed to keep down another half dozen swallows of pickle juice before the paramedics arrived, wincing each time, sort of crying about it though there were no tears. Lance continued to ignore everyone in the room, especially Shiro even though he knew he was staring at him and wanted Lance to make eye contact with him. But he just didn't have the time; he needed to keep Keith from crashing. The pickle juice seemed to ease the cramps in a rapid ninety seconds, and Keith's numbers weren't going down anymore. But they weren't coming up either, and Keith's heart was still racing dangerously. He really needed that Bretylium.

Even when the paramedics showed up, Lance didn't waste time on them either. He knew them. Grayson Tanner and Stefany Lopez, both also med students, but much farther along in their courses. Lance always learned a lot when he rode the ambulance with them. Grayson knew everything there was to know about wound care, bleeding, and shock – specializing in gang shootings. Sometimes he was called out for drive-by incidents outside of his normal area, especially if there was more than one person involved. He seemed to be on friendly terms with just about everyone, which was comforting as he was tall, strong, and looked as though he might be packing a gun himself. He went confidently into situations that quite honestly freaked Lance out, not the patients they picked up, just the places they had to go to get them.

Meanwhile Stefany was the best ambulance driver on staff; everyone knew it. She knew every shortcut and tiny alley that she could just barely scrape the vehicle through without breaking off the mirrors. She also had a perfect mind for systems, procedures, and medications.

When they teamed up together, Grayson did the heavy lifting while Stefany directed him and it worked extremely well. And Lance knew this, had watched them do it. And yet he found himself unwilling to step out of the scenario and yield to their direction. He didn't want to back out of the way for Grayson, didn't want to wait for Stefany to figure out what to do. So he decided to stay in it, take charge himself, even though they were in uniform and he wasn't, even though they technically outranked him. He was the student and they were his trainers and he had been fine with that on every op except this one. He knew Keith's history. He'd been first on scene. Keith kept calling his name.

"Oxygen and mask," he requested before they were truly in the door, still on his knees next to Keith, who was taking those awful gasping breaths and holding them again.

"Lance?" Grayson wasted time expressing his surprise to find him here.

"Oxygen," Lance demanded again, snapping his fingers, and this time Grayson moved to do as he was told. "Where's the stretcher?"

"It wouldn't fit in the elevator," Stefany responded. "The building's old." She was poised with a clipboard, ready to write down stats. Didn't Officer Guist explain to them the situation they were walking into? Why were they moving so slow?

"Fine," Lance snapped, though it was totally not fine. He didn't want to have to carry Keith downstairs. Knew Keith wouldn't want to be carried.

"Tell me what's going on here, Lance," Stefany invited.

"Male patient, eighteen," Lance told her, quickly, watching as she started scribbling down the history. He kept talking as he accepted the oxygen mask from Grayson and began attaching it securely to Keith's face and cranking the flow all the way up to fifteen liters a minute. "This will help, Lobito." Somehow Shiro took the pickle juice and handed it off to someone, but Lance wasn't paying attention as to where it went. He continued talking. "Temperature – 103.3, blood pressure 75 over 50, heart rate . . ." he faltered, saying these numbers out loud made it terrifyingly real. But Stefany needed to write this stuff down. He had to say it. "Heart rate 170 beats a minute and irregular. Oxygen saturation level 88 percent – no, wait, ninety."

Somewhere outside of what he was doing, he heard Shiro vocalize distress about the statistics. He knew enough about human anatomy to know that they weren't good. Lance continued without looking at him.

"History of febrile seizure. Suspected influenza, anemia, and dehydration. Symptoms began with fever and fatigue Thursday night and tachycardia on Friday morning which progressed to arrhythmia in the afternoon and now we're looking at extreme hypotension and arrhythmia. Last food intake was a smoothie around ten this morning, last fluid intake was Gatorade around one pm and just now roughly half a cup of pickle brine. No allergies to medications, and the last medication given, again at one, was 400 mg of Ibuprofen."

Now let's get on with it, he thought, watching Keith. His eyes were closed, concentrating, sucking in greedy breaths of oxygen, still conscious, though trembling hard, lying limp against Shiro. Grayson had replaced Lance's personal blood pressure cuff with the one from the ambulance.

"Keith," Lance called to him, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "You're doing great. We're going to have to move you now; we're taking you to the hospital. I'm going with you, though. I'm riding with you."

He looked around, wondering how they were going to get him safely and smoothly to the ambulance outside. They had no wheelchair, or anything with wheels at all really. Keith absolutely could not walk. As Lance frantically checked his surroundings, he accidentally made eye contact with Shiro, who looked completely desperate. He wanted to help, wanted to do something. He looked as though he'd walked into his worst nightmare. Lance felt a tiny prick of sympathy for him.

"I'll take him," Shiro offered, just as Hunk appeared at Lance's side, bending over to hand Lance his quilt from the bed. Great, perfect. Lance accepted it and together with Shiro, began wrapping Keith up, warm and secure. He was slipping into shock, even with the oxygen supplement.

"You sure?" Lance asked, wondering if it were a good idea to let a man with a missing arm be responsible for carrying Keith.

"I've got him," Shiro promised, and Lance didn't doubt him anymore. "I'm here, Keith," Shiro told him, his voice low, intimate. "I'm going to pick you up; hold on."

Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro's neck, weak, frightened, and shivering, resting his head against Shiro's chest as if he were a child. Grayson helpfully kept the oxygen tank level with Keith as Shiro stood up, though he looked doubtful, switching his gaze back and forth between Lance and Stefany.

"No, Sir, you can't carry him. Lance, you know we can't allow –" Stefany began, but stopped as Lance glared at her. Of course he knew. Shiro was not medically trained, at least to their knowledge. He could drop Keith, injure him further, and they would be liable because they had allowed it to happen. But right this second, Lance trusted Shiro more with Keith than he did anyone else in the room. Even he couldn't carry him as safely as Shiro could, and he also knew that Keith would rest easier in Shiro's arms than if anyone tried a tandem carry.

"Go on," Lance told Shiro, pushing Grayson a little so he'd be sure to follow despite what Stefany was saying. "There's no time." Shiro nodded, striding forward in a secure march. Grayson looked pained but followed with his gear.

"Lance, what do you think you're doing?" Stefany growled at him, but he didn't care. Officer Guist was on his way out too, following Shiro, speaking into his radio. Stefany watched him walk past with her mouth open, as if she were ready to make an official report about Lance's abandonment of protocol right this second. In the end, she turned back to him. "You better get in line or you're not getting in my ambulance."

"I'm going with him," Lance countered fiercely, not making any promises about any future broken protocol. He was going to do what was best for his patient. "And it's not your ambulance. Now let's go; we're wasting time."

Stefany's lips slammed together as if holding back all the sharp words she suddenly wanted to say but couldn't because she was a paramedic on duty and she knew that they were wasting precious seconds standing here arguing about procedure. She spun on her heel and started jogging after the others. Lance was right behind her until he heard his name called sharply from behind.

His living room looked small in the aftermath, darker and empty. Pidge and Hunk came up to him, looking stricken, not used to emergencies and especially not used to watching Lance handle them, but despite being afraid, their hands were full of offerings for Lance to take with him. Pidge held out his coat while Hunk had his backpack. Lance smiled at them gratefully, his heart full of pride and love.

"You guys are the best," he acknowledged. "I'm really sorry to put you through all this. I'll call with an update as soon as I can."

"Be careful," Pidge told him, unsure but knowing there would be no talking him out of going where ever Keith went. Hunk looked like he wanted to say something, but he was too shocked to make a sound. His face was wet, covered in frightened, worried, overwhelmed tears, and he squeezed Lance's arm on his way out the door, putting everything he wanted to say into the pressure.

"Thanks, guys," Lance said, closing the door and dashing down the hall to catch up with everyone. The elevator was already on the first floor; they hadn't waited for him, but he hadn't expected them to. He flew down the stairs, almost tripping as he skipped as many as safely possible, meeting up with them out front of the building as they were strapping Keith securely onto the stretcher, the backrest tipped up so he could recline instead of lie flat. He still had his eyes closed, as if he were pretending that none of this were happening to him, his chest rising and falling in a slow and heavy way, as if each breath were a difficult, dedicated effort. Grayson was finishing with the bindings while Stefany was telling Shiro off for ignoring her instructions, venting her frustrations about Lance. Officer Guist remained a shadowy witness to the proceedings.

When the time came to transfer the stretcher into the back of the vehicle, Lance was right there on one side with Grayson on the other. Stefany shot him a look as he took what should have been her place, and they had a quick stare down.

"I'm going with him," Lance reminded her, knowing that she might not like it, knowing she might hate him right now, and knowing absolutely that there would be a disciplinary meeting with someone about what he was doing. But that was so far away. Lance wasn't thinking too much about all of those things. Mostly he was focused on Keith's next breath, on his next heartbeat. "Don't try to stop me," he threatened, watching her eyes go wide in insult and fury. He felt Keith's trembling hand on his sleeve, gripping him as much as he could, making him turn away from Stefany, though he knew that she was noticing Keith's hand too. "I'm here, Lobito," he told him. "Right here with you."

"Just follow protocol," Stefany growled at him, headed for the driver's side door. Lance didn't take the time to feel triumphant about this, just nodded to Grayson so they could finish getting the stretcher secured inside.

"Shiro, come on," Lance called out the back of the ambulance. Shiro was standing close to Officer Guist, conversing rapidly with their heads together, but jerked his head up when Lance called him, when he used the name that Keith did. Lance leaned down, holding his hand out to Shiro to help him up.

"I'll meet you there," Officer Guist said, turning away towards his patrol car. Shiro grabbed Lance's offered wrist and hauled himself into the back of the ambulance. Grayson pulled the doors closed and Lance tapped the back window to signal to Stefany that they were clear to move. Then he shifted his focus back to Keith.

"I'm starting an IV line," Lance told Grayson, knowing he could have it ready in the minutes it would take to drive the two miles to the campus hospital. Because things like that were easier to do with a conscious patient, because who knew what would happen during the drive, and he wanted it to be ready and waiting to connect to saline and Bretylium the second they got there. While the antiarrhythmic drug could be administered via a muscular injection, the delay in effect was almost two hours longer than if it was administered via IV. Lance didn't want Keith to have to wait that long, didn't think he could. He also knew that Grayson wasn't the best at IVs, they were in a moving vehicle, and Keith's veins were not great.

"I don't think so, Lance, you heard –" Grayson started, but Lance already knew he wasn't on duty, and he wasn't cleared to place IVs even if he were. He had heard what Stefany said, but he also knew that Keith needed every minute he could give him.

"Can you just stick to what you're good at, treat him for shock, and shut up?" Lance returned, already pulling an IV kit from a cabinet behind his head. "I'm taking full responsibility. Shiro? Come up here by his head. Come talk to him. It'll help if he can hear your voice."

Shiro looked as though he wasn't sure what he should do, sensing the discord, but in the end began to obey Lance.

"You can't take the responsibility; you're just an EMT," Grayson countered, but couldn't actually reach Lance over the stretcher to stop him yet. Shiro made it even more difficult by squeezing between Grayson and the stretcher to get to Keith's head. "I'm the one who will get in trouble."

"Keith?" Lance spoke to the boy in the stretcher, covered in Lance's quilt, who was silently panting. "Drop your hand to the side, ok? Just let it hang here while I get this ready for you." Keith let go of Lance's shirt, letting his hand fall limp to the side as instructed as Lance tightened a tourniquet around his arm just above his elbow. And even though Lance had told him to do it, he jumped a little in alarm to see the hand fall like that, to feel it slip from off his clothes, as though Keith had lost consciousness again. He sped up his prep work, ignoring Grayson, though he could hear him prattling on over there.

"Lance? Lance, don't," Grayson kept entreating. "What are you . . . you're gonna do the hand?"

Yes, he was starting the IV in the hand. Normal ambulance procedure would put it in the crook of the elbow because the veins were larger there and it would be easier to do while moving. But that spot was meant to be temporary, meant to be placed for immediate use upon arrival, or during the transfer if it were long enough. But it wasn't as safe as the hand. Keith could start seizing, which would jerk his arm tight to his body, could break the needle somewhere inside him. It would be more difficult, but the hand was the best location choice, and if Lance was successful, it could be used throughout Keith's entire hospital stay. He'd only have to go through this procedure once. Lance hoped the combined effort of Keith's struggling heart, the tourniquet, and gravity would be sufficient to pool enough blood into the lowered hand to plump up the veins there enough that he could see them.

Grayson used his long arm to its full advantage and reached over Keith to push Lance back, to keep him at bay and away from Keith's veins. "Come on, Lance, stop it, I'm not playing with you." Lance glared at him.

"No one's playing," Lance clipped. "Are you telling me that you don't agree this is the best choice?"

"If we were still, it would be," Grayson allowed. "But we're moving and you aren't cleared to do it anyway."

"I'll clear him," Shiro spoke up from his position of protection at Keith's head. Keith also had lifted the hand closest to Grayson, blindly fumbling for his arm that blocked Lance and trying to pull it away. "Do what you need to do," he said to Lance. They shared a look of trust, gratitude, and expectation, and Lance nodded, hoping that Shiro's faith in him was not misplaced. Grayson reluctantly backed off, muttering something about Lance getting him fired. While Lance knew that was a possibility, he also knew it would be less likely if Keith didn't die. And that would be less likely if he could get this IV going as soon as possible.

Lance gently took Keith's hand, keeping it low against his thigh, trying to get his head in the moment, trying to ignore anything outside of Keith's hand – Grayson, Shiro, the siren above them, Keith's upcoming sentencing. The horrible idea that Keith could die before he could be sentenced. No. Lance tightened his concentration another notch, studying the problem in front of him and the best way to come at it. The angle was weird; he'd never done it this way before, and not in a jostling vehicle. But Keith could hardly breathe, his body was not getting the oxygen it needed. He was crashing and slipping away, so Lance proceeded, dismissing immediately the dorsal venous arch on top of the hand. No need to take unnecessary risks. He'd use the cephalic vein located at the wrist below the thumb, the place commonly known as the student's vein because it's large, straight, and easy to cannulate. In theory.

"Keith," Lance let him know what he was doing. "I'm starting an IV in your wrist; it may hurt a little, but not for long. We're only doing it once." The amount of pain Keith was already in, Lance wondered if the prick of the needle would even be noticed, but he also knew that he wouldn't be as graceful as he had been in the quiet of his apartment. Lance held his breath, didn't blink, tightened all his muscles to brace what they were doing, somehow hold it apart from any movement the ambulance might unexpectedly make at a crucial moment. Steady hand. Sure stick. Keith flinched slightly as Lance eased the needle in, but kept still enough, everything still enough, that the placement was a success. Lance taped it securely in place, knowing that the needle would be Keith's best friend for at least the next few hours and possibly the next few days.

Grayson looked stunned when Lance finished and looked up at him, stunned and impressed. He reached over to take Keith's hand, checking Lance's work and at the same time injecting a solution into it. Bretylium. Finally.

"Almost there, Keith," Lance reassured him, taking his hand back from Grayson and placing it carefully across his torso. "We've just given you some medicine that will slow your heart down. It'll start working soon." Lance leaned over him as he spoke, and Keith opened his eyes to look at him. To stare at him. Keith had his mouth open inside the oxygen mask, breathing so hard, trying so hard to get enough. His eyes were so full of fear and pain that it made Lance hurt too. Made him feel guilty. It shouldn't have come to this; Lance should never have allowed Keith to decline to this point.

And they were at the worst part now. The part where there was nothing left for Lance to do except wait. It would take several more minutes, maybe as many as twenty, for the medication to fully enter Keith's bloodstream and do what it was supposed to. Twenty grueling minutes for Keith to continue struggling for air, for his heart to throb and jerk and race. And Lance could do nothing for him anymore.

"Stay with me, Keith," Lance pleaded, wishing his voice sounded better, less afraid. He didn't want Keith to hear it. Fear was such a contagious thing. "Stay awake."

Author's Note: So much going on . . . . hang in there, boys. And you too – hang in there. We have a long way to go. I mean – Shiro and Lance have to chat, and I'm not sure how much trouble Lance is in now. Lying to policemen, doing things outside of his scope of practice. Even good intentions have consequences. Alas. I'll try to keep the chapters coming in a speedy manner. If you are anxious to know about something, want to chat, want some reassurance. Whatever – let me know. I love hearing from you.