Author's Note: I know. . .what am I doing updating late afternoon on a Friday when I know that's the worst possible time to put up a chapter? You all have stuff you're doing, preparing for your weekends. I'm just torturing myself because I'll have to wait FOREVER to see if you guys like the chapter.
That's ok. I like the chapter. I can wait. I mean, I make you guys wait all the time. Thank you for that. Thank you so much for that.
Chapter Twenty: Escape Velocity
In less than thirty seconds, the atmosphere of the apartment shook itself of all calm. The revelation to Keith that his hearing was in the morning had struck him like a gunshot, leaving Shiro and Lance both sputtering apologies.
"Keith, I'm so sorry," Shiro began at the same time Lance said, "I can't believe we all thought you knew."
Shiro kept a tight hold on Keith, who seemed to want to leap up from the couch and bolt for the door. Even though there was no escape from this, no where he could go, and he didn't even have the strength to make it to the hallway. None of that connected for Keith; he was suddenly desperate to move, to get away.
"Settle down, Keith; there's no point getting all frantic about it. You'll end up hurting yourself," Shiro advised, just the tiniest hint of exertion in the slow-moving tranquility of his voice as he tried to calm Keith down. Keith obviously disagreed with all of Shiro's logic and continued to struggle. Lance took pity on him, snagging his hands and pulling him upright off the couch, though Shiro shot him a look of confused exasperation for enabling Keith's panic. But Lance understood. If Keith wanted to stand up to feel as though he had the tiniest bit of control here, then Lance wasn't going to deny him that. It may even help calm him down.
Though he allowed him to stand, Lance kept close to Keith, pulling him tight against his side as Keith began to realize that his body just wasn't able to keep up with his flight response. He groaned, miserable and angry, shivering with uncontrollable fever chills and shaking with exertion simultaneously. It was all Lance could do to hold him, and he wondered if he hadn't made a mistake helping him upright. He almost set Keith back on the couch, worried about what all of this was going to do to his heart, standing or not, but Keith determinedly dragged them over to the table, reaching out for one of the chairs and taking a seat there as if that were some sort of compromise. Shiro stood near the couch still, his face full of Keith's pain.
"Shiro, how?" Keith begged, though the question was so unclear. He could hardly get the words out, his throat sounded constricted, as though he were being strangled. Lance pulled up another chair so he could sit knee-to-knee with Keith next to the table, reaching out to steady him. Keith grabbed on to Lance's wrists, frantically hard, as though Lance were the only thing stopping Keith from falling off a cliff. "I can't. I just . . . I can't go back. Tomorrow?"
Lance didn't mean to wince, but Keith's fingers dug into the pressure points against his pulse; Keith's voice stabbed him deep in the chest. He wanted to make this better for him, but he didn't know how.
"Easy, Keith," Shiro calmed, uselessly. "Come on, let go. You're hurting Lance."
Shiro's words caused Keith to rip his hands away, horrified, and he immediately turned sideways, cowering against the backrest, folding his arms across his own chest and grabbing on to the extra fabric in the sleeves of Lance's hoodie so he could continue to hold tight to something. His breathing rattled away from any kind of normal pattern; he'd returned to quick gasps followed by long, disturbing pauses. Lance leaned closer, wanting to comfort him but suddenly being too afraid to touch him. He'd become so breakable in the last minute, unsteady, unstable – the way he had been on Friday afternoon when Lance was hesitant to get within striking range. Not that he thought Keith would hurt him, at least not on purpose, but his defense mechanisms were amped high, sensitive and tense.
"Lobito," Lance tried instead to reach him with words alone. "Please don't hold your breath like that; give your heart the oxygen it needs. It's still working extra hard, ok?" When Lance mentioned Keith's heart, Keith reached over to him again, this time slower, obviously trying to be gentle but needing help. He put his trembling hand against Lance's chest, panting, struggling to do what Lance said but finding it difficult to return to an unfrenzied rhythm. Lance supported Keith's arm, held it upright to allow Keith to keep his palm against Lance's steadier heartbeat, understanding that Keith was trying to do the same synchronization technique Lance had explained in the hospital. Though he still felt that hadn't worked as well as everyone seemed to think it did, Lance mirrored Keith's movement and put his own hand against Keith's chest, unable to feel anything under the bulk of the sweatshirt.
"That's right," Lance encouraged softly, calmly even though he found it difficult not to match Keith's stress, almost as if the synchronization were going the opposite direction, speeding up Lance instead of slowing Keith down. But that's not what Lance wanted; he had to stay slow and calm and steady for Keith. Even though Lance still didn't know if it was right or if it would help. But maybe all that mattered was that Keith thought it could. "Slow everything down," Lance breathed for both of them.
"Lance," Keith gulped, completely undone, sounding as though he were hoping Lance could help somehow, make it better, that he would know what to do. But Lance couldn't do anything about this, couldn't stop time, couldn't change events that had started before he'd even met Keith. The only thing he could do was stay with Keith until it was over. Less than fifteen hours from now. The only thing Lance could do was pretend that it would all work out.
"Shh, Lobito, it's going to be ok. Come here; put your head down," Lance commanded, shifting even closer to Keith, forcing Keith to back up a bit as Lance slid their chairs together. Lance tucked his legs underneath the table so he also sat sideways, hips touching Keith's, facing opposite directions. Keith folded against him as Lance pulled him over, guiding his head to his chest, allowing him to rest his ear against Lance's heart. He put his hand against Keith's neck, combing his fingers slowly through his hair. "Don't think."
"I can't," Keith repeated into Lance's shirt.
An unfamiliar tone broke the scene, causing Lance to look around to determine the source of the noise, but went back to Keith when he saw Shiro pulling his phone out to answer it.
"It's ok," Lance continued to murmur reassuringly, folding Keith in the cadence of it. "One breath at a time for now."
"Yes, speaking," Shiro was saying into the receiver. Lance held tight to Keith, both of them quiet enough that Shiro's phone conversation became the dominant focus. "Yes, thanks for returning my call." The voice on the other end of the line suddenly shredded into the room, just loud enough that the tone was clear but the words were not. Whoever had called Shiro back sounded extremely pissed off. Not shouting into the phone, but racing through . . .what? A lecture? Questions maybe? Yes, shooting off questions to Shiro at a rapid pace. Shiro stood next to Keith, hand rubbing up and down his back as he listened to whoever it was run out of steam, the action appearing more and more as if Shiro were doing it to keep himself calm rather than Keith. Lance wasn't sure how he would take standing there listening to someone shouting at him like that. Shiro always seemed the very picture of patience.
"There was no way for him to contact you," Shiro cut in, excusing Keith. "Like I said in the message, he was in the emergency room. Yes, he's with me now, but I don't think he can talk. He certainly can't be screamed at." Keith tried to sit up, but Lance wouldn't let him. He didn't want him to have to deal with anything or anyone else. Not one thing more if he didn't absolutely have to.
"Shiro's got it," Lance whispered, wanting to join Shiro in protecting Keith from the fury on the phone. "Hold still."
But Keith paid no attention. He seemed to have recognized the intense voice. As Shiro made protests, Keith reached up to tug on his sleeve, using that and a few gestures to indicate that Shiro could put the call on speaker. That Keith was going to try and participate in whatever was going on.
"All right," Shiro sharply broke into what seemed to be a rather long, exhaustive tirade of threats on not being able to speak to Keith. "Keith's agreed to talk to you, but please keep in mind he's - yes, thank you." Hesitantly, as though he were questioning himself on whether this were a good idea or not, Shiro pushed a button and knelt down into the tangle of Keith and Lance to allow them better access.
"Krolia?" Keith asked in a broken, exhausted voice. Lance stared at the phone as if that would give him some kind of clue about her. That voice belonged to Krolia? Keith's lawyer? She sounded absolutely terrifying.
"Kit?" Lance wasn't sure at first if Krolia had said Kit or Kid, but as she began repeating it in the conversation that followed, he decided for sure the end consonant was a T. He did notice that she had lowered the volume and the violence from when she'd crashed into Shiro. The intensity was still there, just shifted, barely contained, a simmer rather than a boil. "For fuck's sake, Kit, why didn't you contact me? It's been a complete disaster. You missed the check-ins; I called and called. No one could find you. I've been putting out fires since Friday. They all thought you ran, hell, even I was starting to believe it – that bastard Rozensweig was just having a field day with that. I think he already put your name and face out to the TSA, the rotten little prick. How could you?"
"Tone it down," Shiro threatened in the background, a warning that if this continued the way it had started, he was going to hang up. Lance nodded to himself in total agreement. He thought he heard Krolia growl, but she did let up enough to let Keith respond.
"I'm sorry," Keith apologized weakly, slumping partially into Lance again. Keith had a hand against his forehead, leaning against Lance's chest as Lance twisted rather awkwardly in his seat so he could support Keith and see the phone, as if that would let him hear better. Lance was completely astonished by Krolia, by her dark, murderous voice. He thought the phone might melt from the venom in her tone. "I didn't mean to disappear, Krolia; I just . . I . ."
Lance pressed his nose into Keith's hair. Even now, Keith wasn't able to say what happened to him, couldn't give voice to his own suffering. He'd rather allow himself to be sternly lectured, rather let Krolia think whatever wrong assumption she was holding in her mind, than admit the truth to her. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to actually say it. The weakness in his voice was enough.
"God, you really are sick, aren't you?" Krolia asked, suddenly gentle after she heard Keith speak. "Where are you now? Still in the hospital? Have you been there this whole time?" Lance had never heard anyone talk as quickly as Krolia, the waves of her questions crashing against each other, the next already started nearly before the last one had finished as if that were even possible.
"I. . ." Keith started to explain, but couldn't manage it. His voice broke, and he buried his face into Lance's shirt, which caused Lance to instinctively pull him closer. "I'm sorry."
"All right, Kit, stop, never mind. Takashi was right; you shouldn't be talking. Go ahead and let him answer for you now. Is he still around?"
"I'm still here," Shiro volunteered, ready to speak for Keith. He shifted as though preparing to stand up, take the phone away, perhaps into another room, but Keith put a hand on his wrist to keep him there. He might not be able to say much, but apparently he did want to hear the conversation. Lance didn't blame him. After they'd screwed up in not telling him when the hearing was, it made sense that Keith didn't want to potentially miss out on any more information.
"Takashi, what the hell happened to my boy?" Krolia addressed him again, voice stripped of any tenderness, but Shiro stopped her before she got started.
"Keith's still listening," he warned her to prevent her disclosing anything she may not want Keith to hear. "And he's been through a lot, so I'm glad we're in agreement about it now."
"So are you still in the hospital?" Krolia began. "Because I know Keith isn't at home."
"No, Keith was discharged today – late afternoon. We're staying with one of Keith's friends since he lives nearby. There's a chance that Keith will have to be readmitted; we have to watch his heart rate pretty close right now. I was hoping to talk to you about postponing tomorrow's hearing until Keith is stronger. Do you think there's any chance of that?"
"Eh, maybe, but I don't know. They normally don't allow that unless someone actually is in the hospital, and Rozensweig – the little weasel representing the Hunts - anyway he's being such a jerk about the whole disappearing thing that I don't think we can get away with any sort of exception at this point. I believe they'll see it as a delay because no one's found Kit yet," Krolia paused, as if thinking of all possible angles. "Now I know why he was so out of it last Thursday. How bad is he? You said his heart?"
"He can't even stand up," Shiro easily said the words that always caught in Keith's throat, though he locked eyes with Lance as he spoke, as if he needed Lance to confirm that he was giving the correct information. "His heart's beating too fast and irregularly; it dropped his blood pressure so far yesterday that we almost lost him." Shiro no longer spoke quite so easily telling Krolia that. Those memories still haunted him. "He was treated for anemia at the hospital, so that part is improving, but he's still got a pretty serious fever. He's very weak."
"Why the hell did they let him leave?" Krolia interjected, her anger rising again but at least directed at the right target this time. They shouldn't have let him leave. Lance felt his hands involuntarily clench, which caused Keith to twitch in his arms, preparing to draw back as though the movement was a sign that Lance didn't want to hold him anymore. Lance had to force his muscles to relax, return to the slow rhythm of smoothing the hair at the back of Keith's neck, unconsciously shushing Keith into stillness, reminding himself of his role in all this – he was only here to support Keith, that was his only purpose. And right now that meant keeping him calm.
"Well – I guess because they figured he was stable enough to recover at home from now on, but really – his condition is not good," Shiro tried to make sense of the hospital's policy without downplaying Keith's symptoms. "Do you think anything can be done?"
Krolia was silent a long time, obviously pondering their options. Shiro started supplying suggestions for her.
"If they won't reschedule, I could attend in his place, maybe? As a proxy? Or we could set up some kind of webcam connection so he could attend, but not in person?"
"No," Krolia denied. "That won't be accepted. If the jury finds him guilty, he'll be taken into custody right away. He will have to be physically present; otherwise, there is too much of a flight risk."
"But –" Shiro began to protest, about to cite his conviction that Keith wouldn't do that, but Krolia wouldn't let him.
"You're a little too close to the situation, so I'm afraid it doesn't matter how much you trust him, Takashi," she said. "As far as the court knows, he already did try it."
"What about Fritz?" Shiro pressed. "Officer Guist? He saw Keith yesterday; he can witness as to where he was. Couldn't the court send him over here as a representative during the hearing?"
"Wait, you're telling me Guist saw him? What the hell; no one told me that."
"Couldn't he come as insurance or something?" Shiro reminded her of his original question after hearing her get distracted about Guist not reporting to her that he'd actually found Keith. Lance had to wonder about that too. Surely, he'd told someone? Or maybe he had, but then no one notified Krolia about it. Or maybe she just hadn't checked all her messages yet, it seemed she was a little behind.
"You know they don't do that," Krolia objected dryly. "He'll have to be there, in person, no exceptions unless he ends up back in the hospital."
Keith's hand could not grip any tighter to Lance's sleeve, and he pressed as close as possible against him. Every muscle taut in agony as though he were trying to shrink himself into invisibility. Lance looked to Shiro, hoping he could see it too. They were going to have to take the conversation away from Keith; he couldn't stand listening to it anymore despite how he'd wanted to. Shiro nodded, understanding, and patted Keith's knee before getting up. Keith's head was tucked so close to his chest, he didn't seem to notice the change.
"Listen, can I meet you somewhere to talk more about our options?" Shiro requested.
"It's so cute how you think we have options," Krolia droned sarcastically.
"There has to be a solution," Shiro remained steadfastly hopeful. "But I think this conversation is getting too much for the phone, and Keith needs to get some rest."
"If Kit gives you a written statement that he gives me permission to talk with you, then, sure. We can meet."
"Great. Is now ok?" Shiro made a writing motion to Lance as he continued with the particulars of where and when with Krolia. Lance tipped his chin toward the kitchen counter where they kept a notepad and a pen, unwilling to leave Keith to get it for him and figuring that Shiro would understand. Shiro scribbled a few lines about granting clearance to discuss everything about Keith, the case, and the trial. Keith had to be prodded a little to sign it, but both the form and the phone conversation were finished almost at the same time.
"We'll do what we can," Shiro half-promised, kneeling in front of Keith again, obviously conflicted about leaving him. "Keith, I'll call Lance with updates. I'm not leaving you, do you understand? I'm coming back."
But Keith seemed broken inside, reminding Lance a little of a bicycle chain that had slipped from its gears. You could turn the pedals all you wanted, but there would be no forward progress.
"Keith?" Shiro asked again, disturbed and worried, then switched direction when Keith didn't respond. "Lance?"
"It's shock," Lance named what was happening to Keith, still holding on to him, holding him together. Keith's mind was processing what had happened tonight, all the life altering and shattering details dumped on him all at once. He'd hit the point where he had to shut down in self-defense. It didn't help that the sun was gone, that the pain medication had worn off, that the night always made everything worse. "He's overwhelmed."
"Should I stay?" Shiro asked, torn about which action would be in Keith's best interests.
"No," Lance determined, hoping it was the right answer. "See if you can get this thing pushed back a few more days." Give Keith some more time to recover, some more time to catch up with Shiro, to get that relationship back again. Give him all the time to be as free as possible.
Shiro nodded agreement, putting a hand on Keith's head in parting. "We're going to get through this," he said, determinedly. His voice was strong, but his face was full of doubt and question. He wanted to get past this, to find a solution, but he just couldn't see how that was going to happen. "Get some rest, Keith. Lance is here watching over you, ok?"
Painfully resolved, Shiro gathered up Keith's note and his file and hurried into his coat. Lance remembered just in time to have him grab the key card so he could let himself back in whenever he wanted to. Shiro looked at them hard, as if he'd never see them again, eyes brimming sympathy for Keith, and a shared sense of responsibility with Lance. He was trusting him with Keith again.
"I've got him," Lance promised, which allowed Shiro to tear himself away, heading off into the snow again, a warrior on a mission. "Be safe," Lance wished after him, wondering which one of them had the harder job.
He continued to sit with Keith on the dining room chairs until it simply became too uncomfortable to hold him that way anymore. Keith's full weight was on him now, and Lance wasn't completely sure that Keith was even still awake. Lance didn't want to move, didn't want to disturb Keith, but he could feel a sort of spasm starting in his lower back and thought it would be a good time to relocate Keith to his bedroom.
"Keith?" Lance called him gently, beginning to shift them apart without causing Keith to fall. "You awake, Lobito?"
Keith nodded a little but made no sound. Lance kept his hands on his shoulders, holding him as he stood up. "Let's get more comfortable. Come on. Can you move or should I call Hunk to help us?"
Still silent, Keith dragged himself to his feet, using both the table and Lance as support. Just looking at his posture made Lance weary all through his own body, as though Keith's physical and emotional exhaustion were bleeding into him through contact. Hunk heard their movements and came to help, but Keith waved him off to go back to what he'd been doing, never even raising his head to look at him.
"Lance? Where's Shiro?" Hunk entreated, also thrown off balance by Keith's weird, almost oppressive silence.
"He had a meeting with Keith's lawyer," Lance answered. "He'll be back later - probably tomorrow morning."
"You guys good?" Hunk went on, watching them with a distressed expression on his face.
"We're tired." Lance didn't notice until after it had come out of his mouth that he'd just referred to Keith as part of himself. There was no Keith and Lance anymore. They were a unit now, like Pidge was with Hunk. Feeling the same things, connected on the same wave length. He hadn't really noticed, but it had happened. Somewhere during the course of the last couple days, or maybe just in the last couple hours, a connection had formed that streamlined Lance's emotions to Keith's. Now that he'd noticed it was there, Lance wondered how long it would last.
"I'm making you some tea," Hunk stated more than offered, watching them cross the hallway into Lance's room, his voice betraying how unsettled he felt. There was such a heaviness in the apartment now, the combined effect of the snow, Pidge and Lance's falling out, the dread of the hearing, and Keith's unrelenting fever. It cast a tangible shadow over their once cozy and warm threshold. Hunk making tea seemed an almost religious gesture, a ceremony to cleanse the air of the harsh darkness that weighed them down.
"That would be nice," Lance accepted readily, relieved that Hunk had stayed, that he was still here with them. That he was continually helpful. "Thanks, Hunk." He almost asked about Pidge, if Hunk had spoken to her, if he'd made any headway in getting her to come back. But he knew it was too soon, something he would have to wait to bring up, at least until after Keith was safe under blankets and sleeping.
Keith unexpectedly reached out to Hunk as he made to slip past them at the junction where the hallway, living room, and tiny walkway to Lance's door all met together. It made Hunk pause, looking first to where Keith's hand barely touched his arm, then up to meet his gaze.
"What's up, buddy?" Hunk asked him, trying to keep his voice light, though Lance could see that Keith's behavior was freaking him out. "Change your mind? I can still carry you the rest of the way if you want."
"No," Keith denied the offer, the first word he'd spoken in what seemed like hours, and Hunk tried hard not to show rejection in his face. "But . . . thank you. Lance is right; you really are the best." Again, Hunk restrained himself – this time from grabbing Keith too tight. Instead, he patted him gently on the shoulder, smiling warmly at him.
"Hold off until you see my bill," Hunk joked, though Lance could see how touched he was at the compliment. Lance was pleased at Keith's expression of gratitude, but it also worried him. It felt too much like a good-bye, like Keith was trying to set his affairs in order. As if he truly believed that this would be his last night.
Hunk separated from them into the kitchen while Lance half-carried Keith the remaining steps into his room where he helped him under the covers.
"It's so dark in here," Keith observed, voice quiet, almost mournful. Lance switched on his lamp, giving a dull illumination to the small space, understanding Keith's need for it to not be completely black, but not wanting so much light that it would hurt Keith's chances for resting.
"You should try and get some sleep," Lance recommended, stretching his back now that Keith's weight was off of him.
"I don't think I can," Keith responded, sounding like a man already condemned. Unwilling to waste any of his final hours of freedom on something so trivial as sleep. Lance understood the motive, even though he disagreed about its practicality.
"That's why I said try to sleep instead of go to sleep," Lance reiterated in another attempt to lighten the mood. "It makes your success based on attempt not outcome."
Keith almost smiled before being dragged back down by despair. Lance pulled out his desk chair, pushing the power button on his computer so he could restart his soothing piano soundtrack. Maybe that would help.
"It's always about the outcome," Keith pointed out miserably. "No one cares about the attempt."
"You did the right thing, Keith," Lance assured him, perhaps a little harshly, but he was completely convinced on this point and needed Keith to understand. "The jury will see it too."
"No," Keith replied, sounding on the verge of a final confession. "That's the worst part, you know? It might have been the right thing, but I didn't do it for the right reason, and that's why. . that's why I should go to prison for it." Lance turned from his start up screen to give Keith his full attention, sensing that this was important for Keith to say, to tell someone. That it was hurting him somehow to hold this information secret. It also sounded like something else that Lance wasn't certain he wanted the responsibility of knowing. What else could Keith possibly have to say about what happened? There couldn't be anything left. And yet, Lance could see it in Keith's face, an undisclosed memory, an overpowering feeling. Guilt that was eating into him like poison.
"Ok," Lance invited, preparing himself for yet another mental shock, getting closer to Keith, going down to his knees by the bed. "I'm hanging on to my right to disagree with that, but do you want to tell me?" Because he had offered that to Keith on Friday, before he knew anything. If you're going through something, you can talk to me about it. That's what he said, innocently thinking that there couldn't be anything Keith could say that would change how Lance reacted to taking care of him. He still thought that, but he still felt uneasy about how Keith was talking. How could he think he deserved to go to prison?
"You looked at the file, right?" Keith checked, lying on his back on Lance's bed, one of his arms draped over his eyes, blocking his sight as though he needed to be blind to be able to speak.
"I . . . did," Lance said slowly, wondering what Keith was getting at, hoping he wasn't upset about Lance looking at the file when he'd said he wouldn't. "I was trying to help; I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize," Keith said, rather shortly, then appeared to force himself to relax, to speak calmly again even though it was obviously hard for him. Moving back to what he'd originally intended to say. "But you saw the photos? You saw what I did to him?"
Lance didn't want to remember, but the images came back to him immediately as Keith referenced them. David's swollen, bloodied face. The broken nose, the fractured jaw, the badly bruised eye. Why did Keith want to talk about this now?
"You did what you had to, Keith," Lance told him neutrally, trying to keep any judgment or horror out of his voice. "I know that."
"No," Keith denied, gathering courage and strength to sit up, eyes fever-bright and burning into Lance. What was he doing? "It wasn't like that. I didn't have to do all that; I wanted to hurt him."
Lance involuntarily cleared his throat, holding himself motionless by the bed, trying not to cower under Keith's sudden intensity.
"Why are you telling me this?" Lance asked. Was this another assault test on the boundaries of Lance's offered friendship? Another attempt to push Lance away? What kind of assurance was Keith after by giving Lance this information?
"Because you need to understand. You and Shiro . . . you keep trying to see something good in me. God, sometimes you try so hard, I almost believe there might be something there to find. But that just makes it harder."
Because for some reason, for some people, kindness hurts more than cruelty. Because if you've convinced yourself that you somehow deserve all the awful that happens in your life, it makes it easier to accept it. But if someone else, someone outside your own mind, tells you that it's not right, that you don't deserve it, it makes the pain worse. That's what was happening here. Keith believed he was doomed, that he was going to prison in the morning. And as long as he thought that he was a criminal, that his punishment was justified in some twisted way, he could let it happen, allow himself to be taken. He felt the situation was hopeless, so he didn't want Shiro or Lance to give him anything that even resembled hope or kindness or comfort. Not because he didn't really want it, but because he knew it would hurt more to have it taken away, like everything else he'd ever desired for himself. It was so sad.
"So you want me to treat you the way everyone else does?" Lance asked, surprised how disinterested his voice sounded, how far away. "Like you can't do anything right; you're just a waste of time? That you deserve to be cast aside, locked up and forgotten - like you're dangerous? Like I'm afraid of you?"
"But you are afraid of me," Keith pointed out.
"I was," Lance admitted. "Now I'm just afraid for you."
Keith broke eye contact, overcome, while Lance pushed himself up onto the edge of the bed. He might not be doing Keith any favors here, but he just couldn't stand for him to think that he deserved how he'd been treated. Not just for the trial, but by all the people in his past who had failed him, hurt him, judged him, made assumptions about him. They were all wrong, and Lance hated that he used to be one of them.
"How can you be like that?" Keith demanded, not the first time he'd asked Lance this question, as if he just couldn't wrap his head around how different Lance behaved toward him. "I'm not a good person; I hurt people, Lance, and . . I like doing it."
"Of course you do," Lance accepted without hesitation. "You specialize in pain; that's mostly all that anyone has ever given you, but that doesn't mean you're a bad person. It means you weren't given much of a choice about what kind of a person you could be."
"They had to drag me off of him, Lance. I couldn't even see him anymore; I'd forgotten how it even started. . . it just felt so good to keep going."
Lance could only smile sadly at Keith's continued protests about how terrible he was. It hurt too much not to. He opened his mouth to say something, but was having a hard time figuring out how to express his thoughts into words, or at least into words that Keith would accept. Any superficial protests to what Keith thought of himself would not sink in enough to be effective. He was too thoroughly injured by his previous experiences, and it seemed all Lance had were tiny bandages and too little time to apply them. Keith behaved exactly how everyone believed he would. He'd been told he was no good so much that he couldn't see himself any other way.
"Todos sueñan lo que son," Lance recited from the monologue in a whisper as he slowly tipped his head up to study Keith. "Aunque ninguno lo entiende."
"What are you saying?" Keith asked, tired and frustrated, but Lance shook his head. He'd just gained a sudden clarity about that line but it was way too abstract to try and translate the meaning.
"You couldn't see him because you weren't hitting him," Lance tried to explain instead. "It had nothing to do with him anymore; it was all about transferring pain. Yours. I'm sure it did feel good to let that go, to finally have a reason to get it out of you. You're not a bad person, Keith. You didn't just attack someone randomly without cause. He was doing something wrong, something that could have been so much worse if you hadn't stepped in. You didn't even attack; you asked him to stop. He hit you first."
"But I killed him."
"No, Keith, you didn't. I looked at the scans; Dr. Delacroix looked at the scans. Trying to pin this on you is the biggest stretch in medical history. Statistically, the chances that his death had anything to do with you are less than two percent."
"But," Keith continued to protest, beginning to crumble in front of Lance, torn between which would be worse – actually being responsible for killing someone and being sent to prison for it, or being completely innocent and still ending up in prison. Lance preferred option three, where Keith believed his own innocence and so did everyone else. "Two percent. Then what . .?"
"Genetics, probably," Lance almost shrugged but remembered that this was very important for Keith, that they were still talking about someone's life. Still, he kept his tone dry, factual, so Keith couldn't determine that it was only Lance's own emotions trying to make this right for him. Because it wasn't. It was just the simple truth. "Combined with his own poor health choices. Reasons that can't be seen, can't be fought or punished. And just like you were transferring your pain to him; his parents are transferring theirs to you. It's not right, in either case, what you all actually need is a lot of therapy, but you didn't take David's life . . . so they shouldn't be allowed to ruin yours."
"Dr. Delacroix looked at the scans?" Keith didn't seem to know what to think or say; his face full of questions, a wreck of disbelief.
"Yes, Keith, the most respected trauma doctor in the city looked at the scans," Lance emphasized. "We went over them together this morning while you were asleep. And we both agree – not only should you not be put in prison for this, you should have never been brought to trial in the first place."
Hunk entered quietly as Keith was processing this information, tiptoeing into the room as though he could come in, hand them mugs, and then back out without them knowing he was there.
"Sorry, guys, not interrupting," Hunk said as he bent over Lance. "Tea for you, and um, I figured another smoothie would probably be better for you, Keith – except I put ice cream in it. . . so I guess that makes it more a milkshake than a smoothie. Anyway, again, sorry, pretend I'm not here. . . but I am, you know, here . .in the other room if you need anything."
Lance smiled gently at Hunk as he closed the door ever so softly behind him, then returned his attention to Keith, who was staring, bewildered and lost, at the insulated glass Hunk had handed to him.
"There are more people on your side than you think," Lance told Keith, leaning over to set his steaming mug safely on his desk to cool a little before he tried to drink it. "But it's probably hard to accept anyone's belief in you . . . when you haven't been able to believe in yourself for so long."
"Stop," Keith begged, and Lance nodded. Some truths were hard to hear, even when they were good; he should give him a break. "This isn't helping."
Again, Keith had a point. Like with Pidge, sometimes the truth didn't matter. Sometimes innocent people did go to jail. Sometimes innocent children were molded into criminals and taught to believe that they deserved to be hurt for it.
"You don't make any sense," Keith was saying, to himself. Lance forced himself to take a sip of tea so he wouldn't comment on that. He knew he was making almost too much sense, but it would be easier for Keith to think that Lance was completely wrong or unrealistically optimistic. Keith took a drink too, his eyes closing as he swallowed, shuddering a little as the temperature began another round of chills for him. Lance watched him, aching to fix it. All of it. Hating that he couldn't. That all he could do was wait. For Keith's immune system to do what it was supposed to do. For the legal system to do what it was supposed to do.
"Why couldn't I have met you a long time ago?" Keith wished, again almost too quietly to hear. That thought almost doubled him over, something else hitting him hard, causing him to physically cringe. "Shiro," Keith muttered, and Lance understood. He was regretting the lost time there when he'd been avoiding Shiro over a different misunderstanding. Realizing that it didn't have to happen that way if he hadn't been so sure that Shiro didn't want him.
"Do you really think it wasn't my fault?" Keith asked Lance, as if he needed to hear it one more time. Or a hundred more times.
"It's almost impossible for it to have been your fault," Lance assured him, wishing that this truth didn't cause Keith to look even more hopeless.
"They made it sound . . . they were so sure," Keith whispered, shivering, very far away. He looked as though all his memories were rearranging themselves as everything he'd believed for the last few weeks flipped. He'd thought he had killed someone, but he hadn't. He'd thought Shiro didn't want anything to do with him, but he'd been trying to adopt him. He looked ready to shut down again like he had at the table.
"You're going to have a future, Keith," Lance promised him, hoping to keep him from sinking too far, from some sort of mental snap. "After tomorrow, or whenever this hearing thing is over . . . it's going to get better for you. I know it. You have a family now. You and Shiro – you can be together like you always wanted to be. You won't have to check in with anyone unless you want to. You'll be free."
"I can't afford to think like that," Keith admitted, sounding as though he were drowning. "You wouldn't even be saying it if you'd been there. If you heard what they said."
"You're right," Lance allowed while still trying to stop Keith from despair. "I didn't hear what they said, but I did hear your lawyer, and I can't imagine anyone getting the better of her. She's pretty badass."
Keith smiled in spite of himself. "You should see her in person," he said.
"Yeah?" Lance followed this topic of conversation eagerly, wanting to talk about something other than Keith's potential upcoming incarceration. "What's she like?" He encouraged more description, partially to distract Keith and partially because he was insanely curious. He shifted his hand from Keith's arm to gently push his glass toward his mouth again, hinting that Keith should drink some more.
"Tall," Keith said, before taking another few swallows. "Taller than you, but slim, like really thin."
"Is she always so intense like that? Or was that just because she was worried about you?"
"No, she's always like that. The first time I met her, she came to get me from. . . from jail." Keith almost cracked under this detail, but glossed over it quickly and Lance let him, though he was curious about that too. "She picked me up in her Mazda like we were in some kind of action movie – shifting gears, talking on the phone, and eating a cheeseburger at the same time." The way Keith spoke of Krolia, Lance wondered if he'd put her at the same level of respect that he held Shiro. Or at least very close. "I thought we were going to her office or something, but she drove us to this gym and we did a couple games of racquetball. And she still talked nonstop, never broke a sweat, and never missed a shot."
"Wow," Lance complimented. "And I bet I'd be even more impressed if I knew what racquetball was."
"Oh," Keith paused in his memories. "You guys don't do . . . it's kind of like tennis? But there's no net and you stand on the same side. . ." Lance must have looked clueless, because Keith cut off, taking another drink. "I'll teach you; it's fun."
Lance felt some tension leave him as he heard Keith expressing that something could be fun. Also that he had just unconsciously made a plan for the future. It didn't last long because Keith immediately realized what he'd said, and he darkened again, staring off at nothing.
"You know what my dad used to say?" Lance offered. Keith looked at him, but seemed to have exhausted all his words. "He would tell me that worrying about problems before they were problems only made it so I had more problems."
"That is such a dad thing to say," Keith murmured.
"Yeah, but he was right," Lance acknowledged. "I know it's awful, waiting to see what will happen, but it's not helping you to worry about it." In fact, Lance suspected that it was part of the reason it was taking Keith so long to get better.
"It's so hard not to," Keith admitted. "Lance, it was so bad."
"No, stop, don't think about that," Lance interrupted, not wanting to lose all the progress they'd made. "Take another drink; pay attention to the taste. I'm going to turn on some music for you. Tell me some more about racquetball or Krolia or . . anything."
Keith took a deep breath, and Lance could see the mental struggle as he tried to do what Lance instructed. He could see how tired he was, how completely drained. How was Lance supposed to calm him down enough to sleep? He really needed it.
"It's going to be ok," Lance assured him again, convinced he couldn't say it too often.
"At least one of us thinks so," Keith said, gratitude mixed with the worry and weariness in his eyes.
"I'm pretty sure Shiro thinks so too," Lance told him. Keith had a tired, bittersweet sort of smile just touching the corners of his mouth, as though he were humoring Lance in his fantasy about how the world worked. He surprised Lance by lifting his hand, barely brushing the back of it against the bruise on his cheek.
"I don't understand," Keith thought out loud. "How can you believe in me after I did this to you?"
"It's simple," Lance explained, trying to channel some of Shiro's patience, reminding himself that one conversation, however earnest, wasn't going to erase all the years of negative conditioning Keith had already been through. "You did this on instinct after being provoked. It's called a startle reflex, and you can't control it. I'm kind of glad about it, honestly, because if it hadn't happened like that, I probably wouldn't have thought to check on you. We wouldn't be friends now."
"That's a real shitty way of making friends," Keith maintained, still gloomy. "And I'm not being a very good one. I've . . never really had one before. I don't think I know how."
"I thought you were going to teach me how to play racquetball – that's friendly," Lance tossed out, desperate to keep this light, but then deciding to be honest and vulnerable again. "And you are a good friend, Keith. I've been feeling a little selfish about it, really."
"What? Why?" Keith demanded, incredulous. "I haven't done anything but ruin your life. I cost you a date, almost your place in the med program . . . maybe your friendship with Pidge. Your face . . . your back."
"Keith, stop; you've got to quit doing this to yourself. It wasn't that solid of a date, tell you the truth. Nothing bad happened with the med program; you said yourself that it might lead to a mentorship position under Dr. Delacroix, so hey, that's a huge benefit if I wanted to take it. Pidge just needs some time; it's more because she hates being wrong than anything to do with me or you. You haven't ruined my life, Keith."
"Lance," Keith began to protest, but Lance didn't want to hear it.
"You realize I basically kidnapped you," Lance told him. "Just came and scooped you up, and you just went with that like it wasn't the weirdest thing in the world to do. The entire time we've known each other, you've been extremely sick and hurting, literally fighting for your life and freedom, but the only things you're worried about, even in the hospital, are my career and a scratch on my back? You could barely move, but you were trying to make me feel better about the bad news I heard from my family. And . . I've never told anyone those things I told you about my family, never told anyone about Rachel before. Just you and Shiro. And I wouldn't have told Shiro if you hadn't been trying to comfort me about her even in your sleep. You've been worrying about me, putting your trust in me, trying to help me feel better, and my God, Keith, I can't imagine the amazing person you are when you're strong and well and healthy if this is what you're like when you are suffering so much. I don't know how I got so damn lucky."
"Would you shut up?" Keith begged, and Lance obeyed, letting him breathe. "You talk more than Krolia."
Lance decided to give him some space for a few minutes, so he busied himself with gathering their empty glasses and mugs, taking them to the kitchen and washing them, noticing how Hunk had put the apartment to bed for the night. Door locked, counters wiped, thermostat turned down. Everything familiar, but at the same time not. Like this weekend had been the beginning of a huge shift in all of their lives, something they would never come back from. It would all be different from now on. Lance didn't like it. It felt uneasy and distressing to him. He'd gotten used to his life as it was, the rhythm. He felt secure in the routine. He didn't like standing here in the dark, forced to wait and see what would happen. See if Pidge and Hunk were moving to California, if Pidge would forgive him. See if Dr. Delacroix truly wanted to apprentice him in the ER. See if he would see Allura on Wednesday and have another chance with her. See if his mother would be ok, or at least ok long enough for him to be able to put himself into a better position to help her. See if Keith would be found guilty in the morning, or maybe not because he also had to wait and see if Shiro and Krolia had been able to move that meeting.
So much uncertainty. So much waiting. He could hardly stand it. He gave himself a minute more, looking around the front part of the apartment at the things that didn't change. The crocheted afghan on the back of the couch. The boxes of electronic pieces under the partial wall between the kitchen and living room. The medical bag that Lance had left beside the couch. The camp chair drowning in coats and hats. But even those things weren't truly permanent. Lance felt a hazy, exhausted slipperiness shiver into his soul, icy as the draft from the balcony door, and just like that, he'd hit his limit on how long he could be alone. He took long strides toward the light shining weakly from his bedroom, taking his bag with him to get one last set of stats before Keith fell asleep.
Keith was curled on his side, shivering, but when he heard Lance coming in, he tried to straighten, began moving to sit up again.
"Stay down, Keith; I know you're worn out," Lance advised, knowing that they'd been talking for probably too long, gone over too many emotional exhausting topics. "We're just going to do a quick stat check, and then it's bedtime."
"Has Shiro called yet?" Keith asked, relaxing as much as it was possible for him to relax onto the mattress again. Which actually wasn't much.
"No, not yet," Lance replied, disappointed in himself that he couldn't give better news, or any news at all. "They probably have a lot to talk about, though. It'll take a while?"
"I . . . don't want to go back to jail," Keith admitted, sounding frightened.
"Krolia won't let it happen," Lance assured, checking Keith's temperature, disappointed and yet relieved to see it was back to 102.7, even with the sun down. "Now get some rest, ok?"
"Lance?"
"Yeah, querido?" He didn't know why he called Keith that; it had just sort of slipped out without him thinking about it. He hoped that Keith didn't know what it meant, or that Keith was too caught up in whatever he was thinking about to really notice. There was being open and honest, and then there was being too open. Lance hid his embarrassment by taking Keith's wrist, noticing the spike in heart rate, Keith's slight gasp at being touched. Still so fast. "What is it?"
"I really don't feel good."
It was such an obvious statement, but Lance knew how hard it had been for Keith to say it. Lance shifted his hand from Keith's wrist to his palm, holding onto him comfortingly, though he sensed that it wasn't quite enough.
"You know," Lance said, not sure about what he was offering or really who it was truly for. "When Pidge was sick, all she wanted was for Hunk to hold her. I don't know if it was the position or just having him there with her or what, but it really seemed to help. I'm not quite as . . . soft as Hunk is, but . . .maybe we could try?"
There was resistance in Keith's expression about this plan, but it crumpled quickly into a sort of desperation. He was at the point where he'd try just about anything to get some relief, no matter how embarrassing or strange it may be. Lance didn't wait for him to agree; he'd already seen his answer.
"Come here," Lance invited, first assisting Keith in sitting up so he could slide onto the bed with him, pushing himself tight into the corner, bracing himself as much as possible so he could maintain whatever position they ended up in, forcing himself not to wince as the wall pushed against his wounded back. He settled at an angle in the bed, bringing Keith backward, not in his lap, but draped sort of over it. Keith readily rested his head against Lance's chest again, reclined against him, hot, trembling, and scared. Though he did seem to be breathing easier now. "How's this?" Lance asked him. "Ok?"
"Thank you," was the sort of answer. Lance pulled the blanket over them both, though he knew he'd be suffocating in a few minutes between the quilt and Keith's extreme heat.
"Sure. Is there anything else I can do?"
"Could . . could you say that poem again?"
"Easy enough," Lance agreed, rubbing his hand slowly up and down. Everything seemed to slow, the way it does in the dark, and this time Lance was sort of happy about that. Because this could be the last night where his life was anything like the normal he was used to. Tomorrow could take Keith away from him, in a surprising variety of ways. And he wasn't ready.
"Sueña el rey que es rey," Lance began, the soft and steady rhythm he wanted Keith to breathe in, reciting the revelation of a fictional prince kept prisoner that nothing in life is truly real, that everything is just a dream – all fortune, good and bad, simply shadows of thought, created subconsciously by the dreamer. He knew Keith didn't understand a word of it, though he found it appropriate that he seemed to be drawn to it. Keith and Segismundo – both wrongfully incarcerated. Both their personalities forcibly molded by the incorrect assumptions of those around them. Both lashing out in pain.
Segismundo's story ends with him gaining his freedom and becoming the king of Poland. For Keith, Lance would settle for keeping him in his life long enough to make good on his racquetball promise.
Author's Note: How did we like our little taste of Krolia? (Oh, she's delicious.) And our boys . . . so comfy and cozy together. Getting so close. It'd be a shame if that got messed up, huh?
I know I've kept you waiting for a very long time, but next chapter is going to be everything you've been waiting for. More Krolia, the outcome of the verdict hearing, Stuff That's Been Driving You Nuts. Or maybe just me. (Am I the only one losing sleep to this thing?)
As always, I sincerely welcome your thoughts.
