Author's Note: Do I have an author's note? This chapter – ok. So you know how roller coasters work? They have that long, slow drag to the top, right? And then that horrible bit at the apex – where the cars just clank, clank, clank one link at a time as they go over the very point. Clank, clank . . and then somewhere, hard to tell exactly where, most of the weight is on the downside than the upside and suddenly gravity has the whole thing, shaking it in its teeth, and SLAM, the RUSH is on to the end of the ride.

This chapter feels like those last four clanks to me. Necessary, but so hard to get to the point where gravity takes over again. Enjoy!

Chapter Forty-Four: Paradigm Shift

Between worrying about Angelique's odd behavior and Keith's incomplete sentences, Lance didn't have anything left to worry about the prosecutor. He woke that morning knowing he'd had weird and uncomfortable dreams, but he couldn't remember anything that happened. He dragged himself sluggishly downstairs where he hardly noticed Fritz placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

"We've got about an hour before we have to go. Think you can eat breakfast?" Fritz asked, pinning Lance's attention. He almost startled in the chair, and he must have looked confused because Fritz bent a little closer to clarify the question. "Son? Can you keep some food down?"

It took longer than it probably should have for Lance to figure that out. The intense pain of the migraine was over, taking the nausea with it. All that remained was the blurry weakness of the postdrome phase, compounded by Lance's whirling thoughts and conflicting memories. Eating would probably help more than anything, even if it didn't feel that way.

"Lance?" Fritz called him, the worried disappointment sneaking back into his voice. "Don't shut down on me now. Do I need to go get Angie?"

"No," Lance answered, that question breaking through much faster than the others. The last thing he wanted to do right now was give Dr. Delacroix another thing to worry about. "No, please don't bother her. I'll eat."

Fritz sighed, running a hand over his face. Lance noticed that he hadn't shaved for a couple days either. "I wasn't threatening you, Lance," he explained, forcing gentleness over his tone. He let everything drop for a minute as he started making toast, but he was back at Lance's side before Lance had really settled.

"You're not bothering her," Fritz emphasized, the words coming from him in careful quiet. Like he didn't want to be overheard, or he was afraid he'd say something wrong. Lance lifted his eyes from the smooth reflection of the coffee he had yet to touch, not sure if it was ok to believe anything Fritz might tell him. "Or me. Don't ever think it."

Lance debated on challenging Fritz about that, asking for the meaning behind what Angelique had said last night. It was a risk. Fritz might not even know, or if he did, he probably wouldn't say. Maybe Lance should pretend he really had been asleep and hadn't heard anything. It wasn't like there wasn't other stuff going on that he should probably focus on.

Before Lance had decided if he was going to ask and how he might phrase anything, Angelique joined them, fully dressed in a black and white houndstooth skirt and matching blazer as though she were ready to step into the car right that second. She was even wearing low-heeled boots, which was almost a cardinal sin in the ER. The sight of her striding into the kitchen without a scrub uniform or sweater stunned both Lance and Fritz, causing Angelique to pause.

"What?" She demanded, sounding so much like herself again that some of the tension left Lance's shoulders. Maybe he'd imagined what he'd heard last night, like he had the night before when he thought Keith was speaking Spanish. He was still taking medication; it wasn't too strange of a theory.

Angelique looked down, checking her clothes. "Too much, do you think?" She looked to Fritz, whose mouth had gone too slack to answer her, so she turned her attention to Lance sitting blearily at the table, lifting an eyebrow at him questioningly. Then she shook her head. "Never mind. I'm not entertaining opinions from anyone as scruffy looking as you two. You are both planning to at least shave, aren't you?"

Lance found himself on his feet without meaning to really stand, completely drawn to her tone and the familiarity she was presenting right now, beating Fritz to Angelique's side since the officer had to put down a half-buttered piece of toast first. Lance watched her eyes widen as he bent slightly over her, knowing it was probably inappropriate to randomly hug his boss but not really caring. It was just that he could see something frail woven into the fierceness of her eyes lately, and he hated to think it had anything to do with him. He could feel her shoulder blades on her back beneath the stiff fabric of the blazer. For a woman who commanded every room she set foot in, she really was quite small. It prompted discomfort and protectiveness in Lance; he didn't think he liked it.

She stood quiet in his arms for a couple seconds before lifting her hands to hug him very gently in return, using the shift to take his elbows and push him backward so she could study his face more closely. He once again allowed her to brush his hair back and gauge his temperature with her hand, though she slid her fingers down the side of his face to cup his cheek afterward, smiling tenderly at him. It felt like regaining balance.

"How's your head, love?" She finally asked him, as if that question had been drawn at random from the multitude of others she carried behind her eyes. It looked as though she were going to ignore Lance's impromptu affection.

"Better," Lance confirmed, finding his voice, glad that it was much stronger now that he was standing than it had been when he'd spoken to Fritz. He wasn't trying to shut down; there was just so much going on in his head that it was hard to match external questions to internal answers.

"I'm going to let the sun in, then," Angelique informed him, leaving his side to start working on the blinds. The two in the kitchen. The larger curtains on the windows behind the dining room table. Lance returned to his seat, watching her, watching the light rushing into the room, casting faint shadows of the tree branches outside onto the table and the floor. It wasn't very bright yet, still watered down from all the rain, but when Lance stretched his hand forward so one of the beams could rest on it, he could feel the warmth.

Fritz brought over fried egg sandwiches for himself and for Lance while Angelique served a healthier option of cottage cheese and fruit. Lance sat in the sunlight, slightly dazed, eating automatically. Both Angelique and Fritz talked to him, small questions about how he'd slept and how Keith was doing. Things that should have easy answers. Things that used to have easy answers. Angelique mentioned that Dr. Bolton would be coming over later in the day, after they came back from the station. Her voice suggested that she hoped he could counter anything negative that might result from Lance's meeting with the prosecutor. Lance smiled agreeably at her, nodding cooperation and encouragement, though his brain wasn't anywhere close to being that far ahead. Mostly he felt numb.

Keith texted him while he was shaving, some analogical advice, an assurance that Lance would be fine, and an invitation to call if he needed to. Lance agreed about being fine and thanked him but nothing more. He wanted to call. He wanted to keep Keith selfishly on the phone for the entirety of the day, just take him along in his pocket. In his ear. Near his heart. And the wish had nothing to do with his trip to the police station. But it was just a wish.

Lance put on one of the button-down shirts Allura had bought him and tested a pair of jeans. They were loose, enough that he really should use a belt, but the thought of anything tight or unyielding around his waist made him flinch a little, so he let them sag around his hips. Not quite as dressed up as he could be, but still better than the flannel pajama bottoms he'd been wearing. Maybe he should change into his scrubs? He wished that he'd had a little more warning. He could have scheduled a haircut. He knew it must be getting shaggy looking or Angelique wouldn't brush it out of his eyes so often. Too late now, though.

It's not a job interview, he told himself. You're a witness and a victim and it really shouldn't matter what you wear or what you look like. You could have done this in your gown at the hospital. And even though he knew that was technically true, it felt better to have real clothes on. He felt slightly more in control.

There was more talking as Lance rejoined Angelique and Fritz, too much talking in fact. Lance put on his warmest sweater over the button-down, then his coat. Fritz was giving him instruction, just as Lance wanted earlier, but now all he could really pay attention to seemed to be how the sun shone through the soggy leaves of the trees along the drive to the station. How everything seemed brown or yellow and dripping. It occurred to him that he had no idea what his new address was, still no clue where Angelique's house fit into Chicago, though he could sense it was farther from the lake. He wondered if he'd ever again walk to the lake front. Wondered if he'd ever want to.

The prosecutor's office proved to be completely unassuming, tucked down a hallway of the glass-fronted 9th District Police Department building on Halsted, six miles northeast of Stony Island. Fritz took Lance's arm to guide him past the front reception, past the sign for registering bicycles and general assistance, under the lines of bright fluorescent lights. Angelique's boots made a distinct sound on the tile behind them as they went.

The prosecutor, a man in his thirties by the name of Eric Carling, was far less unassuming. He stood as tall as Fritz, wore a similar uniform, but even though Fritz greeted him by his first name, it was clear that they didn't feel any pressing need to get to know each other beyond the requirements of their jobs. Mr. Carling introduced himself to Lance efficiently, but not coldly, thanked him for coming in, and told Fritz and Angelique where they could wait. Lance looked at Angelique directly before heading into the office, managing what he hoped was at least half a smile. He had no idea who she was comparing him to, why she was so worried, but of all his weaknesses, he wasn't going to allow a breakdown here to be one of them. He'd done far more difficult things than this.

It's like taking off a ruined shirt, Keith had texted him. One that's all ripped, wet, and filthy. The only way to get cleaned up is to take it off, but for that you have to touch it one more time. Think of it like that. One more time to get it off you, drop it in a heap on the floor and kick it to the side so you can walk away.

Oddly enough, Lance thought of Lindsey as he was escorted to a seat in front of a desk. He remembered encouraging her to head into the ER the last time he'd seen her. He wanted her to get checked, find any evidence of something gone wrong, do something. It hadn't made any sense to him that she had refused that advice and assistance. It made much more sense to him now.

Mr. Carling ensured Lance's comfort in a chair before excusing himself for a few minutes. Lance waited, hands folded tightly in his lap, regretting that he'd left his knitting in his room. Still, the office wasn't too intimidating, not like the set up in crime shows. It was just an office. A computer and phone on the desk, one of those black plastic towers divided into smaller compartments for different types of forms or waiting paperwork. File cabinets. It wasn't really all that different than the small office in the ER, right down to the lack of windows and the ticking clock on the wall.

When Mr. Carling returned, he had a folder with him and was followed by a woman in a black pantsuit with very blonde hair and a soft, kind face. She introduced herself as Sandra Blake, a social worker and advocate. It looked like even though Lance couldn't bring anyone into the room it apparently didn't mean he had to do this completely alone. Lance was offered a drink, which he refused, and finally the questions began. Lance cemented his hands on his knees and stared very sharply at a ballpoint pen on Carling's desk. Carling asked all the questions in the same neutral tone of voice, which Lance copied to answer. He spoke without thinking too much, feeling too much, giving details as they were required of him. How long he'd lived in the apartment. What his relationship with Spencer had been like. How threatened he felt to share the space. How many times Damien had requested Lance to steal for him.

And he was doing all right, compartmentalizing his emotions the way he needed to while handling emergencies in the ambulance or triage rooms, keeping himself detached, until Eric opened the file and Lance could make out the photographs. Of himself. There was one taken of him cowering against the side of the phone booth, soaking wet, his lips disturbingly blue, Dante checking him over. Eric thumbed through several of the bruises along Lance's ribs, the MRI scans of his abdominal cavity with enormous pools of blood not only visible but circled and clearly labeled. Photos of the stitches on both incisions, a tape measure stretched out to the side for scale. Shots of Allura holding his hand while he lay unresponsive in a hospital bed, Angelique on the phone a few steps away. They both looked so hopeless.

"Do you need a break?" Sandra asked him, noticing the new stiffness in his posture, but he shook his head. A break would just make this last longer. She handed him a tissue. He hadn't noticed that he needed it.

"We're almost finished," Mr. Carling affirmed, closing the file so Lance couldn't see the photos anymore. He breathed deep enough it stretched his newly closed skin. The interview continued. Lance knew he answered, but everything happened so far away. He could still see Angelique on the phone in his hospital room. The last thing he said yes to was an acknowledgment that he would be willing to be present in court, willing to testify against Damien. He only shook his head when the subject of pressing charges was mentioned. He didn't want to do that for Damien or Spencer. Didn't want the proceedings to last any longer than necessary. He wanted to be on the other side, as far as possible. Wanted to be warm.

Then all of a sudden Mr. Carling was thanking him again, for coming in, for his time. It was over. It was over? Sandra had to pull at his arm a little to break the spell of stillness he'd cast on himself. She smiled compassionately at him, leading him to the door, understanding that he was more than a little dazed. They were finished. She stayed by his side all the way to where she could pass him off to Angelique, who stood immediately when Lance and Sandra entered the waiting area. Seeing her face woke Lance up. She seemed to need his strength, and Lance was eager to give it to her. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and shrugged at her. The gesture softened relief across her forehead. Fritz squeezed her shoulders.

"All done?" Fritz asked both Lance and Sandra.

"For today," Sandra confirmed. "We'll let you know if we need anything else, and you'll be notified by mail with instructions for when the court date is set, but we have enough that we can take it from here. You all have a good day now."

"Thank you," Lance said, a little belatedly as she was already walking away from them. She paused to nod pleasantly over her shoulder, probably used to people acting like Lance, bewildered and spacey.

"Now what?" Lance asked his self-appointed guardians as they stood there, rather awkwardly monitoring him for . . . Lance didn't know exactly for what. Trauma? Breakdown? Not that he blamed them. The way he'd reacted yesterday to the news of this meeting, they way he'd looked in those photos, it was completely understandable. But it . . hadn't been that bad. And maybe the stress of it just hadn't caught up to Lance yet, but for the moment he felt lighter, like he'd left something heavy behind in the office with the terrible photographs – an old, ripped and repulsive shirt he didn't need to wear anymore.

"Head back home," Fritz answered, the strongest of the group. "Unless you wanted to go somewhere?"

Lance hadn't thought about it, but now that he was out of the house and dressed, he did feel a certain longing.

"Can we drive past the lake?" He requested. Fritz looked to Angelique, asking silent permission. She checked her watch.

"We have plenty of time," she allowed. Fritz took Lance's elbow again, though it was more habit than actual need. The sun shone even brighter on the way out of the station. The temperature remained autumn crisp, but at least it wasn't gloomy or raining today. The water might not be black.

Angelique attempted to give Lance the front seat, but he wouldn't take it. He preferred to sit in the back because he knew that Fritz would hold her hand if she was sitting next to him. Lance liked to see them being affectionate with each other. It gave him a strange sense of hope and wistfulness. They were barely out of the parking space before they'd entwined their fingers together. It made Lance remember Keith, so he pulled out his phone to text him, letting Keith know that the interview was complete and even though it hadn't been the easiest thing in the world to do, it was all over for now and Lance was ok. He thanked Keith again for all the support.

Anytime, Keith texted back, and Lance clung to the phone, grateful and yet unsatisfied by the response. But Keith was likely busy. Who knew what was going on where he was? Lance decided not to bother him. Now that the prosecutor appointment was finished, there was nothing really pressing that Lance needed Keith for. And simply wanting to hear his voice wasn't a good enough reason to disturb his day. Besides, it would have been rude to call Keith while Fritz was playing chauffer for him like this. Lance put away the phone to focus on the scenery.

Fritz took them down Lake Shore Drive, the road that Lance and Allura had taken countless times on their way to the aquarium or Everest. The water was indeed sparkling today, not as brilliantly as in the summer, but it seemed so long since Lance had seen it. Fritz parked to allow Lance to walk out toward the shoreline. Lance inhaled the familiar scent of the water, but he'd only been out of the car for a couple of minutes before he grew too cold and retreated back into the warmth of the back seat. Angelique looked at him when he buckled his seatbelt while shivering, her expression confused, pitying, and almost exasperated. Lance didn't acknowledge the look; he had no clue why he was still so cold all the time. He'd just resigned himself that he'd be slightly hypothermic for the rest of his life at this point.

The ride continued around the Museum grounds, though Fritz strategically avoided driving past Stony Island, for which Lance was grateful. They did circle the campus, and Lance had to admit that it really was a beautiful university. Both Lance and Angelique sighed audibly as Fritz turned past the hospital and they saw the ER entrance. So familiar, and yet it looked completely different from the back of a car. From the sound of things, Angelique missed it too.

"Are you working this week?" Lance asked his mentor as they both stared out the window. She had been going in, partial days and one desperately short-staffed night shift.

"I'm scheduled Thursday, Friday, and Saturday this week," she answered, and Lance almost asked if he could come too. Not to work triage, necessarily, but just to be in that atmosphere again. Maybe sit at the nurse's station and take calls? Do filing? Something easy, but normal. It felt like half a lifetime had passed since Angelique had sent him home for a break. Two weeks, she'd said, a sentence long over now. If Lance had just made it into his room without taking that swing at Spencer. If he'd just held onto his control in that moment, he would be . . . no, this was better. Somehow. Even with the stitches and the leave, this was still better than the life Lance had been suffering through, day after agonizing day in his apartment. What had happened that night might have actually saved his life, even though it had taken him so close to losing it first. He looked to the front seat where Fritz held tightly to Angelique's hand and smiled. Yeah, this was strange, but definitely better.

Lance paid close attention to the route Fritz took from the hospital to the house. A fifteen-minute drive to what turned out to be Bridgeport, the neighboring suburb to McKinley Park. Too far to walk. Maybe Lance could get a bike or something. Though the idea of biking through the winter months gave him such a chill that Angelique turned up the heat in the car. He'd have to figure out something sooner or later, but that moment seemed far enough into the future that he could ignore it for now.

It was just about noon by the time they arrived back at the house, the sun as bright and warm as it was going to get for the day. Lance thought he'd be exhausted from what he'd done that morning, but he gravitated toward the kitchen instead of to his room or the couch. He helped Fritz make lunch while Angelique checked her phone messages. And even after they'd eaten, Lance found himself strangely awake and staring out the windows at the trees, the sidewalks, the houses across the street, studying the sunshine that covered everything. He couldn't see the university at all. Not that he'd really expected to.

"You can go out, you know," Angelique told him, catching him staring wistfully out onto her porch.

"What?" Lance asked, even though he'd heard her. He was mostly recovering from her appearing at his side so suddenly. Angelique smiled at him and gestured to the window.

"You're not a prisoner," she affirmed, holding up her hands when Lance opened his mouth to explain. "If you want to take a walk, you certainly can." Lance blinked at her, processing what she'd just said, realizing that he hadn't taken a walk by himself, outside, for over a week. He felt compelled for a couple seconds before he reminded himself that he had no idea where he was, no bearing. He couldn't walk to the university from here, the lake, the hospital. And even though it looked bright on this side of the window, he knew it was still cold out there.

"I'm good," Lance said, nodding as he pulled himself away. Maybe he'd go downstairs to check over the shelves again, or go upstairs and call Hunk and Pidge. Decide once and for all if he were going to mail Keith's birthday gift, even though at this point it would either be late for a birthday or very early for Christmas.

"Are you?" Angelique pressed, and Lance had to look down to avoid the intensity of her eyes. So he didn't want to take a walk, so what? It wasn't a big issue, nothing to read too much into.

"You could take me to the ER with you on Thursday," Lance suggested, surprised at the amount of hope in his voice. Angelique looked immediately pained, but it didn't stop Lance from continuing. "Not to do anything, just sit at the nurse's station. Maybe some data entry stuff?"

"Lance, you're on leave," Angelique reminded him. "Which makes it illegal for you to come with me until January. I'm sorry."

"No, it's ok," Lance brushed it off. Like it hadn't just crushed him. "I knew that."

"That doesn't mean you can't do other things," Angelique countered. "You're healing well. I don't see any reason you couldn't return to some of your normal activities. Going for coffee with your friends or," she paused, as though she couldn't really speculate what a twenty-three-year-old graduate student would do with his elusive free time. Whatever she saw in Lance's expression redirected her completely. "Lance, what is it?"

Two weeks ago, Lance would have said nothing, but he remembered just before he started that it would be a mistake and a lie. That him not speaking up had caused all of this. And why would he deny this kind of opportunity? Angelique was standing here with him, no threat of emergency to interrupt them, inviting him to express that he actually didn't have any local friends. All he had was a pile of concerns that his choice of career would leave him isolated his entire life – a situation that Angelique had conquered with ease and skill for a long time. It would be a waste to not take advantage of this.

"How do you do it?" Lance asked, and Angelique's brow furrowed in confusion. "I mean – all my friends moved away, and I've had my head down so far I haven't even tried to make new ones. But what would it matter anyway because they'd leave too. Move off somewhere else or just disappear eventually when they see that I can't . . . I don't have time to be. . ."

"Lance?"

"How did you make it all alone so long?" Lance demanded, picturing her in the ER with her shoulders back and her gaze strong. Picturing her leaving the light of the triage rooms behind, walking to her car in the dark, driving here to this house where it was silent and pressing down on her soul. Waiting almost half a century to meet Fritz.

"Oh," Angelique half-sighed, then tugged Lance over to the table so they could sit down and talk. Lance thought he might want a notebook, as though Angelique were about to divulge all the secrets of how to be a successful ER doctor. Lance sat down and for a moment it looked as though Angelique would too, but then she pivoted up and into the kitchen, removing clean mugs from the cupboards. "Tea, coffee, or cocoa?" She asked him.

How about just answers? Lance wanted to say. "Coffee," he requested, wanting to maintain whatever energy he'd managed to hold onto today, giving her time to figure out how she wanted to answer him. Maybe he'd overstepped a boundary by asking, but he didn't think so. She would have told him immediately if that were the case, no matter how indulgent she had been with him lately. Whatever she wanted to tell him, she wanted to be careful about it.

"There are plenty of young, happily married doctors, Lance," Angelique informed him as she brewed the coffee. "I know I come down hard about priorities, but I didn't mean to imply that you have to do everything the way that I did. Just because I didn't meet Fritz until I was in my forties doesn't mean that will happen to you."

"It's not just you, though," Lance pointed out. "There are so many that are alone."

"You're cherry picking the data," Angelique scolded him. "What about your paramedic friends? I know Dante Medina and his wife have been together almost twenty years now. The point is that for every single person in the medical field, you'll find a matching one in a committed relationship. However, that being said, I'm not going to tell you that it's particularly easy. The divorce rate is statistically high for us."

Lance's chest opened at her honesty. He was glad that she wouldn't try to soothe this for him. She'd never held back on him before. It felt respectful that she wasn't going to start now. She passed him a mug of coffee and sat down with him.

"It does take a special kind of person," Angelique confessed. "One who won't take it personally when you choose to leave at a moment's notice in order to save someone or save a whole shift when a coworker needs to call off unexpectedly. You'd need someone who understands that they cannot take any time you spend together for granted, and who knows that you still love them even when you're on your way out the door again. Someone willing and able to pick up the slack in the house on a frequent basis. Someone who will know when you need to talk it out and when you need to process in silence. I'm fortunate that Fritz has experienced a similar career choice. We both understand each other and our lifestyle very well."

Lance shook his head. He could barely imagine asking this of someone. Allura had been fantastic at accepting the crazy, ever-changing schedule, but only because they hadn't truly been together. It had been a relationship of convenience, lacking in passion or really almost anything truly personal. But in the end, it didn't matter. Lance wasn't even looking for anyone. He didn't want to know what kind of person to seek out. He'd already found the person he wanted. He needed to know how to live without him.

"I don't think there is someone like that for me," Lance acknowledged.

"I wouldn't be so resigned just yet," she suggested softly. Lance fought the urge to flinch.

"Well, until that person magically shows up," Lance argued. "How do I manage in the meantime? I can't always be at work."

Angelique sipped her coffee thoughtfully, deliberating within herself on what sort of answer would be best. The hopeful one where she would assure Lance that he didn't have half a lifetime of solitude to look forward to or the real one. The true answer that acknowledged that it might take a long time, that it might not ever happen for him. The answer Lance needed as he fully intended on staying alone. It seemed the only outcome available for him, knowing that he would wear Keith's red bracelet for the rest of his life. Love him for the rest of his life. He needed a plan for how to deal with that or all the work of saving him this time around would just mean postponing the inevitable.

"That's true," Angelique agreed. "Welcome distraction that it is, fixing other people's problems won't do anything for yours. And I'm sure you understand now that the longer you ignore your own needs, the more everyone around you will suffer, including your patients. Doctors are responsible to take care of themselves; don't forget."

"So what do I do?" Lance pushed again, knowing that Angelique would know. She'd been solid and strong for years, sure and wonderful, energy and wisdom. All on her own. Though she smiled now rather sadly, a droop in her shoulders that Lance didn't recognize. Was it new? Or was it just now she felt she could show it to him? And what did that mean?

"Get a cat," she recommended, only a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

"A cat," Lance echoed, annoyed. He was being serious here! He really did need to know.

"A cat, a therapist, a group of other doctors you only speak to annually at conferences, and a really solid estate plan," Angelique amended, taking another drink. Lance felt let down by the answer, even though he knew she was giving him everything this time. This was what he could look forward to. This is what he was fated for. Unless some miracle happened and he found someone like Fritz who could handle the lifestyle. Or an even bigger miracle dropped into his lap where he and Keith could actually be together. The want of that tightened like barbed wire around his waist.

"Or," Angelique reopened the topic, setting down her mug. "Maybe you could consider that you've already found what you're looking for."

"No," Lance denied, almost breathless, wishing he didn't have to explain this again. "I know we tried for a long time, and Allura and I are very close, but we just-"

"Who said I was talking about Allura?"

Lance wanted to jump on that, but Fritz interrupted them, emerging from the basement with a booklet in his hands, completely triumphant. He walked right through the moment and passed the book to Lance with a flourish.

"I knew I had an extra one down there somewhere," he said, oblivious to the fact that he'd interrupted something. Lance would have dismissively thanked him and gone back to what Angelique had meant, but then he noted her expression as she looked at her husband, as though he were made of sunlight or something, and Lance swallowed all his unasked questions to see what Fritz thought Lance would need.

"The Illinois Rules of the Road Handbook?" Lance read aloud, turning it over for inspection.

"You study that tonight, and tomorrow I'll take you in to get your learner's permit," Fritz promised, standing by the table with his arms crossed, the expression on his face almost exactly the same as the smile on a golden retriever.

"Oh," Lance said involuntarily, not sure if he were excited or terrified by that idea. But he couldn't say that it was a bad one. Not where he lived now. Though even if he knew how to drive a car, he wasn't sure where he was going to get one. Or park it. Or . . whatever else people did to cars. He seemed to remember Hunk going out in the winter to start it so he wouldn't have to scrape the frost off the windows. "Thank you."

"Sure," Fritz beamed, and Lance couldn't help but be influenced by the enthusiasm, the potential freedom that the ability to drive legally would bring. He smiled at Angelique in what he hoped would be a message to her that he wanted to continue their conversation later. She nodded.

"Go take a break with that," Angelique recommended. "Dr. Bolton will be here soon."

Obediently, Lance excused himself from the table, bringing both the book and what was left of his coffee up the stairs. More than he wanted to read, he wanted to think. Get a cat. People who don't fix their own issues become liabilities to their patients. Maybe Lance had already found what he was looking for. Who said I was talking about Allura? But if not Allura . . . surely Angelique didn't mean Keith?

When I first saw you together, her memory reminded him, I thought he was your boyfriend.

Lance felt so scrambled that he eventually dug out his notebook to sift through everything. Though even when he was seated at the desk, delicately scratching the incision near his hip through his clothes, he continued to stare at the empty page, his pen poised above it.

When the doorbell rang, Lance had managed to put down a doodle of a cat and the word confession in all capital letters near the center of the page. Angelique called up to him that Dr. Bolton had arrived, and Lance put everything away in relief, scoffing at himself. Who knew that he'd be so happy to be distracted from his musings by the appearance of his therapist?

Dr. Bolton had yet to remove his long, navy coat, and Lance noticed as he came slowly down the stairs that Angelique held Lance's, along with his hat and scarf. Lance slowed momentarily as he realized that this meeting was meant to be held outside, probably walking together. Had that been the plan all along or had Angelique said something to Greg about Lance not leaving the house?

"Hello Lance," Dr. Bolton greeted mildly, smiling a soft, neutral smile. Warmer than the prosecutor's while still firmly in the professional range. "I thought we'd walk a bit as we chatted. Take advantage of the weather while it lasts."

Lance met Angelique's eyes even as he heard himself say ok. He took the coat, hat, and scarf to at least attempt to protect himself from the chilly sunlight. He caught Angelique and Greg exchange glances, probably about the number of heavy, winter articles Lance armored himself in. Neither one of them said anything to Lance about it, and Angelique rather brusquely escorted them out onto the porch, as though she were worried that Lance would change his mind about the entire meeting. Apparently she wasn't going to stay with him this time.

"So where are we going?" Lance asked first thing, before they had made it to the official sidewalk. Dr. Bolton shrugged with his hands in his pockets.

"Nowhere, really. Just a walk. I imagine you haven't had much chance to explore the area."

Lance felt something bristle inside him, like he wanted to take offense at this comment, but he lacked the conviction. He couldn't really bring himself to be offended at Dr. Bolton, the man was as mild as Johnson and Johnson baby shampoo.

"So how did your first week go?" Greg asked, choosing a direction at random. "Were you able to make a trust call?"

"Um, yeah," Lance nodded. "I made one."

"Good," Dr. Bolton praised, the word almost a skip in his voice. "How was it? Who did you call and when?"

Lance understood the question, even understood why Dr. Bolton was following up on it. But the simplicity of it was immediately swallowed in an enormous verbal sinkhole. Lance couldn't even understand why he was suddenly talking the way he was talking except that he was finally moving again, forward and outside in the sunlight, throwing everything out that he hadn't been able to put down in his notebook, and the man at his side, undeniably safe and judgement free, listened attentively to it all, with perhaps the skills to sweep it all up into a tidy pile afterward. Lance's answer turned into a vent about phone calls and all his friends visiting each other in California without him and how he was preparing himself to be alone because he knew he wouldn't find anyone he wanted to be with, but he still had to continue somehow because he'd promised Angelique and lately, more than ever before, he did not want to disappoint her in any way. She seemed delicate in places that frustrated him because they seemed to be the points where he applied the most pressure without meaning to.

He went on and on, barely noticing their route through the neighborhood, barely glancing at the old, stately brick homes that shyly hid underneath the even older, statelier trees. Everywhere he paid attention there were stone porches, piles of leaves, clusters of pumpkins, and dark ironwork fences with spearheads meticulously spaced for beauty and protection around huge corner lots. The air was chilled but so fresh that Lance couldn't help but pull it in greedily as he spoke. Meanwhile, Dr. Bolton kept pace with him, though Lance's legs were longer, prompting him with small one or two-word questions to keep Lance going. No wonder Lance hadn't been able to write anything down. He'd needed Dr. Bolton to pull the cork out first.

"All right," Dr. Bolton breathed, as though he were doing it for Lance. "Well, that wasn't exactly the direction I anticipated our conversation going today."

"So you did have a direction planned," Lance quipped, then paused to marvel at himself. That's right. You used to say funny things like that. Before. Dr. Bolton smiled at the sidewalk, giving Lance a humoring huff of amusement.

"Speculation only," he amended. "But Lance, could you please clarify something for me?"

"Sure," Lance agreed. By this time, now that he'd unburdened his soul to Greg, Lance was beginning to feel the strain of the walk. Their pace had slowed considerably. Thankfully, nothing hurt, but Lance wondered how far they'd gone, and a tiny worry clipped at his heart rate on how much energy it would require to get back. Dr. Bolton's smile shifted, and he turned his attention from the route they walked to Lance's face.

"Keep in mind I'm still speculating, but the way you talk about him I can't help but wonder – were you and Keith ever together? Romantically involved, I mean?"

"No," Lance said, bitterly, not bothering to mask his emotions. "We're just friends. Best friends. He . . we've both said that before."

"But you'd like to be more?"

Now Lance turned to the side to make sure that Dr. Bolton was still being non-judgmental. It was hard to see past the professional mask, but Lance thought that there was nothing prejudiced in the question.

"That can't happen," Lance answered, his hand pressing against the dissolving stitches under his ribs. They itched.

"You've already discussed it with Keith?" Dr. Bolton pressed.

"I don't have to," Lance returned aggressively, wondering how many more times this was going to keep coming up. Allura, Angelique, Pidge, for heaven's sake it was bad enough that his own longing wouldn't leave him alone. You've just got to stop being so obvious. It would be easier once he got back to the ER. Once he had something to do again.

"Why's that?" Dr. Bolton pushed harder.

"Because," Lance burst out, his shoulders raising unconsciously up. Hadn't he been listening? Keith visited Hunk and Pidge and hadn't wanted them to tell Lance about it. He'd told Lance straight up that he didn't think Lance could help him, as though he didn't even want Lance to try. He'd joined the military to take himself as far away from Lance as possible. "He's not like that."

"That's something he told you? Or is that a decision you've been making for him?"

"It's not my decision!" Lance surprised himself at the anger in his tone. If he'd had his way, Keith would have stayed in Chicago. Moved into Hunk's old room. They could have been roommates, friends . . . lovers.

"Lance, come over here and sit down," Greg invited, gesturing to a bus stop bench nearby. Lance didn't know if he wanted to stop walking, even though he was tired. He didn't think he wanted a lecture or even eye contact. But that was probably the point of this, so he obediently did as he was told.

"So first of all," Dr. Bolton began, turning towards Lance in a classic, trained open-body position. Lance suddenly found himself annoyed at the textbook procedure, something that had calmed him only a little while ago. But whenever this subject was brought up it always struck a hard nerve. He had to force himself to sit still for what was coming. "You're absolutely right; it's not your decision. Though I can see why you're trying to make it."

"Enlighten me," Lance challenged, only a tiny part of him left to notice that he was acting horrendously. That he was being rude. That he was completely overreacting. But he wasn't trying to make any decisions here. It had all been made perfectly clear to him!

"Now, I'm still speculating," Dr. Bolton gave the disclaimer. "But I suspect very strongly that you've been conditioned since very early childhood to put your needs, and especially your wants, last."

Lance straightened. What would his childhood have to do with Keith or any decisions that Lance was supposedly trying to make for him? Dr. Bolton nodded as though he'd heard the question and went on to explain.

"We talked last time about it – how you grew up," Greg reminded him gently. "I heard what you told me, but here are the parts you said without saying them. You grew up in a large family where there wasn't always enough to go around. This taught you to never ask for things because you noticed how sad it made your parents when you did and because eventually you understood that it didn't matter much to ask – you wouldn't be able to get it. You told me that you lost your twin sister when you were very young. You say you don't remember, but it's molded the parts of your emotions where you don't feel as though what you need is important. Especially emotionally. You're still alive – that should be good enough for you. You learned to keep your pain to yourself, learned to doubt yourself, call yourself selfish for wanting anything. Over the years, you figured out that being busy, helping your family, alleviated some of that subconscious guilt that you survived your sister. It was ok that you lived because you were helping. So long as you can contribute in a way that you feel meaningful, you think that you are allowed to have value. That's the only way you feel that you're ok."

Lance squirmed on the bench, incredibly uncomfortable through all his layers of clothes. Cold seeped through his jeans from the bench, squirmed in where his scarf met his jawline. He kept his arms folded tightly, slowed his breathing. Dr. Bolton was making some scary sense right now, and the only reason Lance couldn't accept it was because they were talking about him. His childhood. His family.

"You've done it so long that you're to the point where you don't even believe you deserve anything you want to have," Dr. Bolton continued gently, even as Lance felt his eyes filling with tears. He studied the sidewalk. The dark patch of old, petrified chewing gum. The place someone had drawn their initials in the concrete before it dried. "So you sabotage yourself from getting it."

The first tears that hit his checks were warm, though they chilled in an instant. "No," was all he could manage. He didn't do that, did he? You push Keith away, Allura said.

"Let it come up, Lance," Dr. Bolton encouraged through Lance's churning thoughts. There were flashes, faint and blurry flashes. The tiniest clips and glimpses. His mother holding him tight, too tight, crying. The sadness in her face when she looked at him and the hidden knowledge that it was because she was seeing Rachel in his eyes. How much he wanted to help her not look like that anymore. I'll be a doctor, he'd say. To his parents, his siblings. I'll be a doctor and stop this from happening. I'll save her. One of the heavier links in Lance's soul loosened enough that he could sob some of those memories away. Others replaced them, seen from a new angle and confirming everything Dr. Bolton had just said. All these decisions he'd made. The ones that had seemed to be the only possible ones he could make at the time, had all been to prevent himself from getting what he truly wanted. He'd been screwing himself over from the start. And he'd always known that, deep down, but he hadn't understood what he'd really been doing until now.

"What do I do?" Lance asked desperate, noticing Dr. Bolton's hand on his shoulder for the first time. "How do I change?"

"We're already started," Greg consoled. "It'll take some work to create new patterns of behavior and develop your own self-worth, but being aware is the perfect first step. If you're all right with it, I'd like to give you another assignment."

"Ok," Lance sniffed, accepting a handkerchief that Greg thoughtfully handed him.

"You've said that you reached out to Keith for your trust call, and I know he was the one you called first the night you were missing. Your pattern seems to be to reach out to him only when you're at your emotional lowest. A pattern I believe that was created due to the circumstances surrounding your first meeting. Tell me, though, do you ever call him just because you want to?"

Lance snorted into the handkerchief. "No," he huffed, as if that would be a ridiculous thing to do.

"And why not?" Greg delved deeper.

"Because he's busy," Lance defended. "He's some kind of special ops pilot in the military; he doesn't have time for me to call him unless it's –" Lance cut himself off, realizing what he was doing. Noticing for the first time that unless Lance had some kind of excuse, he never reached out to Keith. Because he'd decided that Keith didn't have time or desire to talk to him, that he wouldn't unless there was some pressing need. "Shit," Lance muttered. He had been making decisions for Keith.

"Have you two ever spent time together where nothing urgent was happening?" Greg inserted the question as carefully as Angelique wielded her scalpel. "Can you tell me about a situation like that?"

Lance had to think, but eventually he came up with a few. The day they'd spent together preparing Hunk's birthday party, those precious hours before Keith had run away from him. Those mornings on the phone after Keith's accident, after they got Acxa out of the way, where they talked about . . . nothing really. Those wonderful mornings when they'd just been together.

"So what is stopping you from reaching out to Keith in this way more?" Greg asked pointedly after Lance was done recounting those times. When neither of them were nursing stitches or fevers, or thinking about upcoming legal proceedings. Where they just were. Except they were so short, those times. And every time Lance had started to think that they could continue . . .

"Because he runs away," Lance said, shutting down again. That definitely wasn't something Lance had done. That wasn't a decision he'd made for Keith.

"How so?"

"Like literally runs away," Lance emphasized. "I thought Keith might move in with me after Hunk went to California, but instead he decides to join the Air Force and goes missing for years. We reconnect and start calling each other every day, but then all of a sudden out of nowhere he just stops and won't answer his phone again. Every time I think there might be something there, he disappears without a trace. He doesn't want to get close to me."

"I'm going to invite you to reconsider his motives about that," Greg said, and Lance found himself infuriated again. He wasn't sure if he could handle opening up to Keith again only for him to drop out of his life for another year, or three. It was getting too hard to keep going with that much uncertainty. "But that's not my assignment."

"What is it?" Lance asked, his shoulders tensing as though he were preparing to take on some sort of challenge instead of an assignment.

"I'd like you to make another call to Keith. A different kind of call than last time. You can certainly continue making trust calls if you need to, but please also call him, at least once, just because you wanted to. It could be to share a piece of good news or for absolutely no reason at all."

"Why?" Lance wanted to know, even though he should know by now to just trust what he was being told. Greg had his best interests in mind. He had no ulterior motive to watch Lance fail in any way. And still, Lance could see no reason to do what he was being asked right now.

"Because it seems to me that you and Keith have this idea that you can only take the other's time or attention if there is a traumatic reason for doing so. You found him in the middle of a medical emergency. You reach out to each other when you're in pain. I'd like you to give yourself permission to act on something you want, just because you want it. Take this week to carefully consider what you're doing. Pay attention to what you want to do and the excuses that you make for why you can't do it. Sometimes there are valid reasons, but sometimes the reasons aren't real or true. If you can't tell, feel free to speak with Dr. Delacroix or reach out to me for some coaching since this is something you've been doing a long time and it will take some practice to stop. In fact, since I believe you'll be traveling for a little while before we can meet in person again, feel free to keep working on this indefinitely. Keep a journal of it, and we'll go over it next time."

"A journal?" Lance repeated.

"A journal of things you want to do that you feel that you can't or shouldn't," Greg clarified. "Write down what it is, then the reasons why not, and then most importantly the reasons why you can. Give yourself permission to want things, Lance, and make a call to Keith without anything urgent attached to it."

Lance blinked, knowing how far out of his comfort zone Greg was asking him to go. But that's what Lance had asked for. How he was supposed to change. He really didn't want to be stuck anymore.

"Let's start heading back," Greg advised, standing from the bench and offering his hand to help Lance up too. Lance felt stiff, but accepted the hand, unfolding his body to prepare it for motion again. A tired ache clung to him, the product of both the physical exertion of the day and the emotional dredging that Greg had been assisting him through. He wasn't sure which one was responsible for the majority of his weariness.

They walked slowly in the quickening October wind, not quite as far from home as Lance thought they were, though he was more than ready to get into the warm house. Angelique was waiting for them, almost at the door the instant they arrived, her tiger eyes sharpened by concern. For the second time that day, Lance embraced her, sensing again that she needed him to be ok even more than he did. Greg watched them, processing all the details of their body language.

"I'm all right, Doña," Lance promised, his mouth close to her ear. He felt her shoulders loosen under his hands as she decided he was telling the truth, and he let her go. They stood in the entryway another few minutes, saying good-bye to Greg. Angelique shook his hand again in the unique way that she seemed to reserve for Greg only. Both hands, almost bowing over them in a mutual acknowledgement of whatever service he'd provided for her and her gratitude to him for it. Lance hadn't understood it the first time he'd seen her do it, but now that he knew Greg's skills a little more, it made more sense. He didn't doubt that Greg had given Angelique back some essential piece of herself; he just didn't know what that could be.

After Greg left, Lance went up to his room, though he didn't feel compelled to reopen his notebook. He felt a little drained and aimless, an origami piece that has been completely unfolded and then left rumpled and shapeless on a table. He wasn't even sure where to go from here, wasn't sure how to trust anything he did now that he'd accepted he was deliberately trying to keep himself from almost everything he wanted. He wrapped up in the heating blanket, opening it up only so Sam could crawl underneath it with him. For a little while, he tried to look backwards on his decisions, trying to figure out which ones he'd actually made and which ones had been tainted somehow by this pattern.

He got bold enough in his musings to ask himself if he even really wanted to be a doctor, but had to shut everything down at that point. Couldn't touch on that yet. Didn't want to know the truth of it. Because what if he . . . NO! Lance snatched the Illinois Rules of the Road Handbook off his desk, knowing that this was likely part of his pattern too, but Greg said he'd need to practice before he could leave it behind. Maybe just accepting that he had a pattern was enough hard work for one day. He didn't want to look at it anymore, and Greg had given him permission to be selfish, so Lance opened the book and started to read, unconsciously memorizing details like how many feet his car should be behind another car and who could turn first at a four-way stop.

Fritz woke him later, gently removing the book from under Lance's hand and turning on the desk lamp. He offered Lance a bowl of soup and talked to him while he ate it. He told Lance about when he'd learned to drive, apparently down some low traffic country roads about ninety miles southwest of Chicago where Fritz had grown up. A place apparently filled with long stretches of corn, wheat, and soy bean fields disturbed every so often by a small town. The one Fritz came from had less than three thousand people in it. Lance tried to reconcile that. Almost triple that number were students at the university. Fritz noted his expression and laughed.

"Everyone always thinks of Chicago when they hear Illinois, but the majority of the state is nothing like the city," Fritz explained, and Lance enjoyed listening to him. "Have you been out of the city, Lance?"

"I've been out to Oak Brook," Lance disclosed, remembering the surprisingly long drive from his apartment to Allura's parents' house. Also remembering that he'd promised to attend the Christmas party there this year.

"No, that's still the city. I'm talking out of Chicago. Anyone ever take you out there?"

"I guess not," Lance answered, reeling a little at how all that distance could be the same city. Fritz gestured for him to keep eating his soup, slightly apologetically since he knew that he'd been the distraction. He didn't stay much longer after Lance was finished, sensing that Lance was processing something. Angelique came by to ask about his pain levels around bedtime, and for the first time since he'd come to stay with them, Lance realized that he hadn't taken anything for pain all day. He hadn't needed to.

The next couple days filled up quickly, mostly due to Fritz, who seemed to have been waiting for this. Tuesday morning, he took Lance out for a haircut and grocery shopping, quizzing him the whole time on the handbook that Lance had finished reading. It was impossible not to catch Fritz's enthusiasm about Lance getting a learner's permit. Like Fritz was getting another opportunity to teach a son how to drive. They went to the DMV where Lance took the more formal, though not particularly difficult, test to prove that he understood the rules about controlling a vehicle. They tested his eyes, took his picture, and presented him with tangible permission that he could now drive with a companion over the age of eighteen. It all happened so quickly that Lance was bemused that this was all it took.

And receiving the permit was also all it took for him to want to call Keith, resulting in his first conflict of interest since Monday's meeting with Greg. You want to call him, Lance reminded himself, home again in his room with the phone. Sam watching him from the bed as Lance paced. This shouldn't be hard. He interrupted his 'what if' thoughts half a dozen times as he dialed. What if he's sleeping? What if he's in a meeting? What if he just doesn't care about this as much as I do? In the end, he won the internal argument and hit send. He wondered if this would get easier over time or if Keith would just finally tell him, once and for all, to stop calling.

"Lance, you ok?" Keith answered, almost immediately, and Lance crumpled a little. Greg was right. They really did only call each other when something was wrong. They'd built their entire friendship on suffering. No wonder they weren't getting anywhere.

"Yeah," Lance answered, trying to strip his voice of his rather disheartening revelation, remembering that the reason he'd called was to share something good. Even though now that he had started it felt rather stupid to have called just to say he'd gotten a learner's permit. It wasn't even a real license. Keith had picked up because he thought Lance probably really needed him. What if he'd been in the middle of . . .

You're doing it again! Stop it! Lance's inner voice shook him, sounding this time like Pidge.

"You sure?" Keith checked when Lance didn't say anything else, disbelief evident in the echo. "Are you still there?"

"Guess what, Lobito?" Lance said, brushing past the awkward start of this phone call, ignoring the intensity of his heartbeat. Something eased on the other side of the connection, as though Lance could feel Keith releasing the tension in his grip.

"I . .. have no idea," Keith admitted, sounding off balance. Like he wasn't sure what was going on here, and he didn't know if it was bad or not. "Something happened? Everything all right?" Lance fought the sadness that wanted to grab his throat and squeeze. Keith was so conditioned for emergency and distress. Lance wondered how long it would have taken him to notice on his own. He might never have picked up on it without Greg's help.

"Everything's great," Lance emphasized, trying to hang on to his momentum. The horribly nagging feeling that he was bothering Keith with nothing. "I, um, got my learner's permit today. Fritz is going to teach me how to drive."

"Oh," Keith said, the vocalization dragging out as he tried to figure out why Lance would be telling him. Maybe this had been a mistake. But then Lance noticed that Keith's 'oh' was brightening as it went on. "That's great, Lance. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Lance accepted, though he was now embarrassed. He didn't really have anywhere to go from here. He'd like to finish the conversation the way his nephews used to when they were little, an abrupt 'good-bye' and a click, but knew that wasn't a good idea. But the silence was definitely awkward.

"So. . um, have you gone driving yet?" Keith asked, apparently also feeling the awkward.

"No," Lance confessed. God, was it supposed to be this hard to just talk to someone? No, he knew it wasn't. He'd had plenty of other phone conversations sprawled lazily on his bed, or sitting cross-legged on the floor. It was just this call that was so weird, now that certain aspects of Lance's character had been called to his attention. Lance was still pacing in his bedroom, unable to sit down or be still, terrified he'd somehow say the wrong thing. "But that might be a good thing."

"Driving's fun," Keith assured, and Lance had a hard time holding on to the conversation. It was so light. Lance smiled, slowing his pacing. Keith would say that; he could drive just about anything. "You'll like it."

"Got any tips?" Lance asked, which was just the right question. Keith had plenty of driving tips, and he seemed more than willing to share them. Sometimes he'd start to say something and then correct himself because he'd started to give Lance advice for a plane or motorcycle, but he'd quickly return to cars. And somehow the conversation shifted to other things, like how Shiro was and Keith even gave Lance a recount of how the ceremony went when he'd received his medals.

"Medals?" Lance paused him. "They gave you more than one?" He knew about the Purple Heart, and he'd also known that Keith was not proud in the least to receive it. They hadn't talked about any others, but it had been a tense conversation at the time.

"Oh, yeah," Keith sounded a little more pleased about it now. Though still hesitant. "They gave me a Distinguished Flying Cross."

"Keith that's amazing!" Lance had no idea what this award was for, but just hearing Keith say the name indicated that they didn't hand these out often.

"It . . well," Keith closed off, and Lance knew it was hard for him to take any sort of pride in an award that he received because something so terrible had happened to him and his teammate. He decided to move them away from this before he'd feel obligated to ruin the mood and ask how Acxa was doing.

"I'm proud of you," Lance said as a way to acknowledge and move on.

They talked more about cars, planes, and even motorcycles and the differences in driving them. Lance could hear Keith smile as he spoke and felt encouraged by a successful, happy discussion between them. It felt like the day they'd cooked together, gone grocery shopping together.

Lance liked it enough that he decided to do it again. He called Keith several more times over the next couple days. He called to tell Keith all about the day Fritz took Angelique and Lance to his hometown, to the apple orchard near it. Lance had never seen landscape that went on the way the plains of Illinois did outside of the skyscrapers. Fritz drove them along the Rock River, where the opposite side was drenched in autumn color like a patchwork quilt.

He told Keith that Fritz had pulled over on the way home, somewhere alongside a cornfield, and had Lance take over the wheel. He couldn't help but be excited about that, especially how he'd taken to it naturally enough that Fritz let him drive all the way back to the house.

Lance told Keith all about the orchard, about picking a pumpkin that they were going to carve. Hunk and Pidge never carved pumpkins – they catapulted them across the quad, so Lance had never participated in this particular tradition. He sent Keith the picture of his Jack O'Lantern when he'd finished with it. Lance's pumpkin sandwiched between Angelique's and Fritz's on the porch steps with battery-powered candles inside them.

And Keith seemed to enjoy each time Lance spoke with him. They actually laughed together, and Lance felt himself growing comfortable with this new version of their relationship. It was almost the same as the one he shared with Hunk and Pidge. He had hope that it might even get there someday. Might stop haunting him. He could have kicked himself for an idiot when it came to an end, just the same as it had before. Except this time Keith had the decency to warn him.

"So Lance," Keith said after they'd said all they were going to say about the pumpkin photos. "I wanted to let you know. I'll be unavailable for calls for a couple days. Hunk knows about it, ok? So if you needed someone, you know, in the middle of the night or something again, he said you can call him."

"Oh," Lance said, something in him growing cold and stiffening up. Because he knew where this was going. He'd asked too much and now Keith was going to pull back. Damn it, they'd been doing so well. It'd only taken a couple of days to chase him off? "Where are you going to be?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. "I can't tell you, Lance; it's a secret for now."

"Oh," Lance said again, feeling stupid. For opening up. For trusting. For wanting something he knew he couldn't have. There was anger there too, at Dr. Bolton for encouraging this, and for himself for believing it.

"But I'll talk to you Monday," Keith promised, and that was actually new. Normally when Keith dropped off the map, he never indicated when or if he was coming back. Lance didn't know what to do with that information.

"I'll be in California Monday," he reminded Keith. "Pacific Time Zone."

"I know," Keith assured, but he sounded sort of nervous.

"Is this a mission or something?" Lance asked, knowing he shouldn't. But Keith sounded distressed about it, whatever he was going to be unavailable for. "You won't be in danger, will you?"

"No more than usual," Keith answered, except it wasn't an answer at all.

"Lobito."

"Just trust me?" Keith asked, a much weightier question than the number of words permitted it to be.

"I . . . I do," Lance replied, wishing he felt more confident about it. Inside his mind everything was on fire, screaming at Keith to not leave. Please don't leave. Not again. Don't leave me. "But whatever you're doing . . be careful, ok?"

"I promise. I'll talk to you Monday."

Author's Note: NO! Keith! Don't do this again! Don't go! Any ideas where he'll be for the next few days? Hmm? Are we liking how this is wrapping up?

By the way guys, I've started the editing to make this thing publishable (you know, names and polishing and such). If you have any ideas on how to make this better send them my way, will you? Scenes you'd cut out. Stuff you'd change or add or whatever. . . NOW is the time to tell me. I'm not worried about grammar and punctuation as much as the structure of the thing. If a line is out of place. If a reaction is awkward. Anything like that. ALSO! Your favorite stuff. Scenes you liked the best.

Or just shiny, happy reviews. You know how some of you get all excited when you get that notification that I've (finally) updated? Yeah, I have that same sort of reaction when I see a review from you come in. Always a thrill. Never can get enough of it.

And good news – I'm about halfway finished with the next chapter, so I'm anticipating the wait time on it to be relatively short. Hang tight – gravity almost has us.