G2 with Lance/Shiro and Keith? Whichever you like most
Wow I am SO sorry this took especially long!! To be honest I wasn’t 100% sure what you meant by this and I should have asked, but I….didn’t. So it ended up turning into Shklance of some kind?? If this isn’t what you wanted please feel free to hmu again! And thank you so much for the request :)
Taken from this ask meme (Nausea + at home). A loose interpretation once again…I hope you enjoy! Beta’d as always by the perfect and beautiful @feverflushed
Lance stood outside Shiro’s door, the tray in his hands shaking just enough to make the soup in the bowl ripple. He’d been standing there for a good five minutes now, wondering if he should knock or just leave the tray on the floor.
He let out a frustrated breath; this was stupid. He knew it was stupid, but it didn’t do much for his nerves. It was unusual for him, to say the least, but this was an unusual situation.
Before he could make a decision, the door slid open and he was suddenly face to face with Keith, holding a bowl of water in his hands.
Keith looked up, taking a startled step back at the sight of Lance standing by his door. “Holy shit,” he said, softly despite the shock in his voice. “How long have you been standing there?”
“I just got here,” Lance lied smoothly, praising himself for keeping his voice steady even if his hands were still trembling slightly. He tried to look past Keith into the dark bedroom, but he couldn’t see much past the end of the bed. “How is he?”
Keith visibly deflated at the question, looking down at the bowl in his hands. There was a cloth floating in it, and Lance noticed how Keith’s hands were damp. “The same,” he said dejectedly. “I can’t get the fever to come down.”
Lance frowned, anxiety spiking hot in his chest. “Still? It’s been like, two days.”
“I know,” Keith said, something between annoyance and worry in his voice. Lance saw how dark the circles under Keith’s eyes were, how pale he was. Had he slept at all this whole time?
“Well, I come bearing supplies.” Lance held the tray out, gently enough not to spill the soup or knock over the two water pouches on it. “Courtesy of Hunk. Coran said he’d come by later with another medicine to try.”
Keith eyed the soup warily. “I really don’t think Shiro can keep anything down right now. The fever is making him pretty nauseous.”
“That’s why the soup is for you,” Lance replied. “Really, when was the last time you ate? Or slept? Or left the room?”
Keith just blinked, looking surprised.
Lance sighed. It was clear that Keith was in full worried-over-Shiro mode, and was therefore totally useless in taking care of himself. “Alright,” he said, only a little exasperated. “Switch with me?”
It took some maneuvering, but eventually Keith got the tray and Lance had the water bowl. He shot Keith a smile, hoping it looked more confident than he felt. “Be right back.”
It didn’t take long for Lance to get the bowl filled with cold water in the bathroom down the hall, where he washed out the cloth for good measure. He had been half expecting Keith to bite his head off; the only thing that made Keith even crankier than usual was when something bad happened to Shiro. Usually, it was cute. This time, though, was different. This time it wasn’t just Keith turning into a full blown Mama Bear over nothing. This was…serious.
Making his way back as quickly as possible, Lance let himself in Shiro’s room right away.
He wasn’t surprised to see the soup sitting on the desk in the corner, untouched, along with one of the water pouches. The other was in Keith’s hand, straw already in place, as Keith tried to gently coax it into Shiro.
Shiro was lying against a small mountain of pillows, most of them more than likely pilfered from various areas in the Castle. There was also a pile of blankets at his feet, bunched up in an untidy mess. Shiro looked like he was barely awake, his head turned slightly towards Keith, eyes half lidded. His face was pale, several shades paler than Keith’s tired one, save for the red flush that Lance could make out even in the darkness of the room.
Whatever this sickness was, it had hit Shiro like a truck a few days ago, after they returned from an otherwise routine off planet mission. The only symptom so far was the fever, which explained the nausea, but it only climbed higher as the days went on.
Keith, of course, hadn’t left his side since.
Lance stood rooted to the spot as Shiro took a few small sips of the packet, turning away after far too little. Keith looked unhappy, but didn’t force it. He ran a hand through Shiro’s sweaty bangs, murmuring praise as Shiro’s eyes fluttered shut.
It was weird, seeing them like this. Lance didn’t know what the hammering of his heart meant, but the feelings were drowned out by the strangeness of it all. Of seeing Shiro, their indomitable leader, so seriously sick. Of Keith, angry and impatient, handling the situation with such a foreign tenderness.
But maybe, there was a fleeting moment of jealousy buried somewhere in there. But for which person, he couldn’t tell.
Keith looked up, eyes sparking as he saw Lance standing there. He beckoned him over impatiently, and Lance felt the strange feeling again as he recalled the tenderness aimed at Shiro.
Nevertheless, he made his way over quickly, holding the bowl as Keith dipped his hands in to fish out the cloth. Wringing it out quickly, he turned back to Shiro, who had slid down the pillow mountain slightly, his breathing quick and shallow. Keith gently dabbed the cloth on Shiro’s cheeks, across the scar on his nose, down his neck. After a few dips in the bowl, he eventually swept Shiro’s bangs aside to lay the cloth against his burning forehead.
Pulling back, Keith let out a shaking breath, pointedly not looking at Lance.
“Ok, seriously,” Lance said, taking care not to be too loud. “Eat something. You need to keep your strength up. You’re no good to him if you get sick too.”
Keith huffed a frustrated breath, turning to Lance. “Coran said we were all exposed to whatever this is. If we haven’t gotten sick by now, it’s probably fine.”
“Sure, but staying up and not eating will make you sick no matter what.” Lance gestured to the soup, still untouched on Shiro’s desk. “So eat. Maybe sleep too? Like in your own room?”
Keith’s eyes flicked over to the soup, and he slumped down in his chair. “I know. But..” His expression changed, just slightly, but Lance was taken aback by the obvious worry on his face.
“I’ll stay with him,” Lance said suddenly, emboldened by the vulnerability Keith had shown him.
Keith’s eyes widened at the offer, and he was silent for a moment. But in the end, he nodded. “Just for a bit,” he conceded, getting up from the chair. “And I’m not leaving.”
Lance sighed, but nodded in response. He could only hope for so much.
Taking Keith’s post by Shiro’s bed, he rested the half full water bowl on his lap, watching as Shiro slept fitfully. His breathing was still labored, and shifted just enough to make the cloth slip from his forehead. Lance readjusted it as gently as he could, but suddenly, Shiro’s eyes were on him. “L-Lance?”
“Hey, Shiro,” Lance said softly, trying to smile. “How are you feeling?”Shiro’s eyes were unfocused, glazed with fever. He looked troubled, and Lance couldn’t help but brush his hand against Shiro’s cheek. His eyes widened at the heat he felt there; it was even worse than he thought. He could only pray Coran’s next round of medicine actually worked–so far the fever hadn’t responded to anything he’d come up with. Lance still remembered the uncharacteristically serious expression on Coran’s face when the last remedy had failed to make a dent.
Shiro was frowning now, and it would have been cute if not for the dire situation his was in. “Lance,” he said again, softer this time.
“Yeah?” Lance responded, but Shiro was still staring at him with unfocused eyes. Lance, in a moment of desperation fueled insanity, wrapped both his hands around Shiro’s, belatedly realizing it was the metal one. Shiro looked down at their joined hands, fear in his eyes this time.
“Not..that one,” he muttered, trying to take his hand back. Lance was alarmed at the lack of strength as he pulled; it took no effort to keep his hand in place. “I’ll…hurt you…”
Lance kept his hands wrapped firmly around Shiro’s metal one, squeezing just a bit, even though he wasn’t sure if Shiro could feel it. “No you won’t,” he said firmly. “You would never hurt any of us, Shiro.”
I trust you with my life, he didn’t say. I’d follow you into hell if you asked.
Instead, he moved one of his hands to stabilize the cloth, which had slipped again. “It’s ok, Shiro. You’re ok.”
This seemed to work, as Shiro relaxed a bit more into the pillows.
“You should try to drink something again,” Lance said, already starting to reach for the water pouch Keith had before.
But Shiro squeezed his eyes shut, turning away. “Can’t.”
This made Lance pause. “Why not?”
Shiro wrapped an arm around his stomach, breathing going choppy. He’d gone an alarming shade of pale at the mention of drinking “Can’t.”
Lance remembered how Keith mentioned that Shiro couldn’t keep anything down. Now he was even saying no to water.
This was bad. Worse than Lance thought.
There was a soft knock at the door, and before Lance was halfway out of his chair, Keith was already pressing the button to open it. Lance had dropped Shiro’s hand in the process, and Shiro whimpered softly.
At door was Coran. It was almost strange to see him like this: serious, unsmiling. Even his moustache looked a little unkempt, like he’d been fiddling with it without thinking. Lance knew Coran had been working on something for Shiro since this all began, redoubling his efforts when Shiro only got worse.
“Please tell me you have something,” Keith said in lieu of a greeting. Lance came up behind him, eager to hear the news.
Coran hesitated for a moment, eyebrows going up as he registered Lance’s presence, though it didn’t last long. He held up a vial, half full of something bright purple.
“This should do the trick,” he said tiredly.
Keith eyed the vial warily. “Does he have to drink it? I’m really not sure that’s happening right now.”
But Coran just nodded. “Right. I know he hasn’t been eating. Pidge explained how fevers can affect your delicate human biologies. Not to fear, though.” At this, Coran gave the vial a little shake, seeming to perk up a bit as he explained. “I’ve made adjustments for that. Hopefully this will kick in within a few vargas.”
Keith didn’t seem entirely convinced. After all, nothing else had worked so far. But Lance stepped around him, taking the vial. “Thanks, Coran. We’ll let you know how it goes.”
Coran shot them a smile, though it still looked tired. “Very good, then. I truly hope this works.”
Lance knew how worried everyone was about Shiro, especially as he continued to deteriorate. Even Coran, it seemed, had begun to let it get the best of him.
Coran turned his attention to Keith, giving him a once over. “Take some time to rest up too, Number Four. Can’t have you falling ill as well.”
“I’ll be fine,” Keith said, almost as if on auto pilot.
Coran sighed softly, but didn’t push it.
“Good luck, boys.” With that, Coran left them to it.
The door slid shut as they both turned towards Shiro, who had hiked the blankets up to his neck, shivering. Keith cursed softly, hurrying to the bed and quickly covering him with the sheets he’d kicked off earlier.
Lance came around the other side of the bed, vial still in hand. The purple stuff inside sloshed like water, thin and slightly translucent despite its unnerving colour.
He handed it over to Keith, who took it with a nod of thanks. “Can you…help me sit him up?” he asked hesitantly, as if expecting Lance to say no.
“Sure, dude. No problem.” He shot Keith a smile, who offered a shaky one in return.
Together, they managed to sit Shiro up, even as he grumbled a bit in protest. Lance couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in Shiro’s back moved, the hard lines of his shoulders.
Shiro, half awake and even less lucid, kept trying to refuse the medicine, even as Keith pleaded with him to drink it. Lance rubbed soothing circles on Shiro’s back, hoping to help without overstepping.
“It’ll make you feel better,” Keith was saying. But Shiro still shook his head, wrapping a protective arm around his stomach.
“Please?’” Keith asked again, sounding just a little bit desperate. “For me?” He looked up, making eye contact with Lance. “For us?”
Slowly, Shiro looked up at Keith, then over at Lance. One of the straps on Shiro’s tank top had shifted just enough to show a horrible jagged scar that ran down his shoulder onto his bicep. Lance had tried to avoid looking as much as he could–he knew Shiro would never want him to see, under normal circumstances–but up close like this, it was hard not to. It made Lance’s heart hurt. But it also filled him with rage at the ones who did this to him.
The muscles under Lance’s hands suddenly relaxed, and Shiro finally offered a single, jerky nod.
Keith let out a shaking breath, relief clear in his face. He managed to get Shiro to drink the whole thing in one go, before laying him back down on the bed with Lance’s help. Soon enough Shiro fell back into an uneasy sleep, curling up on his side with an arm still wrapped around his stomach.
Lance sighed softly, picking up the bowl of water and bringing it around the bed. After handing the bowl over, Lance took a step back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“I, uh…guess I should go?”
Keith looked up from the bowl, where he was wringing out the cloth. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Yeah. Sure.”
There was a moment of profound awkwardness, where neither of them seemed to know what to say. The silence was broken only by Shiro’s breathing. Was it Lance’s imagination, or was it sounding a little easier already?
Nodding, Lance made his way to the door, but before he got too far, Keith spoke up. “Lance?”
Turning slightly, Lance raised his eyebrows in question.
Keith seemed almost embarrassed, but he gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.”
Relief flooded through Lance at that, at managing to help. He hated seeing Shiro suffer, almost as much as Keith did. To know Keith appreciated his help, especially with something so important, made Lance’s heart soar.
