Marked For Death | klangst

Eighteen.

Coran and Allura had already prepared a healing pod for Lance. They anxiously paced around the infirmary, waiting in tense impatience for the Paladins to enter. At long last, the doors slid open, and Shiro and Keith fumbled through, Lance draped across their shoulders like dead weight.

Allura sucked in a breath at the sight of the once-flirtatious pilot to stifle a shocked gasp. She didn't like how gaunt his features appeared, or the light color of his normally tan skin. She didn't like the way his head involuntarily hung low and swung viciously at the slightest of movements. "Shiro, he does have a pulse, right?" she asked in concern.

"Like I said," the Black Paladin answered, still ushering towards the pod the two Alteans had readied, "it was faint, but it was there."

Allura nodded in acknowledgement, worry still evident on her face and in her ever-changing eyes. She stepped back and allowed Coran to pass her to help Shiro and Keith put Lance into the pod, small tremors of apprehension coursing through all of their arms. Lance's body fell limp in their hands, his own still-armored arms swinging uncontrollably and his head lolling uncomfortably. With great effort, they heaved his body into the pod, somehow willing it to stay upright as the door quickly sealed shut.

Despite his apparent weight-loss in the week that he was on Grumga, it had been a task to carry him from the blasted planet to the lions and from the hangars to the infirmary -- even with three people helping, altogether. Shiro and Keith were panting, small beads of sweat formulating on their foreheads before proceeding to slide down their faces.

It was Shiro who first spoke after Lance began his healing. "Allura, how long does he have to stay in that thing?"

The princess sighed, her long hair falling around her face sullenly. "I honestly cannot give a proper estimate," she began, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ears. "All we know is that he's been severely dehydrated and drained of all energy. But we don't know if there's anything else. We have no way of knowing if he ever removed his armor, so there's no way we can find out if he has further injuries beneath. And these are all purely physical. Given the amount of time he spent in that fog -- constantly corrupting his mind and damaging every memory, every emotion, every nerve -- that alone could take many quintants." She took a deep breath, avoiding all of the Paladins' eyes. "I'm truly sorry my words cannot be comforting at this time. I... I really wish I could be, but the technology is so out of date, and..." she faltered, her voice caught in the back of her throat. She couldn't continue.

"Allura, you're Altean tech is far more advanced than anything we have on Earth," Pidge told her, stepping further into the room. "And just knowing that Lance will get better... It doesn't matter how long it takes."

"The fact that he can even heal because of what your kind built -- Allura, it's incredible," Shiro assured her, his signature sad smile forming over his mouth.

Allura hardly smiled in return, but she managed to calm her emotions enough to speak again. "Thank you, all. And to answer your question, however inaccurate it may be, my estimate would be perhaps one and a half spicolian movements."

Hunk, following Pidge's lead and further entering the room, blinked in confusion. "I think I'm still a bit rusty on my Altean."

"Spicolian movement, or in other words, a week," Pidge explained proudly, shoving her round glasses up her nose.

"So a week and a half," Keith repeated so it would sink into his mind. A week and a half... Approximately ten or so days. Another ten days without getting to hear Lance's voice or his hearty laugh. Another ten days without seeing him flash his pearly white teeth or his shining blue eyes. Another ten days he had to wait to try to confess his locked up feelings. "Just another week and a half."