He should have known he couldn't have done this wedding. He should have known it was too much to come to work for it, even if he had agreed to cater for it months ago. He should have just apologised profusely, he should have known eleven hours of virtually no sitting down would be too much. He'd made it most of the night, but now…now he was sure if he didn't sit down now he would pass out and/or vomit.

Thankfully, once the food had been set out, and the couple had toasted, Lance was told he could sit down – finally – and he did. He had a paper plate of food in his hand, but honestly, the thought of trying to consume anything made his stomach roil dangerously. He was not going to be sick at his best friend's wedding.

He almost drops the plate when he remembered he had a thermometer and painkillers with him, stumbling across the kitchen to reach it from his bag. Vision suddenly fading out on him, he desperately scrabbles through all his stuff to find it, strangely feeling tears well up at the bleakness of this whole situation.

There! The painkillers and the thermometer, blessedly, sat innocently at the bottom of his bag. Again, he needs something to take the painkillers with, but he cannot think of anything worse than trying to drink at the moment. Unfortunately for him, his only option is a small flute of champagne. God, why did he hand out that coke so quickly?

He suddenly realises how badly he needs to sit down, and, all thoughts of painkillers forgotten, he scrabbles back to the box. Fighting waves of sudden nausea, he forces himself to kneel with his head between his knees - an old trick his mama taught him.

Right - temperature. But if he has to be honest, he isn't sure he can take it. His vision only seems to be getting worse with every second that passes.
Hands shaking, eyes glassy and unfocused, Lance presses the thermometer in his mouth, at almost the exact same time Keith, his reluctant colleague, entered the kitchen. He either didn't notice, or didn't acknowledge Lance, as he launched straight into a rant about one of the guests.

"God, she's whinging about how close the tables are again! Not my fault, honey! How about you get some decent contractors, then we can talk!" Keith sighs, dropping more glasses in the sink. "It doesn't even affect her that much! She's right next to the food!"

"Keith…?" Lance mutters, suddenly realising how bad his vision really is. "Can you do me a favour?"

"What?" Keith doesn't face him, but at the same time, he doesn't sound impatient. God, this guy confused Lance sometimes.

"I can't read the thermometer, my vision's too blurry. What does it say? Can you read it?"

"Why do you have a thermometer with you?" Keith asks, striding over to meet Lance. He doesn't look angry, Lance thinks. "Are you feeling… oh. Oh, fuck."

"What?" Lance demands, lurching forward – a mistake, he realises when he's almost sick again - in attempt to see the number.

"Lance, this is 105!" Keith yells, and Lance cringes away. "Oh fuck, sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. But I need to get Shiro…"

"Don't! It's his wedding, he doesn't need to be disturbed!"

"Fuck that! Lance, you need a hospital." Lance shakes his head, whimpering almost silently.

Keith tuts as he leaves the kitchen - muttering what sounds like '105' under his breath - in the search for Shiro.

"One-hundred and five?" Shiro echoes, lurching from his seat. Allura looks just as confused and concerned as him. "Fucking hell, Keith, why didn't he tell anyone?"

"I don't know!" Keith cries, Shiro apologises to people as he squeezes behind their seats, yet is clearly attempting to hurry.

They both burst into the kitchen, only for both of their hearts to sink as they find Lance passed out, leaning against a wall.

"Fucking, fuck, Shiro!" Keith cries, as Shiro grabs Lance's wrists and pulls one arm over his shoulder. "Hospital. Now."

"Keith? What's goin on?" Lance mutters, head lolling on Shiro's shoulder.

"You didn't tell anyone you were sick, that's what!" Keith near shouts. He regrets it immediately, when Lance flinches and cringes away from him - again, a little voice in his head pipes up. "Sorry. I shouldn't have shouted. But we were worried, Lance. You shouldn't have worked tonight."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, just tell us if this sort of thing happens again." Keith begs.

"Shiro?" Lance whispers, Keith holding up the phone to his ear. "Did the wedding end up okay?"

"Yeah. You'd done most of what needed to be done, so there wasn't too much work for Pidge and Hunk." A brief pause. "I hope you're okay, buddy."

"I am. I have Keith to thank." A muffled voice came from Lance's end, and he chuckles. "He said I'm a dumbass." Another muffled voice, and a harder chuckle. "A gorgeous dumbass."

"Well, you know you can tell us if you need to pull out of something, right? The wedding was a big event, agreed, but it doesn't mean we would have been mad at you if you had to not do it."

"I know. Thanks man."

"I hope you feel better, Lance." Shiro says, hanging up with a click.

Lance smiles as Keith brushes his hair with his hand, and he lets himself fall back asleep. He's definitely learned from last night.