Chapter Text
Lance is crying.
Lance is crying, and Keith doesn’t know what to do, and it occurs to him that it’s really fucking dumb that he can retake the Black Lion, and spin through a wormhole, and find his brother’s spirit in the astral realm, and destroy a clone, and lead a team through battle against a prince drowning in his own power—but he doesn’t have the first clue what to do here.
(what’s the point of being a hero, his mind whispers, sad and angry and frustrated alike, if you can’t help your own friends? how is saving the universe easier than comforting someone who is crying?)
“Lance,” he says, without really knowing what he’s going to say next. “Lance, it’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Lance mumbles, still staring at Shiro with something like horror on his face. “It’s my fault, I should have—I should have figured it out sooner—”
“It’s not your fault,” Keith says firmly. “It’s not anyone’s fault. Okay?”
Lance doesn’t seem to hear him.
“Hey.” Keith adjusts so he’s holding Shiro up with one arm, and uses his free hand to touch Lance’s shoulder. “Listen to me.”
Lance looks up. His eyes finally meet Keith’s directly, and it’s absurd, but even after all the stress and exhaustion and adrenaline of the past few hours, even with Shiro half conscious in his lap, Keith’s stomach flips at the force of his gaze, magnified by the soft sunlight on this planet and the tears sparkling on Lance’s eyelashes.
(god, it’s been so long, so long, for them it’s been months but for him it’s been years, and now that the dust has settled he’s been sneaking glances at all of them, re-memorizing their features and the sound of their voices, but mostly it’s been Lance, always Lance, only Lance, Lance’s eyes and Lance’s shoulders and the way Lance’s hair curls over his neck)
“It’s not your fault,” Keith repeats. “There’s no way any of us could have known.”
Lance sounds a little calmer, though his face is still twisted. “I’m still sorry,” he says. “I should have done something, I should have realized it sooner or—or I don’t know—but I didn’t and now—now Shiro’s—”
He breaks off, his voice wavering again. Keith squeezes his shoulder and looks up at Allura.
“Can you do something?” he asks. “You can, right?”
Allura nods. She puts her hand on Lance’s other shoulder and smiles.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “He will be all right. I’ve done this once before, remember?”
Lance’s expression brightens a fraction. Allura walks up to the Black Lion, puts her palms to the metal of their exterior, and closes her eyes.
.^.
Krolia says their mission should take a few months.
“Six at most,” she says, as they gather twigs and branches for the fire they’ve started in the cave. “I can’t imagine it would take much longer than that. It must be a considerable distance or more people would make the journey, but if people have gone back and forth for quintessence before now it can’t be too long of a trip.”
The first day passes quickly. They don’t talk much, since they’re mostly occupied with figuring out the logistics of living in this atmosphere. The plant varieties here are plentiful; there are tons of edible ones, as well as huge puffy leaves that they use as bedding and towels. They find a pond nearby for bathing and for washing their clothes.
After dinner on the first day—berries and some kind of potato-like vegetable that Krolia half burns over the fire—they sit back against opposite sides of the cave.
Keith studies her in the dim light from the embers. He’s astonished by how familiar her features are; earlier she had scowled when she’d burnt the vegetable and he had had to bite back a startled laugh at how similar it was to what he sees in the mirror.
“You never told me how you ended up here,” she says finally. She’s been staring at him too; he wonders if she’s doing the same thing, if she’s also surprised by how similar he is to someone he has no memory of. “I had no idea you were in space.”
“It’s kind of a long story,” Keith says. “A really long story, actually.”
“We have time,” she says, a little dryly. “I think a long story would do us some good.”
She has a point, so he begins, haltingly at first, with a lot of backtracking to explain who people are and why he was living at the Garrison.
“So Shiro raised you,” she says, after Keith explains going to rescue Shiro from the facility. “That’s why you went to such great lengths to save him.”
“Yeah,” Keith replies. “Dad died when I was nine so I lived in foster homes and orphanages. Then when I was twelve I met Shiro through a big brother program. After a couple months he helped me apply to the Garrison so he could look after me better, since he wasn’t old enough to formally adopt me.”
“He sounds like a good man,” Krolia says.
“He is,” Keith says. “He’s the best man I know. I—I think of him like a brother.”
There’s a pause, then, very quietly:
“You were nine?”
Keith nods.
Krolia exhales, very slowly. “I’m sorry.”
Keith shrugs. “It was a long time ago,” he says. “He was a good dad and I miss him, but I’m used to it by now.”
He is sorry for that nine-year-old boy whose dad never came back from work, sorry for the boy who had to pack up his things and move from strange house to strange house. But he’s not sorry now, not when things are so much better, now that he has Shiro, and the other paladins, and now his mother too.
It occurs to him that it hasn’t been a long time for her, not really; for her it’s been only a few hours since she saw his father’s gravestone in his memory, only a few hours since she realized her—husband? partner? Keith isn’t really sure what their relationship was—is dead.
(has she thought about going back, about the war ending and her pod landing on earth again, this time smooth and purposeful instead of abrupt and accidental? has she thought about going up to the door of that house, knocking once twice thrice; about his dad opening it, shock melting into a smile; about an older version of the baby she left behind coming up behind him, confused as she hugs him for the first time in almost two decades?)
(does she wish now that she’d done it, now that her options aren’t shocked smiles and confused hugs, but kneeling at a gravestone, and a son as battle-weary as she is?)
“I visit his grave every year,” Keith says. “Shiro usually comes with me but next time we’re on earth you can come too. I—” He breathes in, unsure if it’s okay for him to say this. “I think Dad would like it if you came.”
For a long moment Krolia doesn’t respond. She’s doing the thing Keith always does when he’s trying to calm down, when his eyes start stinging; the clenched jaw, the clenched fist, avoiding anyone’s gaze by looking to the side. He looks away from her too, lets her have this to herself; he half thinks that he should do something—hug her, maybe?—but the moment passes, and she just says, as quietly as before, “I’d like that, too.”
The conversation after this is more cheerful. He tells her about the others joining in, about finding the Blue Lion—her eyes get very round at this part, and he feels weirdly proud at her astonishment—about the castle of lions, the Alteans, finding the other lions—
“Wait, wait,” Krolia interrupts, incredulous. “You mean—you’re a paladin. Of Voltron.”
The weird pride within Keith swells.
“Yup,” he says.
Krolia beams, bright and sudden. “My son is a paladin,” she says, almost to herself, a bit in awe.
“Not anymore,” Keith amends. “I used to be the Red Paladin, then I piloted Black for a while. But now I just work for the Blade.” He frowns. “But that’s not until later. I’m trying to tell this in order.”
“Carry on,” Krolia says, with an apologetic wave.
He tells her about learning about the Blade of Marmora, visiting the base, the trials—
“The trials?” Krolia echoes, and it’s not incredulous, or proud, but—furious—
“Kolivan said it was the only way for me to learn anything about your knife.”
Krolia mutters something under her breath in Galran. Keith doesn’t understand much Galran but that tone of voice is pretty unmistakable.
“Remind me to kill him when we get back,” she says louder.
He’s fairly certain she’s kidding. Probably.
He doesn’t know how much longer he talks for; by the end of his account his voice is hoarse enough that he downs the entirety of their water supply and has to take a break to get more while Krolia tries to process everything he’s said.
“What you’ve done is remarkable,” she says, when he returns with a fresh bucket of water from the pond. He puts it over the fire so it can boil and purify. “Though I am sorry you were drawn into this war.”
“I have my friends with me,” Keith says. “I mean—” A uncomfortable feeling twists his stomach. “I haven’t really talked to them since I left Voltron but they’re—I think they’re still my friends. That makes it easier.”
“Can you tell me about them?” Krolia asks.
“Sure,” Keith says. “Um—I guess I’ll start with Pidge, who’s the Green Paladin. She’s really smart and can hack into anything. She once got every screen during a Voltron Coalition conference call to play Never Gonna Give You Up.”
Krolia blinks.
“It’s a meme,” Keith explains. “If we visit earth I’ll show you.” He takes the bucket of water off the fire and sets it aside to cool. “Hunk is our engineer and the Yellow Paladin. He’s pretty good at diplomatic stuff and helps Allura with it sometimes. He speaks five languages and he’s trying to learn Altean and Galran too.”
“That’s very impressive.”
“It is,” Keith agrees. “Next is the Blue Paladin, Allura—”
“Are you on such familiar terms with the princess that you can call her by her name alone?” Krolia asks, startled.
“Yeah,” Keith says. “I mean—sometimes we call her ‘princess’ but usually we just say her name. To be honest I kind of forget she’s a princess sometimes. In my head she’s just a member of our team and someone who once put her elbow in her bowl of food goo cause she couldn’t stay awake at breakfast.” He smiles. “Once she actually started a food fight at dinner. She’s pretty cool for a princess.”
Krolia smiles too. “Do you like her?”
“Yeah,” Keith says, without thinking.
Krolia raises an eyebrow. Keith blinks at her, confused by the way her smile crooks—and then realizes.
Panic shoots through him.
“No!” he shouts, then, lowering his voice, “Sorry—just—no, not like that. She’s my friend, but I don’t like her romantically. I—I actually don’t like girls at all. I mean I do, but as friends. Not—not in that way. Not romantically. Cause I’m—gay.”
(congrats, says part of his mind, rolling its eyes. this is probably the messiest way to come out to your mom)
Despite his rambling Krolia follows his meaning.
“I see,” she says. “I apologize for assuming.” She shifts, stretching out her legs. “So—Pidge, Hunk, Princess Allura, and you’ve already talked about Shiro. Isn’t there another one too? You said there were six of you.”
(maybe it’s because they’d just been discussing romance, or maybe it’s because he hasn’t talked about him in so long, or maybe it’s because he’s a little worried he can’t talk about him without sounding overeager, but something strange curls through Keith at the thought of him, comforting and embarrassing in equal measure)
“Lance,” he says, and he does his best to keep track of how his voice sounds, to keep it as even as possible. “He used to pilot the Blue Lion but now he pilots Red.”
There is a pause.
“Does this ‘Lance’ not have a personality?” Krolia prompts.
“I—yeah—I mean—” Keith can already feel his face heating. “He kind of has too much personality.”
Krolia frowns. “Is he difficult to deal with?”
“No,” Keith says immediately. “Well—I guess, at first. But that was because I didn’t know him very well. He talks a lot and he’s really dramatic sometimes and those kinds of people tend to annoy me. But he doesn’t annoy me anymore. And the few times he does it’s not—it’s not really annoying.” He pauses, trying to articulate it. “You know those people who do things that should be annoying and you’re kind of annoyed but you like them so it’s not actually annoying? That’s what he’s like.”
Krolia is squinting at him suspiciously. Keith coughs.
“So—anyway.” He clears his throat. “He’s my friend so it doesn’t bother me when he does goofy stuff. I actually really like it. He always knows how to cheer people up. And he’s talented too, he’s our best shot and he’s good at supporting other people and figuring out who’s the best for whatever job needs to get done. He’s—kind of the main reason I was able to be black paladin at all after Shiro disappeared. And—um—yeah. He’s nice,” he finishes lamely.
(congrats again, says the same part of his mind, dryly. you managed to keep it together for about 2 seconds)
Krolia is suppressing a smile.
“I see,” she says a second time, then, “It’s quite obvious that it’s not the princess you like,” and she’s using—that voice—the one Shiro sometimes uses—where he thinks he’s being sneaky but he most definitely is not.
Keith feels his face burn. He ignores it as best he can and says, a bit desperately, “Do you want to hear about Coran? Or the space mice?”
Krolia takes pity on him and agrees, so Keith covers his embarrassment with as many absurd stories about Coran as he can recall. By the time he’s done they’re both exhausted from the mission and the long day, and after some shuffling around to figure out how the hell they’re supposed to sleep on giant leaves, they both go to sleep.
.^.
There’s a pair of glowing eyes watching Keith from under a bush by the cave entrance.
“Hey, buddy,” Keith says, waving at the eyes as he eats berries out of the makeshift bowl Krolia had made their second day here. He holds out his other hand, palm up, one dark red berry in the center. “You want one?”
The eyes blink but don’t approach.
“That’s okay,” Keith says, and eats the berry himself instead. He’d first spotted the wolf cub four days ago, hiding under that bush, their tiny nose poking out and sniffing at the scent wafting out from the cave. Keith had left a piece of their dinner by the bush and sometime when he and Krolia weren’t looking the wolf cub had come out and taken it. Keith’s been leaving food out after every meal, but the cub doesn’t seem to be any more comfortable coming closer than they’d been the first day they’d appeared.
But Keith doesn’t mind. He waited months for his brother, years for a home, decades for his mother. Waiting a few days for a wolf cub won’t bother him.
He places a few berries in the usual spot, halfway between the bush and the cave, and turns around so his back is to the entrance, pretending to be adjusting the giant leaf that makes up his bed. He hears rustling, tiny pap pap paps, rustling again. He turns around. The berries are gone.
He bites back a smile and goes back to his snack.
.^.
It’s not until a week later that he finally sees the wolf cub in their entirety.
Krolia is out, gone to wash her clothes and collect kindling. Keith sits in the cave; it’s blindingly hot today and the cave is blissfully cool, and he spends his time reading through one of the few books he has on his tablet. Their tablets aren’t very useful here—the comm function doesn’t work, neither video nor audio nor text—but thankfully the books he’d downloaded ages ago can still be read. This book seems to be the Galran equivalent of a Western, the already cheesy writing made cheesier by the crappy job the translator is doing as he reads.
He looks up from the tablet to give his eyes a break and spots the eyes glowing under the bush, staring at him. He smiles before returning to the tablet, swiping to turn the page—
—then freezes as the eyes slowly, slowly, slowly come closer, as a tiny nose pokes out, as blue-black fur follows, until the front half of the wolf cub’s body is outside the bush.
Keith puts his tablet down.
“Hey, buddy,” he whispers, determined not to scare them away. “You wanna come in?” The wolf cub continues to stare
“Are you hungry?” Keith asks. “We have some leftovers if you want.”
The wolf cub takes another step, then another, until they’re completely out of the bush. Right away Keith sees that something is very wrong; as they approach the cave they’re limping, hopping every few steps with their back left paw sticking out. They limp inside the cave, up to Keith, until he can see what’s wrong with their paw. There’s a yellow thorn stuck in it. They look up at Keith and whimper.
“Don’t cry, buddy, it’s okay,” Keith says softly. “I’ll get it out for you.”
Upon closer inspection he discovers that it’s not a long thorn and there doesn’t seem to be bleeding around it; he can probably just pull it out, as long as he’s careful. He holds the wolf cub’s paw in his hand, firm but gentle. They hold very still.
“You’re very brave,” Keith tells them. He takes hold of the thorn with his free hand and pulls it out. The wolf cub yelps, but it comes out cleanly.
“See?” Keith holds up the thorn to show them, then tosses it into the fire. “All better.”
The wolf cub looks at their paw, then puts it on the ground, testing their weight on it. They walk around the cave, jumping every few steps and wagging their tail. Keith watches, laughing a little at how happy they are.
The wolf cub makes a round around the cave then comes back to Keith. They clamber into Keith’s lap and curls up, closing their eyes. They’re small enough that they fit entirely in his lap. Keith scratches under their chin; the wolf cub makes a tiny pleased growl and Keith feels almost giddy at the sound of it. It’s weirdly satisfying to know he’s gotten the wolf cub to trust him.
“What’s their name?” Krolia asks once she’s returned. She abandons her usual spot across the cave to sit by Keith and pat the wolf cub on the head.
“Pom Pom,” Keith says promptly.
Krolia raises an eyebrow.
“Dad gave me a stuffed hippo when I was little,” Keith explains. “He was the same shade of blue as this part of Pom Pom’s fur.”
“Ah.” Krolia pats Pom Pom’s head again; they make the growly noise in their sleep. There is a long pause, and then she asks, very delicately, as if worried it’s a question she shouldn’t be asking, “What is a ‘hippo’?”
.^.
He’s had this dream before.
It’s so vague it might be too much to call it a dream. There’s no image, no color, so scene; just him, lying as he is, darkness behind his eyelids, and then a voice—a woman’s voice—singing gently, though not very well, in a language he doesn’t recognize.
It’s not a bad dream. It’s weirdly soothing, though he doesn’t know why. He has it fairly often, at least once every few months, and no matter how many dream sites he’s checked, no matter how much he looks up recurring dreams of a woman singing, he can’t figure out what the hell it means. He’s thought about trying to look up the language, but by the time he wakes he always forgets all the words, forgets the syllables and sounds, though he feels like he should remember.
He’s dreaming it now, lying here, in this weird leaf bed in this weird cave house, dreaming of this woman’s voice and this unfamiliar language and this quite frankly horrible singing that’s somehow still soothing. He’s dreaming, and he’s calm, and he’s drifting deeper into sleep, deep enough that his dream is fading, that the voice is fading—
—but then—
—abruptly—
—the dream changes—
—and he’s no longer lying, and dreaming, but drowning, drowning in water so deep and so dark he can’t see anything—
—and something is being sucked out of him as he falls through the water, something smoky and silver pulled out of him through his mouth, and he sees the outline of it float up to the surface as he sinks, sinks, sinks—
—and he hears a roar, and his heart should leap, because it’s Red’s roar, but instead of leaping his heart sinks along with his body, because it’s sad, it’s so sad, he’s heard Red’s happy roar and angry roar and vengeful roar but never—
—never this—
(gone, his mind whispers as he sinks, and he doesn’t know if it’s actually his mind or Red’s mind. gone, gone, gone, gone, gone)
“Who’s gone?” Keith asks; the words come out in bubbles, floating up to the surface along with the smoke that had come out of his mouth. “Red! Who’s gone?”
There’s a silence, and Keith doesn’t think he’s ever been so terrified, and he’s about to ask again when—
Gone, Red rumbles, as clear as if he were right in front of Keith. Gone.
“Who?” Keith demands, and even in this dream his voice cracks. “Red, please, talk to—”
He breaks off with a gasp; more bubbles bob up to the surface, but he pays them no heed, because he feels so—
—empty—
—and it occurs to him that this must be what he felt like before the lions, but it’s been so long since then, it’s been years since he’s lived without that constant comforting presence that still lingers in the back of his mind, even if he can’t hear it anymore—
—and he knows, he knows, because if he can’t hear Red then that means Red is gone, and if Red is gone then—
“Keith!”
Keith wakes up with another gasp. He stares up at Krolia, who is kneeling by him, her hand on his shoulder. She looks scared.
“You were thrashing around,” she says. “Sit up, have some water.”
Keith sits up and takes the cup on autopilot, but he doesn’t drink from it. His heart is thudding, his stomach feels sick, he feels like he can’t breathe—
“Keith.” Krolia rubs his back. “It was a nightmare. Everything is all right.”
“No it’s not,” he says automatically. He sets aside the cup and tosses off the leaf blanket. “I—I have to go.”
Krolia watches him as he gets to his feet. “Go where?” she asks, her brow crinkled.
“I don’t know,” he says. He knows he’s talking too loud, but he doesn’t know how to make it stop, not when his chest is so tight he feels like he can barely breathe. “I just—I have to—I don’t know.”
He stumbles out of the cave and without really meaning to walks all the way to the pond. He sits by the edge of the water, knees up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs, and tries to breathe. His chest still feels tight; he curls his left hand into a fist and runs his thumb over the side of his index finger, and it helps a little, but he still feels panicky, and he thinks, fervently, that he would do anything in the universe to be able to call the others—to call Lance—to make sure that it was just a nightmare, only a nightmare, because he has a horrible, horrible feeling it might not be.
(god, why hadn’t he called, why hadn’t he visited, when he was at the Blade he could have done something, could have asked permission to see them or broke into the control room to call them or—something—but when he could have he hadn’t and now that he wants to he can’t, though he would give anything in the universe to be able to)
(being alone has never been a problem before, and he isn’t alone right now, not really, not with Krolia and Pom Pom, but it’s still—hard—because now he’s used to having people near, used to having the option of a comfortably crowded room and friendly laughter if he wants it, and now that he’s used to it he’s forgotten how he lived before he had it)
Pom Pom pads into the clearing and plops down beside him. They nudge Keith’s hip; Keith reaches down with his free hand and pats their head.
“I’m really worried,” he says.
Pom Pom makes a questioning sort of grumble and pushes their head back against Keith’s hand. Keith runs his hand through Pom Pom’s fur.
“I know it’s stupid,” Keith goes on. “It was probably just a dream. Right?”
Another grumble.
“But Red has talked to me from far away before,” he says. “So it could be real, too.” He frowns, shifts so he’s sitting cross-legged. “I wish I could talk to them to be sure.” He sighs. “I wish I could talk to them in general. Even if they can’t talk back. I just want to pretend for a while.”
Pom Pom takes advantage of Keith’s new position to put their head in Keith’s lap. Keith looks down at them and runs his hand through their fur again. Pom Pom closes their eyes and grumbles contentedly, and Keith’s chest loosens a little.
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
Pom Pom falls asleep after a few seconds, which means Keith is pretty much stuck here until they wake up. He runs his hand through Pom Pom’s fur over and over, lets the rhythm of it and the sound of Pom Pom’s snoring calm him down.
As he does so he looks around the clearing, though he pretty much has it memorized by this point. It’s early, the sun just barely rising, pale light illuminating the sort-of circular pond, the ring of absurdly tall trees surrounding it, the smaller bushes between the trees, with their purple berries and black flowers. Krolia had used her scanner the first day to check if they were safe to eat; the berries were fine, but the flowers were strange, even the smallest one leaving several thick black streaks along their fingers where they held them. To be safe they left them alone, though they were plentiful in this clearing and elsewhere on the space whale.
Something catches in Keith’s mind, nagging at him, pulling—
“Holy shit,” he says, loud enough that Pom Pom opens one eye. He scratches Pom Pom’s ear in apology. “Sorry, buddy—but I think I know how I can talk to them, even if they can’t respond.”
He looks round the clearing some more. The bark of the trees they get their giant puffy leaves from is flat and thick and scrapes off easily; they usually use it for the fire, but if he’s careful about how he does it, he could probably scrape it off in squares or rectangles.
He has ink, he has paper. He just needs a pen.
“I guess I could cut a twig and sharpen the end and dip the edge into ink,” he says.
Pom Pom’s only response is a snore.
“Yeah, exactly,” he says, nodding. “It’ll be like one of those really old-fashioned pens. Like a quill and ink.”
It takes Pom Pom another ten minutes to wake up, by which point Keith is so excited he can barely contain himself. As soon as Pom Pom lifts their head up Keith jumps to his feet and runs to the nearest tree to get to work.
.^.
“Okay,” Keith says, once he’s gathered his materials. It took him several tries to cut the pen right, but he finally has one that he thinks won’t break as soon as he puts the tip to the bark-paper. “I’m all set.”
He’s back in the clearing; he’d gone back to the cave to crush up the flowers in a bowl and give Krolia vague answers to her questions before running back out to write.
“Who should I write to?” he asks Pom Pom, who flops down on the ground beside him once more. “Do you think Lance would mind if I wrote to him?”
Pom Pom wags their tail.
“True,” Keith says. “He’d probably make fun of me.” He raises his voice, tries to imitate the up-and-down of Lance’s cadence, the cocky grin. “ ‘Hey, Mullet, I’d almost think you missed me!’”
Pom Pom grumbles.
“He’s nice,” Keith assures them. “That’s just how we are. But we still like each other.” His grin fades. “Well. I still like him. I don’t know if he still likes me. It’s been a long time since we talked.”
Pom Pom blinks.
“I’m going to write to him anyway,” Keith decides. “I think I’ll write to Shiro sometimes, too, but mostly Lance. I don’t have to worry about disappointing him if I do something shitty or if I want to complain.”
He carefully dips the tip of the pen into the bowl of ink and tests it out.
Hi, he writes at the top of the page. The pen holds up and the ink is thick but flows well; it’s a bit like writing with a really fluid pen on earth, the kind that blots easily.
He stares at the greeting. It looks basic, bare, boring. He needs to add something.
Hi sharpshooter.
Keith frowns. That sounds weird, almost—flirty. He crosses it out and stares at the page some more.
Pom Pom thumps their tail against the ground. Keith looks over at them and reaches out to scratch under their chin.
“You’re right,” he says. “I should keep it simple.”
.^.
Hi sharpshooter Lance.
I know it’s probably strange to write to you after a month, especially since I never tried to talk to any of you after I left Voltron. I’m sorry I didn’t. I’ve thought about it a lot (since there isn’t really much else to do on this stupid space whale) and I think I was scared you all didn’t actually want me to call. Does that make sense? I wasn’t a very good leader and I let you all down a lot so it was easier to just go.
I know that’s dumb now. I wish I’d talked to you all more. I think about you everyone a lot. I told Krolia (she’s my mom, long story) about everyone and she said she’ll be glad to meet you all.
There’s so much to tell you (I just realized you don’t know what the space whale is, or why it’s been a month. I wonder how long it’s been for you?) but I think I’ll save most of it for when I see you in person. I’m just worried because I had a dream that something bad happened to you and Red. It’s probably stupid to be worried about a dream but I am anyway. I really hope both of you are okay.
Pom Pom (that’s my wolf) says “grf.” Tell everyone hello from me.
Bye from Keith
.^.
Keith and Pom Pom are napping by the pond.
(snoozin’, says a voice in his head that sounds like Lance. catchin’ some z’s)
He feels his lips curve up at the thought, at the cadence of Lance’s voice echoing in his mind. He should make a list, he thinks vaguely, as his mind slips slowly into slumber. A list of things to ask Lance to say when he gets back, so he can hear him say them again, can hear the lilt and fall of his voice, the outraged squawk and the serious rasp.
He’s half asleep and trying to choose between cool ninja sharpshooter and is that a weed I’m calling the police when—
THUD.
Keith’s eyes snap open. He hears cursing in Galran from the other side of the circle of trees around the pond. Pom Pom lifts their head up from beside Keith and barks.
“Don’t come in!” Keith shouts, panicked. He scrambles to his feet and looks round. He’d washed his blade suit and his boxers and left them to dry in the sun while he slept, but they’re still damp, so he yanks the giant puffy leaf he’d been sleeping on off the ground and wraps it around his waist like a towel. “I washed my clothes and they aren’t dry yet so I’m not wearing anything! Don’t come in!”
“Calm down,” Krolia says from the other side of the trees. She sounds amused. “I found some sona rocks on the other side of the whale and I was carrying them back and one of them fell on my foot. I’m not coming in, I’m just going back to the cave.”
“Oh.” Keith deflates, relieved. “Okay.”
There is a pause. Pom Pom flops back down on the ground.
“I’ve only ever seen this on TV,” Keith says.
“Seen what?”
“The—” Keith gestures at the space between himself and where he assumes she’s standing, then realizes she can’t see him. “I mean—it’s almost like—like this is our house. You know. The son did the laundry and now he’s in his room with his dog and the mom is out getting groceries. Getting food.”
There is another pause, longer this time.
“Sorry,” Keith says. He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, but he thinks Krolia’s silence must be bad. “I’ve never—”
“I know I’ve not been the most affectionate mother,” she says abruptly, all in a rush like she’s afraid she might not say it if she goes any slower, “but when you are back in the cave, may I give you a hug?”
Keith stares at the tree.
“Uh—” He clears his throat. “Sure. Yeah.”
“Thank you,” Krolia says, very softly, and walks on toward the cave.
.^.
Hi Lance.
I hope you are okay. Today I hugged my mom for the first time. It wasn’t very good cause she’s kind of awkward about hugs and so am I. But I still liked it. I think I get it now when you said you missed your mom’s hugs so much. I hope you get to hug her soon.
You’ll probably make fun of me but I’m telling you this anyway. I have a theory that hugs feel different depending on the person. Hugging my dad was like someone catching you when you fall and hugging Shiro is like putting a warm blanket around your shoulders when you’re cold and hugging Pidge is like a puppy pulling at your leg to get you to come play a game. I haven’t figured out how to describe what hugging Allura and Hunk are like yet but those feel different too.
I wonder what
Do you think maybe we could
Anyway that’s all from me. If you make fun of me after reading my hug theory that’s okay. I’ll just find something to make fun of you back for.
Tell everyone hello from me.
Bye from Keith
.^.
(hugging Krolia is like calling Shiro sir or Allura princess)
(they’re close, they’re okay, but there’s still stiffness, still formality, still that something that he can’t seem to get past, no matter how much he considers them his family)
(but despite his stiffness, despite his formality, they take him just as he is, put their arms around him and laugh with him and care about him)
(he thinks he’ll be hugging Krolia more often from now on)
.^.
“We should probably make new clothes,” Krolia says during the second month.
Keith agrees. It’s tiresome to keep washing his suit every few days, and even though he does the backwards-frontwards-inside-out rotation with his boxers, he kind of wishes he had more underwear as well.
“I’m not one for sewing, though,” Krolia continues, frowning. “And I’m not sure what we’d even sew with.”
Keith looks round the cave. There’s remnants of a sona rock they’d smashed yesterday to get fruit for dinner; he sifts through the shards of rock and finds a tiny sliver.
“This could be a needle,” he says. “We can use pul stems as thread, maybe? And leaves from the trees by the sona rock quarry as fabric.” He thinks for a moment. “They won’t be very good, but I could try to make us dresses and shirts and shorts.”
“You can sew?” Krolia asks, surprised.
“Shiro taught me,” he says. “I’m not great at it but I can manage.”
They spend the day gathering materials. Krolia cuts the leaves with her knife and Keith splits the long soft pul stems into thread.
“It’ll be a few days before anything is done,” he warns, as he settles in after dinner to start sewing. Krolia sits against the opposite wall as usual, watching him work with an oddly proud expression. “I’m kind of slow at it.”
“That’s fine,” Krolia assures him. “It’s not as though we have anything better to do here.”
Keith is quiet for a moment, trying to get into the rhythm of sewing before trusting himself to talk at the same time. These leaves feel like sheets; it’d be weird to wear, but at least better than the puffy ones they use as blankets. After a few minutes he says, “Lance could probably make a whole suit in the time it’d take me to make a sleeve.”
“Could he now?” Krolia says. She’s using that voice again, the one where Keith knows she thinks she’s being sneaky even though she definitely is not.
“Yeah,” Keith says, because he’s not going to let his embarrassment keep him from talking about Lance. “He prefers knitting to sewing, though. A month before I left Voltron we went back to Arus and he made tiny sweaters for all the Arusians on the ruling council.”
“He sounds like a nice boy.”
“He is,” Keith agrees, “most of the time.” He frowns at a stitch and pauses to fix it. “Once we got a huge cash reward from the ruler of a planet we freed and he spent all of his share on presents to give out when we visit kids’ hospitals.”
He tells her more about Lance, about his dumb dorky dancing and how competitive he is at Killbot Phantasm I and the time he ate an entire burnt Mishtan pie because he didn’t want to hurt the feelings of the Mishtan citizen who gave it to him during a parade.
After a while he grows quiet. Krolia watches him sew for a minute, then:
“It took me six months to tell your father that I liked him.”
Keith feels heat creep up his neck. He’s okay with talking about Lance, he’s okay with Krolia using the sneaky-not-sneaky voice, he’s even okay with her hidden smiles when he goes on for too long about something cool or goofy that Lance does—but he’s not really sure he’s okay with talking directly about this, not yet.
“Oh” is all he says, focusing on his sewing with unprecedented determination.
“It might not sound like very long, but considering we were living in the same house, and considering I only met two other people during that time, it’s ridiculous it took me that long.”
“Oh,” Keith says again.
There is another pause.
“I wish I had told him sooner,” Krolia says, and any hint of teasing is gone from her voice, and it’s just—sad, and wistful, and regretful.
Keith puts down the needle and looks at her.
“I left you and your father because I wanted to protect the ones I love,” Krolia goes on. “But now—after our mission, and our time in this rift so far—I wonder if it’s better to work together than to stay apart.”
“That’s what Shiro always tells me,” Keith says. “He says that if you love someone they make you stronger, not weaker, so you should stay together no matter what.” He looks away, discomfort and guilt twisting his stomach, though he can’t quite articulate the source of it. “I—have trouble remembering that.”
(trouble remembering that, and confusion that Shiro didn’t remind him of that before he left, confusion that Shiro had let him leave for the Blade of Marmora, confusion that he hadn’t hugged him, and ruffled his hair in the way that Keith pretends to hate but secretly doesn’t mind that much, and said where do you think you’re going, kiddo? we’re stronger together)
“You miss them,” Krolia says, without preamble.
“Yeah,” Keith says. “Even stuff I thought I’d be glad to not have to deal with anymore, like—like Hunk would turn off the electricity sometimes by accident while doing maintenance, and Pidge would try to steal my dessert, and Shiro always takes naps in the lounge and snores really loud when I’m trying to read—”
He breaks off, too abruptly, unable to stand talking about all these things he used to hate and now holds dear.
“You’ll see them again,” Krolia says firmly. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Keith picks up the needle.
“I hope so,” he says, and returns to sewing.
.^.
Hi Lance.
It’s been almost two months. I hope you are okay. Though I guess for you it hasn’t been two months. But I still hope you are okay.
Today I tried to teach Pom Pom to roll over. It mostly succeeded. Sometimes they do it but sometimes they just stare at me and sometimes they flop down and go to sleep. I’m going to keep trying, though. I found some of their favorite leaves nearby so I’m going to use them as treats to see if that will motivate them.
This morning I went to the pond to bathe and an animal that looked like a raccoon tried to steal my blade suit. I had to chase him down in my boxers and I think he might have been laughing at me. Do you think alien raccoons think human underpants are funny? I bet you’d make a lot of jokes about that if you were here. I bet you’d make fun of me a lot.
I wish
I kind of miss
I don’t think I minded it when you made fun of me. Not as much as I thought I did. I kind of wish I could hear you make
It’s my turn to make dinner so I have to go. Tell everyone hello from me.
Bye from Keith
.^.
Keith finishes the first item of clothing in a little over a week. It’s much faster than he’d expected, though he supposes it helps that he doesn’t have much else to do besides train and play with Pom Pom and read terrible Galran novels.
“Okay,” Keith says, holding up the finished product. “Here you go.”
Krolia takes the dress. She goes out of the cave to change and comes back a few minutes later.
Keith takes one look at her and bursts into laughter.
“It’s not that bad,” she says, sounding caught between resignation and amusement. She looks down at herself and sighs. “Or maybe it is. Green is not my color.”
The collar is crooked, a diagonal slash rather than a neat circle; the left sleeve reaches her elbow, while the right one reaches halfway down her forearm; and the dress is much too long, the hem dragging on the ground and covering Krolia’s feet.
“I’m—I’m sorry—” Keith manages between cackles. Consciously he knows it isn’t this funny, but he hasn’t laughed in a while, and he’s so pleased to be laughing that he feels like he can’t stop. “I just—sorry—”
“Do I really look that silly?” Krolia asks. She lifts up the dress a little so she can walk forward without tripping over the hem. “I haven’t seen anyone laugh this much since your father tried to teach me to dance.”
At length Keith catches his breath. Krolia sits down in her usual spot.
“Dad taught you to dance?” he asks.
“He tried,” Krolia corrects, with a small smile. “It was not a successful endeavor. Apparently elegance in fighting does not transfer to dancing. But your father loved music.”
“I know,” Keith says.
(He remembers the first time he’d seen it, when he was very young)
(He’d woken up from his nap to find his dad cooking dinner while listening to an old Japanese cassette, singing along loudly)
(He had run forward, excited by the music and his dad’s good mood, and his dad had picked him up, and held him with one arm, rocking back and forth as he stirred the pot with his free hand)
(Keith had tried to sing along, though he didn’t know any of the words, and his dad had laughed his big rumbling laugh, and told him that he sounds like a white boy, his grandfather would be so disappointed)
“Did you ever learn Japanese?” Keith asks.
“A little,” Krolia says. “Your father learnt Galran very quickly so we mostly spoke in that and English. But by the time you were born I could understand Japanese conversationally.”
“Can you understand what I am saying?” Keith asks in Japanese.
Krolia looks embarrassed. “I’ve forgotten most of it,” she admits.
“Oh.” Keith frowns, rubs at a spot of dirt on his blade suit. “I’m afraid I’ll forget it. When I was with Voltron I talked it to Shiro and the lions, but since then I haven’t used it much.”
“You can use it with me,” she suggests. “I’ll try to re-learn it. And you can talk to Pom Pom in it, too.”
“That’s a good idea.” He looks at Pom Pom, who is sleeping in a patch of sun just outside the cave. “Is that okay with you, buddy?” he asks in Japanese.
Pom Pom sweeps their tail along the ground but doesn’t open their eyes.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Keith says in English. He turns to Krolia. “I want to learn Galran, too.”
“No time like the present,” Krolia says. “Which language shall we start with?”
.^.
Hi Shiro.
I hope you are doing well. Sorry I haven’t written to you yet. I’ve just been writing to Lance (I can already see you laughing at me but don’t bother. Krolia makes fun of me enough).
Krolia is my mom. I’ll tell you about it when we meet in person again. I was kind of upset at first but we talked and we’re okay now. But don’t worry. Even though I like her and will probably love her someday I still love you best.
I don’t ever I ever told you that. But I do love you. I hope I get to say it to you in person. I told Krolia about everything you’ve done for me and I realized I’ve never properly thanked you for it. I know you’ll say there’s no need to thank you but I’m doing it anyway.
So thank you. I was really lost and I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t see how things could improve. But then you took care of me and gave me a family. You’re my big brother and you never give up on me and I don’t know where I’d be without you. I wish I could go back to my younger self and tell him it’ll be okay because soon I’ll meet you.
This is really sappy. You’ll probably go “aw, Akira” when you read this and hug me. And then you’ll try to ruffle my hair even though I scowl at you whenever you do it. But just this one time I’ll try not to scowl.
I have to go because Pom Pom (my wolf) is trying to eat my shoe. But I hope I will see you soon and I hope I can make you proud so the time you put into helping me pays off.
Bye from Keith
p.s. I’ve been teaching Krolia Japanese and so far she’s good at remembering vocabulary but her accent is shit. I know it’s rude to say that so I’m writing it here so I won’t say it out loud to her. Don’t get mad okay I promise I’m not going to actually say that to her.
Bye again from Keith
.^.
Hi Lance.
I hope you are okay. Today a pack of these rhino-like animals tried to come into our cave. Pom Pom scared away the smaller ones but three big rhinos knocked them aside and came straight for us. Krolia was going to kill them but I told her it’d be better to scare them away instead. They didn’t try to attack us some of the other animals that we’ve run into. They were probably just hungry or scared or curious.
I noticed they avoided patches of these leaves that Pom Pom really likes so we put them around our cave-house and the rhinos went away after sniffing around for a while. Now I just have to train Pom Pom not to eat our only protection. That might be harder than fighting rhinos.
It’s kind of strange. When they knocked Pom Pom aside they yelped really loud (don’t worry, they’re okay) and I was so angry I thought I could kill them with my bare hands. But then I thought of what Shiro or you would do and I realized it’s best to try to get rid of them peacefully.
I guess I’m more patient now. Though I did smash a sona rock (they have fruit crystallized inside) against the cave wall because I got annoyed with how long it takes to pry it open with a knife. So maybe I’m not that patient.
Shiro would be proud of me, though. I think you would be too.
I have to go now. Pom Pom is trying to eat the leaves again and they don’t always listen to Krolia. Tell everyone hello from me.
Bye from Keith
.^.
(there are a lot of good days)
(the day he hears Krolia laugh for the first time, when he reads aloud the corny dialogue from the Galran romance he’d downloaded on his tablet)
(the day Pom Pom teleports for the first time, vanishing from Krolia’s lap to Keith’s when he comes back into the cave after going to collect kindling)
(the day Krolia finally cooks an entire meal with burning it, and Keith compliments it in his best cooking show judge voice, and Krolia spends the next hour telling him about the first time she and his dad went out to dinner, the funny disguise she wore and the absurd way his dad excused her odd mannerisms to the confused waiter)
(the day they get snowed in the cave, and spend hours in companionable silence, until Krolia finally says did you know you were born in your father’s house and Keith says what the fuck, and they stay up half the night as she tells him about the day he was born, how she and his dad had a competition for the next week afterward over which name was better, Keith or Yorak, how the first picture they took of him was one of him sitting in his dad’s firefighter hat like it was a bucket)
(the day he’s telling Krolia about one of the missions he lead after Shiro disappeared, and he realizes that he can think of his time as Black Paladin not as a blip in an otherwise seamless line of leadership, but as a time of learning, and growing, and relying on his friends and his team without feeling guilty)
(the day he wakes up from a nightmare, tears on his cheeks and chest heaving, and Krolia wakes up too, sits up with him and rubs his back and pushes his hair away from his face, and—sings—gently, though not very well—sings a song he’s heard in dreams, in a language he always thought was unfamiliar, but that he now understands well enough to catch the nonsense made-up lullaby of a mother trying to get her child to sleep: shh, my star-baby, shh, your mama is here, shh)
(there are a lot of good days, but there are also—bad days—)
.^.
Hi Lance.
Today marks one year since we got here and I hate this so fucking much
I miss
I want
It won’t matter because when we get back only a few months will have passed but I’ll still be older and I’m scared what if by the time we get back I’m fucking forty or something
Today I didn’t do much. I felt kinda shitty so I just went and lay by the pond most of the day and stared at nothing. Pom Pom came and sat with me for a while and that made me feel better.
I hope you are okay. Sometimes I think about what you all are doing. I’m going to guess and then you can tell me if I’m right. I bet you’re playing Killbot Phantasm with Pidge and Matt and you’re losing really badly but you’re trash talking them anyway. And then they start making fun of you but that’s their mistake because you’re actually really good at that game once you get into the hang of it. But they underestimate you so you come in at the last second and win the game. And then you do your dumb victory dance where you rotate side to side with your fists to your chest and you lift up each of your feet.
Am I right? I bet I am.
I hope one day I’ll know for sure if I’m right. I want to see your dumb victory dance again.
Tell everyone hello from me.
Bye from Keith
.^.
(—there are a lot of good days, but there are also bad days, because he misses them—)
(—so much so much so much dear god so much—)
(—and he feels like it’ll eat him alive like it’ll burn him into embers cinders ashes smoke until he’s nothing but wind—)
(—nothing but wind that can travel out of this goddamn rift and through the starry vastness of space—
(—until he reaches them until he can wrap around them in a gust in a breeze in a hug made of air until this horrible awful empty cavern inside of him is full until his heart feels like it might beat right out of his chest until it no longer feels like every breath is a burden until it feels like every breath is a blessing because he is close and happy and loved—)
(—there are a lot of good days, but there are also bad days, because he misses them—)
(—so much so much dear god so much—)
(—he dreams of them sometimes and when he wakes he’s so angry so angry—)
(—he’s so tired of being on this fucking space whale in this fucking rift he wants a real bed and a real meal and real clothes and real books and real friends—)
(—there are a lot of good days, but there are also bad days, because he misses them—)
(—so much so much dear god so much—)
(—he loves his mother but he loves them too why can’t he have both—)
(—why can he only have one or the other why can’t he have his mother and his brothers and his sisters and his uncle and his best friend why does he only ever have a few people he loves at a time first his dad then his brother then the paladins then his mother why can’t he have them all at once—)
(—there are a lot of good days, but there are also bad days, because he misses them—)
(—so—much—)
(—so much—)
(—dear god so much—)
(—and every night he goes to sleep and thinks tomorrow this mission will end and every morning he wakes up and thinks today this mission will end but it never does it never does it never never never does and he—just—wants—to—go—home)
.^.
Hi Lance.
I hope you are okay. Sorry I haven’t written in so long. There wasn’t really much to tell you so I thought it’d be dumb. But maybe you’d want to hear it anyway. You always pay attention whenever any of us talk to you about stuff, even if it’s boring.
Pom Pom is really big now. Krolia says it’s because I feed them too many of those leaves they like. I know I shouldn’t spoil them but whenever I tell them no they make their eyes really big and round and I end up giving them everything anyway.
I don’t think I ever told you what they look like. Here is a sketch:
[sketch]
I’ve tried to make different colored ink but so far the only one that works is black, so you’ll have to imagine the color. They’re mostly different shades of blue. It reminds me of your armor.
I wish I had colorful ink. It’s nice to be able to draw but it would be nice to color stuff in too. I forgot what color your eyes Hunk’s headband was the other day. I drew everybody a while ago so I wouldn’t forget what you all look like and yesterday I wrote down all the colors in the margins of each drawing as best as I could remember. Are your eyes light brown or dark brown Is Hunk’s headband yellow or orange?
I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s not like you can answer. It’s not like you can answer any of this or any of these letters. I don’t why I fucking bother. This is stupid.
Bye from Keith
.^.
(does Pidge sit cross-legged in chairs?)
(does Hunk twiddle his thumbs when he’s nervous?)
(does Allura write with her left hand or her right?)
(does Coran separate his food when he eats?)
(does Shiro hug him then ruffle his hair or ruffle his hair then hug him?)
(does Lance wink when he does finger guns at him?)
(why can’t he remember why can’t he remember why can’t he remember)
(he stares at his drawings, stares as if the force of his gaze will bring them to life and cause his friends to jump off the bark-paper and into the cave, so he can remember their voices and their mannerisms and the exact color of Lance’s eyes)
(but they don’t, and he shoves the drawings under his ever-growing stack of letters, and he tells Krolia that he’s going for a run, as if any amount of running can catch him up to what he’s forgotten)
.^.
Lance it’s been eighteen fucking months and I’m so fucking scared we’ll never be done here and we’ll be stuck on this fucking space whale in the middle of a fucking rift for the rest of my fucking life and then I’ll die and you won’t even fucking notice because for you it’ll be barely a few months and no one will fucking care and
.^.
Toward the end of the second year the days start to blur together. Even Krolia, who Keith had kind of assumed is some sort of supermom-Galra who never gets tired or hopeless, is starting to wilt. She’s quieter, gets frustrated more easily, goes to each end of the space whale often to check for any sign of reaching the other side of the rift.
Keith tries to keep busy, plays with Pom Pom and goes for runs and tries to come up with new maneuvers with his Galra knife, draws and writes and re-reads those goddamn Galra novels for the hundredth time.
But he feels himself sinking, feels himself slipping into something he hasn’t felt in a long time, feels how often he spends lying in the grass by the pond, staring blankly at the fake sky. Pom Pom sits with him, noses at his hand and puts their head on his chest. It helps a little, but he still lies there for hours, still stares at nothing, still wishes he could at least be angry about something, because anger is better than this—emptiness.
.^.
Hi Lance.
I wish you were here
I wish I was with you
I don’t remember what you sound like when you say my name
I wish I could hear you say ‘Mullet’ again
I miss you so much I miss
.^.
(and then—finally—finally—)
.^.
Hi Lance.
I hope you are okay. After two years we got through the rift and we found an Altean. Her name is Romelle and she says she has information about Lotor so we’re bringing her back to the castle ship in an Altean pod. She’s resting right now so we’re going to ask her more about it once she wakes up.
I’m really glad
I can’t wait
This is going to be my last letter because I’ll get to see everyone soon. I don’t know if I’ll actually give these to you or not. Part of me wants to but I don’t know. I haven’t talked to you at all since I left Voltron. I don’t know if you’re the same anymore. Or if you even still consider me your friend.
I hope we’re still friends. Shiro’s my brother and I love him but he’s so much older and he took care of me growing up so it’s kind of hard to talk to him about stuff sometimes. He did so much for me when I was younger so I don’t want to disappoint him or make him worry. But with you it’s different. If I fuck up I don’t feel like I’m disappointing you because I know you’ll be there to help me out.
But maybe you won’t anymore. I don’t know. I’d get it if you were tired of it. I had way too much time to think on that stupid space whale and I realized I never really did anything for you in return. Do you remember when you asked me about stepping down because there are too many paladins? I’ve gone over that conversation in my head a hundred times and I hate it every time. I should have said something different. Something more. I don’t know what. But I feel like it didn’t help you much and I never asked you about it again or did anything to make you feel better. I just left. And I’m really sorry.
I hope I can be a better friend to you when I get back. When I see you again I want to give you a hug. Is that okay? I’ll ask you first in case it’s not. And I guess that depends on whether you even still want us to be friends.
Krolia just came to say Romelle is awake so I have to go. Hopefully whatever news she has about Lotor is something we can fix. Even if it’s big we’ll all be together again so I know we can face whatever comes.
See you soon.
Bye from Keith
.^.
(it’ll be like a movie)
(the paladins will be lined up in the hangar, and he’ll jump down from the ship, and for a long beat he’ll just look at them, look at these faces he’s only seen in ink for the past two years, re-learn the shape of Shiro’s smile and the curl of Allura’s hair and the way Coran clasps his hands, re-learn the hugeness of Pidge’s glasses and the color of Hunk’s headband and the way Lance tilts his head)
(he’ll look at them, and then he’ll run forward, and he’ll stop halfway, because he’ll remember how long it’s been, how he never called, how they have the right to be mad at him for cutting himself off from them)
(but then Lance will run forward too, will beam at him and throw out his arms, and Keith will know it’s okay, that they understand, that even though he’s going to do everything he can to make it up to them they aren’t really mad at him, and he’ll run forward again, and collide with Lance so hard they’ll fall over, and they’ll knock their foreheads together but they’ll laugh anyway, hugging while collapsed on the floor)
(then Shiro will come hug him, and Allura, and Coran, and Pidge, and Hunk, and in the midst of everything he’ll look at Lance, and his heart will stutter, then settle, because he’ll remember again what shade of brown his eyes are)
(but then Romelle talks of Lotor, and genocide, and harvesting Alteans; and Krolia talks of betrayal, and the princess, and the need for urgency; and Keith realizes that his heart has no time for stuttering and settling, only sinking and turning to stone, until this is over, until he can make it soft again)
(there is nothing he is not good at, if not setting aside his own happiness to make sure the ones he loves are safe)
.^.
He sets aside his own happiness, but now he brings it forward again, lets their victory and Shiro’s revival and the drying of Lance’s tears spread through him, until it feels like the sun rising over the horizon is rising within him too, shining bright in the center of his chest like a talisman, compounded by the knowledge that they’re going home.
He crouches by Shiro, who’s sitting up, blinking blearily at the growing sunlight. Keith hugs him tight—Shiro makes a startled noise, then laughs and puts his arm around him—then Pidge plops down and hugs Shiro from the other side, her small hands pressing down on Keith’s as if to say I’m happy both of you are back. Then Hunk sweeps up all of them together, then Allura, then Coran, then—
—then Lance, and Keith loses his balance a bit, and falls back, but Lance catches him as he always catches him, and it’s—overwhelming—half hugged, half caught—Lance’s chest pressed against his back, his arms wrapped around Keith’s shoulders as he hugs everyone.
“I’m—” Keith breaks off, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “I’m really glad to see you all again.”
Pidge’s hands press down on his a second time, and Shiro’s arm tightens around him, and Hunk sniffles, and Allura sighs, and Coran says, “It’s good to have you back, Number Four!”
And Lance—
Lance bends his head until his forehead rests against Keith’s shoulder, very gently.
“We’re glad to see you, too,” he says, and it’s—right near Keith’s ear—his breath blowing softly against Keith’s neck—and he hadn’t noticed it before but his voice is deeper than Keith remembers, rougher somewhat, a little raspy, makes Keith think of late nights and sleepy mornings, whispering as the moon shines outside a window, mumbling good morning as the sun rises.
He feels his face heat, and he tries to look away to hide it, but then Lance is saying I think Shiro can’t breathe, we should probably let go of him now, saying Pidge that’s my foot, stop stomping on it, saying Allura that was amazing, I can’t believe you’ve brought back two people from the dead, and there’s no escaping the sound of Lance’s voice, and he’s left feeling flustered anyway, and despite the comfort of the group hug he finds himself relieved when it disbands.
.^.
The journey home is going to be difficult.
“A mess,” Hunk groans.
“An adventure!” Coran declares.
“A road trip,” Pidge says, adjusting her glasses. “I guess that could be fun.”
The team agrees to rest on this planet for a few vargas so they can eat and relax after the battle before heading onwards. Coran pulls up a hologram of a map and indicates their route. They’ll be able to stop on an actual planet every few days and in between they’ll have to sleep in their lions.
“The first third of our journey should take about forty quintants, give or take a handful,” Coran says, “after which it will depend on what route we take. For this first third it looks like we’ll be able to stop at Puig, Olkarion, and Chandin, as well as these planets designed for interstellar travellers and equipped with rest stops and inns.” He points them out on the map. “There are more isolated planets between those where we can stop as well, though we’ll have to rely on our own food and sleeping bags.” He points at a patch of space between Olkarion and Chandin. “This is what I’m most concerned about; there don’t seem to be any places for us to stop during this whole stretch right here. There’s only this planet”—he points one out—“but it’s full of water and ice so it’ll be hard to land on.”
Lance peers at the map. “I think that’s where the mermaids that me and Hunk helped out are,” he says after a moment. “We should be able to get supplies from them.”
“Excellent!” Coran claps his hands together. “We’re all set!”
After that the group splits up. Coran and Allura talk to Romelle about the colony and Pidge and Hunk go off to call Matt. Shiro joins the latter.
“Technically I haven’t seen Matt since we were captured,” he says, a bit wryly, and it occurs to Keith with a jolt just how much Shiro’s missed, “so I’d like to say hi to him.”
After he walks off, Krolia turns to Keith. “Are you hurt?”
He shakes his head. Krolia reaches out and runs her thumb over his cheek, an odd expression on her face.
“You have a naztil now,” she says. “Or—half of one. A little less than half.”
Keith frowns. “A what?”
Krolia indicates her own marks. “Some of the Galra have these,” she says. “It’s meant to interrupt your appearance, to prevent the evil eye.” The corner of her mouth turns up. “I’m guessing you changed sometime during your fight?”
Keith nods. He isn’t sure how he feels about it yet; part of him is worried that it happened with no prompting from him, but another part of him, the part of him that reads fantasy novels in one sitting and has all the big hero moments half memorized, thinks it’s kind of cool.
“We’ll talk about that,” Krolia assures him. “I’ve met other mixed Galra with similar experiences and there’s a way to control it. You don’t have to worry about accidentally hurting someone if you change.” She runs her thumb over his cheek again, her smile growing. “I’m very proud of you.”
He smiles back. He knows he’s not supposed to want to hug his mom in public—every TV show he’s seen makes it seem like it’s embarrassing—but he’s with his friends, and in a good mood, and she hadn’t been part of the group hug earlier, so he steps forward and hugs her.
She returns it, albeit awkwardly—neither of him have improved much at hugs in the past couple years—then lets go and says she will go talk to Shiro.
“I’d like to thank the real version of the man who raised you,” she says. Keith watches her walk over to him, watches Shiro turn away from the tablet to greet her, and as they shake hands it occurs to him that this is the first time in his memory that he’s had more than one family member at once.
It’s a weird feeling, but he likes it.
He doesn’t think he really belongs in any of the groups talking right now, so he wanders off with the vague intention of examining the landscape. Pom Pom is sniffing curiously at the space mice, who stand their guard despite looking terrified; he gives them a stern warning to play nice, then walks past them and to the edge of the cliff the lions had landed on.
The sunrise casts soft pinkish light over the landscape, which appears to be populated only by small animals. At the bottom of the cliff Keith can see tiny balls of fluff hopping around in some grass. They look like sentient rabbit tails. It’s a pretty picture, and very peaceful, with the sunlight in front of him and the murmur of everyone’s conversations a few feet away, but it feels—off. Keith’s brow furrows; he looks at the landscape, back at the others, at the lions, at—
Oh.
He frowns at Lance, who’s sitting on the opposite side of the Red Lion at the edge of the cliff. He’s taken off the top part of his armor, which rests on the rock behind him as he swings his legs over the side of the cliff. He’s watching the sunrise the way Keith is, and he’s—quiet.
Keith’s frown deepens. He walks over and around Red’s paw and comes to a stop by Lance, who looks up.
“Hi,” he says, then goes back to staring at the sunrise.
Keith’s stomach churns. He would have expected Lance to be talking nonstop, to be excited for the trip, to join in on the call with Matt or try to get to know Romelle and Krolia or play games with Pom Pom. How long has he been gone that Lance is quiet, and serious, and sits alone away from everyone else to stare blankly at the sky?
“Is it okay if I sit down?” Keith asks finally.
Lance makes a vague motion for him to do so. Keith sits to his right so he won’t get between him and Red. It’s uncomfortable sitting in so much armor, so Keith unclasps the top part the way Lance had and sets it on the rock beside Lance’s. For a long minute neither of them speak, then:
“Sorry I was an asshole earlier,” Keith says.
Lance turns his head to face him. His forehead is crinkled.
“When I got back,” Keith clarifies. “I shouldn’t have brushed you off like that. We were in a hurry but that isn’t an excuse to be rude.”
Lance shrugs and goes back to facing the sunrise. “I get it,” he says, and he sounds so quiet, and so flat, and the dullness of it makes Keith want to punch something, because Lance should never sound like that. “It’s fine.”
“No it’s not,” Keith insists. “Here.”
He holds out his hand. Lance turns to him once more, stares at his hand for a second, then puts his own hand in it.
They shake. Lance’s hand is warm.
“It’s very good to be see you again, Mr Red Paladin Sir,” Keith says, in his best black-paladin-at-diplomatic-meeting voice. It’s a stupid voice, a cross between pompous blowhard and GPS announcer, but it makes the corner of Lance’s mouth turn up, so it’s worth it.
“Ditto, Mr Black Paladin Sir,” Lance says, and it’s livelier, a bit more like his usual self, and Keith’s stomach stops feeling so unsettled.
“Ditto?” Keith repeats, arching an eyebrow. “Is that how you talk at diplomatic meetings?”
The smile tugging at Lance’s mouth grows, though it’s still too crooked to be a proper one yet. “Most officials say my lack of formality is charming.”
Everything about you is charming, Keith’s brain adds unhelpfully.
(you’re still holding hands, adds another part of his brain)
His neck feels hot; he lets go. Lance blinks, as if just now realizing they’d still been holding hands, and drops his hand into his lap. His ears are red.
“Um.” Keith clears his throat. “Is it okay if I say hi to Red?”
“You don’t need my permission,” Lance says.
“Yeah I do,” Keith says. “He’s your lion. I can’t just talk to another man’s lion without his approval.”
Lance’s smile widens fractionally more, and it’s so close to being a real one, and Keith thinks hurriedly for something else to say, funny or dramatic or unexpected—
“It’s basically adultery,” he says, as seriously as he can, and Lance snorts, and ducks his head, and when he lifts it again he’s smiling properly, big and bright and open-mouthed, and Keith feels like he’s won the fucking lottery, like he could singlehandedly fight every monster in the universe.
“Your idea of the lion-paladin relationship sounds kinda unhealthy,” Lance points out, still smiling. “You should be able to trust your lion around another person.”
“Absolutely not,” Keith says sternly. “My lion is mine. No one else can talk to them without my permission.”
“Possessive,” Lance remarks. His smile is a grin now. “I should have known you’d be the jealous type.” He leans back on his palms, tipping his head towards Red. “Hey, handsome, what do you think? You wanna talk?”
There’s a beat of silence, then:
“Go for it,” Lance says.
Keith looks up at Red. Hi, he thinks at him.
No, Red replies.
Keith blinks. Lance is watching him intently.
Mad, Red rumbles. Silent treatment.
How is it silent treatment if you’re talking to me? Keith asks, perplexed.
Have to tell you about silent treatment, Red explains.
“Oh my god,” Keith says aloud, laughing a little. Lance gives him a questioning look.
Not funny, Red rumbles, the scowl in his voice evident. Serious. Very mad. Left without saying bye. Never visited. Rude to Leandro.
I told him I’m sorry, Keith says, contrite. And I’m sorry to you, too.
Hmph.
“He’s mad at me for leaving,” Keith explains to Lance, whose expression clears.
“He’s just being petty,” Lance assures him, and Keith is pretty sure Red transmits his outraged huff to both of them, because Lance snickers before saying, with feigned seriousness, “He sunk into a deep despair after you left. He just wants to make you work for his friendship again.”
(feigned seriousness, and yet—)
(maybe it’s a bit genuine too—)
(and Keith wonders if the prickling in his chest is because Lance really isn’t just talking about Red right now or because of his own guilt, but then he forgets it entirely, because sunk into a deep despair reminds him of drowning, of sinking through water as silvery smoke is pulled out of his mouth, of the impetus for years of letters—)
He looks up at Red once more.
I know you’re mad, and again, I’m really sorry, he says, but I need to know: did you talk to me while I was gone? Like in a dream or something?
There is a long pause. Lance is frowning at him again, but Keith keeps looking at Red, willing him to respond.
Yes, Red says finally, his rumble soft, almost sad. Did talk. Sorry gave you bad dream.
Was it just a dream? Keith asks.
No, Red replies, then, anticipating Keith’s next question, Will not tell. Must ask Leandro.
Another pause, then:
Glad you are back, Red says, more of a purr than a rumble, then, quickly, as if embarrassed by the admission, But still mad. Go away. Back to silent treatment.
Keith chuckles. “He’s okay now,” he reports to Lance, filing away Red’s information for later. He has a feeling that whatever that dream was isn’t good, and right now, sitting with Lance in the pale morning light, he doesn’t want anything but good things to touch them. “He’s not really mad anymore.”
“He forgives easily,” Lance says, smiling, and the prickling is back in Keith’s chest, though it’s not quite so unpleasant.
“I’ll still try to make it up to him,” he says firmly. “He deserves it.”
Lance’s smile widens. He leans forward, and the prickling in Keith’s chest gives way to butterflies, fluttering wildly in his stomach, and oh wow has Lance always had this many freckles, has he always had eyelashes that long, has he—
Lance pokes his cheek, right over the Galra mark. Keith blinks.
“I can’t believe you and your mom have matching face tattoos now,” he says, and it’s so fucking dumb, but it’s exactly the kind of dumb thing Keith has longed to hear, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s surging forward, almost knocking Lance back against Red’s paw, and throwing his arms around him.
A split second later he realizes what he’s done, and he starts to pull away, his face burning—but then Lance hugs him back, holds him so tight Keith can’t breathe, though that might just be his own doing, his own inability to inhale when he’s so close to Lance—and it’s so different from the hug earlier, partly because they aren’t wearing all their armor so he can actually press close, but also because this is just them, this is Lance’s arms wrapped around him and Lance’s face pressed against his shoulder and Lance’s chest pressed to his own and Lance—
He takes in a breath, big and sudden and gulping, and he feels Lance do the same, and he gets the dangerous feeling one or both of them might start crying, which is the exact opposite of what Keith wants to do right now, because they are together, in the pale morning light, holding each other so tightly Keith feels like they might never let go, and nothing but good things should touch them.
He squeezes Lance even tighter, tries to squeezes out the sadness and the separation and the ache of missing him, tries to convey the words sticking in the throat, the I missed you and the I’m so glad to see you and the I never want to be apart from you ever again. He doesn’t know if Lance gets it, and it’s so fucking annoying, because he can give orders now, can get the Black Lion to trust him, can tell his team—his family—that he’s happy to be back, but he can’t say it to Lance, not specifically, can’t say it to the person he wants to say it to most, the person who needs to hear it most.
He frowns into Lance’s neck, frustrated—and then he realizes. He lets go of Lance and scrambles to his feet.
“Wait here,” he says, to a clearly confused Lance, and runs to the Black Lion, tripping a little in his haste. He bursts inside, makes a beeline for the box holding his clothes, and takes out his Blade suit. He digs through the pockets, then pulls out a thick stack of paper, folded carefully so it won’t tear. He sifts through the stack—drawings of the paladins he sets aside, the few letters to Shiro he sets aside—until he has a decent size stack left, all letters to Lance.
He stares at them, chewing his lower lip. What if it’s dumb? What if Lance makes fun of him? The fact that he wrote to him, the sheer number of letters, the—the stupid fucking crossed-out lines, dear god, why didn’t Keith do a better job of blotting those out, maybe he can do it now before giving them to Lance—
He shakes his head at himself, tightens his grip on the letters.
“No,” he says aloud, sternly. “Just do it.”
He folds up the letters and marches out of the Black Lion, back to where Lance is sitting.
“These are for you,” Keith says, holding them out before he can lose his nerve.
Lance’s gaze flicks from his face, to the letters, back to Keith’s face. He takes the packet, slowly.
“What are they?”
“Letters,” Keith says.
Lance’s brow crinkles again.
“Don’t read them now,” Keith goes on. “Wait until later. When you’re by yourself.”
Lance looks at the letters again, then up at him, and he looks right into Keith’s eyes, and Keith is bowled over again by the force of it, by the way his heart stutters, then settles, because in the pale morning light he finally sees—the brown—
(dark brown, his mind whispers, delighted and relieved. dark brown dark brown dark brown dark brown dark brown)
(calm the fuck down, says another part of his mind, though it’s not as intense, unable to be angry when his fingers are itching to run back to the lion, to take out the drawings of his friends, to write DARK BROWN next to Lance’s eyes, so he’ll never forget, never again)
“Okay,” Lance says finally, and Keith blinks, brought back to the present with a jolt. “I’ll wait.”
Keith nods, for no reason other than not knowing what else to do, and sits back down next to Lance. They sit in silence for a while, though it’s not uncomfortable this time; it reminds Keith of how they used to sit in the lounge of the castle ship, months and months and months ago, Keith reading a book and Lance playing a game on his tablet.
(it hits him, with a peculiar pang, that they’ll never do that again. there is no more castle ship, no more lounge, no more curved couch for him to sprawl on while Lance stretches out on the other side. there will be another, but it won’t be the same, won’t have their memories imprinted onto it the way the old one did)
He takes a deep breath and wills the thought away. It is early morning, Lance is beside him, the rest of his friends and family are only a few feet behind him. Only good things should touch them right now.
Both of them are sitting with their legs hanging over the side of the cliff, so he knocks the side of his foot against Lance’s, gently. Lance knocks back, and as Keith makes to knock back Lance swings his foot sideways again, so they both meet in the middle, boots ramming together with a thud.
They both snicker, and knock their boots together again, and again, until they’re snickering uncontrollably, scooting back and forth on the edge of the cliff to try to knock each other’s boots in some kind of weird foot war.
(footsie, his mind corrects, with a snicker of its own, but he valiantly ignores it, scoots closer to Lance to knock his boot against Lance’s before scooting away so he can’t retaliate)
Lance is scooting closer, foot swinging sideways and face determined as Keith scrambles away to escape him, when they hear a loud cough.
Keith freezes and looks behind him. Krolia is standing there, her expression caught between exasperation and amusement.
“If you two are quite finished,” she says, and Keith kind of wants to sink into the ground, because she’s using her sneaky-but-not-sneaky-at-all voice, and he really hopes Lance can’t tell what it means, “we’re going to eat soon, so you should come back to the rest of the group.”
They get up sheepishly and head back to the others. Coran passes around food goo packets. As they eat, Krolia and Romelle are given proper introductions to the others and everyone coos over Pom Pom, who disappears from their place by the mice with a poof and reappears with their head in a very startled Lance’s lap.
“Hey there, buddy,” Lance says, setting down his packet of food goo to scratch under Pom Pom’s chin. “You’re very cuddly, aren’t you?”
Pom Pom wags their tail. The others lean over to pet them too, though they don’t leave Lance’s lap.
“They have good taste,” he jokes, when Pidge tries to coax Pom Pom to her and they remain stubbornly in Lance’s lap.
Yes they do, Keith thinks, then pretends to be very interested in his packet of food goo.
After their meal Coran goes to get a tablet out of the Blue Lion so they can go over their first stop. As he does so the others scatter once more. Keith starts to go over to Lance, who is still sitting with Pom Pom’s head in his lap and spoiling them with attention, but Shiro touches his shoulder and indicates that they should go a little away from everyone else. Keith follows him; they stop once they’re far enough that the others can’t hear them.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
“No,” Shiro says, and he sounds—curt, almost mad. “I want to apologize. To all of you—I’ll talk to the others later, especially Lance—but to you first.”
“Apologize?” Keith echoes, confused.
“For what you had to go through,” Shiro clarifies. The frustration in his voice grows. “No one should have to do what you did, and I’m sorry that you were put in that position—that I put you in that position.”
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Keith says harshly, then, hastily in response to Shiro’s raised eyebrow, “Sorry, I mean—you aren’t responsible for any of that. You don’t have to apologize.”
“Still,” Shiro insists. He looks almost stricken. “I feel like I’m responsible. I should have tried harder to communicate with someone, to explain, and if you’re angry about what you went through then—”
“It’s not your fault,” Keith says flatly. He crosses his arms and scowls. “And I’m not angry about what happened but if you keep saying stupid stuff like this then I will be.”
Shiro snorts, but he still looks upset. Keith takes a deep breath.
“I said I’d rescue you as many times as it takes,” he says, “and I meant it. You’re—” He pauses; even though he’s already said it it’s strange to be so open about it. “You’re my brother and I love you. I’d—I’d do it again. So stop staying stupid shit and apologizing.”
There’s a silence, then:
“Your mouth hasn’t gotten any cleaner since I’ve been gone,” Shiro remarks, and he sounds mostly normal again, the usual patient dry tone he always has when he talks to Keith.
Keith uncrosses his arms and smiles.
“And I love you, too, kiddo,” Shiro adds, smiling back, and then reaches out his hand, and Keith tries to duck it, but Shiro’s too quick, and he ruffles Keith’s hair.
“Never mind,” Keith says, scowling again as Shiro laughs. “I take it all back.”
.^.
When Coran finally returns with the tablet, he tells them all their first stop on this pseudo-road trip: the space mall.
“For supplies,” Coran explains, as he pulls up the Unilu presentation. The hologram flashes through the pictures for Krolia and Romelle’s edification. “We’ll need food, water, hygiene products, sleeping bags, a portable shower, a transporting toilet—”
“A what,” Hunk interrupts, bewildered.
“A transporting toilet!” Coran repeats cheerfully. He taps at the tablet and the hologram changes to—
“That’s a port a potty,” Pidge says, as Lance snickers.
“Oh, so you have these on earth, too!” Coran taps at the tablet and the hologram vanishes. “Quite useful inventions, though they smell atrocious.”
“Who’s going to have to put that in their lion?” Shiro asks, apprehensive. “I want to know so I can make sure to travel in a different one.”
“Coward,” Keith says.
“I died,” Shiro replies, with dignity. “I shouldn’t have to put up with port a potty smells.”
“Transporting toilet smells,” Hunk corrects, as Pidge giggles.
“They collapse into a small box that contains the odor,” Coran assures them, “so long as they’re drained first.”
There’s a beat of silence, then:
“NOT IT!”
“Not me!”
“Not it.”
“No.”
By the end of the chorus of voices the only one left is Coran. Either he doesn’t get the point, or he doesn’t mind, because he just says, “All right, then, I’ll take care of it!” and tells them to get a move on to the mall.
.^.
The journey there passes quickly. Shiro, Krolia, and Pom Pom are all in the Black Lion with Keith, so they spend most of the trip figuring out the logistics of where everyone will sit and where to put the few belongings they have and how to make space for the supplies they’ll purchase at the mall. Shiro and Keith both change into their regular clothes; to his dismay Keith discovers that his jacket is a bit snug on him now, so he puts it back in his box of clothes. Maybe he can have it tailored somewhere, or at least keep it for the memories.
When they arrive they realize that the lions are too big for the parking hangar, so they leave them floating outside, much to Black’s chagrin.
This is undignified¸ they grumble, their voice low and echoing in the back of Keith’s mind. Talking to Black is so wildly different from talking to Red; Red is cheerful, exasperated, grumpy, fond, and his voice is one that, once he’s earned Red’s trust, bursts into Keith’s mind with a love and friendliness and protectiveness that reminds him of Pom Pom. Black, on the other hand, is more reserved; even though this is Keith’s second stretch piloting them he still hasn’t quite determined their personality, and their voice is bigger, metallic almost, sits heavy in the back of Keith’s mind as if reminding him of the responsibility he holds.
He likes Black, and he is much more confident piloting them than he was before, and handling the heaviness in his mind isn’t quite a burden anymore—but still, he wishes they weren’t so serious. He misses Red’s jokes and snippy comments, and he’s glad he can still hear him, even if the two of them don’t talk as often.
Sorry, Keith thinks in response. We should be out in a few vargas.
Black doesn’t reply. That’s another thing that sets them apart from Red; Red always has a parting word, is usually the last to speak, but Black sometimes just—stops—and Keith never really knows how to get them to talk again.
Cool, he says, awkward even in thought. See you soon.
Still no response. The others have already gone inside the mall, so he sighs and goes after them.
Coran assigns everyone something to get and distributes pouches of money collected over the past few months as rewards and donations for the Voltron Coalition. He gives instructions to be back at the entrance in four vargas, then tries to make Allura go back to the Blue Lion, or stay with him as he goes to purchase the transporting toilet, but she pouts, and pleads, and eventually he concedes.
“Fine,” he says. “But someone should go with her!” He glances around with narrowed eyes, then says behind his hand, “Who knows what sorts of ne’er-do-wells lurk about.”
Romelle offers to stay with her and together they run towards what looks like a jewelry store. Hunk and Pidge split off in a different direction, Krolia reluctantly goes with Coran to get the transporting toilet, and Lance—
Lance walks alone towards the pharmacy on the other side of the fountain, shoulders hunched and hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
Keith frowns. He takes a step towards him, then stops and looks at Shiro, who’s watching him with an amused expression.
“Go on,” he says, nodding his head at Lance. “I get it.” He heaves a dramatic sigh and pretends to wipe away a tear. “You’re too old to hang out with your big brother anymore.”
“No,” Keith protests, but Shiro just laughs and says, “Go on, go.”
Keith takes another step, then stops again.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asks. “You can come too.”
“Maybe some other time,” Shiro says. “I think I’ll just get the sleeping bags and walk around for a bit, cause this is, uh—” He looks round, his amusement now tinged with bewilderment. “This is really different from what Coran was telling us.”
Right, Shiro hasn’t been here before.
“Stay away from the knife vendor and the mall cop,” Keith warns, then hurries off to the pharmacy. When he enters Lance is in aisle six, shopping basket in hand as he ponders a row of soaps.
“Hi,” Keith says as he approaches.
“Hi,” Lance says, surprised. “I thought Coran told you to get snacks.”
“He did.” Keith picks up a four pack of plain soap and puts it in the basket. “But I thought I’d come help you first. Then we can get the snacks together.”
“Oh.” Lance takes the four pack out of the basket and replaces it on the shelf. “You don’t have to do that. I can do it myself.”
Keith picks up a four pack of flower scented soap and puts it in the basket instead. “I know.” He pauses, musters up the courage for his next sentence. “But I wanted to hang out with you.”
He feels a bit warm as he says it, but Lance doesn’t make fun of him. He just says, “Oh,” again, quietly, as if meant for himself and not Keith, and then—
And then he takes the soap out of the basket and puts it back on the shelf.
Keith takes a four pack of santra scented soap, whatever the hell that is, and puts it in the basket. Lance bites back a smile and replaces it too. Keith feigns a scowl and puts three different soap packs in the basket, which Lance replaces on the shelf, which Keith replaces with more soap packs, which Lance also replaces, until Lance has to put the basket on the floor to free both his hands as Keith rapidly tosses soap into it and Lance immediately puts them back on the shelf.
Eleven packs of soap later Keith can’t keep his scowl anymore and starts laughing, and Lance keeps his façade for barely another second before he cracks too, and then they’re both just—cackling—in aisle six of the pharmacy at the space mall—and Keith still has a pack of plain soap in one hand and a pack of santra scented soap in the other, but he doesn’t even notice, because this is the first time he’s heard Lance laugh properly since—god only knows when—and part of him is so fucking happy to hear it, and part of him is so fucking sad that it’s taken this long when Lance usually laughs so easily, and part of him is so fucking determined to make Lance laugh as much as he can from now on.
“Okay,” Lance says finally, catching his breath. He’s still smiling, brown eyes bright and crinkly at the corners, and Keith’s heart feels so light he thinks it might float out of his chest. “We really do have to get soap.”
They decide to get every scent, for variety, and do the same with everything else: shampoo, conditioner, lotion, toothpaste, a bunch of fancy hair and skin stuff that Keith doesn’t understand but that Lance claims is necessary. They head to the counter and pay for their things, then head out with bulging bags in each hand. They take them to the lions and load them in, then go back inside to get the snacks Keith was assigned to find.
“Where would we even get snacks?” Lance asks as they re-enter. “Stuff from the food court won’t last very long.”
“I’m sure we’ll find something,” Keith says. “There’s gotta be a map around here, right?”
They find one by the fountain, but—
“Fucking Galran,” Lance mutters, staring at the symbols on the map. “I wish Pidge would hurry up with those portable translators. It’s annoying to be lost if I’m not wearing my armor.”
Keith peers at the key for a few seconds, then points to the third row. “This says food,” he says. “Look for any store marked with that symbol.”
Lance blinks at him. “Since when can you read Galran?”
“Krolia taught me,” Keith says, with a brief smile. “I’m not very good at it, though. Her handwriting is shit so half the symbols look the same when she writes. Lessons were kind of a mess.”
“Do you have bad handwriting too?” Lance asks, as they look over the map for the symbol.
“I used to think so,” Keith says, “but then I saw hers and realized mine is actually pretty good.”
Lance snorts. He points to a large store on the second floor. Keith nods and they head to the escalators.
The store turns out to be some kind of supermarket.
“Hey Lance,” Keith says, gesturing to an ad by the chips. “You didn’t tell me you modelled for Mita Chocolates.”
Lance looks at the ad. The alien in it is blue, with six tentacles, two of which are doing thumbs up while two others shove chocolate bars into their smiling mouth as photoshopped Galran children make weirdly excited faces in the background.
“Oh yeah,” Lance says casually, “I did it right before your shoot with Dudvit.”
Keith spots the canister of Dudvit chocolate powder on the shelf. The cartoon mascot is an orange alien flexing an exaggeratedly muscular arm while their long dark hair flows dramatically behind them.
“Don’t make that face,” Lance chides, tossing a package of cookies into the shopping basket. “Your hair is like, fractionally shorter than that guy’s. I honestly don’t know you can still see.”
Keith shrugs. “It’s kind of annoying but I don’t have anything to tie it up with.”
“We’re literally in a mall,” Lance points out.
“I’m not gonna waste our supply money on myself,” Keith says.
“Okay, then borrow something from Hunk. Or Allura, I bet she has tons of hair ties and ribbons and stuff.”
“Maybe,” Keith says. He picks up a giant bag of chips. “How many of these should we get?”
“At least half a dozen, though maybe some other flavors too…”
.^.
Shiro is in the food court.
“Hi,” Keith says, as he and Lance sit at his table after dropping off the snacks in the lions. “Can I have some?”
“No,” Shiro deadpans, sliding the plate of—sandwiches? some kind of sandwiches, cut into small triangles—away as Keith tries to reach for it.
Keith frowns. Lance snickers.
“You can have some, though,” Shiro adds, pushing the plate towards Lance.
“Aw, yeah!” Lance crows, taking a triangle. “Shiro likes me more than you.”
Keith tries to snatch a piece from across the table, but Shiro pulls the plate away again. Keith glares at him. Shiro takes a triangle and pops it in his mouth, chewing benignly.
Two more failed attempts later Shiro takes pity on him and pushes the plate across the table. Keith takes a triangle; it tastes like grilled cheese that’s been dipped in tomato soup.
“How much time do we have before we have to leave?” Lance asks through a mouthful of sandwich.
“Not much,” Shiro says. “Once we’re done eating we should head to the entrance. I already put my supplies in Black.”
Between the three of them the sandwiches vanish quickly. Shiro has a drink and a bag of sweets as well, the latter of which he says he’d like to save to share with the others. He offers the drink to Lance and Keith, who both shake their head. Lance goes to put the tray the food had been on in the stack atop the trash can, and Shiro picks up his drink, and—
—and makes an odd motion, as if he’s going to reach for the bag too, before something strange crosses over his expression.
He blinks at the bag sitting on the table. Keith’s frowns, then realizes—
“It’s okay,” he says, too quickly, because he doesn’t want Shiro to look like this, lost and taken aback and devastated, over such a simple thing as not being able to carry two things at once anymore. Briefly he thinks of how lucky it was that Shiro brought everything to the table on a tray before he and Lance arrived; to be alone while realizing this would fucking suck. “It’s okay, one of us can carry it.”
Lance pats Shiro’s shoulder reassuringly, then picks up the bag.
“Now you’ll get to boss us around even more,” Lance says, and Keith can hear the forced airiness in his voice, the effort to keep things light for Shiro. “You can make us carry all the heavy stuff like my brother Luis always does.”
He keeps up a steady stream of chatter, mostly overdramatic anecdotes about how bossy his brother is and the revenge he and his sister take on him and how tired his oldest brother is at their antics, and by the time they reach the entrance Shiro is chuckling at Lance’s imitation of his siblings’ bickering.
They regroup with the others and head outside. Before they go into their respective lions Keith pulls at Lance’s sleeve.
“Thanks,” he says, low enough that the others won’t hear.
“It’s no problem,” Lance says. “We gotta take care of each other, right?”
(Lance is crying, and Keith doesn’t know what to do—)
(Lance is quiet, and serious, and sits alone away from everyone else to stare blankly at a sunrise—)
(Lance walks alone towards the pharmacy on the other side of the fountain, shoulders hunched and hands in the pockets of his hoodie—)
“Right,” Keith says, and he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t have the words for it, and before he can try to muddle it out Lance turns away and heads into his lion.
.^.
The first stretch in the lions lasts twenty vargas. The first part of it is spent re-organizing their lions to accommodate all their new supplies and take out whatever they’ll need to be comfortable while travelling. There’s enough space in the back of Black to spread out sleeping bags so Krolia and Shiro don’t have to sleep sitting up, and Black, with a vague rumble, indicates to Keith that he can tilt the pilot’s seat back like an easy chair.
“Whoa,” he says, as the chair leans back.
Shiro dumps a pillow on his face.
“What—” Keith splutters, knocking the pillow off. Shiro snickers and drops a blanket on him next; Keith knocks that off too, scowling. “I hate you so much.”
“Love you too,” Shiro says, ruffling his hair.
Krolia smiles at their antics. There’s a curl of amusement in the back of Keith’s mind, the closest Black has ever gotten to laughing. Pom Pom barks.
Keith looks at all of them, upside-down from his position on the chair, and feels so fiercely happy he thinks he might burst.
“Could you call the princess?” Krolia asks. She’d been looking through one of the boxes they’d put their clothes in, but she stands up, hands on her hips as she regards the box. “We both bought new clothes at the mall but I think mine might have ended up in the bag with hers.”
Keith straightens his chair and pulls up Allura’s comm. The tiny light is on next to it, the one that marks private, so only the two people on the line can hear what’s being said.
“The line is busy, I’ll try again later,” he calls over his shoulder, and Krolia says something in response, but he doesn’t hear it, because the light is red, which means Allura’s talking to someone in the Red Lion, which means she’s talking to Lance, because he and Kaltenecker are the only ones there right now, which means—
(what? his mind asks furiously. there’s a sour taste in his mouth. what? shut up.)
(why on private, though? asks another part of his mind, low and whispering, and the words are like snakes, curling around him, making his chest feel tight, like he can’t breathe— why not the public line? what are they saying that no one else can hear?)
They always use the public line, always, he can’t remember the last time any of them used the private line—
(shut up, says the first part of his mind, louder. speculating will get you nowhere. they’re friends, and they’re both your friends. shut up and stop thinking about it)
He takes a deep breath and gets up to help Shiro with organizing his side of the lion. It takes a full varga before everything is structured to everyone’s satisfaction, and despite Keith’s best efforts he keeps checking the controls, keeps seeing that tiny red light that marks private, keeps wondering what the hell they could be talking about for that amount of time, just the two of them, one-on-one, not wanting anyone else to hear—
“I think I’ll sleep for a while,” Shiro announces, stretching out in his sleeping bag. He pulls the edge of the extra blanket over his head—Keith smiles at the sight; he’s missed Shiro’s weird habit of covering himself completely when he sleeps—and is snoring within seconds.
Krolia gives up on waiting for Allura’s comm to clear; Keith offers to call her on the public line anyway and see if she’ll pick up, but she declines, and instead decides to sleep for a while as well. After she settles down in her sleeping bag Keith dims the lights so the only illumination comes from the glow of the controls and the stars out of the window. It’s peaceful like this, mostly dark, with Black’s presence in the back of his mind and the low hum of the controls around him and Shiro and Krolia’s quiet snores behind him.
He takes off his boots and sits in the pilot’s seat, knees drawn up to his chest and arms around his legs. Pom Pom pads over to him and rests their head on the bottom of the seat, by Keith’s foot. He reaches down and scratches their ears, watching the stars as the lions zoom past them.
A minute later the tiny light by Allura’s comm switches off. It doesn’t make him feel any better.
Another minute later his screen lights up, GREEN PALADIN emblazoned across it. He hits accept and Pidge’s face fills the rectangle.
“Hi!” she chirps.
“Shh,” Keith says, jerking his head towards the back of the lion. “They’re sleeping.”
“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. She shrinks into her seat; she looks very small, the effect exacerbated by her huge glasses and her puffed-up hair, which Keith is pretty sure she hasn’t brushed in a suspicious number of days. “It’s kind of lonely in here. When we pick up Matt he’ll stay here with me but until then I’m alone and Green is too tired right now to talk and fly at the same time. Is it okay if we talk?”
“Of course,” Keith says, smiling, then, because he knows if we talk is Pidge-speak for if I talk and you listen, he says, “Go ahead.”
She chatters on for a long while, about her latest projects with Hunk and cool stuff Matt has been doing and the inventions and gadgets that Keith has missed out on. Keith mostly just listens, except for when she says something particularly outrageous.
(“Wait,” he says, trying his hardest to muffle his laughter so he won’t wake up Shiro and Krolia, “you reprogrammed a Galra sentry to ask for firecrackers?”
Pidge nods eagerly, pleased by his reaction. “And steal popsicles!”)
Keith loses track of how long she talks for, but by the end of it her eyelids are drooping. After yawning three times in one sentence she concedes defeat.
“I’m going to sleep now,” she says.
“Make sure you let Green know first so she can wake you up if necessary,” Keith says.
“Okay, dad,” she says. She snickers at her own joke but it’s interrupted by another yawn. She rubs her eyes and shrinks into her seat again. “It’s kind of weird to sleep in here on my own.”
“I can send Pom Pom over there while you sleep,” Keith offers.
Pidge brightens and nods. Keith pats Pom Pom’s head to get their attention and looks them right in the eyes.
“Go to Pidge,” he says clearly. “Green Lion.”
Pom Pom blinks, then vanishes. A second later they reappear on screen, next to a startled but delighted Pidge.
“Thanks!” she says, waving, and the last thing Keith sees before the line cuts is her kissing a slightly disgruntled Pom Pom on the nose.
He moves to sit cross-legged and contemplates the screen. He’d hoped that talking to Pidge would distract him from that dumb red light, but it’s still stuck in his head, a glowing red flare, mocking him with its persistence.
It’s none of your business, he reminds himself. They’re allowed to talk.
None of his business, and yet—
Allowed to talk, and yet—
What could they possibly have to say that they couldn’t risk anyone else hearing? There’s nothing no one else couldn’t hear, right?
(one thing, his mind whispers, and it’s low again, a snake again, and his chest is tight again, and he can’t breathe again—)
(but that can’t be it, right? she’s never—he’s always flirted with her, but she’s never responded, not favorably—)
(you’ve been gone a long time, his mind adds, and he has to clench his fists against the thought, keep himself calm— they were much closer before you left, and they’ve probably only grown closer still, and all this time you’ve been gone, and they’ve been here, united against Lotor and the clone, helping each other and keeping the team together—)
He takes a deep breath, sets his jaw. This is stupid, this is so stupid, it’s a fucking conversation, they just set it to private, who the fuck even cares—
His screen lights up.
RED PALADIN, set to private.
He blinks at it, stunned, then scrambles forward and hits accept. The screen doesn’t show Lance’s face, only the words call in session, which confuses him, until he realizes Lance must have used the audio-only line.
“Lance?” he asks, worried. “Are you okay?”
There’s a shivering second of silence, then:
“We’re still friends.”
His voice is shaking.
(I hope we’re still friends)
Keith’s heart jumps into his throat.
“You read them,” he says.
“Yeah.” There’s a crackle as Lance blows out a breath, as if steadying himself. When he speaks his voice doesn’t shake so much. “You wrote to everyone, right?”
“No,” Keith says. “I wrote to Shiro a couple times but otherwise it was—just you.”
There’s another silence, so long Keith isn’t sure they’re still connected.
“Lance?” he whispers.
“I’m still here,” Lance says, then very quietly, as if to himself, “There were so many of them.”
“Life on a space whale is surprisingly eventful sometimes,” Keith says.
Lance exhales, half a laugh and half a sigh.
“You didn’t ask to hug me,” he says next. “You wrote that you would but you didn’t. You just did it.”
“I’m—I’m sorry,” Keith stammers. Panic creeps up his spine; Lance had seemed okay with the hug at the time, but what if he’d just been putting up with it to be polite, or what if Keith had misinterpreted it entirely, or what if—
“I was kidding,” Lance says, and Keith’s panic fades. Lance does another one of those half-laugh half-sighs. “You don’t ever have to ask to hug me. You can just do it whenever you want.”
“Oh” is all Keith says, and for a second he forgets to breathe, because the thought of Lance’s arms around him and Lance’s face in his neck and Lance’s chest pressed to his, whenever he wants, as many times as he wants, is too overwhelming to fathom.
(this can’t be real, his mind whispers. you must be asleep, you must have dropped off after Pidge hung up, this can’t be real, you can’t be this lucky, can’t be someone who can just—hug Lance—whenever you want—)
“What does hugging me feel like?”
Keith blinks. “What?”
“Your hug theory,” Lance clarifies. “What does hugging me feel like?”
“I—” Keith breaks off, uncertain. “I don’t know yet. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Lance says, and Keith can hear the smile in his voice. “I guess we’ll just have to hug more often so you can figure it out.”
“I guess so, yeah.”
For a moment neither of them speak. It’s a contented silence, and the contentment makes Keith brave, makes words tumble out of his mouth when they might otherwise stay safely inside, makes him verbalize the wish that has just popped into his head when he normally would shove it down and tell it to go away.
“Can you switch to video mode?” he asks.
Lance sounds surprised. “Why?”
“I just want to see you,” Keith says, and he feels heat creep up his neck, because he hadn’t meant for it to sound so—soft—but he can’t help it, not when he has to whisper, not when it’s so dark, not when there’s just the glow of the controls and the screen and the stars, not when he’s picturing Lance cozy in his lion, talking to him while everyone else is probably asleep, not when he’s found out that he can hug Lance whenever he wants, not when he wants so badly to be next to Lance right now, to give him one of the hugs he’s just gotten permission to give.
“Okay,” Lance says finally. “Just give me a second.”
There’s rustling, then the call in session stamped across the screen vanishes, replaced by Lance’s face. The sight of him sends something warm and fond through Keith; Red is dimmed too, and Lance is in his pajamas, his hair rumpled and curling over his ears and his neck, his eyes dark and—
Keith’s brow furrows. He leans forward, peering at Lance with alarm.
“Are you okay?”
Lance blinks, though it’s more squeezing his eyes shut than a real blink. Keith’s done it before, seen it done before, and it’s the kind of squeezing you do when you’ve just been crying, and his eyes are a bit red, and fuck what kind of friend is he that he hadn’t even realized—
“It’s been a weird couple of hours,” Lance says. He smiles, more gently than he usually does. “I’m okay, though.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just need some time. But I’m okay.”
There’s an ache in Keith’s chest, like his heart wants to jump out and into Lance’s hands and make him smile properly. “Now would probably be a good time for another hug.”
“Yeah,” Lance says again. “Allura already said she’d give me one when we land next, though, so don’t feel pressured or anything.”
He wants to say that he’d never feel pressured to hug Lance, that the concept of not wanting to do such a thing is incomprehensible to him—but his brain is stuck on Allura already said she’d give me one, stuck on that tiny red light set to private for over a varga.
The ache in his chest gives way to the tightness again, the ugly twisting snakelike whispering that he has to clench his fists to guard against. It’s none of his business. Lance is his friend, and—and that’s enough. It’s enough.
“I should probably get to sleep,” Lance says, almost apologetically. “I’d talk more, but it’s been a really long couple of days.”
“Yeah, of course,” Keith says automatically. “Same here, I should—I should sleep too.”
“Cool.” Lance waves, a bit awkwardly. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Keith replies, and the screen goes blank.
He stares at the screen for a long time, then picks up the pillow and blanket off the floor where he had tossed them after Shiro dropped them on him and tilts his seat back.
Gonna sleep now¸ he tells Black, tucking the pillow under his head and throwing the blanket over himself. Wake me up if you need me.
That won’t be necessary, they rumble, and he rolls his eyes before closing them. Good night, paladin.
Good night, he replies, and as he slips into slumber he thinks he hears Black say something else, something like foolish boy and Red warned me how you two are but I didn’t know it was this bad, but he’s not for sure, because within minutes he is fast asleep.