Chapter Text
Footprints are a problem. While the fresh snowfall last night was a boon in that it covered the edges of the craters in which the Lions landed, it also shows a map of every path they take. The solution is something that Keith never thought would be quite this helpful; it's also spectacularly inane.
"None of you can ever get annoyed by my pacing again," Lance calls, going out of his way to trample as much of the snow down as possible as he walks. "You know what? That first grade teacher who always got me in trouble for being hyperactive? She can fight me too! She's basically worse than the Galra. Cordial invitation to Asskick Valley, situated on top of Asskick Planet!"
Lance has been rambling this entire time. Any other time, it might have begun to get on his nerves, but in light of the situation it's actually helping keep Keith grounded. He suspects, after many months of evidence especially concentrated in the past day or so, that talking out of one's ass is a coping mechanism for Lance.
There's not actually much Keith can think of to do, and he hates it. Hates sitting here and waiting. With a weight in his chest—the Galra could come at any time, and he still hasn't said a word to Lance, about anything. He'd wanted to make things right, get an answer, before whatever happens in the fight coming up on them like storm clouds on the horizon. But it's so much easier to not say anything, and frankly, although it'd be a good summary of his life, it would suck if his last social experience before dying in a total anticlimax ended up being rejection.
So he keeps his mouth shut.
"We're going to have to hide in the glacier holes again, aren't we?" Lance says, halfway to the Blue Lion. "The ice buttcracks. Whatever."
"I was thinking you could stay inside the Lion and provide cover fire as I fight outside." There's a tension pulling at the air, tight and uncomfortable—even though neither of them are saying anything about it, Keith knows Lance must feel it too. He speaks of lighter things, but his eyes have gone dark, any smile forced. Similar tension precedes any of their battles, but it's different now, with just the two of them against such high stakes.
Lance stops pacing. "Are you kidding me? I'm not going to back myself into a corner playing peek-a-boo with guns! That'll be the first place they look. If we hit them carefully from where they can't see us, how are they gonna fight back?"
"Guerilla warfare. What you are suggesting is literally guerilla warfare."
"You say that like it's a bad thing." Lance takes a cautious look up at the sky. "I don't think we've got much time left before they show up. You got any bright ideas before we enter the ring?"
Bright ideas. Keith scours his mind for anything that could be useful. The Lions are down, all systems out except (he thinks back to Red talking back to him yesterday) lights. Lights—
"Shit," he breathes. "The ice!"
Lance stares at him. "...Yeah? There sure is a lot of it. Maybe even, like, three ice. Three singular units of ice on this planet."
Keith waves an arm out, gesturing around them. "No, look. The prism effect—it already kind of hurts your eyes, right? Along with the light hitting the snow? The Lions have lights."
A whistle. "Okay! Literally a bright idea! I could k—" Lance stops, going silent.
Keith tilts his head. "You could what?"
"Nope. Nevermind. You had a bright idea, I had a very dull idea."
There's the stalagmites in the valley, some of them reaching what must be beyond twenty feet tall, or the glacial valley walls. The Blue Lion, who crashed harder, is already sitting facing the wall of the valley. Red looks into the distance between the two of them. Keith points, bayard clenched tight in his other hand. "Go tell Blue to be prepared to light it up."
Lance gives him a mock salute before heading off on his way. Keith takes a deep breath, the climate's air still feeling cold and sharp in his lungs, before turning away and heading towards Red. She isn't very far—when he gets there, he sets a hand on her paw, looking up. There's a feeling in the back of his mind like a tangible pull. An insistence. The Red Lion does not want to lose another paladin.
"Sorry, Red," Keith mutters. Thinks over the plan—she accepts the idea, but only barely. She hates this sort of forced inaction more than anything else. He gets it. He does. "Maybe we'll get lucky this time."
A response like a roar only he can hear. He laughs a little, humorless, before turning around and heading towards the cave entrance where he and Lance had agreed to meet up.
They're either going to pull this off, or they won't—simple as that. Keith can accept that. He accepted it before the mission failed, staring through his viewscreen at the Galra ships that had him locked down. What is unacceptable, guilt weighing like stones on his chest, is having gotten Lance tangled into it. He slumps back against the wall, turning his suit light off, looking up at the arched ceiling of the cave. It catches some of the light from outside, almost looking like stained glass. His bayard feels heavy in his hands. Maybe, eventually, the paladins back at the Castle will forgive him for this mess.
Lance appears after a few minutes, leaning briefly on the edge of the entrance before stepping in. He stands opposite Keith, shifting his weight between his feet. "I think we really fucked this one up this time," he says, eyes averted.
"You think?" Keith's heart is pounding doubletime in his chest. He wonders what traces of his nerves Lance must be able to see. If he doesn't say something now, he might never get a chance. Never get a chance—he's not sure, whatever's about to happen, if he can do it with any secrets left in the air.
"I would have liked one more goddamn pizza before I kicked the bucket," Lance says with a breathy laugh, looking up from the ground. Something lost in his eyes that shouldn't have to be there at all.
Keith shakes his head. "We're not dead yet."
Lance opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but the sonic sound of Galra ships decelerating into orbit a ways off shuts it off. "Got any fancy last words?"
Last words—electric desperation, impulse, pulses through his mind. Keith feels like his heart's dropped to the ground, something red-hot in his chest seeping through the rest of his body. The first step forward is the hardest. Before he can think about what he's doing, his free hand is on Lance's shoulder, his lips pressed to Lance's.
It's not perfect. It's not how he's imagined it. Their teeth clack together with the force of the motion forward and without looking Keith is pretty sure Lance still has his eyes open. Both of their faces are cold, and even with their visors down their helmets make it awkward. Lance stands there frozen, unresponsive, and Keith is about to pull away when Lance melts, hands managing to make their way to Keith's hips.
When Keith pulls away, heart feeling as if it's about to explode, Lance is staring at him. "What the hell was that?"
"Famous last words," Keith says, simply, breathless. He hasn't forgotten the roar of the ships getting closer, but—this is something that had to be done. He hopes that he isn't misreading the situation. "If you don't—then that's fine, but—well, I do."
Lance splutters. "Do what?"
"Like you."
Wide eyes. "What, like, like like?"
"I just kissed you, Lance."
"You couldn't have said this before we were about to die like idiots? I would have liked to, like, get some time to do something about this!" Lance gestures rapidly with his free hand. Keith has no idea what to make of this response. Between the panic coming to a climax in what feels like every system of his body, and the fear of—this—backfiring on him, it feels like his brain might short-circuit.
Lance's lips back on his startle him, but before he can do anything, Lance has pulled away, leaving a feeling like something simmering on his skin. Keith's mind feels worn raw. "You better not die on me, Kogane," Lance mutters, impatient. Eye contact lingering, before Lance turns away, hoisting his bayard up and peering out towards the exit of the cave. "They haven't landed yet. Get behind me—you won't be able to do anything from here, with your sword."
"Great," Keith says, following the instruction, wondering if that meant what he thinks it did. "No, yeah, this is fine." There's no cover here, except for the hiding place provided by the cave. They had debated setting up something, but decided it would reveal their position too easily. "What can you see?"
Roar of ships overhead nearly drowns out Lance's whispered response. Keith puts his visor back down to activate the helmet comms, hoping Lance takes the hint. "There's three down here, I think—and a larger one in the atmosphere." Pressure from a ship descending pops his ears.
Without warning, the Lions take their cues. The valley fills with blinding prismatic light, dancing across the edges of the glaciers and across the snow. It stings in Keith's eyes until his visor automatically darkens. The ice makes whatever light it catches many times brighter. The snow goes from white to awash with colors, catching in the tracks. He's glad he's not piloting in this. The ground shakes beneath them, walls of the glacier creaking and groaning, as something seems to land—above them? He can't quite place it. If he takes a chance and cranes his head, he can see a second ship touching down on the top of the cliff on the opposite side of the valley. Where's the third ship?
Something above them makes a piercing screech, like crumpling metal against—ice? A collision that sends his ribcage vibrating. Shadow falls in front of the entrance of the cave—on instinct Keith grabs Lance by the elbows to retreat backwards into the cave.
"What the hell is that?" Lance hisses, as ice and crumpled metal fall to the ground a short ways from the entrance. "Something crashed." Once the dust clears, a little more light is gone, and one of the tallest of the ice pillars is demolished—at the base of it lies a Galra fighter with the undercarriage jagged and torn, but intact enough. If they're lucky as they have been so far, the comms will still be working.
Keith grins, the first real hope for victory airy in his chest even as his heart beats too-fast. "There's your ship. How are you going to get to it?"
"Do I look like a miracleworker?"
The cockpit opens up, and a Galra drone pilot stumbles out into the melting snow, pistol in hand. Keith has to resist the urge to sprint out there with his bayard. Lance lines up his gun along the target, lingering to aim, before he takes the shot. The drone topples backwards, robotic parts scattering across the ground.
"We've revealed our position."
"Worth it. Could have fired back." Hammers striking ice above silence Keith before he can say more. Lance gestures up with a nod, aiming his bayard toward the ship perched on the opposite side of the valley. "Dudes above us are rappelling down. Guess they joined rock-climbing club."
"I've got this one," Keith says, grip readjusting on his bayard. Finally he can do something. "Run for the fighter. I'll cover you."
"You know they have guns, right? Like, a lot of guns!"
How observant. Keith shakes his head. "Just go."
Lance gives him a look, before sprinting out, keeping his head down. Keith darts out behind him, making sure he gets a head start. He turns on his armor's jetpack, dodging the fire of the drones rappelling down the cliff face. They're inaccurate, poorly-aimed, firing with the hand that isn't on their rappel cord. Keith flies along the edge of the glacier, bayard outstretched—shots come close, but none hit. The bayard is sharp enough to cut easy through the ropes. One by one the drones fall to the ground, disabled on impact.
Keith takes a moment to survey the area—one ship on the opposite side of the valley still, parallel to the one from which the drones had just come. If he looks up, he can see a much larger ship hovering in the atmosphere, casting shadows over where the light of the valley doesn't reach. Must be how they intend to take the Lions. He's not going to let that happen. Red is struggling to put her shields up, particle barrier flickering more off than on—Blue is completely out, except her lights. Lance is three quarters of the way to the fighter wreckage.
Searing pain spiking through his arm. He almost drops his bayard to grab his arm before gathering himself and turning around. Lucky shot—a drone is standing a few steps away from the ship on the cliff behind him. He darts out of the way of a second hit, diving for the cliff to drive his sword through what would be the drone's torso. The armor took most of the hit on his arm—it hurts like a graze would, burning like hell but doubtedly consequential. Shots ring out from the other end of the valley. Keith descends back to the ground, sprinting to cover in the wreckage of the fighter.
"You got any idea how to work this thing?" Lance calls, taking cover behind the metal wall of the cockpit. He's got his gun propped up on the wall, firing upwards at the ship perched on the cliff. It's larger than the one which had dropped off the crew rappelling down the glacier, and Keith is sure they don't want to engage it more than necessary.
"We just have to press buttons until the comms work!"
"I'm a bit busy—" Lance ducks way down, dodging a shot that comes too close. Keith bites his lip past the pain in his arm, peering over the controls. Trying to think of where he'd put the comms if he happened to be whatever engineer who built this ship.
A creaking noise, coupled with one like static. Both of them look up—there's two tractor beams coming from the ship hanging in the atmosphere, over the Lions. "Fuck!"
"Are you hurrying!" Lance starts firing blind, still not risking putting his head over the line of cover. Keith slams down on a random button. An image pops up on the viewscreen—a Galra commander on the bridge of an unrecognized ship, who looks very surprised. Keith panics and punches the button down again as Lance yelps. "Turn that off! Turn that off!"
"It's off!" The viewscreen flickers out of sight. Keith takes a deep breath. "I got hit, but I'm good!"
"You got what! How are you good!" Lance's head snaps to face him, a gap in his firing.
"I'm great! Just a graze! Keep firing!" He presses another button, panicking. An avalanche of tools falls from a compartment to his left. Another button—weirdly-shaped oxygen masks fall from the ceiling. This is not good. Keith stares, frantic, out the cockpit, catching sight of the Blue Lion being pulled up slowly by the tractor beam. Lance makes a shot, and a Galra drone falls off the side of the cliff. None of these buttons make any sense.
A red light starts flashing on the instrument panel next to a switch by the control column. Out of desperation, he flicks it.
"—think that could be them? Galra ships flocking to the planet on the outer rim of the solar system. No activity was on that planet before we fled." Pidge's voice. That is Pidge's voice coming through (if slightly garbled) over the comms. Keith nearly sinks to the floor of the cockpit in relief. Lance immediately lowers his bayard, eyes wide behind his visor.
"They're not exactly known for staying out of trouble—why are we picking up a Galra fighter-class comms signal from the planet's surface?" That's Hunk.
Lance ducks out from his cover and nearly shoves Keith out of the way to get to the comms, smacking Keith's shoulder in excitement. "Hey, buddy, didn't anybody ever tell you not to shit-talk the dying?"
Excited shouting erupts on the other end of the signal. Keith feels like there's been something incomprehensibly heavy tugged off his shoulders, and he can't help but grin. Lance is absolutely beaming. "Lance! It's good to hear you, man, we kinda assumed you were—wait. Please tell me you're not actually literally dying."
"We're fine, Hunk. Can you tell us your position?" Keith exhales deeply. Lance lets out a shaky laugh, elated. "Keith totally got shot."
"He what?" That'd be Shiro.
Keith grimaces. "It's just a graze!" "
We'll see about that."
"We're just outside the Castle. Back in your system." Pidge. The sound of her pressing buttons comes through just barely over the signal. "Look, you've got Galra warships encroaching on your position—"
"You think?" Lance says, kneeling lower to the floor of the cockpit after a lucky shot from outside nearly grazes his back.
"No, jackass, I've never had a thought in my entire life. And you won't have one again, if those ships reach you. We're on our way to your position."
"Assuming he had thoughts before," Keith mumbles, nervously glancing out the cockpit. The Lions are still caught in the tractor beams, but they're going up slowly. "Look—there's a warship above us with our Lions in its tractor beams. You've gotta get here as soon as possible. We have good cover, we can hold out."
"We can?" Lance says, sounding genuinely surprised. Keith elbows him in the side.
"Roger. Stay in that cover. We'll be over to get them off your backs in a moment. And try not to get shot any more?" It's good to hear Shiro again. If there's anyone that can make it feel like they can get through this fine, it's him. And spending a day wondering if he had lost him again had been—so much. Too much. It's good to hear all of them again, but....
"Oh, good. Great. Yeah, we'll just sit here and get shot at while our Lions are stolen." The visibility advantage is gone, now that there's less light coursing through the valley. Lance doesn't dare risk going above cover to aim properly now that the drones on the clifftop can probably see him. Keith feels his ears pop again as another drone ship drops into the atmosphere. There's not much he can do from here, with his sword. Would it be too risky, to dive out of the cockpit and try and target the ship that just landed? "Lance. What can you see of that drone ship that just passed? Did you catch where it landed?"
"No. No way. You're not going out there. Did you not hear what Shiro just said? Oh my god." Lance glares at him, incredulous. Keith doesn't take his eyes off the Lions. He can feel rage radiating off Red, like a pressure building up in his chest and fists. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, in his own experience. He wonders what Lance must be getting from Blue.
Above them, the sound of weapons firing. Buzz of a particle barrier taking hits, but then it cuts out and gives way to that of metal under heavy stress, and then to—explosions. He can hear the Castle's engines, if he tries, and he grins. Looks like they've lucked out after all. A distorted blur flies by the top of the cliff where the second drone ship is perched. Faster almost than he can see, the ship is struck down as if by an invisible paw.
"Pidge is here," he calls to Lance. Lance pumps his fist in the air, hollering.
"You two are so lucky. What would you have done if we'd been in the middle of lunch when you hailed us? I think I would have just kept eating and savored the peace and quiet." She sounds more stressed than her words let on. Keith wonders if she's gotten any sleep in the past day or so.
" They didn't hail us...? We sent out the signal sweep trying to find them?"
" Hunk. Stop giving me away. I have a cold and unaffected exterior to maintain."
Keith missed this—this sort of banter, casual camaraderie—more than he knows how to put into words. Now that he knows everybody else is safe, or at least as safe as they can be, there's an airborne feeling in his chest where before there was the weight of concern. He watches as the tractor beams cut out, sending the Red and Blue Lions careening through the air—only for them to be caught mid-fall by the Black and Yellow Lions.
"Thanks, guys." His arm is starting to take up more of his attention, now that the initial rush of adrenaline is beginning to fade. The fight's not over yet, but the dread is gone. He wouldn't have thought they could actually really win this.
Lance jostles him. "Uh, we might have a problem."
Keith looks up. "Huh?"
"Hello, blown-up Galra warship in the atmosphere? Gravity exists? I don't intend to survive this crap only to get crushed by a Galra toilet seat fixture."
"Do the Galra even use toilets?" Pidge's voice.
There's silence over the comms for a moment, before Hunk chimes in. "I mean, they've got to use something. ...Right?"
Lance squints. "Shiro, do the Galra—"
" You'd be surprised."
Shimmering as the Green Lion's cloaking effect ends, and Pidge lands by the wreckage of the fighter plane. "Get in, you morons."
Instinctively, Keith grabs Lance by the hand to guide him through the mangled wreck. After hopping out of the cockpit they rush to the lowered ramp. Most of the snow beneath their feet is melted. "Why are we morons?" Lance yells.
"I don't know! You tell me how you wound up stranded on some—weird snowball planet!" The moment they're on board, Pidge raises the ramp and grabs the control column, taking off into the atmosphere.
Lance lets goes of Keith's hand only to put it on his shoulder, bracing himself for standing during liftoff. "Hey! Ask Keith, I didn't do anything!"
"I think I preferred it when you all were mad at me for getting shot," he mutters, watching the ground fall away beneath them. He's never been so glad to get off a planet before. As they rise, the airborne wreckage of the Galra warship starts crumbling, falling in pieces into the valley below. Keith ignores his frayed nerves and puts away his bayard.
Lance follows suit, raising the visor on his helmet. "We're going to have to look at that in the infirmary, you know." Concern underlines his voice.
"We're not out of the woods yet," Pidge mumbles. "Zarkon had a little more waiting for you than just a few ships full of drones. It seemed like they were all holding back on the surface, though? What bits me and Hunk unencrypted made it look like they thought you were setting up a really crappy and obvious ambush."
Lance shakes Keith's shoulder, waggling his eyebrows. Keith can't find it in himself to be annoyed. "Shiro, Hunk. What are your positions?"
"Approaching Castle now. We're within range enough that the Castle can draw in the damaged Lions on its own. Allura and Coran are going to ready a wormhole as soon as the Green Lion lands in the hangar." Shiro sounds relieved, like some tension is gone from his voice that Keith hadn't noticed before. Pidge nods. "Gotcha."
Keith lets his eyes wander around Green's cockpit before turning to face Lance. They're exiting the planet's atmosphere now, no need to brace themselves. Lance looks at him, a little breathless, something ocean-deep in his eyes. Brimming with excitement. In contrast, if Keith looks under his own relief, he finds that he's just exhausted.
"I can't believe that worked," Keith says, because he doesn't know what else to say.
Lance grins. "I told you optimism wasn't a bad idea." Unspoken words start to well up between them—Keith remembers kissing Lance, back in the ice cave, and the tips of his ears go hot. He's definitely about to deal with the fallout of that soon, for better or for worse. But—it doesn't seem like Lance minds? Keith's heart won't come down from beating too-fast in his chest.
"Looks like Lance was right about something. Pidge, do you have the record books ready?"
Before any response can come, Lance pulls Keith closer by the shoulder, throwing his arms around him. Face buried in the crook of his neck. The hold is tight, though not warm, the surface of the armor still retaining the chill from planetside. Keith doesn't know what to do with his arms for a moment, taken aback, but after a few breaths pass he puts his arms around Lance's waist.
"Dude. We're alive," Lance breathes. "I really wasn't expecting that one."
Keith wants to kiss him, to say something that would be of use, but isn't sure where the line is and if he's allowed to toe it. They're in Pidge's Lion, either way—no need to make a scene. He claps Lance on the back. Words are easy-failing things. There's a lot on the tip of his tongue, but he can't bring himself to say any of it, so he stays silent.
"Uh, guys? This is Green, not the sap train." Pidge doesn't sound nearly as annoyed as what she says. Keith suspects she's smiling. Lance's hold on him tightens for just a second before he pulls away, and when he looks up, it's like nothing just happened. Smug grin, traces of his typical demeanor. Lance's ability to shift outwardly between moods is... something.
The Green Lion touches down in its hangar, and all hell breaks loose. The moment the ramp is lowered and the three of them walk down (well—Pidge jumps and uses her jetpack off the side, to really land those few feet in style), they're met by the rest of the team. Hunk buries them both in a tight hug, nearly lifting them off the ground, and this time Keith doesn't even hesitate before returning it. "You guys are alive!"
"So I've noticed," Lance says, a little strained past the hug, "all thanks to my endless wit!"
Hunk lets go of them but keeps one hand on Lance's shoulder. "No. Like, dude, literally, we thought you were dead. Or dying. We saw what happened after the mission."
"If you guys hadn't come when you did, we probably would be." Keith looks around, meets Shiro's eyes. He's smiling, but Keith knows him well enough to see the traces of stress on his face. They've been gone just over a day and a half, roughly—knowing him, he hasn't rested since before the mission.
Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder. "Give yourselves some credit. You did the best you could, given the situation." The smile fades. "And what's this I hear about you getting shot?"
"Grazed! I got grazed! I'll be fine, Shiro." It's nice, to be worried about sometimes. But it's not even severe enough for a healing pod.
Shiro shakes his head. "Sorry if I don't trust your word on that. Let me take you down to sickbay—"
"I can do it!" Lance rushes. Everyone glances at him, and he rubs the back of his neck. "I mean. Me and Tough Guy over here have unfinished business."
"Unfinished business?" Pidge digs, waggling her eyebrows like she knows exactly what's happened. Keith wouldn't be particularly surprised.
Lance nods primly, a hand on his hip. "Yep! I need to kick Keith's butt over the Easy Cheese debate from the other day. We can't just leave that in the past."
Everybody else groans or looks generally exhausted. Pidge looks unconvinced. Shiro squeezes Keith's shoulder before stepping away. "Alright, Lance. Just hold out a little longer on killing each other?"
Lance stays close to his side during the walk to sickbay, but doesn't say anything. When they get there, Lance closes the door behind them, tosses his helmet onto a counter, and presses Keith up against the wall by his shoulders.
"Can I kiss you?" Lance breathes. Something frantic behind his eyes. Keith doesn't want to look away from them. He nods. Instantly Lance closes the distance between them—lips still cold from being planetside, but soft, and his hands tighten on Keith's shoulders. The rush of it mingles with the leftover whirlwind of adrenaline to create something that feels like flying. When Lance pulls away, Keith still feels where his touch was. He reaches up to pull his own helmet off. Lance smiles—genuine, and it turns into a laugh. "We could have died. Oh my god—we so could have died! We could have died, and here I am...."
"I take it you don't want to settle the Easy Cheese debate," Keith says dryly.
Lance lets his hands fall away from Keith's shoulders, running a hand through his own hair. "Sheesh, no. That was just so they wouldn't interrogate us. Although I bet your ass Pidge caught on, did you see her face?"
"Why are you betting my ass?" Keith goes to sit down on one of the sickbay beds because he's not so sure of his knees right now, and starts pulling off the armor from his injured arm.
Lance makes a face. "Because it's valuable, duh." Keith throws part of the armor gauntlet at him. Not hard. Lance ducks past it, grinning, and goes to pick it up. Sets it on the counter beside their helmets before going over to sit on the other end of the bed. "Just to be clear—you like me."
Keith blinks. "Yes."
"Like like."
Was that... not made clear earlier? Is kissing someone before the heat of battle not clear enough? No, this is probably just Lance. "Lance."
Lance puts his hands up, smirking. "Hey, man. I need this kinda stuff in triplicate." A shaky breath—Keith can't tell if Lance is hesitant for once, or just coming down from the heights of the fight. "How's that arm of yours?"
"Huh?" Oh. Yeah. He got shot. It doesn't hurt all that bad, the armor having taken most of it. He looks down at it, a light burn, resisting the urge to prod at it. "Oh. That—I can get it myself."
A scoff. "Holy crap, Keith. You're really serious about keeping up this 'lone wolf' stuff, aren't you?"
"Uh."
Lance pulls a roll of bandages out of a box on the counter, leaning partway off the examination bed to reach. "All this stuff about this burn isn't that bad and let me risk my own ass like an idiot? Not cool, man. Because let me tell you something: lone wolves? They die alone, Keith."
Keith's shoulders set tense. He almost replies off the bat, mouth opening and closing. Thinks about it. If he didn't have his team, where would he be? Stuck on that planet, still, alone. If Lance hadn't crashed with him, he'd probably have stayed stranded there—or gotten himself killed charging into the fight. "Wow. That's really dramatic for a guy who just said 'like like'."
The tension breaks when Lance grins. He rustles through a cabinet looking for a (rather dubious) cream. "Yeah, well. I have moments!" Squinting as he opens the jar of cream. "Will I be the first to say that I don't trust Altean first aid?"
"I think an Altean was the first." It's good that they have these supplies, confusing as they may be at times. Keith doesn't want to rely on the healing pods—not after what happened with Lance when the Castle was invaded. Having backups is reassuring, never mind that it comes in handy for things not severe enough for the pods.
"Well, yeah, but why would they say Altean first aid? They'd just call it first aid! We're possibly the first to say we don't trust Altean first aid specifically!" Lance sets the bandages and cream on the space on the exam bed between them. "Alright. This cream stuff is either the stuff Coran mentioned the other day when he was showing us these things, or it's... I dunno, super glue. So it's either good or it's bad."
Keith pokes it. He doesn't pick up that Lance is joking. "You can use super glue for first aid."
"What." Lance stares at him. "Oh my god, Keith. Please tell me you're not speaking from personal experience."
Keith holds his gaze until Lance looks away, throwing his arms in the air. "Great! I caught emotions for a guy who's freaking... I don't even know!"
He shrugs and grabs the cream, sniffing it before tentatively applying it to the burn. It hurts like flame for a split second, before the whole area goes numb. "Got to admit, this is better than super glue."
"I'll get the bandages," Lance says, exasperated. His touch is surprisingly tender—Keith finds something in himself melting a little, despite himself, until Lance ruins the mood. "Want me to kiss it better?"
"Ugh." Once the bandages are secure, he hops off the bed. He's stuck somewhere between exhaustion and feeling wired-up, like they're still in imminent danger, but then—that's just normal for him, after a battle. It's lined with relief, though, and something warmer. "Hey. I didn't thank you for saving my life back there. Multiple times."
"What, like you needed to?" Lance follows him to the door.
Keith stops both of them before they make it to the hallway, hesitating before putting a hand on Lance's shoulder. "Yeah." He squeezes Lance's shoulder, not entirely sure what to do with himself now, for all the time he's spent thinking of touching Lance. "I'm going to go to my bunk, lay down with the heater cranked up, and sleep for eighteen hours. You can come with, if you want, and if you can stay still long enough to share a bed." He offers on impulse, as he seems to do most things, lately, and because he's so worn-down that frankly, anything sounds like a good idea.
Lance grins. "Sounds like a plan."