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“What?” Keith demanded hotly, eyeing them all suspiciously. “This isn’t poisonous or anything, is it?”
A good question, considering none of them had any idea what any of the fruit (if it was fruit) was; Coran claimed to, but Pidge had her suspicions he was bluffing. But the real reason they were all staring was the fact that Keith had casually pulled a switchblade from one of his belt pouches to cut up said probably-some-kind-of-fruit.
That made two, at least, sharp, pointy objects to one Paladin when he wasn’t carrying his bayard.
“What kind of knife is that?” Allura asked as Hunk exclaimed “Dude! Not cool” while Lance demanded to know exactly how many knives Keith thought necessary to carry on his person in the Castle.
“I’m not going to use the Blade for cutting fruit,” Keith muttered, attention back on the task at hand.
Lance rolled his eyes. “Of course not,” he shrugged as if it was obvious, “cause that would just be barbaric, to use the same knife you stab people with to cut fruit.”
“Unhygienic dumbass.” Lance stuck his tongue out as Keith inspected the piece of fruit dubiously, then decided to peel it. They all watched, entranced (it had been a long day). Keith put up with it for a little while, but even his new-found patience could only hold out so long.
“Anything else?” he demanded.
“Can I see?” Allura held out her hand expectantly. Keith stared, then snorted, cleaned off the blade and closed it before handing it over. The princess’s eyes opened wide as she opened and closed it, nodding at Keith’s warning to be careful (“It’s not a toy Allura”) and then promptly dropping it in surprise as she almost cut herself. Picking it up gingerly, she returned it to a bemused Keith who closed it again and put it away.
And that ended it, for the time being.
But late the next day, when they all sprawled around from eating too much at dinner (dessert really; Hunk’s turn to cook), Pidge turned from staring at the ceiling to look over at Keith, who alone didn’t look like he was caught in some kind of food coma. She was pretty sure he had the metabolism of a gerbil, the bastard.
“So Keith,” she began, catching his attention. “How many knives do you have on you?”
He glared at her as everyone transferred their attention over, Lance particularly perking up to catch an opportunity to tease.
“Three,” he grumbled. They looked at him expectantly, and he begrudgingly gave more details. “One’s a Swiss Army.”
“Okay, you can stab people with, like, four of the things in a Swiss Army knife,” Lance interjected. “So really, seven.”
“Six dumbass,” Keith countered. “But there’s only one blade so even if you could add you’d still be wrong.”
“What’s a Swiss Army knife?” Allura cut in as Coran looked over curious, stopping the bickering before Lance could get going. Keith eyed her dubiously.
“If I show you, promise not to cut off a finger?”
“Eh, we’ve got the pods; they’ll be fine.” Pidge snickered at Lance’s casual dismissal. Keith looked at Lance disapprovingly, while Hunk fretted about the Alteans losing a finger (“Knife safety is important guys!”).
“Promise.” Allura glared at Lance. “I’m not a child.” Pidge thought it was to all of their credit that no one pointed out what had happened the previous day. Keith sighed and pulled out the small Swiss Army knife, demonstrating in turn the blade, file-slash-screwdriver, scissors, and all the other accessories. Allura and Coran oohed on cue; Coran was particularly taken with how such primitive technology could be so useful.
“If you’re going to insult my stuff,” Keith huffed as the other man continued on in that vein. “You could at least wait until I’ve left the room.”
“So what’s this one for?” Lance asked, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Marmorite blade is for stabbing, switchblade for fruit; perhaps trimming your nails?”
Keith looked him straight in the eye as he pocketed the knife. “Killing people in their sleep,” he corrected deadpan. Lance paled; Pidge burst out laughing.
“I suppose all those extra … tools would help in breaking in,” Allura added thoughtfully, causing Lance to look back between the two of them with increasing panic. Pidge kept laughing, but it was becoming a little hysterical. What could she say, it had been a long few days (with little sleep thanks to the alien tech that they had found and she knew she should have slept but science! It was too exciting not too investigate).
“And I think it’s bedtime for Number 5,” Coran pronounced, tugging on his mustache. Pidge got herself under control, but not enough to have any weight behind the glare she sent his way.
“Come on,” Keith said, grinning and pulling her up. “I promise not to get Lance until you can help.”
“Hey!”
“Deal,” she grinned, acquiescing as he pushed her towards the door, both of them leaving the others to make their decisions as to whether or not to seek sleep.
As the doors shut, Lance looked over to Hunk. “He’s definitely got more knives stashed somewhere, yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” Hunk nodded. “Bet he collects them.”
“He’s gotta.” Lance nodded assertively as Allura and Coran looked on, amused.
“That shack,” Hunk began, and Lance started nodding, knowing where he was going. “There was like, one fork and a few spoons. But tons of knives, all kinds. Butter knives, regular ones, steak knives, which is weird, cause no barbeque. Chef’s knives, all sizes, and paring knives, but only a couple of those were sharp.”
“Why would someone need so many knives?” Allura demanded, skeptical at Hunk’s story.
“Obviously he collects them.” Hunk nodded emphatically in agreement with Lance’s pronouncement. Allura looked at Coran then back to the pair and stood in exasperation.
“I’m tired enough that makes sense. I’m going to bed. Goodnight!”
Lance snorted as she left. “She’ll see. You believe us, don’t you Coran?”
“Course I do. Now! Off to bed, hup hup! Don’t want to be caught napping tomorrow, do we?”
Groaning, they did as he said. Hunk passed out immediately; Lance only did so once he tied a tripwire across the doorway, just in case. Pidge just about died laughing the next morning when he forgot about it and face-planted in the hallway.
And to everyone’s immense disappointment (and Keith’s annoyance that this was still a thing), once they got Shiro back and informed him of Keith’s overabundance of knives on his person, Shiro only shrugged, what did you expect? hovering in the bemused smile on his face.
“Are you going to tell them you’re to blame in part?” Keith asked quietly as the others started bickering. Shiro snorted quietly, laughter in his eyes, remembering how he gave Keith the Swiss Army knife only upon eliciting the promise that he would not use it on his classmates.
“Nope,” he grinned. “You’re the one who carries it all the time; you get to take this one.” He laughed as Keith punched him.
“Bastard.”
“Yeap. Miss me?”
Keith shot him a look that was equal parts exasperated and fond, that demanded how he could think anything else, and Shiro’s smile softened.
“Missed you too Keith.”