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Lance wakes to the sound of an engine outside his apartment window.
It isn’t a slow wake. The loud, almost animalistic revving pulls a deep-rooted response from him that has his heart rate spiking and his body jolting to action before he’s even fully conscious. He sits up in bed so fast his head spins, and the moment the he pauses for the nausea to stop is long enough for him to realize that he doesn’t need to get up.
He’s in his apartment.
On Earth.
He’s fine. It’s five A.M. And that was somebody’s truck, or…something.
Nevertheless, the revving doesn’t stop being annoying. He sits on the bed with his hand over his heart as if to calm his racing heartbeat and, once he’s no longer being pursued by the lingering panic, slides out of bed. He doesn’t bother putting on his prosthetic right now and slowly manages his way to the window, shoving the curtains back. Outside the complex is a large pickup truck, sitting on the curb with its windows rolled down. Someone leans with their elbow outside the door, loud music playing while they presumably wait for someone.
“Rude,” he mumbles to the drawn curtains. As far as he’s concerned, it’s way too early for anybody to be up. The first few rays of morning light drift into his bedroom, only a soft, pale blue glow settling over the quiet apartment. When he cranes his neck up as he looks out the window, he can see the silver slice of moon still hanging in the sky, as if waiting for him to wake before it can disappear.
“Lance?”
He’s smiling even before he turns around to face Keith. His voice right after waking never stops being endearing. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”
Keith blinks at him blearily, then at the drawn curtains, then at the clock on their bedside table. He reaches an arm out and motions forward, his actions lethargic, heavy with the burden of sleep. “C’mere.”
“Clingy.”
“Just get back in bed, asshole,” Keith mumbles, a badly concealed smile in his voice. “It’s too early. Go back to sleep.”
Lance shuffles back over to the bed and slides in next to Keith. A small, purple lump keeps the two of them from spooning completely, but he doesn’t mind so much. Chloe has gotten so big so quickly, but Coran warned them about this—“Galra age quicker than humans, so doesn’t be surprised if your parenting books are a little slow, chronologically.” They’ve already been doing most things separate of any and all parenting guides just by the nature of how different Chloe is, so this wasn’t that hard to adjust to. She’s big enough now for them to feel safe with her sleeping in bed between the two of them on nights when she won’t stop fussing unless one or both of them stays with her.
Her hair is growing out, Lance notices, no longer the angelic white it used to be. The now-dark-purple tufts fall down past her feline-esque ears, so alien by nature. Her ears twitch in her sleep as she dreams, and her small frame curls tighter around a pale green blanket gifted to her by her “Aunt Katie” (as Lance calls her, and as Pidge insists he’s ridiculous for doing). The blanket is snug in her arms, her fists wrapped in the fabric. Claws should be expected to grow in soon, they’ve been warned. Her favorite blanket has managed to stay in pretty good condition for a while now, but he doesn’t think that’ll last much longer.
Keith has already laid back down, his eyes closed once again. Lance looks from his daughter to his husband; to Keith’s arms as he holds Chloe gently, just enough to ensure she’s safe but not enough to be suffocating; to Chloe, her thick, deep purple eyelashes fluttering as she dreams, her breathing even and steady but naturally slower than the average human child’s; then back to Keith again.
Lance scoots in until he’s as close to Keith as he can get with Chloe still between them. He can feel her little breaths as she takes them. That was something he never would’ve thought to be so reassuring. It wasn’t until he and Keith got together, until they’d narrowly escaped death one too many times, until the status of “alive” had become so close to the alternative that it knocked the breath out of him, that he appreciated just being given proof that someone is alive, is with you, is safe. Even before they’d admitted they were dating all those years ago on the castle, they still sometimes slept close like this, and Lance would press the flat of his palm into Keith’s chest and vice versa, and one or both of them would say it’s okay until they believed it enough to let go.
Parenthood is…similar to that. Lance has never almost lost Chloe, has never had her with him in the line of fire. The closest thing to anything dangerous with her was the time she caught a cold after being exposed to some Earth germs they hadn’t expected to mix poorly with her immune system, but even that had felt like a close, tiring battle for the few days she coughed and cried until they nursed her back to health. With a child, nothing inherently risky has to happen for Lance to imagine the worst, for Lance to kick into panic mode. Even with no dangerous tyrannical enemy at large, everything is frightening, and every breath Chloe takes is another victory for her, another day he gets to spend with the most important girl in his life.
Despite growing up in possibly the most loving and supportive family one could grow up in, he’d never been entirely sure if he actually bought in to that whole “all parents unconditionally love their children before they even know them” thing. His parents? Absolutely. Their love was infinite, unyielding, and unbiased. They never once convinced their children they loved them any less, even when they fucked up, even when they didn’t think they deserved such support, even when they didn’t want that support. But Lance had also seen the way that he was luckier than most in the family department. He knew there were children, Keith being one of them, who grew up with distant families at best, and he knew there were children who’d never felt loved by their parents a single day in their life, children who’d found more family in friends than they’d found anywhere else in the whole world.
Some part of him, however he tried to tell himself it was irrational, had been scared he would fail as a father in that aspect. That he wouldn’t find it in himself to love his child the way his parents loved him and his siblings (if he even lived long enough to start a family). And then, once he fell in love with Keith, he was certain there’d never be anything or anyone that could ever hold a candle to that love.
But, he guesses, Chloe has surprised him in more ways than one.
“Go to sleep,” Keith says, his eyes still closed. He takes one hand away from where it’s wrapped around Chloe and reaches blindly for Lance, his palm finding Lance’s hip and resting there comfortably. Lance pulls the blankets up around both of their shoulders.
“How do you know I wasn’t trying to?”
“Because you think loudly. And I know you’re looking at me.”
He lets out a small, breathy laugh, not wanting to wake Chloe. “Little bold of you to assume I’m staring at you, don’t you think?”
“You spend most of your time staring at me,” Keith slurs, clearly falling into unconsciousness even as they talk. Lance snorts, but he takes the hand on his hip off and holds it, entwining their fingers leisurely. It’s true, to be fair. He knows he spends an unreasonable amount of time marveling at how amazing his husband is, but, really, can anyone blame him?
And, besides, it’s not like he doesn’t know Keith reciprocates, doesn’t know Keith is just as infatuated.
“Fine, I’m goin’,” Lance relents.
Where their hands are tangled, Keith squeezes gently, his grip loosened by lethargy. “G’night, Lance.”
“Night, Keith.”
Between them, Chloe shifts slightly in her sleep. Despite the sun already rising over the horizon, Lance closes his eyes and lets himself drift. He’s just on the edge of unconsciousness when he feels lips against his cheek and Keith mumble, “And…happy birthday.”
--
He wakes a second time to Chloe’s small hands on his stomach.
“Wha…?” He blinks his eyes open, greeted by his daughter sitting up on the bed with her palms pressing into abdomen. When she sees that he’s awake, she grins a toothy smile and pats his stomach another time.
“Lan,” she says. “Lan.”
“’Lan’s gettin’ up,” he says, sitting up in bed to prove it. She’s been calling him that for a few months now, since she started speaking. He and Keith are technically going by “Dad” and “Papa” with Lance being the latter, but they refer to each other with their actual names so much more that Chloe caught onto those quicker. It’s pretty cute, so he can’t say he minds all that much.
Chloe stops patting his stomach and tilts her head to the side slightly, her ears twitching. A few seconds later, there are footsteps outside the open bedroom door, and Keith comes into view at the threshold, holding a tray of food.
“You’re awake,” he says, coming side and handing the tray to Lance as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to cook, let alone something like breakfast in bed. Lance navigates the tray around Chloe, still blinking between the food and his husband. Bacon and French toast looks back at him, already covered in syrup, the way he likes. Chloe reaches out a hand for the side of the tray, inspecting it inquiringly.
“What’s this for?” Lance asks, still in a little disbelief.
Keith shrugs and sits on the bed, pulling Chloe’s hand away gently right as she’s about to make a curious grab for the fork. “No, no, those are for Papa,” he chastises lightly, and when she doesn’t seem bothered by it, turns to Lance’s question. “It’s your birthday.”
“Well—I mean, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you had to do all this…”
He rolls his eyes fondly. “Of course it does. I’m your husband. And besides, even if I wasn’t, I care about you. You only turn twenty-eight once.”
“I…”
“You deserve something nice for your birthday, Lance,” Keith insists firmly. Chloe looks between her fathers with mild interest, but she seems to decide she’s bored with them. She reaches for the tray again, holding onto the sides, but Lance picks up the fork and starts eating before she can make another grab for the utensil.
Keith watches him eat as if waiting for a reaction. “Is it…alright?” he asks, his palms on the edge of the bed and fingers tapping idly into the comforter. It’s the first time Lance realizes that he’s…nervous about this.
“No, no, it’s great,” he says, words muffled between a mouthful. He’s sincere in that statement. It really does taste good, better than anything he’s ever seen Keith make. He swallows the bite. “If I’d known you were holdin’ out on me like this, I would’ve tried to split up cooking duty more often,” he jokes, and Keith snorts in a laugh, some of the anxiety in his shoulders relaxing, just slightly. (It’s been years, but it still never fails to make Lance happy to see he’s pulled a laugh from Keith.)
He finishes one of the pieces of French toast, swallows, and in between starting on the other asks, “Where’d you learn to cook like this all the sudden?”
“Hunk taught me.”
“What? When?”
Keith shrugs, glancing away. “A few weeks ago. I…may have told him I wanted help getting your present right. He offered to teach me, so I mean, I wasn’t gonna turn him down…”
“Weeks?”
“I planned ahead this time, okay?” he says, rubbing his chin. It’s a nervous habit he’s picked up on recently. “I figured…it’s your first birthday back home, we actually have, like, access to stuff we didn’t really have out in space, we can finally be with your family to celebrate…I just wanted it to be special. So I planned ahead for once.”
When Lance doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, Keith starts to visibly squirm, fidgeting where he sits. “It was Stephanie’s idea anyway, really. I asked for birthday gift ideas and she mentioned that you’ve said you wanted someone to bring you breakfast in bed, but she also mentioned it was, like, years ago that happened, so—sorry, I should’ve—“
“Keith.”
“Yeah?”
Lance moves the tray to the side and pulls Keith into a kiss. He responds immediately, hands coming up to rest on Lance’s hips, tilting his head. When they pull away, Lance announces, “I love you so goddamn much.”
“Watch your language, ‘Lan-Lan’,” Keith grins.
“You think the nickname is adorable and you know it.”
“Oh, it is. Still hilarious though.”
They lean in to press their foreheads together at the same time and stay there for a few moments, just taking in each other’s presence. Lance’s heart is so full of emotion it feels close to bursting. He wills back the prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes. He should save that for later, once he actually gets together with the rest of his family. They’re scheduled to head over to his parents’ house later in the day, and he knows for sure he won’t be able to keep the tears from flowing then.
“I really do love you,” he says quietly. “And it’s a wonderful birthday present. You really outdid yourself with the food, hot damn.”
“Hunk’s a good teacher,” Keith says. “I love you too.”
The clatter of utensils hitting the wood floor forces them to separate, and they find Chloe as the culprit, both the syrupy fork and knife resting syrup-side-down on the ground. “Oh, no, Chlo’, that’s not for you to mess with,” Lance fusses, moving the tray out of her reach.
She smiles and reaches for him with outstretched hands, and it’s only once she’s already holding onto his hands that he realizes hers are covered in syrup.
“Stinker,” he chastises, and she giggles like she knows what he means.
“She takes after you,” Keith says.
In response, Lance grabs for Keith in an attempt to infect him with the syrupy mess. Keith dodges out of the way just in time, laughing, and Chloe giggles even louder as she watches her parents play fight, grabbing and dodging back and forth like that until Lance finally manages to capture Keith in a sticky hug.
“Gross,” Keith laughs, struggling half-heartedly to get Lance’s hands away. “It’s all down my shirt.”
“You have to face the consequences of your actions.” Lance, still not releasing Keith from the hug, looks over his shoulder at Chloe where she’s still watching them. “Chlo’, don’t you agree Dad needs to own up to the stuff he says?”
She waves her arms around excitedly.
Lance turns back to Keith. “Our daughter agrees with me.”
“Our daughter is a year and a half old and doesn’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Still counts.”
Keith snorts and seems to finally give up on escaping the syrupy embrace. His shoulders relax, and he leans his head against Lance’s shoulder, the arms previously feebly pushing back now draping around Lance’s middle to reciprocate the hug.
“We need to get cleaned up and get ready to head over to your mom’s,” he mumbles into Lance’s shoulder.
“Probably,” Lance admits.
Neither of them moves.
“Hey, Keith?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for this. Seriously. It means a lot.”
“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” Keith says softly. “It’s…the bare minimum I can give. For someone as amazing as you.”
Lance’s arms tighten around his husband. “If you keep that up I will cry on you.”
“Please don’t,” Keith laughs, but it sounds a little like he’s the one choked up. He pulls back finally, presses a quick kiss to Lance’s cheek, and slides out of bed. He picks Chloe up, trying his best to avoid getting touched by her sticky hands.
“C’mon, let’s get you washed up,” he tells her, and disappears out of the room and to their one bathroom, Chloe babbling all the way, some of the words similar to Lan-lan and Da.
Lance stays sitting on their bed for a few moments longer, listening to the sound of running water and his husband’s voice drifting in from their open door, talking to Chloe as he washes her hands off.
It’s the distant sound of Keith humming that does. The quiet rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, so unexpected of Keith and saved only for days when he’s happiest, followed by Chloe’s happy babbling and the calming sound of running water—it pushes Lance to the point of flooding, fills his chest with so much love it hurts to keep it in.
So he doesn’t.
And it isn’t the last time he cries from love that day.