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Lance McClain was a boy of routine. He may not look it, may not sound it, and very clearly may not act it, but his entire life revolved around strict routines and traditions slowly harvested by his family over the years.
For example, every year on the first day of school his entire family would stand on the front porch and take two photos - one for the mantelpiece where they stood tall and smiled brightly, and the other being a silly photo with dumb poses and faces they would all keep in a pocket of their jacket.
“For good luck,” his mama had told him once, when he’d asked why they still did it after all these years. “And to remind us that no matter what happens, we always have a family to go back to.”
The last photo Lance had taken with his family on their weather-beaten front porch was carefully stuck on the wall beside his bed - a sense of normalcy in the midst of an ever-growing chaos. His gaze flicked over it before he registered the annoying beeping of his alarm clock and groaned as he reached over to turn it off.
On days like these, where there were no missions planned or diplomatic meetings to be held, Lance would have probably gone straight back to sleep.
But today was an important day, one he couldn’t ignore simply for a few extra minutes of sleep. Lance McClain was a boy of routine and tradition, so he certainly won’t miss this one.
Stretching, he sat up, rubbing his eyes before glancing back at the photo stuck on the wall. “Morning, guys.” he mumbled mid-yawn, before pressing a kiss to his fingers and gently touching a smiling woman’s face. “Buenos dias, mama.”
Lance recalled how this day would go on back on Earth. All of his siblings would be up at around the same time, bright and early with matching mixed expressions of tiredness and glee.
Veronica would already be downstairs, frying eggs. Lance thought as he pulled on his shirt. Luis would be taking a shower, and Marco would be on his way back from the flower shop.
His heart ached as he remembered how they would sit around the dinner table the night before, formulating plans in such exact detail it would look as if they were planning an elaborate and illegal heist. Veronica would have written out their timings with a deft hand, and they’d be making whispered calls and argue quietly as to not wake up their parents. Last year, it was his job to clean the house, and Lance smiled slightly at the memory of needing to sneeze because of the dust and sprinting outside so the sound wouldn’t wake their mama.
Today, he washed his face extra well, and didn’t put any product in his hair so it curled as he brushed it thoroughly so it lay neatly on his head. His clothes were freshly cleaned and pressed, shoes polished and he spent almost double the time brushing his teeth than he normally would.
The low thrum of the castle was a new addition to the morning routine. Usually, the cacophony of birds tweeting and waves crashing served as the backing track to their silent preparations, and Lance found himself missing it as he crept to the kitchen, his presence causing the lights to flicker on.
Veronica would have finished the eggs by now and moved onto frying the tomatoes. Luis, straight out of the shower, would be on toast duty and Lance would side-step past him to make tea. Marco would then come crashing in with a bouquet of flowers so large it seemed a miracle he was able to carry it this far from the flower shop. Frying pans would be sizzling, toast popping and kettle squealing as the McClain siblings clattered about, shushing each other yet unable to keep in the giggles.
Today, however, the kitchen was silent.
Making his way over to the Altean kettle, he started boiling water and humming a quiet Spanish song in an effort to smother the silence. It seemed as if there was no one else awake yet, which he was secretly grateful for because even if it was tradition, it was too painful to admit it to anyone else yet.
Tea made and song sung, Lance headed back to his room, the smooth, alien cup in his hands nothing like the familiar chipped and coffee-stained mugs of his own kitchen.
“Ssssh, “Veronica hissed, pressing a finger to her lips. Luis nodded, trying desperately to not knock the steaming mug in Lance’s hands. Marco clutched at the flowers, and together, they pushed open the door with sparkling eyes and sunshine smiles.
“Feliz Día de la Madre!” they all said together, hearts swelling. Their mother was sat in her bed, her warm smile radiating the room as they all walked in like a procession at a carnival, each bearing a gift and placing it next to their mama.
“Happy Mothers Day!” they each said as they presented their gifts, bending down for a kiss on the cheek. Their mother’s smile was wide as she hugged them all, Lance sighing into the hug as he clutched at her. This was probably the last Mothers Day he’d be able to celebrate with her before he moved to the Garrison. With the way that Commander Iverson had looked at him when he’d be transferred, he doubted that Mothers Day was an excusable holiday he’d be able to go home on.
Mama McClain was undoubtedly the strongest woman Lance has ever known. She fought for her family from day one, moving to America despite her own parents’ wishes because she wanted the best for her kids. She fought for their passports and visas, and never gave up despite every housing denial or eviction notice. She put her blood sweat and tears into getting her children into the best schools possible, and her determination didn’t waver as she demanded Lance a spot in the Garrison program.
And as Lance hugged her now, he hoped she knew how much they all loved her, and how much he would miss her when he was gone.
The door slid open. There was no warm smile, no kissing on the cheek. No bittersweet hugs or laughs as smooth and sweet as honey.
There was only the thrum of the ship, and the gut-wrenching realisation of just how far away from home he was.