Archive of Our Own ^beta

Heaven knows (how I loved you)

Tell me where the good men go, before I wash away

Walk me down the old brick road, so I can die where I met you

Hold me like we're going home, turn your tears to rain

Bury me beautiful; Heaven knows how I loved you

Uthara was beautiful. That was something all the paladins had immediately agreed on upon entering the planet’s atmosphere. Once wispy pink clouds had made way, towering buildings blossomed across the horizon like a mirage in a desert. Sky high and made of white ivory-like material, they were encrusted with blue gems, adorned by meticulously drawn golden trimmings that darted up every wall. Rows of meticulously trimmed fern and fauna followed the blue public pathways, their leaves a mix of purple shades and branches a metallic silver. But most impressively of all, were when the twin suns of Uthara rose behind this capital city of Rinark. Every crook and crevice were set aflame, glowing under the twin suns’ guidance like a burning halo. It truly lived up to its name sake as the Southern Gem of the Takiri Star System, and the heart of the Rebel force.

Which was why Lance could not understand, for the life of him, why none of them had seen this coming. They had been blind-sided, he had to sullenly acknowledge, by their recent successes. It slipped by them that a planet having survived against the Galran empire’s conquests would already be a popular place of choice as a rendezvous point for rebels. Having Voltron openly approach them for an alliance and descending into their capital had been an idiotic move. It had just upgraded Uthara from “Immediate-Conquest-If-Possible” on the Galran Empire’s watch list to “Destroy-With-All-Possible-Battle-Cruisers”. Voltron had committed something akin to social suicide, and now Uthara was paying the price for their negligence.

Swearing softly, Lance re-adjusted his hold on his rifle, gripping his bayard tightly as he took in his surroundings. The beautiful capital, Rinark, now lay in ruins around him and the paladins, buildings crumbling like dust while gems cracked and splintered in the heat of battle. The once symmetrical rows of trees that followed the public pathways were now completely singed or had toppled over. People were screaming as smoke poured over the city, a stampede towards the nearest possible vehicles that would help them leave the capital. White noises to the paladins, Lance realised as he tuned out the muffled cries – listening to the civilians would not help save Rinark. Shifting his foot over the pavement, Lance pursed his lips as he scanned the area for soldiers, eyes quickly falling on movement from the North-East.

“Hunk, how’s the ion canon holding up? The capital can’t take another hit like that; not while there are still civilians inside.” His helmet crackles with sound, and Lance winces as Shiro’s voice finally cuts through the static, commanding and firm.

“I’m hitting it with all I’ve got Shiro, but the drones keep re-fixing them. I can’t keep up with three ion canons at the exact same time!” Hunk’s frustrated voice rings out in return, pitch sharper than usual.

“Alright then. Is anyone available for back up?” Shiro questions, and the momentary lapse in reply is an answer itself until Allura speaks.

“Negative. I’ve got my hands full with an entire fleet that’s shooting out the civilians on the right exit.”

“Same here like Allura.” Pidge hissed, “There’s another fleet coming in from the left that would not just quit. Also, after subtracting the codex and re-routing it through Rinark’s main frame-”

“English Pidge?” Lance grunted as he ducked behind a pile of rubble and slid his weapon up to his eye level.

“Well if you so much insist, here’s the summary. Rinark’s city defences are gone, Galrans are coming back with another wave in five doboshes, and Hunk still has all three ion canons live.”

“So, we’re fucked. Not like that’s something new.” Lance snorted, fingers pressing the trigger as he moved his mark from one soldier to the next. They’re dressed in the usual Galran armour, all sharp edges and grey, the only colour on them being the fluorescent purple crest on their chests. In another world, perhaps they would have been his friends. In another world, Lance would never have been in the heat of battle, fighting against an empire at the age of twenty. But people don’t get everything they want, and it’s with grim determination that Lance keeps his mind blank. Don’t think that they’re people, don’t think that they have families, don’t think that they can feel pain. Don’t think. Just shoot.

“A little positivity would be nice here!” Hunk’s shrill voice rang out, “I don’t want to die!”

“No one is dying.” Shiro stated firmly, his voice hard as he sent a wave of calm through their mind link, “We just have to find a strategy. We can do this. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

“Perhaps we could have Pidge jump-start the city’s defences?” Allura spoke, voice clear and unwavering, as if that would dampen the ball of anxiety all the other paladins could feel her emanating through the link.

“I could, but then I’ll have to abandon my post. Not to mention I still need someone to have access to the library’s records for me to activate the system.”

“The canons are going to power back on in three doboshes. We need a strategy now.” Hunk’s voice echoed, and Lance swore as he finally wiped out the platoon.

“What about the Blades. Where are they?” Shiro voiced out, his veneer of calm hiding his underlying state of fear and anxiety that rocked the team.

“From what I see of those that are here… They’re busy scouting out survivors and getting them to the less populated areas of the planet.” Coran answered, and Lance sighed, hefting up his rifle.

“I’ve got an idea, but you guys aren’t going to like it.” He finally said warily, grinding the butt of his rifle into the ground. Around him, Uthara was in flames, and in the distance, he could see people scrambling through the smoke and dust that blew in his face. The blades were doing their job at evacuation, well enough that they could handle it without him. But that still didn’t mean that he was comfortable with his strategy.

“Lance, considering that I’m staring at three live ion canons that are going to double in five doboshes, please just speak.”

“I can send Red back up into the air as back up and go on foot to the library. Judging from my comms,” Lance squinted down at his wrist, swiping the map, “it’s several hundred metres from here. I can send the info Pidge needs from there and continue holding down the capital for you until you clear the sky.”

“Lance, that’s fucking insane.”

“You’re going to die! You can’t just hold down the fort by yourself without a lion!”

“I don’t like this idea just as much as you, but we don’t have a choice. The second wave just arrived.” Shiro gritted out, and silence descended upon the team.

“First you become the red paladin. Next, you’re doing reckless shit like this. Are you becoming Keith now?” Pidge grumbled, and Lance laughed.

“I have a better sense of style than him Pidge. Plus, he isn’t even here for this battle so who knew what he would have done anyway? Besides that, I’m pretty sure I’m Red’s favouri-”

Static pours through their comms, and Lance frowns as he holds a hand to his helmet. When the feed doesn’t clear, he warily reaches out to Red with his mind link. She’s present, and the team’s connection is still strong, even as hints of confusion and wariness are ebbing out in waves. A soft hum and a low growl is all he gets from his lion as comfort before a crisp familiar voice replaces the strange frequency affecting his comms.

“You want to run that by me again?”

There’s a pregnant silence, and Lance is worried he’s hearing things now. He hasn’t seen that mullet for a long time, almost up to a year since their last rendezvous at some other forsaken star system, but he swears that it’s Keith. Voices don’t change that much, and that low husky timbre is still the same. It brings back a wave of feelings, a cascade of thoughts that Lance knows he can’t afford to analyse in the heat of battle. But for now, just standing in the middle of Rinark, the buildings on fire and breaking to pieces, smoke curling around every debris and dust billowing in every corner, Lance indulges himself. Keith is here, and fuck has he missed him.

“KEITH!”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“Didn’t you have a mission somewhere else?!”

“I finished it up early and I just jumped to this system a few minutes ago. Guess I got lucky and our schedules matched. Its been awhile.” Keith is still awkward, but that’s enough, Lance thinks giddily. His presence is enough, him being here is enough, and the team’s moral ricochets up immediately.

“Well then, if Keith is on site they’ll be fine. I mean, if they don’t murder each other first.” Pidge jokes, and Lance huffs as everyone laughs along with Pidge.

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know that we are a good team.”

“Oh, now you remember our bonding moment?” Keith questions flatly, and Lance wants to scream as affection bubbles in his chest. It’s cloying and he’s drowning in fondness for the other, revelling in how much he has missed those witty quips and dry remarks to his own words.

“Just get your ass to the library mullet. I’m sending Red to Hunk.” Lance finally grumbles, even as a corner of his lip quirks upwards. Slinging the rifle over his left shoulder, Lance ducked behind an over-turned hover car, mentally pushing Red away. There’s a momentary brush of consciousness, Red’s fiery passion and determination sliding against his before it lifts. Satisfaction and happiness is there too, and Lance chuckles as Red’s thrusters powered up, watching as his girl took to the sky.

“Don’t die dumb and dumber.” Pidge crows before their communication is cut. Snorting at her antics, Lance skirts round the hover car before making his way to the still stable shelter. Moving into a jog, he tries to keep up the pace as he weaves past vehicles, chairs, and other objects that had survived the ion canon. It isn’t long before his comm starts ringing again, and Lance bites back the smile that threatens to over-take his face when he sees who’s calling him.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Lance whispers, licking his lips as he scrambles over a wrecked van, his concentration waning. He shouldn’t be talking to Keith; in fact, he should be getting the other boy to hang up because they were in a middle of a fucking battle for fuck sake-!! But he hasn’t seen or heard from Keith for eight months. Eight months two weeks and three days if he wanted to be exact, and their relationship had always been different. It was a constant push and pull of personalities, orbiting around each other and being pulled into the other’s company because their gravity was just too magnetic to be refused. Difficult to ignore, and even more difficult to call off.

“How was your mission?” Lance finally asks, taking a right and leaping over rubble, pieces that once belonged to a roof, a door, a window. He hears Keith’s soft hum, inquisitive and considering before the other answers, vocal chords slightly raspy from disuse.

“Good. I think it was good? I caught one of your Voltron plays being sold on DVDs there by the way.”

“You can’t be serious.” Lance chuckles as he scans ahead for signs of the library. The place is barely recognisable, roofs having caved in and pillars splintered. The usual dining areas and shops are gone, burnt to a crisp in the flare of the ion canon. But Lance spies the over-hanging alcove, barely withstanding and hurries under, his eyes falling on the hatched door in the ground.

“How far away are you?” He changes the subject, and he feels Keith instinctively, like it’s a part of him as the other speaks, voice changing tone and tenor.

“Give me five doboshes.”

“Make it three.” Lance says cheerfully, and he hears Keith snort before their private channel ends. Focusing on his surroundings, Lance takes in where he’s standing, hands touching the wall gently. It doesn’t creak or seem on the verge of collapsing, so Lance breathes a sigh of relief before turning his attention to the floor. He isn’t worried about being seen, not with an over-turned hover truck in front of him anyway, but just to be on the safe side, he unslings his rifle. Squatting down, he squints at his bayard, willing it to transform, and grins when it morphs into a familiar shield. Placing that in front of him, Lance turns his attention back to the hatch, left handing wiping away the dust and debris covering it. Sure enough, the library insignia burned into the handle matches the one displayed on his wrist and Lance grins, feeling lucky and smug for the first time since their fight.

“Hey, I’ve found the entrance. Wher-”

“You still haven’t learnt to watch your surroundings have you.” Keith, or Keith’s voice answers, and Lance jerks in surprise as he feels something cold brushing against his cheek. Eyes widening, Lance instinctively leans backwards, his gaze falling on a familiar sigil on the blade’s handle as he raises a hand to push it away from where it was pressed against his cheek. The figure is dressed in the Blades’ Marmora suit, neon purple lights running at the seams, dark hood pulled up. Momentarily stunned, Lance feels his mind re-start as the stranger’s mask flickers down, revealing a familiar face.

“Shut your quiznak! You scared me ass-hole.” Lance hissed, delivering a quick punch to Keith’s shoulder even as an ear-stretching grin crosses his face. Eyes drinking in Keith’s face like a parched man stumbling onto an oasis, Lance felt that bubbling warmth in him expand. It had been so long, so damn long since they last saw each other. A lump was rising in his throat, along with all the words that were at the tip of his tongue, wanting to overflow and spill like an ocean tide as the boy grinned back at him, violet eyes glinting.

Keith still looked the same, dark hair equal parts messy and curly, a wild untamed mane that had only grown longer in his time away from his friends. The ends were curling at his nape, tracing the elegant curve of his neck and falling over his ears. Keith’s jawline had only grown more defined, sharp cheekbones meeting his nose that wrinkled in distaste at the smell of smoke. Lips were quirked in a wry smirk, almost tugging a response from Lance right there and then. But it was his eyes, purple orbs that looked like the galaxy had poured itself into them, framed by dark lashes and fierce eyebrows. Those eyes that kept staring at him and fuck why couldn’t he just-

“I missed you man.” Lance choked out at he flung his arms around Keith, hugging the other boy tightly. Keith releases a muffled gasp in shock, spine stiffening before his own arms are winding around Lance, fingers digging into the paladin armour. They can’t hug properly with their suits getting in the way and being in battle made this intimate reunion far briefer than Lance would have liked. But the sentiment is there, Keith’s warm breath washing over his ear as the other boy stammers out a ‘me too’, the chaos around them melting into nothing.

“Okay, okay.” Lance finally mumbled, taking a deep breath and no he was not crying getting back to the task at hand, “I found the hatch to the library. So-”

“I’ve got your back.” Keith cuts him off, beaming up at Lance as he grabs on tightly to his knife. Nodding determinedly, Lance picks up the red bayard and watches as it transforms from a shield into his favourite long-range rifle. Eyes meeting Keith’s, he grins cockily as he pulls up the ledge, motioning to Keith with his free hand.

“After you, partner.”

“What a gentleman.” Keith retorts flatly, rolling his eyes as he looks down at the dark foreboding drop. Before Lance can say anything, Keith is moving, mask sliding back in place over his face. Fluidly pressing a hand to the edge, Keith swings his legs over, dropping into the abyss. Staring in disbelief at the empty spot beside him, Lance finds himself leaning down, voice echoing as he spoke.

“Are you alive Kogane? Or are you talking to darkness my old friend?”

“Get your ass down here before it gets shot Mcclain.”

And maybe he’s imagining it, but Lance is rather sure he detects a note of fondness in Keith’s exasperated tone. Grumbling under his breath because sure let’s all just jump into a tunnel that drops down into a pitch-black god knows what, Lance whines as he swings his legs over. Why couldn’t they just have one off day? Just one! Around them the battle is raging in the sky, but down here, the dust is still settling around debris. The people’s screams were distant now, and Lance knew that the next batch of Galran patrols wouldn’t be far along. Hand fumbling for the latch, he takes a deep breath before he jumps, slamming the door back down as he makes the leap.

It’s strangely enough reminiscent of when they first found Blue and the ground had swallowed them whole. Only this time, there were no blue glowing carvings, Lance failing his arms in panic as the darkness seemed to envelop him entirely. Oh Dios mío, Lance whimpers as the fall extends, and all he feels is the way gravity pulls him down, and the way his stomach drops uncomfortably. Squeezing his eyes shut, Lance waits for the impending halt where he smacks against the heavy tiles of the library’s floor. Except it never happens, and Lance lets out an undignified squawk as he lands on something else.

Something else being Keith, Lance realises in dismay as his eyes snap open and falls on the way the other is very much carrying him. Squeaking, Lance feels his cheeks flush, heat crawling up his neck as Keith tilts his head, a loud snort escaping him. Bringing himself back to the present, Lance yelps as he scrambles out of Keith’s arms, the other boy just looking at him in amusement. (Was it even looking if he had his mask on? Who knew what the hell Keith’s expression even was?)

“Y-You carried me!”

“Yeah. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Let you fall?” Keith asks, voice bemused as Lance flaps his arms. Squeaking in distress, Lance stutters as Keith’s mask continues to look vaguely in his direction.

“I-I, b-but-”

“I hope you remember this bonding moment?” Keith teases, and Lance wants to scream. Or chuck something. Anything to reduce his sky-rocketing blood pressure and rising heart rate.

“I-I THANKS.” Lance finally blusters out loudly, flushing as he quickly looks away. He hears Keith murmur a soft ‘your welcome’, but his attention has long since been taken by the room. His initial view of Uthara, with its elegant architecture and tasteful designs were not something the library had followed. The walls were not made from concrete, or whatever form of concrete Uthara had, but were of a smooth acrylic like material. The colour scheme had changed too and had a warmth that Uthara’s landscape did not offer. Kaleidoscopes of red, orange and yellow danced in ripples as Lance shines his torch at the walls, and he’s so entranced that he hardly notices Keith until the other boy touches his wrist.

“There are lamps following the corridor.” Keith whispers, and Lance can almost picture those violet eyes side-eyeing him, a smirk gracing those lips.

He really hated that mask.

“Seriously? Like old kerosene lamps?” Lance whines as he lifts one up in disbelief, “They can find and connect with extra-terrestrial life-forms, but they have no electrical lights?”

Sure enough, the area is completely covered in darkness save for that one spot his torch is shining at. When he brings that single beam of light to the corridor, Lance deflates at the sight of more lamps adorning the walls. They’re cute, Lance muses, shaking the handle of the lamp he had. Shaped like a gum drop, they’re framed by a dark purple cage embossed with entwining plants. Keith however, is not as enraptured and sighs beside him, quickly pulling the lamp over and lifting his blade when he pauses.

“You’re right.”

“Wha- Are you on drugs Kogane?” Lance raises an eyebrow, looking at Keith bewilderedly. The other boy says nothing, sheathing his knife as he turns over the lamp. It must be a look of intense concentration, but Lance couldn’t see anything because of that damn mask-

“Uthara is a place that’s technologically advanced.”

“O-kay?” Lance rolls the ‘o’ slowly, tongue curling as he tilts his head at Keith who continues looking at the lamp, “So you think that there should be electrical lights? I mean yeah but why are you pausing I mean it might be purple but-”

Lance pauses.

“Keith, hand me the lamp.” He says calmly, and watches as Keith presses it against his awaiting palm. Sweat is starting to trickle down his neck, and Lance notices for the first time just how cramped the corridor was. Not to mention the stale air. Fumbling around as he rearranged his wrist so the light from his comms could fall on the bottom of the lamp, Lance feels his heart drop as he presses his fingers against the embossed symbol. It’s dark, and his vision isn’t accustomed to the lack of light, but he’s pretty sure he knows that crest. Even if he didn’t have that to go on, Keith’s sharp intake of breath (damn that Galran night vision) is enough for him to realise.

“We need to get out of here.” Lance says quietly, looking at Keith who’s frozen like a statue beside him, “The corridor is too cramped and it’s too dark. We have no way to fight properly, and while you can see in the dark I don’t have night vis-”

“Shut up.” Keith whispers, and Lance gives a muffled squeak of outrage as the other slaps a hand over his helmet. It doesn’t technically keep him quiet, but Keith’s movements are stiff, and his head is turned away, looking in the other direction. The silence drags on, and Lance squirms, finally aware of how he’s pressed against the wall. Keith’s hip is digging into his, back shielding Lance who’s now caught between praying he lives and wishing he was dead. Keith Kogane was a dangerous man to desire, and their position wasn’t helping.

Caught up in his focus on where they were touching and blind to boot, Lance barely registers the loud snarl Keith lets out before he’s shoved backwards. Gasping, Lance scrambles upright, fingers finding purchase on the sandy floor before shooting upwards. His knees are bruised, and he’s pretty sure his paladin armour is scratched, but that’s not his main concern. He still can’t see anything, but his sense of hearing is just fine, and Lance flinches as he hears Keith growl. It’s painful to hear, the sharp screeches of the wall paired with the fierce stomps against the floor, hearing something crash in a deep ominous way. He needs to back Keith up, but his bayard isn’t in his hands, knocked out when Keith shoved him. And he can’t switch on the light because if Keith couldn’t adjust to the change in lighting fast enough, he was going to end up a dead man.

“Come on. Come on, come on, come on!” Lance hisses as he bats out in front of him, squinting in the dark. He flinches as something lands a little too close to comfort near his right calf, and is rewarded with Keith’s loud roar and the sound of a something snapping. He has my back, he has my back. Lance chants in his mind, smoothing his palm out on the floor in front of him as he fights back the overwhelming surge of panic. As if Keith wasn’t fighting god knows what behind him and shielding him while he was blind like a bat. As if the possibility of Keith dying wasn’t happening right now behind him while he couldn’t find his fucking stupid bayard that- His fingers curled around something smooth, and Lance snarls as he feels the weight transform into a rifle.

Bingo.

Swerving around so that he’s kneeling on one knee and that his other leg is propped up, Lance calls out a warning to Keith seconds just before he switches the light attached to his helmet. Bless Pidge and her constant desire to make sure the paladin suit was equipped with everything, Lance thinks distractedly as the corridor is flooded with bright light. Keith’s standing on Lance’s right, blade held up to his mouth while his entire body goes rigid as he hisses. There’s two resident purple chinchillas, adorned in their full battle regalia yelping against the bright lights, and Lance doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. It takes him eight quick shots to put both out of commission, and Lance decides to end their misery by delivering two clean shots through their heads, execution style.

Panting heavily, adrenaline still cresting below his skin even though he had it under control, Lance takes a moment to survey the damage. There were four Galras, and judging from their different badges on their uniform, had come from different platoons and sections altogether. Which meant they had probably gone rogue to search for expensive memorabilia that they could sell on the black market. Lips curling in distaste, Lance slowly gets up to get a closer look, now sure that it had just been a bad case of coincidence. The other two Galrans had their throats slit, but Lance winces as he catches the odd angle one of the heads is bent at. Keith must have broken its neck in a fit of rage, and a good thing it was small. He’d like to see Keith try to break Sendak’s neck that complete utter buffoon.

Tutting at the blood splattered walls and the way the Galrans now completely blocked the small corridor, Lance turns his attention back to the task at hand. Just because the lamps were Galran lamps did not mean that they were still here. Instead, it was more likely that these were just a couple of stragglers, and their whole platoon and section had already moved out after scanning the place. But just to be on the safe side, Lance hails Pidge, left hand wavering over his comms.

“Lance! Did you manage to reach-”

“I’m in the library with Mullet. We got ambushed by what seems to be several stragglers from the Galran army and it sucked. I was wondering if you could do a quick heat signature scan? I’d rather we not get ambushed aga- Keith? Buddy? You don’t look too goo-Fuck.” Lance hisses as he dives towards Keith who’s swaying, eyes closed.

“Lance? Keith? What’s going on?” Shiro’s voice echoes, voice strained and Lance falters, not quite sure what to say.

“I don’t know! We got ambushed and,” Lance paused as his gaze finally fell on the way Keith was covering his abdomen, “and the bastard got himself stabbed!”

“What?!”

“Again?” Hunk wails in the background as the other three paladins shouted in alarm.

“I didn’t get stabbed!” Keith protests, and Lance deadpans before gesturing to Keith’s hand, the area where the suit was getting progressively darker.

“Then what do you call this? Cause from where I’m looking at it, that wound’s gushing like the Niagara Falls.” Lance hisses, smacking his forehead in disbelief as Keith bats his hand away, the boy grunting.

“Not, stabbed.” He huffs out, and Lance lets out a hysterical laugh as he sits down in front of Keith, the other sliding to the ground.

“Fine! Fine! You haven’t been stabbed and that’s totally not blood gushing down your side!” Wringing his hands, Lance snarls, eyes flickering between the wound and back to Keith’s face that’s still covered, wincing as the other paladins screeched over the comms.

“… Stabbed implies the knife is still in there. The knife went through.” Keith states calmly, and there’s a moment of peace, the calm before the storm, when all hell breaks loose.

“Are you fucking mental?!” Pidge screeches into the comms as Lance takes a moment to process what the fuck boy wonder himself had just said, “That makes the wound a million times worse!”

“Never remove a knife from the wound. That’s what our first aid lessons at the Garrison said. Right? Please tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that you’re supposed to take the knife out.” Hunk blabbers nervously, voice climbing several octaves.

“Well according to my medical knowledge on Altean medicine, taking the knife out or not depends on whether or not the patient has internal bleeding.” Allura’s voice pipes up worriedly, and Lance snaps.

“Well from where I’m fucking looking he’s bleeding everywhere! Externally! Internally! Bleeding!” Lance shrieks, hands trembling as he clutches onto his bayard, eyes wide as he looks at the growing dark patch. It’s an omen, a dangerous one, and Lance wants to cling onto his anger, or else he’d have to think about Keith dying. And those two words were ones that Lance would never put together. He refused. Those thoughts are cancelled.

“Settle down all of you!” Shiro’s voice cuts through this time, and Lance feels the soft brush of reassurance against his consciousness before it’s replaced by fury. Wincing slightly, Lance allows Red to push through his memories, her fear fuelling her anger and ferocity as she tried to make sense of why her previous and current paladins are in distress. When she reaches the memory of Lance looking down at Keith’s wound, Lance feels that flare of anger that matches his. It’s what made it so easy to pilot Red, Lance thinks as annoyance, exasperation and worry finally kicks in, and Red pushes at his mind instinctively for reassurance. He’ll be fine if he gets help in time. Lance offers, and Red grumbles moodily in the back of his mind, unsatisfied with his response.

“We need you to hold out for just a little while longer. At least until Hunk is done with the ion canons. Two more to go and Red would be clear to fetch you two.” Shiro states firmly, and Lance can’t help the next sentence that falls from his lips.

“How long?”

“We’ll try to make it within three doboshes.” Hunk answers, and Lance would have laughed at the way Red vigorously states her assent if Keith wasn’t bleeding to death right in front of him. The bastard still has the strength to do a partial shooing motion with his right hand, and it’s that movement that makes Lance growl.

“I’m going to fucking kill y-”

“Anyway,” Pidge quickly interrupts him, rolling her eyes at the ridiculous pair, “Lance should stay with Keith. Setting the city’s defences is pointless when we’re doing fine without it. Don’t go looking for the framework’s records in the library and just stay there.”

“What? No, the mission-”

“You utter buffoon! Were you born in a barn?!” Lance screeches, and all four remaining paladins wince as his voice cuts through. Quickly muting their side of the channel, Pidge opts for a quick scan using her various tiny drones, satisfied when she finds that there are only two human heat signatures in the library. She tells the others that, and Shiro sighs in relief, Allura pleased that they did not have to worry as much about their paladin’s rest when Hunk speaks up, voice cautious.

“That’s great but, I don’t think Keith is going to survive Lance.” Hunk says nervously, and there’s a pause before all four paladins groan, Lance’s voice still replaying in their memories. It’s to that thought that they get back into battle, praying that the two didn’t accidentally strangled themselves waiting.

“I wasn’t born in a-”

“Could have fooled me boy wonder! Didn’t even squeak when a sword passed through you. Do you know what you are right now Keith? Do you?! Dios mío. ¡Eres un idiota, un tonto! You’re a kebab Keith, a fucking kebab! Only there isn’t a freaking skewer to hold you in place!” Lance practically vibrates with anger that only balloons up as Keith laughs, throwing his head back so that he’s leaning against the wall. It’s not what he wants to hear right now, Keith’s rare laughs, warm and husky while in the middle of a battle, in a dusty narrow old corridor with a large bleeding wound. He hates it.

“For fuck sake.” Lance snarls, tugging at Keith’s hood with his free hand, “Take off your damn mask and let me use the hood to staunch your wound you niño!”

Keith complies, and Lance feels his heart shutter as Keith tilts his face upwards so that their eyes meet, and he gets to study Keith properly again. There’s a sheen of sweat covering Keith’s upper lip, and his pale skin tone seems even more pallid than usual, a sign that ties Lance’s stomach into knots. But those eyes are still strong, purple fire dancing in them, and Lance relaxes slightly as he takes Keith’s dagger and hacks off the hood. He returns the knife quickly though, knowing it’s Keith heirloom, and proceeds to slide the cloth as much as he could under and above the wound. It’s difficult work, but Lance is trying, brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to stop the blood flow.

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t born in a barn.” Keith finally rasps out, a statement that Lance completely ignores in favour of the cloth, when he speaks again.

“I’m from Texas. Actually.” Keith breathes heavily through his nose, and Lance should be wondering how high his pain tolerance is so much so that he’s only slightly wincing from being a Keith kebab, but he has other matters to pay attention to.

“Texas? Like howdy partner, welcome to ma home range Texas?” Lance breathes, eyes locking with Keith who grimaces, scowling at him.

“I was thinking more along the lines of homophobic neighbourhood but that works too.” Keith grunts, looking away, and Lance feels his mouth go dry. They all knew Keith’s background, even if they had never quite explicitly talked about it. Being paladins meant that they had to know each other well, and that meant sharing painful past stories. It was through that, everyone had found out how Lance and Hunk knew each other – a counselling programme that helped Lance with his eating disorder and Hunk with his anxiety. Keith on the other hand had a healthy dose of abuse and various other abandonment issues. The abuse was never enough that it warranted Keith a change in foster home, but it didn’t make him feel anymore wanted or loved. Hesitating, Lance chewed on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact as Keith looks at him, waiting for a comment.

Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up.

“You know, after you left.” Lance swallowed, clearing his throat as he scooted closer, settling his helmet on the ground between them. He knew what he had to say, what he wanted to say. But why was this so difficult?

“After you left, it was really difficult. Still is.” Licking his lips, Lance hesitated, wondering if it was okay to show it to Keith. As much as the other was observant, Lance knew it only applied to combat or strategizing situations. There was a very high possibility that the message he was trying to send would just fly over Keith’s head. Which would be good, Lance tried to convince himself, because that meant he could just bury his crush on the other and resume his pining sad days. On the other hand, there was also a possibility Keith would get it, and would either think he was being really creepy, or really sweet.

“You’re,” Keith closed his eyes, breathing deeply before they flared open, focusing on Lance, “Stop stalling.”

“Okay.” Lance whispers softly, and Keith is gazing at him with such raptured attention that Lance kind of doesn’t want to pull his attention to something else. But he has to anyway, and he holds up his bayard, smiling brightly as it transforms into his beloved rifle. Furrowing his eyebrows, Keith wrinkles his nose in confusion, eyes darting between the shiny red rifle and Lance who’s still grinning nervously up at him.

“Umm… After you left, I kind of did a lot of thinking. It was really lonely without you there to be worse than me you know.” At Keith’s snort, Lance feels his confidence bolster, and he continues speaking, hands failing around.

“Anyway! I was being sentimental one night and uh. I kind of remodelled the rifle a bit. Well it remodelled itself for me and it turned out quite well.” Lance mumbled, turning the rifle, “It was like the perfect size and it, they managed to fit the clear acrylic instead of the white so I-”

“That’s a photo of me.” Keith speaks slowly in disbelief, before his eyes widens as he looks at Lance, “That’s a photo of me on your rifle’s stock.”

“Uhhh…” Lance looks at Keith nervously, only to hiss as Keith jerks upright, the other wincing in pain before his gaze falls on Lance again. There’s a spark in those eyes, swirling with emotions that Lance can’t quite place, and then Keith speaks softly, voice low and tender.

“You used me as the photo for your rifle’s handle. Your version of a sweetheart grip. Right?” Keith whispers, and maybe it’s the lighting but Lance is almost certain Keith is blushing. And that would do wonders for his self-esteem if he wasn’t already having a meltdown over how Keith knew of that fact.

“What?! How, how did, wait I, you,” Lance stammers, before giving in, “Hunk doesn’t even know what a sweetheart grip is!”

“So it is a version of a sweetheart grip?” Keith questions, voice rising an octave as he looks at Lance, face pink.

“I, I don’t, I-” Lance blusters, “Why are you so interested in what it means anyway? How do you even know about sweetheart grips?”

“W-Well, my dad used to like guns. The knife thing was from my mum side and he always explained to me what it was.” Keith’s voice grew smaller, and Lance frowned, eyeing how the boy was starting to be out of breath, “my, my dad would keep a photo of my mum. It was a 1911 pistol, really old. It, it had the clear acrylic grip, so he placed her photo there.”

“Keith, I think you should lean back.” Lance whispered, crawling forward to touch Keith’s forehead, only to hiss as the boy smacked his hand away. Yelping, Lance flushed as Keith grabbed his hands instead, yanking them to his chest, and Lance flinched as Keith stared at him, violet eyes dark and fierce.

“He told me, he told me it was tradition. That soldiers in, in World War Two would put pictures of their families or lovers. Bring, bring them to war with them as a good luck charm. A h-happy memory.” Keith breathed shakily, and now Lance was worried. Because having Keith be knowledgeable of sweetheart grips is one thing. Having him panting for oxygen and shivering is another. But he must answer, Lance knows that Keith is stubborn, and so he flushes but enunciates clearly anyway.

“Yeah, it’s my version of a sweetheart grip. I got that photo from our very first group shot after we flew Voltron.” Pursing his lips, Lance moves to touch Keith’s forehead but sighs as the boy refuses to budge. How could a wounded man be so strong, Lance had no idea, but he settled back down to look at Keith. Keith who’s licking his lips nervously and staring up at Lance with a wary expression.

“A-And what does that mean?” Keith asks, and Lance gaps comically, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Seriously? What does that mean? I personally requested my bayard to come packaged with a clear stock and placed only your photo. I didn’t even place a group one when we have plenty of those! Oh Dios, you do the math and tell me!” Lance whispers harshly, biting his lip as he looks away, cheeks flushing and ears turning red. He could feel the way heat travelled up his spine, crawling over his neck, the way his heart was beating erratically in his chest, out of sync with the rest of his body. It burned, anticipation roiling in his gut until Keith finally speaks up, voice squeaky.

“You. You umm, you like, me?” Keith asks, voice high and breathless, eyes searching Lance’s.

“Oh no. Nooooo, I don’t like you at all! Dios no lo quiera.” Lance snaps back sarcastically, face burning. At his words, Keith’s face shutters and he looks away, fringe falling over his eyes and lips pressed into a thin line. The silence is deafening in its own way, and Lance bites his lip as Keith leans his head against the wall, head thudding softly against it. This was ridiculous, the worst timing to even have this conversation. And yet, Lance couldn’t help himself as he gently brushed Keith’s cheek, finger pads caressing smooth porcelain skin while he struggled to fit his emotions into words. Keith’s gaze finally fixes on him, and Lance feels his chest contract, his heart stutter a soft whimper in the silence of the underground corridor.

“Keith-”

“L-Shit-Lance can you hear me?” Pidge’s voice suddenly crackles through the headset, and Lance shakes his head, chest tight even as he asks what’s wrong.

“We’re heavily outnumbered.”

“What?” Lance asks flatly, shoulder stiffening as he hears Pidge’s blunt statement. Without thinking, perhaps out of habit, or just plain foolishness, his eyes slide to Keith. Assessing his pale shivering body, the way his lips are pressed into a grim line, looking at the cloth that’s staunching the bleeding and getting darker and darker and-

“There’s already a limited number of blades with us, so we can’t send a search party to you.” Shiro’s voice echoes through the comms, and Lance can physically feel his throat closing, like the air in his lungs is getting crushed. A deflating balloon.

“Shiro, Keith’s bleeding heavily. We need a pod.” Lance whispers, voice soft as he clutches at his suit like it’s his only lifeline.

“Is it possible for you to get to a refugee area?” Hunk’s voice comes through, grunting loudly as he faces off the ion canons.

“That’s just going to exacerbate his wound! He’s bleeding out on the floor, he can’t breathe properly, he’s pale, he’s shaking, he’s-” Lance cuts himself off this time, pressing a fist to his lips as he shuts down that dangerous train of thought. Imagining soft puffs becoming still air, imagining warm hands turning cold, imagining the stillness of a chest that’s meant to be pumping oxygen. The fear creeps up on him, tendrils coy and heavy, targeting everything he’s most afraid of, making him choose when they know he can’t. Keith or Uthara? Keith or Uthara? He can call down Red, he can grab her from battle right now and have Keith bundled back in the Castle in no time. But if he does that, someone is going to die because they’re spread out too thin.

Keith, or Uthara?

“Yeah we’ll see you there. Send us the co-ordinates and come pick up the refugees the minute there’s a lull in the battle.” Keith’s voice is surprisingly steady as he speaks, even as each huff of air comes out quivering. Lance is blinking, confused as there’s a soft murmur of assent and the comms die down again.

“We’re going to go to the nearest refugee area to wait. The next time there’s a lull in battle they’ll pick us up with the refugees, and that way everyone is saved. Sound good?” Keith states firmly, and Lance is almost convinced that Keith is fine. That this is just some fucked up nightmare. That Keith is not actually bleeding out in front of him as three doboshes become five, and now eight.  But he knows, Lance knows Keith is not okay. Even if there wasn’t incriminating evidence in front of him, Lance can hear it in his voice. It’s not the same casual rumble, the confident curl of words. It’s a gentle breeze, a soft whisper at night.

It sounds like goodbye.

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare speak like-” Lance chokes, and he swears softly to himself as something wet graces his cheek. Purple eyes stare at him, glimmering with emotions that still haven’t been unravelled, but Lance knows. Of course, he knows. He knows everything about Keith.

“Stop crying.” Keith’s voice is low, and Lance wants to hit him. He wants to do it properly, have a proper conversation about all the things that went unsaid in their relationship before Keith left. He wants to let it out, accept the results of this tug of war and bury himself in a seven-foot grave filled with affection. He wants to ask Keith if the other dreamt of him, wants to ask if they can dream together. If that bed is big enough for two.

“Keith I-”

“I know. I don’t need a large confession, although confirmation would have been nice but-” Keith sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering close before he’s looking at Lance with renewed effort and laser-like intensity, “I know Lance.”

The words “I’ve always known” hang between them, its presence large and stifling as the air around them is charged with tension once again. But this time is different. There’s no antagonism to it like when they first met, and neither is it filled with soft brash banter like their friendship. This time it’s a quiet kind of vibration, a soft hum of feelings that are too precious, too pure to last in war. Lance wants to curl up and cry, wants to ask if there’s a deity out there that can make this situation better. But it’s war – people get injured and not everyone survives.

Except Keith is going to survive, Lance decides, closing his eyes before snapping them open with steel like determination. He’s not going to let Keith bleed to death in front of him. He points blank refuses that possibility. And if the universe is going to keep shoving it in his face, well he’s going to shove it right back.

“Don’t you dare die on me. You got that pretty boy?” Lance whispers, voice shaky as he stands, thighs numb as he lifts himself off the ground. Around them the corridor is alive with colours, dancing crimson like it’s out for blood, golden lines hissing against the walls. There’s rubble everywhere, and around them are blood splatters, Galran corpses. But Keith replies anyway, tilting his head up to give Lance a smile, lips curling with satisfaction.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He murmurs, and Lance knows right there and then that he has never seen anything prettier than Keith. No person, no object, no scenery would ever be able to compare to that warm smile, the timbre of his voice, the callouses on his hands, the dark hair and those gorgeous eyes. Except Lance has always known that, fought against this truth since he first laid eyes on the boy. But now it’s an easy surrender, a simple rush of emotions that pushes through every single fear and barrier he placed, crushing it all in one sweep. Because it’s easy and simple, always had been, to love Keith Kogane.

“Let’s go then.” Lance shoots a smile that he’s pretty sure looks more like a grimace, but he tries anyway and moves forward to support Keith as he gets off the ground. It’s difficult work, the other boy hissing in pain as he stands and weakly presses the cloth against his side; but they make it work as they always did. Lance slings an arm across Keith’s shoulders, squeezing his right arm in reassurance as his left holds on to his bayard. Hissing softly as the pain hits, Keith groans, voice reverberating in the empty corridor as he limps forward, sucking in a shallow breath of air.

“Come on” Lance murmurs, his turn to be cajoling as Keith’s head hung forward, expression dark with stifled agony, “Let’s get going buddy.”

It’s not easy to navigate their way out according to Pidge’s map. Though Uthara’s library has always been underground, parts of it had caved in due to the destruction above. The limited routes available for them to reach exits were being narrowed down even further the longer it took for them to move. Looking down frantically at his wrist, Lance swears softly as the ceiling rumbles, shaking dust and chipping off the ceiling at the same time.

“We’re almost there Keith. Once we’re at the camp site I’ll be able to fix you up properly.” Lance croons softly, pressing his lips to Keith’s hair as the other shudders in his grip. Keith lets out a bark of laughter, right foot taking another step unsteadily even as the world around them tilts against their favour.

“You’re such a fucking romantic.” Keith whispers, voice rough as his hand curls into lance’s shoulder, fingers digging in as he stumbles over a piece of debris. Lance swallows, trying to calm his heart, the way it feels like a glass piece that’s too hollowed out. Keith’s skin is pallid, perspiration sticking to his forehead as every breath rattles his frame.

“You know I am.” Lance mutters, body shuddering as he catches sight of the underground door, rusty with age and heavily bolted. Apparently bomb shelters were universal, and something twists in him as he acknowledges the reason behind that fact. Keith must sense it, because he turns his head to speak but Lance doesn’t give him the chance to as he slams his fist against the door.

“Who’s there! Who- Red Paladin!” There’s a gun shoved in his face, but Lance bats it away as he glowers at the guard. Beside him Keith says nothing, but Lance can feel the thrumming of his heart, beating in time with his. Please don’t fade please don’t fade pleasedon’tfade-

“I’ve got an injured ally. Move.” Lance growls darkly and the guard flinches, immediately standing aside as Lance finally loops his arms around Keith, lifting him off the ground. The guard’s head is bowed, rose coloured horns looping across their head as they keep their gaze on the floor. Any other time and Lance would have laughed, placed a hand on their back and told them it wasn’t necessary. Now Lance ignores this show of respect, arms trembling from a different kind of strain as he begins to move.

“Ngg- pretty sure that’s not in, ah, the medical, handbook.” Keith chokes out, lips pressed into a thin line as Lance steps away from the wide-eyed children burying behind adults. Blankets are spread across the cold granite floor, and around them rainbow candles glowed from the walls, emergency stashes piled up high as the electric lights flicker on and off. A different kind of material hangs from the ceiling, looping across the bunker as curtains, acting like banners for a celebration. They’re woven with multi-coloured threads, and the rainbow candles illuminate sunset colours on them, painting hues of golden warmth that makes Keith reach out with wonder. Lance ducks behind a billowing curtain, crosses bodies that have long since stopped bearing warmth, ignoring weeping parents who reach out to touch the ground he walks on, imploring. It’s Keith who offers words of comfort, weak hands reaching out to touch the children, flashing a soft smile that has them staring in awe.

It’s the most beautiful smile Lance has ever seen.

“Lance-”

“You are my priority. Do you understand that? I will not, I refuse-”

“Lance, the people. The people-” Keith pulls at Lance’s armour, voice rough as he forces Lance to look at him, “The people are your priority.”

“No.” Lance whispers, shuddering as he finally lays Keith down on a spare bed of blankets, the guards silently handing him pillows as he props one behind Keith’s back. There’s a low growl from Keith’s throat as he stills Lance’s hand, eyes flames of purple as he grips it tight. It starts out low in his gut, roils of heat, burning up to his chest that houses his heart. Keith is stubborn, his temper still flaring even as he bleeds out on the bedding, his fingers claws in Lance’s skin, Lance’s soul.

“Yes. You will comfort them. You can’t-”

“I can’t lose you again!” Lance roars, his voice echoing around the bunker as he finally snaps, the dam breaking into smithereens. Below him Keith flinches in shock, his grasp loosening as Lance moves to cup his face, touch gentle and bittersweet.

“You’re not losing me! I’m alive and-”

This stupid, stubborn, fool! Lance snarls, ripping his hands away as he moves to unroll the medical bandages. Around them the people of Uthara are staring, and Lance’s fingers shake as he winds the bandage around Keith, eyes starting to blur with tears as he finds nothing else useful to staunch the bleeding. There are soft murmurs, whispers of it’s the previous red paladin, they’re lovers, he’s dying that Lance steadily ignores.

“Lance, they’re scared-”

“You are all I’m fighting for. All I have. Do not, for the love of God Keith-” His voice cracks, and Lance feels it then, the tears he had dried trickling down his face. It’s silent save for his sobbing, little wet cries of disbelief, the stress and everything that had been culminating finally falling apart at the seams. At his tears Keith’s visage of fury, his aura of calmness, fades. His face crumples and Lance wants to die for a whole other reason as Keith entwines their fingers, gasping softly as tears slide over his cheeks, glinting under the candlelight.

“I wanted so much.” Lance chokes out, shoulders trembling as he clings onto Keith’s grip like a lifeline, “And I never got to tell you before you left. I wanted-”

“I’m sorry fuck I’m so sorry Lance, I’m so sorry-” Keith rasps, head bowed as he cries silently, shoulders shaking.

“Don’t apologise. Don’t you dare.” Lance snaps, his voice breaking, “I still haven’t brought you to Varadero. I haven’t showed you the beach and the sand. Soft fine sand, not the coarse desert sand. I haven’t showed you everything yet so don’t you dare-”

“Lance I’m not going to-”

“I said DON’T SAY THAT!” Lance shouts, eyes closing as he presses Keith’s knuckles to his lips, back muscles pulled taut with fear, “Please don’t say it.”

“But it’s true.” Keith whispers, raising his head as purple eyes stare at Lance melancholically, “Everything is blurring around me Lance. I can’t see anything. I can’t see-”

I can’t see you.

“But you can feel me.” Lance answers roughly, voice and octave deeper as he shifts his position, kneeling closer to Keith whose eyes are starting to lose focus. “I’m right beside you. I’m here and I’m not leaving. I’m not going to let you leave me a second time.”

“Yeah?” Keith’s bottom lip trembles as he speaks, fingers curling into Lance’s armour, “Not going to let me leave without a kiss sharpshooter?”

Wet laughter blubbers up from his throat as Lance snorts, leaning his forehead against Keith’s, “Lots of kisses. As many as you want. Every morning and every night.”

“S-sounds like a proposal.” Keith’s voice hitches with pain, and Lance feels that sound grip his heart, squeezing it like a vice. His palms are clammy in Lance’s hands and Lance feels his own heart drop, fear acute and sharp.

“If you want it to be then it will be.” Lance says, voice shaking as he presses a kiss to Keith’s nose, “I’ll get you the best wedding ring in the world. Red and Blue can be our flower girls and Shiro would be overjoyed with a Spring wedding.”

“Hah-” Keith breathes out nervously, “Bold of you to assume I’ll s-say yes.”

Silence fills the void, and Lance shivers as Keith flexes his grip, checking to see if he’s still there as Lance says nothing. The comms are silent, the other Paladins fighting for their lives as the battle raged above. The same dreaded thing every day and night, fighting for peace and giving up their youth when it mattered most. Saying he didn’t regret it would be a lie but saying he wouldn’t do it if he had a choice would be lying too. The bunker around them glows, pulsing orange like the sunset on Varadero, a sign all on its own. There’s a kind of bated silence, as if someone was holding their breath and waiting when Lance is hit with startling clarity of what he wants right now. What he really, really wants.

“Marry me.”

“What?” Keith whispers, disbelief colouring his voice as he squints to look at Lance who moves to cradle Keith, slipping an arm around him.

“Marry me right here and right now.”

“But-”

“Keith, I don’t care. I don’t care if you’re dying, I don’t care if there’s an intergalactic space war raging around us, and I don’t care that we’ll never make it back to earth. I, want, to, marry, you.” Lance punctuates each word with a kiss to Keith’s knuckle, ending on the ring finger as Keith stirs against him, body still warm.

“Lance, I can’t give you what you want. I-” Keith breaks off, body shuddering as he struggles to keep conscious, “There isn’t going to be a Varadero, I won’t, to you I-”

“But I want you.” Lance whispers brokenly, “You’re the only one.” He buries his head into Keith’s shoulder, and Keith chuckles, hand reaching out to caress Lance’s face, his own eyelids flickering in time to the candlelight.

There’s a low groan-like sound, and Lance jerks, wondering what is going on when the voice grows. It starts off at a low timbre, and Lance realises it’s from the guard standing at the entrance of the make-shift hospital bed. Their head is bowed, but their body sways as another note rings out from their throat. It grows in crescendo, the song, unintelligible words that transfer from sweet tones to rolling deep syllables. Around them every being participates, children holding candles, adults cradling dead loved ones. A harmonious gift of lyrical beauty, painting images of all the possibilities and futures available. It’s a mournful song that rips through the soul, heals it. One of longing and heart ache, tasting of wasted seasons and missed opportunities.

It’s then that Keith answers, voice small as his hand grips onto Lance’s armour, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” His voice grows stronger with conviction as the song swells, fingertips pressing hard into Lance’s palm, “I’ll marry you in this life, the next life, in every damn life, Lance I’ll marry you!”

The song is like a church choir, ironically enough, and Lance lets out an actual laugh as a child steps forward and delivers two rings, crystals adorning the blue sides. It’s from a couple, dead or alive Lance doesn’t know. But as he slides the ring onto Keith’s finger and watches as a small huff of laughter escapes, as those lips pull upwards to reveal that glimmer of a smile he loves, Lance finds that it doesn’t matter.

“Promise.” Keith clears his throat, head falling against Lance’s chest as he speaks, trying to enunciate, “Promise you’ll be okay after.”

“I can’t-”

“Promise me.” Keith rasps, body shuddering as he fights to stay awake, eyes still sparkling even in the low lights.

“I promise.” Lance whispers, pressing a kiss to Keith’s cheek, to his lips, to his neck, peppering him with kisses as his heart buoys, following the waves of the ocean. There’s no destination, no way of control, and Lance only knows it too well as he holds Keith in his arms like a fragile piece of his heart.

“Do you-” Keith chokes, “Do you think my dad’s proud? T-That I’m here, that I found Krolia, mum-”

“I’m sure he is. How can he not be?” Lance murmurs, stroking pressing a kiss to Keith’s hair, body trembling. The silence in the bunker is deafening, an unfriendly witness to everything that could have been.

“Bury me somewhere you can visit easily.” Keith mumbles, “Doesn’t matter as long as it’s important to you.”

“Not the shack?” Lance tries to tease even as his voice gets caught in his throat.

“Not the shack. Wherever you are.” Keith whispers, voice trembling as he tilts his head, pupils unfocused as he clumsily tries to look at Lance.

“Fuck, you have no idea how much, how much I love you.” Lance voice cracks as he leans forward.

“Only heaven knows how I loved you Lance.” Keith murmurs, pressing chaste lips to Lance’s own.

“You always have to beat me huh? What’s a man to do when you say something cheesy like that?” Lance mumbled, feeling Keith’s dry cracked lips against his own, something light and sad blooming in his chest.

“I-”

It’s in this precise moment that the whole bunker shakes, dust billowing up as the walls shake, debris flying. The children scream, adults bundling the younger ones into their arms as guards shouted out orders. It’s bewildering, and when the tremors finally stop, Lance can feel the way his heart is beating too fast, running on adrenaline while Keith’s slows, a fading lullaby. Then there’s static, and Lance is jerked out of his thoughts without warning.

“LANCE!”

“Lance, I repeat, can you hear me?”

“Allura? Pidge?!” Grabbing his comms, Lance’s eyes widens as the static disappears, the paladins’ voices finally ringing through.

“Lance, the reinforcements are here. Lance, I repeat, Krolia and Lotor have touched down with reinforcements. Red is clear to go. Red is clear-”

“Red. Red is clear!” Body snapping to attention, Lance turns to the guards, back straightening as hope dawns on them.

“I want all the heavily injured on board first followed by the children and elderly. I will send for more ships, but we need to prioritise those who need medical attention.” Lance orders and the guards spring to action, speaking in their native tongue as they usher the respective people around.

“Keith, Red-” Lance stops, body quivering as he finally notices the peaceful expression on Keith’s face. No, not when we’re so close. Please, please please pleasepleaseplease-

“Red, I don’t care what you’re doing but get down here now.” Lance grits out, and the projection he sends to Red has the lion snarling in the back of his head. It’s a feeling of frustration, hopelessness, and anger. So much anger that Lance can feel it bleeding out from his soul, heavy and dangerous as Red growls in agreement. It fuels his determination as the ceiling where he’s staying at disappears, Red hooking a paw into the ground and lifting it up. The plank comes down, and Lance can feel the worry emanating from the lion.

Paladin. Child. My paladin.

“Red, it’s okay.” Lance soothes as he picks Keith up in his arms, back straight as he takes the first step onto the plank.

My paladin. Gone. Not strong enough.

“It’s okay girl.” Lance hushes as he lays Keith down in the cockpit, strapping him to the makeshift gurney seat, hands touching the other’s cheek gently, “He’ll be okay.”

No. Zarkon. Haggar. Burn.

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of that later.” Lance laughs darkly as he settles into his seat, checking once more on Keith as the final guard steps off the plank. The seat is familiar, and Red’s anger, her anguish, burns in his heart as he switches on the thrusters.

Revenge. Burn. Anger.

“First you’ve got to fly girl.” Lance breathes out through his nose, shoulder hunched as he hysterically laughs, “You’ve got to get to the castle.”

So, she flies.

Exactly the way Keith had taught them to.

Let the sun go out

Tear the bridges down

I'm on my way, on my way

I'm going home

Home

It doesn’t end the way Lance thought it would end. For one, he was pretty sure it would end with him bawling his eyes out, but he doesn’t cry. That’s a first. His mind and body are on autopilot, and after passing Keith to Coran, he forces all memory of the other out of his heart. Because he promised, promised he would be okay.

And so, he gets back into Red and fires her canons. He drops off the wounded and forms Voltron. He becomes the paladin Keith wanted him to be, fills in the shoes left by his lover. But this time he fights with a ferocity that can’t be contained. He’s brutal on the battlefield, clinical to every advantage and disadvantage available to him. The others notice, and Lance can feel the question on everyone’s tongue, the confirmation they’re too afraid to ask for. He ignores them in favour of Red’s anger, burning up in flames of orange and gold. And when he destroys the multiplying ion canons that have been the bane of Hunk’s entire battle with a single shot, no one breathes a word.

It’s only when the battle is over, in the evening of the second day that Lance allows his agony to ripple across the bonds. The effect is instantaneous, Shiro’s loud cry rocketing across all the comms, his sorrow all engulfing. They choke, all of them choke on Lance’s feelings, of sorrow so bone deep that it would take an eternity to wash off. Shiro’s one is similar, his grief almost as heavy as Lance but it’s different. Different because he’s not left with the emptiness of missed opportunities and pretty lips. There’s no time to grieve however, as the lions move forward to help look for survivors. Everyone is sobbing silently, voice cracking in different parts of their sentences, but Lance is steady. He speaks with no stutter, no hesitation. The orders are quick and efficient, almost Shiro-like as he assesses the damage and helps the Utharian people. But they know better, feels it in the bond that twinges with sorrow, a grief so heavy that every step feels like they’ll sink into the ground and never come out.

They’re heading towards the Castle, silent save for a few small sobs that break across the comms once or twice when Lance realises he needs to talk to Krolia. That sends another wave of guilt, so cold and lonesome that Pidge cries out loud. Instantly the emotion fades, and Lance’s soft ‘sorry’ is what makes its way through the comms.

“Lance, it’s not your fault.” Shiro whispers, voice hoarse as they approach the castle, the grief now tightly wound to Lance and Lance alone.

“Shiro is right. We had to save Uthara.” Allura says quietly, voice trembling lightly.

There’s silence before Lance speaks, stirring as if from a deep thought.

“It should be worth it. But it isn’t. Not now.”

Nothing can be said to that, but Allura’s wave of emotions, soft and gentle, acceptance of his feelings is enough for the group.  When their lions finally make their way into the hangers, there are no cheers, no song. The refugees stare as Lance walks down his lion, and their gaze linger with sadness as he walks past, head held high. He walks to the control room, helmet tucked under his arm as he steps forward to meet he Blade of Marmora. Matt’s face is stricken, and Pidge has buried her face into his chest as a silent declaration of support. Turning, he doesn’t look at Kolivan, doesn’t acknowledge the rest. Instead, he walks towards Krolia, pushes Shiro who tries to do the explaining and talks. He talks and talks, and he cries as Kolia wails, sinking to her knees.

“I’m sorry.” Lance whispers, and the words feel like they aren’t enough. Aren’t enough for Krolia whose whole heart is torn into pieces, who snarls at Kolivan in anger and sorrow. Aren’t enough for Shiro whose eyes are closed, missing someone lightyears away who would know how to deal with sorrow. Aren’t enough for everyone who misses and loves Keith.

“No, don’t apologise.” Krolia gasps through watering eyes, shaking her head, “You meant more, more to him than you realised. Knowing you felt the same way, that’s good enough. It’s, it has to be good enough.” Her voice is almost desperate, and Lance swallows the lump in his throat even as tears continue to fall.

“Don’t lose hope.” Coran finally interrupts the silence, moustache bright under the castle lights, “There is still a chance he may regain consciousness. However slim those chances are,” he interrupts Lance, his gaze stern, “you gave him that chance. Your flying and your decision saved Uthara and gave him a chance.”

“It shouldn’t be a chance.” Lance finally chokes out, his fingers gripping his helmet so tightly that his knuckles turn white, “He deserved more than a chance.”

No one stops him when he walks away.

The days bleed into weeks, and Lance throws himself into reparation work just so he can stay near Keith. He’s like Krolia in that aspect he thinks, as Keith’s mother refuses to leave on another Blade mission. Kolivan tries to persuade her, but the result isn’t pretty as Krolia flings insult after insult, snarling angrily. The anger of a mother is fearsome indeed, Lance thinks as Krolia removes her own blade and flings it across the room at Kolivan. The other Galran says nothing, but Lance knows Krolia has won the argument when Kolivan sheathes back her blade and leaves it at the doorway.

“I won’t leave him.” Krolia whispers, chest heaving and eyes wild, “Never. Not for a mission, not for anyone else. Never.” The word again is implied, and Lance draws her into a hug as they spend the evening watching movies and talking about Keith.

The reparation progress is slow, and it’s almost two weeks before the debris is fully cleared, and the refugee camps set up. Pidge manages to re-install the defence system with the records they were supposed to find in the library, easier now that the battle is over. Lance refuses to head down with her, but Pidge never asks, taking Hunk instead. He spends his time taking care of the injured, spends his time rinsing Red from top to bottom as if Keith hadn’t been the one to teach him which panel to remove when cleaning her. Everything reminds him of Keith, Lance realises half way through his replacement of one panel. The training room where Keith had showed him how to use a blade, how to sharpen it properly. The swimming pool where they had spent time canon balling, the observatory where they had watched stars together on lonely nights. The kitchen where they stumbled upon each other and talked about all that they wanted to do in space. Playing with Pidge’s anti-gravity, training in the maze under Shiro’s gaze, the memories come in waves, breaking Lance’s shoreline even when he doesn’t want it to. This time it’s Lotor that finds him crying into Red’s paw and carries him to Krolia, expression sombre.

He wants to say he’s doing okay. That he’s keeping Keith’s promise. But in truth he’s just doing a shitty job of keeping it. And who can blame him? Even Krolia has nothing to say, eyes a little teary as she watches the way Lance acts, the way he moves to accommodate a missing space. A space meant to be taken up by someone else. It hurts like a hot poker stuck to your side.

Burning.

And that’s how it ends. Or at least that’s how Lance assumed it would end. That the ring he wears on his ring finger was going to stay forever even though the space beside him remained empty. That Red’s plates would always remind him of the sheen in Keith’s eyes as he explained her workings. That his voice would ring in his ears every single time Lance stepped into the observatory deck. That every waking moment Lance would spend his time craning for a black mullet, only to falter and remember exactly where Keith was. He had resigned himself to the hollow heart ache that festered like poisoned wounds in his chest. He’s resigned.

“Lance? LANCE GET OVER TO THE MEDICAL ROOM.” Coran’s voice barks over the speakers, and Lance frowns, raising an eyebrow at Hunk. There’s crackling static as Krolia frowns, wiping her hands on her apron as they wait for an explanation. It’s a five-minute-long silence, or at least it feels like five minutes, and Lance is absolutely confused as to what’s going on. This was a strange behaviour from Coran he muses, absently playing with the mixing bowl. There’s the sound of something breaking, a yelp from Coran, and then someone speaks, voice scratchy with sleep but fond.

So fond.

“Get over here sharpshooter. And bring mum with you.”

The bowl Lance is holding drops. The sound rings out in the kitchen, reverberating as Lance tries to convince himself that he isn’t dreaming. He knows that voice, by the lord does he know that fucking voice. But it’s not possible, can’t be possible. He doesn’t believe it’s possible. It takes Krolia, who squeezes his hand, eyes bright before Lance realises it’s true. Hunk is the one who unties his apron and whips it off him, making shooing motions with his hands, and then Lance is flying, racing to the medical room.

The running sound is loud, and his mind is whirling at a thousand miles a minute. He doesn’t know what to think, how to feel. He knows that Krolia and Hunk are probably behind him, that everyone who loves Keith is probably heading there right now, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care if there’s a queue because fuck propriety he’s going to be right at the front greeting him. Chest rising and falling from exertion, Lance is shaking when he notices that Shiro is in front of the door, smiling gently at him. Behind him, Lance can hear Krolia skid to a halt, Hunk panting as he grabs onto Shiro.

“Shiro, does he-”

Does he remember I love him? Does he remember I want to kiss him? Does he remember how we were going to have a beach wedding at Varadero and I would introduce him to my family? Does he remember anything? Does he remember us?

“He remembers.” Shiro answers quietly, patting his back soothingly as his other hand finally pushes the door open, “Go get him Lance.”

He takes a step into the room, the fluorescent lights making him wince. There’s a nudge to his sternum, and Lance looks down at Pidge who grins and shoves him. He stumbles forward two steps, and he would have cursed if he hadn’t seen who was lying on the bed, laughing at Coran. He can’t register what sound he makes, if it sounds like the broken whimper of an animal or an exhilarated cry, but it makes that person turn, and Lance feels his soul go quiet. Peaceful. As if everything it had been yearning for had been found.

Black raven locks mussed up from sleep, skin glowing and those eyes, those fucking eyes. Lance is shaking, legs trembling as he stares at those eyes, those whirlpools of purple, of galaxies left undiscovered. Those eyes that contained all the stars of the universe and controlled the centre of his gravity. Those purple eyes that he thought would never stare at him like that again, warmth and fire dancing in the light.

“Lance.”

“Fuck.” Lance says, ignoring Shiro’s affronted gasp, “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-”

“Lance-” Keith is awkward now, his shoulders hunching forward as he cautiously looks at Lance, voice trembling nervously.

“Shut up.” Lance responds automatically, and Keith actually snaps his mouth shut. His eyes are wide as Lance takes another step forward. And then another. It’s such a slow progress that Keith can’t help it, opening his mouth and letting his annoyance float through the air.

“Are you going to take forever to get here or what?” Keith snaps, huffing anxiously, cheeks slightly pink even as he gives Lance a small nervous smile.

“Shut. Up.” Lance says slowly, and the grin Keith is sporting fades a little as Lance approaches him. If Lance was a little more observant he would notice how on edge Keith was, fingers tugging nervously at the wedding band on his ring finger. Notice the slowly rising guard as Keith’s shoulders shifted, the way Krolia snorts in disbelief while Shiro buries his face in his hands in dismay. But Lance doesn’t notice. He’s too busy trying to take in the fact that Keith is here.

Right. Here.

“You’re here.” Lance finally whispers, back rim rod straight as he finally reaches Keith’s bed side. His fingers are trembling, and Keith shifts awkwardly under his gaze.

“I would hope so. I mean, after everything you did. That you… do remember right?” Keith clears his throat, thumb rubbing the blanket in trepidation. Lance blinks, and then he laughs, hysterical laughs that turn into sobs as he sinks to his knees. Keith is alarmed, immediately leaning over, panic over taking his features as Lance continues to cry.

“Lance! Tell me, I mean, I can’t, why are you crying?” Keith stammers, eyes widening as Lance lets out another laugh.

“Because you’re alive.” Lance whispers, taking Keith’s hand, “Because I thought you were gone but you’re alive. You’re fucking alive.”

The feelings crash, elation, exhilaration, delight. It comes in crashing, rolling waves, ignoring the gravitational pull of his mind. Instead it sings the tune of his heart, the never-ending celebration over the fact that Keith is alive. With his memories intact, body fully functioning. The worried look on Keith’s face vanishes at Lance’s words, and when his gaze catches onto the ring that has remained all this while on Lance’s finger, he melts. Keith’s cheeks are pink, but there’s a determined look in his eyes, full of conviction, even though Lance isn’t sure what for. It’s of no surprise to anyone, save for Lance, when Keith hauls him by his shirt and kisses him. Properly this time.

“I love you.” Keith mumbles out, voice low and tinged with happiness as he pulls away. Everyone around them is cheering, and Lance is sure his ears are burning, but that doesn’t stop the grin that spreads across him.

Keith is alive.

“Only heaven knows how much I love you. Only heaven knows.” Lance whispers, voice catching as Keith smiles brightly at him.

It’s the most beautiful smile Lance has ever seen.