Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Paladins of Voltron are used to being first-responders to any kind of situation, in whatever star system the Castle happens to be occupying at the time. When a passenger ship moving through the Xantherian quadrant experiences unexpected technical difficulties and crashes into the Feltone asteroid belt, it's distress beacon pings off the Castle of Lions. Lance and Keith are the only two not busy, and they're on the scene within minutes. Keith takes a look at the damage alongside the pilot while Lance gets everyone safely into the Black Lion, but it's beyond his ability to repair.

As far as he can tell, the ship is stable, but he's been wrong before and he doesn't want to take any chances.

"There's a lot of pressure on those coils in the second engine," Keith says, approaching Lance where he's holding onto the foot of the ramp, making sure everyone gets themselves and their belongings inside. It's a slow-going process with no gravity and tumbling debris. "I don't think it's safe to move it, even with Red. We should just leave it here for now. We can send someone back to tow it to the colony on Drax."

"You're the boss~" Lance says, lifting a small grin at him.

It's an innocent enough statement, but the salacious way he says it has Keith's face turning red, even as he matches Lance's smile.

"Shut up."

Lance throws back his head and laughs.

The commotion at the head of the ramp sobers them both immediately - the last of the stragglers are going up and a woman pushes past them, frantic to get back out.

"Makuela!"

It must be a name, because the translator in Keith's helmet doesn't pick it up. She launches forward and latches onto Keith the moment he is within reach, and Keith raises his hands to steady her when her unexpected weight threatens to send them both careening away from Black. Lance's hand on the back of his jet back steadies Keith in return.

"What's wrong?" Keith asks the woman.

"Makuela!" she sobs it this time. She shakes Keith, and he is surprised by her strength. "She is not here! I thought she was with my husband - " A man is coming down the ramp, his own worry apparent in the tension of his shoulders since the screen of his helmet obscures his face. The woman's anguish is so near to Keith's face that he couldn't miss it if he wanted to. "But he said she was frightened by the alarms. He thought I had her! She must be hiding - "

Lance's hand moves to Keith's shoulder.

"I'll go check."

"Lance -"

Lance is already firing his jetpack and leaping across the small distance to the passenger ship. The smoke roiling from the engine has thinned, the bay door still gaping open. Lance disappears into it before Keith can form a proper protest, and then he can only sigh.

"It's going to be fine," he reassures the woman, "Lance will find her. Let's get back inside."

He guides her and her husband back up the ramp. The pilot is there, swiping across a tablet. He confirms to Keith that all his passengers and their cargo are accounted for except for the girl and a couple of bags people simply didn't grab in their haste. Twenty-odd passengers fill Black's cargo hold. Keith is considering moving some of them over to Red since they don't intend to tow the shuttle when he hears Lance's voice through his comm, "Keith, I found Makuela. Poor baby was hiding under one of the seats. We're on our way out."

"Good, Lance. Listen, there's no need in crowding - " A shrill whistle in his ear makes Keith wince and put a hand to the side of his helmet, makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Lance's voice crackles suddenly, something agitated and indecipherable. "L-Lance?"

Keith glances around, down the ramp leading out of Black's mouth. That piercing sound rises steadily, until he can barely stand it, teeth grit.

His stomach drops when he realizes what it means.

The ship. Lance.

Keith lunges for the exit - an instant too late.

The passenger ship explodes - fire and light, a rush of heat and roaring sound that is amplified through Keith's active comm. Black snaps her jaws shut to save him. She quakes against the aftershocks. Keith slams himself against the door, beating his fists against it, looking for a seam, his heart and voice choking his throat, "No! Lance!" The people behind him are screaming, frightened, confused.

Makuela's mother wails.

Outside, he hears Red - an echoing roar.

Or maybe that's him.

Maybe Keith is the one making that noise. Screaming, pleading, his entire body burning as he strains to pry the door open with his bare hands. He begs Black to let him out. He dents the living metal. He scrapes his fingers raw through his gloves. His heart thuds in his chest, so hard it knocks the breath out of him. He feels like he's suffocating, each short, rapid exhale fogging the screen of his helmet. He's too hot. He's going to be sick. He's shaking, so weak that he can barely even get a grip on anything, and his hands slide uselessly against the paneling of the door.

The comm is still active, but it's silent.

Keith knows what that means. He knows with a certainty that steals any remaining strength right out of him.

It's such a sudden shift from the adrenaline and fire he felt just a moment ago - the calm, the quiet - that Keith reels from the sensation as if in shock.

His heavy pulse is beating out into his limbs.

Keith loses a little bit of time there.

It feel like a thousand tears, and it's probably only a matter of seconds.

A rumble sneaks into the back of his consciousness, a low familiar vibration that tries to calm him, but Keith is sobbing, gasping. His heartbeat skips. Slows. It doesn't feel right. His own heart is hammering away, quicker than ever, obvious in the way that his head pounds and his hands pulse, the way his body heats to contrast the chill in his chest. But his pulse also feels thready, weak and far away, like it's trying so hard just to make the next beat, and Keith knows what that means, too.

He can't breathe.

Lance.

----

This is what dying feels like.

----

Lance wakes up in a daze, and knows right away that something is wrong.

He feels like he's moving through warm molasses, trying to think with static tickling his brain. His limbs are thick and heavy. He can't catch on a single thought and every time he gets close to one it slips out of his reach into the murky darkness opening up around him. It's a while before he realizes his eyes are closed. He opens them, and that sort of helps. The room is brightly lit, but his vision is swimmy and everything bleeds together - sways to the side, darts back in front of him, indistinct shapes and odd, muted colors. It makes him a little motion sick.

He's lying on a bed in an unfamiliar room. He feels an ache start to build in his chest. Breathing is a chore. Something moves beside him - a blur of hands working a fresh bandage around his arm. Sluggishly, Lance turns his head. It's an alien woman he doesn't recognize, who is part-Galran and part… something else. She has the wide tufted ears with yellow-tipped edges, the purple fur, but she's smallish for a Galra and has luminescent pink eyes. She looks at him as soon as his breathing changes, her ears perking up to catch the sound.

"You've awakened." Even her voice is softer, "How is your pain?"

Lance is alarmed, and confused, but none of that really filters through the gooey static, and he only mumbles, "Howdy..." faintly, remembering an old joke.

The woman adjusts something out of his line of sight. Lance drags his gaze away from her to look at his arm. There are bandages curled around his forearm, smaller ones around some of his fingers. There's something stuck in the back of his hand; a tube with clear liquid. It throbs when he tries to move his fingers. Something else is wrong. Something else doesn't feel right. His chest hurts. And his leg. Something's definitely not right with his leg. It takes a lot more effort than he'd like for Lance to drag his gaze back up when the woman - his nurse, obviously his nurse - puts her hand back on his arm to gain his attention.

"How is your pain, Red Paladin?" she asks again.

Lance thinks about it, and begins to realize that he's actually in a lot of pain. Every inch of him that could possibly hurt is sharp with it. It's easier to think - some of the haze is fading - but he's starting to feel like one enormous, burning bruise and he doesn't know why, and his heart beats nervously. There's a beeping sound that matches it, that draws the nurse's gaze away and puts a slight frown on her face.

"Bad," Lance admits, voice cracking.

She moves one hand to adjust something else, fixes those otherworldly eyes on him again. Her voice remains soft and gentle, enunciating carefully, "Your mate is waiting outside in the hall. Would you like me to bring him in?"

"My…. what?"

Man he really wishes he was less aware again. The pressure is starting to build in his throat, and he doesn't want to cry in front of someone he doesn't know, but it really hurts . He'd rather be totally out of it than feel all this. It's way too much.

He can't do it.

Where is Keith?

The worry slips in out of nowhere. But with it, Lance starts piecing together his last few garbled memories. A fire, or…. An explosion. It was so loud. And hot. And his leg. His leg hurt really bad. His ribs. His head is pounding. A high-pitched whistle that ruined his comm frequency. He doesn't… remember where he was….

Where is Keith?

"Your mate," the nurse says patiently. Lance still doesn't understand what she's saying. He knows they're words, but they're not quite clicking. "Your spouse. He is outside."

It's really hard to talk. His throat is sore.

"Don't…. have one a those…" Lance manages.

Her eyes widen marginally.

"It was rude of me to presume," she says, without a hint of embarrassment, "Your friend is waiting anxiously. Would you like to see him?"

"Sure..."

The nurse stands, adjusts something else, and walks to the door.

She gets it open and barely says two words before his friend is pushing her aside to get into the room, and when Lance sees that it's Keith, he almost wants to laugh. Maybe he does a little, maybe he's smiling, because the raw, anxious terror on Keith's ashen face vanishes as soon as he sees him, and Keith laughs thickly as he sinks into the chair Lance's nurse just vacated. He moves to scoop up Lance's hand, sees the IV, and wraps both hands around his wrist, instead.

His hands are warm and rough in all the most familiar ways, and that alone does wonders to ease Lance's mind, the aches in his body, his growing anxiety. That could also be the pain medicine kicking in. There's a pleasant numbness creeping up his arm, and everything hurts a little less than before.

"You're so….easy to read," Lance says, the words heavy on his tongue, the nurse's words finally processing. He's definitely smiling, now.  How can he not when Keith is right there? He tries to lift his hand and only gets his fingers up to point toward the nurse. "Thought…. we were married."

Keith laughs again, hand moving over Lance's arm, lightly touching the bandages.

"How do you know I didn't propose while you were unconscious?"

"You would…. Coward."

"He may fall asleep on you," the nurse cautions, stepping up behind Keith. She picks up a clear tablet from the bedside table; a slow heartbeat bobs across the screen, other vitals streaming by as she swipes from one window to the next. "But you may stay as long as you like now that he's stable. Shall I bring the other Paladins when they arrive?"

"Sure," Keith says, turning his head, "Thanks, Bex."

Bex bows her head.

"Inform me of your needs, Black Paladin," she says, and leaves with the tablet under her arm.

Keith watches, twisted in his seat, until the door closes without a sound. When he turns back to Lance, he looks so vulnerable and scared that Lance's heart would break into a million tiny pieces if he wasn't totally blitzed from the medication.  Lance moves his fingers again, wanting to squeeze Keith's hand, and Keith, sensing this, loosely wraps his hands around Lance's, careful of the IV taped to the back of his hand.

He brushes his thumb over Lance's knuckles, struggles for a second to clear his throat and find his voice to ask, "How are you feeling…?"

"Messed up," Lance says after thinking about it.

Keith half-laughs, "Like good messed up, or bad messed up?"

"Both? Mmh. I think my…. my leg's asleep?" It's the closest approximation Lance has for the lack of sensation he's noticing now that the pain is dialing down and he's trying to take stock. Ten fingers and ten toes and all that good stuff. "Feels funny." Keith's hand tightens around Lance's fingers, and Lance hums again, trying to focus on that when he feels himself starting to drift off.  He mumbles, "Wondering why 'm not at home, inna pod."

"The Castle was too far away to get you there in time," Keith says, his voice tense, "And… and there was… some stuff a healing pod couldn't fix, Lance."

He's staring at Lance's arm, fingers nervously brushing over Lance's knuckles, tracing down to his fingertips and back up again. Lance watches him, mesmerized by the movement and the faint sensation.

"Practically put your whole rib cage back together when you got… trampled by that thing…. Hey," Lance says suddenly, "The passengers okay?"

Keith looks up, his brow creasing.  "The what?"

Lance tries to move his hand to talk, but doesn't really have the strength.

"The… passengers, dude. The mission… we did that, right? That was a thing? S' why I'm messed up?"

"Right," Keith says faintly, "Yeah."

"So're they okay?"

"Yeah. They're fine."

"All of 'em?"

"Yeah."

"You okay? You look okay."

"I'm fine, Lance."

"Keith… s'matter?"

Keith's voice sounds like it chokes him, and Lance knows something is wrong.  He is so busy watching Keith's restless hands, rubbing some warmth back into his fingers, that he doesn't notice the tears streaking down Keith's face until one drops onto the back of his wrist and seeps through the bandage. Lance lifts his eyes back up. Keith's mouth is a thin trembling line, twisted because he is trying so hard not to let it out, and something overpowering kicks through Lance's growing drowsiness.

"Hey," he says, more firmly, squeezing Keith's fingers, "Keith."

An unexpected laugh busts out of Keith, a watery, weak sound that doesn't fit in with the look on his face. He lifts one hand, drags it across his face to wipe a trail of tears away even as more fall to take their place. He bows his head over Lance, forehead resting on Lance's shoulder, hair tickling his face, and he's shaking so bad that Lance can feel it in the marrow of his bones.

"Lance," his voice is all wobbly, though Lance can't tell whether it's from trying not to laugh or trying not to cry, "You're more worried about everybody else than you are about yourself."

"Oh." Lance sort of sees what's funny about that.

His mouth quirks up, eyes drifting closed. Keith is shaking his head, squeezing Lance's hand with everything he has, and that's the last thing Lance remembers.

----

The pain is back, and Lance is aware of it before he's aware of anything else. He sleeps badly. It's like a fever burning through his body, making him misremember things and have ill, unsettling dreams. He struggles into consciousness hearing Keith scream, feeling warm hands, echoes that are faint and confusing and tumble over one another. There is a weight on the bed beside his shoulder, draped across his chest. When Lance groans and turns his head, trying to focus on something other than the delirious pain , a chair beside his bed scrapes back, and he hears a familiar, comforting voice.

"Hey, bud, you okay? You awake?"

"Hunk...?"

"Yeah, Lance, I'm right here, buddy."

It's easier to talk this time around, easier to move, but doing so sets his whole body on fire. Lance moans in pain, lifts his hand aimlessly and drops it on whatever's lying on his chest. It's an arm, a hand loosely folded in the front of his hospital gown, and Lance squeezes it hard, opening his eyes. Hunk is leaning over him, his face lined with relief and concern. It's not his hand, and Lance turns his head, follows the arm up to a shoulder and sees a head of dark messy hair resting by him on the bed.

"Wha's… goin' on?" Lance asks, disoriented, "Keith?"

Hunk puts his finger over his mouth, drawing Lance's weak attention back to him and wincing apologetically, keeping his voice down, "Dude, it's like the first time he's slept in two days. Can I get you anything? Are you okay, how're you feeling? Should I get a nurse? I can go get a nurse for you, or like, some jello or something. Are you hungry? You've gotta be hungry - "

"No…" Hunk's nervous talking isn't helping. Lance squeezes his eyes closed, forces himself to pull in a breath even though his chest feels like it's going to bust. "Is there… like... a button you can push that makes me not…. feel like I'm dying…?"

"Yeah, yeah, totally, hang on - " Hunk jumps to the bedside table, picks up one of those clear monitors and frantically presses one of the buttons. "Uh - I dunno how strong this stuff is, actually - well - whatever. You sure you don't want me to get a nurse? You okay?"

Lance shakes his head again, still breathing shakily, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He's squeezing Keith's hand so hard, he's surprised it hasn't woken the other man up.

His leg is throbbing, about mid-thigh. Feels like it's stuffed with knives and numb or something all at the same time, and Lance doesn't want to think about what that means. There's a trickle of anxiety seeping into his lungs. His entire chest aches, his head is pounding. His body feels too hot and bruised like he's been thrown around in one of the castleship's industrial-sized dryers. It feels like it takes forever for the pain medicine to make any kind of effort, and it's still a while after the pain begins to fade before Lance is finally able to relax his grip and breathe with relative ease.

Hunk is perched on the edge of the seat, fiddling with the edges of his work tablet.

"Lance, you okay?"

"No…. I dunno…"

"Seriously, I can grab a nurse for you. Bex is like super duper nice, and Zeta knows where all the good snack machines are, and Xoltl is quiet but he's a big Voltron fan, he'd definitely let me sneak you in some actual food from the outside - "

"Hunk, dude," Lance says faintly, opening his eyes again and trying to smile, "How long you been here?"

"As long as everyone else." Hunk nods across the room, and Lance turns his head, looking over Keith, the slight rise and fall of his back; Pidge and Coran are asleep on the bench together, Coran with his chin resting on his chest, his arms folded, and Pidge slumped against his shoulder behind their laptop. "Allura's the only one that's left, but that was only to uh, find a better doctor - except she didn't word it quite that nicely. I've never seen her go off on somebody like that, it was scary, dude.  Keith's been here the longest, obviously, we can't even get him to shower or eat so that's, y'know, normal, I guess, considering."

"Kay…. Where am I…?"

"A hospital. I mean, obviously," Hunk laughs nervously, elaborates, "The uh, Galra colony on Drax. It was close to the quad you guys were in. You and Keith. When the - thing happened. Lance... how much do you remember?"

He's fidgeting a lot, Lance notices in passing. The pain is down, but he's starting to feel sort of dazed again, and it just serves to remind him of why he totally hates being in hospitals. Not that's he's ever actually spent a lot of time in them. And he doesn't like being stuck in a healing pod, either, but at least it doesn't hurt. It's just cold and weird, and that only lasts a little while afterward. It's something you sort of get used to.

Pain and delirium are definitely worse.

"The mission?" Lance says uncertainly. It's fuzzy. Hunk is nodding, fingers drumming the back of his tablet. "And… something… exploded? Where's…? Oh." Lance glances down, squeezes Keith's hand again, and relaxes. He looks back at Hunk. "Dude, something is seriously wrong with my leg."

Hunk makes a nervous sound and looks away.

"Okay, uh - about that!" he says, jumping back to his feet when Lance moves to look at his offending leg - or tries to. Hunk spreads his arms out in front of Lance, distracting him. He does bend one knee, but the other - Hunk starts babbling , "Lance, bud, you gotta listen to me real fast, okay, I've got some Pretty Cool news and some Not So Cool news. How - how lucid are you right now?"

Lance makes an indecisive noise, lifting his shoulders.

"Okay. Okay, so... the Pretty Cool news - is - " Hunk fumbles with his tablet, flipping it around in his hands. It's schematics for a prosthesis. A leg. And Lance can't make heads or tails of that. One of Hunk's fingers swipes the screen several times, combing through a few dozen more while he talks, "There are a lot of cool choices for prosthetic legs!  Like this synthetic carbon fiber the Empire has engineered is actually able to connect directly to the nervous system, it's the exact type of thing that Shiro had, remember? Only like, more user-friendly I guess. Or since that procedure is supposed to be like, super super painful, they have other stuff they can do, like. There's a prosthesis that uses electrodes in a socket mold to sense minute movement in the muscles of the residual limb and then it moves it just like normal! They're all super light-weight and they're not aesthetically bad, either, so that's pretty cool, right?"

"....Yeah?"

"The…. the Not So Cool news is... you need one."

"Need one…?"

"A leg. You need a leg, dude."

"What's wrong with mine?"

"Well, you need two to walk…."

"Yeah."

"And - and you've only got one."

Lance takes so long trying to understand this that Hunk starts babbling again, his anxiety brimming over, "Look that ship exploded on you guys, right? And a piece of shrapnel flying at like a thousand kilometers per second obviously is gonna sever an artery and like the entire muscle or something, I don't know anything about anatomy okay, but it was bad, and by the time they got you to the hospital it was all infected with like space bacteria and junk from where your suit was ripped and you had just lost so much blood, dude, they said Keith was like soaked in it and he was so messed up he couldn't even talk to them and he wouldn't let go of you and it was basically down to you or your leg so obviously."

Hunk takes an unsteady breath, two seconds from crying, "I mean, I don't know how to tell you that your leg is gone except, your leg is gone, Lance. I thought making a joke would make it easier but it definitely is not helping this not suck really bad…."

His volume has gone up steadily and finally breaks in a deep sob. Beside Lance, the noise finally wakes Keith and he blearily lifts his head, mutters, "Hunk… what?" He sees that Lance is awake, and that Hunk is sobbing, and Lance doesn't know why watching the groggy look on Keith's face clear in an instant is so funny to him, but it is. Keith launches to his feet, clutching at Lance, eyes searching his face for any sign of pain or upset.

He looks at Hunk next, while Hunk is trying to get himself under control.

"Hunk, what?"

"I told him," Hunk heaves, sobbing, "I told him about his leg!"

"Hunk, you weren't supposed to tell him until he's conscious, he's so wasted on medicine that he's not even going to remember!"

"I know, I'm sorry, man, okay -"

"There's no point in upsetting him over and over again!"

By this point, Keith's raised voice has woken everyone else. Pidge starts up, dropping one foot on the floor to steady their laptop and blinking around the room in confusion. Coran rocks to his feet and comes straight to the bed with his hands raised in a pacifying motion, his eyes still closed.

"Alright, alright, let's simmer down," he says, clearing his throat, rubbing his eyes, "Using confrontational tones isn't going to help so let's all just take a deep breath.  ….. A deep breath," he prompts more sternly when neither Hunk nor Keith inhales with him. The second time does the charm. Everyone inhales slowly, following Coran's lead and the inward motion of his arms, and lets it out the same way. Coran beams around at them. "There now. Cool as a daisy."

"The phrase is 'cool as a cucumber' or 'fresh as a daisy', Coran," Pidge says from their chair, smiling and cleaning their glasses with the tail of their shirt.

Coran waves a dismissive hand at them, puts the other on Keith's shoulder and leans around him to look at Lance, who watched everybody else take a deep breath and calm down but didn't have the presence of mind to participate, since all he feels at the moment is calm.

"Lance, are you with us?"

"Think so," Lance says, trying really hard not to smile, and then trying really hard not to laugh.

It hurts too much to hold it in. His chest aches. Turns out it's even worse when he finally lets loose. It starts with weak little chuckles, tears welling in his eyes, and just escalates from there. Within seconds Lance is almost sobbing with laughter because it's so funny and it hurts and he doesn't know which one is worse but he can't make himself stop. Pidge inches over to stand at the foot of the bed to make sure Lance is actually laughing, pulling their comm out of their pocket. The others are staring at him, mouths open in surprise.

Keith looks at Hunk, still holding onto Lance's hands; and Hunk, also struggling not to laugh just because Lance is, hides behind one big hand. His face is still wet with tears, but he's smiling now. 

"Okay," he chuckles, "Okay, I am ready to concede that he might be totally wasted on space morphine right now. I pushed that button about a hundred times."

"Hunk," Keith says under his breath, trying not to sound confrontational, "You could have overdosed him...!"

"He asked me to push it, Keith, I couldn't sit here and watch my buddy suffer! Besides I'm pretty sure it stops after it hits a certain dosage, he's fine. Lance, dude, what is so funny? Are you awake right now? Why are you being so silly?"

It takes several more painstaking bouts of start-and-stop giggles for Lance to find the composure he needs to speak.

"You're pulling…. my leg," Lance wheezes, crying.

Hunk snorts, claps his hand down over his mouth. Pidge lets out a laughing shriek from the foot of the bed and collapses against it with their head in their arms, shaking with mirth. Keith obviously doesn't want to think that it's funny. He still laughs weakly, despairing, "Lance." Coran looks concerned, but also like he isn't sure whether or not he should be. He turns to Pidge, who is by far the least put-together, slumped against the bed rails with their device still held aloft.

"Is he experiencing a pulling sensation?" Coran asks quietly, "Perhaps we should get a nurse."

Pidge has to explain in between gasps of laughter that it's a pun. A really, really bad one, at an overwhelmingly inappropriate and yet inexplicably perfect time. Hunk is leaning over Lance, hand resting on his shoulder, laughing and crying in equal measure when he says, "I never wanna hear you tell me when a good time for puns is, Lance. Never again!"

Keith is looking at Pidge, wiping his eye with the back of his hand. He notices the comm in their hand and frowns slightly, "Pidge, stop recording!"

"No way!" Pidge wheezes, taking a step back in case Keith gets any ideas. It's not likely that he'll let go of Lance any time soon, but it's always better to be prepared, "When he's crying about it later like this is the worst thing that's ever happened to him, I want him to see how stupid he is!"

Pidge turns their comm toward the door when it slides open unexpectedly. Allura strides in and stops short in the doorway, carrying what looks like several lunch boxes in her hands. Most of the team is still laughing uncontrollably, Lance included, and this in place of the somber atmosphere she left behind minutes before has her feeling both elated and wrong-footed.

"What could possibly be funny?" she asks faintly, "I feel as if I've just walked into a theater, not a hospital room. Is Lance alright?"

"Yes, yes," Coran assures, beckoning her closer and chortling as he takes the lunch boxes out of her hands to set them aside, "Lance believes someone is pulling his leg," he nudges her with his elbow, those crinkles around his eyes deepening with his smile, "but he doesn't have one!"

It's far from the best delivery, but the Earthlings burst out laughing anyway, harder than ever. Allura gasps, "Coran," and Pidge has to find the breath to explain a second time.

"I really can't believe this," the princess admonishes, struggling not to smile as the scattered laughter winds down, "You're all terrible. Making such a macabre joke at a time like this!"

Lance is clumsily trying to wipe the tears off his face with the hand that isn't staked down with an IV. His smile is wobbly now, but it's still here. He can't stop crying, and he doesn't know why. He's really glad that the others are here - he is really glad that Keith is here, still holding his hand - because he doesn't think he could do this alone.

----

Keith doesn't want him to look, but Lance figures he's going to have to see it sometime and lifts the blanket anyway.

It's….. Weird.

It's weird seeing his left leg end in bandages four inches down from the juncture of his hip. It's weird feeling the muscles in his thigh pull at nothing when he moves it, burning where they're severed and still not fully healed yet. It's weird not having a knee to bend, or toes to curl. It's weird looking at the empty place on the bed where his leg should be, right beside the other one. Lance wraps his hands around his thigh, just below the bandages, and he sits like that for several long minutes, trying to get up the nerve to move them down, to make this feel a little more real because it's right there in front of his eyes and he still can't believe it, he can't feel it.

Lance pulls the blanket back across his lap, instead, and decides to file that away as something that he can't deal with right now. He brings his hand to his mouth, trembling fingers pressed against his lips.

His sinuses burn, vision stinging.

He sucks in one sharp breath, and Keith is there, sitting on the edge of the bed facing him, pulling his hands down from where they're crowding his face.

"Lance."

"Yeah…?" Crap, his voice wobbles.

"It's gonna be okay," Keith says, squeezing his hands.

"I know." He feels like he's choking.

"We're gonna get you a new leg," Keith voice is gentle and confident, and it's breaking something in Lance's chest, Keith's unyielding patience hammering away at the tiny bit of composure Lance is struggling to maintain, "You'll be walking and kicking ass again before you know it. I promise."

"Okay."

That one busts out with a heavy sob.

Lance collapses into Keith's arms, gripping onto him too tightly, fingers digging into him, squeezing his breath away, but at least that's something he can feel. Keith closes his arms around Lance, but he's much more gentle, his hands barely a weight at all against Lance's back. He tucks his face into Lance's neck, his lips pressed against the scar there, his hand rubbing up and down as Lance heaves out another sob and quakes against him. He's done a pretty good job of not breaking down in front of the others up until right now.

It's just - it's too fucking hard -

"It's gonna be okay, Lance," Keith murmurs against his throat, "I know this sucks. I know you're hurting. But everything's gonna be fine. We'll get through this together. I …."

He trails off, suddenly uncertain. Lance can't speak. His voice stays lodged painfully in his throat, and he only gives a jerky nod in answer, sucking in a sharp breath. He tries to stop, but it's a losing battle. He keeps sobbing into Keith's shoulder. Keith nuzzles his neck gently, rubbing their scents, calming Lance as best as he can with the comforting press of his body.

He lets Lance hold onto him for as long as he needs to.

----

"Lance. Are you feeling up for visitors?"

Allura asks this as she sets another small vase of flowers on the bedside table. There are several others decorating it - and every other available surface in the room - each vase overflowing with blooms from a myriad of worlds. There are moxlies from planet Dekk, teranyiuns from Oltus, even a small cluster of juniberries wrapped with the royal Galran seal. Allura smiles softly at this one, touching the petals, as she rearranges them all to make room for the new addition.

All of the flowers vary only slightly in color - from the palest pink to vivid red - and all of them bring a unique warmth and scent to the otherwise barren hospital room. Once it became known that flowers are an acceptable, and even expected, recuperation gift as of Earth customs, the bouquets and singular flowers started pouring in from across the galaxies.

Allura glances at Lance when he doesn't answer right away. He's sitting on the bed with Pidge across from him at the foot of it, helping him go through his "fan mail" and other small gifts that have also been flooding in. There is quite a pile between them that they haven't gotten to yet, and discarded paper littering the floor. These are small substitutes.

Actual visitors haven't been admitted, though that isn't to say that people haven't tried. Despite their efforts, security for the Colony's public hospital is not as stringent as Allura would prefer. Lance has a long recovery ahead of him, and she has been prompting his doctors to discharge him so they can take him home to the Castle, where he won't be so bothered by over enthusiastic well-wishers. It might help his progress just to be somewhere familiar right now, all things considered.

It's unfortunate that Keith has been butting heads with her over it. "I'm all the security he needs," is hardly a proper argument, and intimidating anyone who even attempts to approach the room uninvited is unhelpful, at best. She understands why he's frightened and being overprotective, but there are many perfectly qualified doctors aboard the Castle of Lions, now - even those who specialize in body modifications and prosthetics, and physical therapy.

Lance looks up once he finishes reading one of the cards someone sent him, tucking it carefully back into its multicolored envelope.

"Visitors other than you guys?" He's smiling. His pain has lessened considerably, so he has been much more alert the past few days. "That'd be nice."

"I'm sure you miss socializing," Allura teases, smiling fondly.

She knows he's been feeling down lately, has felt it like a darkening trail of water in the bond that flows between them all - feels it still, even now, when he's smiling at her, and sees it in his eyes. She can't exactly blame him after all he's been through, but she is glad he's making the effort. Talking with his family yesterday, his mother especially, over the long distance communicator seemed to help a great deal.

Allura wishes they could have come in person, but Earth hasn't quite gotten to where they need to be to accept interstellar travelers, coming or going. The war set them back too far - some planets just need a bit more time to warm to the idea than others.

"Your visitors should be arriving in the lobby within a few dobashes," Allura says, "I'll go wait for them, and escort them up."

"I guess I'll clear all this away," Pidge says. Smirking, they drop a stack of crumpled paper onto Lance's lap. "More kid drawings of the Cool Red Paladin."

Lance beams as he lifts the artwork to sift through them himself. He holds a few of them up in front of him like he's looking into a mirror, then turns them for the others to see, held up beside his face, and says gleefully, "I think they capture my likeness pretty well!"

"Allura, call a nurse," Pidge says, "There's something wrong with his eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with my eyes!"

"He's just blinded by people's adoration of him," Allura laughs as she heads toward the door, "I'll return shortly. Let me know if you change your mind."

While she's gone, Pidge starts collecting all the letters and cards off the bed and moving them back into the container that they came from. Lance shuffles the ones he can reach into some kind of order, separating out the ones he's already looked at so they can go in on top, wanting something useful to do. It takes a couple of minutes, and the two chattiest people in the cosmos are actually quiet during that time. Pidge notices the suddenly anxious look on Lance's face only after placing the final stack in the box and glancing up.

Lance is frowning at his lap, his brow furrowed as he runs his fingers across the bandage on his forehead, through his hair.

"It's not too late to text Allura if you changed your mind."

Lance looks up, drops his hand. "Huh?"

"Did you change your mind?"

"Oh. Uh. I-I just…"

He trails off and lowers his gaze, fidgeting with the blanket folded across his lap now. Pidge watches him carefully. He keeps looking around the room.

"Lance," Pidge says, "Do you remember where you are?"

"Yeah. The hospital."

"Do you know why?"

"The… mission. My leg."

"Are you wondering where Keith is?"

That's it.

Lance frowns, but his face warms.

Pidge's expression softens. "Lance, you have some temporary short-term memory loss. It's okay that you keep asking for him. Keith is fine. Him and Hunk and Coran went back to the Castle to do some stuff and they should be back soon." Pidge checks the clock on the wall. It'll probably still be a while. "Probably not before your visitors come and go, though."

Lance blinks at them. "Visitors?"

"Allura is bringing some people up to see you," Pidge says, "Do you want visitors?"

"Oh! Yeah! That's fine." He starts to wring his hands, winces because of the IV taped to the back of one. He drops them, worrying the blanket instead, smiling in that apprehensive way of his. "Sorry, Pidge…. I know I'm probably getting on your nerves."

"You apologizing for getting on my nerves is getting on my nerves, Lance," Pidge says, not in a mean way, "I don't mind answering the same question fifty times, I know you can't help it. If you're feeling confused, just tell us. One of us will always be here to remind you of what's going on until your head gets better."

Lance looks at them gratefully. His hand is in his hair again, self-conscious this time.

"Allura is bringing me visitors."

"Any minute now."

"...I don't look like a mess, do I?"

"You look fine, Lance. And yes, before you ask, you showered this morning."

"Thought so," Lance laughs, "My hair's soft and it smells like my shampoo."

Pidge smirks at that. "Yeah. Someone's S.O. has a delicate nose and couldn't stand him smelling like hospital soap."

"I have a head injury and I bet I still know whose S.O. it was." Lance has got this unbelievably soft smile on his face when he adds, "That guy's lucky."

"Don't be gross," Pidge pleads.

Lance laughs, "I have to listen to you talk about magical science stuff all the time, you can listen to me talk about the hottest man and the sweetest boyfriend in the known universe for five minutes. The pot twist is, they're the same guy. Can you believe it?"

"This is going to take longer than five minutes."

"Well it's not like I've got somewhere to be," Lance says, making another tentative joke at his lameness.

Pidge is glad he's in such a good mood today.

It's been… tough….

Lance had been in and out of consciousness the first several days, and obviously in a lot of pain. It was only after he was able to stay awake for any length of time that they realized how bad his head trauma was. Then it was a constant battle trying to keep him calm long enough to explain and then reminding him of what happened, where he was, where Keith was, what was wrong with him, and around again every time his attention waned or he fell asleep.

Allura healed all the little cuts and the heavy bruising in his ribs the moment she felt he had enough energy to spare. That's basic first aid for her, at this point, but she felt it best to leave the more delicate workings to the professionals. His head injury - a blow to the forehead that shattered the screen of his helmet and knocked his poor frontal cortex stupid - and an infection that was making him feverish that only broke yesterday afternoon with several specialized antibiotics.

They're trying to wait until he's more cognitive before discussing how to move forward with getting him a prosthesis. That should be within the week. Lance is retaining more information as time go on, has been making steady progress, but this is the first time they've been able to coax Keith away from Lance's side, and the difference is noticeable.

Lance is more anxious, more forgetful.

Not five minutes later, he looks worried again, scanning the room, wringing his hands in his lap - wincing and pulling them apart to worry the blanket, instead. Pidge tosses the last of the scrap paper into the trash bin. The room is pretty much spotless except for the forest of weird flowers, which is really doing things to Pidge's allergies. They've already taken something for it, so there's nothing else to do but bear it.

"Lance," Pidge says, rubbing their eyes beneath their glasses, trying to ease some of the itchiness, "You okay? You're not hurting, are you? You can push that little button there and it will give you medicine through the IV in your hand."

Lance is shaking his head.

"N-no. I'm fine. Where is -?"

"Keith is at the Castle with Hunk and Coran," Pidge says patiently, "They'll be back soon."

He's still wringing his hands, wracking his brain, wincing every time he accidentally pinches the IV. He keeps forgetting it, the pain sharp but small enough to slip away the second anything else snags at his attention. Lance looks down at it, lightly rubs the sore spot under the medical tape. Pidge sinks into the seat beside him and reaches over to wave his hands apart, knowing he'll sit there and pick at it if they let him.

"Is something supposed to be happening?" Lance asks, "I-I don't like just sitting here like this…."

"Well, sitting is about all you can do right now." Pidge sees immediately that the joke is not funny in the way Lance's face twists and his eyes dart aside, his legs - his leg - shifting underneath the blanket. They scramble to recover, "Sorry. Allura is - Allura is bringing some people to see you, if you're feeling up to it."

"Okay."

"Are you - do you want me to tell her no?"

"No. It's fine."

He doesn't say it with any kind of energy this time, his voice flat and quiet.

"Lance, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I shouldn't have said something like that. Are you sure you're not hurting?" Pidge prompts, glancing at the screen that has his vitals on it. It's not helpful. It doesn't gauge mood swings or scale Lance's pain on one of those easy-to-read smiley-face charts.

"I'm okay, Pidge," Lance says.

This sucks.

Pidge doesn't even have to try to feel the sludge of Lance's depression and the high spike of his anxiety burdening their bond. If they can feel it this profoundly, then Keith can probably feel it, too. He could probably feel it from across the entire universe. Pidge glances at their comm, anticipating a call and understandably relieved when it doesn't come.

"Let's work a puzzle or something," Pidge says, steadying their voice out of that high, nervous octave. Lance was doing a lot better when he had something to distract himself with. They know better. They shouldn't have let him get like this. "Do you… want to play chess with me? I have my tablet."

Lance wants to say no, but he doesn't want Pidge to feel bad. Pidge reads that loud and clear in his slack expression and his posture, his dull eyes. Lance doesn't look at them, plucking at a fold in the blanket.

"C'mon, Lance, it'll be fun."

Pidge gets up to retrieve their backpack, even when he doesn't answer. They fish the tablet out and come back to the bed, rolling the table over to hover in between them and setting the tablet down on it. The holographic chess board lights up. Pidge combs their wild hair back into a clip and settles on their knees on the edge of the bed, facing Lance. They nudge the table into a better position, poke the corner of their glasses.

"You went first last time, so I'll go first this time."

Pidge changes the color setting before doing anything else - red for Lance's pieces, and green for theirs.

Then they move a pawn forward.

They barely get their hand withdrawn before Lance has reached up and moved a pawn of his own, so Pidge moves another. Lance moves the same pawn, twice. Pidge takes it with a knight. It's such an easy steal that it makes Pidge think Lance is trying to throw the game on purpose, and then they suddenly feel guilty. They didn't consider how his short-term memory might hamper his ability to play, and they didn't think he would deliberately sabotage himself just to get it over with. He's not usually a sour sport.

Chess is the only "brain game" he likes, and he's really good at it. He's competitive. He knows how to strategize. Plus, the game allows his key tactic to be "talk and distract".

Pidge figured it would keep him occupied.

They glance up, though, and find Lance's gaze flickering across the board, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. There is still that undercurrent churning, but the heaviness has burned out and his blue eyes are brighter. Lance moves a bishop next. Pidge boldly decides to move their queen, and Lance cracks a small smile. They only get to play a few more moves before the door slides open and Allura steps in, slipping past the curtain and flashing them both a worried smile.

Not for the first time, Pidge thinks this quintessence-fueled emotional link would be more useful if they had more control over it, rather than simply getting swept up in the tide.

"Lance," Allura says, "Are you feeling up for some company?"

"Yes?" Lance says as he looks up, drawing out the word uncertainly. He must realize he has been asked this before, and that he probably agreed. "Yeah." He looks at Pidge. "Can we finish this later? If you'll remind me..."

"No, I'm calling it," Pidge says, "Gonna cut my losses now. Look at this. A few more turns and you would have had me."

"Must have been a fluke," Lance laughs.

"It wasn't, and you know it," Pidge says, picking up the tablet and minimizing the game. They move to a corner where they can sit and be out of the way, "Your short-term memory may be impaired, but your long term memory is fine. Your brain just recycled an old strategy to compensate. I recognized it. We can play again later, though, if you want. Maybe it'll help."

They also recognize that the turbulent feeling has quieted some. The game, and the conversation, and Allura's reappearance, has shifted Lance's melancholy out of one of the few precious slots in his broken short-term memory, and he's forgotten all about it. That's the one good thing about it.

Lance asks about Keith again, that little crease between his eyebrows, scanning the room as if Keith might suddenly appear because he thought of him, and Allura gives him the same patient answer that Pidge did. She presses out a few wrinkles in the bedsheet, fussing with it. Lance waves her hands away goodnaturedly and laughs, "Allura, jeez, who am I meeting, the space pope?"

"I don't know who that is," she says softly, bewildered.

"It's an Earth thing," Pidge says from their corner, surrounded by flowers and struggling not to sneeze, "He's messing with you."

Allura narrows her eyes and purses her lips as she looks at him, and Lance grins at her sheepishly, his hands laced together in his lap. It's so reminiscent of the way he used to blush and fold in on himself like a bashful flower whenever Allura so much as glanced in his direction that Pidge has to laugh. Allura shoots them that look next, but Pidge doesn't balk. Allura brushes one final, wayward wrinkle from the sheets at the foot of Lance's bed.

"Alright," she says bracingly, "There are only three of them, but I'll bring them in one at a time so it doesn't get overwhelming for you."

"I'm not gonna go bananas just because there's a lot of people, Allura," Lance chuckles, "I'll just annoy them by asking Sorry, who are you? every few minutes."

"You are not going to annoy anyone, Lance. But we'll forego the introductions, if you like," Allura quips,  pushing back the privacy curtain.

She strides across the room and pokes her head out, motioning for someone to the side of the door. Pidge knew who it was going to be, but there was no point in telling Lance to try and prepare him for it. A tiny alien girl with blue hair takes Allura's offered hand and let's the princess lead her to the bed. Lance is looking at her in outright confusion. Pidge can almost hear his synapses firing, trying to place where he knows that face from, only to come up short.

The girl smiles at him when she gets closer, lifts a tiny hand in greeting. Lance mimics her, smiling back, but he glances at Allura, who asks softly, "Lance, do you know who this is?"

Lance hums, his brow creasing.

"I'm…. Not sure. Sorry."

The little girl also glances up at Allura, who nods encouragingly, directing her attention back to Lance.

"My name is Makuela," she says, "I was wearing a space suit before. You look kind of different without your armour on, too. Thank you for saving me. They said you were hurt, so I'm glad you're okay."

Recognition is slow, but it lights across Lance's face.

None of them are expecting him to burst into tears, but he is in a particularly vulnerable emotional state and that's pretty much exactly what happens. His face scrunches up and he goes, "Oh," in this choked voice and then he sucks in a breath and just starts absolutely bawling. Pidge jumps up from their seat, startled. Allura puts her hand on his arm and murmurs soothing words to him. Lance gasps out apologies, wiping his face, mumbling that's he's fine, he's just - relieved.

His recollection of the mission is distorted at best. They've gone over it with him several times to see if anything substantial comes back - Keith won't talk about it - and Pidge has worked out a couple of things on their own from the bit of context that they have. Lance keeps asking about Keith because Keith had been right beside him at one point, and that memory stands out sharper than all the others. He didn't remember going back in for the little girl until he sees her, and it clarifies the seemingly-senseless worry that has been nagging at the back of his mind all this time, that he has been projecting onto Keith.

(Also, Pidge may or may not have pressed that pain medicine button immediately upon reaching the bed, just incase that's part of it. Lance doesn't like to tell them when he's hurting, but it's not difficult to guess.)

Makuela is holding Lance's hand, copying Allura's efforts to comfort him, while Lance tries to wipe the tears from his face and get ahold of himself.

He asks, "You're n-not hurt, are you?"

"No," she says, gently patting his hand, "I bumped my head, but I'm okay now."

"I bumped my head, too," Lance laughs wetly, "Wow I'm so glad you're okay, kiddo. Don't be hiding under the seats, anymore, you hear me?"

"I hear you, Paladin Lance."

"Makuela's parents have something for you, Lance," Allura says, motioning the couple over with a kind smile. They've been lingering near the doorway, not wanting to interrupt. Lance opens his mouth to protest - Pidge recognizes that look. That Makuela is safe is more than enough. To ease his mind Allura adds, "They have something for all of us."

Makuela's mother looks desperately close to tears, herself, as she steps up, withdrawing a long wooden case from her bag. She clears her throat before she speaks, "We believe that when you save someone, you carry a part of that person's spirit with you. It is our custom at birth to give our children a token within which they will carry the spirits of their brothers and sisters throughout their lives. The Paladins of Voltron have done so much, not only for us."

She chokes up a bit here, places a steadying hand on her daughter's head and shares a warm smile with her.

"We felt it was appropriate to ask our Elders to carve tokens for each of you. They agreed."

She unclasps the lid of the box and presents it to Allura with a reverent bow. Pidge leans up on their toes, peering across Lance to see. Inside are five flat, oval-shaped pendants. At first glance they look like tree rings, tiny yet ancient saplings cut into quarters, their age lines ringing from the center, with edges ridged like bark. The five tokens correspond with their Lions: warm yellow, rich green, vivid red, soft blue, and deep purple. The color is brightest in the center and ripples out in varying hues, each pattern unique to each token.

Pidge assumes at first that they're made of wood, the color some type of dye or natural phenomenon, but a slight tilt of the box has the overhead lights reflecting in the glossy surfaces. They're polished stones, and their colors shift in a subtle gradient with every small movement.

"Oh, wow," Lance breathes out.

"They're beautiful," Allura says, reaching out to take the box with unmeasured gratitude, "Thank you. It will be an honor to carry these with us."

Makuela's parents both bow this time.

"The honor is ours, Paladins."

Makuela pipes up, looking at Lance, "Would you like to see mine?"

The smile he gives her could light up a city. "Absolutely!"

Makuela tugs a small chain from beneath the neck of her shirt. Her token is similar. More circular than oval, a flat pendant that is as pale as her blue hair with pink and yellow rings folding out from the core.

"Most people keep it on a necklace," she says, "So it can be right here." She pats her chest with both small hands. The token swings and flashes in the light. "That's where you carry everyone important, anyway. So even if you lose your token, you can keep their spirits close and safe, and you never have to be alone."

"I like that sentiment," Pidge says, folding their arms on the table and flashing a grin at Lance and Allura, "It's very fitting for a Paladin of Voltron."

The bond between them flushes anew with something bright and strong. Lance looks like he's about to start crying again, preemptively rubbing at his wet, blue eyes with a soft laugh deep from his chest.

"Yeah," he says, "Me too."

----

Keith's heart is pounding.

He can't really help it.

Lance was awake when he left; smiling, alert, saying that he felt okay and would be fine. "It's just a few hours, Keith. You're coming right back." Now he's wishing he had stayed. Hunk and Coran could have handled that meeting with the Blades and other Coalition members without him. Keith has felt nauseated ever since he left the hospital - left Lance. Every instinct in his body was screaming for him to turn around, but Keith convinced himself that he was just overreacting.

Pidge and Allura are with him.

Lance is fine.

He's safe.

He's alive.

Keith had come so close to losing him, the memory of it chokes him now. It stings his eyes like smoke filling up a room as he runs down the hospital corridor as fast as his legs will carry him. Someone tells him to slow down. He's sure he knocks another person over. But it's all so distant from what is racing through his mind.

He remembers every detail in vivid clarity.

Remembers the fear shaking down to his bones. Remembers Red's anguish burning their link, threaded through his own skin. Remembers a soft noise through the frazzled comms, barely there at all. Remembers the pain in his hands and his straining muscles as he tried to force Black's jaws open.

Remorse was like a waterfall between them.

She couldn't save them both.

She made her choice, but it wasn't Keith's choice. Keith slams bodily into the closed door. It jars him back to the present - his heaving breath, his aching legs, his heart flying out of his chest and into his throat. Inside the room, he hears a yell. Belatedly sensing him, the door slides open, and Keith stumbles forward.

"Keith!" Pidge snaps, "Did you just hit the door?"

Allura is on her feet barring his way, but she steps aside, lowering her raised fists. "You frightened us! What's the matter?"

"Keith?" Lance asks softly, worried.

Keith's legs are shaking so badly they barely support him - but he would crawl to Lance if he had to. He makes it across the room and sinks down onto the edge of the bed, into Lance's open arms, and all the strength adrenaline and fear gave him seeps out as soon as he meets the gentle heat of Lance's body pressed closely to his own. Keith curls his fingers into the sides of the hospital gown Lance is wearing, tucks his face into Lance's neck. The sharp, sterile hospital smell, the heavy pollen of the flowers - both are dulled under the sweet scent of Lance's skin, and Keith breathes it in greedily.

"Lance," Keith's voice is a fragile thing, spoken against Lance's collarbones, "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Lance says, just as softly as before, hugging Keith close and turning his face into Keith's hair, "I missed you."

"That's an understatement," Pidge says, sighing and kicking back in the corner seat now that things are settling down, "Every five minutes he was wringing his hands and worrying. At least now he'll fixate on something else. What's for food? Don't tell me you left Hunk behind and came back empty handed."

"Honestly, Pidge," Allura sighs, "You're perfectly capable of walking to the cafeteria."

Pidge's mouth pops open in surprise.

Then Allura gasps, a hand flying to her mouth.

Keith lifts his head to scowl at her. Lance puffs out a quiet laugh, trying to force Keith's head back down against his chest, like a fussy infant who won't take a nap, "Yeah, everybody but me has legs. Guess I'll starve. That's cool. Stop looking at Allura like you want to bite her, cat eyes, I might get jealous."

Pidge smirks, poking at their tablet, "There's only one half-Galra the princess wants biting her pretty neck, and I know it's not Keith."

Allura gasps again, this time affronted, "Pidge, how dare you!" A rosy blush tints her entire face, the markings high on her cheekbones brightening.

"What? It's the truth."

"That is none of your business!"

Keith snorts, still curled on top of Lance. "He wouldn't."

"You know I hate to agree with Keith," Lance teases, contradictory to the fact that Keith is draped over him like a second blanket and Lance is playing with the ends of his hair, "But I don't think he would, either. Lotor's too…."

He trails off, closing his eyes with a hum, obviously unable to think of a word that fits without sounding rude.

Pidge supplies, "Dignified? Subtle?"

Keith doesn't know what, exactly, that implies about him (and by extension, Lance), but he doesn't bother to comment. Lance is finally starting to smell right again, that perfect mix of both their scents, the fresh spring of citrus and the strong minty smell of pine, and Keith nuzzles into the crook of his neck to press his mouth against his mark. Lance exhales into Keith's hair, a long and sleepy-sounding sigh.

Allura huffs in embarrassment and folds her arms, tossing one slender leg of the other as she takes the seat nearest to the door. She turns her face away from them, asserts, "I am not having this conversation with you all."

Thankfully, she doesn't have to.

The door slides open.

"Keith, seriously?" Hunk sighs as soon as he sees him, "Running in a hospital is not allowed for a reason, okay, it makes everyone think there's an emergency and this is really not the place to cause a panic. We've had like five people stop us on the way up here."

"Not to worry, though!" Coran chimes in, "Lucky for you most of the staff are Galran - a bit of separation anxiety is understandable."

Keith feels his face turn red and is more than happy to keep it hidden against the collar of Lance's gown. Lance starts laughing, but it's the low, giddy laugh he does when he's wasted. His hands are starting to get heavy, too, slowing where they're rubbing at the back of Keith's neck and playing with his hair. He must have been in pain and pressed the space-morphine button. That well of anxiety floods Keith's chest. He curls around Lance a little tighter, breathing slow and even to calm his trembling heartbeat.

"Lance, bud, you feelin' alright?" Hunk asks.

Lance hums, "Mhm."

"You goin' to sleep? You don't want anything to eat? I brought you some stuff."

"Mhm."

It's a slightly different pitch.

Keith laughs softly, and so do the others.

Pidge says, "I smashed that button for him a little while ago. I'm surprised he held out this long."

There's movement behind him, and Hunk says, "No! Pidge, these are for Lance!"

"Oh, come on!"

"No! Keep your gremlin hands outta that container. C'mon, we'll all go down to the cafeteria and grab something and let Lance rest for a while."

"Makuela and her parents didn't stay long, but the visit did seem to tire him out," Allura says, "I think it was good for him, though. I'll have to show you the tokens they gave us, Hunk. They're quite marvelous."

"Yes, I imagine so!" Coran chirps as the door slides open again with a hiss, "Yekseriet gemstones are among the most prized in the galaxy. To be offered hand-crafted tokens dipped in their sacred well is quite an honor, and one I'm sure you Paladins will carry with pride!"

"You know I'm all about rocks," Hunk laughs.

Pidge's small fist lands in Keith's back.

"Want us to bring you something?"

"Yeah," Keith says without lifting his head or even opening his eyes, "Thanks, Pidge."

"No problem. Don't let him go anywhere."

Keith does look up at that, frowning, but Pidge is grinning and there's no malice in their tone. The others file out of the room, talking among themselves and letting in the faint noise from the hallway - distance voices and footsteps and beeping, chirping, ringing sounds - before the door slides closed. Keith welcomes the quiet, relaxing again.

Lance's chest is rising and falling gently underneath him. His arms are loose and heavy around Keith's shoulders, his breath warming the crown of Keith's head. His heart drums out a soft rhythm right in Keith's ear, testifying to the fact that he's here, and he's safe, and he's alive, and Keith still feels scared and breathless, heat stinging his eyes. Keith tries to blink the tears away, but they flow down his face and wet Lance's shirt.

Keith reaches up to his shoulder and finds one of Lance's hands, closing his own around it.

----

"...and in order to graft the receptors into your nervous system properly, you must be conscious. We cannot sedate you. The procedure is incredibly painful."

"Okay."

Keith thinks the doctor's explanation warrants a little more acknowledgement than just Lance's chipper okay and a head nod. It becomes obvious in the two seconds that follow - the doctor tapping something on his tablet, nodding his reptilian head, as well - that Lance is not even going to take the time to think about it. Keith drags his thumb across his knuckles, waits another tic, and says, "There are other options, Lance."

Lance looks at him, his brow quirked.

"Well, that's the only one that makes sense. Sure, it's like, super painful, but it's just a one time deal, right? Pretty sure I'm done growing." He offers up a smirk, and his good humor has Keith almost relaxing against his will. Almost. "So once they get the base on, even if I need like maintenance or something, they can still adjust it, and they can just pop my leg off and pop a new one back on. Right?"

He looks to the doctor for conformation and gets a head bob and a hand twirl along with it.

"More or less."

That doesn't comfort Keith the way Lance wants it to.

"I'm just saying," he says carefully, "The alternatives are less painful and don't have as big of a risk as the surgery prosthesis does. They offer the same kind of mobility. You'll be able to get around just as easily - "

"I don't want to be able to just get around, Keith." Lance is seething suddenly, and barely containing it. Keith said the wrong thing. It's too late to take it back now. "I can't do my job if I can't even walk."

"That wasn't what I meant -"

"I know what you meant!"

" - and no one is worried about you doing your job, Lance!" Keith doesn't remember raising his voice, doesn't remember Lance raising his to match, but they're both shouting now. "We've got the job handled. We're worried about you."

"You're really pissing me off with this!"

"With being worried?!"

"Being worried about the risks. Like I can't handle it!"

"That's not - !" Keith cuts himself off with a growl, clamping his hand down over his eyes.

"That's what it feels like , Keith," Lance snaps.

Keith closes his eyes and breathes, trying to calm himself down before he says or does something he'll regret. He hates arguing with Lance. He wishes the others were here to back him up, but they can't all be here 24/7. Despite what he said to reassure Lance, they're even more swamped than usual with him out of commission, and Keith hovering over him, and Keith knows in his head that Lance is right, and he trusts him to make the right decision, and it is his body, he can do whatever he wants - but a part of Keith is still turning over every bad possibility.

The surgery to connect the prosthesis could also irreparably damage the nerves and muscles in his leg, and make things much worse. His body could outright reject the new limb. Another infection in his blood stream could kill him. They're practically going to hold him down and torture him for several long hours, and Keith doesn't think it's worth the emotional trauma it's going to put both of them through.

"If you need some more time…" the doctor says.

They both forgot he was even here.

"No." Lance's voice is firm, sharp. But he eases up with a tired sigh and cuts his eyes away. "No offense, but I'm just…. Really tired of being here. I want to go home. I want to get this over with so I can move on."

"I understand," the doctor says. Keith doesn't say anything. "I'll confer with your human specialists. We should be able to get you into surgery tomorrow morning. After that, you'll be discharged into the care of your physical therapist."

"Thank you."

The doctor nods, his reptilian tongue snaking out. He nods to Keith, as well, and leaves.

The air is murky, thick with a tense silence and the mixed cocktail of scents that stifle everything else. Even the sunlight is dull and hazy filtered through the blinds. The overhead lights make up the difference, but they don't bring the room any warmth - only cause the red color permeating it in the form of hundreds of petals to stand out and turn Keith's stomach over.

He is starting to hate all these flowers.

----

Lance isn't going to lie.

He's scared. And he wants to hold Keith's hand.

Maybe that's stupid, but it would definitely go a long way toward making him feel better.

He hasn't let go of that token Makuela and her parents gave him, holding it tightly, fidgeting with it. It's warm from the heat of his hand, the stone glassy smooth, the texture of the ridges a good distraction as he rubs his thumb along the sides. Having an outlet for his nervous physical energy is helpful, but his mind is still focusing on all the wrong things.

So he is in the middle of getting prepped for his surgery, where they're going to attach the base for his prosthetic and basically shred all the nerves at the end of what's left of his leg and plug them all into receptors or something. There are a lot of thread-sized wires and sharp, shiny tools, and plates of synthetic fiber plastic, and really intimidating equipment in general being sterilized right in plain sight. It smells like antiseptic. The surgeon is talking, and a nurse pokes him with a needle, another reaches into his gown to stick something to his chest, and there are just - there are a lot of people touching him and only one person talking and Lance can't - he can't keep up with it.

A machine starts beeping somewhere off to the side.

A nurse looks up. The doctor pauses.

It's his heart rate rocketing.

His breath picks up after it, his anxiety climbing that terrible slope so quickly it's dizzying. Like coming up out of a dive too fast, like a sudden change in altitude. Lance sinks into a daze. A hand comes down on his shoulder, and that's the only thing that stops him from sinking further, from settling into it and blacking out on the spot.

"Take a moment," the surgeon says. An alien, but a humanoid one, who probably has some Altean roots if the elongated markings on her cheekbones are anything to go by. They match her yellow hair. Her voice is as calm and steady as her hand. "Paladin Lance. Do you want someone to stay with you?"

Someone can stay with him?

He hadn't even thought to ask.

They've been going over detail after detail and he forgot to ask if someone can stay with him? It's hard to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. His throat is dry, and his voice cracks,

"I want Keith…"

The surgeon glances over and one of the nurses ducks out, past the swinging door. There's a small room for sound-proofing the operating room, and a long hallway beyond that. The waiting room is right around the corner. Lance watches the nurse through those little windows in the doors until he can't see her anymore. The surgeon pulls his attention back to her by indicating the monitor, where his pulse accelerates across, way up, way down, way up, way down, too close together.

It thuds through his body the same way.

"We can give you something if you cannot calm yourself," she offers, "but we will have to postpone the surgery."

He definitely doesn't want that. Lance shakes his head, takes a deep breath, but doesn't get it all the way in before it's pushing out again. He squeezes the token, feels it cut into his palm. He paws at the front of his gown, bumps against a few clinging wires that tug at his skin, and quickly drops his hand.

What's taking so long?

Where is Keith?

The door swings inward. It's not Keith - Allura is the one who comes up to Lance and takes the surgeon's place, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, reaching for his hand. She's worried because he's so upset, but she smiles encouragingly, "It's alright. Take a deep breath, Lance."

He actually does it this time, following Allura's lead as she inhales slowly and releases it at the same pace, raising their joined hands with the motion and lowering them. They do this a few times, until Lance feels less like he's spiralling and more like he's floating.

"There we are, that's better. I know you're scared, Lance. Do you want me to stay with you?"

No offense to Allura, but she's not Keith.

He doesn't say that, but her face still twists with sympathy, her hand squeezing his.

"I'm sorry, Lance. I don't know where he is."

Lance doesn't know how to process that.

"H-he isn't in the waiting room…?"

"No," Allura says, "He was. But right after they brought you back, he left without saying anything. I'm sure he'll return soon, Lance, he wouldn't have gone far. But we can't wait for him. Is it alright if I stay in his place?"

Lance feels sort of numb inside.

He still nods his head, gaze dropping to Allura's hand, curled around his. Her slender fingers. Her perfectly manicured nails.

"Yeah…. Please. Thanks, Allura."

His heart is still going pretty fast.

It slows gradually, and once the surgeon is satisfied that he is stable, physically as well as emotionally, the nurses resume their poking and prodding.

It's not so bad this time around.

Allura only leaves him long enough to get herself sterilized properly - a powerful gust of sharp air in the next room over, that makes the princess squeeze her eyes closed tightly and curl her nose. She combs her windswept, braided hair back into a tight bun and pulls a wrap on over her clothes. She settles down beside Lance and pushes calm energy into him through their joined hands. Lance takes deep breaths, trying to listen to what the surgeon is saying while she goes over the procedure - what she's going to be doing, in minute detail, what he can expect to feel in terms of pain.

They strap him to the table so he doesn't thrash, wide bands across his hips and shoulders, both his legs.

Yeah, he is definitely glad someone is here to hold his hand.

A slam against the door of the smaller adjoined room startles everyone. This time, a nurse stops Keith from running face first into the second door and barging in on the operating room. Lance can't see him through that little window in the door because Allura is seated between them, but he can hear the agitation in Keith's voice as he raises his over that of the nurse.

"Paladin Keith, we have asked you not to run - "

"I'm sorry - please - Hunk said Allura went back to sit with him. I didn't know - Can I go in, too? Is that too many people? I -"

"This is a sterile environment. I'm sorry, I can't let you contaminate it."

"I'll go wash my hands! Please!"

"No - that's - they're just about to start!"

The surgeon has already donned her gear. Her exasperation still shines through the face mask and the single lens of the goggles as she eyes the commotion and heaves a sigh. Watching her, Allura offers, "If he wants to come in, then I'll go." She looks at Lance to confirm that's what he wants, and he doesn't even feel bad for nodding immediately. Allura passes her hand through his hair, gently, and rises to her feet, pulling off the wrap over her head.

Seeing that there is no alternative, the surgeon sighs again, glancing at the clock on the wall. She motions for one of the nurses that is standing by.

"Xoltl. Get him cleaned up."

Xoltl leads Allura to the door and steps out, asking Keith to step aside with him. Lance doesn't understand what the big fuss about Keith being clean is when Allura was allowed to come in unsterilized just a few minutes ago until he has a brief, unobstructed view of him as the door begins to swing closed. Keith's hands and clothes are dirty - literally covered with dirt. His boots have left prints on the perfect pale yellow floor.

There's a stick in his hair.

A tiny laugh escapes Lance.

The surgeon rolls her eyes again.

"Galrans." It is so good to hear that said with only light exasperation, and not contempt or fear. It's got Lance smiling in a heartbeat as she continues, speaking to the room at large, "They're so clingy."

"Not all of us," one of the nurses pops off with, playfully hurt by the accusation.

"Vana, you didn't even want to part with the minta berri lotion in your locker," another says, "It's been in there for five movements."

"It just smells right!"

Lance does laugh at that. It breaks the mood up in the best way. The nurses keep up the small talk and playful jibes. Lance is perfectly distracted from what's about to happen. He was too anxious to notice it before, boxing himself in. He hates when he does that. The next thing he knows, the door is pushing open again and Keith is right there, clean, his wild hair being hastily pulled into a ponytail, adjusting the wrap around him with one hand and reaching for Lance's with the other.

That's so much better.

Keith's fingers tuck underneath the nearest strap as soon as he takes the seat beside Lance, testing their tightness, that thoughtful, worried frown on his face.

"Where'd you run off to?" Lance asks.

"Sorry," Keith says. The apology is in his eyes, dark and shining violet, and his hands, squeezing Lance's. "I got you a surprise."

Lance chuckles, definitely surprised by the admittance alone, "What for, mullet?"

Keith shrugs, smiling but looking embarrassed.

There's probably too many people around. It's so funny and sweet that he's shy, but Lance really needs to talk or his nerves are going to overtake him - the nurses are murmuring quietly now, and he can hear a bunch of things being moved around, the chink of metal utensils, gloves snapping on, monitors beeping. The bandages around his thigh are slowly unraveled. Lance blurts out the first thing he can think of:

"Is it weird that this is reminding me of a delivery room?"

It's Keith's turn to laugh. "What?"

"Yeah. I mean, kind of. I was in the room when Lisa delivered Nadia and Luis was holding her hand, and she was in a lot of pain, and seriously, minus the straps and the aliens and the actually having a baby thing this whole set-up is giving me very similar vibes."

"That is pretty weird, Lance," Keith chuckles.

"It's seriously just me?? Have you never been in a delivery room?"

"Nope."

"Not even once?" Lance jokes.

"Not even once," Keith comfirms, "I was born at home. Dad told me it was because I surprised them in the middle of the night, and the weather was bad, but now I think they were just worried I was going to come out purple or something."

"I cannot even imagine how cute you would have been with those big tufted ears, Keith."

"I'm starting now," the surgeon warns, "Try to relax as much as you can, alright?"

"Right," Lance lets out a shaking breath.

He was way more relaxed before she said something, honestly.

Part of him wishes he could see what's going on down there, just because the not knowing is going to kill him before the pain does, probably - but one of the nurses moves a small screen across his middle. He can't even lift his head and peek. His eyes nervously roam the ceiling before they land on Keith, who shifts his position slightly, settling in and offering Lance the warmest, softest smile that he can manage in this situation.

Wow, that is a hundred times better.

A million.

He hopes the funny thing his heart does isn't showing up on the monitors because that would be stupidly embarrassing.

"You can do this," Keith murmurs, so only Lance will hear him, "It's gonna be fine, Lance."

Keith's free hand caresses Lance's arm where it's resting on the table, and Lance breathes out again, steadier. He manages a lopsided grin, squeezing Keith's hand.

"I love you, you know that?"

"I know that," Keith says, "I'm definitely trying to use that to my advantage. Is it working?"

Lance actually laughs.

"It's working."

He can do this.

They can do this.

Lance is used to pain. He's lost track of how many injuries he's had, how many broken fingers or cuts or bruises. A few of them have even left a scar. And he's been held down a time or two while he was cut or beaten. That's just a part of being a Paladin and always being in the thick of any conflict.

It sucks. But it's his job.

...Turns out none of that compares to this.

----

Lance's surprise, when he wakes up from the post-surgery anesthesia, groggy and disoriented - are flowers. Blue ones plucked fresh out of the ground, roots and all, sitting in a small globe planter by his bedside. They spread open like morning glories bowed over on their grey stems, their insides black with veins of silver.  They're the first thing Lance sees when he opens his eyes and they're finally able to focus, and he breaks into the widest smile.

He drops his gaze from the table and lifts his hand, placing it on top of Keith's messy hair. His arms are folded on the bed by Lance's hip, his head resting on them. He's fast asleep. Lance has woken up several times during his hospital stay and found him like this, and his heart swells with more love than Lance thinks is possible every single time.

Soothing his fingers through Keith's hair, Lance turns his head to look around. Same room, he thinks. They all look exactly the same, but he has been staring at the view outside that particular window long enough to have it engraved in his mind - a courtyard full of shining silver trees bearing clusters of bright orange fruit. The blinds are open, showcasing what looks like a dreary, overcast day. Lance doesn't know what kind of weird weather this planet has, but it makes the room dusky dark and it makes Lance want to go right back to sleep.

His eyes and limbs are so heavy. He absolutely could fall asleep petting Keith's soft hair, stirring up the scent of his shampoo. Listening to him breathe.

They're the only one's here at the moment. Pidge's backpack is in one of the chairs, so they're probably not far. The others are probably with them. Lance wonders for a few minutes why the room seems so big without them, and realizes it's because all the other flowers are gone. All the vases cleared away, the splashes of red petals washed away in favor of the pale cream-colored walls.

Oddly enough, it's easier to breathe.

Not that Lance didn't appreciate the gesture, but that's Keith's thing. Feels kinda wrong when someone else does it.

Lance dozes off, more at peace than he's been in a while - and he wakes again, all at once, feeling like no time has passed at all. Keith is still asleep with his head down beside him. The room is still empty. It's darker, the silver trees outside the window glowing blue.

His leg hurts.

It's what jerks him back into consciousness and it throbs harder than ever now that he's aware of it. Lance stifles his whining before it wakes Keith and shifts to sit up straighter, pushing with his hands. His left foot digs involuntarily into the mattress and a bolt of pain shoots into his thigh, through his hip and stomach. It makes him jerk and tense. It forces a small cry out of him.

Beside him, Keith jolts, his head swinging up.

"Lance, what's wrong?"

"Nuh - nothing," Lance gasps, trying to alleviate some of the sudden pressure by stretching his leg out. That only makes it hurt in a different place, the muscles tugging at a heavy weight. "Shit."

"Easy."

Keith is on his feet, hands hovering.

Lance's knee moves beneath the blanket.

Oh.

His knee.

The pain gives way to shock - only for half a second. Two knees. Two long legs stretched out in front of him. His thigh burns, the muscles pulling, and Lance grits his teeth. He doesn't quite realize that Keith is talking to him in a low voice, just barely registers the sound at all. Keith picks up his left leg below the knee - Lance watches him do it, but he doesn't feel it - maybe - he kind of does - a phantom sensation courtesy of the synthetic fiber plating and all the wires running straight to his nerves, to his brain. However that works.

It's unsettling. Out-of-body.

Keith's voice doesn't soothe him.

His other hand comes to rest on Lance's thigh just above the base of the prosthetic, applying steady pressure to specific places with his thumbs and fingers. It hurts, makes Lance's leg jerk and spasm - makes Lance shout and grab at Keith's hand to tear it away - but Keith doesn't let go. After several agonizing seconds, the drawing in his tense muscles begins to ease, and that sharp pain goes with it. Lance's chest is heaving so hard he feels nauseous, his face wet with sweat and tears he hadn't realized he'd cried.

Slowly, Keith starts kneading the tight, trembling muscles in his thigh, tiny circles with the tips of his fingers. The burning sensation lingers. Keith keeps working and Lance slowly relaxes, his breath punching into his lungs.

"Sorry," he gasps.

Keith's wrist is red when Lance lets go of him and there is a swoop of guilt that almost turns his stomach over, threatening to empty it.

"It's okay," Keith says softly, "You're okay, Lance."

"Sorry…." Lance groans again anyway, rubbing his face with his hand.

Keith lowers his left leg to rest on the bed again, on a pillow so it's elevated a little bit. His hand stays on Lance's thigh even after he stops massaging it, applying only enough pressure to be felt. He really has been paying attention to exactly what the doctors were saying and doing all this time.

"You're okay," Keith says again, "Is it still hurting?"

"A - a little. Not as much."

"I'm gonna get a nurse."

"Okay."

Lance is kind of… staring at his legs, numb and confused from the sudden pain and the half-sleep. He hadn't noticed Keith pulling the blanket back to get to his leg but now it's draped across his calves, the gown he's wearing pushed up out of the way, and Lance has a clear view. His prosthetic has white plating, black at the joints - the knee and the ankle and each individual toe when he reaches with trembling fingers to tug the blanket back further. The seams in the plating are so thin they're barely discernible at all.

The appendage moves without a single thought just like his real leg. Lance wiggles his toes, bends his knee. That lingering pain makes him wince, his leg flinching. At the prosthetic's base, his thigh is bandaged. Blood is seeping through the thick material.

Keith's hands are a welcome distraction, again.

He cups Lance's face and pulls his gaze up, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It snaps Lance out of his daze somewhat. He blinks. And laughs quietly. And lifts his hands to circle Keith's wrists, carefully, lovingly, before he pulls away. Keith indulges him with another kiss, and Lance can feel Keith's firm smile against his lips. Keith rubs their foreheads together, his eyes squeezed shut, that smile stuck on his face.

"I'll be right back."

Keith darts out of the room, probably under the impression that if he doesn't do it quickly he'll never be able to. Lance can't help but watch him and smile too. He returns with a nurse in record time, jogging ahead of the smiling Galran and right up to Lance's bedside like a dog who hasn't seen their owner in a week. If he had a tail, it would be wagging like crazy, and Lance is full-on grinning now, his face warming.

He hasn't seen Keith smile so much the whole time he's been in the hospital, and it feels like this enormous weight has come off of him all at once.

The nurse is turning up their sleeves, stepping around to check the monitor.

"Good to see you're awake, Paladin Lance. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah. Mostly."

"Had some pain, though," the nurse says, "That's to be expected. Let's take a look. Is the prosthesis responding properly for you?"

They direct Lance to move his new leg a couple of different ways - roll his ankle, bend his knee, turning it this way and that - to make sure he has full autonomy over it. Except for the occasional spasm of pain that sneaks his breath away, he does. Lance has never really thought too much about all the different muscle groups in his legs until he has to concentrate on each one and watches the prosthetic move. It really is amazing what the Galran scientists have done with a little encouragement to move in the right direction.

Lance even has some slight sensation in the limb, fake or not. He can tell when something is touching it, though it feels weird. He's going to have to get used to it.

After the small bit of exercise, the nurse changes his bandages. His thigh is swollen and there's some bleeding around the base where it's been set into the meat of his leg. Keith watches the nurse treat it, all his usual intensity focused on every movement of the nurse's hands - every swipe of cloth, every salve they rub into the wounds to stop the bleeding and bring the swelling down to a more comfortable level, the way they feel the muscles in Lance's thigh when they ask him to wiggle his toes again, or turn his knee.

They wrap fresh bandages, and then press that button that Lance has been ignoring this whole time to give him a dose of pain medicine. It's going to make him sleepy. He's getting tired of sleeping all the time.

"So when can I go home?" he asks, pulling the blanket back up the second he can.

He's tired of all the hands that are not Keith's poking at him all the time, too. He's tired of the way this place doesn't smell or feel like home.

"We've got to get you walking first," the nurse says, "Rest for now. You can't put any pressure on it until the incisions have healed and the swelling is down. It'll only be a few more days. A movement at most."

Lance sighs, unable to hold it back.

"It'll go by fast, Lance," Keith says, the low timbre of his voice hitting Lance right in the chest.

Lance glances at him, and smiles.

"Hope so."

----

Learning to walk again is a surreal experience.

Lance has to rethink all the basic mechanics, has to work out where and how to distribute his weight, how to keep his balance on a limb that he can't entirely feel. He falls a lot. Which is kind of embarrassing. He favors his leg too much rather than trusting it to bear his weight. He holds onto Keith's arms too tightly, and leaves bruises, and Keith never says anything about them.

He didn't think it was going to hurt so much.

Even after the wounds have healed, and Lance is walking again, there are still all kinds of minuscule adjustments that need to be made. The prosthesis pinches nerves that it shouldn't, occasionally moves the wrong way or doesn't respond at all, occasionally hurts. Pidge and Hunk have both been hands-on, watching Lance's specialists work with an interest that's almost frightening, while studying prosthetics engineering and maintenance independently.

They want to know how to take care of him incase anything happens. It's really comforting.

Keith pays attention to everything, too. Especially when Lance works with his physical therapist. Relaxation techniques. Stretching. Basic exercises.

The basic exercises, of all things, are killing Lance.

It's where he loses his patience the most.

He has to start his combat training all over again, from the very first level. Programs that he could run in his sleep are too difficult to do when he is still having trouble walking across the training room without awkwardly placing his weight, or when he can't keep his balance and he falls just trying to pick something up that he has to bend down for, or when he can't get out of a crouch without pulling himself up. His thigh swells and aches when he's on his feet and moving too much, so he has to backtrack on any small progress he does make.

He gets angry with himself when he can't do the simplest things….

And he snaps at the others sometimes.

He snaps at Keith the most...

"Just take it easy, Lance," Keith says, "You'll get there."

"Thanks, that's very encouraging."

Lance doesn't look up when he says it, voice sharp and shaking, devoid of anything but the anger that shortens his breath and burns his lungs. He doesn't take Keith's offered hands. He furiously works the laces of his shoes undone, yanks them off, and throws them down beside him. On the floor. Where he's fallen flat on his ass - again - just trying to get through a low-level training exercise.

It's hard to even walk with shoes on, with the prosthesis. He keeps stumbling. Keeps twisting his ankle - which doesn't hurt. It's fake. But the sudden motion yanks on his thigh. And that hurts. And it's pissing him off. How is he going to be able to move in his armour if he can't even walk in his sneakers? He can't go around barefooted all the time.

In the peripheral of his tantrum, he sees Keith lower his hands to his sides and flex them anxiously. Sees him take a couple of steps and bend at the waist with no trouble at all to pluck Lance's water bottle from the nearby bench. He walks back and offers it to Lance.

"Here -"

Lance smacks the bottle right out of his hand.

"I don't want it!!"

"Lance - "

Keith reaches for him. Lance throws his hands up.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone, Keith!!"

"I know you're frustrated - "

"You have absolutely no idea how frustrating this is, Keith!! Just leave me alone! I'm done!!"

Lance folds his arms around himself tightly. Sucks in a breath that gets stuck in the back of his throat, and struggles to hold in a sob. He looks away, face scrunched up into something ugly, heat threatening to spill from his eyes. The whole room wobbles. Lights blur. Lance blinks, and tears scorch his flushed face.

His thigh aches, swollen again from where he's been pushing himself so hard, and it hasn't even made any difference. It's been weeks. And he's just falling further and further behind the others.

He's so fucking useless like this...

A small shuffling beside him makes Lance look over.

Keith has sat down cross-legged a couple of feet away from him with his head down, rolling the water bottle in his lap, between his broad hands.

For a long time, the only sounds in the room are Lance's own sniffing and huffing breaths, his rustling as he futilely tries to move his leg into a more comfortable position. Keith doesn't move, or speak. Lance doesn't look at him. He just keeps mentally turning over in his own misery. He knows he's acting childish, and he feels bad because he knows that this is not Keith's fault. He's still too angry at himself to say sorry just yet. He waits until he's stopped crying, wipes his face and dripping chin with the towel he has on hand.

"Are you going to talk to me?" Keith asks. Lance can't tell what kind of mood he's in by the tone alone.

Lance… doesn't feel like talking about this right now.

"No." His voice is thick.

"Fine."

Keith slams the bottle down, startling Lance, and he rocks to his feet without anything further. He storms toward the door without once looking back. Lance draws in a shaky breath and lets it out, slowly. He pulls his legs up to his chest, folding his arms over them and laying his head against his knees. That gets uncomfortable real fast, his left thigh stinging from the stretch. Groaning softly, Lance stretches his left leg out and curls his arms around his right leg, keeping his face pressed against his knee.

Stupid….

He sits like that for maybe ten minutes before the door opens again. Lance lifts his head, half-hoping and expecting it to be Keith.

"Oh. Hey, Allura."

"Don't sound too disappointed," she says, her laughter a quiet thing as she crosses the enormous room.

Lance smiles sadly, unfolding his legs.

"Sorry. Could you… hand me that?"

He points to the water bottle, and Allura picks it up on her way over, passing it to him as she pulls up her skirts and settles beside him on the floor. Lance mumbles thank you, feeling the cool sides with his palms. He shouldn't have knocked it out of Keith's hand like that… What was he thinking?

He's been so emotionally volatile lately. He'll be totally fine one minute and then so depressed or angry the next. He knows that's a side effect of losing his leg, the mental toll it's taken to try and process and deal with everything that's happened. His frustratingly slow recovery isn't exactly helping, and it's partially his own fault for trying to rush things along.

He's been feeling really weird about his body lately…. Self-conscious and awkward.

Lance rolls the bottle between his hands without even taking a drink.

Allura watches him silently for a moment.

"Is everything alright, Lance?"

"Yeah," Lance says automatically, glancing up to meet her eyes and then away, "Yeah. Everything's fine."

"With Keith?" she prompts. Lance stiffens up, fidgets with the cap of the bottle. "I passed him on my way here. He seemed upset, and frankly so do you. Were you two arguing again?"

"I was…. just being a jerk," Lance says, voice scratching at his throat, heat threatening to burn his eyes again, "I'll talk to him later. Don't worry about it, Allura. Did you -" He looks at her again, finally reading the troubled look on her face. "Did you need something?"

"Oh. Well." Allura looks down this time, hesitating. It's not really like her. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

"Shoot," Lance says, happy for the distraction.

She's still uncharacteristically pensive for a few long moments as she turns the bracelet over on her wrist. It's a thin bangle made out of the token Makuela and her parents gave them, the age rings through the wood-looking stone stretched into an infinite loop, the barked edges smoothed away. The gemstone shines bright blue, pink and purple threaded through. Pidge and Hunk also had their tokens customized into jewelry they would actually wear - Pidge an earring, the quarter-sized gem condensed into a stud, and Hunk a necklace with a square pendant.

Keith's is laying on the nightstand next to the round planter of blue flowers. He doesn't seem to know what to do with it yet. 

Lance kind of likes his the way it is.

It fits easily in his hand, and it's something to fidget with so he doesn't flail his hands so much and threaten to clock someone in the nose. He likes carrying it around and turning it over in the light, watching the tendrils of black and blue and purple flash through the red wood.

Quietly, Allura clears her throat behind her fist.

Lance lifts his bottle and takes a big swig -

"Lotor proposed to me."

- and promptly chokes, spitting water.

"He wh-at?!"

Allura is looking around the room with wide eyes, clutching at her wrist as if for support.

"Well, it wasn't actually a formal proposal." Now that she's begun, she hardly seems able to stop, which is also wildly out of character. Allura rambles, flustered, "He simply asked if it was something I would be interesting in pursuing with him and said that of course I was under no obligation to answer right away. It's why he asked me in private. We've been courting for some time. I don't know. It just seems rather sudden. I don't quite know what to make of it."

Allura's tangent at least gives Lance time to cough the water out of his lungs. And get his bearings.

"Allura…" There are a million questions flying through him right now. It's hard to settle on one thing to say. "If your first reaction is to panic, then I think you know your answer."

"It's not that I'm panicking!" she insists, leaning forward with those serious, stunningly bright eyes of hers, "There are just so many…. Complications."

She sits back at that, looking exasperatedly at the ceiling.

"I think you're overthinking this," Lance says, only teasing her a little bit, "You either want to marry Lotor or you don't, Allura. There's nothing complicated about that."

"There are many things that are complicated about it. This isn't like you and Keith."

Lance makes a face at that, his heart jumping guiltily as he looks down at his lap. He squeezes the sides of the bottle until the water almost spills out the open top, then relaxes his hands, easing it back down.

"What's complicated about it, then?" he asks.

He knows how Allura feels about Lotor. It bothered him at first - it was hard to trust a guy they'd been essentially fighting with for decaphoebs, and even since they've started working with him, with the Empire, a lot of crazy stuff has happened to shake that tenuous trust. But Lotor has made great strides in the right direction despite his mistakes. And it has been nice seeing someone make Allura smile the way he does, when she has lost so much in her life.

It's nice to see the way her face lights up when she talks about a project they're working on, or something nice and unexpected that he did for her.

Beside him, Allura sighs softly.

"I don't even know where to begin," she admits, "If it were just the two of us, I would have said yes in a heartbeat, but -"

Lance sputters again. He has got to stop drinking right before she speaks.

"Are you telling me you're pregnant!?"

"No!" Allura gasps, offended that he would even insinuate that she might be intimate with someone outside of the sanctimonious bond of marriage. He forgets how strict Alteans are about courting behaviors, especially their nobles. "I meant our people, Lance! Our obligations!"

"Oh," Lance gusts out, just as embarrassed as Allura. He puts his face in his hands. "Right! Right." He pops his head right back up, though, frowning. "Wait a minute, you're marrying each other not your people! This has nothing to do with -"

"We absolutely are," Allura says firmly, "That's what I'm saying. There are far too many things to consider - we have two very different cultures, and we're both essentially raising them from the ashes. One of us would either have to give up our birthright and pass the lineage of our families' rule to the favor of a steward, or we would have to merge the two.

"The Galra are still scattered all over the universe, and there are elitist defectors from the Empire who are still at large, causing all sorts of mayhem whenever they like. The handful of colonies we've been able to establish are so far apart that they're difficult to manage and they each present their own political complications. And my people only have this Castle to call home. It's easier to manage, but it is far from a permanent setup! There's still so much to be done! 

"There just aren't enough resources and planets within the Coalition to even place the refugees from the entire systems that Zarkon destroyed over his ten thousand year reign, let alone the Galra or the Alteans. The TR project is scheduled to launch sometime in the next two pheobs, and with additional stores of that pure quintessence from the rift between realities, even terraforming the most hostile planets should be possible. But it's all just theories. There's no guarantee -"

"Allura."

Lance reaches out to put his hand around her wrist, before she clips him in the face on accident with all her furious gesturing. She pauses for a breath then, huffs and bites her lower lip. She settles her hands in her lap. Lance waits until she finally glances up to meet his eyes before he says anything, and he keeps his voice steady.

"Do you want to marry Lotor?"

Allura blinks at him, her pink marks glowing.

"I really do," she admits, quietly.

"Then don't worry about all that other stuff," Lance says, "I know you're trying to make the best decision for everyone involved. You're always putting the good of the universe ahead of yourself. But this one thing is about you. If what you want is to marry Lotor and have lots of little purple babies with beautiful hair - " Allura bubbles out a laugh at that, blushing brighter, looking down. Lance smiles, squeezing her hand. "If that's what's going to make you happy, then you don't have to worry about anything else. That's the only thing that matters, and things will work out if you just take them one at a time."

Allura takes his words in without saying anything. Then she pulls her hand free from his and tugs Lance down by the shoulders, into a firm hug.

"Thank you, Lance," she murmurs.

"That's what I'm here for," he laughs, closing her up in his arms, "Emotional support."

Allura draws back to clasp his face between her hands. He's got a strange sense of dejavu as she looks him sternly in the eye and tells him, "You're here because we love you and you are a vital member of this team, Lance. None of what we've accomplished and become would have been possible without you."

"I know, Allura."

He does know that.

Since he can't do any field work, he's taken the lead on some of the diplomatic stuff. He knows that's probably the most important part of the job, keeping everyone peaceful and happy so they don't have any reason to escalate to violence in the first place - but it still doesn't feel good watching the others run off to settle border disputes and tame outbreaks of trouble makers without him when those tactics don't work. It doesn't feel good knowing that they don't need him out there.

At least he can still pilot Red. He doesn't even have to be in the seat to do that, anymore.

His bond with his Lion has been the biggest comfort he has through this whole thing, even though Red has been just as temperamental with him as he has been with Keith - deeply sentimental and warm, and scorching his thoughts at every other opportunity.

"It was just a joke," Lance adds.

Allura doesn't look like she entirely believes him. She drops her hands to her lap with a short sigh.

"Why are you so good at giving advice, but terrible at applying it for yourself?" she asks, exasperated with him even though she smiles. Lance knows that look, and knows what's coming, "What's going on with you and Keith?"

Lance looks down, at his leg, gleaming in the light beneath the hem of his shorts.

"It's nothing."

"Of course," Allura scoffs, "That's why you hardly spoke at breakfast. And why you're both obviously upset."

"I… I did something really stupid last night," Lance says.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Allura asks. She's the one who reaches out a comforting hand this time, resting it on Lance's arm.

Lance laughs quietly, shakes his head.

He just… really doesn't want to tell her that he locked himself in the bathroom and slept on the floor last night because he had wanted to have sex, and Keith told him he didn't want to. That's so ugly…. Lance doesn't know what his problem is. He's fine with Keith saying no. He knows it's nothing that he did, or anything about him physically that Keith finds unattractive.

He doesn't know why it hurt his feelings so badly last night, but he hadn't even wanted Keith to touch him after that…. And then earlier…

"I don't know what's wrong with me lately," Lance admits, barely a whisper.

"There's nothing wrong with you," Allura says, "You're going through a difficult time. I know it's hard for you to not be as active as you like, to take a step back from things and let others do the work. But if anyone can adapt and overcome this, it's you, Lance. You're amazing at that. It's very inspiring."

"I don't feel very inspiring," Lance murmurs, half a laugh.

"I know," Allura says, "It will get better. Just take your own advice. One thing at a time, alright?"

"Alright," he does laugh then, softly.

"Excellent! Now then." Using him as a prop, Allura climbs to her feet, and Lance laughs a little louder at the inelegant way that she does it. She pulls him up next, grasping his arms. "Come with me to tell the others. I need emotional support."

"Fine. Can I take a shower first?"

"I suppose I'll allow it, if you hurry."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you dawdle."

"Wow, for a princess you're super rude. I've only got one leg."

"You have two perfectly functioning legs. That is not the reason you spend an entire varga in the shower."

"I'm exfoliating!!!"

----

Telling the others goes about as smoothly as wrangling a pack of yelmores. Coran is offended that he was not propositioned first, as Allura's de facto guardian, and Allura spends several minutes reminding him that it is her right to confer with any suitor she likes, and that it was only an informal proposal, and that his blessing will be asked for the moment it is needed with the proper ceremony. Pidge doesn't like the idea of Allura potentially leaving them, and says they're fine with it as long as Lotor comes to live at the Castle, as long as they don't have to look at him too often. Keith is surprised, but supportive.

Hunk is already losing his mind over a wedding that hasn't even been confirmed yet, "Altean wedding cakes have fifteen layers of carmelized bosninth and frosted tenaberi cream filling that takes, five whole days to ferment properly, and the Galra have a ceremonial blade dance that they perform before the feast please let me do the catering, Allura, it will be so beautiful, you will not be disappointed!!"

"You'll be my first choice, Hunk," Allura says, smiling and looking much more confident about the decision she has to make, "I'd like to return to the main fleet to discuss it more thoroughly with him. If you all can bear to be without me for a few quintants."

"I think we can manage," Pidge says, grinning.

"We'll be fine," Keith agrees, "Take all the time you need, Allura."

"Now, I don't want you to make any hasty decisions, Princess," Coran says sternly, before he pulls Allura into a tight hug that has her laughing, her voice growing thick, "But I do want you to be happy. Whatever you decide, you know we will all stand beside you."

"I know, Coran. Thank you."

She squeezes Coran with everything she has, smiling against his shoulder.

They all pile in for a big group hug after that. It leaves the team in such good spirits that Lance almost forgets he and Keith were fighting until Hunk sighs, well after Allura is gone, and says, "Man, not the wedding I was emotionally preparing for. But still very exciting."

"If she says yes," Pidge says, unconvinced.

"Please, of course she'll say yes," Hunk says, though it's hard to tell if he really thinks that or if he's still defensively enthusiastic about getting to bake the cake that makes other cakes jealous.

"Bet she won't."

"She definitely will!"

"If Allura gets married before I do," Lance says, shooting a fond but tentative smile at Keith, "Someone's going to be sleeping on the couch."

It's a joke. A bad one.

Lance doesn't realize how bad until Keith's whole body stiffens and the air in the room goes right along with it - a vacuum of all the positive energy, a pressure so dark it could form diamonds. Lance's heart runs away from him, beating too fast. He feels it through their bond, a prickle racing up his spine. Keith doesn't look at him, his face stony, arms folded over his chest.

"Better take your pillow, then."

Lance's spine snaps straight, real anger billowing to the surface, "Excuse me?"

Keith enunciates more carefully, "You had better take your pillow with you so you'll be comfortable when you start sleeping on the couch."

"I am not the one- "

Keith whirls to face him then, drops his hands into heavy fists at his sides. Lance snaps his mouth shut before Keith can even grit out, more hurt than anything else, "You're the one with the problem, Lance. I'm sleeping in our bed whether you're in it or not."

That leaves a terrible silence in its wake, Lance shaking, the others fidgeting.

Keith storms off, and no one stops him.

----

It's his pride and hurt feelings that have Lance sitting beside a pile of folded blankets and pillows on the sofa in the lounge that night. He's slumped against them, face buried in the cool fabric. They smell like Keith. Like both of them. Lance's throat constricts. He swallows past it, turns his face out of the soft blanket and stares out at nothing across the room.

Hunk is on the other side of the pile, his arm thrown over the back of the sofa.

"You're not seriously gonna sleep out here."

"If he doesn't want to sleep with me then that's his business," Lance says, still hurt enough to be angry. He's the one that antagonized Keith in the first place. That still hurts. It's stupid. But it still hurts.

Hunk lets out a long-suffering sigh and doesn't say anything else for a while.

"He didn't say that, or mean that, and you know it. C'mon man, what are you upset about? It's not because you've been together like four years and you're not even engaged yet. That's what you're arguing about, but it's not what the issue is." Hunk pauses, gives Lance time to speak up on his own and when he doesn't, prompts, "You wanna talk about it?"

Lance swallows again, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

"No…"

"Okay. I'm here if you do, bud."

Hunk puts a hand on his head and lets it rest there a while. Lance closes his eyes and basks in the contact, Hunk's fingers dragging absently against his scalp while he occupies himself with his comm and lets the calm quiet settle over them.

"You need anything?" Hunk asks before leaving.

"I'm good," Lance says, not bothering to move from his slumped position against the blankets, "Thanks, Hunk."

"Sure you don't wanna sleep with me?"

"I'm making a statement here!"

"If you say so. Just come get me if you need me."

"I'm good, man."

"You sure?"

"Yes!"

"Okay." Lance can tell by the tone that he isn't fooling Hunk for a second, and he keeps his eyes stubbornly closed. "Goodnight, Lance."

"Night, Hunk."

Hunk dims all the lights as he goes out the door, and it's only in the darkness that Lance opens his eyes, lets his bad feelings double up inside of him. He's already keeping Keith awake at night. He doesn't want to keep Hunk up, too. He moves around a lot as it is, but his leg feels weird every time he goes to sleep. Phantom sensations, sharp pains, muscles drawing.

Just the thought of all those restless nights before has his leg throbbing painfully. Lance groans, muffling it in the blankets, his hands closing around the base of his prosthetic as he pulls his knees up onto the couch and curls in on himself.

"Please stop hurting," Lance murmurs.

Is it supposed to hurt all the time?

How does anyone ever deal with this?

He gets up when he can't bear it any longer - minutes, or hours later in the unmoving dimness - and digs through his bag. He has been pretending like he feels better than he actually does, hoping to make it true by sheer, stubborn force of will. He doesn't know what else to do. The pain medicine makes him so groggy…  He knows that's another thing they're still trying to adjust, and that he'll build up more of an endurance for it the more he takes it, so he can actually function pain free - but he's already missing out on so much as it is… He doesn't want to spend the entire day out of his head or sleeping it off just because he can't handle a little pain.

He doesn't like the idea taking the antidepressants they gave him, either, though he does read over the label on the back again under the light from his comm screen. They wouldn't have prescribed these things if they weren't going to help….

There's a cooling pack to bring the swelling down, and massage helps ease the weird tingly numbness in his thigh. Keith does that for him…. It's become such a normal nighttime routine that Lance doesn't even have to ask him to do it. Lance sits on the floor, at an awkward angle because his leg hurts, working the gel pack between his hands. It starts to cool as the particles are agitated. The fidgeting helps him relax, and his mind wanders more calmly than it has all day. It's easier to realize, in hindsight, that he's maybe, sort of, a little bit...

Jealous.

Of Allura.

He doesn't know why he said that to Keith, when he could have just…. asked him. Lance thinks about it a lot. Proposing, or being proposed to. Getting married, and dumb stuff like that. But he hasn't quite worked up the courage to bring it up. Keith always seems a little bit defensive about that particular subject, even if they're both just joking around. They've never had a serious discussion about it. Lance doesn't even know if that's something that Keith wants, or if he's fine with the way things are.

Well.

The way things normally are.

He can't believe it's only been four years. He feels as if he has spent his entire life with Keith, and even now, when they're out of sync, he can't imagine loving or being with anyone else.

Lance sighs, crawling back up onto the couch. Now probably isn't the best time…

----

"I hate it when you guys fight," Pidge complains, "I feel like my parents are fighting."

"We're not fighting."

"Oh yeah? Then why is Lance sleeping in the lounge while you're in here bothering me? You're not bothering me. You know what I mean. You're normally the first one in bed because you wake up at the metaphorical crack of dawn, you're like an old man. So it's weird that you're still up, and that you're in here. … Would you stop pacing like that? Quiznak."

Keith stops, mostly because Pidge points it out. He's practically worrying a hole in the floor of their workspace, and he tosses them a glum look that has Pidge heaving a sigh, shifting their equipment to make a place for him to sit down. There are wires and crates and tools scattered all over the floor, and a large accumulation of just… junk. There are papers and blueprints strung up in places. Lights. More junk. ….What looks and smells like an old sock.

Keith doesn't know how Pidge can work in this kind of environment, but they seem to thrive in the chaos. No point in saying anything if they like it this way. He takes a seat on the containment unit that Pidge exposes, slumping back against the wall and propping one foot on the lip of the lid.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," he sighs.

He doesn't usually sulk like this.

But him and Lance don't usually fight like this, either…

"Do you seriously not know?" Pidge asks, half their attention already back on whatever task they've deemed important, clacking away at their computer.

"No," Keith insists, defensive, "I've been trying to help him, and be supportive, and just - be calm because I know if I start freaking out, then he's going to freak out and then we'll both be freaking out and that's the opposite of productive. Do you know how hard it is not to completely lose my shit all the time? I'm so worried about him I can't even focus on anything else! And then he -"

"You're smothering him."

Pidge says it bluntly.

It's one of their least flattering qualities.

It absolutely staggers Keith, and when he doesn't say anything, Pidge elaborates, gesturing, "You keep treating him like an invalid."

"He lost his leg, Pidge." Keith heaves the words out of his lungs, shooting upright, "His entire leg."

"And now he has a new one."

"That's not - "

"It is . He has a brand new leg. If he would take his pain medicine, and those antidepressants we gave him, and stick to a comfortable work-out schedule like the one his physical trainer laid out for him, he would be making much better progress. But he's Lance, and he's stubborn, and he's more worried about getting back on his feet so he can help everyone else than he is about getting back on his feet. You are not helping him by hovering over him every second of the day. He doesn't need you to mother-hen him, he needs you to kick his ass like you would if he was acting like a dumbass over literally anything else. That's what you guys do."

"....this isn't like anything else, Pidge," Keith says quietly.

"Yes it is. It's no different."

"You don't get it!"

Keith launches up then, too upset to sit still.

They've had close calls before. Sure. But less and less as their attention has shifted from defending the universe to organizing it. Keith can't even remember the last time he was worried for anyone's safety on a mission, especially something so routine. It was an awful, terrible accident, and it has shaken Keith more than he ever imagined it would. He has been holding that fear tightly in his chest for weeks, for months, and it frantically seizes at the chance to break free.

"I could feel him dying, Pidge! I felt all of it!! Our bond is so strong, I felt his heartbeat slowing down." Keith's voice breaks, thick in his throat. He doesn't mean for it to, but it tumbles out, "I thought I was dying too. I got to him, and I-I couldn't even do anything. I just sat there and I held him and I couldn't even move. Red was the one who took us to the colony. I knew I was losing him and I couldn't-"

A wet, trembling breath sneaks into his lungs. Keith gasps, clutching at the front of his shirt . He swipes the back of his hand across his face, ducking his head, struggling for air around the sudden heat. Pidge is staring at him with their mouth open, their eyebrows creased together worriedly.

"Have you told Lance that?"

"Told him what...?" Keith asks, tears still burning his eyes. They don't seem to be stopping anytime soon, flowing freely down his face.

Pidge gestures wildly at him.

"All that stuff you just told me! You didn't tell Lance? He's literally the first person you should have told, Keith. The second he was cognitive enough to hold a conversation with you!"

"I didn't - want to upset him," Keith gasps, feeling stupid for standing here and crying like this.

"We're a little far beyond him being upset, I think. Keith, seriously, this is literally your entire problem. Go tell him why you're so upset! He has no idea how bad you're feeling or he wouldn't keep snapping at you when you're getting on his nerves."

Keith shakes his head. He can't articulate why he doesn't want to tell Lance.

Pidge tries to guess, tapping their mouth while their brain works double-time, sifting and analyzing. "The bond you guys have is Galran. Are you worried that Lance doesn't feel just as intensely as you do?"

Keith doesn't say anything for a few minutes.

"I don't…. want him to."

"Keith." Pidge's voice takes on a careful tone, soft but exasperated, "If you think he needs a special alien bond to love you just as much as you love him, you're an idiot. You're just afraid of getting hurt. He's not your parents. And he's not Shiro. Whatever you're feeling is one hundred percent reciprocated. You feel things that intensely because Lance feels them too. Nothing is ever going to change that."

Pidge waits a beat, then adds, "How many times are you going to make me get all sentimental? It's a genuine strain on the facade of indifference I try to maintain at all times. This is Hunk's job."

Keith lets out a weak laugh at that. He sinks back down onto the crate and pulls both his feet up this time, lifting the tail of his shirt to dry his face. He stays folded up like that for a while, head against his knees, thinking about the first time he ever kissed Lance. The first night they slept together. It seems like so long ago. So much has changed. The one constant is that Lance had been saying I love you even then, and Keith has always felt the same even though he couldn't say it back.

It's so much stronger now.

He loves Lance so much... it's frightening.

"Sorry for moping," he tells Pidge, trying so hard to grasp at the good humor they're offering him to lighten the load a bit.

Pidge shrugs.

"Eh. You're our brooding leader. Comes with the job, I guess."

Keith chuckles into his shirt.

He rubs his face clean, drops his feet to the floor and gets up in one fluid motion.

"I'm gonna turn in. Night, Pidge."

"Night, Keith."

"Seriously, get some sleep tonight."

"I do not make promises."

Which is as close to an affirmative that Keith is going to get on the matter. It's good enough.

He leaves the hanger and, after hesitating and dragging his feet for a couple of hallways, heads to the lounge to check on Lance. And… talk. If he's awake. If he wants to. Keith didn't actually think Lance would take blankets and go sleep on the couch - but he didn't think Lance would actually spend the entire night curled up on the bathroom floor, either…

The lights in the lounge have been turned off manually, so they don't come on when he opens the door. Keith steps inside and pauses, though, glancing around. It shouldn't come as such a surprise to see the familiar landscape - dark hills rolling out into the distance, starlight flooding the bare plains as they tilt slowly toward the horizon. Keith has caught Lance sleeping under this hologram lots of times. Mostly when he's been gone a while with the Blades, and they're apart a few nights.

That tight ball of nerves settling like a stone in Keith's chest loosens exponentially as he steps further into the room, walking carefully so he doesn't trip down the steps he can't see.

There's a reason holographic projectors are set up in a wide flat space. The one he had made for Lance is on the couch above Lance's head, the small, faint light it casts barely discernible. Lance is asleep with his leg propped up on the whole pile of blankets, his arms folded over his stomach, face tucked into the back of the couch. The space is distorted with the prairie ground cast over it, a little confusing in the dark. Keith eases down onto the edge of the couch beside Lance and leans over him to turn off the projector.

The light fissures, and the peaceful dessert night fades away, replaced with the lounge, glowing softly blue under the accent lights.

Lance's breathing is a little too quick, his eyes pinched closed like he's having a bad dream, or he's in pain. Keith glances down, moves his hand to lay over Lance's left thigh. It's hot, even through the thick fabric of his sweatpants, and Lance flinches awake at the contact with a hum of discomfort, shifting his leg away from Keith's hand. Keith lifts it away.

"Hey," he says quietly, laying his hand on Lance's arm, instead, "Lance. It's just me."

Lance blinks up at him, still half asleep.

"Keith..? S'matter?"

"Nothing. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"S'okay," Lance mumbles. His eyes are closed again, his brow creased. He moves his leg, only to tense up and lay still. He lets out a small whine, "Leg hurts…."

It must hurt a lot if he's admitting it.

"Do you want your medicine?" Keith asks.

He's resolved to get up and get it, regardless of Lance's answer, but he waits for it anyway.

When it comes, it's wavering, "Y-yeah. Please. It - it really hurts." Keith knows it does. Lance's blue eyes are dark with it before he squeezes them shut and hides behind his hands, his whole body tense like he's holding his breath even while he tries to talk, "I put - I put the cooling pack on it, but it didn't really help. I-I dunno why it didn't help -"

"Okay," Keith says, voice low and soothing as he rubs Lance's arms, "It's okay. Where's your medicine?"

"I-in that bag."

Lance points, and Keith leans from his seat to grab the strap, dragging it up into his lap. He rifles through the contents, thankful for his night vision, and grabs the medicine bottle and a bottle of water to mix it with. Keith still doesn't know why they can't condense this sort of thing into a pill so it's easier to take. Liquids do work faster, though. He pops the bottle open and adds a few drops, curling his nose as he caps the bottle and shakes it to activate the medicine.

It stinks. It probably doesn't taste great, either.

Keith stands and helps Lance sit up, lifting his leg off the blankets for him and setting his foot on the floor. A small groan is the only noise Lance makes, but he's biting his lip the entire time, his hands curled into fists. He takes the bottle from Keith, making a face at it even before the first sip, and Keith braces himself for an argument.

He's a little surprised when it doesn't come.

Lance drinks the entire bottle as quickly as he can, without complaint, and Keith hands him another one to wash some of the taste out of his mouth.

"Thanks," Lance says afterward.

Keith has been absently rubbing his back the whole time. He moves that hand up to cup the back of Lance's neck and leans forward to press his face into Lance's hair. Sighing, Lance leans against him, too, reaching up to put an arm around him.

"You wanna go back to our room?" Keith asks after a minute.

Lance shakes his head.

"I don't really want to walk that far….."

"I can carry you, if you want."

Lance snorts out a tiny laugh.

Keith says, "I'm serious, Lance."

"I know you are," Lance says. He moves to lean back and Keith does the same. He keeps his hand on Lance, though, touching his cheek with the back of his fingers. He's a little warm. Keith isn't sure if that's from the pain, or sleeping, or maybe the medicine. He drops his own hand when Lance lifts his, rubbing his eyes. "Can we just…. sleep here tonight?"

Keith hesitates, then pushes himself to his feet.

"We'll both be more comfortable in bed," he says, making a small motion with his hands, "Come on, Lance. I don't mind carrying you. And, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. About sleeping in there without you. I didn't mean it."

Any other time, Lance would jump at the chance to be carried. They're relatively the same size, and Lance still leaps into his arms in greeting sometimes, just to be goofy and affectionate. This time it's different. Lance folds his arms around himself, his shoulders bowing forward. He doesn't look at Keith, doesn't acknowledge his apology, even though he normally would. His hand moves, tucked into his arm, and Keith can barely make out the flash of that token, violet and bright blue in the sparse light.

Keith waits a couple of seconds, but Lance doesn't say anything.

"Lance," he says, quietly, "What's wrong?"

It feels like a thick fog dampening their bond. It's not sad. Or angry. It's just….heavy.

"Do you really want to sleep out here...?"

"No. I don't know," Lance mumbles, sucking in a sharp breath, "Sorry. I'm just - "

He cuts himself off before Keith can even say anything, and Keith stays quiet a few moments longer. He rubs his thumb over his knuckles, thinking about last night, and what Pidge said, and how Lance has been acting, his progress and mood deteriorating as the weeks wear on.

Keith sits down on the couch beside Lance.

"No," Keith says, "I'm the one who's sorry." Beside him, Lance's fidgeting stops. Keith hurries to get it all out before he's interrupted, "I haven't been treating you right since all this happened. I'm not… I'm not trying to make it seem like I think you can't do things for yourself, Lance. I'm just scared… I…. I felt it. When you got hurt. You were… you were dying…. and I - I felt every second of it, and there wasn't anything I could do. I…. should have told you sooner."

His voice is wobbling dangerously. Keith makes himself pause and fight it back. He still remembers what it felt like. He doesn't think he's ever going to forget it. The slow heavy beat of Lance's heart, like it was coming from his own chest, and the fear flooding his veins when he realized what it meant. It made his own body weak. It chased every other thought from his mind.

It's difficult to articulate.

But Keith tries.

He relives the whole thing so that Lance can understand where he's coming from. Why he's been so overbearing and argumentative, why he's been… trying to convince Lance to do less, when what he should have been doing all along is encouraging him to do more, but at a better pace.

It's not like Lance to be so quiet.

At first he's listening. Then he's just… quiet. Thinking. Turning that stone over in his hands the same way he turns over his own thoughts, and all the things Keith has said.

"I'm sorry I made you feel like this," Keith says, trailing off, "I'll… I'll back off. And give you some space, if that's what you - "

"I don't…. I don't want space, Keith," Lance says, so suddenly that Keith jumps, "I know you weren't doing that on purpose. I - I get it. Why you're upset. That's….This is..." Maybe he's having a hard time understanding it. Or maybe it's just too much right now. "I… I shouldn't be snapping at you, even when I am frustrated. Especially when - " He stumbles, then, as if just remembering. Keith can see much better than Lance can in the dimness, so he sees the sudden rush of heat to Lance's face. "L-last night. I -"

Keith cuts him off, mirroring his nervousness, "Uh. Actually, Lance, I - I lied. Last night. About not wanting to have sex. I… did. Want to."

Lance looks at him for a long second, frowning, confused. He shakes his head.

"N-no. Keith, you don't have to - "

"I know I don't have to say that. I'm not just saying it. I… I said I didn't want to, even though I did, because I didn't… I didn't think you really wanted to."

Lance closes his mouth. Eyes wide. He doesn't say anything, looks away again. His hands are still worrying that token, his bottom lip between his teeth.

Keith hesitates.

"You kept… you kept flinching," he says, "And getting still. And quiet. You're never quiet. I thought… maybe you were hurting, but you didn't want to say anything. Or maybe you just didn't want me to touch you. And you didn't really answer me when I asked if you were okay and wanted to keep going. That's why I stopped, Lance. I didn't do it to upset you, and I'm not- I'm not saying this to upset you, either. I - "

Lance is upset. Keith feels it with all of his senses, in his lungs when he breathes, in his heart - with every fiber in his body. He does not need to see Lance's blue eyes puddle up or hear the breathless sob that tumbles past his lips to know that he's upset. Lance's voice shudders out of him, and it tears right through Keith, "I w-wanted to. At first. But then it just got - it was - too much. I guess. I'm- I'm sorry, Keith. I don't know why I -

"Lance. You don't have to apologize for that. I know you're going through a lot right now, and even if you weren't, it doesn't matter. Did I… did I do something…? To make you -?"

"N-no."

"Okay. Just... tell me if I did. Lance," Keith implores, dipping his head to try and catch Lance's eyes. He reaches for Lance, and then thinks better of it. "I don't want to be like that with you if you don't want to be like that with me. I didn't mean to -"

"No, it's - it's me, Keith. It's all me. I don't - I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Lance. It's okay."

"It's not," Lance's voice breaks again.

"I know," Keith says.

"I hate feeling like this."

"I know… C'mere."

He can't stand just watching Lance hurt like this anymore. Keith opens his arms, silently pleading, hoping with his whole heart that whatever is upsetting Lance doesn't extend to this. He doesn't know what else to do, and they're both scared. They need this.

Lance is gasping softly, trying to get his breath and keep from crying. The pain medicine is kicking in, so his feeble attempt isn't working very well. He's whimpering and hugging himself. Lance blinks at him for a few seconds, more and more tears dropping down his chin. He hiccups once, and then ducks his head forward, resting it on Keith's shoulder.

Relieved, Keith wraps his arms around Lance, pulling him as close as he can with the way they're seated side-by-side on the couch. He cups the back of Lance's neck, splays one hand against Lance's back. He follows the curve of Lance's spine, down and then up again. He tucks his face into Lance's neck and rubs his scent with Lance's. The smooth, repetitive motion helps, and after a few long minutes Lance's short breathing quiets and he stops shaking so much.

"Lance," Keith says in his ear, "You don't have to make yourself do things you don't think you're ready to do, just to try and feel normal. I just want you to be here with me. I don't want anything else. It's okay if you need some time to get better. There's no rush. Just… stop worrying about everyone else, for once, and worry about yourself, okay? Please."

Lance pulls in a small, shuddering breath.

"Okay," he mumbles into Keith's shirt, "Sorry…. I love you. Are we okay?"

"We're okay," Keith murmurs.

He presses his mouth to the slope of Lance's shoulder, over his mark. It's partially hidden under the collar of Lance's shirt until Keith lifts a hand to tug it aside and then it is just Lance's warm skin against his lips. He breathes in deeply and feels Lance's heavy sigh as he relaxes even more, his arms sneaking around Keith's waist. Keith waits to make sure Lance is fully asleep before he moves him, shifting Lance so he'll be easier to lift and carrying him to their room.

----

Allura returns to the Castle within a few days.

Lance is already feeling better than he has in weeks. In months . His leg still hurts, still misbehaves, but it's easier to bear. Talking things out with Keith when he was awake and focused made a world of difference - and taking those antidepressants, and his pain medicine when he needs it, actually makes him feel more like a person and less like a walking storm cloud.

He's excited to hear the news. He just hates that Pidge is poking at his prosthetic when the announcement that Allura is back goes out over the PA system. He can't have his own wedding - no, he hasn't brought it up to Keith, and no, he isn't going to - that's a soft, dumb, romantic thing that's probably too big to even think about right now. He can keep that particular fantasy to himself. That doesn't mean he can't be supportive of Allura, not matter what.

"Can you hurry it up, please?" he asks, not-so-subtly turning his leg to get an idea of what Pidge is doing down there.

They've got the side panel popped off of his calf, their fingers digging at the inner workings.

It's weird to watch.

Even weirder that he can kind of feel it.

"Sure, yeah, I can hurry," Pidge says, tugging at something that makes his muscles tense. Lance grunts, his leg jumping. "If you want this to keep pinching that nerve and not be able to walk."

Lance sighs, "C'mon, Pidge. Hunk is gonna be ten layers into that fifteen layer cake and have the reception all planned before we even know when the date is."

"Literally give me five minutes. You'll live, I promise," Pidge says, withdrawing their fingers. They unzip a tiny black case with even tinier tools inside, stick one in their mouth and reach back into Lance's leg with another. When Lance tries to bend and turn his leg again, Pidge swats his right leg, a loud but painless slap that makes him flinch in surprise. "Quit moving around!"

"Sorry! Jeez! Testy much?"

"You are never allowed to call anyone testy ever again after refusing to take your meds and acting like a five year old who missed his nap for three entire weeks."

"Give me a break, Pidge," Lance groans.

As if he doesn't feel bad enough.

"No," Pidge says, "Medicine is a science, and when medical experts give you advice on how to get better, they're usually right. Especially when one of the experts is me." They snap the panel back onto his leg, pressing at the edges to seal it. They motion for Lance to get up as they stand and move out of his way. "There. Try it now. See if that's better."

Lance gets up a little awkwardly, pushing with his hand, weight on his flesh-and-blood foot until he's upright and he's got his balance. He puts his left foot down carefully, bracing for that sharp pain that's been tugging at his thigh. It doesn't come. Lance hums in surprise, shifting more of his weight back and forth. He lifts his knee up to his chest, walks a couple of steps away from the bench and then back.

He's beaming when he looks at Pidge.

"That does feel better! Much better! Thanks, Pidge."

"You're welcome," Pidge says, dismissive, waving a hand, "Start listening to your doctors."

"I will. Sorry."

"And stop apologizing. I swear if I hear one more apology I'm gonna snap."

Pidge drops their toolkit onto the bench and picks up their tablet as Lance chuckles, sitting down to get back into his pants. Getting dressed is still something of an Ordeal now. He can't just slip his pants on and go when his foot threatens to get caught and tear the entire leg out. He's ruined a lot of good pants recently. (Keith had laughed at him for trying to striptease the other night and getting tangled up in his pant leg. That was a very humbling moment.)

"This should be the last of the adjustments," Pidge is saying, swiping at the tablet in their hand and glancing up at Lance, "If you have anymore discomfort besides the occasional swelling, you need to let someone know, okay? If you stop overdoing it, that should be going down. The area isn't as inflamed as it was, and without all the pinching agitating it, it should get better. Bonus:" Pidge flips the tablet so he can see the screen - a leg, almost exactly like the one he has. "If you'd like a customizable prosthesis, Hunk and I have finished putting together the schematics we've been working on."

Lance leans forward to get a better look as he stands and pulls his pants up, snapping the waistband. He hasn't worn anything other than loose-fitting sweat pants since the accident because everything else is too constricting, but he's really hoping to get into clothes that at least look a little more professional soon. He can't believe he actually misses getting dressed and going to meetings and stuff, but he does.

"Not to sound ungrateful or anything," Lance says, "But I don't see a difference."

"Fair. Most of the difference is on the inside," Pidge says, "All the internal adjustments we've made to the one you have would be the default. We perfected all the alignments and changed up some of the alloys. Also, you can pick the color of the plates and joints."

Lance hums in thought.

"Cool." He glances down, smiling. "I think I like the one I've got, though."

"Well, it's here if you want it. And Hunk and I are both getting legitimately certified next week to work on prosthetics. So you won't have to see a specialist anymore."

"Nice! Thank you guys, seriously."

The door of the med bay slides open, and Keith and Allura both walk in. Lance's face lights up as he grabs his jacket from the bench, quickly shrugging into it.

"Hey! So?" he asks, "Let's see the hands!"

He shows Allura the backs of his own hands, wanting her to copy him. Allura looks confusedly at Keith, who is obviously struggling not to laugh, and Pidge, who snickers, stowing their tablet and their toolkit in their bag. She complies, holding both hands out in front of her, palms down, fingers splayed.

"I don't understand," she says.

Lance doesn't stifle his disappointed noise as he takes Allura's hands in his and looks at them carefully.

"He's looking for an engagement ring," Keith says.

"Yeah he is," Pidge mutters.

Keith shoots them a scalding look.

Allura purses her lips into a small ooh sound, laughing gently.

"I wouldn't have thought of rings, that's such a lovely idea. Alteans declare their betrothals with more ornate markings, Lance," she says, smiling.

"Of course, we all know how Galrans make such intentions known," Pidge says, unrepentant and ignoring Keith's increasingly heated glared. They smirk at him. "Even if they don't follow through."

Lance pretends not to be listening, pretends that his cheeks don't heat up at the idea of Keith proposing to him, even informally. He kind of has. How did Lance forget that's what the bite mark means?

It doesn't mean that for us, he reminds himself.

It's just a way to be close.

He loves that. He's fine with that.

He turns over Allura's hands to look at her palms, looks up to study his face.

"Your markings look the same to me. So…?"

Allura lifts a demure shoulder.

"She said no," Pidge infers, elbowing Keith, "All of you owe me trade-offs in chore duty. I'm a free person for the next three movements."

"Allura," Lance prompts.

Allura is still smiling. She squeezes his hands.

"There are already entire generations being born that will never know what it was like to be enslaved by a tyrannical Empire," she says softly, "We've all come so far together, and we are all working hard every day to further the progress of peace across the universe. Things will only improve with time. Lotor and I both decided it was best to take things slowly for now. We can wait a few years. There's no hurry, Lance."

Oh.

Lance smiles at her, squeezes her hands back.

"As long as you're happy."

"I'll throat-punch Lotor if he ever makes you un happy," Keith volunteers.

"Unless I get to him first," Pidge declares.

They part ways outside the med bay, Allura leading Pidge off to get their opinion on some project or another, Lance tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket and leaning into Keith's side, sighing over-dramatically as he rests his forehead on Keith's shoulder. He shifts his weight off his left leg without thinking much about it. Keith notices.

"Is it hurting?"

"No. I'm okay." Lance lifts his hands inside the pockets, jacket flapping. "I promise!"

"Good. Because we've got training exercises to do."

Lanc heaves out another noisy sigh.

Keith shrugs him off playfully.

"C'mon, Lance."

He leads the way down the hall with Lance at his side, only half a step behind, but then he cuts left instead of right. Lance hesitates, poised to go right, and vocalizes his confusion, "Uhh, training deck is this way, babe."

"We're not going to the training deck."

Keith doesn't even slow down, or glance back, or anything. Just keeps walking. Curiosity piqued, Lance half-jogs to catch up with him. He does it without thinking. He notices once he reaches out to loop his arm around Keith's elbow that it didn't hurt. Didn't sting or throb, didn't make him wince or pull his stride short. He glances down as he walks, paying more attention to the movement, trying to feel it out.

His balance is better.

He catches Keith watching him out of the corner of his eye when he looks up again, and grins.

That tiny smile curls at the corner of Keith's lips.

"This another surprise?" Lance asks, "You gotta stop this, man."

"No."

"No, you won't stop, or no it's not a surprise?"

Keith looks like he's genuinely considering it. "First one."

"Wow," Lance laughs, "If it's a room full of flowers, I'm going to scream. Not a good scream."

"It's not," Keith laughs in returns, "It's an empty room."

"You're spoiling it?"

"Nah."

"Keith, the suspense will kill me."

"You're fine."

"My leg hurts."

"You're fine, Lance."

This? Much better.

A thousand times better.

A million.

The empty room that's his "surprise" is the Castle's main ballroom. Keith leads him all the way to the central ornate staircase, pulls his comm out of his pocket, and swipes his thumb across it. Lance watches curiously over his shoulder, glances around, rubbing his thumb over the token in his pocket. He jumps when music starts playing through the overhead speakers, something soft and just a little bouncy. His heart automatically matches the rhythm, a smile fighting it's way across his face.

"Thought we were doing training exercises," he says.

Keith sets his comm down between the bannister rails.

"Thought this might be easier - better. I mean," he says, turning hesitantly to face Lance. That tiny smile is still there, bashful as Keith glances away. "I thought… we could dance instead of training. It will get you used to moving around without putting so much strain on your leg, kind of like swimming does. And we can work our way up to the more complicated dances once you're able to do the other ones."

"And I like dancing," Lance says, horribly close to crying.

He can feel the heat in his eyes. His throat constricting. His body flushing with warmth. His face absolutely hurts from the strength of his smile.

"Yeah," Keith says softly, reaching out to take his hands as Lance pulls them from his pockets. His grey-violet eyes are so bright under the ballroom lights, holding Lance's gaze. There's so much love there, Lance can barely even breathe. "Let's take things slow. Okay?"

Lance laughs, leaning in to plant a playful kiss against Keith's lips.

"Okay."

----

"Do you think we're soulmates?" Lance asks.

Keith looks like he's giving it some serious thought - more serious than the question warrants, Lance thinks. He elaborates, inclining his head.

"Not like, destined to be together soulmates. More like…" He tries to think of a way to explain, following Keith's lead as they move in perfect unison to a song they've danced to a hundred times. "Our souls are so similar and comfortable that we… naturally gravitate toward one another, no matter what kind of circumstances we have. Kind of soulmates."

The bridge of the song comes and goes. Keith still watches his feet when he dances, an old habit that he never broke from. Lance watches Keith's face. The slight furrow of his eyebrows, the way his dark eyes pinch up at the corners, the soft, subtle smile tugging at his lips.

"I hope so," Keith says.