Archive of Our Own

It transforms in stages; pieces disjointed in no apparent order. This life Keith has now feels like that in general; fragments and parts that work in themselves but don’t fully make up a whole. Not that he isn't happy. He is, content and sated in how he helps, truly helps people and planets across the galaxy.

Aid work is hard. It gives a sense of fulfillment which nothing else can compare to, but it leaves a bitter taste of exposure and true understanding. Chipping away at one issue cracks through the glass and out spills more decaying underneath. It can’t be surface. You cannot just give some food and water and walk away. He more than others understands the damage of platitudes and quick fixes. There has to be infrastructure, knowledge of the real issues underneath a crisis and plans to combat them. Whether it’s by the Blade or someone else is another question, but he doesn’t let his team disperse when the immediate critical work is done.

Which means he sees it all; has to get the belly of the beast to know it’s weakness. Sees families starving, injured, sick. Isn’t always in time, and sometimes they don’t have enough resources to make much of a difference. He’s held people in their last moments, stayed for as long as was safe (and past that if he’s honest) given even his own clothes to people who need them more than he does. But sometimes it just isn’t enough.

Mostly, it takes time. Weeks and months and over a year he’s been doing this show exactly why he needs to wake up each morning and just keep going. Gradual improvements, slow building up from the bottom, really seeing the development with each return. The times they interject in immediate crisis and can hand over the reigns once everything is stable, and the partnerships they’ve made with authorities, kingdoms and agencies to see this all through means the world to him. It works. They work, and he can do this.

He just finds himself immersed in aspects for too long though. These projects are lengthy and take him away from any semblance of stability. He doesn’t even have a base called home to return to, his old apartment on Earth was just leaking money so he’s not renewed the lease. He feels adrift. Work is his focus; if he isn’t doing humanitarian work, he’s thinking about it. Sometimes in a good way, with plans and dreams of what to do and what they can prevent. Other times with recollections of the worst moments, the doubts and the nightmares of what he’d not been able to stop.

That’s the issue though. He only has this, and nowadays, it’s not enough. He is more rounded, more in need of stability and multiple facets to make a life, rather one obsessive focus that got him through his teens and the war. Now the initial rush of turning the Blade into what it currently is has worn off, he craves variation if only to stave off the repetition of the less than joyful parts.

He talks though. Keith has learned now, that he has to talk, actually talk about how he feels to the people that care, despite how hard he still finds this. Reduce the walls down a bit, not take everything on himself and only say the first few thoughts. He’s better at keeping contact than he thought he’d be, than he used to be. Perhaps his time being away from team Voltron taught him the importance of keeping in touch, the things that could be missed when not speaking. Perhaps because he is no longer running away, chasing after a place to find himself and stuck in a cycle of believing they are all better without him.  

He calls his mum, calls his friends, calls his brother. Pidge answers every time saying they ‘hate calls why couldn’t he just email’, but proceed to spend an hour talking about nothing. Shiro sounds glad each time, and Keith no longer questions if the tone is true. Hunk nearly always calls him first, as if he just knows when Keith feels the needs to talk.

Initially, he hadn’t spoken to Lance. It was tough, back then after Allura’s death to know how to approach him. Keith knows death and loss too intimately, but having a language for it is still not easy. Lance seemed to be coping as well as could be expected in the aftermath, but eventually it all caught up.  He drifted, did not seem to like contact, with anyone not just Keith. But when his withdrawal became worrying to everyone he stepped in. Called even though Lance rarely answered, offered to visit even though it was turned down, checked in even though it wasn’t wanted.

And it made a difference. One phone call, one time, to Keith and only Keith had told him that his perseverance, his instance in making sure Lance knew he always had the option of connection was worth it. That was over six months ago now, and they haven’t really discussed it in detail. Keith is okay with that. Allowing Lance to crash down and be there when he did meant he could be there as he built back up. Which was happening.

So here it is, the transformation. These small moments are when it begins, those tiny changes leading to this new connection between them. The setting of the stage, this creation of pathways, the reconstruction completing.

Or perhaps it had been in the wings for a while; an undercurrent that has thrummed below their relationship from the very start, one that Keith knows he has felt before. But for now, Keith is honing in on the present, unsure of how much further he wants to venture or discover.

All he knows is they have a schedule. Unless Keith has something he can’t possibly get out of, they speak on the same day at the same time. Have been doing so for just over two months. Routine is important to Lance now, and Keith likes a plan when his days are often scheduled away to the high heavens.

Some days they talk for hours. Some for minutes. Keith leads on one call, Lance speaking animatedly non stop on another. Once they’d sat in silence for seven minutes; Lance’s breathing heavy, just edges away from too much all at once, and Keith just waited until he felt heard enough to carry on. Keith once called to ask about a song Lance used to sing back, way back when he was Blue and Keith was Red as he’d just seen a wildfire take down half a village in moments, and he was only just teetering on the right side of the aftermath.

A habit. A pattern. Comforting to both of them in it’s frequency and relativity. Keith isn’t sure exactly when he starts looking at these calls as one of his favourite markers, actively counting down the minutes and planning in advance what to say; capturing memories thinking ‘Lance would want to know’ like photos in a dusty album.

Tonight it’s cold where he is, making the work slower, his mind and limbs sluggish, everything dropping to a lulling beat. Keith has been staring at numbers and codes on a screen, sorting and calculating. They will be here for two more weeks, then a break. Keith needs to finish these final tallies of stocks before handing it back to the planet’s government, who were unprepared for the severity of the winter. But it’s almost complete, one of the easier feats of recent times. Kosmo is not with him, but back at base, probably annoying the hell out of everyone there. He smiles to himself thinking of the wolf, and longs to reach out and brush his hand through his fur. Having Kosmo helps too, in times like this when everything is slow and stiff. He loves him, so very much, never really understood why people clung to pets like they do until he had something similar.

The distraction of work helps as he doesn’t want to think about the break up ahead. He needs the time off, needs to not think for just a while. But Shiro’s away and although he’s said Keith is welcome to stay in his apartment, that feels a little intrusive. Hunk and Pidge are both working and although he likes the people on his team the whole point of a break is  not having to think about work for a while.

He shouldn’t be startled by the incoming call as he’s been looking forward to it for hours, but still the sudden rush of time catches him off guard. As it bleeps, he brushes his hair out of his eyes, quickly pulling it out of the tie, then securing it back again. Mind catching up, he scolds himself for doing so because why does it matter what it looks like when it’s Lance , then answers.

“Hey Keith h-are you wrapped in a pink blanket?”

Keith’s mind halts because of course he fixed his hair but forgot he was huddled under a pink blanket. With tiny hippos on it (it was so adorably cute; Ezor had found it, a local had been making them for children and she’d got one for both of them. Hers has kittens. He still isn’t sure if this planet knows what kittens and hippos are or if she’d commissioned them. He prefers to stay in the dark).

Keith clears his throat, trying not to blush. “It’s minus twenty five outside. And the heating just isn’t cutting it.”

Lance winces, himself wearing short sleeves, sun streaming in through the window behind him. “That’s tough man. But hey, not long to go, right?”

Keith nods, and Lance replies with a smile, stretching across his face and unburdening something Keith’s been carrying without knowledge. He still, after all this time, isn’t quite used to the Altean marks; isn’t sure how long it will take to get used to them. Lance’s face is entirely changed, both a shadow and brightness to it which makes the look uncanny in it’s familiarity yet strangeness. The lack of time spent with or seeing Lance of late  also hasn’t helped Keith’s memory add them into his recollections, piecing him together as he is now.

Lance has mentioned in brief that the marks are one of the crucial things that have been eating away at him, something he is working to address.

It is another thing they skirt against in their discussions, almost mentioning, almost telling but not quite speaking real words. Keith genuinely wants to help, and has been there for Lance when his mind overtook and felt like there was no escape (minds, Keith knows, have a tendency to do that to you). It was Lance’s choice though and Keith will never push for more. He just isn’t sure if Lance is waiting for him to set the scene, make the way for him to talk, or if he wants to get to it in his own time. Or if he just feels better not talking to Keith any further than their few snapshots and that one night. Keith isn’t Hunk, his best friend, or his family. He is...whatever Keith is to Lance. Again, another thing he’ll not ask yet. No matter how much he wonders.

Lance looks tired, dark circles stark against his skin, face a touch away from gaunt. He looks better than Keith has seen him though, but the way Lance’s body has shrunken in always shocks him. Not that Keith probably looks wonderful at the moment, but the dramatic change in Lance still strikes him whenever he calls.

They talk, Lance updating him on his family and the farm, deliberately mentioning the amazing weather so much until Keith gives him the finger. Keith then relays what he’s been doing since they’d last spoken, those little anecdotes he’s stored spilling out, each time he makes Lance laugh a miniature victory.

“So what are you doing with your time off?”

Keith grimaces. He’ll have to think about it eventually though, so now is as good a time as any. The disconnection resurfaces, a strange longing growing which until recently he hasn’t realised he is missing. That place of return, the home he still does not quite have.

“Not sure, Shiro’s away. I might just go somewhere, get a hotel but nothing I really want to do.”

Lance makes a stuttering sound, strange and strangled causing Keith to peer closely at the screen.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry, it’s just umm… you can always come stay here. You know that, right? You don’t have to get a hotel unless there’s somewhere you actually want to visit. But it doesn’t sound like that.”

Which is true, Keith isn’t really wanting to explore, too tired after a string of incidents that leave him just craving one place with little hassle. It hasn’t occurred to him to ask Lance though. He’s been practical in getting rid of his apartment, but still feels a little like a burden when he wants to stay. It has only been a stern talk with Shiro that has stopped him from leaning into it too much. Lance is different though; he has his family, a farm to help run and himself to focus on.

But the idea of staying with him casts a hopefully light in something buried deep, some aspect of their relationship that has been hidden of late.

“Is...if I did say yes...are you sure?” he asks, his awkwardness flaring.

Lance’s expression turns fond. “Keith, you’re always welcome. Always. We have the space and my mum will fuss over you ridiculously. She’d love it, they all will. It’s probably not the most relaxing of vacations, but you can definitely stay, man.”

“Thanks, Lance. I’ll let you know.”

Lance nods, not seeming offended by Keith’s answer, for which he is grateful. They chat for another half an hour of so, before Keith starts to get too cold and Lance has work to get to. It is late anyway, and Keith shuffles to his room, blanket wrapped around him like a shield as he gets changed and ready.

He likes the idea of visiting, likes the idea of spending more time with Lance on his turf. A re-connection on different ground, a choice rather than being flung together for the sake of the world. Lance is truly his friend, he is aware of that more than ever now. He still has this sense of regret nipping at the framing of his sense though; whether through missed opportunities of connection, or the fact that they are such a good combination and they could have been friends much earlier. Would that have made a difference to how everything turned out? Would it have changed the result?

But equally, no point dwelling. He cannot not change the past, but can help shape his present, marking the way to the future. So the next day, after hauling the last of their supplies to the warehouses on the other side the country, fingers still devoid of feeling, he types up a message to Lance.

If it still works for you, I’d like to come and stay. I’ll be leaving on 15th.

Within an hour he has a string of dancing figures and a smiley face in return. Keith hadn’t even realised he could get emojis on his device.

The flight is long, but the heat is welcome as he marches up the drive to Lance’s home. He can’t even begrudge the sweat running down the back of his neck; at least not in the first hour or so of being here.

Keith is a little nervous. Not the rushing, pulsing nerves before a unknown enemy or mysterious task, but the worst kind. The jangling queasiness of social anxiety, the enemy of people and talking that seems to slight him more frequently than any warrior. And on the edge of these, the hum of excited anticipation of seeing Lance in the flesh, the kaleidoscope of butterflies inside that want to plan the best greeting, the best hello, the best reaction to meeting in person after so long.

He tries to stifle it, reminding himself sternly that those thoughts over Lance have no place now, have to disperse and should be let go. But his traitorous self does not listen, hasn’t listened since those old emotions began taking hold again.

Truthfully, they’d never gone, but Keith has always been good at refocusing when needed, channeling his energies and hiding from the more difficult elements inside. However, as he’s become older and better at dealing rather that running, old coping mechanisms have died a death. Good, in so many ways. Yet bad when he’s arriving at Lance’s and cannot control his heartbeat.  

Yet all that dissipates when Lance appears at the doorway, quickly walking to meet him, pleased expression on your face.

“Hey, Keith! How was the flight? Want help?” he asks, gesturing to his bag. Keith shakes his head as they fall into step.

“It’s fine, as was the flight. Long though.”

He feels stiff in words, almost needing a verbal warm up. He hasn’t spoken to anyone face to face outside of his Blade team in almost six months. As usual, his social skills seem to rust whenever they aren’t used constantly. Plus, he can’t even remember the last time he saw Lance face to face. Must have been at their last anniversary meet up which had not been...pleasant. Well, even less pleasant than marking a friend’s death could be. Lance had been in the throes of the difficult time then. If Keith recalls correctly, he hadn’t made it through the whole dinner. He pushes the bleak memories aside though, as Lance begins to speak.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing a jacket, aren’t you melting? You can give up the aesthetic in summer, Mullet,” Lance says with a laugh, poking the sleeve of his black jacket.

Keith rolls his eyes. “I told you, it was cold where I was.”

“And I told you the temperature here, yet you’re still rocking the biker look. Is it worth the sweat? Are you going to faint? Warn a guy if you’re going to swoon.”

And just like that it clicks, snaps back to its original shape. Tossing sentences back and forward, catch one tease, trade for another. It puts Keith back at ease, muscle memory kicking in of how to interact with Lance as if it hasn’t been so long.

It is quiet when they enter the house, but Lance warns it won’t stay this way. He leads Keith quickly through the house and up to the second story, apologising as he goes

“I’ll give you a more of a tour later, I have a few things I need to finish first. Sorry, thought I’d get it done before you arrived! Figured you might want to unpack though.”

Keith shrugs. “It’s fine, don’t worry, Lance. It’s nice enough of you to allow me to stay, you don’t need to entertain me.”

Lance turns to face him, frowning. “Keith, I told you, I’m not allowing it. You’re welcome. It’s nice to have you here.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he turns back and opens the nearest door, stepping inside.

“Ta-da! All yours. Shower is through the door on the left. The wardrobe should be clear, but if someone’s put something in it, let me know.”

Keith moves past into the room. It’s light, airy and homely despite having almost no furniture in. It was either placed as a guest room or cleared completely some time ago, the room having that posed sense of existing with no permanent occupant. Just a bed with crisp, light blue sheets and patterned pillow cases, a bedside table and small wardrobe in matching light wood. The window is propped open, a dark blue curtain fluttering pleasantly as the breeze makes its way through the room.

“It’s great. Thank you,” Keith says, true and grateful for the effort.

Lance smiles, still too drawn and a shade unfamiliar with the marks, but so Lance nonetheless.

“Alright, I shouldn’t be more than 30. Help yourself to anything downstairs if you need food or a drink. But if I don’t see you down there I’ll come knock,” and with a wave, he walks away.

Keith closes the door, immediately shucking off his jacket and shoes before collapsing on the bed. It is already soothing to be here, the fresh breeze, the warmth and the absence of responsibility, just for a little while, coaxing him down. He turns onto his side, feet curling up, watching the curtain move as his eyes slip shut.

He wakes with a start.

Keith did not mean to fall asleep, hadn’t actually realise he was that tired. He sits bolt upright, hair clinging grossly to his cheek, and urg. He feels disgusting . The light in the room has moved, continued onward as it is wont to do, but it is not yet falling. Hopefully his impromptu nap hasn’t been for too long.

He quickly grabs his wash-bag an enters the bathroom, intent on a shower before leaving the room. Speeding through his ablutions as swiftly as possible, he towel dries his hair before changing into a t-shirt and jeans (minus the jacket this time) and makes his way back downstairs.

He hears Lance before he sees him, the timbre of his voice echoing so familiarly, beckoning Keith closer. In the past it would have been louder, the cadence rapidly changing with each intersection of speech. Keith cherishes that memory, but will take this sound for now, amazed at how much he’s missed generally being in Lance’s space.

“Hey sleepy Mullet, nice nap?” Lance says, sitting at the table when Keith enters. Keith wrinkles his nose, but someone else speaks before he can retort.

“Lance, leave him alone, Keith’s had a long day of travelling. Welcome, Keith, it’s lovely to have you here. I hope my son was a better host when you arrived.”

“Mama! I am an excellent host,” Lance cries in indignation, but Keith ignores him to greet Lance’s mum.

“Thank you for having me, Mrs McClain.”

She waves him off, shaking her head in the same fond way Lance does.

“Don’t be so formal, Keith. And you’re always welcome.”

The repetition of the words makes it easier to take in, much like Shiro’s reassurance. Keith wonders, as he joins them at the table, a glass of water given when requested, if he’ll ever feel as comfortable with accepting invitations as others naturally do. Too many years feeling like an intruder, never really having a space of his own. Hurt is easy to occur, but takes far longer to heal.

Lance’s mother is apparently only stopping by, having other things to do. Keith hopes it is true and she isn’t leaving on his account, but Lance seems unfazed so Keith tries to dismiss his worry.

“Sorry, for falling asleep,” Keith says as he finishes his drink. Lance just shrugs.

“It’s fine, you were only out an hour or so. Hey, let me show you around,” he says, smile not seeming as all consuming as it had been before. But Keith doesn’t have time to consider it further, Lance launching into an explanation almost instantly of what he’s been doing while Keith was sleeping.

It is overwhelming if he is honest, how a farm actually operates. He can’t say he’s thought about it much, but of course, like all systems which appear to run seamlessly under the radar, there is a complex routine that must be adhered to. So it is nice, listening to Lance as he runs through routines, machinery and plans for making each element more efficient.

By the time they finish, the sun is starting to set, everything bathed in golden hues with the last light. Keith instantly is pushed back in time, to another conversation, another sunset. He feels full to the brim with...something, spilling over, excess streaming forth. Keith turns to Lance, not sure what he is planning to say, if anything at all.

Lance is also staring at the sunset, stares out towards the horizon, seemingly with purpose but Keith knows well enough he isn’t actually seeing anything. Keith follows his eyeline though, wonders what he might see with another's eyes. But it’s just Lance’s home, his farm, his flowers-

Juniberrys. Of course.

Because Lance isn’t be thinking of their sunset, isn’t be thinking of conversations that tied them together, of their friendship in motion. The entire stimuli of that discussion had been her after-all; Lance’s insecurities of his upcoming date, of not being good enough, Altean enough to date Allura.

And now he stares out unseeingly, Altea marks clear and bright, her memory preserved in the flowers of her home world and in the pieces of Lance that are clinging to faded recollections, not yet ready to fly. Keith feels it like a physical blow, that they can see such a view in such alternate perspectives,

So he touches Lance’s shoulder once, and Lance starts, wrapping a mask back on and matching Keith’s gaze.

“Anything else you want to show me?”

An out, a cover, but Lance takes it, scrabbling together some semblance of conversation, and willingly, Keith follows.

Keith notices over the next few days the cracks that Lance is struggling to fit back together. All that time ago, the phone call in the night, was the fracturing; facade being scattered to the four corners of the world. In that time, Lance has begun to collect himself, create something new and different from shards and elements.

It is obvious he’s more than begun in many ways. Lance has his aura back, the essence that makes him who he is; inviting, warming, inclusive and bright. The shadow he’d been the last time Keith had seen him was by far eclipsed, but there are still gaps. To be expected, the way these things work; a person isn’t built from something flat and seamless, there are fissures and rough edges built stone upon stone.

Keith just observes though, the worry and the care taking the lead in noticing Lance’s triggers and struggles among the healing, to see if he can do anything to abate them. He probably can’t and even if he could take all of it away (and he would, in a heartbeat without any hesitation) it all needs to come from Lance in his own time. Keith isn’t sure what he can even do to help, feels the same with Shiro and has always done. Keith might be an expert at experiencing hurt but helping others through is such an individual experience that when he already struggles trying to express anything, just often feels like an exercise in failure.

But he does it anyway. Has done with Shiro, stumbled and fallen, learned from those attempts. Because, as with Lance, he cannot and will never give up. Keith tries to recall things that helped with Adam’s passing, but each death of a loved one is a unique experience, and there is no template.  

The most terrifying part is the most obvious; the marks. The fact that Keith still finds difficulty seeing them in Lance’s face must be nothing compared to how Lance feels. Although Lance has mentioned his issues with them in the past, it’s one thing to hear and another to see in person. The results of that are plain. Lance covers mirrors in his own room, which on seeing that made Keith’s entire being splinter a little. At first he wonders if it is just a haphazard placement, but in the days that pass the blanket never moves. There are covers on other mirrors in Lance’s spaces, and whenever they sit or stay in a place with a reflective surface, Lance situates himself far away. It’s become habit,  as it took Keith a while to notice he does it. He avoids looking at the reminder of what he is now.

The flowers are a nice memorial, and Keith in his limited knowledge of how to grieve effectively (is there such a way?) thinks it's probably a good way to remember Allura. They seem to bring peace to Lance as well, he looks content as he cares for them, weeding and watering as they need, commenting on growth rates offhandedly.

It’s Keith who actually finds them hard to look at. There’s no solace in them, it looks too much of grave for him, a shadow of too many times he’s stood with his own wilted flowers remembering his father, remembering Shiro when they thought he was dead. He stares at them and his own eye mist, recalling the Princess’ laugh, her determined voice, her drive keeping them all together for so long. It’s impossible to block out how much he misses her then, his friend, their Princess, the Blue Paladin.

Then there is the photo they took on their first date, displayed proudly in Lance’s room as if nothing were amiss. Keith wonders how often Lance looks at it, fades into it and wishes to return to that frozen moment. Or perhaps like the flowers it’s more comforting, a cherished moment. He can’t tell.

What perplexes him the most occurs one week into his stay. Lance has coaxed him into stories of his most recent planetary adventures (Lance uses the word adventures. Keith is a serious working adult. Sometimes), and although he’s already told Lance nearly everything worth sharing, he does manage to recall a few things.

“It was awful, kind of like the night I rescued Shiro…”

“We, Keith, we,” Lance says indignantly, throwing a discarded leaf in Keith’ s direction. Keith blinks at the leaf for a moment, then grins.

“Okay fine, we . Anyway, I get on this convertible car thing, racing away with Ezor yelling in my ear and Axca hastily trying to call anyone when I realise it actually flies. So I just hit switches until it transforms and then...well, you know,” he finishes, smiling into the recollection.

“Nooo… use words, Keith,” Lance says, sitting down next to him, jostling his arm.

The problem is that words can’t really express that feeling, the switch into flight and he honestly thought Lance would be better at putting it into words. But for Lance, Keith will try.

“When you take off and...I guess it just feels like it should. But it’s entirely abnormal as you’re flying, and we can’t fly so it’s something special, even though I’ve done it thousands of times. Then the speed picks up and I’m just away, getting faster and being where I need to be. But you know that feeling, right?”

He turns in finishing, his face a little red from articulating something so personal. Because that’s what flying is, what it has always been to him. So crucial and close that it’s hard sometimes to explain it’s magnitude. Lance though, he thinks, must understand; them sharing the Red title and for all the years Lance strove to become a pilot. But when he looks to Lance he is facing away, staring out in the distance without expression.

“Not sure, man. It’s been a long time since I flew, can’t really remember.”

The entirety of it is wrong. The tone, the words, his stance. All wrong.

“I just assumed it was something you couldn’t forget…”

“Yeah well, you were wrong.”

And it just flips something, snaps some of Keith’s restraint because that is not Lance . Not the Lance he knows and although people change, grow, develop, the fundamentals stay solid, foundations for the redevelopment.

And Lance not remembering how it felt to fly? Not possible.

“I’m not wrong. Lance, I flew with you for years, I know how much you love it. And yeah, love it. You don't just stop, I feel it too, I know it doesn’t just stop!”

He’s standing now, and Lance is too, this familiar butting of heads, facing one another on opposite sides of the line. Keith sort of hates that he likes this, this dynamic they still maintain, something to connect them back through time to this place.

“Stop assuming you know this, Keith! You don’t know anything, you have no idea what I feel!”

“I can’t when you don’t tell me!”

“I don’t have to tell you, why should I, I don’t know owe you anything!”

Keith deflates even though the tension is still high, still swirling and crackling in the divide. Because really, Lance is right. He doesn't have to talk to Keith, but Keith knows he’s still not talking at all, not about the parts that really matter.

“You’re right. You don’t,” he says, waiting for the moment to pass, and the air to cool. Lance turns away, looking back into nothing and Keith sighs.

“I’m gonna go back inside,” he offers, giving Lance a chance to do something if he wants, then turns back towards the house. But Lance stays and Keith leaves, an echo of patterns from long ago and although this time it seems the correct course, Keith is still wondering if it is the right thing to do as he walks.

His temper is better nowadays, but occasionally it just spikes, and Lance has the unique way of getting under his skin. Much like their disagreement (not full blown argument, he refuses to call it that), he likes that this still happens, he is still attuned to the way Lance makes him go off balance.

Lance being here doesn’t sit well with him. Lance needing time to step away, to reorganise, to get to a new place after the war and Allura dying makes sense. But he’s just sticking here, staying in a halfway point between new and old which isn’t good. Keith has tried to wait, has been there when Lance needs but Lance doesn’t seem capable of moving forward.

It hurts Keith just to see it in action, knowing the person Lance is and who he can still be. He is possibly a little too much invested in this, but he cares. He cares a lot. In ways that he doesn’t think about now, or tries not too deeply anymore.

Keith goes inside, upstairs and takes a shower before pulling up his work files and reading through the next mission he’ll be on. Just short one, a few days to check out how a planet is doing, then back to base for a set up of something longer. He knows he is meant to be on holiday, and after ten minutes a notification from Axca pops up saying ‘get off line or I’ll remove your access,’ but it is calming to reassure himself nothing is amiss. It also takes his mind off everything.

He’s just closing down when there is a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he calls, and Lance follows, a strained small smile on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Keith replies. A silence then Lance sighs.

“Come downstairs? I made food.”

A peace offering, which Keith gladly takes so leaves, following after Lance. Turns out ‘food’ meant ‘dessert’ which is fine but somewhat bizarre.

They eat for a few moments, the sugary coldness melting deliciously on Keith’s tongue before Lance looks up at him.

“I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry, man.”

Keith shakes his head. “It was my fault, I should have just let it go. I’m sorry.”

Lance distractedly twists his spoon around the melting food, as Keith waits and eats his own.

“I honestly didn’t know how to answer. I do know how it feels, as I know you know. As if I could ever really forget. I just don’t know what I feel about it. I loved flying, but when I think about it, I just remember too much of the bad. The things we did in space, the things we saw, Allura...I feel like I lost so much of what I thought I needed and wanted. Now, I just don’t really know anymore. I don’t know what I want to do.”

Keith lets the quiet fall and just thinks, really thinks of how to answer that. Lance deserves the time afterall, as much as he can give after sharing so much.

“I don’t know how you must feel. I know from my own experiences what it feels like to lose things that seem such a fixed part of you. Or to not know what to pick and what to do. And sometimes you pick the wrong answer, but it’s okay to try and see what happens. It’s okay to spend time thinking and wondering. I just...I don’t want you to stop being who you are. We all change, and there was no way we could come out of what happened to us without being different. But it’s okay to have lost and been hurt and to want again. To still have things you aim for and reach for. To find enjoyment and happiness.”

Lance just looks at him, eyes encompassing, taking in each single word and revolving in it. Keith finds himself blushing under such scrutiny, for it seems as if Lance were looking further, looking for more than just the words he’s said, at something Keith has not articulated. Then lance chuckles, a light sound.

“When did you get so good at that, huh? Grow your hair, become an agony aunt?”

Keith points his spoon at Lance. “What is it with my hair?”

Lance smirks, then winks, familiar but usually not directed at Keith. But, a look in a window to something he’s not seen in a while.

“Wouldn’t you like to know...Mullet.”

And Keith laughs, because he can’t help it.

“So you’re all done for the day? Seems early?” Lance says, resting his chin on his hands and smiling idly.

He’s spoken to Lance most days since he left, their last conversation seeming to have built something between them which drew Keith in more than ever.

Keith nods. “Yeah, we’ll be leaving tomorrow evening I think. All done here. All the systems we put in place are working well; looks as if they’ll be on track in getting back on their feet without us from now on.”

“Aww, my hero,” Lance croons, smirking at Keith through the screen. Keith feels his cheeks heat up, even though he knows Lance is joking, can tell through the tone and gesture. But it still flusters him all the same.

“It’s my job Lance,” he says, a deflection, but Lance shakes his head.

“No no, this is hero material. Your Blade uniform counts as a costume, and we’ll have to call you Mullet Man.”

Keith groans and removes the tie from his hair shaking it out.

“Look, it’s not a mullet. I mean, it never was, but see?” he says, running his hand through the left side, feeling the slight pull as his fingers catch on the snags.

Lance just sort of stares for a second, and Keith would have wondered if the video feed had cut out, except Lance appears to be blinking rapidly.

“Lance? You okay?”

“Ah, yes! Oh, yeah I meant to ask, did Shiro change his number?”

Keith starts at the sudden change of topic.

“Um, yeah actually, a few weeks ago. He’s so bad at telling people, I’ll send it to you. Were you trying to call?”

Lance nods, “Yeah, tried yesterday. Thanks, man. I haven’t spoken to him in a while. And it’s his birthday next month, right?”

“Yes, I need to remember to book that off. He’ll be happy to hear from you,” Keith says earnestly, knowing Shiro worries and cares the most about all of them.

The call winds down naturally after that, and as Keith turns off the screen he sees a message awaiting.

How was your trip? How is Lance?

Pidge’s message had arrived just as they finished their work for the day, just after he called Lance.

Good. it was nice to see him. He’s doing better.

He smiles to himself thinking about it as Pidge’s next message arrives.

Yeah, I thought so too last time I saw him. Still worried about him though.

Keith types out another message quickly, eager to share.

We actually talked about things more. Flying mostly. About still being able to enjoy things and want things.

He doesn’t really want to go over the whole conversation, but he does feel the need to share his own thoughts on the matter, and actually reassure both himself and Pidge that the conversation had occurred.

Oh really? You told him that about flying?

Keith struggles to understand what Pidge means for a moment then immediately stops still, mind catching up with the letters on screen. He replays what he recalls of his conversation with Lance. He’d been talking about flying, nothing else. Could it have been read deeper?

Yes! I wouldn’t suggest anything else. And that was years ago I told you that, it’s not the same now.

Pidge’s reply is quick, as always

I know you wouldn’t which is exactly the problem. You should say something Keith, or are you telling me your feelings for him have changed?

Of course they haven’t, they just aren’t as promominet. Keith doesn’t sit there every night pining away for Lance, wishing they were together. It’s more there, in the back of his mind and occasionally springs to the forefront, a reminder of how much he cares and at one time wanted.

Because before, he’d wished for a chance. But no moment came, in no due part because of his actions. He had walked away when he joined the Blades, had not realised at the time exactly how far down those bubbling tendrils went. That had been a quartering though, removing himself from a chance he may have had.

There were points later too, when he thought he might have a chance. Have a moment with Lance where he could say what he now knew, what he’d been given time to understand. But Allura had returned Lance’s feelings by then, and Keith knew above anything else that was what Lance had wished for. He’d always pick Lance’s happiness above his own feelings.

He sighs, mentally berating past him for breaking down and telling Pidge.

No, they haven’t changed but after Allura, I can’t just swoop in and tell him.

It’s the last message he’s able to concentrate on, as he then becomes embroiled in work. But when he gets ready for bed later, another line is waiting for him.

Wasn’t your advice to him that he was allowed to want things and be happy? Do you expect him to mourn her forever and never be with anyone? That’s not fair, and not likely. And it’s not swooping after this long Keith. Think about it, at least. Don’t let another opportunity go.

They’d all died. Every single person in the building, those in the vicinity caught in the blast and shrapnel. The Blade was called in to stop things like this, to protect citizen amidst the civil war who were just caught in the crossfire until they could help stabilise the country.

Only he’s failed.

The death toll won’t be known for a while, but Keith can estimate, numbers running in his head, the number of floors, the number of windows, the time of day…

Too many lives. Just too many.

He’s aware of time passing, aware at some point he vomits, a mix of yellow bile and water as the aftermath of the blast images flash on and off throughout the evening. Kosmo whines, nuzzles him and tries to do anything to help, but Keith just lays on the floor for a while, gasping. His hands shake, his head hurts and he isn’t sure what time it is here or anywhere. Yet the one part of him still conscious, standing still while the rest spins, needs someone. Someone who hasn’t seen what he’s seen today.

The obvious choice is Shiro, but he is dialing Lance without even thinking. As soon as Lance’s face floods the screen, background dark and eyes looking tired, Keith knows he’s made the right choice.

“It’s...it’s night isn’t it?” is the first thing out of his mouth as despite the release of pressure on seeing Lance, he feels instantly terrible for waking him up.

“Keith, what’s happened?”

Keith honestly opens his mouth to tell Lance he is sorry, he’ll call back at a more social time but instead it pours out; the last few hours, the panic, the images, the destruction. An intricate web of deconstructed feelings, thoughts and scenes, all of things spinning up and down in his mind.

“Keith, I’m gonna need you to breathe for a few seconds. Come on, you know this one. We go in for four, hold, then out for four again,” Lance says suddenly, creases in his brow, eyes close to the screen, focusing on watching Keith do the movements as commanded.

Lance breathes with him exaggeratedly from half a world away. Keith hasn’t even realised he’s started to panic, but the drying wetness on his cheeks and tightness fanning across his chest as he inhales and exhales shows him the truth.

“Good. So, refocus. What’s around you. Tell me about your room.”

Keith nods, looking to his right. “A bed. White sheets. One pillow. Not that I can really see them, Kosmo is asleep and taking up all the space. I have three books on the shelf, I put them there.”

“What are they?” Lance asks.

“Pidge’s book, I’ve only read half of it though, don’t tell them. One of Shiro’s I have to give back next week. And the one you sent me.”

“You read it already?”

Lance seems surprised, that his little gift which reached Keith just before he left for this terrible mission has had impact. But he pushes that aside and smiles, feeling his chest already loosening.

“Yes. I liked it. Superheros are fun, I’ll consider your idea of becoming Mullet Man.”

And Lance laughs harder than he’s expecting, but quickly cut himself short, focusing back on Keith.

“It suits you. Remember who gave you the idea!” Lance says, pointing a finger directly at the screen.

“I’ll credit you at all of my signings,” Keith deadpans, then moves back to the breathing exercise, watching as Lance’s mouth moves through the numbers, counting on his behalf.

“Thank you for answering. It must be late,” Keith says a few minutes later, once he’s steady enough to be able to speak without needing an exercise of distraction.

“It’s fine. You called me. I’ll always answer. Just you like you did for me.”

Keith feels like crying again at the reassuring smile on Lance’s face, the way just him in the dark is all he needs to him through. Those old feelings, the ones that spark and crossover in his mind ignite and he remembers why he fell in love the first time. The Lance who kept them all together, the Lance who had his back. The Lance who laughed, smiled and has pulled Keith back from the abyss just by his words, trust and care so many times. Keith doesn’t know what he’d do without Lance in any capacity. So he tells him as such.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Don’t be silly, you know you’d be just fine. You have so many people who look out for you Keith, and all of us would have answered.”  

Keith shakes his head though. “I know, I could have called Shiro, or my mum or one of my team, but I didn’t want to talk to them. I wanted to talk to you. It’s...it’s something you’re best at, for me. You’re the person I always want to call.”

It’s the closest he’s ever got to a confession and it’s the middle of the night over a holoscreen after a panic attack, but it’s something. And Lance just leans forward more, eyes seeming to fill the screen.

“Why do you think I called you back then, huh? It’s the same.”

Keith is stuck now, wondering what this means, if it means anything at all, when Lance shakes his head.

“You should sleep, Keith. We can talk in the morning, whenever you need. But you should at least try.”

Keith looks over doubtfully at the bed and Kosmo. “I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

“Try. Please. I can stay on the line, if it would help.”

Keith hesitates, because that seems overly clingy and perhaps a little weird, but Lance sees his indecision and runs with it.

“Come on buddy, get in bed. I’ll tell you all about my nieces dance performance. I don’t know how that kid can create so much drama.”

“Runs in the family,” Keith answers, but he’s already making his way over, taking the screen with him and watching Lance sass him back as he gets comfortable. Kosmo moves obligingly as he settles, adjusting himself around Keith perfectly.

“Uh huh. Aww hey, Kosmo! You gotta come see me too next time, okay?  Hey, eyes closed. My lovely voice will lull you to sleep, but I know it’s hard to tear your eyes away from my beauty.”

“The story, Lance,” Keith says although he’s almost laughing, smiling hard and still keeping his eyes shut. Lance obliges and launches into the tale, and even though his eyes are closed, Keith can still imagine his gestures and expressions.

He manages a few hours sleep, eyes less heavy and brain less cluttered. The call time when he checks reads 2 hours 21 minutes.

Curtis is nice. Keith is genuinely happy for Shiro, sees just how much they mean to one another. They’ve been together for a while now, although it was a slow start. Shiro had taken time after the war, after all the truth of what the Galra did not him, and loosing Adam, to feel like he could let someone in again. Keith remembers Shiro freaking out like he was sixteen when he realised he was going on a date. So it’s lovely now to see him happy, content and relaxed with someone.

For Keith though, it’s just taking some getting used to. Curtis obviously wants Keith to like him, and Keith wants to like Curtis in return so they are both trying too hard and too much to be normal. It’s sort of draining on Keith, as social interaction often is. But that is part of this, Keith thinks. To celebrate Shiro’s birthday and spend time with both of them. Curtis is now a big part of Shiro’s life, and he wants to make sure they both include each other in that. It fills him with an indescribable feeling of love and belonging that after all of this, his brother still does that.

“Are you heading back today?” Shiro asks as they clear the plates, lunch finished. Keith nods.

“Yeah, I only had these two days so I need to fly out this evening. I’m sorry I can’t stay for longer,” he says, feeling incredibly guilty. Shiro shakes his head though.

“I’m happy you came, it’s great you were able to. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, Keith.”

Keith’s smile is warm as he replies. “I know. I promise I’ll visit more in the coming months.”

And does promise himself, makes a note in his mind to make the effort and the time. Scheduling breaks with his brother, with his friends is important now they’re all split across worlds.

“So...you aren’t stopping anywhere on your way?”

Keith frowns. “Why would I be?”

Shiro and Curtis exchange a look, and Keith internally groans that now there’s two of them doing that thing Shiro does when he has an exceptionally important point but wants Keith to get there first.

“Not going to see Lance?”

Keith knows he’s turning red and hates it, but he hates the smug look on Shiro’s face more.

“I saw him recently, and I didn’t ask to visit,” he replies.

“Spontaneous visits are ro-nice though,” Curtis adds and there really are too of them now . Shiro is a terrible influence on everyone.

“Keith,” Shiro starts, using that voice which means he’s going into ‘big brother mode’, “You have a craft and a few hours to kill. Go say hi. I think you’ll both be happy if you do.”

Keith knows Shiro is right, that he would be happier in seeing Lance, and that’s probably what makes him go. He’s almost there when the doubts start creeping in, because primarily he doesn’t even know if Lance is home now, but it’s too late then.

He lands in the closest designated area and walks to the familiar house in the familiar landscape. As he approaches, he notices Lance is sitting on the porch, as if waiting for him to arrive. He stands and begins to walk, and then they’re meeting, half way in both worlds.

“Wasn’t expecting a visit,” Lance says in greeting, but he is smiling widely Keith sees, so it must not be a problem.

“I had some time. Before I go back. To work.”

Keith winces as he hears himself, and Lance just looks amused.

“Got it. So why here?”

And this is it. Keith can feel it, the build up, the knowledge of inevitability, but it doesn’t feel like pressure. Despite the nerves escaping, this feels like it should do. It is time, time to say what’s built up, come down and reformed itself around their new personas. And Keith is fine with this. He’s ready.

“Because you’re the person I want to see.”

And they are standing closer than Keith had acknowledged, so he gets to see the blush as it materialises, spreading across Lance’s face. And despite the clear reaction, he still remains smirking, eyes dancing, alight and clear.

“I think there’s something else too.”

Keith doesn’t get to ask what because Lance moves forward and kisses him.

It’s chaste, sweet. Just a brush and touch of lips to his, pressure pressed enough to feel, but not to deepen. It’s a short exchange; Keith has just enough time to kiss back when Lance retreats by a step. He looks nervous, smiling, happy and wary. The definition of a first kiss.

“There is, yes,” Keith answers and then he drags Lance back to him by the arm and this is a second kiss. He leads, still keeping the pressure lighter than other kisses  he’s had, but adding more to it than their first. Lance leans in bodily, arms coming to land on Keith’s shoulders, Keith shifting to circle Lance in his. That’s a signal so this time he does deepen, feels Lance make some sort of noise that opens his mouth and all his senses are flooded. Warmth, a little desperation, longing so much longing, as the kiss starts heightening, a gasp here and there, breath escaping, not to be wasted. Then, they slow, a known rhythm of a more peaceful exchange.

Keith lets this part of their kiss linger, but does pull back in time, although neither of them let go of one another. He inhales deeply.

“How am I supposed to leave now,” Keith mutters, resting his forehead against Lance’s shoulder, almost speaking into his neck.

“It’s a goodbye kiss, I’m sending off my hero.”

“If we’ve never kissed before surely it makes this a hello kiss,” Keith counters, still not letting go but lifting his head to look at Lance.

Lance moves a hand to cup his cheek, thumb running over skin. Keith wishes he could sink into the feeling for always.

“How about a reason for you to come back soon?”

And Keith grins before closing the space for another reason, a third kiss. Because he doesn’t need a reason or motivation to come back, never really had.

Lance himself is and always has been enough.