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Lance has taken to training with his sword via a hologram program he’d found by accident. When his bayard had first changed forms he thought he’d done something wrong. It was hard not to draw comparisons to Keith and to feel himself falling short.
It had taken Lance some time to shake the sensation and accept that he isn’t Keith. Because he’s not. He had to find a way to make the sword work for himself. And he had.
With the help of the hologram Lance had learned some basic maneuvers and found a way to combine the different forms of his bayard. Close combat had never been his specialty, but learning to use the broadsword had taught him a lot. He’s still not as good as he would like, but the movements and combinations are becoming second nature after hours and months of practice. Lance can flow between them and bayard forms almost without thinking.
He’s in his greaves, polyene, and cuisses today, the suit tied off at his waist so he can breathe. Lance has cranked the difficulty, the gladiators leaving heavy bruises behind that throb. Lance's vambraces are strapped to his arms over a protective layer of fabric to offer him a little bit more protection but he’s foregone the breastplate today, opting for flexibility instead.
Sweat gleams over his skin as he’s forced back by the gladiator, parrying blows with his sword. He blocks a hit with his forearms, nearly driven to his knees under the force of the blow.
The sound deafens Lance to the doors opening behind him and Keith walking in. He comes to a halt, startled by the unexpected combat and rush of unexpected sound. He stares in surprise as Lance forces the gladiator back, swinging wide with his broadsword before darting out of reach. He's so focused on what he's doing he doesn't notice he has an audience.
Keith shifts awkwardly. It’s not like he hasn’t shared the training room with the others before. He’s just never come across Lance. Especially not on their down time. Least of all like this. Most of the time Lance prefers to swim or do yoga. Keith has never seen him do any kind of intense combat training like what he's doing now.
Keith is curious. He’d thought it was coincidence but now he has to wonder if maybe Lance was doing it on purpose; if anyone knows about the sword he holds with such familiarity and the strain of muscle down his arms as he wields the sword.
Keith hesitates before slowly making his way around the edge of the room to watch Lance train. His eyes are locked on him, on the sword in his hands. Keith didn’t know the bayards could do that. He’d always thought Lance’s form would be a gun. It takes him a moment to realize it is the bayard in his hands and not a different weapon from one of the available training units.
He’s so enraptured by Lance fighting, the sharp dips and stabs, the fluidity of his movements, the ease with which he flows from one combination to the other; he doesn’t see the other two gladiators fall from the ceiling, landing silently on padded feet.
Lance feints to the side, the gladiator he’s engaged with lunging low. Lance carves clean through the head at the last moment.
It doesn’t stop him. Lance is immediately turning, using the momentum and looking for the next enemy. He knows they’ve entered the playing field via his own internal timer. He sees one of the gladiators approaching Keith from behind, stunned focus entirely on Lance. The sight knocks the wind from him he's so startled.
Lance has programmed these for stealth, to teach him to be aware of his surroundings and the environment as he fights and they move silently. Apparently he hasn’t learned as much as he thought if Keith managed to slip in unnoticed.
Panic grips Lance as he sees the bot level a gun at the back of Keith’s head with every intention of firing.
He's running before he has time to think, time to scream, just barreling for Keith. The second gladiator is approaching from the side, finally drawing Keith’s attention and herding him back.
Lance catches him around the waist, dragging him out of the way as the sword in his hand vanishes in a flash of light. He spins around Keith, switching their places and throwing up his shield to block the incoming blast, bracing for impact. His momentum drags Keith off balance and before he has time to adapt Lance is gone.
One movement flows seamlessly into the next and without stopping Lance releases him, surging forward and spinning on his heel to close the distance between himself and the second gladiator. His bayard appears in his opposite hand, manifesting in a compact pistol and he fires almost point blank into the gladiator’s chest until it goes down.
Lance turns just in time to see a staff coming toward the back of Keith’s head. His muscles are burning with exertion. He doesn’t have the time to recover.
“End program!” He’s shouting before the gun has left his hand, shifting into a sword mid-air. His throat is dry and the near scream rips through him with desperation.
The bayard bursts through the gladiator in a cloud of sparks as the bot disintegrates, the staff a harmless scatter of light as it makes contact with Keith’s hair, barely ruffling it. His bayard screeches across the floor before coming to a stop the silence it leaves behind deafening.
Lance gapes at Keith, the breath heaving out of him before he’s stumbling sideways, fear leaving him drained on top of his exhaustion. His thighs shake and when he tries to catch his balance his knee gives out and he lands in an awkward pile. His one hand on the floor is all that manages to keep him upright.
Lance's breathing is jagged and dry, a flush of effort to his skin and he swallows thickly. Hair sticks to his head in a dark tangle, sweat dripping from the ends as his body finally gives out. He'd pushed his limits today and the last burst of adrenaline has sapped his strength.
Keith is reeling from what just happened. He can’t help looking at where the bayard has skittered across the floor and back to Lance.
He opens and closes his mouth, unsure of what to say. He finally takes a hesitant step closer.
“Are you okay?”
Lance’s head snaps up and he glares at Keith, all fire. His face is slick with sweat but there’s no mistaking the tears on his cheeks.
“What were you thinking!?” he demands, shoving hair back out of his face. His voice is raw. “You’re the one who’s always lecturing us about staying out of the room or making our presence known when you’re fighting the gladiators,” he scolds, dry throat making his voice crack. “You could have been killed!”
Keith blanches in the face of Lance’s anger. He’s never heard Lance yell before. Not like this. Never seen him lose his temper before.
“They’re not that strong,” Keith argues weakly but he's shaken.
Lance tries to lunge to his feet in a fit of temper but his legs have given out completely. He ends up on his hands and knees, shaking with emotion.
“Yes, they are,” he chokes. He’s too tired to fight off the fear, the horror of seeing the gladiators coming for Keith, the staff coming down to crack across the back of his skull. He can’t stop imagining the sound, the dull wet crack of the impact. His stomach churns.
Lance sinks back onto his heels, covering his face with a hand. He’s struggling to get his breathing under control.
“You’re such an idiot,” he cries, words muffled. His hand drops to his lap and he looks up, eyes bloodshot and cheeks damp.
“You were nearly shot, Keith. And best case scenario you would have come out of the other one with a concussion.” He gestures with a hand. “What was I supposed to do if-” The words are strangled and he drags in a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair.
“Shiro would have killed me if I let anything happen to you.”
Something settles firmly in Keith’s gut and he closes the last of the distance between them, sinking down in front of Lance, worried over his distress.
“But you didn’t.”
Lance turns away, scowling at the floor and wiping sweat and tears out of his eyes.
Keith ducks his head, catching Lance’s eye.
“I’m okay,” he promises.
Lance glares at him. “You didn’t even see-!” He gestures sharply over Keith’s shoulder to where the second gladiator had nearly bludgeoned him.
“But you did.” Keith's never been more sure of anything in his life. In this moment he knows Lance will always have his back, will always keep him safe.
It’s like a puzzle piece slotting into place. It’s something he always knew on some level. He’d seen it the moment Lance had shot a flying knife out of the air. But this, now, only serves to remind him of just how true that is.
Lance sags, pressing a hand over his eyes, shoulders bowing. “I’m gonna have nightmares about that for months,” he says weakly.
Keith smiles where Lance can’t see, deeply pleased to know Lance cares.
He schools the expression before taking Lance’s arm, pulling him to his feet.
“Come on. I think you’re done for the day.”
“Excuse you,” Lance pouts but doesn’t fight it as Keith helps him stand. His legs are jelly, the muscle twitching sporadically.
“Nope, you’re done.” He drags one of Lance’s sweaty arms over his shoulders, supporting his weight and hauls him upright.
“Time for some of that self-care you’re always nagging me about.”
“It’s important, Keith!”
He smiles again, not bothering to hide it this time as he heads for the door. Lance’s broadsword is lying on the floor nearby and he extends a shaking hand to recover it.
Keith is about to reprimand him, telling him to leave it when there’s a flash of light and the deactivated form appears in his hand. Lance tucks it away in its holster looking almost bored.
Keith blinks at him dumbly.
“What?” Lance asks when he sees Keith staring.
“I didn’t know they could do that,” Keith says softly, staring at the spot on the floor.
“Do what?”
Keith tips his chin to where the weapon was just lying.
“That. Or any of it. Teleport, shape shift in the air, change styles between forms for a single paladin.” He shrugs awkwardly, jostling Lance.
“I thought yours would always be a gun.” There’s a beat of silence and Keith adjusts Lance’s arm over his shoulders, feeling uncomfortable. He doesn’t know what to say. “That’s what, three forms for you now? Or four?”
“Five if you want to count the dual pistols.”
Keith blanches, thrown by both the number and the bland way in which Lance says it.
“I’m trying to get it to turn into a recurve next,” Lance goes on idly.
Keith stops, finally drawing Lance’s attention.
“They can do that?”
Lance gives him a funny look. “Yes?”
“I thought…” Keith struggles to find the words. He feels stupid for not knowing any of this. “I don’t know, I thought they only had one or two forms, not-” He flails briefly. “Seriously? Six? ”
Lance shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Well yeah. There’s the assault rifle for crowd control and heavy spray, the sniper rifle for precision and stealth, the sword for close combat and hand to hand, and the pistol. I mean I only count it as one but it can split into two-”
“Lance.” Keith’s voice is sharp and he stares at him, drawing him to another stop.
“What?”
Lance’s eyebrows wrinkle in confusion and Keith wants to beat into him just how amazing that is.
“When was the last time someone told you how amazing you are?”
Lance looks away, shifting uncomfortably. If his legs weren’t still shaking he’d pull away.
Keith steps out from under his arm to face him, hands still on his elbows to keep him steady.
“I’m serious. What you just did?” He holds Lance’s gaze when their eyes finally meet and shakes his head. “I can’t do that. Shiro can’t do that. I doubt even Allura could do it.”
Lance snorts, cutting him off and Keith takes his chin, pulling his head back around.
“I’m serious," he says again, forcing Lance to look at him. “I’ve never seen anyone combine styles of combat like that.” He shakes his head. “I never even thought of it.” He gently releases Lance’s chin.
Lance shrugs self-consciously, shifting his weight. “Well everyone says my hand to hand sucks so-”
“You just need practice,” Keith interrupts, gentle but firm. “Stop getting into your own head. You’re overthinking it.” He squeezes Lance’s arm. “Cause with what I just saw?” He searches Lance’s eyes and sees the hunger there: for approval and validation. It surprises Keith no one’s given it to him yet, that it has to come from him.
“You’re a lot better than you’re giving yourself credit for.”
Lance flushes and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck as heat prickles over it. “Thanks,” he mumbles. He’s flushed with pleasure as well as embarrassment but the praise feels good.
“I’d like to teach you if you’ll let me,” Keith offers, one hand still holding Lance’s arm.
Lance peeks up at him, his cheeks red. “Teach me what?”
“What I learned from the Blades. From my mother.” Keith grins. “And I’d really like to learn whatever spin that was you did where your bayard switched hands.”
Lance perks up a little. “Yeah?”
Keith nods. “Yeah. I’ve never seen it before.”
Lance snorts, letting Keith tuck himself under his arm again and lead him from the room.
“That’s cause it’s a dance move.”
“Wait, you dance?"