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Lance was a walking dichotomy.
He could walk silently through the halls of a military institution, deftly avoiding every camera and well-placed guard. He moved with elegance and with the grace of — well, a dancer. If he didn’t want to be heard, you didn’t hear him.
He also tripped over nothing on a regular basis and walked into almost every wall. It was astounding.
It was also a constant source of stress for Team Voltron, albeit a lowkey one. Someone was always keeping a half-eye out for Lance’s next tumble, either to prevent it or help him out afterwards. It wasn’t even something planned or discussed, although the seamless way it was handled was well and truly amusing.
—
Shiro knew they lost Lance’s attention as soon as Coran said the word ‘sea-life’.
His dark eyes had widened with excitement the way they only do when someone stumbled right into mentioning a hobby or special interest of his — Shiro knew the only reason they weren’t hearing an adorably passionate infodump about every known creature to swim the oceans of Earth (or any planet, really) was because Lance was using every iota of self-control he possessed to try and let others focus on the briefing. It was honestly very admirable, especially when Shiro could visibly see Lance’s excitement — no word of exaggeration, the boy was shaking with glee.
Shiro allowed himself a small smile, then turned his full attention back to Coran and Allura so he didn’t miss anything.
A few vargas later, they were walking across the intricate bridge system over the planet’s canals. It was certainly one of the nicer planets they’ve visited — especially since the last planet was a snowy desert wasteland that no one but Coran (and Lance, the eternal optimist) could enjoy. Their meetings were finished, the alliance was secure, and Team Voltron was indulging in the planet’s hospitality and touring the city. Shiro wasn’t paying huge amounts of attention to the guide, and was instead watching as his team enjoyed this period of rest, taking in the lovely view (later, Shiro would thank his lucky stars that he was being so vigilant, because he knows damn well Lance would have been swimming with the fishes had he looked away — literally).
Shiro hears Lance’s gasp of elation before he registers anything else, and as he turns to see what has the boy so excited he sees the blur that was once the Blue Paladin as he rushes to the edge of the bridge. Shiro panics, surging forward, and just barely manages to grip the back of the Cuban’s hoodie before he goes head first into the canals that are absolutely teeming with — Shiro goes a little green — actual flesh-eating alien sharks.
Lance barely glances back, chirping a quick “Thanks, Shiro!” and flashing a smile before he’s leaning as far as he can to see the sharks better. As if the only thing preventing him from plummeting to a gruesome, bloody death is not Shiro’s metal arm clamped to the fabric of his jacket.
Shiro takes a deep, calming breath and reminds himself he hasn’t seen Lance this excited in weeks, and decides to let it go.
Let his annoyance go, that is. He’ll be gripping onto Lance until both feet are planted safely back into the castle where he can’t go careening over the side of a fucking bridge.
—
Hunk knows his best friend. He has known Lance since the date he popped out of the womb — their mothers are friends, and Lance and Hunk have been inseparable since they took their first breaths. So Hunk is no stranger to Lance’s particular brand of clumsiness — he is, in fact, more than accustomed to it.
It’s why he walks on the outside of the sidewalk (when he and Lance were six, they went to the store to grab popsicles. Lance tripped over the curb and narrowly missed getting his head squished by a speeding car. Lance got up and kept right in walking, but Hunk threw up and has never let Lance walk on the road-side since). It’s why he tries to walk on the side closest to the wall when turning a corner or go through a doorway (when they were 13, Lance turned too early, and hit his arm on the corner so hard he broke the skin and got a massive bruise that he was too embarrassed to tell anyone about, and Hunk nearly fainted when he saw the blood seeping through his shirt). And it’s why, like right now, he’s half-listening to Lance’s story and half watching where his arms are flailing.
Lance is a wonderful storyteller. He’s animated, he’s fun, and he’s excellent at stretching the truth just enough that the story is more entertaining without feeling made-up.
He is also very big on gesturing. So Hunk is doing what he always does: being the best Lance-to-world buffer anyone could ask for.
“— and you should have seen the size of it! It was huge, Lordie —” Hunk deftly moves Lance’s water glass out of the way as he spreads his arms as wide as they go, and moves it back into place when his arms retreat.
“— I was like: ‘are you serious, dude, that’s bonkers —” Here, Hunk scoops up Lance’s utensils as his hands hit the table in his incredulousness, saving them from going flying off the table.
“It didn’t effect me, of course, I could stay cool —” Hunk puts his hand firmly on the back of Lance’s chair as he leans backward in a cocky caricature of his own attitude. He gently pushes the chair back upright, Lance oblivious the whole time.
Hunk glances at the rest of the team to see them snickering, and judging from their knowing grins, they’re half amused by the story and half amused by Hunk’s gentle and practiced maneuvering of his best friend.
Hunk smiles. Being Lance’s friend is a full time job, and he wouldn’t have it any other way — despite the layer of stress that comes from protecting the fool from the world in general.
—
In more than one way, Lance reminds Pidge deeply of her brother.
Sometimes, it’s painful. Sometimes she’ll be working too long and Lance will literally kick her door open, hollering about needing attention, and the words “fuck off, Matt —” will be halfway out of her mouth before she catches herself. That pain will stick with her for days. Sometimes Lance will wink at someone, and use the same flirty tone that never once worked for Matt, and she’ll be rolling her eyes and thinking about telling Mom how stupid Matt is being before her breath stutters and she remembers where she is.
But other times, when she’s frustrated and bitchy and no one is willing to handle her anger long enough to come near her, Lance will stroll into her workshop, sit by her feet and wait until she’s taken a breath and is willing to admit she needs a break. Or he’ll be about to go do something fun and remember Pidge, and immediately rope her into one of his many schemes. These times, she feels the same feeling spread through her chest — the feeling of having a dorky older brother who looks out for her and does everything he can to make her laugh and smile. These reminders aren’t so painful; in fact, they’re usually pretty wonderful.
The best way Lance reminds her of Matt, though, is his clumsiness.
Seriously. If those two were the only two people in a room the size of a small country, they’d find a way to bump right into each other, probably causing at least four injuries. It’s Newton’s lesser known fifth law of physics, she’s sure.
And she’s not Hunk, or Shiro — if she sees Lance about to fall flat on his face, or walk into a wall, and she knows he’s not going to die or anything, she’s not preventing it. She’s grabbing her camera so she can laugh at it now and then rewatch the footage to laugh at again later.
Now, for example, Lance is walking down the hallway while reading something on his holopad. There are no obstacles in this hallway. There are no doorways, no corners for a while. His shoes are even tied. There is no discernible indication that Lance is going to do anything but walk down this hallway with no incident.
But Pidge’s spidey senses are tingling. She knows in her heart that Lance is about to fall flat on his face, and she has no interest in hiding her glee, schadenfreude accusations be damned.
She slowly and quietly pulls out her camera, wincing as the ‘record’ button makes a small beeping noise, but luckily Lance is too distracted to notice the sound. She holds her breath, not wanting to alert Lance to her presense or shake the camera, and waits.
A few seconds later, it happens: Lance trips over air (seriously, over air — she watched his foot get caught on something that literally wasn’t there. How is that even possible? Is the castle genuinely haunted? Is Lance being stalked by a ghost who puts ghost rocks in front of him for him to trip on? She may never know) and goes tumbling down. He lands, as she predicted, flat on his face, and he doesn’t even yell or yelp or scream — he just lays there for a moment, nose to the ground, and sighs tiredly.
Pidge can no longer hold in her laughter, and doubles over with the force of her giggles. He just — he just stayed! On the ground! Accepting his fate!
Lance scrambles into a sitting position, scowling when he sees her camera. “I said to stop recording me when I trip!” he demands.
Pidge takes a deep breath, desperately shoving the image of Lance hitting the floor out of her mind so she can calm down for a second. She sticks out her tongue. “You’re not the boss of me. I can record your loser moments if I want, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Lance’s eyes narrow dangerously, and she realizes her mistake.
Matt could never back down from a challenge, either.
“Try me,” he says, and jumps to his feet, lunging towards her.
She wrenches herself upright and takes off, shrieking as Lance chases her, yelling about nasty little goblin children who enjoy other’s pain. Pidge is pushing herself as hard as she can go, knowing she can only avoid Lance and his stupidly long legs for so long. She books it down the hallway, sliding around the corner at top speeds. She checks behind her, gauging how close Lance has gotten, only to witness him slam into the wall at full speed, having misjudged the width of his turn.
“Ow! Quiznak,” Lance curses, and Pidge loses her mind. She collapses on the ground, laughing so hard she goes silent. She can barely breathe. Her face is bright red, tears are streaming down her face. She only just registers Lance scowling at her, yanking her camera from hands too weak to hold it and deleting the video of him tripping earlier. The memory only serves to make her laugh harder.
Lance shakes his head, huffing, but the corners of his mouth are twitching upwards. “I hope you choke,” he says snootily, and stalks off to go lick his wounds in peace.
It takes Pidge twenty minutes to calm down. She gets the footage from the Castle’s cameras and sends it to Keith, who laughs just as hard as she did.
—
Allura would love to tease Lance about his clumsiness just as much as the others.
Really, she would.
But what’s that human expression? About the — about the pans? And the... cauldrons, maybe?
Oh! Pots! Pots and kettles.
Anyways. Allura would love to tease Lance about his clumsiness, but that would be the pot calling the kettle black. She is, unfortunately, just as much of a klutz as he is. The memory of her walking right into the doorway as she entered her first solo diplomatic meeting room with haunt her until she dies. It keeps her up at night more than Voltron stress, honestly. It’s a contender for the worst thing that has ever happened to her, just under losing her entire family and the genocide of her people.
Well. Maybe it’s not that high. But she’s a fan of gallows humour, and she has the right to it, so she’ll do what she likes.
In the beginning of her journey with the paladins, she didn’t trip any less, per se, but none of them were nearly comfortable enough to tease her about it, so she could trip in relative peace. Now, though, Shiro fees no shame in a shake of the head and a light chuckle at her misfortune, and Pidge will genuinely point and laugh like she is five years old.
It’s maddening.
She’ll admit, however, that it is nice to have someone to take half the burden of her humiliation. Also, if Lance trips on something, she will be extra careful (not that it does much) around that area, so she can stay upright.
But mostly, her and Lance trip over the same goddamn thing, sometimes one right after the other, and then just look at each other and sigh.
Take yesterday, for example. The team was out on a scouting mission, looking for a certain plant that powered something or other in the Castle (look, Allura is a busy person. She does her best to know what’s going on and have the basics for everything, but she is a mortal person and therefore limited. She can’t know everything about the Castle — she has other things to worry about!). There was a point where the path in the forest they were following thinned so dramatically that everyone had to walk in a single-file line, one foot directly after the other. If they needed to stand, they’d have to stand sideways, because there was no room otherwise. Shiro was leading, and she was taking up the rear, and Keith, Hunk, Pidge, and then Lance in between them: their usual formation. As they entered through what looked to be a passageway of vine (“Dope! Fairy door!” exclaimed Lance), Shiro had warned everyone to watch their footwork. Allura had immediately turned all of her attention to the ground, focusing intensely on watching where she was fucking going. She idly noticed Lance doing so as well.
Lance tripped, obviously. Watched himself get caught on a vine and go sprawling on the floor.
The embarrassing part of the story is that Allura watched Lance trip, noticed what he tripped on, stepped ever so carefully, and still tripped on the same fucking vine. Went down just as fast as he did. She landed on top of him, actually. Both of them groaned (although Allura noted that Lance was probably a little more hurt than she was, as she had a softer landing, since she literally tripped right after she did what the fresh fuck was her problem —), attracting the attention of the rest of the team — who, of fucking course, did not have any issues — prompting various exasperated sighs and snickers.
“Did Allura trip, or did you, Lance?” Hunk asked. Allura and Lance sat up, exchanging a look. Allura tilted her head to the side. ‘Is it worse or better if one of us takes the fall?’ she seemed to ask. Lance scrunched up his face. ‘I’m sure as shit not taking this humiliation alone.’
Allura rolled her eyes, but complied anyway, committing to enduring the endless badgering from her (technically, okay, let her have this one) subordinates.
Whatever. At least Lance was getting teased too.
“Lance tripped, then I did,” she explained begrudgingly, offering Lance a hand up.
“I’m assuming you also watched Lance trip first,” Pidge guessed, giggling.
Lance and Allura sighed in tandem.
This was going to be a long mission.
—
At this point, Coran figured it would be best to assemble a little care package for Lance to have in the MedBay. Maybe a blanket or stuffie of his, some snacks. A candle or two, if Coran hadn’t forbidden Lance from having them after he burnt himself for the fourth (4th) time and tried to hide it.
Okay, so no candles. But Coran still feels like he should have something, because Lance spends so much time there! He’s seriously in there every other day, for bumps and bruises and burns alike.
And concussions. Can’t forget about the concussions.
These frequent visits aren’t even accounting for all the times Lance gets seriously injured on missions — the boy has a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide that Coran would love to train out of him —
“Hey, Coran,” comes a sheepish voice. The voice is accompanied by a head peeking around the door.
Coran laughs a little. “If you dream of a snarksedovel…”
Lance’s brow furrows. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m going to assume it means I’m good to come get treated,” he says, walking in.
Well. Limping in, would be more accurate.
Coran raises a brow, and Lance ducks his head shyly. “I, uh, would have fixed it myself, but you’re already in here. Oh, shit, but maybe you’re busy! It’s okay, Coran, I can do it —”
“Lance, my boy,” Coran interrupts, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I am never too busy to help you when you need it. Please do not hesitate to ask me, even if I seem preoccupied. You — all of you, really — are my first and only priority. I never want you to suffer for longer than you have to.”
Lance shoots him a wobbly smile, his brave façade dropping.
“I tripped over something, and I know it’s stupid and I should be more careful, but I think I might have broken something. My ankle hurts really badly.”
Coran is careful to keep his frustration to himself, lest Lance get the wrong idea. He’s not upset that Lance has come to him for help. He’s upset that Lance lets himself hurt until he can’t hurt any longer, and even then tries to fix it quietly before daring to inconvenience anyone else, despite what his bravado may lead people to think. Coran knows that had he not been in the MedBay by coincidence, Lance would have attempted to set his own broken bone (something Coran knows Lance is capable of doing, although he also knows that it is a painful and frustrating process to be done independently), or suffered in silence until someone noticed and forced him to get help.
He plasters a smile on his face, forcing himself to sound lighthearted and enthusiastic. “That’s no trouble at all, Number Four! Hop up on this table, I’ll go grab your holopad and the bone stitcher.”
Coran would usually treat a broken bone with a pod, as it was faster and more thorough, but he knew of Lance’s… distaste for the pods, after being trapped in one at the beginning of their adventure, and if he could avoid any further distress for the Blue Paladin then he would.
He also knows that Lance cannot sit still and do nothing for the three-odd hours it would take to heal his bones, so the holopad is a necessity. That, or he could pause his chores for the day and keep the lad company.
He pauses, thinking of the last time he and Lance had sat down together and had a good chat. It had been far too long. He grabs the bone-stitcher, leaving the holopad alone.
Whether or not Lance was here with him by fate or coincidence doesn’t matter — he is not going to squander this opportunity.
—
Lance’s clumsiness is not something that most people would consider to be an advantage.
Keith is not most people.
He doesn’t even like it for Pidge reasons — although he won’t deny that he laughs at every video Pidge sends him — but rather for embarrassingly gay reasons.
Yeah, yeah, he has a crush on Lance. Old news. Look, he’s cute, he’s funny (although you won’t get that out of Keith is you fucking waterboard him, no sir), and he’s a real sweetheart.
Lance has also completely fallen for Keith. Several times over.
Keith has no idea why it happens, only that it happens frequently — a good three quarters of the time Lance trips over something, he tumbles straight into Keith’s waiting arms. It seriously has to happen at least twice a day; they’re walking in the same direction, Lance trips over nothing, Keith catches him (he’s not going to let the boy fall, he’s not a monster — nor is he immune to big brown doe eyes and fluttering eyelashes, sue him) in the universe’s corniest dip. Either that, or Lance is walking towards him, he trips over nothing, and crashes right into Keith’s chest, which is equally as nice.
Now, Keith isn’t oblivious. He knows a sign from the universe when he sees one. He also notices Lance blushes just as hard as he does when he lands in Keith’s arms again, even if the two of them should surely be used to it by now.
He’s brought this up to Shiro, who has only given him garbage advice like “you should tell him how you feel, Keith!”
Right. As if Shiro didn’t avoid Adam for three weeks because Adam said he liked him and then see him in a bathroom by coincidence and blurt that they should maybe gay kiss or something.
Yeah. Keith’s gonna go ahead and ignore any and all advice from his loser big brother (how anyone thinks Shiro is cool is absolutely beyond him. Shiro can recite Mean Girls from memory and isn’t even a little bit ashamed of that fact).
Allura, thankfully, has much better advice — she suggested that Keith should gently and lovingly bully Lance every time Keith catches him. This way, he can a) keep up their rivalry, although it’s barely a rivalry anymore and mostly just homoerotic tension, b) have the suave upper hand in the situation, and c) see just how red Lance can go.
As they both get up to head to their rooms after dinner, Keith steels himself — he’s been practicing his line for three days now, and he knows he looks cool in the mirror. The mice said so. Also, he can almost say it without blushing (the tips of his ears might give him away, but they’ll be hidden my his hair. He will be the sexy shoujo love interest. He will.
As they exit the dining room, Keith watches Lance out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to trip as he turns the corner to fast, like he always does. And 3… 2… 1…
On cue, Lance stumbles, and Keith grabs his arm to steady him. Lance shoots a quick and embarrassed “thanks” his way, straightening up like usual.
Unlike usual, Keith’s hand makes its way down Lance’s arm until he’s interlocking their fingers. Lance freezes.
Keith stops too, raising an eyebrow. He tugs Lance’s hand forward. “What’re you stopping for?”
Lance is rooted to the spot, staring intensely at their joined hands. A flush has started to spread across his cheekbones. Keith fights down a smirk.
Lance clears his throat. “Uh, Keith,” he starts, “what’re you doing?”
Keith feigns innocence. “What are you talking about?”
Lance’s flush deepens as he gestures wordlessly to their hands.
“Oh, that,” Keith says, letting himself smirk just a little. As a treat. “You’re always falling, man. I figured I’d make sure you’re steady this time.” With that, he pulls Lance gently along in the direction of their rooms. Lance stumbles forward, trying to keep up. Keith huffs out a laugh. Lance scowls, but the red covering his face makes it hard to believe he’s genuinely angry.
That, and his hand has tightened around Keith’s.
“Whatever,” he says. He holds Keith’s hand all the way until Keith stops in front of Lance’s door, letting go as he wishes him goodnight.
He doesn’t trip once.