Work Text:
The penthouse suite in New Altea's diplomatic quarter was a cavern of shadows when they arrived, the only illumination coming from the city's bioluminescent lanterns drifting past floor-to-ceiling windows like wayward stars. Their faint blue glow painted erratic patterns across the polished obsidian floors as Lance stormed inside, not bothering with the lights. His dress shoes struck the marble with military precision—click-click-click—each step echoing through the vaulted space like a gunshot. The scent of the evening's rain still clung to his uniform, mixing with the faint ozone tang of the city's force fields.
Keith hesitated in the doorway, backlit by the corridor's golden light. His Blade formalwear—all sleek black leather and silver-threaded embroidery—made him look more like a shadow than a man. The high collar framed his sharp jawline, the metallic accents catching stray lantern beams that made his silhouette shimmer like a mirage. "Lance—"
"Save it." Lance's voice was ice. He shrugged off his Garrison jacket, the one with the new commander insignia glinting on the shoulder, and threw it over the back of their couch. "I don't want to hear another fucking excuse about 'mission parameters' or 'last-minute briefings.'"
Keith's jaw tightened. "It wasn't a mission. It was—"
"I don't care." Lance turned sharply, his eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light. "Three years, Keith. Three years of you promising to be better about this. And yet here we are—our fifth anniversary dinner, reservations at that stupid Altean fusion place I've been begging you to try for months, and what do I get? A fucking comm message two hours late saying you're 'sorry' and 'on your way' while I'm sitting there alone like some pathetic—"
"You're not pathetic," Keith snapped, finally stepping inside and letting the door hiss shut behind him. "And I was coming from a meeting, not a mission. There's a difference."
"Oh, there's a difference?" Lance let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. "Please, enlighten me. Because from where I'm standing, it's the same goddamn thing it's always been—the Blade comes first. Always."
Keith's hands clenched at his sides. "That's not true."
"Bullshit." Lance's voice cracked. "Do you have any idea how many nights I've spent alone in this apartment? How many times I've woken up to an empty bed with nothing but a fucking note on your pillow?" He gestured wildly to their bedroom. "I'm so tired of being an afterthought in my own relationship."
Keith flinched like he'd been struck. "You're not—"
"And the worst part?" Lance continued, his voice rising. "Everyone keeps telling me how lucky I am. 'Oh, Lance, Keith's so devoted to peacekeeping. Lance, isn't it amazing how he's rebuilding the Blade into something better?' Meanwhile, I'm here picking up the pieces every time he walks out that goddamn door—"
"Why now?" Keith interrupted, his voice rough. "You've never—we've fought about this before, but not like this. What changed?"
Lance went preternaturally still, the kind of stillness that came before a sniper's shot. The floating lanterns outside pulsed, their blue light washing over his face as he slowly, deliberately reached behind the couch. When his hand reappeared, it held a small heart-shaped box—the kind chocolates came in, but this one had been repurposed, its satin surface worn at the edges from handling.
Keith's breath hitched. "Lance—"
"Three weeks ago," Lance said quietly, opening the box with trembling fingers. "I found out."
Inside, three items lay carefully arranged: a sonogram image showing a tiny, bean-shaped blur, a positive pregnancy test with the display panel cracked from being gripped too tight, and a folded slip of paper covered in Lance's messy, looping handwriting—names, dozens of them, some crossed out and rewritten.
“It’s a girl…”
Keith's face went through seven emotions at once—shock, awe, terror, more awe—before settling on something heartbreakingly vulnerable. "You're...?"
"Apparently Galra biology is even more adaptable than we thought," Lance said with a humorless smile. He picked up the sonogram and threw it at Keith's chest. "Congrats, daddy. Hope you like changing diapers between intergalactic crises."
The pregnancy test followed. "I had to find out alone."
Then the name list, fluttering to the floor between them. "And I had to go to every doctor's appointment alone. And puke my guts out every morning alone. And lie awake at night wondering how the hell I'm supposed to raise a kid with a partner who can't even show up for dinner—"
Keith caught his wrist. "Lance."
Lance wrenched free. "No. You don't get to—"
Keith was across the space in an instant, gathering Lance into his arms as his shoulders shook. "I'm sorry," he murmured into Lance's hair, his voice thick. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone."
Lance clung to him, his tears soaking into the stiff fabric of Keith's uniform. "I’m so scared," he admitted in a whisper.
Keith just held him tighter.
His breath hitched. "How am I supposed to do this alone?"
Keith looked up, eyes shining. "You're not—"
"Aren't I?" Lance pulled back as he sank onto the couch, exhaustion crashing over him. "You can't even make dinner, Keith. How are you gonna make it to a fucking birth?"
Keith opened his mouth—then stopped dead. His breath caught as he truly saw Lance for the first time that night. Really saw him.
The way the dim light carved hollows beneath Lance's bloodshot eyes, the deep purple shadows that spoke of too many sleepless nights. The tremor in those long fingers where they clutched at his own knees, the same hands that never shook during combat but now trembled with exhaustion. The slight slump of his shoulders, the way his usually perfect posture had collapsed in on itself like a dying star. Every line of Lance's body screamed of bone-deep weariness, of carrying burdens alone for too long.
Without a word, Keith scooped Lance into his arms. "Put me down—"
"Shhh." Keith pressed a kiss to his temple, carrying him toward their bedroom. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Lance wanted to fight. Really, he did. But the moment Keith laid him on their bed, his body betrayed him, sinking into the mattress with a soft sigh.
Keith remained kneeling beside the bed, his fingers ghosting over Lance's hip where their child grew. Silent tears tracked down his face as he pressed a trembling kiss to Lance's palm—a silent vow in the dark. Tomorrow would be different. He'd make sure of it.
**
When Lance woke the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold. He exhaled sharply, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling—of course. The sheets still smelled like Keith, that faint mix of desert wind and Blade-issued soap, but the absence of warmth beside him was a familiar ache.
"We'll talk tomorrow," Keith had said.
Lance squeezed his eyes shut. Typical.
Then—the creak of the bedroom door.
Keith stood in the doorway, balancing a tray with the kind of careful precision usually reserved for disarming bombs. Fluffy golden pancakes drizzled in honey, crisp bacon arranged like sunbeams, fresh-squeezed orange juice in the stupid novelty glass Hunk had gifted them (the one that said "World's Okayest Boyfriends"), and—Lance's breath hitched—a single blue juniberry in a tiny vase.
Earth food. Altean flower.
"You're... here," Lance said, voice rough with sleep and leftover hurt.
Keith crossed the room, his movements deliberate, like Lance was something fragile. He set the tray over Lance’s lap, his fingers lingering on the edge just long enough to steady it. "I'm here," he murmured, brushing a thumb along Lance’s cheekbone. The calluses on his hands caught against stubble—proof he hadn’t left to suit up for a mission. "And I'm not going anywhere."
Lance eyed him, the warmth of the food seeping into his thighs. Prove it, he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat.
Keith sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that his knee pressed into the mattress beside Lance’s hip. "I was in meetings," he began, voice low, "about relocating the Blade’s main headquarters to Earth."
Silence.
Lance’s fingers froze around the fork. "What?"
Keith dragged a hand through his hair that is longer now, still messy, still so him—and for the first time, Lance noticed the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. "For the past six months. That's where I've been. Not on missions—in negotiations with Kolivan, with the Garrison, with the Altean council." His voice dropped. "I wanted—I needed to be closer to you."
Lance's breath caught.
"I ignored every protest," Keith continued, stepping closer. "Every 'it's not practical' and 'the logistics are impossible.'" A ghost of a smile. "Even Allura told me I was being ridiculous."
Lance swallowed hard. "Kolivan agreed?"
"After I threatened to disband the entire organization and join the Garrison as a flight instructor." Keith's smile turned wry. "Turns out he's a secret Klance stan."
Lance just stared. “I’m sorry…”
Keith reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded name list, now with new additions in Keith's messy handwriting. "Lot of Japanese names," he observed casually.
Lance's breath hitched. "I wanted—I thought if they had double meanings, I could use the Spanish version as a nickname. Like..." He pointed to one. "Hikari means 'light,' so I could call them 'Luz.' Or Haru for 'spring,' which is 'Primavera.'"
Silence as Keith’s eyes scanned the paper.
“Uh—I’m sorry if it’s a lot, I got carried away—“
“Don’t apologize, love.” Keith had said softly, eyelashes fluttering as he met those deep blue eyes.
Lance just blinks. Once. Twice.
Keith's fingers brushed over one name in particular. "Sora," he read softly.
"Means 'sky,'" Lance whispered.
Keith's eyes shone. "You could call her 'mi cielo.'"
Lance’s vision was blurry now.
The dam broke. Lance shoved the tray aside with a reckless motion—Keith barely caught the toppling orange juice with that lightning Blade reflex of his—and practically launched himself into Keith's lap, his hands already fisting in the fabric of Keith's shirt as he crashed their lips together in a kiss that tasted like salt and forgiveness.
Keith melted instantly, his whole body going pliant beneath Lance's weight. His hands rose with aching slowness, calloused fingers trembling as they cradled Lance's face like he was holding something infinitely precious—the way he handled rare Blade artifacts, the way he touched the controls of his fighter, the way he'd once held the Black Lion's particle barrier between his palms. Every touch whispered devotion.
When they finally parted, Keith didn't let him go far, chasing the distance to press their foreheads together. His breath came in ragged bursts against Lance's lips.
"I promise," Keith whispered, voice thick with something that made Lance's ribs ache. His thumbs traced the damp tracks beneath Lance's eyes with unbearable tenderness. "No more empty beds. No more missed anniversaries." One hand slid down to cradle the slight curve of Lance's stomach, his touch feather-light. "I'm going to be there when she kicks for the first time. When you crave pickles and nunvill at 3am. When—" His voice cracked. "When our baby looks up at us with your eyes and my stupid hair."
Lance huffed a wet laugh, but Keith wasn't done. He leaned back just enough to meet Lance's gaze, his own eyes blazing with that same intensity he'd once reserved for battle plans and Black Lion maneuvers—except now it was all for Lance. It has always been.
"I'll be there to hold your hand through every contraction," Keith vowed, pressing a kiss to Lance's knuckles. "To learn how to braid hair so I can teach her the way you taught me." Another kiss, this time to Lance's palm. "To scare off her first date with my supposed Blade glare." His lips brushed Lance's wrist where his pulse hammered. "Every moment. Every milestone. I'm yours." His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "I've always been yours."
Lance believed him—not because of the words, but because of the way Keith's hands still trembled against his skin. Because of the way his Galra-enhanced pupils were blown wide with awe. Because after all these years, Keith still looked at him like Lance had hung the stars in his sky.
And when Keith gathered him close again, tucking Lance's head beneath his chin with a quiet, contented sigh, Lance finally let himself believe in forever.