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“C’mon, mullet-head,” Lance laughed, taunting his sparring partner. Keith groaned at the juvenile name and dodged Lance’s admittedly reckless attempt at a tackle. He nearly tripped the lanky paladin, and Lance yelped as he regained his balance and whirled around to face Keith again. “I know you got better than that!”
“I don’t need better than that,” Keith retorted, “not when I’m sparring with you.”
Lance feigned indignance, scoffing, “I resent that! I have some sick moves, man, just you wait!”
His opponent snorted, sharp eyes watching for any movement Lance made. This was a familiar dance of theirs, borne of urgency and the need to keep fit. And of Lance’s inability to sit still for longer than five minutes without bothering someone. The others had unanimously decided that, instead of risking him wreaking havoc throughout the castle, having him come to the training deck and spar with Keith before breakfast was the best way to fix that. Though he’d been annoyed at first—especially because even Hunk, his best bro, had agreed—Lance fell easily into the routine. This helped both with their teamwork and with improving his skills at hand-to-hand combat.
Keith was, after all, his rival. Lance positively loathed losing to Keith, and after finding himself on his ass an embarrassing number of times for the first week, he’d been determined.
Which led to the present, where they both warily circled each other, though Lance was still cracking jokes and taunting Keith like usual. But it was over half an hour into their morning match, and neither of them had fallen yet.
Lance was determined it wasn’t going to be him, not this time.
But he nearly missed the telltale sign of Keith’s foot turning outwards by just a fraction of an inch, and barely got his arms up to block in time. If Keith’s strike had been solid, he totally would have used that grab to flip Lance to the floor. Lance recognized that move. In fact...he grinned to himself, and then quickly disengaged.
Within a few seconds, Keith blinked up at him from the floor, and Lance proudly pinned him.
“I finally learned that toss you like so much,” the victor boasted, grinning.
Finally. Beating Keith for once just felt so damn good.
“Congratulations,” Keith managed, slightly breathless. And though his tone was flat, Lance could see the telling signs of a grin twitching the corner of his frenemy’s lips and knew that Keith was actually being serious.
“Thanks,” Lance chirped, choosing not to remark or tease any further. At least not yet. There would be plenty of time for shouting about his victory later, when he told everyone else. But all in all, it was shaping up to be a great day.
In fact, it was so great that he reached out, offering Keith a hand to help him up. And instead of pulling him down and pinning him in return, like Lance half expected him to, Keith merely took his hand and stood, stretching. And then, with a smile, he clapped Lance on the shoulder.
“Nice work, Lance.”
Oh, now that sounded a lot more genuine. Lance beamed and couldn’t help dropping an arm around Keith’s shoulder, pulling him closer and ruffling his already untidy mullet. Keith let out a muffled grunt and shoved Lance away, but he was laughing as he tried to fix the damage that his lanky friend had done to his hair.
Not that he really fixes his hair in the first place, Lance thought with a grin.
Out loud, he said, “Thanks again, buddy!” and stretched his arms above his head.
“Wanna have another go?” the suggestion gave Lance a little more fuel, and he grinned mischievously at his sparring partner. This was pretty much the first time he had been the first victor—granted, he’d won a match or two in the past, but always after three or four previous skirmishes—and he was going to milk it while he could.
“What, can’t take the fact that you lost to me?” he teased, lightly elbowing Keith in the ribs. “Oh, man, it’s gotta be eating you alive!”
His laughter echoed in the training deck, and Keith cleared his throat and pointedly rolled his eyes. Once he was sure he had Lance’s attention, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk and he taunted, “What, afraid you can’t beat me again?”
“Oh, it’s on, mullet boy!”
Keith didn’t know why he liked this boy, but maybe it had something to do with that endless enthusiasm.
It’s funny, Lance thinks in hindsight, how the worst days of your life start out like some of the best.
Just that morning, he’d been sparring with Keith in the morning, like usual. Just before breakfast, he’d managed to win the first match of the day for the first time. Just a few hours ago, he’d managed another victory, though it came after two losses. Just an hour ago, they’d been laughing over lunch when no one else believed that Lance had managed two wins off of Keith in the same day.
Just a few minutes ago, everything had gone to hell.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Lance hissed as he rolled behind a few crates, barely avoiding the lasers.
“Lance, do you copy?” Shiro’s voice asked. “What’s going on?”
“Yeah, yeah, I copy,” he wheezed a little, peering out from behind the stack of crates. The four Galra soldiers and their squad of drones were making their way to his hiding place, shooting at him all the while. “I ran into some trouble over here. Got at least four Galra and,” he counted as quickly as he could before ducking quickly back out of sight, “shit, uh, at least a dozen drones.”
He heard Shiro, Shiro of all people, curse.
“Dammit, Lance, I leave you alone for five seconds,” he heard Keith murmur, and then, “Just hang on. I’ll be there.”
Lance laughed a little, glancing back to see how close his enemies were getting, and managed to say, “Thanks, buddy, I appreciate it,” as he lurched to his feet and bolted for new cover.
He and Keith had parted ways at the entrance to the storage part of the Galra ship they had infiltrated. The team had split up, with Hunk playing bait outside—they could still hear his occasional yelps when a shot got too close to him—while they searched for the princess that the Galra had supposedly just kidnapped as a way to make a planet obey them. The castle itself had landed on that planet, ready to fight back if the enemy returned.
Lance had honestly not expected to find the storage area so heavily guarded, though. And as he nearly stumbled around a corner, he also didn’t expect to see fucking cages lining the walls, with about three of them occupied.
“Oh, motherfucker,” he cursed, skidding to a halt as he looked around for a place to give him cover. If there was a high vantage point in the hallway, he could get above their level so he wouldn’t have to worry about any of the shots hitting the prisoners. “Dammit.”
“Lance?!” Keith sounded worried.
“I think I found the princess,” he said, glancing over at the cages. One of the occupants was definitely from the planet they’d just been in contact with, and the others looked like...Balmerans? “And a few others. They’re in cages, Keith, fuckin’ cages,” Lance was not a happy paladin. You couldn’t treat people like that!
Over the sharp intakes of breath, Lance heard Shiro practically growl at the idea.
“And I don’t wanna leave now that I’ve found them,” he admitted, glancing up and down the hall. He could hear the footsteps drawing nearer, echoing through the ship. “I don’t have cover here, though. It’s in the hall, shit,” he cursed, glancing around.
Lance squared his shoulders and prepared his bayard, lifting the familiar weight of his gun in his hand. There was always the chance that the Galra would refuse to attack their own prisoners for the cooperation of the planets they were from...but there was also the possibility that they didn’t care. They did have their captives in cages, and Lance couldn’t think of any culture in the entire universe that would use that as an example of caring.
“Lance, be careful,” Shiro hissed, as if he knew that Lance was planting his feet firmly, turning his blaster towards the hall he’d just darted out of.
“Ha, as if I need to!” Lance retorted, ignoring the way his throat tightened.
The team leader used his warning tone next, but the paladin of the blue lion tightened his grip and glanced around one more time to find cover. When nothing jumped out at him, he ducked against the wall opposite the cages, raised a finger to his lips and winked at the alien that was obviously the princess they were after, and aimed his weapon in the direction he’d come from.
As soon as he saw the first drone jog into view, he fired.
Lance inched backwards along his side of the wall, as far away from the prisoners as it was possible to get, and downed four drones with relative ease. They were moving too quickly, though, and soon enough he was being fired at in return. He bit his lip, fighting back a curse as he dodged by sidestepping. Another drone went down, but in its place stepped one of the Galra soldiers, yellow eyes narrowed and intimidating.
And then, as he fired back at the drones that were advancing ahead of the soldier he could see, he heard a shout and the sound of crunching metal. The soldier glanced behind him in surprise just as Lance took down two drones with a well-aimed shot, and he stepped away from the wall in order to see more.
Three drones fell, crumpling before the paladin in red. Keith’s sword sliced through, and Lance realized he’d already somehow handled two of the soldiers as well as almost half of the remaining drones.
“Tch,” Lance tsked, raising his blaster towards the Galra that had originally been coming for him. “Hey, ugly, pay more attention!” he called, and released a short barrage of shots that struck home. The soldier crumpled and Lance winced, still unused to the sight, as Keith stepped forward and his shield flickered and disappeared.
“Idiot,” Keith greeted, but Lance grinned.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Let’s get these guys,” Keith motioned, and with a quick swipe of his sword, the lock to one of the cages was gone. Lance, not to be outdone, raised his blaster and shot the remaining locks off before letting his bayard return to normal.
“C’mon, we’re here to get you out,” Lance grinned, holding out a hand. One of the Balmerans took it slowly, and the lanky man pulled him out of his cage. “That’s right. We’re gonna help you, so just stick with us, okay?”
“Follow me,” Keith gestured, peering back the way he’d come. “Lance, you take the rear.”
Normally, he’d bristle at being given an order by Keith, but Lance just nodded. Keith had come to save him, after all, and since Shiro sometimes trusted him to make decisions, Lance would, too. It was a silent agreement that the two paladins came to as Lance ushered the three prisoners between them and Keith kept an eye out for enemies. And then they were off, weaving their way through hallways that glowed the eerie purple of all Galra technology.
They nearly shot at Pidge when she showed up, and she glared at Lance—yeah, he was the only one that could have shot at her—and she started walking with them, alongside the prisoners as an extra defensive measure.
The group moved as quickly as they could through the bowels of the ship, and Lance was starting to think that this was almost too easy, after his little brawl with all the others. That’s when he heard the sound of metal against metal, moving quickly, from behind them. He turned to walk backwards, bayard instantly turning to blaster at just a thought, and watched. As soon as the first drone rounded a corner, he grit his teeth.
“Move!” he shouted, firing a shot. It missed, wide right, and he cursed a little as the drone shot back. That shot went high, thankfully, and he heard Pidge ushering the prisoners down a hall that had been just to their left.
“Lance, we’ve got trouble.”
He’d been surprised to hear that Keith was still with him, and when he looked back over his shoulder, about to ask what kind of trouble, the words died on his lips. Lance cursed and focused his attention on the enemies at the end of the hall as Keith readied himself for a fight. And then, mustering as much of his confidence as he could, Lance quipped, “I’ll watch your back if you watch mine, Mullet.”
“What’s going on? Do you guys copy?” Shiro’s voice demanded, sounding slightly breathless.
“Pidge is on her way to the exit with the prisoners. We’re guarding their escape,” Keith forced out. “We’ve got drones coming from two directions.”
“How many?”
“Not a clue,” Lance fired another round of shots as he spoke, grinning when two drones went down. “At least...eight—no, there’s more—”
“—and there’s at least that many more this direction, too,” the sound of a laser being deflected off of Keith’s shield made Lance glance over his shoulder, and he groaned a little. Of all days for this kind of bullshit, it had to be the day he miraculously triumphed over Keith in their morning sparring matches. Twice, no less. Granted, two out of five was still negative, but it was better than usual.
“And I thought today was gonna be a breeze,” he whined, internally cheering as another well-aimed shot dropped a fourth drone. A few others stumbled over it, and he realized that a few of them weren’t carrying blasters. “Aw, shit, they got some close combat drones coming!”
He took a step back and bumped into his partner, glancing back as Keith deflected yet another round of Galra shots. The combat drones were almost upon him, and he wasn’t nearly as well equipped for dealing with them as Keith was.
“Switch,” Keith breathed, as if reading Lance’s mind, and like a well oiled machine the duo spun around each other, facing opposite directions.
“Let’s go!” Lance whooped, shooting straight down the hall.
The good thing about fighting in cramped spaces like this was that numbers weren’t always the best. The drones were forced to come forward only three or four across, and unless they wanted to shoot each other, they couldn’t all unleash a rain of fire upon the intruders. That left Lance perfectly capable of mowing down those hunks of Galran scrap metal with relative ease, despite their reinforced plating.
They did, however, eventually reach where Keith and Lance fought back to back, and fighting with his blaster was becoming increasingly more difficult.
“Bet I can...take more than you!” Lance tossed, breathlessly, at Keith.
“In your dreams!” was the snarled reply, but Lance grinned as he heard sword cut clean through metal.
And, in typical Lance fashion, he kept up a steady stream of cocky taunts and childish insults, occasionally earning a sarcastic remark from his fellow paladin. But Keith was Keith, so Lance didn’t really think too much on it when Keith stopped responding back. His breathing was heavier, Lance could tell, but he heard slicing through drones, and he knew that Keith was good.
Later, Lance would wish he had paid more attention.
Keith had been good—more than good. Lance had already taken out most of the drones with blasters before they’d switched places, and with his sword, he was more than capable of handling the others that came his way. He hadn’t been prepared to see another drone stagger up from where it had fallen, though, a blaster hole through its metal torso, and raise its own weapon.
His arms were occupied, both sword and shield. He’d have to dodge—but one glance showed that, if he did, there wouldn’t be any escape for the unsuspecting paladin of the blue lion.
Shit, Keith cursed internally. If I dodge this, it hits Lance!
Normally, he could think his way out of corners like this, but even he couldn’t move faster than the enemy’s trigger finger, and as the shot flew, Keith grit his teeth and made his split-second decision. Both of his arms were still occupied, and if he disengaged to block, he’d take a hit. If he disengaged and dodged, his teammate would take a hit.
For Keith, it was an easy decision.
It seemed to fly in slow motion, a glaringly violet blur of concentrated energy. Keith twisted slightly to the side, trying to focus on keeping his enemies at bay and taking the hit in such a way that he could keep fighting.
The shot still staggered him, knocking the breath from his body as it struck his left side. It burned through the skin tight Voltron armor and through his flesh, but Keith fought for control of his own body even as he stumbled back. But that momentary distraction gave his current enemies an opening, and he hissed as a blade pierced his opposite side, digging up under his armor. White hot pain seared through him, and he found himself wondering, detachedly, how far that blade had truly gone.
Keith didn’t cry out past his initial hiss of discomfort, instead shoving the drone back with a grunt and severing its head from its body and with it, all the wiring necessary for function.
Breathing shot pains through his form, but Keith fought on. There were only three drones left on his side, and he couldn’t leave them to Lance. Lance may be more capable than he used to be, but he still wasn’t good against numbers at close range. The paladin of the red lion fought through a spell of dizziness, relying on his adrenaline to get him through as he parried the attacks aimed for him and lunged forward with strikes of his own.
He fought through the way his vision started to swim and the way he could hear his heart in his ears. He fought through when his foot slipped on the growing puddle at his feet, gritting his teeth and pretending that he hadn’t noticed it. And when his last enemy dropped, he finally dismissed his shield and reached up to clutch the spot, just under the edge of his chestplate, where the drone had driven its attack home.
Is this it? He found himself thinking, grimacing as he tried to staunch the bleeding.
After what seemed like hours but had, in reality, only been about ten minutes, Lance whooped as he heard the last drone clatter to the ground.
“Hey, Keith!” Lance turned around, with a laugh, “How many d-did you...Keith?!”
Keith still hadn’t turned around to face Lance, but the energetic paladin wasn’t stupid. He could see the way Keith was hunching in on himself, the way his shield arm was wrapped around his abdomen. But worst of all, Lance could see the gruesome splatters around Keith’s feet, dark pools against the metal of the Galra ship.
“Lance, what’s going on?” he heard Allura’s voice, and Shiro’s, but Lance wasn’t capable of forming an answer—not yet.
Everything started swimming in slow motion. As he watched, there was a drip that made the liquid on the floor shimmer, and Keith hunched over even more.
Oh my God he’s hurt, Lance’s mind supplied in shock. He might have spoken aloud, but he wasn’t sure. He ignored the other words in his headset, words his mind couldn’t comprehend because Keith was in front of him, not moving or speaking but bleeding, and he needed to know why.
Lance took a shaky step towards the other paladin, not sure how to approach him but with the knowledge that he had to.
“Keith, why didn’t you say something?” Lance demanded, taking another step. Did Keith not trust in Lance’s abilities enough to let him know that he was hurt? There wasn’t any indication that he’d been hurt—aside from the way he’d stopped tossing sarcastic comments back whenever Lance asked him questions or taunted him...and the way his breathing had become a little heavier, which Lance had subconsciously assumed was from the exertion of fighting.
No. Oh, no, Lance struggled with the realization, how long did he fight after he got hurt?! There’s so much blood, and that was at least four drones before the end on my side…!
“Didn’t wanna...distract you,” his voice was weak, and Lance wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“Keith?! Keith, what’s wrong? Are you injured?!”
Before anyone could answer, Keith’s bayard dropped from his nerveless fingers and he staggered. With a startled yelp, Lance lunged forward, his own weapon tumbling to the ground as he caught Keith by the shoulders. They sank to the ground then, with Keith practically in Lance’s lap, and the voices over the headset got more insistent.
Lance couldn’t focus on anything they were saying, not when he saw how pale his partner was, how labored his breathing had become. When he shifted his hold on Keith, keeping the wounded man in his arms, he could feel the blood. He could feel it seeping through his armor as he sat on the floor, he could feel it beneath the hand that was covering Keith’s own. It was warm and it was wet and there was too much.
Fear leapt into his throat. He couldn’t lost Keith here. He couldn’t.
“Y-yeah, he’s hurt,” Lance barely managed to speak, surprised at the choked sound of his own voice. He was still staring in shock at the red smears across Keith’s chestplate. And then curses tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. “Fuck, this isn’t good. Shit, shit, shit, we need out of here, stat! He needs the infirmary!”
Lance tuned out the shouting in his headset to listen as Keith wheezed, “I can’t really...breathe. Can you help me...get my helmet off?”
“Yeah, buddy, hang on, okay?” Lance’s voice shook and he reached forward with equally trembling hands to help take off the offending piece of armor. It sounded as though Lance was speaking from a place very far away, and Keith wondered vaguely if he should mention that. But after a few slow moments, he decided against it.
It was...nice, being able to see this side of Lance. He was being unusually gentle and moving as carefully as he could, and it was such a pleasant change from the cocky, rough Lance he usually saw that Keith couldn’t help smiling. Even though he was being so kind because Keith was injured, it warmed his heart to see it.
Even right now, when he knew there was a high possibility he wouldn’t make it out of here, Keith couldn’t help but acknowledge that Lance was a beautiful human being. He was a little shit, but he was genuine and caring and everything. Even at a time like this...Keith couldn’t help the fact that he liked him.
But as he looked back down after putting Keith’s helmet aside, the injured paladin realized that Lance, the ever-smiling Lance McClain, was crying.
He should be smiling, Keith thought, slightly distressed. Lance was the kind of person that should always be smiling, because when he smiled he was like the sun, and he put all other stars to shame.
A smiling Lance was the one Keith liked most.
“Lance, I wanna tell you something,” Keith managed to say it all in one sentence, but he took a shuddering breath afterwards. He realized then that he might not have the time left to say what he wants to...but he has to try. The timing was all wrong, and everything was wrong, but he just couldn’t go without trying to tell Lance.
“I’m listening,” Lance prompts him, voice shaking.
“I-I never hated you, y’know?” Keith laughed a little, though it ended with a wet cough and there was a metallic tang on his tongue. “I mean, you’re annoying as hell, but your heart’s...in the right place. I like that about you. And...shit, Lance, I like you. Have for a while n-now. Honestly, Lance, has anyone e-ever told you that you’re...too damn cute for your own good?”
Lance’s blue eyes widened in surprise, as if he hadn’t been expecting that kind of confession. And he probably hadn’t, when Keith thought about it. He hadn’t exactly been the most open with his feelings. Lance stared for a few moments in stunned silence, ignoring the hurried plans he could hear through the helmet, and he opened his mouth to say something. He fell silent when Keith’s shaky hand found his cheek.
Tears had filled those blue, blue eyes that Keith adored, and he hated seeing them. He hated himself for causing them.
“I’m sorry, Lance,” Keith murmured. “This...this isn’t how I wanted to t-tell you, but God, Lance...I love you so much,” he could feel the tears burning his own eyes as he smiled up at his rival, his friend, the man he loved, and added, “I never needed anything...in return. Just being around y-you has been...more than enough...f-for me.”
“Don’t talk like this, buddy,” Lance’s grip had tightened on him, holding Keith closer. Tears had started streaming down his cheeks. “You’ll be fine. You can tell me again, back at the castle after you’re better. We...we’ll talk about it then, ‘kay? But you have to hold on for me!”
Keith smiled at Lance for what he was sure would be the last time. His vision was getting hazy Lance’s face swam in his eyes. Keith wasn’t sure whether it was from his tears or the darkness that was clouding his mind, but it was probably both.
“You’ll do g-great, Lance,” he whispered. “I believe...in you.”
“Keith?! Keith?!” Lance cried out, startled as his friend’s full weight slumped in his arms. Keith was smiling back at him, but his eyes slid closed and Lance’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Lance could barely breathe as Keith’s hand fell slowly from his cheek, as if moving through water, and then he felt panic grip him. “No, no, no, no, no! Keith, buddy, c’mon! You can—we can get through this! Keith, please! Keith, open your eyes!”
For the first week, Lance barely left the infirmary. He paced back and forth in front of the pod that Keith was in, constantly checking the unconscious man’s vitals and praying to see that there’d been improvement. He almost always turned his head away, a snarl on his lips, when nothing had changed.
Keith was still alive, but that was about all the pod could tell him.
The pod still couldn’t fully process when Keith would wake up. It monitored his vitals and gave some sort of estimate in Altean, but thankfully after the first two days Pidge had reprogrammed it to give Earth times. And while the estimate was steadily decreasing, the three months and fourteen days it suggested didn’t make Lance feel much better than the six months and three days it had registered initially.
Before this, the person who’d spent the longest consecutive span of time in one of these pods had been Lance himself, because he’d been careless and overestimated his abilities. He’d spent three days in the pod. And after him had been Hunk’s almost three days for using his body to protect some alien refugees when his shield malfunctioned after taking several hits. But this…? Keith had already been in there for six days, and even Coran acknowledged that it was unusual. Not impossible, no, but highly unusual.
Lance blamed himself for not noticing Keith’s wounds sooner.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t leave Keith’s side while he was stuck in the healing pod, deaf and blind to everything happening around him. Lance barely ate, and usually only if someone brought him food or dragged him to the dining hall. If he slept, it was a few hours of fitful rest leaning against the single occupied pod or a few hours in his bed when Shiro forcefully pushed him into his own bed and wouldn’t let him leave his room until he’d at least had some sleep.
When no one else was in the room, he’d talk to Keith sometimes.
Lance had no idea if the paladin of the red lion could even hear him, but he couldn’t help himself. At first, he had slumped against the pod, his back against the glass and completely unable to look at the prone form inside as he murmured apologies.
I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were hurt. I’m sorry I couldn’t watch your back. I’m sorry I couldn’t get help quicker. I’m sorry that I’m out here and you’re the one in there. I’m sorry .
He didn’t know how many times he’d apologized, nor in how many different ways. All Lance knew was that Keith was still unconscious. He was still standing there, motionless, inside a pod that was supposed to help him breathe, to keep living, to survive. But all Lance could see was the pallor of his skin, even paler than usual and tinted blue by the alien tech that was breathing life into an otherwise lifeless form.
Eventually, forehead pressed to the glass, Lance had whispered, “I can’t do this without you, buddy.”
Shortly after that admission, he slumped to the steps and wrapped his arms around his knees. His weary eyes traced the softly pulsing lights from the floor, veins of energy supporting the entire ancient castle, but he barely took the sights in. It was just a diversion, so he wasn’t staring in guilt at the pod beside him the entire time, no matter how much he wanted to. He didn’t know how long he sat there for, but eventually Hunk and Shiro had pulled him to his own room, tucked him in bed, handed him a tray of food, and watched like hawks to make sure he ate and then proceeded to sleep.
Sleep was fitful at best, but he forced himself to stay there for about nine hours even though he had only slept for four and a half and every part of him was itching to return to the infirmary.
At the end of Keith’s second week in the pod, they had to leave the castle to fight against a small group of Galra. Without the paladin of the red lion, forming Voltron wasn’t possible, and though Allura assured them she would be up to the task of standing in, Coran and Shiro had shut it down. It was just a small scuffle, they assured her, so four lions would be more than enough to handle it. She hadn’t been happy, but she had acquiesced to their wishes.
Lance was glad they’d interfered—Red was Keith’s lion, and it didn’t feel right having anyone else, even the princess, in the pilot’s seat.
The fight had been a bit of a blur to Lance, and when the adrenaline finally wore off, Shiro was scolding him for being reckless. He fumbled for excuses, trying to be his usual, cocky self even though he couldn’t quite remember what he’d done. He remembered charging in front of Pidge and taking some sort of hit, but that was only natural, right? His lion had a lot more armor than the green lion.
He opened his mouth in an attempt to cut Shiro off, a challenge on his lips, and then his chest squeezed painfully.
Hey, Mullet, bet I got more than you.
The words died on his tongue, tasting of bitterness and despair, and he bit his lip as Shiro’s voice continued to lecture in that calm and collected way he had. Lance only gave Shiro half his attention, because the rest of his thoughts were trailing back to the infirmary. To the single occupied pod, where the paladin of the red lion stood unaware of everything around him, where Lance sometimes voiced his apologies, whispered encouragement, or screamed when no one else was around, tearing at his hair. The place where he blamed himself and hunched over and cried, and where the vitals monitor still estimated over three months until recovery.
His jaw clenched even tighter and there was a sharp pain in his lip. Lance ignored the copper on his tongue and tried to refocus on his team leader’s voice. After a few moments, when Lance didn’t respond with any jokes or even a groan, Shiro sighed. And then, in a soft voice that nevertheless carried clearly through the headset, he assured Lance, “It’s not your fault.”
Everyone knew he wasn’t talking about the fight they had just won.
Everyone knew Lance’s murmured, “I know,” was just for show.
During the third week, after coming back from another small skirmish, Lance went immediately to the infirmary. He still wore his armor, and he leaned his head back against the wall behind Keith’s pod, staring out into the room. Scrubbing lightly at the blood in the corner of his mouth—he’d bitten his lip again—he closed his eyes for a moment.
“You know?” Lance asked suddenly, staring at the ceiling. He felt his eyes burning and he ignored it to forge onwards, “My mom always hated the Garrison and what we were supposed to do there. I never got it. How can you despise the idea of being a hero?” here he laughed a little, dryly, and his shoulders started to hunch. “But I think I understand now.”
Lance huddled forward, one arm wrapping around his knees and the other around his torso, as if he was trying to hold himself together. And maybe that’s what he was doing, even if he wasn’t aware of it himself. Everything was falling—had fallen—apart, and he didn’t know how to pick up the pieces.
He had to finish his statement, though, and he took a shuddering breath to do just that.
“Because heroes aren’t meant to survive,” he choked, and then buried his face as the tears started falling again.
He could just imagine the way Shiro would scold him for saying that, but when Lance saw the way that heroes were prosecuted, targeted before everyone else, he couldn’t help it. In movies back home, he’d always looked up to the heroes and the martyrs. It was just natural, to want to be the type of person who could stand up for the right thing even against insurmountable odds. But out here, in real life, he’d seen many aliens die for their beliefs, hailed as heroes for protecting their people and their way of life from the Galra, and he had started to wonder.
Do we have to die to be heroes? Is that the only way we can accomplish anything?
The gentle hum of the pod as it sustained Keith’s life only made Lance’s internal struggle harder. How much time had to pass before he opened his eyes again? And would there be side effects from the prolonged stay in the healing pod, as Coran had briefly contemplated aloud, or not? Would Keith still be his Keith?
...his?
Since when did Lance ever think of Keith as his?
He lifted his head slowly, eyes still burning from tears both shed and unshed, and looked up at Keith’s back. Or what he could see of it, over the pod’s basic structure. For the first time in several days, he stared at his friend’s prone form. From the surprisingly broad shoulders to his unruly dark hair, Lance searched for whatever had made him think that way.
“This...this isn’t how I wanted to t-tell you, but God, Lance...I love you so much.”
The words echoed in his head, and for the first time since they had been uttered, Lance allowed himself to really think about them. To think about the way his stomach had fluttered, which he had initially interpreted as fear because Keith’s tone had a strange finality to it, as if he was positive it was the end of the road. Lance hated that tone. He hated it so much that he hadn’t really paid attention to the words he’d been given, not until three weeks later.
There was a lump in his throat as he struggled to come to terms with that idea.
Keith was—is—in love with me?
Old Lance might have brushed off the possibility as a prank, thinking that they were rivals, and of course that mulleted pilot had to be pulling a fast one just to get ahead of him this once. But old Lance hadn’t held Keith in his arms as he took a few shuddering breaths and confessed to him, tears in his eyes and a weak, gentle hand on Lance’s cheek. The old Lance hadn’t clutched Keith to his chest, begging him to open his eyes until he was hoarse even as the rest of the team rushed to help them out.
The old Lance hadn’t ever felt like the world had crashed down around him because Keith was on his deathbed.
But this Lance had done all of those things. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered to the front of his friend’s healing pod to stare at his lax face. The mixture of emotions that pooled in his gut nearly brought him to his knees.
“I miss you, buddy,” he murmured, raising a hand to the glass. His eyes traced the contours of Keith’s face for the first time in several days, ignoring the guilt that had settled like a burden in his chest. Everything from Keith’s firm jaw to the way his messy, dark hair tufted around his neck to the way he simply stood limply in place, held there by the pod’s strange Altean science, made Lance swallow past the lump in his throat. And then he pressed his forehead against the barrier separating them, tears freely streaming down his cheeks as he voiced his new realizations aloud for the first time.
“I love you, too.”
“I know you’re worried about him, and I know you blame yourself for what happened,” Shiro took him aside, glancing over to the pod. He’d found Lance in the infirmary, as usual. “I’m sure he’d feel the same as we do, though, Lance. It’s not your fault. And you need to try to focus, because no matter what happens, we need you to pull it together. The team needs you, Lance. So...do whatever you need to do this week to try and work it out, but next week you have to start coming back to our training sessions and trying to work with us. Keith wouldn’t want you to mope around like this when you could be doing something productive, and you know it as well as I do.”
It was the fourth week, and the team had decided to give Lance a few days to just...figure things out.
They had tried several methods to get him to eat and sleep regularly, but even faced with the full force of Allura’s powerful speeches about how important it was that he connect with the team even in Keith’s absence hadn’t been enough to pull him away from Keith’s side. In the past it might have worked, because Lance wanted to save the universe as much as everyone else, but not anymore. Not since Lance had realized his own feelings for the other paladin.
“I won’t be around as much starting next week,” he grudgingly admitted, leaning his head back against Keith’s healing pod. He sat on the steps in front of it, and groaned a little bit. “They’re going to make me do more bonding exercises, Keith. I hate bonding exercises. Not as much as Pidge, of course, and maybe not even as much as you. But…” he paused, and then sighed and leaned forward as he finished, “...it wouldn’t be as bad if you were there, too.”
He didn’t have to mention the fact that their petty squabbles and rivalry had always been some of the highlights of his day. Lance suspected that Keith might have already known as much.
Lance stayed in his spot, the hum of the pod behind him the only sound in the otherwise quiet infirmary, until the castle lights started to dim and the illusion of night descended upon him. And even then, he didn’t bother to leave, slumping over as his eyelids slowly drooped.
He’d probably have a crick in his neck, and he’d definitely get a scolding from Hunk about his health, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.
Sleeping in that position was never easy, nor comfortable. Lance found himself jerking back to awareness several times, shifting, and then dozing off once more. It didn’t bother him as much as it might have in the past, because for once he was more worried about someone else than his beauty sleep. In fact, it bothered him so little that he didn’t even pause to think about it when he woke up again, a chill seeping through his jacket.
He hugged himself a little and sat up straighter, rolling his shoulders.
And then he nearly screamed when something bumped into him from behind. At his startled yelp, whatever had bumped him breathed in sharply in surprise, and Lance spun around. No one was going to sneak into the infirmary on his watch, no sir—but who he saw as the lights started to turn back on, the castle registering their movements, made him pause.
Keith.
Lance surged to his feet, reaching out with trembling hands to grasp Keith’s upper arms, partially to help steady him and partially because he wanted to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. And when he felt the warmth of another human beneath his palms, he just stared. He was slightly disoriented but he was breathing and he was definitely awake. Lance’s chest swelled and he watched as Keith squinted up at him when the lights reached their optimal brightness setting.
“L-Lance?” his voice was hoarse, and he reached a hand to his face, rubbing lightly at his eyes, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. Lance knew that feeling well.
“It’s me,” Lance responded, his voice much softer than he had thought possible. “I’m right here.”
Keith reached out then, his hand lightly gripping Lance’s trusty green jacket. At one time, Lance might have brushed him off, accused Keith of contaminating his favorite article of clothing, but not now. He felt the way Keith was struggling to stay on his feet, saw his brows contort as he sifted through his memories.
He watched the way Keith’s eyes widened, and then he turned to meet Lance’s worried gaze.
“I thought…” he started, and paused to clear his throat. “I thought that I was going to die.”
His words were small, but Lance heard them, and he couldn’t help but pull Keith against him in a hug. He felt the paladin of the red lion stiffen beneath his embrace, but he couldn’t let him pull back. Not this time. Lance needed to feel Keith’s warmth, to know that he was there.
“But you’re still here,” he murmured, and his voice cracked. “You’re still here, so don’t do anything like that again, you hear me?”
“...Lance?”
Keith’s hands slowly wrapped around Lance’s torso, reciprocating the unexpected hug. Lance felt his eyes start burning and he held on more tightly, burying his face in Keith’s hair as he did so. It was so much different to be hugging him when he was awake, breathing, and healed than it had been when he was bleeding and unconscious. It was a feeling that Lance wanted to ingrain in his memories forever; the feeling of being whole, the completeness that warmed him from the inside.
“I’m sorry,” he found himself whispering into Keith’s hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t get help faster. I’m sorry I—”
Keith’s arms tightened around him and, in a tone that rivaled Shiro’s scoldings, responded, “What are you apologizing for? I’m not sorry at all. If...if I had moved, it would have hit you. I’d rather take the hit than see you hurt any day.”
Lance’s breath hitched, and he pulled back to see a defiant light in Keith’s eyes.
After a few moments of silence, Keith spoke again, in a softer tone, “Lance...are you crying?”
A younger Lance would have protested. He would have said no in as many as seventy different ways, using flair and bravado to brush it off. But a younger Lance didn’t know what it was like to lose someone like Keith, to watch and believe that they had just breathed their last. Lance, however, still remembered the terror that gripped his heart when he thought he’d lost his friend, his rival, and the pain he felt when he had realized his true feelings and thought that he had learned them too late.
Lance knew how it felt, and he answered with an unashamed, “Yes.”
“Why?” Keith’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m here, I’m breathing. How long was I out for? Usually it’s only a few days—”
“A month,” the words nearly choked him. “You were in the pod for a month, Keith. The pod couldn’t give us an estimate of when you’d wake up and Coran wasn’t even sure that you would.”
He didn’t mention the way he’d yelled himself hoarse three days ago when Coran had made that statement, or the way that Shiro had reprimanded him. He didn’t need to tell Keith about how his reaction to Coran’s observation had drawn Allura’s wrath, despite how insensitive the older Altean’s statement had been.
Keith stared for a few seconds, and then his features softened. Lance realized, belatedly, that his arms were still loosely wrapped around the paladin of the red lion, but he didn’t want to let go. Especially not when Keith raised his eyes to look at Lance again, searching for something. He didn’t know what Keith expected to find, but after a few moments, he gave Lance a soft, genuine smile. The warmth of his arms around Lance’s back disappeared, but a few moments later, Keith’s hands gently cupped Lance’s cheeks.
“I’m here, Lance,” his voice was nearly a whisper, and Lance had to lean closer to hear him clearly. “I’m right here.”
Lance felt his face contort in a way that was probably very unattractive as he fought to fight back the tears. He failed, of course, and a sob rose from his throat as he rested his forehead against Keith’s. Careful thumbs brushed away his tears as they came, and his fingers scrabbled for purchase as he tried to pull Keith even nearer.
“I’m sorry,” he managed again. “I’m sorry, Keith. I’m sorry…”
“Shhh, Lance, I’m here,” the warm, soothing voice filled his mind. Lance couldn’t stop crying, not yet, but he did open his eyes to meet Keith’s—dare he say loving?—gaze.
“I-I-I’m sorry,” he pulled his face away from those soft hands, burying it once more in Keith’s hair. He wasn’t as brave as Keith had been, and he couldn’t say these words to his face, but he still had to say them. And so he whispered them into Keith’s hair, his voice shaking.
“I love you.”
After a sharp inhale and a few seconds of a silence broken only by Lance’s tears, a chuckle filled the air. Fingers threaded through Lance’s hair, and he heard Keith reciprocate with a slightly breathless, “I love you too, idiot.”
“Idiot?” he questioned, feigning indignation. But the tone in Keith’s voice said everything. It had been gentle and endearing, and it had reminded him of the days before Keith’s prolonged stay in the infirmary, and it was nearly enough to bring his tears to a slow stop. “I resent that,” Lance laughed softly as he pulled himself back to look at Keith again, taking in the pink across his face and the unshed tears that made his eyes glitter.
“Yeah, well, you look like hell,” Keith had never been one to pull his punches, but he raised a hand and lightly ran his knuckles along Lance’s cheek, a soft look in his eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“You only have yourself to blame,” he quipped at Lance’s halfhearted accusation, but even Keith’s eyes were smiling. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. We can tell everyone I woke up after you’ve slept, because I don’t have the patience to deal with them right now.”
Lance nodded mutely, finally releasing Keith from his embrace. But soon enough, Keith had reached forward to tangle their fingers together, and he led the way back to Lance’s room.
And the next morning, when the rest of the castle’s inhabitants turned to Lance’s room after thirty minutes of frantically searching when they realized that Keith was gone only to find him curled up together with Lance on the twin sized bed, Keith wearing one of Lance’s shirts and a pair of shorts, his fingers in Lance’s short hair and Lance’s face pressed against his chest, Lance couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed when they all shouted in surprise and it pulled him from his first restful slumber in weeks. Privacy would have been nice, but everyone swarmed into his room in order to check up on Keith.
As Keith sat on the edge of Lance’s bed, fielding questions from everyone else and trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, Lance found himself leaning against his back. He rested his chin on Keith’s shoulder, receiving a few curious glances from his friends and teammates, and listened to the soft rumble of Keith’s voice.
If anyone wanted to ask when Keith’s hand sought Lance’s, twining their fingers together, they managed to wait for now. Pidge was probably exploding with curiosity, and Lance was more than content to lord his new secret over her for the next few days.
But really, the only thing that mattered to Lance was that Keith was here and he’d be alright.
They’d be alright.
And maybe, just maybe, they could prove Lance’s mother, and even the entire universe wrong, because some heroes are meant to survive.