Chapter Text
Lance could feel his world history class’s attention wander as the last seconds of class dwindled. Sure, an evening class on a Friday always had some level of attention-wandering towards the end as everyone waited anxiously for the weekend to start, but Lance prided himself on his ability to engage his students. This low level of attention was unusual even from his late Friday class. Lance blamed Keith.
Keith taught the other introductory world history class. Yesterday, Lance and his students had heard the stories of Keith’s last lesson. It had involved foam swords, improvised projectiles, some art student’s paint, and a lot of apologizing to the janitorial staff.
Lance was determined to outdo it. No way he would let Keith become the favorite in the history department, and Lance’s students were expecting some kind of retaliation. He would have to use his weekend to figure out the best way to bring his lesson to life on Monday.
He glanced at the clock. Only thirty seconds left.
“-and that will be all for today. Don’t forget to do your reading for class on Monday and enjoy your weekends.”
He lingered behind, gathering papers from his desk, waiting for the usual max exodus toward the doors to end before attempting his own exit. Thankfully his students were in enough of a rush that none of them stayed behind to ask questions. Between the walk-ins to his office hours and his frantic grading of his Modern Latin America midterms, he was exhausted and grateful he could go directly home.
As he meandered through the deserted halls and out of the building, Lance was thinking of his plan for Monday’s lesson. His students were no doubt expecting an exciting lesson next week, given his obvious rivalry with Keith, but he had a fine line to walk when planning his next lesson. He needed to make it more exciting than Keith’s class had been, but he also didn’t want to incur the wrath of the janitors .
Lance was fairly certain paintball guns were out of the question, but maybe he could incorporate water guns somehow?
A gleam in his periphery broke his train of thought. Turning to his left, Lance noticed something gleaming at the bottom of the school’s fountain. He supposed it could be a coin, but that was definitely out of the norm on campus. While there was the occasional penny lying along the bottom, the posted sign usually deterred students from throwing change into the fountain.
Lance peered over the edge. It didn’t look like a coin - it was larger and more rectangular. Maybe someone had dropped a phone? But there was no one outside panicking or trying to fish it out––so as likely as the idea seemed, it gave him pause. Regardless, he’d grab it and see if he couldn’t find the owner of the maybe-phone.
Lance took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. The water was probably shallow enough for him to retrieve it without having to wade into the fountain. He had no desire to soak his pants.
He leaned over the water, gripped the side of the fountain with his right hand and began sloshing around with his left, jerking his hand back momentarily at the shock of the cold water before plunging his arm in again .
The fountain was a little deeper than he anticipated. Even straining his arm as far as he could reach, it was difficult for Lance to get more than the tips of his fingers on the object.
He leaned out even farther, body dangerously close to the surface of the water. The knuckles of his right hand were completely white as he kept a death grip on the side of the fountain.
Finally! His hand closed around the phone and he heaved himself away from the water. He did not want to fall in after going through so much trouble to stay dry.
Holding the object up for closer inspection, Lance decided it wasn’t a phone after all. At least, it wasn’t like any phone he had ever seen. For starters, it had no buttons anywhere along its surface. Not to mention, it was unusually light. It felt like he wasn’t holding anything at all.
A sudden jolt of electricity went through his hand and he promptly dropped the object, cursing silently.
He stared at the object with suspicion before hesitantly picking it back up with his other hand. As he brought it closer towards his face to examine, he could make out a faint humming. Huh. That was new, and frankly a little concerning.
Lance bit his lip. Making a decision, he stowed the object in his pocket and tucked his jacket under one arm. He’d figure out what it was and how to find the object’s owner over the weekend. Most students had already departed for the day and there didn’t appear to be anyone outside. Once he had figured out what he had found, Lance could send out an announcement over email and hope someone claimed it.
The walk to faculty parking was devoid of anyone else, as was usual for this time of night. The object seemed to grow heavier, weighing down his pocket as if he had picked up a stone, and not an oddly lightweight device.
Lance’s footfalls slowed as he approached his car. His hand itched to pull the device back out to examine again, but he stifled the impulse. It could wait until after his drive home. The sky had darkened considerably and Lance had no desire to linger any longer than necessary.
Lance pulled his jacket out from under his arm and attempted to fumble through its pockets to find his car keys.
He frowned. He could’ve sworn he’d put them in one of pockets, but as he shook the jacket desperately, he couldn’t hear the usual metallic clink of his keys. Lance groaned. They were probably still sitting on the desk in his office.
“Hey.”
Lance jumped. He had been sure the parking lot was empty when he had entered, with only a couple of other cars left scattered throughout. Lance twisted around to face the speaker, heart racing.
A bulky, unfamiliar man was bearing down on him, uncomfortably in Lance’s personal space. A small scar ran through his eyebrow and he stood almost a half a foot taller than Lance. Lance had to crane his head upwards to look at the stranger .
“Hand it over.” The man’s voice was intimidatingly deep; he practically growled the words.
“What?” Lance furrowed his eyebrows.
“The bayard. Hand it over.”
“Bayard?” Lance looked down to the pocket where the object was resting. The man’s gaze followed his and his eyes flashed - gold?
He snarled and lunged forward, reaching for Lance.
Lance instinctively jumped back, paling at the sudden anger on the man’s face.
The stranger’s hand shot out, grabbing Lance’s shoulder. It didn’t seem like much force was being exerted, but the man’s grip on his shoulder was unnaturally strong. Lance tried to wiggle out of its grasp, to no avail.
“Give. Me. The bayard.”
The hold on Lance’s shoulder tightened briefly and he let out a yelp of pain. Lance felt fairly certain he was bruised down to the bone now. He looked up and stiffened in fear, because, yep, the man’s eyes had definitely turned gold.
Lance’s brain said ‘Sure, take it’, but his mouth said, “No.”
Crap. The enraged expression intensified.
Both Lance and the stranger shifted. Lance attempted to pull as far away as he could, while the man pulled his arm back, fingers curled into a fist. Lance flinched and screwed his eyes shut.
“Hey! Get off of him!” Keith. He let out a sigh of relief. Never before had Lance been so happy to hear his self-proclaimed rival speak.
Lance turned towards the sound, taking in a pair of figures rushing towards him before pain exploded across his cheekbone. Stars burst across his vision and there was a metallic taste in his mouth. Lance could feel his knees give out; the painful grip on his shoulder was the only reason he was still standing.
The hand was forcefully ripped from his shoulder as someone barrelled into the stranger. Everything was a blur of motion as someone else joined the fray. Lance could make out a red jacket under the dim lighting of the streetlights. He wasn’t sure when he had fallen, but he was now sitting on the ground, staring up at the fight.
It wasn’t much longer until one figure peeled away from the other two and high-tailed it out of the parking lot, limping, having clearly been beaten. A head turned towards him; it wasn’t anyone Lance recognized despite the distinctive features. The scar running across the bridge of his nose and his white bangs were unfamiliar.
The man’s mouth moved, but Lance couldn’t make out what was being said. The man stared back at Lance, expression quickly overcome with concern. The red-jacketed figure turned towards the stranger, before turning all the way around to look at Lance himself.
Lance felt his breath hitch, relief washing over him in a wave as he took in the familiar figure. Keith. His shoulders sagged as the tension suddenly left his body.
“-okay, Lance?” Keith’s voice was hesitant, as if worried he’d startle Lance, or scare him away. Lance breathed in shakily before nodding.
“Yeah, I, um, I’m fine, now. Thank you.” If the two of them hadn’t shown up when they did… Lance didn’t want to think about it.
Keith nodded slowly.
“What did he want from you?” Curiosity laced itself in with the worry still present in Keith’s voice. The question broke Lance from his previous line of thought.
He fumbled for the device. With his trembling hands it took him a few seconds to pull it from his pocket.
“He wanted this.” Lance’s brows furrowed as he thought back to the encounter. “He called it a bayard, whatever that means.”
Lance had never heard of a bayard before, and briefly wondered if it was some new device on the market. From the looks on the two others’ faces, they hadn’t heard of it either. Lance wondered absentmindedly if Hunk would know what it was.
“Do you mind if I see it?” The other man’s voice was soothing and calm, but Lance’s fingers tightened instinctively around the object. He was hesitant to hand it over, but he forced himself to hold it out. The man gave him a reassuring smile before slowly and carefully reaching for the object. Keith peered around the man to examine the object.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before, Shiro?” Shiro shook his head and held the object up closer to the light of the streetlamp.
“No. I have no idea what this is.”
Keith frowned at the answer.
Shiro offered the object to Lance again, who tried not to snatch it back too eagerly. He had no idea why, but it felt wrong to let Shiro or Keith hold it, even if they had rescued him. Maybe it was irrational, especially given that Lance had no idea what the object even was, and yet…
Lance felt discomforted by the fact that he was already so attached to the device, and he quickly shoved it back into its pants pocket.
“Well, we scared him off for now, but he might try this again.” Shiro seemed uncomfortable at the thought and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Keith balled his hands into fists at Shiro’s suggestion that Lance’s attacker might try again. Lance himself felt antsy and unsafe. He couldn’t help but throw a glance over his shoulder, as if there might be someone lurking in the shadows.
“Do you have a way home, or do you want us to give you a ride?” Shiro asked kindly. The concerned expression was back.
“My car’s over there.” Lance patted his jacket pockets again in search of his keys before remembering. He paled. “But I left my keys in my office. I have to go back and get them.”
Lance glanced over his shoulder at the dark path back towards campus, heart in his throat. He didn’t want to walk all the way back there, and turning back towards the others, he could tell they seemed equally as uncomfortable at the idea.
“We’re giving you a ride home. And then I can bring you back here tomorrow and we can grab your car keys together. No way you’re walking all the way back to your office,” Keith said decisively. For once Lance didn’t even mind having Keith telling him what to do. Instead he nodded, grateful.
“Thanks. I’m Lance, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met before,” he said, turning towards Shiro. Frankly, he felt a little embarrassed that he hadn’t introduced himself earlier, but given the circumstances Lance felt it was understandable.
Shiro held out his hand for Lance to shake. Lance blinked in surprise; he hadn’t noticed earlier in the dim lighting, but Shiro’s right arm was comprised of a dull grey metal. Lance only hesitated a moment before gripping the prosthetic.
“Shiro. And I’ve heard a lot about you from Keith,” he chuckled as he shook Lance’s hand. Lance felt a little flustered at the entire situation, but made an attempt to lighten the mood.
“So Keith’s been talking about me,” Lance drawled, raising an eyebrow.
“Shiro,” Keith hissed, elbowing him harshly if the look on Shiro’s face was anything to go by.
It was hard to tell, but Lance thought he saw the tell-tale red of a blush creeping its way up Keith’s neck. He smirked. Keith caught Lance’s expression and scowled, folding his arms over his chest.
“Whatever. Let’s just get you home.”
The walk to Shiro’s car was mercifully short, but if Lance walked a little closer to the two of them than was strictly necessary, no one said anything.
The ride home was silent save for Lance’s occasional directions to his apartment for Shiro. It wasn’t until they were parked outside of Lance’s building, engine idling, that Shiro broke the silence.
“You know, our friend Pidge is great with technology. She might be able to help you figure out what that thing is if you want.”
“I was planning on having my friend Hunk take a look at it tomorrow afternoon… but I’m not even sure he’ll know what this thing is. If your friend doesn’t mind taking a second look, then I wouldn’t mind you guys stopping by tomorrow.”
The object’s sleek, light design seemed years ahead of anything Lance had seen up until now. If there was a chance Keith and Shiro’s friend might be able to help identify it, then he definitely wouldn’t turn down the help.
Keith, who had been turned around in the passenger seat to look at Lance, nodded. “I’m sure Pidge would love to get a look at whatever that is. I’ll call her tonight, but we should be able to come over tomorrow and have a look at it. If you give me your number I’ll let you know what time you should expect us or let you know if we can’t make it.”
Keith bit his lip and Lance nodded mutely, before clearing his throat.
“Yeah, of course.” He rattled of his number quickly. “Um, thanks again. For chasing that guy off, and the ride, and for getting your friend to help me figure out what this thing is,” he rambled.
His face burned as he reached for the car door handle. The rush of cool night air as he opened the door was a welcome relief against his too-warm skin.
As he made his way to his front door, Lance put his hands into his pockets. His right hand brushed up against the mysterious object and his thumb absent-mindedly rubbed circles on its smooth, glassy surface. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d have his answers as to what this object was and why the man had wanted it so desperately. But first, he’d have to call Hunk.
He unlocked the door to his apartment and flipped on the light switch, free hand already dialing the first contact in his cell.
“Hunk? Buddy? You’ve gotta come over tomorrow. I have something I need to show you.”