#voltron legendary defneder
Pairing:Keith/Lance
Words:12k
Rating:M
Warnings: mild violence
Tags: Post-Season/Series 07, quantum abyss, Flashbacks, Flashforwards, Prophetic Visions, Visions in dreams, Mind Control, Dimension Travel, Boys Being Boys, Falling In Love, Mutual Pining, Gay Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron) when the going gets tough… the tough write fix-it fics, Allura (Voltron) Lives, because fuck you jds and lm
Summary:
Keith does not leave the quantum abyss untouched.
“Home can be anything, you know,” Lance says in lieu of a conversation starter.
Slivers of moonlight filter through the blinds above their heads, casting lines of truth across the sheets. Lance tilts his head forward and a band slides over his eyes, catching the ocean in them and drawing Keith into their rolling tides. And as distracted as he is, he doesn’t put up a fight when a hand clasps his own, reeling them heartward.
“Home is just something you can come back to.” His knuckles brush against the soft fabric of a nightshirt, the v-neckline falling loose to reveal a sharp collarbone, and Keith feels his breath hitching. “Something that keeps you grounded.”
Keith remembers waking up, slow and unwilling. Remembers rediscovering his body one limb at a time— fingers attached to hands attached to arms— toes attached to feet attached to legs— piecing together gradually until he is something whole. Remembers the raw sensation that follows: hair curling at his mouth and across the slope of his nose, tucked behind his ear; the bunched fabric of his shirt, hiked high over his stomach; a soft huff at his back and the kick of a furry leg to his thigh; and warm air brushing his face. Remembers how time slowed and how he lived it, humming as he burrows deeper into soft sheets, caught snugly between Kosmo and the heat that rolls over his skin, basking in the luxury of this secluded corner of the universe.
Remembers a hand brushing his own.
Eyelids flutter open instantly and he’s met with the vision of starlight embedded into a pair of blue eyes. Like an astronaut who’s lost connection to mankind, he hangs in the great expanse of space and reaches for a world that lies just beyond his reach— one small step for man, says a rusty voice from an even rustier cassette tape, one giant leap for mankind— marveling at the connection he makes. It’s an anchor that draws him back down to the ground just as it has him floating higher, drawn to the promise of not being alone.
The promise comes in the form of a beaming face centered around a slightly upturned nose.
“Hi,” Lance says, wide awake.
Between them, their fingertips still touch from a moment he’s missed. It is a bridge through the morning haze, leisurely drifting across a sea of sheets, and it has Keith wanting to reach out and intertwine their fingers, lock them together for the rest of forever. Except he hesitates a second too long and the touch withdraws.
“Hi,” he mirrors, voice gruff with sleep. He blinks, pauses, and blinks again. “Were you watching me sleep?”
Lance gives him an almost shrug, deciding to answer him with his own question, “Did you know you talk in your sleep?”
He shakes his head.
Eyes flicker to his hair, taking in what’s got to be the worst bed head Keith’s ever had. How embarrassing, especially when his bedmate’s own shorter hair looks so artfully disheveled. “It was more mumbling than anything else,” he clarifies, as if that’s any better. “Couldn’t really get what you were saying. It was just random words for the most part— sometimes a name.”
It almost feels like he’s missing something with the look Lance shoots him then. It’s… searching, eyes pulled wide as they look straight into his. But when Keith only continues to just stare, he lets out this half sigh-half scoff and throws himself onto his back dramatically. The suddenness of the action makes him bounce and Kosmo, who had undoubtedly snuck in in the middle of the night for a cuddle, huff out in annoyance and move to the foot of the bed. “Wow, okay. I thought maybe you’d be less intense after just waking up, but no, I guess not. You’re just like that, huh?”
“I don’t… mean to be.”
A hand pats his wrist absently. “Nah, it’s cool. I don’t mind it. Plus, you wouldn’t be you if your glare was anything less than catastrophic.”
Warmth spreads where Lance’s palm touches skin, leaving goosebumps rippling in their wake. He imagines them running their course over his chest and down his legs, deliberate and firm and hesitating only when the favor is returned. Distracted, he thinks of them waking in bed together in different circumstances.
Lance yawns.
Keith clears his throat. “What time is it?”
“Time isn’t real,” his friend throws back without missing a beat while reaching for his phone on the stand next to the bed. There’s a small click as he swipes. “It’s still early. Nearly eight, Earth time.”
Keith sits up, smoothing his hair down as he goes. “We’ll be arriving soon.”
Toes nudge against his ankle as Lance stretches, turning on his stomach to hug his pillow close. “Not soon enough if you ask me. Man, I can’t wait to eat some of my mom’s cooking. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried her empanadillas.”
“They must be really good then.”
“Just you wait,” Lance promises with a chuckle. “When things have settled, I’ll have everyone come for dinner and she’ll be over herself trying to feed you until you burst. We’ll have to roll you out of the house when the night is over.”
Once again Keith’s mind wanders. Wanders down a long-winded path, imagining a future where he frequents the McClain home, has a key to the door and a place at the table. It’s a dream he’s frequented since he was a kid, but now it has specifics only desire can attribute to; cuban-styled food and borrowed swim trunks, a russet barn and dusty boots, and people with Lance’s eyes and Lance’s laugh. It’s too easy to match up the points from his flashes to those of this opaque dream.
He smiles down at his hands. “I look forward to it.”
“Yeah, me too.”
His tone has Keith looking up and he’s not ready for the pensive expression on the other’s face, far-off and aimed in the vague direction of Keith’s collarbone. However, he doesn’t have time to decipher it because then Lance is pushing himself out of bed, sheets trailing after him and his hiked up pant leg. He shuffles over to the dresser and pulls out two shirts, throwing one in Keith’s direction without looking and nailing him in the face.
Life in foster system had been one constant flow of hand-me-downs and, as such, Keith doesn’t miss a beat in exchanging the old shirt he has on for the new one. By the time he finds his jacket, pulled it out from under his space wolf and shrugged it on, Lance is already securing the clasp to the right of his Garrison jacket and adjusting the seams of his pants. He would look completely put together if not for the lack of shoes and Keith’s heart makes a heavy thud in his chest at the sight, going into double time when the boy pulls out a comb and offers it to him; their hands brush for all of a second when he takes it and the tingling sensation stays with him even as he goes through the motions of his morning routine.
“They’ll probably want us all on deck when we land,” Lance is saying. There’s the sound of a cap clicking open and then he’s applying some face cream to the skin under his eyes. “We can stop by your room to get your jacket, but we’ll have to be quick. Allura will have our heads if we aren’t on time and in tip-top order.”
He murmurs his acknowledgement, refusing to tear his attention away from the task at hand and slip into another flash. The teeth of the comb snag onto a particularly large snarl and he tugs harder, clenching his teeth when it stings at the base of his skull. His hair is getting longer, he notes, hair breaking apart by force, and he’ll need a trim soon; he wonders where he can find a pair of scissors.
Seconds later and out of the corner of his eye, he senses Lance pausing in his skincare and mentally prepares himself what whatever comes next.
Lance does not disappoint. “What,” he starts, dramatic-like, “do you think you’re doing?”
Another tug and another snag. “What does it look like? I’m combing my hair.”
“It looks like you’re trying to go bald before the age of forty.” He steeples his fingers and brings them to his lip, sighing deeply. “Keith, my buddy, I know it’s a mullet and the shame of it is finally getting to you but that doesn’t mean you have to pull every follicle of hair out in a twisted attempt at a makeover.”
“It’s fine, Lance. It’s just hair.”
“Just hair, he says,” Lance mutters, sounding exasperated. “Can you believe this guy, Kosmo?”
Keith’s wolf offers only a twitch of the ear at the sound of his name while Keith himself opens his mouth to defend himself, only to snap it shut when Lance crosses the distance between them and invades his personal space like he was born to do it. Their knees knock and the comb is snatched right out of his hands, Lance brandishing the thing almost threateningly when Keith makes to move away.
“I’ve got years of experience doing my sisters and nieces’ hair, so you best buck up and just let me do my magic, alright?”
Mouth dry, Keith nods. ”Alright.”
So Lance reaches out and Keith doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t stop him from palming the back of his head and angling it just so. Doesn’t stop him from parting a section of hair and gently run the comb through it. Doesn’t stop him even when the teeth catch painfully, letting the blue paladin carefully detangle it in a way that his own short hair doesn’t explain. Doesn’t stop him from trading the plastic of the comb for the blunt of fingers as the seconds turn into minutes. Doesn’t stop him— just sits there and lives the moment.
And this is how Keith spends his morning, sitting at the edge of a bed that isn’t his and having his hair brushed by someone other than himself, basking in the comfortable silence until the stars outside shudder and blur, falling back into space as the Atlas makes the last wormhole jump of their journey. The azure of Earth’s stratosphere fills the window pane and in the distance Keith can see the mountains of the Arizona desert, a nudge of nostalgia at the back of his mind, highlighted by the glow of a mechanical lion’s particle barrier that had fallen away by a simple knock. The sight is accompanied by Lance’s sigh as he pauses in his work, hand settling on Keith’s shoulder absently, and says, “There’s something about being back that just feels right.”
There’s the tell-tale burst of energy as a flash hits but… nothing feels different. And Keith, reborn in this new beginning, thinks there may be some truth to that.
Later, after a quick glance at the clock, a muttered curse and a mad scramble out the door when they realize the time and how it had run away from them, Keith will run a hand through his hair and marvel at its softness.
The Atlas lands and Earth celebrates, welcoming home its heroes with the greatest fanfare it’s rebuilt cities have ever seen.
The cheers are deafening and nearly has Keith stumbling before he can even touch base with the planet’s soil. It takes them an hour to cross what would normally take them ten minutes, arriving at the launch zone at the Garrison headquarters with people crowding them from every side, eager and bold in the light of peace; their numbers dwindle as crewmembers are dragged into the embrace of their family and friends, framed by tears and smiles and streamers. Strangers wave at them from the windows and balconies of buildings that hadn’t stood there when they had embarked, settled in the once battered world they had left behind, now rebuilt and looking better than new. More than one person sneaks a hug off Keith while plenty more touch his shoulder and pat his back, as if he is Midas and they suffering from gold envy.
In the weeks following their return, the paladins are in high commodity. Everywhere they go, people flock, asking for autographs, selfies and glimpses of the Lions. They are celebrities in every meaning of the sense and Keith doesn’t know how he feels about the new fame, and says as much to the team when they mull it over behind closed doors.
“You saved them from galran reign more times than they can count. Of course they would be grateful,” Allura says, lounging on the couch across from him as she inspects some paperwork for her next meeting. Lance is settled behind her, carefully braiding her hair while the mice watch. “If it’s not hurting anyone, I say let them be as grateful as they want. The paladins before you were quite the legends too— it comes with the occupation.”
“It’s just… weird.”
From her seat on the floor by the princess’ feet, Pidge shuts her laptop and stretches out her feet, toes pressing into the fluff of Kosmo’s back haunches as he chews on one of the many toys gifted to Keith since landing and making one offhand comment of his wolf’s destructive tendencies to a reporter. “My problem is that I’m running out of space in my room to put my medals. I mean, there’s only so many awards you can accept before it gets old. It’s gotten to be so much that we’ve started to melt them down and mold them into collars for Bae-Bae.”
Hunk, summoned by their conversation, leans through the kitchen pass-through. He’s wearing an apron that says, ‘Kiss the Cook,’ and there’s a faded lipstick stain on his cheek where someone had obviously taken the apparel’s word as law. “I donated a bunch of my medals to museums. It seemed like the better option when my mom offered to hang all of them up and give tours to the neighbors, which would be embarrassing.”
“So embarrassing,” Pidge agrees.
There’s a clatter from the kitchen and then the low murmur of Shiro, followed by the sound of running water and sizzling. Keith watches as Hunk rolls his eyes and retreats from the window, evidently going to clean up whatever mess their disaster of a leader had made.
“All done,” Lance says and Keith turns to see Allura brushing a hand delicately over her hair which is twisted into a smooth plait down her back. It’s intricate and makes her all the lovelier. The mice squeak in approval, clapping their tiny paws together as Pidge twists in her seat to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ appreciatively. “How do you like it? Fit for a queen?”
“I love it. Thank you, Lance.” Allura turns and presses a swift kiss to the boy’s cheek, and Keith is caught between the way the braid falls over her shoulder at the motion and the undeniable blush that results from it. It entices a flash, the feel of a chest pressing flushed to his back and lips ghosting over the nape of his neck as he’s pushed into the plush of a mattress, bubbles of laughter erupting from his core when those very same lips blow a raspberry in the sensitive skin there. Thankfully, Allura moves to stand before he can dwell on it longer, picking up her space mice and holoscreen and carefully stepping over Pidge as she makes her way towards the kitchen; she pauses long enough to squeeze Keith’s shoulder on her way by and say, “Times are changing, Keith, and for the better. I say embrace it.”
“Allura’s right, Keith,” he hears Hunk call out from the other room, “We saved the entire universe! People are bound to be impressed! If peace means sacrificing some personal space every once in a while then— woah, woah, woah. Shiro, that’s way too much coconut milk.”
Keith frowns.
Pidge raises her hands and pretends to stretch. “If the attention bugs you so much, you could always start threatening people. I mean, it must’ve worked with that one olkari king before Ryner—we haven’t seen him since you put a knife to his throat.”
Before Keith can even think of a response, Lance is there, swooping in and grabbing the girl underneath the armpits, heaving her onto the couch and in his arms. “You’re such a gremlin,” he tells her. Then, without warning, he licks the side of her face.
“Ugh!” Pidge tries to push him away but Lance holds fast, hooking his legs around her own so that she’s trapped. “Get your disgusting boy germs away from me!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, does this bother you? My bad. I just thought it was my turn to be insufferable today, especially since you already got a head start.”
Another swipe of tongue to the side of the face and Pidge visibly shivers in disgust. “Okay, okay, okay! I get it! Jeez, I’m sorry!”
As if she had spoken a magical incantation, Lance’s vice grip loosens and the girl all but launches herself away. She trips a bit and shoots the blue paladin a dirty look, pulling the skin under one eye and sticking out her tongue, marching backwards to join the rest in the kitchen. Lance, for his part, looks careless as he leans back into the cushions of the couch, offering Keith a wink.
“You didn’t have to do that. What she said was true.”
Lance just waves his words away. “Every once in a while Pidge needs to be reminded that even smart people can say dumb things.”
Keith folds his arms and sinks further into his seat, mirroring the other boy as he stretches his legs out. “Well… thanks.” His gaze flickers away and back, thinking of Shiro’s advice. “You’ve always got my back no matter what. I really appreciate it— appreciate you.”
“Of course. You know you can always count on me. We’re a team, remember.”
Oddly enough, Keith’s heart starts speeding to a sprint. “I—” He clears his throat minutely. “Yeah, it’ll be weird when I leave for Blade missions and not have you around to watch my back.” The boy’s shoulders stiffen imperceptibly and it’s like they’re back within the exotic colors of the astral plane; it takes less than a second to relive the words they had exchanged over his planned disappearing act in the name of universal restoration. Keith’s stomach clenches painfully and he quickly crosses the space so that he’s seated next to Lance. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I know you think me going with the Blade is running away, but it’s not. I promise it’s not. I really do want to help and they’re my ticket to help so many people. So many.”
Lips part as Lance’s mind processes— both Keith’s decision and sudden closeness— eyes flickering between Keith’s own, and it’s a physical thing, the nervousness that he feels, waiting with bated breath for his right-hand man to pass judgement. Because if he leaves without this blessing, then everything he has worked for will be for nothing.
“You’ll visit, won’t you?”
Relieved, Keith grasps the offered line with enthusiasm. “Of course. I’ve already talked to Kolivan and my mom about it— I’ll have breaks in between assignments to visit you and Earth, to come back home. And we can video call every night while I’m gone, or just text if that’s too much.”
The quickness of the answer surprises the blue paladin and he rears back a fraction of an inch. Something shines in his eyes, addictive and dangerous. It looks an awful lot like hope. “I’d like that, but only if you want—”
“I want.”
Lance peers at Keith, eyes narrowing in that speculative way of his before they’re widening to saucers when he reads the honesty in his eyes. “You’re serious.”
Keith rubs his thumb over his knuckles. “Well, yeah. You’re, like, my best friend.”
“Oh,” Lance says, looking pleasantly surprised. “You’re my best friend too.”
The admission does strange things to Keith and he hopes his giddiness isn’t as transparent as it feels when he smiles. Because Lance called him his best friend. This incredible boy, with the power to make a room of strangers into something more— a unit, a team, a family— only armed with some quick wit and a slow-curling smile, wants to be friends with Keith. Keith, who on the cold nights— long nights— hard nights— dreamt with his eyes open and his heart closed, wanting to be pulled in even as he pushed people away. Despite the world and their own rocky start, they’re friends. Best friends.
Keith wants to grab his hand, and so he does. “Yeah?”
Lance doesn’t balk from the touch, instead squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah.”
In that moment, several things come together for Keith. They are pieces to an already solved puzzle, and when he looks at the finished picture he isn’t surprised to find Lance at its center. Because when hasn’t it been Lance?
(“You’re crazy, man,” Lance tells him after he had fallen out of a tree on some alien planet procuring a fruit Pidge had said was near impossible to retrieve, but he’s laughing as he leans down to offer a hand. “Absolutely nuts.”
The sun is eclipsed by the blue paladin’s head, giving him a halo of gold that’s just shy from being blinding. A stray breeze pulls at brown locks, making them curl against sharp cheekbones. The idyllic picture this makes has his stomach churning and Keith doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. In a daze, he accepts the help, heart skipping when he’s pulled to his feet and is, once again, level with blue eyes that crinkle in a smile. Their hands stay clasped longer than strictly necessary, both a bridge and divider of the space between their chests, and it sets his skin on fire.
He finds his voice after a solid half a minute of staring, “Thanks.”
“I don’t think most people would consider that a compliment.” Small chuckles still curl Lance’s lips, swirling in the dimples at his cheeks, and it’s such an endearing look. It’s nearly enough to stifle the disappointment that rises when he takes back his hand. Nearly. “But I guess Keith Kogane isn’t most people, huh?”
The light teasing helps jerk him back to reality. He crosses his arms and asks, “Impressed?” with the best smirk he has on hand.
But Lance doesn’t respond with the usual indignant rebuttal, instead tilting his neck so that he can give this confusing side glance, eyebrows angled and lips pursed. There’s a strange light in his eyes, something Keith’s never seen before. “Maybe a little.”
And, well, okay.
Lance laughs at his expression and nudges his side playfully. “C’mon,” he says, as if this is them— and maybe it is, now. “We better hurry up or we’ll miss the meeting. Allura will have our heads if we’re late.”
Keith nods and goes to follow where the rest of the team disappeared, swallowing the weird jolt in his chest when Lance steps in line with him without question— as if it’s the easiest thing to do, molding to his side like he belongs there. The hall is by no means small, yet they walk close enough that their shoulders brush in every exaggerated gesture Lance makes while picking up the conversation between them.)
The answer to the puzzle is simple. It’s Lance. Always have been and always will be.
“We do make a good team.”
It’s the words etched into the chambers of his heart, silent and still until their palms touch. Then it’s a quiver followed by a definitive thump-thump. It’s the start and the end. The dawn of a new life, taking its first breath and standing to face the rising sun.
Lance smiles—
Home is whatever you make it to be.
—and Keith smiles back.
It’s late when Keith finds himself hunched over on a metal crate in one of the Garrison’s main hangars, polishing his blade. His shirt is rumpled from the impromptu laps he did around the track and there are the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes. He refuses to sleep.
Notice of his first Blade assignment had been sent out the day before and Keith had been briefed on its parameters in a clipped meeting with Kolivan; two weeks in the Outer Rim with a team of three, delivering supplies to an old, free-floating clinic and helping repair damages done to the structure’s intensive care unit by a band of rogue galran militia days prior. Rumors were that the raiders were still in the quadrant and would need to be dealt with swiftly to ensure no future damage done.
Logically, Keith knows that he will be back in record time. Knows that he has nothing to fear. Earth and his team will still be there when he gets back. Still, it doesn’t stop his mind from racing anxiously to every dead end when he attempts to close his eyes.
He’s just about to consider messaging Lance when there’s the familiar swoosh of the door and he twists around to see Hunk. He’s still dressed in his day clothes, looking to be pulling an all nighter, scrap metal heavy in his arms and a welding kit slung over his shoulder. The look of surprise that crosses his face when he spots Keith tells him that he had expected to be the only night owl up tonight.
“Keith,” the yellow paladin greets amiably despite the late hour, dropping his wares unceremoniously on the floor when he reaches him. “What are you still doing up?”
“I could be asking you the same.”
The hefty boy gestures toward the mess he had just made as he settles next to it, legs criss-crossed. “Some of the I-beams are corroding and need to be replaced, so I thought I’d get started on it before it became a problem.”
Keith’s brows furrow. “At midnight?”
Hunk makes a face and explains, “I downed a couple of energy drinks hours ago to keep me awake for my double shift and now it’s backfiring.” He starts organizing his haul. “What about you?”
“Just having trouble sleeping.” He rubs the jut of his palm in his right eye socket, trying to wipe away the crust clinging there. “I’m leaving in a couple of days and I haven’t been… handling it as well as I thought I would.”
“Aw man, that’s brutal.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“It’s okay if you don’t,” Hunk assures.
“Shiro said that same thing.” The older man had wrapped Keith in a crushing side hug when he’d let slip his nerves, getting far too emotional and promising to talk through every emotion Keith had in excruciating detail. Homesickness has never been something he’s known intimately and it’s a little overwhelming— he can only imagine what it’ll feel like when he actually does leave. “But don’t worry, I think I’ve got it under control. I promised Lance I would keep in touch and I’ve already set up his number to connect directly to my handheld rather than have it go through the Blade’s gateway link.”
Hunk snorts. “Good luck with that. He’ll be calling you at all hours of the day.”
“I don’t really mind. It’s… nice, having someone to talk to in between everything— someone who gets it. And Lance is good at filling in the silence when I don’t want to talk, lets me listen and just relax.”
A soft hum. “You guys seem to be getting really close lately.”
Keith can’t seem to keep eye contact. “We’ve always been close. Ever since… you know.”
It’s no small secret that Keith’s leading ability had directly correlated to the blue paladin’s involvement in and aid of Voltron, specifically his near constant presence at the red paladin’s side during meetings and on the warfront. Hunk nods and it is a deliberate motion. “Yeah, of course,” he acquiesces easily, leaning back so that he can fold his arms and press his shoulders to the crate next to him. “But I meant more than right-hand man close. I was actually thinking more on the lines of partners-through-and-through close. Or even doopy-smile-whenever-you-see-each-other close.”
His shoulders hunch up. “That’s not true.”
“Usually you’re all frowny and standoffish, but then you see him and boom, happy Keith. It’s really cute to be honest, especially when you let Lance give you a hug and you, like, melt.”
“I do not— melt.”
“Uh, yeah, you do,” Hunk continues, uncaring what it’s doing to Keith’s temperature. Higher and higher, it goes, until he’s sure he’ll be nothing but ashes by the end of the night. “Everyone notices, dude. Shiro isn’t even subtle about how happy it makes him. He gets all soft and misty-eyed whenever you guys are in your own bubble and, ugh, sometimes it’s just too much.”
Now that he’s thinking back on it, Shiro has been in a lighter mood these past few days, always ruffling Keith’s hair and asking him his plans and if Lance was gonna be there…
The thought that his feelings haven’t been as transparent as he had believed is a bit mortifying and he pushes down the urge to hide his face. Still, he feels the need to explain, to justify. “Okay, yeah, me and Lance are really close. It’s only natural. He helped me through a lot and has been so nice, and I like spending time with him. He’s funny and always saves me a seat at lunch.”
“Wow.”
“Wha—” Keith jerks at the voice speaking right into his ear, nearly falling out of his seat in clumsy fright. It takes only a moment for his frazzled mind to recognize Pidge’s mousy hair and impish smirk, which dissolves into maniacal laughter at his expense in the time it takes his jack-rabbit heart to stutter back to normal. “Pidge! What have I told you about sneaking up on me!”
The girl pushes her glasses up to wipe at the corner of her eyes. “You make it too easy sometimes.”
He knows that Pidge will never let him live this down— for all his time working as a paladin of Voltron and honing his skills with the Blade, Keith is still very much susceptible to jump scares. Their youngest member is a hellion when it comes to anything that could remotely be considered blackmail, archiving anything and everything on one of her many flash drives for later use, and Keith is more than positive that she has a compilation of embarrassing videos and photos for every member of the team.
“Pidge,” Hunk scolds, but it is only half heartedly because he seems to be just as amused by Keith’s surprise as his perpetrator. His unaffected attitude leads Keith to believe that he had probably seen her coming and had decided to let things play out. “We were having a moment.”
The thought makes him spin around and pin his smallest friend with a sharp look, the beginnings of dread pooling in his gut. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to hear your confession for our favorite dumb-dumb,” she says, dashing Keith’s hopes away. “I wanna say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You guys always did act like an old married couple.”
“We never— that wasn’t a confession!”
Pidge squints against the fluorescent lights in an effort to see him better, ignoring the glasses that sit atop her head. “I can’t tell if you actually believe that or if you’re just dumb too. Either way, I’m here to burst your bubble and say that, with the confidence of being the smartest person in the room, that was totally a confession. You just confessed, and about Lance of all people.”
He gapes and when he looks to Hunk for support, he’s betrayed with a simple shrug. “Sorry buddy, but I have to agree with Pidge on this. That sounded pretty much like a confession to me.”
Now, Keith knows he’s got a crush. Knows that Lance is it, the light at the end of the universe and the light that guides him back. Knows all this and some, but is also acutely aware that he hadn’t meant to actively tell his friends all these embarrassing details. Because it’s one thing to have a crush and another to have it spoken aloud by someone else.
And Keith, in all his fighting prowess and nerves of steel, does not take it well.
“That was not a confession. I did not confess.” He stands and they crane their necks to watch him. “And even if I did— which I didn’t— that would imply that I’m ashamed of liking Lance— which I’m not— and that it’s something that could be reciprocated— which it isn’t. Me and Lance are fine with the way things are now, so you can stop your science nerd analysis thing you do. It’s not gonna work.” He moves to walk away but then stomps back. “And just to set the record straight, a confession usually has the word love in it and I didn’t say I loved Lance, so there.”
The duo stare at him in silence for a long, long, long, moment and it takes Keith’s mind that and then some to process what his mouth just said.
“Oh my god.”
Hunk’s eyebrows rise.
“Oh my god,” he says again, voice cracking.
Pidge’s eyebrows rise.
Keith turns away and cannot leave fast enough.
Before the door closes behind him he hears Pidge’s mutter of, “Boys are dumb,” and Hunk’s affirming hum.
He leaves Earth in the early morning and the entire team comes to see him off. They each take a turn to hug him goodbye, wishing him luck and safe travels, prolonging the moment as long as they can. Allura makes him promise to contact them if anything goes wrong and Shiro asks if he remembered to pack a toothbrush, Coran turning a bit misty-eyed as he loudly recounts their first meeting and how it led them to this moment, while Pidge and Hunk look on with infuriating smug faces as Lance gives his communicator a final check before deeming it space-travel worthy.
After that, it’s a matter of stepping away and up the deck of the Black Lion. Of closing the hatch and settling into the pilot seat. Of casting one last glance of his friends through the window and offering a wave. Of grasping the controls and launching himself back into the vastness of space.
And space is… exactly as he remembers.
It’s vast, stretching past millions and millions of parsecs, and Keith is reminded of why he had joined the Garrison so long ago. It’s like he’s six again, sitting in science class and staring up at a holographic Milky Way, wondering about solar flares and tidally locked moons. Imagines escaping gravity and floating past the clouds to sit on Saturn’s ring, lifting a hand to touch the stardust that made him. A day dream turned reality.
Though now, as he watches the blue planet grow smaller and smaller, he can’t help but think— a memory, painted a lovely sunset hue— to the end of the universe and back.
It takes one wormhole jump and thirty-two hours of manual flight through an asteroid belt to arrive at his destination, and then another one and a half to be allowed access to land in one of the clinic’s many ports. Then it’s a matter of navigating the rush of refugee traffic through the hastily patched up corridors, guided by an overworked cat-like alien dressed in a tunic and wimple.
Keith, donned in his Blade armor and sash, works silently and efficiently. Careful to keep out of the way of the medical staff, he and his team— Acxa and her ex-teammates, all tense but trying valiantly to ignore their shared history— move crates of supplies to storage, organizing the syringes and bottles of antiseptics. And when that is done, they move onto menial labor; they buff out scorch marks, reassemble hoverbeds, help move patients, and reseal the tiles that stabilizes the cabin pressure of the compound.
The patients, though initially hesitant because of their very galran apparel, warm up to them, especially when another raider attack comes and Keith’s team takes care of it without any casualties. After that, Keith sits at the bedside of more than one patient, listening intently as they talk about their life before the war, ever hopeful.
(“It feels good,” he tells Lance on his sixth night, hunkered down in the Black Lion’s head and wrapped up in a blanket Coran had stealthily snuck into his pack, communicator cusped in his palms. “It feels like I’m making a difference despite everything.”
“It’s because you are making a difference.” Lance is somewhere outside, sitting in a field, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt that reads VARADERO SWIM TEAM. There’s a telescope set up behind him and if Keith looks close enough he can see the small tuft of hair of his niblings at the bottom right side of the screen, highlighted by the occasional firefly floating by. “You’re out there saving the world, and not even because of some obligation. You’re just a good guy like that.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so, and I’m usually right about these things.”
Keith shifts and presses his knees to his chest, turning to stare out the window. These nightly chats always have him feeling vulnerable and he nervously pushes some hair behind his ear to appease the tightness. “None of my previous Blade missions were like this— I knew we were doing good work but everyone was always so… tense,” he tells his friend, a piece of himself chipping off. “It made it hard to sleep sometimes and even though I knew I did the right thing by leaving, I sometimes wished I could go back and stay with you guys at the Castle. But then that would risk us winning the war and…”
“It was a bad time for all of us,” Lance murmurs. “I’m just glad we all made it out alive.”
“Yeah, me too.” He leans his head back and takes one, two, three deep breaths. He wishes he wasn’t alone in the cockpit. “You know, these calls are nice, but it’s nothing compared to actually being back on Earth with you guys. Maybe, next time, you could come with me.”
The boy stares at him. “Maybe I will.”)
By the time his two weeks are up and the clinic is restocked and properly rebuilt, Keith is thinking that he made the right choice to rejoin the Blade. It seems only fair that they do what they can to fix what Zarkon broke, and Keith is willing to be the change he wants to see in the world. He isn’t a powerful alchemist or great king or learned wiseman, but he is a paladin and that’s gotta count for something.
It’s two weeks after he returns to Earth that Lance makes good on his promise for Keith trying his mother’s cooking.
It’s a sunny day in May when him and the rest of the team are invited to the McClain household. They’re introduced as “Leandro’s friends” and are ushered inside by Lance’s father, swept off their feet to meet every sibling and cousin and grandparent of their residential blue paladin. All have kind words to say and a hearty handshake or hug to bestow, Lance’s mother specifically blessing them each with a kiss on the cheek and an earnest, “Make yourselves at home.”
It’s a loud affair, with good food and good company. He and the rest of the team are sat down under an awning set up outside and presented with dish after dish, encouraged to eat till they burst until Lance himself has to intervene and playfully nag at his aunties to leave his friends alone. Somewhere along the way a guitar is pulled out and Lance’s uncle starts strumming a simple melody, murmuring some chorus in spanish as children play an exuberant game of tag.
And at its center, Lance.
Now, objectively, Keith has always known that Lance is attractive.
This is not a recent discovery, far from it. He had known of the boy’s good looks the moment he set eyes on him, features coming into acute contrast under the harsh lights of the medical tent as he takes on half the weight of Shiro’s unconscious body. It had been an afterthought of an afterthought, idle but undeniable.
But now, as he looks at his fellow teammate sitting in between Hunk and Shiro, hand flailing in overexaggerated motions while he narrates a mostly true recountment of one of their more lighthearted missions, it becomes blatantly apparent that the fact had not been fully considered.
He’s dressed in cuffed jeans and a striped, short-sleeved button up, looking put together enough that Keith feels underdressed in his ripped jeans and black t-shirt. Even when slumping in his seat, arm draped across the back of Shiro’s chair, his expression is open and inviting. The sun streaks through the branches of the old oak tree curling over the back patio, highlighting a crown of brown hair and warm, tan skin that stretches over a sharp jaw and down a long neck. It is a conventional kind of beauty, a universally known truth, spied in the high cheekbones and full lips, pursed in a sly smile that arches thin brows over a sloe-eyed gaze.
A beauty that draws the eye and keeps it.
Even as he watches, Hunk says something that has Lance throwing his head back in a laugh. It’s an unapologetically loud kind of laugh, a little too high-pitched, the kind that Keith vaguely remembers hearing in the halls of the Garrison and then more clearly in the halls of the castleship, the kind that makes heads turn.
It’s weird, the bubbly feeling he gets in his chest when he looks at Lance. It’s not a new feeling, but the magnitude is surprising. Keith almost expects the force of it to reach Lance, to snag his attention toward his pocket of existence and swivel onto Keith’s pounding heart. He shouldn’t expect anything— they are on two opposite ends of the table, divided by the hussle of a party still going— but Keith still does. It sets him up for disappointment when Lance, who’s gaze had always flickered to Keith when he entered a room, whether it was with a frown in their early cadet days or a smile back on the castleship, doesn’t spare him a single glance.
It’s only when his gaze drifts a bit to the left and he catches the sight of Shiro’s raised eyebrow does Keith realize how intensely he’s staring.
The party goes on for hours. Long enough for Krolia to return from her debriefing with Kolivan and knock on the McClain’s front door bearing a basket filled to the brim with alien fruits and Kosmo in tow, offering Mrs. McClain a pleasant greeting and a request to join the festivities. The presence of his very alien mother brings forth a second wind in the party; people get up to introduce themselves all over again, discussing her upcoming work with the Blade and sampling the exotic fruit to wide degrees of delight. The children, nieces and nephews and little cousins and family friends, surround his space wolf with stars in their eyes, falling over themselves when Keith assures them that Kosmos is perfectly trained and indeed loves belly rubs.
And it’s nice, how happy this makes Keith. Because it just proves that everything they did— every sleepless night passed, every fight survived, and every blistering hardship come and gone— was worth it. Here they are, living to see the fruits of peace. Happy and whole.
They must be more alike that he thought because his mother says as much when they have a moment alone, sitting on the tree swing a little ways off from the rest. The sun is just beginning its slow descent and someone had prematurely switched on the fairy lights that twist around the branches of the tree they gently swing under.
“It’s almost like a dream come to life,” she tells him, curving her hand around the bend of his elbow. Kosmos breaks away from the children and skips over to the pair, snuffling at their feet and around the trunk of the tree. “During my time undercover I would imagine what it would be like when I returned to you and your father. I would be there to watch you grow up and live the rest of my life with the man I loved.”
Keith remembers his father, sat along that porch step and staring into the distance, light-years away. “I think Dad dreamed of the same thing.”
Wistfulness colors Krolia’s sigh. “Yes, maybe in another life we’ll have it. Though it is hard without him, we must carry on living. War takes much from us, but we must not let it take that.”
Would you change anything? he had asked his mother while in the abyss.
The world had caught its breath in a hitch of silence following the question and his mother, fierce and still foreign, had taken the time to lean forward to press her thumb to his temple. My ship crashing to Earth was the best thing that ever happened to me, she had whispered back. I wouldn’t go back and change it even if I could.
Giggles erupt over the yard and Keith looks over to see Lance and Hunk chasing the kids around the yard, stomping like they’re great, big monsters and tickling anyone who comes too close. When the blue paladin catches his eye, he winks.
“He is gentle,” his mother says.
It’s obvious who she’s referring to as they continue to watch Lance scoop up his niece and proceed to lift her off the ground, pressing obnoxious kisses into the crook of her neck as his nephew clings to his leg, laughing in time with his sister’s. “Yeah,” he agrees lightly, embarrassed by the sincerity of the compliment but unwilling to look away regardless. “I think Dad would’ve liked him.”
Lance’s laugh turns into a surprised squeal when Kosmo suddenly zaps into existence in front of him, large paws pushing at his chest and causing him to topple over with an audible oof. The little boy that still remains standing claps his hands excitedly at the change of events, throwing himself onto the pile to the wolf’s immense pleasure, tail wagging even as Lance groans dramatically.
His mother tilts her face toward the sky, uncharacteristically content, and offers him a small smile, one that makes her eyes shine. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
She never says exactly what it is, but Keith can guess.
A rough hand takes his and Keith turns, watching it rise to a soft mouth and be kissed. Lance, with new wrinkles and graying hair but still looking so handsome, grins at him from over the jut of his knuckles.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Lance says, pressing his cheek into Keith’s palm. “Just love you, is all.”
“So, have you finally decided to stop brooding and do something about your embarrassing crush?”
It’s the early afternoon and Keith is spending it wholed up in one of the labs on the Atlas. He’s not doing much, just occupying space and offering his hand to activate any galran technology that Pidge or Hunk are dissembling. Wires and scraps of metal litter the two in a chaotic scene of progress and ingenuity, only slightly cleaner than what he walked in on a mere hour before when he had been lured there by the promise of an upgrade to his recently malfunctioning holoscreen.
“I don’t have a crush,” he denies immediately, only to pause a moment. “And I’m not embarrassed.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” Pidge deadpans as she mercilessly rips out a thick cable from its socket in whatever she holds. The tech makes a pitiful wobbling sound before the lights in it go out and then she’s tossing it his way. “Because I swear, if I have to continue to watch you glare at Lance from across the hall while simultaneously fantasizing about your future three kids and white picket fence in space, I’m going to throw up.”
“I’m not—” He barely manages to catch the thing in time, fumbling with its smooth grooves as he chokes on his own spit, mind catching up to her words. “W—whoa, whoa, whoa. Kids? No one said anything about kids!”
“Yeah, he’s right. Back it up a bit, Pidge.”
“Thank you, Hunk.”
But Hunk ruins the sentiment almost immediately. “If anything I see them with a bunch of cats. And Kosmo too, of course.”
Betrayed, Keith makes to leave. Only Hunk grabs his wrist and pulls him back down— and Keith must be out of his mind because he doesn’t put up a fight, almost like he wants to talk about his severe case of infatuation. Huffing for appearances sake, he crosses his arms and turns to stare at the wall where a new shipment of scaultrite sits, faintly flowing in the low light.
“What I don’t get,” Pidge is saying, “is how you two can see each other every day and still dodge this. It’s not like either of you would say no if the other asked for a date— so just ask and put us all out of our misery.”
“It’s not a sure thing,” Keith argues without thinking. Realizing his own admission and watching his friends’ face contort in glee, he flushes and growls out, “Okay, okay, you win! I like Lance!” The fingers gripping his biceps turn white. “It’s still not gonna help him like me back.”
“Ah, come on. Don’t be like that. You’ve got a lot going for you.” Hunk scooches over and bumps a fist into his shoulder. “You’re surprisingly honest, for one. Funny too. Passionate. Kinda ride or die, but, like, times ten. Not to mention that you’re not too bad to look at— the cool, bad boy with a heart of gold thing you have going is really working in your favor.”
“Oh, uh.” A little embarrassed, Keith stiffly nods. “Thanks.”
Hunk smiles. “No problem.
“This bromance is great and everything, but let’s focus back on the reality of the situation.”
“Reality?”
“Yeah, how Lance is actually a pretty cool dude and you aren’t the only one to notice. If you don’t make your move, then somebody else will.”
“Wait,” he says, voice cracking when her words process and he does a double take. “Who else is making a move on Lance?
“I don’t know— people? The dude is the walking embodiment of an exclamation point and swings every which way, not to mention that the whole paladin of Voltron thing gives him mad points in the boyfriend category.” Pidge scratches her elbow, frowning at the sound it makes. “Theoretically, he’s the perfect bachelor and has a fan club to prove it. Granted, we all have a fan club— Shiro has at least four— but that’s not the point. The point is that he’s a catch and if you ever want to hold his sweaty hand while making googly eyes at each other, then you’re gonna have to get a move on it before someone else does.”
Keith drops his head in his hands just as Hunk, patting his back sympathetically, says, “Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunities tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?”
Pidge levels him with a deadpan expression. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“The Alliance Feast, remember? Delegates from the entire coalition are coming to New Altea so we can sign the official treaty.” At his blank expression, the girl sighs. “Allura has been talking about it for weeks— been stressing over dinner details and what band would play for the reception afterwards. We’ve all gotta go and show our support.”
Now that she’s mentioned it, Keith is sure he remembers hearing about the event from both Allura and Shiro. It would also explain the binder of paperwork the princess has been carrying around the last few times he’s seen her, frowning as she makes edits to it during meals and downtime. He’s been so preoccupied with the flashes and Lance that it blindsided him to the world moving on around him. Feeling like a bad friend, he makes a note to pay more attention to his friends and actually listen to what they’re saying.
Keith rubs his face. “Alright, yeah. I can go and show my face— whatever Allura needs.”
“Don’t forget about the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“You know, wooing Lance.” Hunk takes a headless robot torso and pretends to dance with it. “You can’t ask him to be your boyfriend without wooing him first. I know Lance and he’s all about romantic gestures.”
“I never said I was going to do that.”
“Yeah, but you want to.”
Pidge squishes her cheeks together. “You want to hold his hand and kiss him.”
“I definitely never said that,” Keith says, eyes narrowed.
“It was implied.”
The duo go back and forth, dissembling androids while they tease him. Keith allows it, simply rolling his eyes when their theories on how tomorrow will go down get more and more outrageous (there won’t be any impromptu flash mobs or evil twins crashing the party no matter how much any of them would like it to actually happen). They talk and his crush takes a back burner, and it’s completely different than when he had told his mother and Shiro; they’re all friends and this is just another part of it. It makes him smile and laugh and feel, well, normal.
