Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was on nights like this—nights when the moon was high over The Wastes and Keith’s restless mind clamored for adventure—that his father would tell him about the Pirates.

On this particular night, the two of them sat on the porch of the modest shack they called home; Keith nestled in his father’s lap and gazing up at the bristles on the underside of the man’s chin as he spoke. A cool wind blew through the desert, one that pierced sharply through the thin material of Keith’s sleep shirt, and he shivered, hunkering even further down into the warmth of his dad’s chest.

“Keith? If you’re cold, we should go inside and—”

“No!” Keith’s arms wound around his father in protest, burrowing into the heat underneath his jacket. “Keep going!”

“Keith—”

“Please?” It was a dirty trick, the puppy-dog eyes, and Keith knew it. He played into it without mercy, pulling back from their embrace just enough to meet his dad’s eyes and throwing in a quivering lip for good measure. “Just a little more? Pretty please?”

For the briefest of moments, Keith thought that he might have lost the battle; but then his father’s concerned expression fell into reluctant amusement. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled, ruffling Keith’s unruly mop of hair. “Keep your helmet on, Space Ranger.”

Silently celebrating his triumph, Keith dove back into the confines of the man’s jacket, head ducked to hide a grin. Above him, his father sighed, and Keith’s whole body swayed with the movement.

“Okay, where was—”

“Zarkon’s escaping!” Keith cut in, releasing his father with one arm and cutting it upwards to mimic the effect of a runaway ship. “And the Blade is chasing him, and they’re getting real close, and they really, really gotta get the quintessence before…” Keith trailed off, his head bouncing with his father’s silent laughter. He felt his cheeks warm, and a bashful smile fought its way onto his face. “Sorry. You tell it.”

His father hummed in acknowledgment, and Keith could feel it buzz in the man’s chest. “You sure?” he asked, voice absent of teasing or mockery. “You can if you—”

“Dad,” Keith pleaded—because he didn’t want to tell it; he didn’t want to ruin their sacred nighttime tradition. “Please.”

There was a pause, and Keith held his breath, listening to the sound of the wind as it rushed through the emptiness of The Wastes.

When his father spoke, his voice was lowered once more, as if to not disturb their little bubble. “Captain Zarkon was escaping, but the Blade was hot on his tail.” Keith released a contented breath, snuggling ever closer. His favorite part was coming up—soon, he told himself. “Cut off from his crew and nowhere to go, it was only a matter of moments before the Blade would catch up. They’d finally be able to capture Zarkon and end his reign of terror.”

“Or so they thought,” Keith whispered.

“Or so they thought,” his father agreed. Keith smiled as a kiss was pressed to his hair. “But Zarkon had his tricks—”

“Captain Zarkon,” Keith recited in a voice hushed with awe, “Vanishing without a trace.”

“That’s right,” his father continued, unbothered by the interruption. “After years of waiting for this very moment, the Blade finally had Zarkon surrounded. Commander Kolivan ordered his men to secure the pirate’s ship, but before they could—blip! Captain Zarkon’s ship had vanished into thin air.”

Keith’s fists twisted into the material of his father’s shirt. “Say the last part,” he implored, his voice no more than a whisper.

“Zarkon was never seen or heard from again, and though many brave warriors and adventurers have tried, none have been able to find him or his treasure. Some say that Zarkon went into hiding, and that he’s biding his time till it’s safe to come out. Others say that overexposure to quintessence drove him mad—killed him, even. And yet, there are a few…” He trailed off, and Keith screwed his eyes shut, preparing himself—here it comes—

“There are a few who would tell a different tale, on nights just like this: when the wind is high and fantastical stories can hide under the cover of darkness.” His father drew him closer, pressing his lips into Keith’s hair and making their little bubble even smaller. “They whisper of rumors from the farthest reaches of the galaxy, from those very dark corners of the universe where Zarkon’s loyal followers still hide. Rumors of a world’s worth of riches; trophies of a lifetime of plundering and deceit. A lost trove of treasures hidden from all but Zarkon—hidden, even, from those closest to him. A place called—”

“Treasure Planet,” Keith breathed. He could see it in his mind’s eye; fields and fields overflowing with gold and rubies and emeralds and glinting purple quintessence.

“You know it, ace.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds and Keith reluctantly pried his eyes open, trailing a hand absently along the leathery inside of his father’s jacket. In his mind, he was still worlds away: diving through mountains of gold and planting a flag with his name on the biggest mound, just like he always saw the explorers do in those old films his dad liked.

“I’m gonna find it,” he muttered, dazedly.

“What?”

Keith blinked, as if coming out of a dream. “‘m gonna find it. Treasure Planet.”

His father chuckled, but Keith barely heard. He drew back, staring out at the incomprehensible vastness of space before him. It was yet another thing he loved about growing up in The Wastes (as if the three-headed lizards and the neon pink desert flowers and the wind in his hair weren’t enough). Keith lived for the crystal clear nights when he could blink up at thousands of stars—stretching on and on as far as the eye could see—and wonder if they could hear the song of longing in his heart.

Extracting a hand from the safe warmth of his father’s coat, Keith reached overhead, imagining he could touch the glittering specks lightyears away. “I’ll be up there, someday,” he vowed. “I’ll pilot my own ship and be the greatest adventurer there ever was, and I’ll tell my whole class I found Treasure Planet and Jimmy can eat a rock.”

“Keith,” his father chastised, but there was something wrong with his voice, something that sounded suspiciously like…

“Dad?” Keith asked, his eyes widening in panic. “Why are you crying?”

“‘M not, ace, I’m just—” He drew a hand across his eyes, and Keith turned fully in his lap, reaching up to take his father’s wet face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Keith babbled, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for but instantly terrified and desperate to soothe. “Please don’t cry, Dad, I’m sorry—”

“Hey, baby boy.” His hands were taken in a larger, gentler grip, and squeezed ever so lightly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You got nothing to apologize for, you hear?”

Keith’s chin wobbled. “Then why are you sad?”

“‘M not sad, darlin’, it’s just—” he pressed one kiss to each of Keith’s palms. “You remind me so much of your mamma sometimes, it scares me.”

“It scares you?”

Overcome with emotion, his father shook his head and swallowed thickly before pulling Keith into a crushing embrace. “I just miss her, is all,” he finally managed, voice rough with tears.

It was on nights like this when Keith would look up at the stars and wonder how his heart could ache so much for someone he’d never known.

...

It was on days like this—days when the sun beat down mercilessly on The Wastes and Keith’s restless mind sang for adventure—that he would soar.

The ground zipped by under the board of his solar surfer, various plants and rocks blurring into the beige desert floor. Wind whipped through his hair, pulling loose strands from his short ponytail and sending them into his eyes and mouth. He grunted, adjusting his course so that he was flying into the wind, and the pesky loose hairs flew directly backward. With a grin, Keith raised his chin, closing his eyes against the onslaught of wind that rippled and pulsed through his jacket. Warm sunlight beat down on him, and, tightening his grip on his surfer’s handlebars, he allowed himself to bend backward. Following the movement of his body, the surfer ascended, its sails filling with wind. The ascent brought about an all-too-familiar swoop in Keith’s gut, and he crowed with glee, voice cracking under unbridled euphoria and adrenaline.

Up here—weightless, twisting and twirling, flying—nothing mattered. Up here, there were no responsibilities, no inns to upkeep, no academies to get kicked out of, no fathers to disappoint. No crippling, aching, stifling restlessness that accompanied the prospect of a lifetime spent in The Wastes. Up here, it was just Keith and the sky, and he could almost ignore the crushing weight of the real world down below.

Still bent backward, Keith let the motion turn into a full 360 degree loop, sniggering as he remembered the last time he’d taken his cousin for a ride and tried the same thing.

Sickening, Shiro had groaned after they’d landed, doubled over and trying not to retch. Don’t fucking do that again, Keith, I’m serious.

“How about this, Shiro,” Keith mumbled, the wind ripping the words from his mouth as he stepped back onto the accelerator. His surfer surged forward, expelling a particularly forceful jet of fire in its wake, and Keith’s responding yell was lost to a gale. Tears pricked at his eyes and he wasn’t sure that it was only the breeze; not when his heart was threatening to burst with exhilaration.

This is it, he thought, tears inadvertently spilling free from his eyes and running down wind-chapped cheeks. I’ll never be happier than this.

You know it can’t last, a barbarous part of his brain supplied, unbidden. You gotta land sooner or later. For a moment, Keith’s smile faltered; but he quickly pushed the thought from his mind. Such thoughts weren’t meant for these priceless moments of freedom. Such thoughts weren’t meant for his time on the solar surfer—not when it was just Keith and the sky and the world was his own.

Of course, the universe was always quick to remind him that the world was, in fact, not his own, and that his invaluable moments of freedom—cherished moments of Keith and the sky—were only fleeting glimpses of a life that he did not have.

As the sound of pursuing police sirens cut over the wind, Keith felt the smile slip from his face.

Yeah, he thought bitterly, reluctantly easing his heel onto his breaks and slowing to a stop. Always gotta land sooner or later.

…

The cops were dicks.

They weren’t dicks because they did their job. Keith would be the first to admit that he was a grade-A, first-class fuck-up. He tried his best where it counted, he really did; but more often than not, boredom manifested itself in ways that were seen as unsavory in the eyes of the law. It was the law’s job to come down on people like him.

But this was excessive.

“I was a mile outside the boundary,” Keith growled, wrenching an arm out of one of the officers’ bruising grips. The rough manhandling only added to their dickishness—their little robot clampy-hands fucking hurt. “This is bullshit—”

The officer on Keith’s right whirred angrily, rolling forward on its singular wheel to come to an abrupt halt in front of him and forcing Keith to stop in his tracks. A compartment towards the thing’s middle slid open and inwards to reveal the bot’s washing mechanism, a tiny metal rod extending out of it to wave soap suds in Keith’s face, who recoiled with a glare.

“Watch your mouth, boy,” the thing droned at him, managing to sound impressively derisive considering its monotone, tinny voice. “Or I’ll be forced to scrub it clean.”

“Good one,” the other cop monotoned, and Keith rolled his eyes as they high-fived each other over his head. Assholes.

The cop in front of him withdrew its cleaning rod and snapped the compartment shut. “Keep moving, space-case,” it said, and the bot behind Keith shoved him forward a good deal harder than necessary. Keith turned to narrow his eyes at it over his shoulder, and his gaze fell instead on his well-worn solar surfer, trailing behind as the cop tugged it roughly along by one of the sail’s ropes.

“Careful with that,” Keith grumbled, some of the fight leaving his shoulders as flashes of lost freedom shone behind his eyes.

The cop dragging it laughed its tinniest, dumbest-sounding laugh. “Not like you’ll be needing it anytime soon, boy.”

Falling back into step, Keith returned his gaze forward, jaw clenched so hard that his head pounded with the pressure.

…

As sick as Keith may have been of the Benbow Inn, seeing it come into view as they rounded a canyon wall was like a breath of fresh air.

Fortunately, the cops had seemed satisfied that Keith had opted to keep his mouth shut, and they hadn’t tried to talk to him again for the rest of the walk. Unfortunately, they’d taken to blathering on to one another about upgrades and central processing units and hey, did you see that new officer? The wheel on her—am I right?

Keith honestly wasn’t sure why they’d bothered to take him home when a couple hours alone in a room with these two would’ve broken his spirit just as easily. His soul would have still withered away, but at least it would’ve been quick; not like his current, prolonged, torturous… he hesitated to call it a life.

Existence.

On the path ahead, a three-headed lizard hissed and scampered from its suntanning perch on a rock and into a dark crevice in the canyon wall, clearly disturbed by the cops’ ruckus. Keith could sympathize—both with the sensation of being disturbed and with the desire to find a nice hole to crawl into. As relieved as he’d been to see the misshapen outline of the Benbow (they’d been walking for what felt like hours and Keith’s feet were starting to ache and he wanted this whole ordeal to be over), the sight of his home also came with a sense of dread. It had been building in Keith’s gut throughout the walk, but now, as he looked upon the Benbow’s rotting front door, apprehension hit him with a stinging urgency.

A whole, who-knows-how-many-miles-long walk, and he still hadn’t conjured up a single thing to say to his dad.

Guilt grew into nausea, and Keith was so wrapped up in it that he nearly jumped out of his skin when both cops grabbed him by the arms. The second he realized what was happening, he was squirming in their grip, struggling against their steel clamps and dragging his feet in an attempt to stop their trajectory.

“Wait, guys—please don’t do this, we can go in through the back—”

“Hm,” the bot to his left interrupted, tapping its free arm against its LED face in faux consideration. “No. Front door is much more fun.”

“More effective,” agreed the cop on Keith’s right. “Teaches a lesson.”

Keith dug his heels into the cracked desert ground, grunting as pain shot up his leg. “All you’re gonna do is make a scene!”

“We’re in The Wastes, Kogane. Not much else to make a scene about.”

This time, neither of them said anything when Keith cussed, both of them singularly focused on shoving him hard through the swinging front door.

The Benbow Inn’s restaurant fell silent as Keith entered, falling painfully to his knees and scraping his palms against the rough wooden floor as he attempted to catch himself. Unbidden, his face flushed with hot humiliation. He straightened, trying to regain what little dignity he had left by dusting his hands on his pants. Behind him, the sound of wheels on wood came to a stop.

Keith made the grave mistake of glancing out at the restaurant as he stood, and the corners of his eyes pricked with mortified tears. He really should have been used to this sort of thing by now (it wasn’t as if this wasn’t becoming something of a regular occurrence), but the sight of every single one of the Inn’s residents staring at him with gaping mouths and wide eyes was… well…

He swallowed thickly, attempting to look away; and in doing so, he met a haggard, drained expression from across the room. Keith’s hands curled at his sides, and he averted his eyes, shame too potent to allow himself to hold his father’s gaze.

It was one thing for the Benbow’s residents to stare at him like he was some kind of freakshow on display. It affected him, sure—much more than he’d often like to believe. But the look on his father’s face? That was an entirely unique kind of gut-churning, mind-numbing, soul-crushing heartbreak.

As he listened to the sound of familiar heavy boots thudding wearily over wooden planks, Keith trapped his bottom lip between his teeth, biting at the chapped skin there until he could taste his own metallic blood. He didn’t dare look up when the footsteps came to a halt in front of him, opting instead to study the fascinating little groove in the wood at his feet.

A warm, callused hand came to cover his own, sliding over Keith’s gloved palms before giving his bare fingers a small squeeze. “You okay, ace?” The question was gentle, hushed; purposefully intimate in a way that ensured none of the Inn’s patrons could hear.

And this—this—was what Keith hated the most.

It was as if no matter what stunts he pulled—no matter how stupid or reckless or uncontrollable he was—his father had an unlimited supply of patience. It should have made Keith feel loved, and it did… but it also made him feel terrible.

He flinched away from the contact, and his father’s hand retreated. Another pang of guilt shot through his chest, but regardless, he forced out, “‘M fine.”

There was a brief moment of silence that felt like it stretched for an eternity. When Keith’s father finally spoke, his voice was raised, addressing the restaurant at large. “‘Scuse the interruption, ladies and gents. Please, enjoy your meals.”

Or, as Keith might have put it: fuck off and mind your own damn business.

Slowly, tentative conversations picked back up, voices hushed and nervous. Keith didn’t have to be a genius to guess what they were talking about.

“Officers,” his father greeted, tone reserved and formal. “What seems to be the problem?”

One of the cops behind Keith whirred. “Found this one beyond the boundary—”

“A mile,” Keith muttered, petulantly.

“—and well into restricted territory—”

“A mile.”

Something shoved him in the shoulder blade, and Keith whirled to face his aggressor, fists coming up to hip height in an aborted fighting stance.

“A mile into the restricted zone is still restricted, boy.”

Touch me again, Keith thought, and I take my knife to your wheel, and then we’ll see what that new officer with the nice wheel thinks of your shitty rims.

Out loud (because Keith had learned the hard way that threatening a cop was more trouble than it was worth) he said, “Fuck you.” Okay, so… cussing at a cop, not much better, but still. It definitely made him feel a little better. “You two were on me, like, the second I crossed over—”

“Keith—”

“—like you were just waiting in the bushes for me, I mean you guys have to have better things to—”

“Keith!”

His father’s voice startled him from his tirade, so much so that Keith forgot that he’d resolved not to meet his eyes. The second he did, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut—wished he’d just taken the cops’ crap and shut the hell up for once. Anything to avoid the helpless concern in those eyes that slammed into Keith like a blow to the stomach.

With a sigh, his dad wrenched his gaze away and turned back to the bots, who waited in smug silence. “There a penalty, officers? Sounds like the kid might’ve gotten a little… carried away. You know how it is to be young and to feel a surfer beneath your…” He trailed off, eyes widening in mortification. “I—I meant, uh…”

“Awkward,” a cop-bot hummed.

“Foot, meet mouth,” the other agreed.

And, okay—the whole situation might have sucked, and Keith might have been a terrible son—but he really, really loved his dad. He brought a fist to his mouth, coughing to cover a laugh, and his father shot him a chagrined glance. “Uh… sorry. I only meant—he’s a kid, y’know? Maybe we let him off with a warning?”

Keith scratched the back of his neck, casting a subtle peek around the restaurant at the patrons, who looked like they were trying very hard to appear busy eating.

“Hm,” one of the things considered, and finally, after an agonizingly long pause, it hummed, extending a ticket from a hidden compartment. Keith’s father leaped forward eagerly to take it. “He doesn’t have many warnings left, Mr. Kogane.”

“Last one,” the other offered.

“Then, it’s a straight ticket to the slammer.”

“The pen.”

“The bar life.”

“The—”

“Jail,” Keith growled, striding forward to snatch the ticket from his father’s hands. “We get it. Now, are we done here?”

“What my son is trying to say,” Owen hurried, shooting a pointed look at Keith, “—is that it won’t. Happen. Again. Right, ace?”

The ticket in Keith’s hand was inadvertently crumpled into a tiny ball. “Right.”

If cop-bots had humanoid features, Keith was pretty sure they’d both be grinning wickedly at him. Instead, they stood unassumingly, a strange pattern of lights flickering across their LED faces. “Right… what, boy?” one of them asked. The question almost sounded innocent in its expressionless, mechanical voice, but Keith knew when he was being mocked.

He swallowed, part of him wishing that Shiro would hurry up and get here before he did something stupid. “It, uh—” he cleared his throat, forcing himself through the words. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” the one closest to him responded, and Keith stood in place as his father shuffled a few feet over towards the door, subtly herding the cop-bots out.

“Thank you for your time, gentlemen.” Despite his dad’s clear attempt at a lower volume, his voice still carried across the few feet between them.

“It’s no problem, Mr. Kogane.” Owen Kogane’s voice might have been hushed, but the cop-bots had very little in terms of volume regulation, and their words cut clearly through the restaurant. “We see his type all the time. Burnouts—”

“Dropouts,” the other supplied.

“Miscreants.”

“Degenerates.”

One of them swiveled slightly on their wheel, turning to face Keith. “Losers,” the bot smugly intoned. In his mind’s eye, Keith could see its triumphant, shit-eating grin.

Before Keith could do or say anything he could regret, the cops brought their metal clampers up to salute the restaurant at large and rolled out over the threshold. The door flapped back and forth in their wake, squeaking on its hinges; and it was only then that Keith registered how quiet the restaurant had once again fallen. He whipped around, incensed and raring for a fight, and his ire was enough to send the restaurant exploding into hurried conversation.

“Keith—” That hand was back on his, and Keith instinctively ripped his own away. He didn’t need this right now; didn’t need his father’s kindness making him feel worse than he already did, making him feel like maybe all those things the cops had said about him were true.

“‘M gonna get my apron on,” Keith muttered, roughly. “Just—I need five minutes in the kitchen, and then I’m fine.”

“Keith—”

“Can you just grab my surfer?” he asked, because he really didn't want to hear whatever it was his father wanted to say, and he really needed to get away from all these eyes. “Those assholes left it outside, it’s probably gonna get stolen if it just—”

“Darlin’.”

Keith swallowed, breathing heavily and high in his chest as his chin was guided upwards towards eyes he still refused to meet.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay? For now, why don’t you take the rest of the day and cool off?”

That certainly caught Keith’s attention, surprise and heartbreak simultaneously flaring up in his chest—because if he couldn’t work his shift, if he couldn’t even help his own father, then what good was he?

Degenerate. Burnout. Loser.

“Dad,” he pleaded, meeting the worn, disheartened gaze he’d tried so desperately to avoid. “Please, I can work, I just need—I—you gotta let me work…”

He trailed off as his father shook his head. “I appreciate it, darlin’, but I need you to cool off. It’s not a request, you hear?”

Feeling an unexpectedly strong surge of betrayal (and not quite understanding where it had come from), Keith reeled backward, eyes narrowing as he turned sharply on his heel, leaving his father to stand unanswered and alone at the door. He cut through the restaurant, ignoring the judgemental stares burning into his back, and pushed aside the curtain to the kitchen so hard that the thing nearly detached from its rail.

He growled as he yanked it closed behind him, letting himself flop onto a bare counter, his palms pressed against the peeling plaster on its surface. His head fell limply between his arms, and his fingers curled painfully into the counter.

If you’d just been watching where you were fucking going—If you weren’t such a damn space-case—If you didn’t have to show off all the—

“Hey, jailbird.”

Keith jumped at the unexpected voice, wincing as he slammed the top of his head against the cabinet above him. It was his own fault, really; he should have checked to make sure the kitchen was empty before launching straight into a breakdown. He fisted desperately at the wetness under his eyes, leveling a hard glare at the person he least wanted to see, standing by the stoves and fixing him with a cruel smile as he flipped a patty.

“Hey, shit-for-brains,” Keith bit back (because seriously, James was the last fucking thing he needed right now).

Unfortunately for Keith, the petulant name-calling didn’t deter the other boy quite as drastically as it did when they were younger. Instead, James merely clicked his tongue in a tsk-tsk sort of way, bringing up a hand to wipe a line of grease onto the front of his Benbow staff apron.

“Gotta say, that was quite the entrance, Kogane. Always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Fuck off,” Keith snapped, snatching a bright pink guyvva fruit from the counter and turning towards the stairs to the Kogane’s private living quarters.

“No, I mean—” James puffed out his cheeks and blew a noisy breath out through pursed lips. “Really. Your dad must be so proud.”

Keith… wasn’t entirely sure what happened. One second, his back had been turned to his coworker, guyvva fruit in hand; the next, his vision was clouded with red rage, and his hands were fisted in the collar of James’ shirt. The guyvva fruit fell to the floor with a dull thud, rolling under the opposite counter.

“You ever,” Keith growled, hefting the utter asshole in his grip back against the stove, “—say something like that again, and I’ll break your nose a second time, Griffin. You hear me?”

Under the weight of Keith’s vicious glare, James shrank pathetically back, hovering dangerously over the stove. His hands scrambled over Keith's in an attempt to steady himself; and he gave a feeble whimper, nodding his head in vigorous confirmation that he’d understood.

Satisfied with the sniveling mess beneath his fingertips, Keith yanked the other boy forward, releasing his bruising grip on James’ collar the second he was righted. Keith tapped him lightly on the chest—delighting in the way James flinched—and bent to retrieve his lost fruit from the floor. As he turned to walk off towards the stairs, he tossed the guyvva once into the air, catching it in one fluid motion. “You take care now, Jimmy,” he called without turning, hoping that the careful casualness of his voice was as intimidating as he meant for it to be.

Judging by the dead silence left in his wake, he guessed he’d probably succeeded.

Keith took the stairs two at a time, the proximity to his room overwhelming him with a desperate need to get away. He was thankful not to have to run into any guests up here. Though still a part of the Inn, the Kogane residence was in its own little turret, tucked snuggly above the Benbow’s kitchen and accessible only to himself, Shiro, and his father—the only three people with keys to the thick wooden door separating the living quarters from the stairs.

After a second spent rifling through deep pockets for his key, Keith was finally shouldering his way through the door and into the room beyond. He was greeted by the familiar sight of two thin beds, each pushed snugly up against the walls to his left and right. A modest-sized fireplace was carved into the wall opposite the door, and Keith immediately made a beeline towards it, skirting around the small dining table in the center of the room as he did so. Though the day had been warm, the sun was due to set any minute, and nights in The Wastes typically brought with them a chill that easily seeped through the Benbow’s thin glass-paned windows. Reaching above the fireplace’s mantle, Keith procured a box of matches, striking one with fingers that still shook with anger.

Once he’d managed to get a small flame licking heartily at a log, Keith threw himself down onto his bed, shoes and all. His father could scold him for it later, but at that moment, he couldn’t have cared less.

Curling his fingers into scratchy woolen blankets, he inhaled deeply, trying and failing to remember the breathing exercise Shiro had taught him for when he felt too angry to feel anything else. Three counts inhale, five—no, it was five inhale, three to ex—wait, it was… fuck.

Keith sat up, rubbing frustratedly at his eyes. Below him, the muted sounds of the restaurant’s dinner rush wafted up through the floorboards to add to the already clattered cacophony of his mind. Guests chattered amongst one another in muted, indistinguishable voices, plates and silverware clinked musically; and all Keith could think about was his father, stuck working the dinner shift alone (Griffin sure as shit didn’t count) until Shiro showed up for work.

Downstairs, something clattered and thumped in the kitchen, and Keith angrily fished the guyvva fruit from his pocket, ripping into its skin with the hand-me-down pocket-knife he’d received from his father on his fourteenth birthday. He’d hoped that the fruit might be something of a distraction; but the more he peeled, the more determined his mind seemed to conjure up the image of James’ condescending expression. The other boy’s words cycled around his head, evoking red-hot fury that obscured any semblance of rational thought.

Fuck Griffin. Fuck Griffin and his superiority complex and his stupid face and his—

It was only when the edge of the blade missed the fruit and instead sliced painfully over his thumb that Keith was given pause. Dropping his knife and the tattered remains of the guyvva to his sheets, he cradled his trembling hands to his chest, sucking irately at the shallow cut on his thumb and rattling off every expletive in his vocabulary.

When Shiro found him almost an hour later, Keith was lying on his back, hands folded across his stomach and fuming up at the ceiling. He didn’t bother sparing his cousin a glance, having expected the visit sooner or later. The end of the bed dipped as Shiro sat gingerly near his feet, as if Keith were a wild animal that would bite him at the slightest disturbance.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Keith shrugged in response.

Shiro sighed, running a hand through locks of fine white hair. “I take it you’re not working dinner?”

Keith shrugged again, and after a second’s pause, Shiro snorted. “Lucky me. Quality time with Griffin.”

The remark pulled a surprised huff out of Keith. “He’s feeling like more of an asshole than usual, if that gets you any more excited,” he grumbled, fiddling with the straps of his fingerless gloves.

A burst of laughter escaped his cousin, and Keith peaked out from behind his hands to catch the amusement crinkling around Shiro’s eyes. “It definitely doesn’t, but thanks.”

Keith bit his lip, returning his gaze to the ceiling. Shiro stayed perfectly silent, waiting for him to decide what and how much to share. It was one of the things he loved most about his cousin—he was one of the only adults Keith knew who didn’t constantly expect him to talk.

“I’m assuming my dad told you?” he finally asked, his jaw tight.

“Yeah.” Shiro gave Keith’s ankle a light squeeze. “Pulled me aside as I came in and—yeah. I got the idea.”

“I was a mile out, Shiro. Those cops—”

“I know, Keith.” Shiro regarded him with so much love that Keith couldn’t bear to look, opting instead to turn his head to stare at the fire crackling to his right.

“It’s like they—they want me to fail, Shiro, and then Griffin just knows exactly which buttons to press, and I—”

He cut himself off, scrubbing at his eyes and not entirely sure when he’d started crying, but desperate to stop.

Before he could protest, Shiro was standing, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to Keith’s chest. “I know,” he repeated, empathy shining fiercely in his eyes. Somewhere in the back of Keith’s mind, he thought no, you don’t, you don’t know at all; you’re the Garrison’s golden boy, you don’t know anything.

“I’m so sorry, bud,” Shiro was saying, arms open as he leaned in for a hug. “I can’t imagine how you feel—”

Abruptly, Keith sat up, leaning away from the embrace and hunching over to wipe hastily at his wet eyes. “You should get to work.”

“Keith,” Shiro whispered, and fuck—Keith hated the raw concern in his cousin’s voice.

He straightened up, forcing an attempt at a smile onto his face and willing himself to stop crying long enough to get rid of him. “‘M fine, Shiro. Really. It was just some asshole cops. No big deal.”

Shiro looked like he wanted to say something else, so Keith plowed on. “Not like anyone got hurt, right? Still in one piece,” he reassured, even as the depths of his soul screamed I’m breaking apart, Shiro; I’m falling to pieces and I don’t know how to put everything back together, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, please help me, help me helpmehelpmehelpmehelp—

“I’m okay, Shiro.”

The disbelief coloring his cousin’s face hurt almost as much as it did to picture the heartbreak on his father’s; but after a few seconds, something resolute (albeit mournful) overtook his features.

“Okay.” Shiro stood, and Keith knew with a certainty that his cousin wasn’t going to push him into a conversation he didn’t want to have. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated or loathed the space at this point. Shiro had always had an uncanny knack for being able to handle Keith’s wild emotions with delicacy. Lately, he’d become more distant, approaching Keith with the same cautious hesitance that one might use with a wild animal. He doesn’t know how to talk to me anymore, Keith thought; and the very second the thought crossed his mind, he berated his own stupidity. No, you just don’t let him talk to you anymore.

He supposed he couldn’t actually blame Shiro. All his cousin had ever done was try. It was Keith who screwed up over and over; Keith who acted out with increasing frequency as he withered away out in The Wastes. It was Keith who couldn’t stand to continue to look the people he loved in the eye sans explanation or reason.

It was Keith who was struggling to imagine why he deserved the love of people he only hurt.

Jaw working back and forth in an attempt to stave off tears—just a little longer, the more okay you seem the faster he’ll leave—Keith pretended to busy himself with picking a loose thread out of his blanket, watching Shiro’s slow retreat to the door from the corner of his eye.

Shiro’s gait was slow and measured, weighted with unspoken words, and Keith was unsurprised when his cousin hesitated and turned back to him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Keith quickly averted his gaze.

“Keith, I—I just…”

The loose thread snagged on another, and Keith gritted his teeth, pinching it between his nails.

Shiro sighed, long and deep, and Keith could practically hear whatever he’d been about to say vanish with the exhale. “I love you,” was what his cousin finally settled on. “No matter what, I love you, okay?”

A hot tear spilled out of Keith’s right eye. Fuck, dammit, fuck fuck fuck. So much for keeping it together. His whole face felt as if it might explode from trying to contain the waterworks within. When he tried to open his mouth to respond, it felt as if someone had welded his jaw shut. Fuck, he thought, fingers trembling so violently that he lost his grip on the thread. I love you too, Shiro. I never meant to hurt you.

As the heavy wooden door swung shut, sealing Keith away in his solitude, he was overwhelmed with the desire for Shiro to hear the words that refused to leave him. He wrenched open his jaw, determined to throw them across the barrier that separated them—across to the retreating creaks of his cousin’s footsteps on the stairs.

Instead, the words left him in the form of a sob, gut-wrenchingly painful, and he was forced to throw a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. Beyond the door, the footsteps briefly paused in their descent, and after a second’s deliberation, they continued on their way.

Keith pressed his hand harder over his face, taking care to cover his mouth and nose (lest he be heard by the restaurant's occupants down below), and wept.

…

When he awoke, the room was fully dark, save for the fireplace crackling steadily in the hearth. The distant sounds of chatter had faded, leaving behind the sporadic clanking of dishware as it was gathered into the kitchen. A glance around the room told him that it wasn’t so late that his father had come up to bed. Feeling somewhat disoriented from his impromptu nap, Keith rooted underneath his pillow for the wrist comm he so seldom used. The brightness of its screen nearly blinded him as it flickered to life, and he forced himself to squint at the barrage of messages vying for his attention. He winced when he realized that most of them were from his father, dated earlier in the day—a collection of voice messages and video mail, undoubtedly worried demands as to where he’d been. Unsure if it was possible to feel any worse, Keith swiped the notifications away until a blank screen read 22:50 hours. He’d slept well past closing time, then.

Down in the kitchen, a plate clattered loudly in the sink, and Keith allowed himself to lie there for a moment, picturing an angry James stuck alone on dish duty while his father and Shiro made sure the restaurant shone in preparation for breakfast hours the next morning. Another angry clatter had James swearing in pain, and despite the day’s events, Keith found himself smiling, wordlessly raising a middle finger in his coworker’s direction.

That’s what you get, he thought; and the vindication pulsing through his body was enough to launch him out of bed. On an automatic impulse, he grabbed his quilt, dragging it around his shoulders as his feet led him towards the window.

Outside, the stars twinkled brightly in a clear night’s sky, beckoning Keith onto the wooden ledge outside his window. He stepped gingerly onto it, taking care to keep his footsteps light as it groaned with his weight. Although he was cautious, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the old ledge would hold. He had, after all, been making this climb since he was nine and his father had inherited The Benbow Inn from Hinoshi and Annora Shirogane. Keith had developed a strange (and perhaps misplaced) confidence that the stars watched over him as he shimmied over the ledge around the rooftop, protecting him from the possibility of a bone-shattering fall to the ground below. Rationally, he knew it was a stupid notion, but when he was surrounded by hundreds of thousands of stars, he couldn’t help but feel… safe. Seen.

Keith moved around the edge—the toes of his boots sending debris cascading off the ledge—until he reached a flat overhang that jutted out under one of the restaurant’s high windows. Releasing a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, he fell into a crouch, wedging himself into the little nook so that he was sitting with his back pressed up against the glass pane. He’d usually dangle his legs from the edge, but tonight, he bent them towards his chest, pulling his blanket over his knees and tucking it underneath his chin.

This spot had been Keith’s favorite part of The Benbow since they’d moved in. It was only accessible from the Kogane residence, which meant that he’d never run into anyone else up here. It was his, and his alone. His place to come to when he felt like he wasn’t enough. His place to come to when he felt like he wanted more, wanted to be more.

His place to come to when he wanted to sit under the light of trillions of stars and feel like a part of something as great and vast as the universe.

Just me and a universe full of stars.

Sometimes, Keith wondered if anyone out there, far, far beyond the planet Montressor—someone just as achingly lonely as he was—ever looked back. He could picture them, sitting exactly as he was now, gazing up at so many of the same stars and starving for a chance to be seen.

You’re not alone, Keith thought, closing his eyes as an unbidden tear trickled quickly down his cheek. Whoever you are, you’re not alone.

The sound of conversation from within the Benbow’s restaurant grew more distinguishable, and Keith wrenched his eyes open, staring off into the distance along the Inn’s landing pad and runway. For a few seconds, he was unable to pick out more than a couple short snippets of conversation, but as the voices drew closer, Keith turned to peer down into the restaurant, unsurprised to find his father and Shiro moving to clean a table directly below his window perch.

“—go easy on him,” Shiro was saying, pulling a rag from his shoulder and a bottle of cleaner from his utility belt. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Keith scowled. Great. Fantastic. Of course they were talking about him.

He watched as his father dropped heavily into a chair, head falling into his hands. Feather-light, Keith brought the tips of his fingers to rest against the glass panel separating them. I should be down there, he thought, watching Shiro place his cybernetic hand on his father’s back. That should be me down there, making him feel better. I’m his son.

A chill ran over him, and he shivered, retracting his exposed hand back into the comfort of his blanket. They wouldn’t want you down there anyway. You just bring them down. It’s your fault. All your fault.

Another wickedly sharp breeze cut through him, teasing his hair off of his forehead and invading his warm cocoon. Shooting a final glance at the two men below, he turned back to the stars, unable to hear his father’s muffled response and feeling—for the first time in his life—as if he were intruding in his own sanctuary.

Feeling distinctly out-of-place, he’d just made up his mind to trek the short distance back to his room when his father’s voice stopped him.

“—just so scared, Shiro. He’s all I have left.”

Keith’s throat tightened.

“It’s inevitable,” his father continued. “And when he’s gone, I—I won’t…” he trailed off on a sob, and Keith felt as if he was going to be sick. He hadn’t heard his father cry like this in years, and his heart ached as he tried to decipher those words. It wasn’t as if Keith would ever leave him, so why—

It hit him with sudden clarity, and it was so obvious that he couldn’t help the bitter scoff that left him. Right. What was it that Officer Dipshit had said? Straight ticket to the slammer.

Today had been his last free pass. One more slip-up, and goodbye to what little freedom he possessed.

If only he didn’t feel like he was running on borrowed time; like another fuck-up was simply inevitable, and he was just biding his time until the day he let everyone down for good.

Down below, Shiro’s voice interrupted Keith’s self-deprecating spiral. “You’ll have me and Adam,” Shiro offered, gently. The words made Keith feel strangely bitter, which in turn made him feel even worse. He should have felt beyond grateful that Shiro would be around for his father even when he wouldn’t, yet at the same time, it stung not to hear Shiro jump to his defense—not to even try to deny the possibility that Keith might be carted off in cuffs.

Something ugly reared its head within Keith’s chest, and he returned his attention to the stars, feeling cold in a way that the desert chill was not responsible for.

“I know, Shiro. You’re a good kid.” As he listened, Keith brought his chin to his knees, tears pressing urgently against the corners of his eyes. “It’s just… so hard, lately. What with cash bein’ so tight, and—and The Benbow…”

Keith frowned at the sudden change in topic.

“What am I gonna do if they take it away, Shiro? It’s all I have left of Annora, I can’t—”

His father’s next words were lost to his tears, and Keith squinted at a shooting star as it cut through the atmosphere. What was all that supposed to mean? Who was taking The Benbow, and why? Were they in debt?

And, more importantly: why hadn’t Keith been trusted with any of this?

James’ voice leered at him from the depths of his subconsciousness. Your father must be so proud.

The shooting star grew brighter as it descended, and Keith raised a shaking hand to card through his hair. Anger pulsed through his fingertips, his body vibrating with it as if he’d been struck like a gong. Sure, he might not be the best son, and he might not be the most reliable person; but this was his home too, and he had the right to know… to…

Keith’s thoughts rolled to a stop, anger fading from his body as the air seemed to leave his lungs all at once. It escaped up into the night sky, an exhale of heart-stopping, stunned disbelief that turned to mist in the chilled air. An eerie silence had fallen over The Wastes—as if, like Keith, every creature and rock was fixated on the burning mass of light in the distance.

The burning mass of light careening down towards The Wastes that was most certainly not a shooting star.

For a moment—it might have been seconds; it might have been an eternity—all was still, and Keith sat frozen as his mind grappled with the incomprehensible picture before him. It was so out of place in the monotonous world of The Wastes that Keith felt an odd detachment to the situation as a whole, as if he were watching the event unfold in a dream.

The entire situation just… had no place in his life. Not the scream of the escape pod’s failing engines as it hurtled on an unbroken trajectory to solid ground below. Not the flair of red hot flame surrounding the pod like a halo as it cut through Montressor’s atmosphere. Not the stench of burning metal as heat peeled it from the pod’s outer layer.

Not the undeniable, unshakable, hair-raising whisper of danger spreading through Keith’s veins like ice.

It was only when the pod slammed into a nearby canyon wall with an almighty boom, rattling the windows of the Benbow like thunder, that the impossible collided irreversibly with reality.

Chapter Text

The drop from the roof wasn’t coordinated, nor was it graceful.

Some part of Keith, in the very distant recesses of his mind—the part that urged him to consider his own safety, to turn back, to run—remembered to lower himself before the fall, to drop into a crouch as he landed. The other part of him, the part that howled with burning curiosity and drowned out the timid pleas of rationality, couldn’t care less. He threw caution to the wind, his all-consuming need to get to the crashed pod overriding any whisper of sense or warning of danger.

He landed poorly, ignoring the pain that shot up his ankles as one of them almost rolled underneath him.

Without sparing a single thought to what he was leaving behind, Keith’s legs carried him forward, and he fell easily into a sprint.

…

Even in the dark, the crashed pod wasn’t hard to find.

It had come careening violently into a canyon wall near the Benbow’s landing pad (Keith wondered if the pilot had actually been aiming for it—a near-impossible task considering the malfunctioned engines), leaving a smoking trail of destruction in its wake. A newly formed ravine snaked through the desert floor, gauged into soft red clay like a brand. It was the crash site, and the sight of the pod’s dark outline mere feet away, that finally gave Keith pause.

Sensibility came crashing back into him, adrenaline wearing off with the rain that pelted his skin, and—when in the hell had it started raining? How had he let himself get so singularly-focused that he hadn’t even noticed? As blind confidence slipped away from him, a barrage of questions took its place, as shocking and sobering as the freezing wind. What the hell had he been thinking, running towards an unidentified craft in the middle of the night? How was he even hoping to help? He had nothing on him—no light, no communications device, no source of warmth or aid in the case of an injured pilot—nothing.

Stupid, stupid, he chastised, finally sparing a long overdue glance back in the direction he’d come from. He wondered what his father would say, if he had witnessed this display of recklessness. Despite the night’s chill, Keith flushed with shame, wondering how many times he could disappoint his father in one day. You never think.

Briefly, the thought of doubling back for supplies crossed his mind, but he dismissed it almost as soon as it had arrived. It was too late to turn back. The pilot in the pod was bound to be badly injured, if not dead, and Keith (although perhaps not the ideal choice, all things considered) was their only hope. The only thing that mattered was getting them out of that pod and finding help.

With his jaw set in determination and decision, Keith gingerly lowered himself into the ravine, careful of the weight he placed on his throbbing ankles. The last thing he needed was a fracture or a break—he’d be of no use to anyone (let alone this pilot) if he couldn’t support himself on his own two feet. Though he still moved with urgency, he now proceeded with an air of caution, grateful for the frigid rain soaking through his clothes that grounded him and kept his senses sharp. As he approached, the words unidentified craft and unknown cycled through his head, and it occurred to Keith then that there was no way of knowing what manner of being had dropped from the stars—and that in addition to being unprepared and unsupplied, he was also unarmed (save for his tiny pocket knife), and very, very much alone.

No one even knows you’re here, the recesses of his mind whispered, menacing and unsolicited. You could disappear right now, and no one would ever know where you’d gone. A chill shot up his spine, and he shuddered violently, unsure of whether it was the cold or his sudden nerves that was responsible.

He doubted that his father and Shiro, or any other residents of the Benbow, were aware of the crash. They’d probably dismissed it as a quake, or thunder—some byproduct of the gathering storm. It felt unbelievable to think that he’d been the only witness: but there was no low thrum of a hover transport zipping past, no telltale sirens indicating the arrival of cops, no high-beams illuminating the desert as a land rover trundled by. The night was silent save for the rainfall and the pod’s ominous groaning and creaking.

You’re on your own, Kogane.

Eyes glued to the pod, Keith crept forward until he was close enough to make out the main hatch, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to run—or fight—at a moment’s notice. When he’d come within a couple feet of the door, he assessed the situation, bringing a hand to hover over the handle. Though the crash had nearly damaged it beyond recognition, Keith was certain he was looking at the standard one-seat escape unit that most of the galaxy’s ships were equipped with. This one in particular looked old and weathered, it’s metallic hull weathered and worn. Frigid rain pelted the smoking sphere, causing steam to roll off the pod as flames continued to lick weakly at the sky. The whole contraption had rolled to a rest on its side, its hatch tilted at an angle that would make climbing up and extracting a person from within a monumental task. As Keith squinted through the darkness, he swore under his breath, heart sinking as he took note of the bent and dented metal around the door hinge. Gritting his teeth, he rotated the door wheel and gave it a thorough tug, ready for it to open at an awkward angle, and—nothing. He gave another tug, crying out with the force of it, but the door held fast.

Keith growled in frustration, urgency flickering underneath his skin like fire. He needed—no. He had to do this.

Clinging tightly to the wheel’s warm metal, he braced a foot against the bottom of the pod and yanked at the door with all his might, feeling a vein throb in his forehead as every muscle in his body screamed in protest. He was rewarded for his efforts with nothing more than the tired groan of damaged metal, as if the pod itself was telling him to give up.

It was with the devastating, sinking feeling of heartbreak that Keith realized that the pod’s locking mechanism must have been damaged beyond repair in the crash, leaving the hatch impossible to open without help. With little other recourse, Keith smacked a palm against the hatch’s window, panic and helplessness rising in his throat in the form of bile.

“Hey!” he called, pounding insistently against the door and coughing as he inadvertently inhaled a lungful of the exhaust wafting from failed engines. He peered into the window, but the only sight to greet him was the curl of smoke against fiberglass. “You awake in there? I’m gonna help you get out, but I think your lock’s fucked, so if you can move I need you to just—”

A mere inch from his face, something slammed against the window, and Keith went sprawling backward in surprise, falling hard onto his tailbone. As pain shot up his spine, Keith sat in shock, attempting to make sense of the purple palm pressed up against the glass—and attempting to fight off the mind-numbing fear that accompanied the sight.

He watched the purple hand drag slowly down the windowpane, the squeak of friction loud enough to be heard over the creaking and the rain. In the span of a few seconds, the hand was gone, but Keith knew.

It hadn’t been a trick of the light. It hadn’t been a hallucination borne from the chemical fumes of burning metal; nor a product of some crazed fever-dream. The hand had been purple, and purple meant Galra, and Galra meant—

Still on the ground, Keith scrambled backward as what sounded like the full weight of a body slammed against the inside of the hatch—once, twice—and then the hatch was being forced open with brute, inhuman strength, the pod’s occupant roaring in guttural agony as the misshapen door fought cooperation. There was a grunt of frustration, and then another mighty thud of body against door sent the hatch flying open. With it, a figure barrelled out, momentum carrying them heavily to the ground, directly where Keith had been standing only moments before. He watched, frozen simultaneously in terror and indecision, as the being struggled to all fours on limbs that trembled wildly with exhaustion. Smoke and light spilled out of the pod, framing the figure in an eerie haze, and Keith winced as they hacked a rattling cough that sent them collapsing back onto the floor. They curled in on themselves, arms wrapping around their torso as they coughed.

The sight made Keith’s gut clench with guilt, and the conflict that had arisen within him at the telling sight of purple was swiftly intercepted by the ferocity of his moral code.

Galra or not—Pirate or not… did it really matter? Did it really matter, when a living being was convulsing in unfathomable pain before his eyes? Could he really just play the part of the heartless bystander?

You don’t know what they’ve done, that treacherous part of him whispered. You don’t know who they’ve hurt. You don’t know what they’re running from.

But, no, that… that wasn’t right. He wasn’t judge or jury; nor was he executioner. He was just… Keith Kogane, a nobody from The Wastes who’d come face-to-face with an injured Pirate. Keith Kogane, who—for the first time in his life—had found himself completely and utterly out of his depth.

Leaning into his resolve, Keith clambered to his feet, closing the distance between them and throwing himself to his knees beside the Pirate’s head. They continued to hack, drawing in painful wheezing breaths between coughing fits, and Keith wasn’t sure if they were even aware of his presence.

“Hey.” Keeping the panic out of his voice was a challenge, as was keeping it hushed enough not to alarm his injured companion. If he’d been heard, the Pirate gave no indication. Keith swallowed, his hand hovering above the Pirate’s forearm, clad in an armored, skin-tight black suit with glowing purple accents. “My name is Keith,” he continued, gingerly lowering his hand to the Pirate’s bicep. “You need—”

With lightning-quick reflexes that sent Keith’s heart careening into his throat, the Pirate had Keith’s wrist in a vice-like, bruising grip. They unfurled from their little ball with all the ferocity of a cornered, wounded predator—fangs bared and a low growl rumbling in their throat. Sitting in pools of yellow sclera, thin purple pupils swam with pain and fear, searching Keith’s gaze with an almost disarming intelligence and gravitas.

Keith swallowed, throat dry and jaw tight. Every instinct begged him to lower his gaze, but he stood his ground, determined that the Pirate should see the sincerity in his eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he calmly reassured, every word measured and ringing with truth. “I just wanna help.”

For a terrifying second, nothing happened. The two remained frozen in their stare-down, the Galra’s eyes boring into his as if they could read his innermost thoughts. Then, as if reaching a decision, the Pirate blinked, wincing in pain and curling back in on themself. Instead of releasing Keith’s wrist, their grip slackened—no longer holding onto him as if he were a threat, but clinging to him as if he were a lifeline.

“Okay,” Keith muttered, trying not to let himself become overwhelmed by the volume of trust that had just been placed in him. He fought back a cough and blinked stinging smoke out of his eyes (he was pretty sure that neither of them should be inhaling it). “Think you can stand?”

The Pirate gave little more than a grunt of affirmation, but it was all Keith needed to pull their arm across his shoulders. Together, the pair struggled to their feet, grunting and straining against one another until they stood upright. Pressed flush against Keith’s right side, the Galra stood painfully hunched over; and Keith assumed they must be easily twice his height.

“My place is that way,” Keith informed, jerking his chin off to the left. “Ten-minute walk. I can get you help, but you gotta—hey.” Keith raised his voice, adjusting his grip on his alien companion as they sagged heavily against him, nearly slipping from his shoulders. “You gotta stay with me. I can’t—I can’t carry you.”

“I can walk.”

The Pirate’s voice was so weak, so ravaged by smoke, that Keith almost didn’t hear them. Hope fluttered in his chest, and he tightened his grip around them, taking a resolute step forward.

If they could talk, they could walk. All he had to do was keep them awake.

“Well yeah, that’s gonna—that’s good,” Keith babbled brainlessly, part of him shocked that they’d actually spoken to him at all, and—what the fuck, wait. Because it had only just dawned on him that he shouldn’t have just expected to be understood by a being who’d fallen from the stars. “Where’d you learn Meridian?”

His companion took a rattling breath that sent Keith’s heart plummeting to the floor. That didn’t sound good.

“Long… time ago.”

That hadn’t exactly answered Keith’s question, but the Galra’s voice—masculine, Keith thought—sounded so ragged and torn that he immediately wished he hadn’t coerced the Pirate into conversation.

Retracing his path through the ravine, Keith used his free hand to push his sopping bangs out of his eyes, squinting through the rain until he spotted the smoothest way to haul an enormous, injured alien out of the newly formed gully.

At his side, said companion suddenly grew heavier in his grip, Keith’s knees buckling with the unexpected weight and nearly sending the two of them to the floor. A surprised gasp left him, and he struggled to stay on his feet. “Whoa,” he warned, giving the Pirate a shake for good measure. “You gotta stay awake, uh—”

“Thace,” the Galra mumbled, head hanging low.

“Oh.” Keith blinked, his brain momentarily attempting to make sense of the nonsensical word before he realized he’d been given a name. Heat rose to his cheeks. “Thace. Uh. Nice to meet you.”

The Galra chuckled, and Keith wanted to throw himself off the nearest canyon. The guy had somehow survived the worst crash Keith had ever seen, and here Keith was saying ‘nice to meet you’ like they’d met at teatime at the Benbow.

Keith stamped down his embarrassment, ignoring his flushed cheeks and the weak laughter beside him. “Uh, I’m—”

“Keith,” Thace interjected, and Keith’s heart nearly stopped altogether before he remembered that he’d already given the Pirate his name; though he hadn’t thought he’d been heard.

“Right, yeah. Good—good memory,” Keith muttered, once again shifting Thace’s arm over his shoulders. “Think you can stay awake for me, Thace?”

“You… talk,” Thace rasped, hand tightening around Keith’s shoulder. “Helps.”

And… well. Keith may have generally been a man of few words, but if the sound of his voice kept his companion alive, he was more than happy to oblige.

…

Thace saw the Benbow before he did.

The walk had taken them twice as long as Keith had anticipated, their pace labored and painstaking in the dark, wet night. One misplaced step over loose, slippery rubble had sent Thace tumbling to the ground, dragging Keith down heavily with him. On several instances, the duo was forced to come to a halt altogether as Thace was consumed by a fit of breathless wheezing and hacking, rendering him unable to walk. Through it all, Keith kept a sturdy hand on the Pirate’s back, fighting down his own growing helplessness when he could do no more but rub soothing circles and offer meager words of comfort. Despite his efforts, every agonized cough sent guilt clawing deeper into him, finding purchase in his stomach like some frenzied animal.

When Thace wasn’t coughing, Keith was talking. As the two of them stumbled along, he rambled endlessly about anything and everything that popped into his brain: his father, Shiro, the Benbow, the desert, his favorite constellations—anything to keep the man beside him conscious. Every minute or so, Thace would grunt in acknowledgment or assent; but other than that, Keith didn’t dare attempt to rope the Pirate into conversation. Nor did he often peel his gaze from the treacherous terrain beneath their feet, except to reorient himself with his surroundings now and then (a task that proved dangerously difficult in the dark; but Keith had enough experience with illicit nighttime escapades to find his way.)

He was halfway into a story about the time he’d snuck a lizard into James’ work apron when Thace stopped dead in his tracks, bright, keen eyes fixated on something in the distance.

“Uh…” Blinking at the unexpected motion, Keith followed his gaze, squinting into the darkness and releasing a sigh of relief as he was greeted by the Benbow’s twinkling lights a short distance away.

Judging by the tone of his voice, Thace did not seem to share Keith’s relief. “It is large. Your… Benbow,” he rasped, standing stock still and reminding Keith once more of a cornered predator.

“Well, yeah. I told you, it’s—it’s an inn,” Keith panted, brows furrowed in confusion. “Come on, we’re literally there.”

Weakly, Thace raised a shaking hand, unfurling wickedly sharp claws to point ahead of them. “Couple hundred paces.”

“Okay,” Keith muttered through gritted teeth, feeling that now might not be the time for a lesson on human idioms. He gave his companion a gentle tug, but despite the alien’s obvious deteriorating health, he remained rooted in place, eyes still locked ahead. “Thace? We’re so close, man, let’s—”

“It is large,” the Pirate repeated, the words a little more heated the second time, as if Keith had failed to grasp some important point. Angling his head to the side, he turned the full intensity of his gaze on Keith, whose heart leaped into his throat, not having expected the burning urgency contorting the Galra’s face. “I cannot allow you to—”

Keith swore as Thace was overcome with the worst coughing fit he’d endured, wreaking havoc on the Pirate’s body and sending both Galra and human to the floor. With an arm draped around Thace’s shoulders, Keith pulled him close, holding him tightly as he cast a furtive, desperate look into the darkness, as if his father or Shiro might just appear.

It wasn’t fair. They’d come so far, and so close to finally finding help—so unbelievably, maddeningly close—and Thace was going to die here, yards away from the Benbow.

The second the thought crossed his mind, he knew it to be true. Whether Keith liked it or not (he hated it—oh, he hated everything about it), the man now writhing in agony on the floor was going to die. Keith knew it with a strange certainty; the same way he knew that the sun would rise in the morning, or that the downpour would eventually abate, or that the stars would grace the dark sky night after night. It was instinctive—inevitable, even, and it shook Keith to the core.

“Hey.” He shook Thace roughly and blinked to clear his suddenly clouded vision, for which he was unsure whether to blame the rain or his own hot tears. He refused to be ashamed of the way his voice cracked. “Come on, get up.”

Thace rolled onto his back, extending a hand to grasp at Keith’s forearm. His claws dragged at Keith’s jacket, piercing cloth and creating little seams that ran down the material. In a futile attempt to speak, the Pirate choked back a cough. “You don’t…”—gasp—“understand—”

A hacking wheeze exploded from his throat, and Keith—in an impulsive fit of madness borne only of raw desperation—yanked the alien into a sitting position by his chest plate. “Maybe not,” he growled, anger burning red-hot through his veins. “But what I do understand is that I’ve lugged your ass too far for you to give up on me here.” Keith heaved a breath labored with repressed emotion, retreating onto his heels and pushing his sopping fringe off of his forehead. He was relieved to find that Thace’s violent coughing episode seemed to have concluded. “Now, are you gonna help me help you, or do I have to drag you the rest of the way?”

For a long moment, Thace just looked at him, his gaze becoming more and more disconcerting as the seconds passed. Keith had just opened his mouth to continue his tirade when the Galra took a shuddering breath, releasing Keith’s arm in favor of dragging the back of his palm down his face. Keith sat frozen in shock, unsure of what was happening—but he got the sense that whatever it was, it was important. He gripped the Pirate’s shoulder, suddenly petrified by the thought that he may be witnessing someone’s very last moments.

Finally, Thace’s hand retreated, falling limply to the floor. In the dark, Keith couldn’t see the expression on the older man’s face, but when he spoke, it sounded like he was smiling. “You… remind me of someone,” he rasped. “A friend.”

Keith blinked, sending the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes cascading down his face. Shaken, he opened his mouth to respond but found that his voice had lodged itself in his throat. He felt… strangely raw, as if in that one long look, the Pirate had seen all the way down to the depths of his being—past Keith the Criminal and Keith the Failure and Keith the Disappointment, and all the way to…

What?

Stifling a sob, Keith resolutely wiped the tears from his cheeks, raising himself onto a knee and offering an arm for his companion to grab. “Please,” he sniffled, the singular word wavering dangerously. He wasn’t sure he even knew what he was pleading for. Please get up. Please let me at least try to help you. Please don’t give up.

Please don’t make me watch you die.

Thace seemed to understand him all the same. With a strained grunt, he grabbed Keith’s forearm, and the two of them clambered to their feet.

…

In utter relief to be home, Keith hastily threw the inn’s door open with so much gusto that it slammed against the wall; a deafeningly loud interruption to the Benbow’s sleepy ambiance—so jarring and unexpected that it forced a spirited scream out of Shiro, who’d been the picture of perfect table-washing tranquility until that very second.

Overcoming his initial shock, Shiro’s eyes widened as he took them in. Keith could only imagine the sight he and Thace made: breathless, doubled over, soaked-through and mud-spattered up to their knees. His cousin gaped at them with a dishrag pressed firmly against his chest, momentarily stunned into inaction. “Keith! What—”

“Help me!” he yelled back, staggering under new weight as Thace—now that respite was finally tangible—sagged heavily against him, a sigh of exhaustion morphing into more pained hacking. Shiro took the hint, tossing his cleaning supplies to the floor and darting across the room, ducking carefully under the Pirate’s other arm. As the two of them practically dragged Thace to the closest chair, Keith’s father burst through the kitchen doorway, eyes wild and keys dangling from his hands.

“Shiro! Keith’s not in our room, I’m gonna—” his eyes landed on the trio at the opposite end of the restaurant. He gasped, taking a reflexive step back. “What in all hells—”

“His pod crash-landed,” Keith hurried to explain, panic leaking into his voice. It had been much easier—necessary, even—to keep himself together when Thace had been solely relying on him to do so. Now, with his father and Shiro in the picture, Keith felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders, its weight now borne by the strength of three. “There was so much smoke,” he continued, watching as his father made a beeline towards them. Words left his mouth like water from a running tap, tumbling over one another and uninterrupted by breath. “—and he hasn’t stopped coughing and I didn’t know what to do so I brought him here but I’m scared we took too long—”

Shiro scrambled out of his uncle’s trajectory, making his way to Keith and pulling him into a one-armed hug against his side. Keith clung to him, feeling all at once physically and emotionally drained.

“You did right to bring him here,” his father reassured in a voice that was dead-calm. In one fluid motion, he snatched a chair out from a neighboring table and sat facing Thace knee-to-knee, leaning forward to take the Pirate’s face with gentle hands. Keith could have sworn that—for the very briefest of seconds—his father’s hands paused in their trajectory, hovering midway between them as his eyes darted down to the glowing purple lines adorning Thace’s chest plate.

If Keith had so much as blinked, he might have missed the moment of hesitancy, and he certainly wouldn’t have felt compelled to explain himself. “I’m sorry, I know he’s…” He trailed off, floundering briefly for something to say before swallowing thickly, hoping his next words would sound as assertive as he felt. “Pirate or not, I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“Course you couldn’t. Never woulda expected you to, ace,” his father mumbled, concentration unbroken as he examined the Galran for injuries.

Thace, on the other hand, was once more staring at Keith with the same searching expression from before, purple and yellow eyes locked on his own as if the alien could read Keith’s thoughts if he just looked long enough.

“You…” Thace’s purple complexion darkened as he struggled to suppress a cough and failed, dots of dark purple blood gathering on his chin. Keith’s father inhaled sharply, swiftly procuring a cloth from his belt to dab gently at Thace’s face as the man struggled to speak. “You thought me to be a Pirate?”

Keith felt as if all the blood in his body had decided to relocate to his face. Mortified, he opened his mouth, hoping something intelligent might come out—an apology, anything—but before he could atone for his ignorant assumption, his father straightened.

With a sinking heart, Keith realized he was well-familiar with the resigned expression carved into the weary lines of his father’s face. He wrenched himself from his cousin’s grasp, finding himself suddenly overwhelmed by touch. “You can help him, right?” he pleaded, already knowing the answer but hoping against hope that he was wrong.

Instead of providing a direct answer, Owen Kogane spared his son a mournful glance before turning to place a gentle hand on Thace’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my friend.”

Keith took a step backward. No. No. There was no way this was happening.

While he unraveled at the seams, Thace merely smiled weakly up at Keith’s father as if he’d just announced a pleasant weather forecast. “I feared as much,” he wheezed. “I had… hoped, perhaps, but—”

“No!” Keith yelled, feeling slightly manic. “I got him here as fast as I could; we can’t just give up now, he’s—”

“He’s inhaled too much xynthanium, Keith.” His father’s tone was even, measured—certainly not, Keith thought, the tone of someone who’d trudged through the desert in the hopes of saving a dying man, only to find that there’d been no hope all along. “Got nothing to do with how quick you got him here. You did everything right, but his lungs are shutting down. No amount of hurry was gonna help that.” He turned back to Thace, the lines of his face pulled taut. “I’m guessin’ your fuel tank exploded?”

You knew this was coming, Keith thought, remembering the smoke that’d accompanied Thace out of the pod’s hatch. If he was stuck in there, inhaling xynthanium till I found him…

Then there never was any hope, he realized, and the thought hit him with unrelenting devastation. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything so painful in all his life. He’d poured his heart and soul into this one act of goodwill, determined that he’d finally do something right—something good—and it was like the universe had spat it all back in his face, cementing his role as no more than a worthless, selfish stain in the world.

As entrenched as he was in his breakdown, Keith nearly missed his father’s question, as well as the way Thace winced in response. “Shot. Pirates.”

For a second, the room fell silent, save for the ticking of the old clock adorning the back wall.

Then, Shiro was stepping forward with all the comportment befitting his role as Garrison Head of Outreach, and Keith swallowed nervously. “The Pirates who shot at you,” Shiro asked slowly, his voice ringing with calculating authority, “—are they still after you?”

“Not me,” Thace rasped, digging into a pouch at his waist that Keith hadn’t noticed before. “This.”

In his hand sat an unassuming gold sphere, glowing warmly in the Inn’s dim light.

“What is it?” Keith breathed, feeling himself drawn in like a fire-weevil to flame.

When he answered, Thace’s voice was threadbare, every word sounding like a monumental effort to produce. “Something that must never… fall into… their hands.” With definitive assuredness, he met Keith’s eyes. “You… must take it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith was sure that his father and Shiro exchanged a look, but the brunt of his focus was still dedicated to deciphering Thace’s words. “I… me?”

Unaware of Keith’s inner turmoil, Thace nodded. “The fate… of the universe… depends—”

“No, I—but why me?” Keith asked sincerely, ignoring the alien’s outstretched palm and the object in it. The whole thing was just… too surreal to be true. His entire life he’d been praying that the universe might take a chance on him—might deliver him an opportunity to prove his mettle. He’d craved adventure, longed to taste it so badly that he’d thrown himself at whatever danger he could find just to feel the thrill of it. And now… not only was he being offered a chance, but the weight of it was enough to send even the most experienced swashbuckler to their knees.

But Keith wasn’t that person. He wasn’t the person people depended on, he wasn’t the person who did things right. He was the person who let everyone down, who—despite how hard he might try—managed to fail over and over.

“I’m nobody,” he whispered, voice cracking as he verbalized the thought.

“Perhaps,” Thace agreed, and… okay, Keith hadn’t been expecting the guy to vehemently disagree or anything, but: ouch. “But I sense… the mark of greatness... upon you.” He dissolved into a coughing fit, clutching the golden ball tightly to his chest. Keith surged forward to steady him by the shoulders, his mind still reeling from the unexpected gravitas of Thace’s words.

When the Galran once again met his gaze, it was hard to ignore the flecks of dark purple blood staining the man’s lips. In his heart, Keith knew that they were nearly out of time, but he needed to ask—needed to know—

“You don’t even know me.”

Thace took a shuddering breath and smiled, raising a clawed hand to rest over Keith’s heart. “You… thought I was… Pirate. Saved me. Good… heart.” He sucked in a breath as if there wasn’t enough air in the room. “Hero’s heart. This...” With his free hand, he grasped Keith’s hand in his own, firmly guiding it to rest atop the golden sphere. “Destiny.”

Tears rolled freely down Keith’s cheeks as he curled his fingers around the proffered artifact, clutching it tightly against his chest. “I won’t let you down,” he promised hoarsely. As the words left his tongue, they felt like an unbreakable vow.

No. He certainly would not let Thace down. He’d protect this—this thing with his life if he had to. Not just for the dying alien and the belief that he’d placed in him, or for his father, or even just for the sake of the universe.

He’d do it for himself. He’d do it to prove to himself that whatever potential Thace saw in him wasn’t unfounded; to prove that there was a place for Keith Kogane to leave his mark in the fabric of the universe.

He pocketed the orb with finality, and was about to step back when Thace (in a surprising show of strength) pulled him forward by the shirt until his mouth hovered near Keith’s ear. “Beware,” he gasped, sounding as if he were using the very remains of his energy to articulate the words, “—the cyborg.”

The hand grasping his shirt went limp and fell away, accompanied by a horrid croaking exhale that ghosted hauntingly over the shell of his ear. Keith straightened, biting back a sob as he regarded the now-deceased man before him.

He wasn’t sure how long he stared, or how long he tried to make sense of what he was feeling for the passing of a man he’d only known for less than an hour. In reality, he likely only had a few seconds to process the storm of emotions brewing within him, but to Keith, it felt like forever. It was only the cautious creak of footsteps behind him that roused him from his grief, pulling him disorientingly into the next moment before the previous one had even fully concluded.

“He’s gone.” His father was stepping forward, using two fingers to draw eyelids down over unblinking eyes. “‘M so sorry, darlin’.”

Keith nodded, unsure of what to say. The artifact in his pocket felt heavy, somehow cold against his leg even through the material of his pants.

“We should get him out of here.” Keith was vaguely aware that Shiro had spoken, but he felt as if someone had stuffed his ears full of cotton. “Whoever was after him will be looking for that pod, so—”

“If we take him back, they’ll notice the thing is gone,” his father cut in, gesturing in Keith’s general direction.

“Right, but if he’s missing, they’ll track him here.”

“Rain’s covered up the footprints by now. If they don’t find that orb, they’ll come here anyway.”

“So—what? You’re saying we just keep him here? Is that really a risk you wanna take?”

“Shiro—”

“We need to leave.” Both men froze at the interruption, turning to look at Keith, who was hardly aware he’d even spoken the words aloud. He cleared his throat, pressing a palm to his forehead and gripping his fringe in shaking fingers. “You’re both right. They’re gonna come here no matter what we do. We need to be gone before then.”

“Keith.” Shiro pursed his lips. “You’re—we can’t just leave the Benbow to whatever the hell is coming. There are people here—”

“We have to, Shiro. You heard what Thace said.” Keith’s fingers grazed the outline of the orb in his pocket. “The universe depends on this. We don’t have any other choice.”

“The fire bell!” Keith’s father exclaimed, so unexpectedly emphatic that both cousins jumped. “We can evacuate the Benbow and run, we just gotta do it—”

Keith would always remember the irony of that moment, as well as the way all three of them froze in terror as floodlights poured through every window, drowning them in light so bright that Keith had to squint to see his family. He’d always remember the ominous roar of a large vessel as it landed somewhere outside the Benbow, and he’d always remember the fear in his father’s eyes as he barreled across the room towards the fire bell. As soon as he’d flipped the switch, the piercing wail of a siren filled the air. No sooner had the alarm had been triggered than something big had collided with the ground outside, and the night erupted with raucous chatter. It was hard to tell precisely how many voices added to the clamor, but Keith knew for a fact that he and his family were well-outnumbered.

Seeming to have the same thought, Shiro’s eyes met his. “My skiff is out back. We can slip—”

“No!” Keith’s father pushed himself away from the switch on the opposite wall, scrambling away from the restaurant’s back door and nearly stumbling into a table. “They’re out back, too. We’re surrounded.”

With each passing second, the noise from both entrances grew louder and closer, interspersed with the terrified screams of fleeing families. the three of them backed away from both entrances, crowding towards the center of the room.

Keith was just about to ask what in the hell they were supposed to do when a shrill voice rose above the crowd, howling in indignation. “Cap’n! Want us to chase down the civies?”

Civies. His father’s eyes met his own, and Keith could see the same thought pass behind them; the same horrifying, petrifying thought. They’re going to kill the residents.

“Negative!” bellowed a new voice. The meaning behind the word itself should have sent relief coursing through Keith’s heart. Instead, the very sound of the voice sent chills down his spine, simultaneously freezing him with fear and imbuing him with the urge to run. “Eyes on the prize, you worthless worms! Rip the place apart limb for limb and don’t you rest until that filthy traitor’s been found! The place reeks of his scent.” The voices were all closer now—too close, Keith thought, backing even further away from both doors. The three of them had nearly reached the kitchen, but—what then? The only way to go from there was up.

Once again, that same hair-raising voice rang out over the din, roaring orders with incontestable authority. “You lot, around the side. The rest of you, through here. Now move, maggots!”

The responding cheer was close enough that it spurred the petrified huddle within the restaurant into action. With little other recourse, they turned tail and ran. As Shiro tugged Keith through the kitchen and towards the stairs to the Kogane residence by the wrist (as if Keith needed the prompting), his father trailed close behind, lingering only long enough to drag the curtain dividing the restaurant and kitchen shut. Metal rungs screeched miserably across a rusted rail, and although Keith understood his father’s impulse, he wasn’t entirely sure that a little bit of linen was going to be much protection from this bloodthirsty crew.

They’d just reached the foot of the stairs when both doors to the restaurant burst open with a deafening crash, and the jeers and shouts of the Pirates doubled in volume.

The trio’s climb slowed to a silent creep. If they were caught before they’d reached the safe barrier of the padlocked door, they’d surely be killed where they stood. Not that they really had much time, because any second now they’d see—

“Captain!” yelled a warbly, distinctly alien-sounding voice. “He’s dead!”

Keith flinched as something heavy smashed against a wall as if a chair had been thrown.

“Do you think me blind, bilge-rat? Search him, you worthless—”

“It’s not on him!” wailed another voice. “Dirty bastard probably hid it!”

The primal, guttural roar that followed rattled Keith to his core, as if someone had injected a shot of pure fear directly into his bloodstream. Newly inspired, his family clambered hastily up the stairs, all caution and calculation thrown to the wind in favor of the fundamental need to escape. “Search everything! Leave no table unturned! Turn the place to ashes, for all I care; just find it!” commanded the captain. “Lieutenant, Scout—you two are with me. Gotta be something through that doorway,” he concluded; and Keith’s blood ran cold as he realized the captain was talking about the entrance to the kitchen.

He had no time to dwell on the prospect of being caught, however, as his father shoved him roughly through the door to their room before turning to draw the deadbolt shut. He fumbled with the locks, fingers trembling so badly that Keith hurriedly pried the older man’s hands away and relieved him of the task.

When the last lock had clicked into place, Keith whirled around, back pressed against the door. “What the fuck do we do?” he hissed, keeping his voice low despite the chaotic symphony of clattering furniture and boisterous Pirates below.

“We find a way down to that skiff,” Keith’s father panted, eyes wild and shirt askew.

On the opposite side of the room, Shiro was shoving open a window and climbing halfway out. “Already on it, Uncle O,” he grunted, saddling himself on the windowsill and offering his prosthetic palm to the room’s interior. “Let’s go.”

Father and son rushed to the window, each taking the proffered hand in turn as they climbed out onto the ledge. Clambering out between his father and cousin, Keith was overwhelmed by a strange sense of déjà vu as he recalled standing on this same ledge earlier that very evening, the difference in circumstance jarring enough to give him pause.

Who would have thought, a few hours ago, that you’d be chased by bloodthirsty Pirates tonight?

As he glanced down at the sand-skiff hovering over the ground below, he was immediately grateful for Shiro’s dweeb of a husband, who’d grown so fond of stargazing dates that the bottom of the boat was covered in a disarray of blankets.

Behind them, the doorknob jiggled, and Keith’s heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his fingers.

“Okay!” Shiro yelled. Back in the room, something massive slammed against the door, accompanied by the sounds of muffled yelling. “Easy does it, alright? Just carefully lower yourselves and we’ll drop on the count of three.”

The next door smash was accompanied by the sound of splintering wood, and Keith barely let himself think before he was yelling, “THREE!” and shoving his palms against his family’s backs with all his might. All three of them yelled as they fell, and groaned in pain when the air was subsequently knocked out of them.

To his credit, Shiro recovered first, the very picture of a tried and trained Garrison soldier. He dragged himself onto the skiff’s singular piloting seat, not sparing so much as a glance to his cousin and uncle still recovering on the boat’s blanketed floor. Keith felt a tremor run through his body as the skiff rumbled to life beneath them, and he let himself sink into the sweet softness of the blankets below him.

We’re okay, he thought, feeling the rush of wind over him as they picked up speed. We did it. We’re going to be okay.

Overcome by fatigue (and perhaps pain, he honestly couldn’t tell), his eyes were just beginning to slip shut when a muffled sob at his side sent him bolting upright, wincing at a sharp pain in his lower back.

“Dad! What’s wrong, are you—"

Hurt, he’d been about to ask. But as Keith followed his father’s eyes to the distant sight of flames illuminating the dark, he realized that ‘hurt’ didn’t even begin to cover it. Heartbroken, perhaps. Mourning. Bereft.

Unable to stomach the sound of his father’s sobs and feeling utterly helpless to provide comfort, Keith curled in on himself, winding his arms around his knees and trying very hard to keep his gaze forward. He slid a hand into his pocket, grasping the orb for reassurance and praying that sleep might soon find him.

Behind them, their home—the only memento that Owen Kogane had inherited from his late sister—blazed bright red against the night sky as it burned.

…

Adam and Shiro’s house had always made Keith a little uncomfortable.

For one, the place was a damn mansion. Keith was well-aware that Shiro’s husband had come from money (‘richest family in The Wastes’ he’d once read in a magazine, ‘seventh richest family on Montressor’). At the time, he and Shiro had only just started dating, and Keith couldn’t yet see past Adam Wright: Garrison Space Academy Professor of Astronomy and History. It’d taken a couple years to fully warm up to his ex-teacher turned family member, but in that time Adam had proven himself to be a man of real substance; a relentless dweeb with a heart of gold who was head-over-heels for Keith’s cousin.

The primary reason behind Keith’s discomfort was significantly more base-level: Adam’s place was always freezing. Even now, huddled under two blankets at the foot of the ornate living room fireplace, it seemed as if the cold had long-since seeped into his skin and was there to stay.

And… okay. That may have partially been Keith’s fault.

He’d rejected the gentle offer of a warm shower when they’d arrived an hour ago, rain-soaked and freezing and dripping onto the polished tile of the foyer. He’d felt so numb, so rattled by the evening’s events that something as rudimentary as a shower seemed like the last of his priorities. His father and Shiro, on the other hand, had eventually acquiesced. Both men had trudged up the entrance hall’s marble staircase with varying degrees of life in their eyes, leaving Keith to be doted on by Adam.

After he’d sufficiently smothered Keith in blankets and affection, the two of them had sat shoulder to shoulder on the floor in front of the fireplace, and Keith had relayed the night’s events. Adam remained dead-silent as he listened, a pinched expression adorning his bespectacled face as he rubbed soothing circles between Keith’s shoulder-blades.

It didn’t take Adam long to ask to see the artifact.

Although Keith felt strangely protective of the orb and was reluctant to let anyone else touch it, his trust of Adam won out. Weird historical items were kind of Adam’s thing (a side hobby, really—although the guy had an entire room of collectibles in his house that was the size of the Benbow’s restaurant, and… yeah. Yikes.) The two of them had spent nearly five full minutes examining Thace’s artifact, tracing the strange lines and markings embedded in its surface. When Adam couldn’t immediately place it’s ornate symbols, he’d deemed it in need of ‘copious research’ (which—in Keith’s humble opinion—sounded terrible.)

By the time his father and Shiro had returned from their showers, Adam had left his spot on the ground and had moved to stare pensively out a darkened window. Keith remained in his spot in front of the fire, examining the way the sphere glowed in the flickering light and watching from the corner of his eye as Shiro and Adam shared a tender embrace.

“Keith told me everything. Are you—”

“I’m okay, sweetheart.”

“I mean… Pirates at the Benbow; Shiro, I don’t—”

A movement at Keith’s side drew his focus away to his father, who was lowering himself quietly to sit beside him. He took a raspy breath, and in a voice shredded from crying, asked: “Mind sharin’ a blanket with your old man?”

Nodding eagerly, Keith studied his father as he shifted both blankets to cover the two of them. The man looked as if all the happiness had been sucked out of him; eyes red-rimmed and complexion splotchy. Keith wasn’t sure he’d seen his dad look like this since the day they’d received word from the Garrison that the Shiroganes had been killed in action out in the great abyss of space.

“Dad?” he asked, his voice cracking halfway through the word and garnering his father’s full attention. “I—I’m so sorry.”

Shifting to drape an arm around his shoulders and pull him in close, his father pressed his forehead to Keith’s mess of hair and rocked him back and forth. “Oh, my darling boy. None of it’s your fault.”

It was as if everything that Keith had repressed since their escape—all the loss and heartbreak he’d been so unable to feel—finally caught up with him, spilling over the dam he’d built to keep it all contained. Distantly, he was aware of Adam and Shiro’s hushed whispers and retreating footsteps, but Keith was lost to grief. He sobbed onto his father’s shoulder until he felt as if he couldn’t physically cry anymore; and when he finally pulled away he was met with a shiny, tear-streaked face offering him a weak smile.

Unbidden, the image of his father’s grief-stricken expression from earlier that night rose to his mind. Shifting to face him, Keith swallowed and reached for his dad’s hand, encasing it in both his own and pulling it towards his heart. He opened his mouth to speak, but—but what was he even supposed to say? They’d lost everything in one night; everything, save—

“We’ve still got each other,” Keith insisted, squeezing the hand in his own and unsure who he was reassuring. “We’re together and—and that’s what’s important, right?”

He’d meant for the words to soothe, but to his horror, something indescribably pained passed behind his father’s eyes; a sadness that evoked memories of an overheard conversation between father and cousin. He took a long shuddering breath, as if at any moment he might burst into tears again. “Keith, I—there’s something I’ve been meaning to—”

“Guys?”

Nerves frayed from the evening’s events, Keith nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled towards the source of the voice. At the end of the living room, Shiro stood sheepishly in the doorway, peeking halfway through the threshold. He gave an apologetic wave. “Uh. Sorry to interrupt, but—Adam’s in the study, and he’s—I’m sorry, Keith; he’s asking to see the thing.”

Keith was just opening his mouth to beg for another minute of privacy when his father stood, clearing his throat.

“That the scientific term?” he asked, shooting Shiro a warm smile (surprising, considering the pain with which he’d previously regarded his own son. Keith couldn’t pretend that didn’t sting.)

Shiro grinned and groaned, pushing himself away from the door frame and backing further into the dimly lit hall. “Just—come on. Sooner he figures out what it is, sooner I can get him to bed.”

In the time it took Shiro to turn on his heel and disappear down the hall, Keith’s father had swiftly crossed the room, leaving his son to stand alone at the fireplace.

“Wait, Dad!”

Without turning, the elder Kogane froze in his trajectory, placing a hand against the elaborately carved door frame. When he didn’t speak, Keith swallowed. “I, uh—you were gonna say something?”

When his father finally did turn to slowly peer over his shoulder, it was to gift Keith with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes; an expression that looked alien on him.

“Just that I love you, kid,” he rasped, the tendons in his hands visibly bulging as he gripped the doorframe tighter. Keith watched as they receded, and then the hand released its grip altogether, his father stepping over the threshold and into the hall beyond. “Let’s not keep our hosts waitin’, now,” he called, not sparing another glance behind him.

And with that, Owen Kogane left his son to hurry after him, wondering exactly what it was that his father was hiding.

…

Ever since the discovery that the sphere’s tiny circular engravings retracted inwards when pushed (like buttons, Keith had breathed in fascination), it seemed that the idea of ‘bed’ was becoming more and more unrealistic by the minute.

When a rudimentary examination of the artifact had revealed nothing of its purpose, Adam had taken to pacing his study like a lunatic, babbling furiously as he removed tome after tome from his extensive library. Before long, nearly every clear surface had been littered in dusty literature, and Keith’s family had taken to watching with raised eyebrows as Adam flitted from one side of the room to another.

After two hours of fevered pacing and no results, a restless Keith had shoved a book aside in order to claim a perch at the edge of a desk. Bored and insatiable, he’d opted to poke at the tiny circular digits adorning the orb, attempting to tune out Adam’s frantic muttering and pleas for him to leave the artifact alone.

“… Altean, maybe?” he distantly registered Adam saying. The man paced back and forth in front of his husband, who was making a valiant effort to look like he wasn’t nodding off where he stood. Keith’s father wasn’t doing much better, sitting in Adam’s high-back ‘thinking chair’ and pouring sullenly over a book thicker than his head. “Or maybe it’s—for star’s sake, quit messing with it, Keith—aha!” He darted to a book that’d been haphazardly propped open against a window. “Could have come from Eden-9, they’ve got the—damn, but the lines are all different. Dammit, Shiro!” he exclaimed, not noticing the way his husband startled into wakefulness. “These markings are unlike anything I’ve ever seen; I’ll never figure this out—”

“It’s been two hours, baby,” Shiro sleepily supplied. “These things take time, right?”

The tip of Keith’s tongue stuck out of his mouth as he turned the orb, and—on a whim—he pressed the tiny circles at the top and bottom simultaneously.

Something within the orb clicked, and Keith’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Of course they do, love, but your family’s Inn burned for this thing—”

Squinting at the orb, Keith noticed that—at a certain angle—one of the smaller digits seemed a fraction more indented than the rest. It would have been indiscernible if he hadn’t been looking so closely, and he was nearly certain that it hadn’t looked like that before the clicking noise.

He pressed it, and his efforts were rewarded with another click.

“—and if the Galra are after it, it’s bound to be a—a weapon of some sort, or—”

Another indent. Press. Click. Search for the next indent. Press. Click.

“Honey, I love you,” came Shiro’s voice, distant against the hammering of Keith’s heart in his ears. “But you’re not gonna get anywhere without some rest—”

Click, and… where the hell was the next indent?

“For star’s sake, Shiro, how do you expect me to rest when—”

Had the lines running around the orb’s center widened? Keith frowned, attempting to tug and pull it apart at the seams. When the orb didn’t give, he froze and—with bated breath—changed tactics and twisted.

“—and normally something like this could take years to—HEY!”

All four of them gasped as, with Keith’s final twist, blue light shot from the sphere, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. Holographic images of planets and star systems danced before their eyes, shimmering iridescently.

“Keith,” his father breathed, rising incredulously from his chair. Light rippled across his face. “How—?”

“It’s a map!” Adam sprung forward, the how seemingly disregarded in favor of the what. “Look!” Barely able to contain his excitement, he smacked a slender hand against his husband’s chest, who gaped slack-jawed up at the holographic stars. “That’s us; there’s Montressor!” Adam exclaimed, reaching toward the planet at the center of the room. As fingers grazed it, they fell through the image, and the entire holographic galaxy shifted to the left.

Adam squealed.

“This is—oh, Keith darling, this is—OH! There’s the Eden-Ring, and there’s Andromeda, and Pandora, and—look, Shiro: it’s even got Dayonnara, look how tiny it is—”

“It’s the whole Meridian System,” Keith muttered, bringing up a finger to poke dazedly at Pandora. As he touched it, the word ‘Pandora’ flashed to life above the planet in an elegant, lilting manuscript. “But… why the hell would the Pirates be after a map?”

No one but his father gave any indicator that he’d been heard. Keith only had a couple seconds to try to dissect the strange look on his father’s face before the world before his eyes was moving in a blur as Adam swiped hungrily through the map.

“This is the singular most remarkable piece of technology I’ve ever seen! Whoever built this must have dedicated years to travel and dis—huh.”

Keith tore his eyes away from the cratered surface of Pandora. “What’s ‘huh’?”

“Seems that someone made a mistake.” Adam chuckled good-naturedly, pointing to a miniscule dot right at the edge of the System. Placing both pointer fingers on either side of the speck, he pulled them in opposite directions, humming in delight when the action allowed him to zoom in. “There’s nothing out here beyond Dayonnara, unless you’re counting the dwarf star Excalivver, which clearly isn’t…”

Adam froze, and next to him, Shiro inhaled so swiftly through his nose that Keith could have probably heard it from the next room. Peering cautiously over their shoulders, Owen Kogane’s jaw dropped, and he glanced in Keith’s direction with wide eyes.

“Darlin’.” His voice was too careful, too controlled. “You’re gonna wanna see this.”

“What is it?” Keith asked, legs shaking as he crossed the room. He felt like he couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think, or walk, or talk, because in his heart…

In his heart, he already knew.

His father reached for him with a trembling hand, guiding it to clasp at the nape of his neck. “Looks like you were right,” he whispered, even as Keith read the two words neatly inscribed atop the enlarged dot. “You did find it after all, ace. Just like you always said you would.”

Keith stared, and—undeniably real and tangible—the words ‘Treasure Planet’ stared right back.

Chapter Text

For a few seconds, no one spoke. No one moved. The room was eerily silent, save for the crackle of fire in the hearth and the patter of rain against the windows and the rhythmic clicking of the clock on the mantle. They served as the only indicators that time had not, in fact, stood still altogether—but for the four men struck speechless at the tangible proof of the authenticity of an urban legend, it may very well have.

Shiro was the first to be roused from shock, stirring beside Keith with a deep inhale. “They can’t find this.”

He said it matter-of-factly, and (though they once might have) none of them questioned his sanity or the validity of his statement. Nor did they question the existence of a fable, the evening’s harrowing events too fresh and real to leave any room for doubt.

This was what the Benbow had burned for. This was what Thace had died for.

Treasure Planet.

As Keith protectively cradled the glowing sphere in his palms, Adam finally broke himself from his reverie. He ran a hand through his unkempt head of hair, causing it to stick up in every direction.

Under different circumstances, Keith might have found it funny.

Across from him, Adam leaned heavily into Shiro’s side, nodding in agreement with his husband. “No, indeed.” His voice was ragged and strained with emotion. “This is—no one can know.”

“It can’t stay here,” Shiro decided, shifting to wrap his arms around his husband. “If they come looking for it… ”

“So we give it to the Garrison, they can—”

“No.” The conviction in his father’s voice had Keith whirling around to find its source, and from the corner of his eye, he noticed Adam and Shiro following suit. At some point, his dad had moved to collapse into a desk chair and now sat with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “Under no circumstances can that happen,” he asserted, never once looking up.

Confused, Keith caught his cousin’s eye, and the two of them exchanged a look before Shiro took a tentative step forward. “Uh, Uncle O—”

“It’s out of the question, Shiro,” Keith’s father snapped; and when he finally looked up, the tired circles around his eyes seemed deeper and darker than ever. He winced apologetically when Shiro recoiled at his tone. “Look, kid, it’s—I know you trust the Garrison, but this ain’t just a collection of sparkly rocks we’re talking about here. Raw quintessence, Shiro. You’ve seen what that stuff can do in the wrong hands. You really want the Garrison to get their hands on all that? Not to mention—”

“The weapon,” Keith breathed. All eyes in the room turned to him, and he swallowed. “The stories all say Zarkon was building something before he disappeared, right?”

His father nodded, and to Keith’s left, Adam spluttered. “Well, yes, but—I mean, Owen, you don’t really think—”

“I do.” Owen Kogane rose to his full height, casting long shadows around the room. “We already know the Galra are after this, which means this is the real deal. We could spend all night parsing through the myths and trying to distinguish fact from fiction but in truth, we can’t know.” He took a deep breath, lost in thought as he reached out to caress the holographic outline of Eden-4. His finger took on a blue hue as it passed through the image. “We can’t rule anything out.”

After a short, tense silence, Shiro shuffled uncomfortably. “He’s got a point. That much raw quintessence—”

Adam waved a hand, adjusting the position of his glasses atop his nose. “Very well; but if not the Garrison, then—”

“We have to hide it.” It came to Keith like a whisper at the back of his mind, a tickle of an idea that had barely formed before he was blurting it into existence. “Somewhere Zarkon’s cronies will never find it.” As if he’d done it a hundred times, Keith twisted both ends of the sphere, and it clicked back into its original form, the holographic map around them disappearing. When he looked back up, the room was no longer awash in blue, and his family was staring at him with wide eyes.

To his surprise, his father was watching him as if he were waiting for him to place the last piece of an intricate puzzle. Keith clutched the orb—map, he told himself, you’re holding a fucking map—to his chest, cold clarity hitting him as he realized exactly what the last puzzle piece was.

“We have to take it there.” The words left him with assertion and certainty that he’d never possessed in his life, and he met the eyes of his family in turn. “To Treasure Planet.”

Silence. The clock ticked. The rain tapped. The fire popped.

“Keith.” Shiro’s voice, low and steady, as if he were reasoning with a child. “That’s—”

“Insane?” Keith cut in, meeting his cousin’s eyes with fervor. “I know. But there’s no other option.” Turning to his father, his voice grew somewhat hesitant as he sought validation. “If the map is lost, the trove is lost. And we can ensure that no one can ever get their hands on that weapon. Power it down, or—or hide it or something. Right?”

Where Adam and Shiro looked aghast—eyes wide and jaws slack—Owen Kogane looked as if he’d come to terms with something particularly momentous. When he nodded, his face became unreadable and stoney, his mouth pulling into a thin line.

Keith swallowed, forcing himself to tear his eyes away even as Shiro cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just… destroy it?” he asked, gesturing to the map in Keith’s hands with a wrinkled nose.

To their surprise, it was Adam who squawked in indignation, leveling a glare at his husband and smacking at his arm. Shiro grumbled as he rubbed at the spot; and for the first time that evening, Keith allowed a smile to creep onto his face.

“Takashi,” Adam chastised, using Shiro’s full name for good measure. “Of all the foolhardy—we can’t destroy it, we have no idea what sort of fail-safes we might set off! This is Zarkon’s. Map. The thing could be rigged with a bomb for all we know.”

“Well, can’t you study—”

“Love, I adore your faith in me; I really do. But like I said before, I’ve never seen anything like this.” He held an expectant hand out toward Keith, who wasted no time in tossing it over. He suppressed a snort as Adam scrambled clumsily to catch it, clearly not having expected a priceless artifact to be thrown. After shooting Keith a dirty look, he held the map up to the firelight, turning it slowly as he scanned its markings.

“As much as it kills me to say, uncovering its secrets will take time that we simply do not have if we’re to keep it moving.” He laughed breathlessly. “In fact, I’m not even sure how Keith managed to open it in the first place,” he muttered, brows drawn in concentration as he prodded (to no avail) at the map’s digits. Without pausing in his efforts, he angled himself towards Keith. “Darling, how—”

“That secret best remain with Keith,” Owen interjected, striding forward to gently pry the map out of Adam’s hands. He turned, pressing it carefully into Keith’s awaiting palms and covering them tightly with his own. Bending slightly, he pressed a soft kiss to Keith’s forehead before leveling him with a look so grave that Keith shuddered. “Fewer people know how to use this thing, the better. You keep it on you at all times, you hear? An’ don’t you mention a peep of this to anyone.”

Reflexively, Keith nodded—and then the meaning behind the words caught up with him, and he took a shaky step forward as his father pulled away.

“Wait, Dad. Why’re you talking like… like…”

“Like you’re not coming?” Shiro finished, verbalizing what Keith could not. “We’re gonna need you, Uncle O. There’s no way we can do this by ourselves.”

Adam made a noise like a dying engine. “Now hold on just a minute, I’d assumed we would entrust the map to—to a Garrison official, or—”

“Shiro is a Garrison official,” Keith’s father argued in a voice that strained for patience. “As Head of Outreach and one of the Garrison’s finest diplomats, he is more than qualified—”

“And we all know what’s happened whenever a Head of Outreach has traveled to the edge of the galaxy,” Adam snapped, losing his temper in a very uncharacteristic display of aggression. “Or have we forgotten?”

The room’s three other occupants reeled back—Shiro in particular looking as if he’d been struck. Keith’s father folded his arms across his chest, and Adam shrunk back under his glare

“That,” Owen said cooly, “—was out of line.”

Adam desperately sought the attention of his husband, who looked like he was trying very hard to win a staring contest against the rug. “Sweetheart, please look at me; I didn’t mean—it’s…” Shiro’s lips thinned into a line, and Adam threw his hands up in frustration, addressing the room at large. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? That was callous and—and insensitive, but I won’t apologize for worrying for my husband’s safety, not after—” The sentence screeched to a halt as his eyes darted to Shiro’s cybernetic arm, but none of them needed words to understand the pain written across his face.

The room settled into an uneasy silence. Before it could become unbearable, Shiro cleared his throat, attempting to subtly shift his cybernetic enhancement out of view. “I think,” he started, and Keith winced at the hint of tears in his voice, “—that Adam and I need a moment alone.”

Both Keith and his father nodded, feeling very suddenly out of place as they watched Shiro wordlessly lead his husband from the room. They were gone within seconds, leaving nothing but the constant drone of the clock on the mantle in their wake.

For a few agonizingly silent seconds, father and son evaluated one another, worlds of unspoken thoughts sitting in the short distance between them. Keith’s mind buzzed with so many questions that he hardly knew where to start; but as he tucked the map safely back into his pocket, one question slipped from his mouth without thought.

“You’ve known it was real all this time, haven’t you?”

A pause. Shadows danced along his father's face. “Yes.”

That was… good, at least. Even when the man was clearly keeping secrets, Keith could always rely on his honesty. As much as the answer hurt, at least he’d been trusted with the truth. “So…” Keith trailed off, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets. “You gonna tell me how?”

His father swallowed. “I can’t.”

Keith nodded, chewing at the inside of his cheeks as betrayal stung unrelentingly at his heart. “Did you know Thace?”

Another pause, just a hair too long to guarantee that what followed would be the full truth. “No.”

“But you recognized him, or—or something.”

His father’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “He was one of the Blades of Marmora.”

Keith inhaled sharply, feeling his fists clench inside his pockets. So they’re real too. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised anymore, all things considered. If Treasure Planet was real, then so was the elite, top-secret society of rebel Galran spies tasked with infiltrating the Galran Pirates from the inside.

Sure. Why the fuck not.

It still didn’t explain how his dad, a humble innkeeper from the Wastes, had come by this information. “And how would you know that?”

A tear ran down his father’s cheek, and he raised a hand to wipe it away. “I’m sorry, Keith. You got no idea how bad I wanna tell you, it just… ain’t my secret to tell.”

The agony in his father’s voice was enough to dislodge Keith from his line of questioning. With wide eyes, he watched as the man brought both hands to his face, muffling a sob. “I never wanted to hurt you, darling, I—I’d tell you everything if I could, I swear—”

Unable to bear the way his father’s voice cracked, Keith practically flew across the short distance between them to wrap his arms around the most important person in his life. As they held one another in a crushing embrace, Keith imagined having to keep a precious secret from the people he loved. He imagined the guilt that would tear away at him, and his anger dissipated with each of his father’s sobs.

“Hey.” He pulled away, drying his own wet face. “I’m sorry, Pops. I’m not mad, okay?” His father regarded him with puffy, red eyes, and Keith felt shame well up within himself. Gee, you big jerk; how many times can you make your old man cry in one evening?

He clutched at his dad’s sleeves, trying desperately to apologize with his eyes. “I get it. There’s stuff you can’t tell me, and that—that must suck. But maybe when I’m—” he took a shuddering breath, because he must have heard this part of the conversation incorrectly, “—when I’m up there, I’ll find the answers for myself.”

Regarding him with a wry smile, his father reached out to place a hand on his cheek, combing aside his unruly hair. “Oh, I think we can be certain of that, ace.”

It might have been the tender, physical display of affection, or it might have been the old, well-worn nickname; but something inside Keith broke.

“You’re really not coming?”

Owen Kogane laughed, the sound less humorous and more bittersweet. “I’m old, kid. I’d only get in your way. I’m not a fighter like Shiro, and I’m not—” He laughed again, but this time it was so unbearably fond that Keith almost wanted to look away. “I’m not anything like you, darling.”

“Right.” At that, Keith did look away, angling his chin toward the fireplace as his words leaked with bitterness. “I’m like Mom.”

Another hand settled on his face, which was then gently guided back to meet his father’s eyes. “No, baby boy. You remind me of her, sure—but no. You’re like you, darlin’. Headstrong and clever and so darn resourceful in ways that I never have been. When this heart of yours knows what it wants…” he released Keith’s face to tap a finger over his chest. “You’re unstoppable, kid. That fella Thace saw it too, y’know. Your light.”

Overwhelmed, Keith let his head fall forward against his father’s chest, tears leaking from his eyes with abandon. It felt as if every word were scrubbing some dark smudge from his soul, lathering and cleaning until Keith had been scrubbed raw. He wasn’t sure how he managed to speak through the dam of emotions building in his throat, but after a few seconds, he somehow managed, “How are you so okay with all this?”

“Okay? Keith, I’m terrified. You think I want to lose you?” His hands settled on Keith’s head and upper back, holding him like he was something precious. “I wish I could come, sweetheart. But I meant what I said before. Like it or not, fate chose you for this task.”

He pulled away, settling his hands atop Keith’s shoulders. “Besides,” he added, and something in his voice implored Keith to meet his eyes. “I’ve been preparing for this day for a long, long time.”

When Keith stared aghast at him, unable to coerce his mouth into forming actual words, his dad laughed. “What? You think I don’t see the way you look at the stars? You’ve been waiting for something like this since you were pint-sized, kid. You don’t belong down in this—this mundane world. You belong up there, with the stars. Always have. An’ who the hell am I to keep you tethered to the ground?”

Keith’s head was throbbing—whether from crying or from sheer disbelief, he wasn’t sure. It was everything he’d ever wanted—no, needed—to hear his father say, but admitting that to himself felt wrong, selfish beyond anything that he could describe. “I don’t wanna leave you, Dad. It’s—it’s us against the world, right? We stick together,” he insisted, even as his father shook his head, a bittersweet smile gently curving his lips.

“Keith.” His hands moved to either side of Keith’s face. “Look me in the eye and tell me that this life is what you want.” Keith’s breath caught in his throat, and his father’s smile turned knowing. “Tell me honestly that you’re happy.”

He opened his mouth, furiously willing denial to his lips. It never came.

“You were meant for this, ace. Not for toilin’ away in the Wastes.” His father chuckled, knocking a fist gently atop his son’s head. “Destiny’s come a’callin. You gonna answer?”

“Yes,” Keith breathed, chest tight with emotion. He felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one that had gotten heavier with each passing year; growing with each screw-up and failure. Now, he finally had a chance to shed that weight—to make it all right. “I’ll do it. Shiro and I will make sure no one else ever finds the map, and I—I’ll make you proud, Dad. I promise.” He clutched the sphere in his pocket so hard that his fingers throbbed.

He wasn’t expecting his father’s face to crumple into an expression of pure love. “That’s just the thing, kid. You already make me proud. You gotta stop trying to be the man you think I want you to be, and become someone you can be proud of. You hear?”

Keith didn’t bother trying to hide his tears as he nodded his assent, shifting forward to once again seek the comfort of his father’s embrace. It occurred to him that when he was in space, surrounded by the stars and adventure and everything he’d ever wanted, there’d still be something missing. He’d never be fully whole, not when his heart ached for what it had left behind.

“I’m really gonna miss you, Pop,” he somehow managed to choke, hands tightening around fistfuls of his father’s jacket.

Owen Kogane cradled his son close, raking trembling fingers through an unkempt head of hair.

“Hell, kid. I’m gonna miss you too.”

…

The Spaceport of the moon Crescentia was crowded, almost unbearably so.

They’d taken Shiro’s well-worn skiff off-planet, traveling the short distance between the surface of Montressor and its moon in what felt to Keith like mere minutes. In reality, the journey had likely lasted a little over an hour, but Keith was far too awed by his first venture off his home planet to pay much heed to the passage of time. As Shiro piloted, Keith crawled frantically around the front of the skiff, unable to quell his desire to take in the view from every possible angle. It seemed as if the sight in front of his very eyes was too unreal to process, and he found himself constantly blinking himself back into awareness.

It was breathtaking. Overwhelming. Too impossibly beautiful to be true, and yet; here it was.

Space surrounded him, stretching out as far as the eye could see. For a while, Keith was simply struck by how clear the air was; how wonderfully crisp and clean. It was one thing; breathing etherium with his feet planted firmly on the ground in the Wastes. It was quite another to breathe etherium in open-space, knowing that it stretched out all around him for hundreds of light years; connecting him to planets and stars, and to every living organism in the galaxy…

It was enough to bring any living being to tears.

In front of them, the crescent moon shone ethereally, growing more and more distinguishable as a spaceport as they approached. The flat curve of its surface became an intricate network of buildings and streets; and even from here, Keith could see grand ships returning to port, as well as setting sail in the distance as they headed out to farther reaches of space than Shiro’s little skiff could weather.

The view behind them was perhaps more beautiful, yet Keith could not bear to look at it for more than a few minutes. He’d never before seen the planet Montressor from anywhere that wasn’t on it. Not even endless, boring courses at the Garrison—during which they’d been shown picture upon picture and hologram upon hologram depicting their planet from space—could have prepared him. Seeing it like this; its greens and blues and browns merging into one hue as the planet grew farther and smaller by the minute…

It was peaceful. Heartbreaking. It stole the breath right out of his lungs; rendered his tongue useless and his mouth speechless. From up here, it was hard to imagine what had plagued him so on the ground below. For a moment—for one, poignant moment—Keith mused that it all seemed so insignificant.

The longer he stared—eyes glassy and lower lip held firmly between his teeth—the more he was tempted to run back to the piece of his heart he’d left behind.

Before long, he’d sent his father a silent promise of return and wrenched his eyes from the view, unable to bear watching it any longer.

By the time they’d docked and disembarked at Crescentia, Montressor was well on its way out of his thoughts; pushed to the back of Keith’s mind as the Spaceport practically exploded to life around him.

Keith struggled to comprehend the utter insanity around him.

Street vendors hawked their goods at the passerby, gesturing robustly to lavish displays of food and jewelry and every knick-knack imaginable. Merchants muttered gruffly as they pushed through the crowd, loading their ships with crates full of supplies. Travelers and tourists of all ages and races (human and alien alike) hollered at one another over the bustling throng, reuniting or parting with equal fervor.

Keith had never been one for noise, or for crowds. He should have hated it; should have felt completely overwhelmed.

He couldn’t have possibly been more enchanted.

It was honestly a wonder that Shiro didn’t lose him. As his cousin forged through the masses, Keith stumbled along behind, barely able to keep up as he spun in circles, attention pulled in every direction all at once. He felt as if his heels were tied to a giant wheel, one that kept him turning out of wonder.

He’d never been surrounded by such… variety. He stared, open-jawed, as he passed stalls heaped with expensive looking gadgets that Keith and his father could never hope to be able to afford. He tried not to openly drool as he passed delicious-looking, off-planet delicacies that he’d only ever seen in the pictures of his Alien Cultures and You: The Finer Things textbook at the Garrison. He very much tried not to rudely ogle the weird and wonderful alien passerby; several of whom caught him gawking anyway, shuffling briskly away from him on scales or tentacles or gelatinous bodies with curt harrumphs.

On more than one occasion, he grew so restlessly eager to take it all in that he nearly lost sight of Shiro altogether; and his cousin was forced to retrace his steps to pull Keith from whatever extravagant display had caught his eye. (One such time, Keith had been side-tracked by an entire display case of glistening knives, and Shiro had been forced to literally drag him away; hauling him into the air with an arm around his torso as if he were a child. After that, Shiro had threatened to buy Keith a child-leash, and Keith had glowered at him for all of a minute before getting side-tracked once again.)

When the ships came into view, Shiro nearly made good on the threat.

Keith practically ran, squeezing and shoving his way through families until he was standing on the docks of the port. At the edge of the dock, mere inches from his boots, splintered wood fell away into the Etherium. With wind rippling through his jacket, Keith stepped toward the very edge, peering into the vast abyss of space before him.

It almost felt as if he were flying.

He might have closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze if not for the sight before him, stealing both his attention and breath all at once. Hundreds of massive ships stretched as far as the eye could see, their towering wooden masts reaching proudly for the sky. They hovered in mid-air at their berths, creaking and groaning as they bobbed gently on the currents of the Etherium. As Keith watched, entranced and captivated, the wind curled playfully through his hair as if summoning him onward.

Come, Keith, it seemed to say, teasing the hair around the nape of his neck and beckoning him out to open sky. Come home.

Keith didn’t realize he was crying until Shiro’s voice startled him away from the edge; and he took a couple of heavy steps backward and out of the wind’s embrace.

“Keith Akira Kogane, I swear I’m gonna buy that child-restraint right now, or a pair of fucking handcuffs if I have to; and you won’t leave my side until—”

He broke off as Keith turned wordlessly to look at him. Something on his face (Keith suspected it might have been the tears) softened his cousin’s expression into something tender, and he stepped forward to join him without another word of admonishment.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he breathed, pulling Keith against his side and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah,” Keith croaked, unable to say much of anything else.

Next to him, his cousin hummed. “Wonder which one’s ours, huh?”

“You mean, the Captain’s,” Keith sniffled, a teasing grin splitting across his face as he elbowed his cousin in the ribs.

Shiro huffed a laugh. “But of course. Captain Allura of Altea,” he recited. “Hell of a ring to it. You know, Adam said she supposedly saved an entire fleet of Dayonnaraans from a Pirate attack. Single-handed.” He gave his human hand a dramatic flourish, falling back into silence when Keith remained unresponsive.

After a couple seconds—during which Keith had nearly forgotten his cousin was even there—Shiro cleared his throat. “Alright, bud. I think I’ve been going about this the wrong way.”

Ripping his gaze from the ships, Keith frowned up at his cousin. “Huh?”

Shiro grinned (as if Keith had just inadvertently proved some point) and reached out to ruffle his hair. He laughed as Keith protested, yanking himself out of his cousin’s hold. “Here’s the deal. You stay here and explore,” he offered, gesturing to the docks, “—and I’ll shop.”

Somewhere under all the child-like wonder, Keith was hit by a twinge of guilt. “Are you sure? I can help—”

Already retreating, his cousin waved a dismissive hand. “It’s your first time here, kid,” he reasoned. “Have a look around, just—stay in this area, okay?” When Keith eagerly nodded, Shiro shot him a thumbs up. “If you need me, I’m gonna be over that way,” he called, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I think I passed a little shop with for-sale signs on open-space suits… Eden’s Emporium, or something?”

Keith blinked, suddenly having second thoughts about letting his cousin wander off alone. “You’re… buying suits from a place called—”

“I know what I’m doing!” Shiro called haughtily; and with that, he turned tail and slipped back into the crowd, lost in a sea of people.

…

Although the docks were slightly less busy than the port, they were equally chaotic.

Even as Keith meandered aimlessly along the creaking boards, his eyes glued to elaborately painted prows and flapping sails, he was forced to weave and duck to avoid collisions with sailors and passengers alike. The ships only seemed to grow more intricate and spectacular as he walked, all the while keeping an eye out for the Queen Melenor.

As happy as he was, the experience was somewhat soured by the absence of his father. Although Keith had desperately wanted him to accompany them to the port, his father had opted to stay behind with Adam, confessing the desire to keep their expedition as small and as inconspicuous as possible. (Secretly, Keith suspected that his father stayed behind to ensure that Adam didn’t make a last-ditch attempt to dissuade Shiro.)

Neither Keith nor his dad had ever been to the Spaceport; not even when Keith had attended the Garrison, and they’d shuttled students to the port on field trips (he’d never been selected to go—not exactly surprising, considering his track record at the school). His father had always known that Keith wanted to visit, and he’d often promised to take them if they ever had the time or money.

Now, being here without him felt… wrong.

Mood dampened, he had just decided to double back to find Shiro when it happened.

He’d been so caught up in reminiscing about thoughts of home and warmth and familiarity that it almost transpired too quickly for him to process. One second, he was lost in thought, spinning on his heel to admire the woodwork on a prow that might have caught his father’s eye; and the next, he was colliding into something back-first, grabbing the coat of a passerby for balance as whatever was behind him gave way.

At his back, a cry of surprise quickly turned into a blustering exclamation of rage; and preparing himself for the worst, Keith whirled around—

And considered throwing himself off the dock.

On the floor in front of him was a boy around his age, gaping at a shattered crate of supplies at his feet. Shells littered the planks around him, the remnants of whatever kind of eggs he’d been carrying. Gooey, neon-green yolk covered nearly every surface in the vicinity; the floor, Keith’s boots, and—Keith realized with growing horror—the boy’s face and clothes. He was covered in the stuff; and as it dripped into his eyes, the sailors lounging at the helm of the closest ship roared with laughter.

Mortification crept into Keith’s cheeks as he pieced together what had happened. He’d been so lost in thought that he’d backed into the other boy, who’d been holding a crate brimming with eggs as large as Keith’s palm. He must have thrown the boy off balance, and—

Keith swallowed, wincing as the goop-covered boy parted sticky hair out of his eyes with deadly deliberation.

Oh, fuck. He took a step forward, crouching down to meet the boy's eyes. “I’m—”

Sorry, he meant to say. Really, he did.

But then the boy was leveling him with a glare to rival all glares, and Keith’s words died in his throat.

He’d never seen eyes so… so entrancing, before. They were different colors (heterochromia, Keith thought, that’s so fucking pretty), one a pale, icy blue; the other a vibrant green that faded into hazel towards the center.

“You wanna take a picture, asshole?”

Keith blinked, reeling backward. He hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten to the boy’s face as he openly stared. “I—what?”

The boy rolled his eyes and laughed—a sarky, mocking sound that had Keith instantly bristling. “Clumsy and slow. That’s quite an attractive combo, haircut.”

… Haircut?

Standing, Keith wiped flecks of gelatinous goop from his palms against his pants, trying to ignore his burning face. Compassion left him as easily as it had come, replaced instead by haughty indifference. “Says the guy sitting in goo,” he cooly replied, folding his arms across his chest in what he hoped was a very clear message: I don’t help douchebags.

The boy on the ground spluttered in indignation, which might have reminded Keith of Adam if not for the venom behind the boy’s expression. “Are you fucking—”

Their captive audience of sailors exploded into guffaws as the boy attempted to stand, only to cry out and topple back to the floor as he slipped in slime. His complexion, already several shades darker than Keith’s, took on a red tint as a blush rose from his neck all the way up to his hairline.

By the time he’d managed to struggle to his feet, the boy’s expression had practically gone thermonuclear. “Lemme give it to you nice and slow,” he hissed, poking a finger into Keith’s chest. “You bumped into me, Mr. ‘I’m-Too-Cool-To-Watch-Where-I’m-Going’,” he explained, his tone turning condescending. “Just to be clear: you’re the asshole here.”

Keith shrugged, batting the boy’s finger from his chest with feigned nonchalance and schooling his features into the most bored expression he could muster. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

It was juvenile, and a terrible comeback; but something about the boy rubbed him the wrong way. He hadn’t been this affected by anyone since—

Your father must be so proud.

Oh. So that’s who this jerk reminded him of. Leave it to Keith to find the one person on Crescentia who reminded him of everything he was trying to leave behind.

The boy (Griffin 2.0, Keith lovingly decided to call him), stared—livid—at the empty spot that his hand had occupied before it had been smacked away. Keith could have sworn that one of Griffin 2.0’s eyes even twitched. “Who the fuck,” he growled, clearly goaded by Keith’s indifference, “—do you think you are?”

Whatever witty retort Keith might have summoned proved unnecessary. As if Irony itself had intervened, an unfamiliar gruff voice located somewhere in the bustling throng behind Keith hollered, “Oi! Get a bloody move on, Cabin Boy!” punctuated by a round of distant, raucous laughter.

In the very far reaches of his brain (the part that he suspected housed what little rationality he possessed), Keith registered the way the boy’s face fell, the fire in his eyes dimming as all traces of fight left his body in a split second.

It might have been enough to give any rational person pause—to perhaps rein in their attack and quit while they were ahead.

Of course, rationality had never really been Keith’s strong suit.

Feeling his mouth twist into a triumphant smirk, Keith stepped forward, encroaching on the boy’s space. “I might not be anyone important,” he purred, clapping Griffin 2.0 on the shoulder as he maneuvered around him and lingering near his ear long enough to hiss: “—but I’m sure as shit not some cabin boy.”

Griffin 2.0’s head turned to meet his gaze, eyes wide with shock—and to Keith’s delight, a spark of defiance had returned to their depths (he hadn’t even realized that he’d wanted it back). His mouth sprung open with the promise of retaliation, and with a hammering heart Keith braced himself for—

“BLUE!” came another impatient bark.

The boy’s mouth snapped shut, and Keith chuckled as he gave the boy’s shoulder a final pat. “Sounds like you gotta get moving,” he remarked, tucking his hands into his pockets and stepping away. Before he moved too far out of hearing, he raised a hand over his shoulder, not bothering to spare the boy another glance as he called, “See you never, cabin boy,” before departing the scene.

…

By the time Keith found Eden’s Emporium, he was in a foul mood. The entire interaction with the boy had left a shit-stain on his day that only seemed to grow with every step, and he merited a large number of glares as he shoved his way through the crowd. (Not that he cared. He was hot, sweaty, and the bright green yolk staining his favorite boots reeked in a way that made his stomach turn.) Keith was itching for the impending launch, eager to leave it all behind him.

Of course, he should have expected that it wouldn’t be that easy.

When he pulled back the tarp flap to enter Eden’s Emporium, the sight that greeted him didn’t exactly boast efficiency and haste. Instead, Shiro lounged over a counter, human hand buried in the mane of the fluffiest cat Keith had ever seen in his life. The thing was sitting in a baby hamper strapped around the torso of an alien that Keith could only assume was Eden, who flashed a dazzling smile at him as he entered. He might have taken more stock of the four arms and green-tinted skin indicative of a ruthless Unilu trader; but in the moment Keith barely cared, his attention entirely swept up by the shop’s chaotic aesthetic.

Every surface of the room was lined with plants, giving the shop’s interior the appearance of a lush jungle. Keith recognized a couple species as being native to Montressor; while others had vines that writhed and slithered of their own accord, far too alien for Keith to identify. At the front counter, odd trinkets of varying degrees of uselessness were strewn about in a display case—a jar of dirt, a used candlestick, the fossilized remains of a sand-rat, and other strange objects that Keith couldn’t name.

“Welcome, friend!”

The shop owner’s voice garnered the attention of Shiro, who—without pausing in his ministrations—turned and, spotting Keith, shot him a grin and proceeded to point at the pampered kitten with a cybernetic finger. “Keith—cat,” he greeted giddily, as if Keith had suddenly lost the ability to see.

He froze in the doorway, inhaling deeply as he attempted to control his breathing. “To be clear,” he began, wincing as he realized Griffin 2.0 had used that exact same verbiage, “—while I’ve been wandering around in the sun, you’ve been… petting a cat.”

“Sheesh, kid. I thought you wanted to wander around,” Shiro reasoned, oblivious to Keith’s unintelligible response of: “I did.”

“Anyways,” his cousin continued, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation. “I haven’t just been ‘petting a cat’. I also bought the suits, y’know.” Shiro angled himself toward the store owner, shooting them a conspiratorial smile. “Some people just don’t appreciate the finer things in life.”

Without warning, he leaned towards the cat, moving to scratch at the bottom of its chin. To Keith’s embarrassment, his cousin’s voice took on a higher pitch as he cooed at the blissfully immobile creature sagging against Eden’s front. “Do they, Miso? You sweet little baby, Adam would love you; yes he would, yes he—”

Keith pointedly cleared his throat, and Shiro sighed in disappointment. “Sorry Eden. Baby cousin has spoken.” He saluted, all the while flashing the four-armed alien his most obnoxious—kids; am I right?—grin before bending to hoist his duffle bag off the floor.

(Sometimes, Keith wondered how old Shiro thought he was. The man had barely turned 29, for star’s sake.)

As his cousin backed towards the entrance, hand raised in farewell, Eden shot the two of them a sharp-toothed grin. “Don’t be strangers, now!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shiro promised. “You have a good one, and take care of that handsome devil of yours!”

The ‘handsome devil’ in question mewled loudly, and Shiro blew the thing a kiss before turning on his heel and slipping through the tent flaps. Keith scrambled after him, falling into stride as they rejoined the crowd.

“Who the fuck are you?” Keith hissed, struggling to keep pace. “Like, what the fuck was that back there?”

“That, little cuz, was how you do business.”

Keith squinted up at him, wondering if he’d had too much heat for one day. “By. Baby-talking a cat.”

Shiro snorted, breaking into an easy grin. “No. By being friendly.”

“They were Unilu,” Keith responded incredulously. “They’re not exactly known for friendly, Shiro.”

His cousin shot him a sideways smile. “Maybe not, but there was a sale, Keith. Least I could do was give her cat some love. And for your information, I also just happen to like cats, so—” Shiro stuck his tongue out, “—leave me the hell alone.”

Keith shoved at him with his elbow. “And what was the sale, huh?” he asked hotly. “What, two spacesuits in exchange for your first child?”

“No,” Shiro replied, dragging the word out as if he were making a great effort to be patient. “Like I said. It was a sale.”

“What then?”

Shiro beamed smugly, a look that said: I thought you’d never ask. “Well, the first price she offered for them was my arm,” he explained, flexing his cybernetic.

Keith paled. “Wha—that doesn’t fucking come off—”

“Which I explained to her,” he patiently interjected, waving a hand. “We haggled for a bit, took a break to talk about her cat, haggled some more, and then…”

He lifted a hand to comb through his hair. “We settled on a lock of hair.”

Silence fell over them as Keith’s brain buffered. Then: “What the fuck does she need your hair for?”

His cousin heaved a full-bodied laugh, clearly pleased by Keith’s reaction. “I dunno! Nefarious purposes, I bet,” he teased, wiggling his fingers in Keith’s face.

Keith swatted away the offending digits with a scowl. “She could use it to clone you.”

“O-kay buddy, you’ve been watching too many films.”

“She could.”

They’d arrived back at the docks, and a queasy feeling passed through Keith as he spotted the Disaster Area up ahead. To his relief, it appeared that Griffin 2.0 was nowhere to be found, even after Keith had cast a surreptitious look around.

“What’s up with you?”

“Huh?”

Shiro gestured widely at his being. “This. Something happen?”

Heat flooded his face. Normally, he would probably have admitted to the fight; he’d never liked lying to Shiro. But today… today, things were supposed to be different.

A fresh start, and Keith had already screwed it up.

“Nothing. M’ just hot,” he grunted, just as the two of them passed the spot. The mess clearly hadn’t been cleaned, and the crowd parted around it with wrinkled noses and hearty complaints regarding the rancid smell.

Shiro spared the spot a glance, his eyes widening before darting down to Keith’s boots. Please don’t ask about it, please don’t ask about it, Keith chanted in his mind. As if he’d heard, his cousin cleared his throat and slowly acquiesced to Keith’s answer with a nod—though he still looked entirely unconvinced. “Well, we’re dock 22, and this is dock… ”

“19,” Keith hastily filled in, spotting the number on a nearby post and keen to draw Shiro’s attention elsewhere.

“So the Melenor is somewhere right up there.” His cousin gestured ahead, excitement palpable in his voice. “You ready to meet our new home for the next few months?”

Trying to match his enthusiasm, Keith shot him a smile. To his delight, he found that his heart was racing with anticipation that had not been dampened by any unpleasant encounters with random jerks. “I was born ready.”

…

Stepping onto the ship felt like the most important moment of Keith’s life.

The Queen Melenor was stately and elegant: all smooth, sanded wood and full, billowy sails. Although Keith spotted the occasional divot indicative of her travels, it was clear that the ship was well-loved, and that someone put painstaking effort into her upkeep.

Beside him, Shiro gave a low whistle. “She’s a beaut, alright.”

Tongue-tied, Keith had just opened his mouth to try to find the words to respond when a voice from behind them broke into their bubble.

“Welcome!”

Startled, Keith and Shiro both jumped as the voice’s owner came into view, practically sliding in front of the two of them with enough enthusiasm to rival Shiro’s apparent love for cats.

“You two must be Keith and Shiro! Unless you’re not; in which case I’d kindly ask you to leave immediately, as you are in fact on the wrong ship.”

As he took in the man’s lanky stature, full orange mustache, and coiffed hair, Keith found himself suppressing a grin. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone who more perfectly embodied the sound of their own voice.

Shiro, on the other hand, seemed to have taken more stock of the man’s attire—most notable being the navy-blue peacoat with various medals and insignia adorning the lapel. “No, that’s us!” Shiro hurried, pulling Keith toward him with a hand around his shoulder. “I’m Shiro, and this—” Keith ducked out of his hold with a burning face. “—is Keith. And I’m guessing you’re Lieutenant Smythe?”

The man clapped his gloved hands together in delight. “Right you are, my boy!” He leaned towards Shiro conspiratorially with a glint in his eye. “But please, call me Coran. ‘Lieutenant Smythe’ was my father.”

When neither Shiro nor Keith reacted, Coran threw his head back and laughed, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “Just a little sailor humor for you; there’ll be plenty more where that came from, never fear!”

“Oh, I’m fearing, alright,” Keith muttered, and Shiro elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Is Captain Allura around?” his cousin asked, a little too loudly.

If Coran had heard Keith’s remark, he showed no sign, eyes glistening with adoration as he pointed upward. “The Captain is aloft,” he explained with a voice full of reverence, and Keith followed his eyes up just in time to watch as someone slid down a rope, cloak fluttering around their legs as they landed daintily before the trio.

Well, Keith thought, mildly impressed. She’s certainly got a hell of a knack for dramatic timing.

She wasn’t exactly his type, but even Keith had to admit—the Captain was gorgeous.

He’d met a handful of Alteans who’d passed through the Benbow (enough so to have expected Coran and Allura’s pointed ears, as well as the glowing crescent-shaped marks atop their cheekbones).

None were so ethereal as the Captain.

Pure white hair—so white that Shiro’s nearly looked grey in contrast—billowed out from beneath the captain’s hat, reaching down to her waist and tapering off into little curls. Her dark complexion was only highlighted by her baby-blue peacoat, fitted around the waist with a belt-holster that housed a wicked-looking pistol. Well-worn boots rose up to her mid-thigh over fitted black pants.

All-in-all, she was exactly the kind of hero that Keith had always pictured when he’d listen to his father’s stories.

He squirmed as her sharp blue eyes flicked between him and his cousin, calculating and scrutinous and boasting deadly intelligence. “Misters Shirogane and Kogane, I presume?” Like Coran, her voice was accented—but where his voice was bubbly and bright, hers was as elegant and refined as her appearance.

Shiro cleared his throat, and Keith imagined that he’d been similarly affected by the captain’s intimidating aura. “Uh—yes. Ma’am. Captain. Yes.”

Unable to help himself, Keith snorted, and the captain’s attention snapped toward him. As she fixed him with an indecipherable look, Keith felt his mirth ebb away. He averted his gaze, folding his arms protectively over his chest.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” she offered, sounding anything but. “As you’ve so perceptively surmised, I am Captain Allura. You may address me as ‘Captain’ or ‘ma’am’. Do I make myself clear?”

“Entirely, Captain,” Shiro eagerly replied, throwing in a cheesy little salute for good measure. Keith rolled his eyes, fighting a smirk as he allowed his gaze to wander.

“I said,” came the captain’s voice after a brief silence. “Do I make myself. Clear.”

The tone of her voice had Keith’s gaze snapping back in her direction, where he found three sets of eyes fixed upon him. Oh. He hadn’t realized he’d been expected to answer, and he tried not to prickle in agitation under her stern, authoritative gaze. “Yes… ma’am,” he added after Shiro nudged at his foot.

Her eyes lingered on him for a few disconcerting seconds before she was turning to regard Shiro. “I must verify that the two of you are fit for manual labor. If there are any pre-existing health conditions that Coran and I should be aware of, I’ll kindly ask that you enlighten us now.”

“No, ma’am,” Shiro hurried. “We’re fit to work, just—” He flexed his cybernetic with a self-conscious, apologetic look that Keith wanted to smack off his face. “My arm is a cybernetic if, uh—if that matters.”

She stared at his arm for all of a second before she hummed, turning to Coran to remark, “Well. That makes three.”

Both frowning, Keith and Shiro exchanged a look, but before either of them could ask what she meant, the captain continued. “Mr. Shirogane, you’ll accompany me to meet our Sailing-Master, Thorn—I believe she’s completing a routine inspection off-ship. Due to your navigational qualifications and experience, you will apprentice her for the duration of our voyage.”

She leveled Shiro with an expectant look, and he quickly nodded. “Yes, Captain. Thank you.”

Her steely gaze passed over Keith, once again hovering a beat too long before returning back to Coran. “Mr. Kogane will report to our Quartermaster Mr. Silver, but for now he can lend Mr. McClain a hand in the galley.”

A pang of disappointment shot through Keith. “The galley?” he asked with a wrinkled nose; but the captain showed no signs of hearing, barreling on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Please do me the utmost favor of showing him the way.”

Coran sent her a dazzling smile. “Your wish is my command!”

For the first time since they’d met her, the captain’s mouth twitched up into something that wasn’t a frown. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I trust that onboard preparations have been seen to?”

“Ay, Captain,” he responded with a salute. “She’s ship-shape and ready for sailing.”

“Good. Top work as always, Mr. Smythe, thank you.” With a nod, she turned back to Shiro and Keith, and that hint of a smile had vanished.

“In the meantime, I shall assist Mr. Silver off-ship with our loading delay, but first—” she raised an eyebrow at Shiro, her only warning of departure before turning sharply on her heel. When Shiro remained rooted to the spot, she called, “Do keep pace, Mr. Shirogane,” over her shoulder.

Shiro threw Keith a final, desperate look that could only be interpreted as ‘help me’ before scrambling down the gangplank after the captain.

In their wake, an awkward silence fell over the two men before it was broken by Coran’s overly zealous voice. “So! You’ve met the captain!” he proclaimed, as if Keith were unaware. Stepping forward, Coran settled at Keith’s side and clapped a hand against his back, gently nudging him into motion. “She may seem a little rough at first, but she’ll warm up to you in no time at all!” he promised, ushering them across the deck toward a descending flight of stairs.

As they headed toward what Keith could only assume was the galley, he belatedly realized that they weren’t the only ones above deck. Gathered along the opposite rail was a group of their hired crew, standing with their heads bent together as they murmured amongst themselves. Keith only realized he’d been staring when one of them—a big burly alien with a face in the spot where his stomach should be—nudged the crewmember to their left, jutting their chin in Keith’s direction. When they all realized they had an audience, their conversation immediately ceased; and the crew members opted instead to watch Keith in dead silence as he passed. One of them—an alien with tentacles for legs—caught his gaze and smirked, their forked tongue flicking out to taste the air as they winked at him.

Keith quickly averted his gaze, too unnerved by their eerie staring to challenge them.

Seemingly oblivious to the crew’s strange behavior, Coran babbled on undeterred as he steered Keith toward the top of the stairs. “I’ll wager Mr. McClain will be well-pleased to have the company. I’ve no doubt the two of you will be thick as thieves!” He laughed, as if just realizing something incredibly funny. “Might as well hope so, eh? Seeing as the two of you’ll be spending so much time together!”

“Right,” Keith grumbled, confused but feeling too thrown by the impromptu staring contest to formulate any good questions. “What’re we meant to do in the galley, anyway?”

They began to descend the stairs, their footsteps loud on the creaking wood. “I believe he’s currently loading the pantry—I’m sure he’ll be terribly grateful for the help. The poor thing suffered quite the mishap this morning, didn’t you, my boy?” Coran called, raising his voice slightly as they cleared the last step.

The room they’d stepped into was tiny. In its center sat a table, littered with a mess of fruit and vegetable peels that was beginning to spread to the floor. Crates lined the sides of the galley, boxing the room in on all sides in a way that gave it a homey, claustrophobic feel.

On the opposite end of the galley (mere feet from where Keith and Coran stood at the bottom of the stairs), someone grunted as they rummaged through a cabinet under a rusted sink. Although the top half of their torso was completely obscured from view, they seemed to have heard the Lieutenant just fine.

“Ohhhh yeah,” they called, exaggeratedly dragging out the first word; their voice nearly too muffled to clearly hear. With another grunt, they shimmied backward, extracting themselves from the cramped confines of the cabinet. They straightened, dusting their palms against their legs as they turned, talking all the while. “I’m tellin’ you, Mr. Smythe; the guy was a complete—jackass,” he breathed, his voice falling away weakly as his eyes met Keith’s.

Oh no. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck no.

Keith was convinced that the universe had it out for him. He wasn’t sure how else to explain the boy in front of him, blinking in surprise at him with wide, two-toned eyes. He wasn’t sure how else to explain the presence of Griffin 2.0, here on this ship, out of any of the hundreds of ships he could have belonged to.

In his panic, Keith almost wasn’t even aware that Coran had started speaking. As he babbled, both boys stared at one another, too frozen in shock to move.

“He sounds entirely unpleasant, my boy. If you’d only had the chance to give him the good old what-for… you know, when I was a young man—”

“Coran,” the boy interrupted, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face that Keith did not like. His voice was laced with barely restrained glee, as if seeing Keith here was the most delicious surprise of his life. “Please tell me this is the other cabin boy.”

Keith unfroze, fists clenching at his side as he opened his mouth to deny—

“Hit the nail right on the head, my boy! Mr. McClain—oh, bother formality! Lance, meet Keith Kogane. Keith, meet Lance: your new bunkmate!”

The boy—Lance, what a fucking annoying name—was grinning now, hands splayed out over the table. “Charmed, Keith,” he purred, throwing in a wink for good measure.

Keith whirled on Coran, giving Lance his back. “Give me a new assignment. Please.” Behind him, Lance sniggered, and Keith suppressed an angry growl. “I’ll—I can help in the nest, or help Shiro with navigation stuff, or—”

“Nonsense, my boy!” Coran clapped him on the back. “This is the perfect fit for a strapping young lad such as yourself! No better way to build character than with a little nit and grit!”

Behind him, Lance hummed in agreement. Keith turned to find him sitting on the table, having swept a good portion of scraps onto the floor in order to make himself comfortable. In his hand was a small burlap sack of tyne-nuts, and Keith watched as he tossed one into his mouth before speaking. “Pretty sure the nit and grit is all over the floor.”

As if it were the funniest joke he’d ever heard, Coran guffawed, doubling over to clutch at his stomach as he laughed. With his head down, he failed to see the nut that sailed across the room, hitting Keith squarely between the eyes; nor did he see the lewd gesture that accompanied the flying projectile.

By the time Coran had recovered, Keith was rubbing furiously at his forehead, willing every molecule in his body to keep from a physical altercation.

“You’ve got a jolly-good sense of humor on you, Mr. McClain!” The lieutenant nudged Keith in the arm. “You see? Won’t be a dull moment down here!”

Keith sighed, resigning himself to his fate with a monotoned, “Yippee.”

To his surprise, the remark seemed to garner a laugh out of Lance, who watched him with a nasty glint in his eyes. “I’ll take good care of him, Coran; you can be sure of that.”

“Splendid to hear!” Seemingly persuaded, Coran backed toward the stairs. “I shall be up top if either of you needs me,” he informed, reaching out to ruffle Keith’s hair. Keith grumbled, swatting the Lieutenant’s hands away. “I’ll see you two at the launch!”

And with that, the one thing grounding Keith to sanity disappeared up the stairs, leaving both boys in a silence swimming with tension.

“So.” Lance swung his legs up onto the table, kicking more scraps onto the floor. “This is pretty fuckin’ rich, huh? I mean, what are the odds?”

Keith shrugged, folding his arms across his chest and scowling at the boy across from him.“Fate’s a bitch, I guess,” he growled.

Lance hummed, popping a nut into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “Or,” he said slowly, digging into the burlap, “—Fate is a fuckin’ genius.”

Another nut came flying through the air, this one bouncing off his cheek, and Keith saw red.

“Throw another one at me, and I swear to the stars I’ll—”

“Bup bup bup! I don’t think so, pal. Penalty for in-fighting among the crew is solitary down in the brig. Captain’s supposedly pretty strict about it, too.” Lance launched another nut in his direction, and Keith barely managed to dodge it.

“You’re such a tool.”

“Takes one to know one though, right?”

Keith flushed as his own words from no more than an hour prior were echoed back to him. “Okay, look. Uh. Lance.”

Lance made a show of pulling himself forward until he was sitting at the edge of the table, leaning forward and cupping his face with his hands as if Keith was about to read him a bed-time story. He stared at Keith with wide, expectant eyes, legs dangling off the table and kicking childishly back and forth. “Haircut.”

Trying not to bristle at the infuriating nickname, Keith clenched his jaw. “How about we just… keep to ourselves, okay? You don’t talk to me, and I don’t talk to you. No harm done.”

He wasn’t sure how Lance’s answering laugh managed to be more annoying than the stupid nickname. “You really don’t get it, do ya, dollface?”

“Don’t fucking call me—”

“We report to the same guy, dipshit—is that better? We both report to Silver. Which means,” he stood, shoving the burlap sack into his pocket. “Wherever you go, I go. We do the same jobs, report to the same people—” He gestured to a bedroll tucked at the base of the sink cabinets. “We sleep in the same room.”

Lance stepped forward, smirking shamelessly at Keith as he took a confident step into his space. “Like it or not, haircut, you’re stuck with me. And I promise you—” They were inches apart now; so close that Keith could almost feel Lance’s breath on his face. “I will make your life a living hell.”

Abruptly, the other boy drew away, walking toward the stairs with his hands in his pockets. Keith’s heart raced as he tried to sift through what had just happened, though Lance’s slow retreat from the room seemed more immediately pressing.

“Wait, where the fuck are you going?”

Lance paused mid-step, and when he turned back to face the room, Keith gestured angrily at the crates. “Aren’t we supposed to be—I don’t know, doing something?” he seethed.

“Here’s the thing.” Hands still in his pockets, Lance leaned back against the wall, one foot propped up on the lowest step. “I’ve been walking crates over from the market since piss-o’-clock in the morning, you know? Really does a number on a guy’s back.”

Keith growled. “I’m not doing this shit alone.”

Most likely trying to fuel Keith’s anger, Lance laughed again, the sound tapering off into a sigh. “You’re so fuckin’ cute when you’re angry.”

Keith whirled around, grabbing a handful of scraps from the table and throwing them in Lance’s direction. He dodged them easily, sniggering as Keith finally lost his cool. “Fuck off!”

As if Keith hadn’t spoken, Lance hummed, gesturing around the room. “I took care of all the storage and sorting. All that’s left is clean-up. You can sweep up the scraps and throw ‘em in a sack, or something. Should be a spare one lying around.”

“You’re seriously not going to help.”

“Nope. I haven’t seen the sky in like, two hours. Plus,” he winked, leaning in conspiratorially and bringing a hand up to his mouth as if telling Keith a secret. “It’s kinda been a rough day.”

Keith’s blood ran cold, but it wasn’t from Lance’s words. He watched, almost in slow motion, as Lance lowered his hand; cybernetic digits whirring as his fingers curled back into a fist. Before Keith even knew what he was doing, his own hand was darting out to grab Lance’s wrist and pulling it toward himself for a closer look. The sleeve covering his wrist fell back to reveal an entire cybernetic arm, complete with whirring gears and cogs—a much more primitive piece of tech than Shiro had been equipped with.

Beware the cyborg.

He wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, but one second he was gaping at Lance’s arm; and the next, he was being slammed against a wall by the collar of his jacket, pinned with surprising strength.

“Don’t you dare,” Lance hissed, his voice deadly, “—grab me like that ever again. You understand?”

Keith’s brain was empty of all thought, full of nothing but static. It had to be a coincidence; there was no way the boy in front of him was responsible for the destruction of his home. Yet at the same time...

Beware the cyborg. The last, desperate warning of a dying man.

Lance gave him a shake, his eyes burning with fury. “I said: do you fucking understand, Keith?”

He wanted to shove the other boy away; wanted to reverse their positions and demand answers for the Benbow, for Thace, for his father… but something in Lance’s eyes quelled his ferocity.

“I understand,” Keith whispered into the space between them. “I’m sorry,” he added; and he realized that he meant it. Something about the cold rage in Lance’s eyes was deeply sobering. In the short amount of time that he’d known him, Keith had certainly seen the other boy angry—but this felt different. Serious.

Clearly not having expected an apology, Lance blinked at him in surprise, still tightly clutching at his lapel. An awkward silence filled the space between them; and for a few seconds they stared unmoving at one another, frozen in place until Keith cleared his throat. “Uh. No in-fighting, right?”

If he’d been hoping the comment would restart Lance’s motor, he was right. He watched the other boy’s larynx bob as he swallowed, fury fading from his expression. “This doesn’t count,” he testily replied. “’S more like… rough-housing.” His grip on Keith’s jacket loosened. “No rules against rough-housing.”

“Good to know.”

Lance stepped away, and Keith released a breath he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding. “I’d get the place clean before Silver gets back,” Lance warned, moving backward up the stairs and nearly tripping over a step.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Watch where you’re going, you lunatic.”

Finally, the smug, infuriating smirk returned to Lance’s face; the sharp, lively glint returning to his eyes. “Gotta admit, that’s pretty funny coming from you.” He chuckled to himself before turning to tromp up the stairs, leaving Keith down below. He was still staring after Lance when the other boy paused, turning his head just enough to shoot Keith a lopsided grin.

“I’ll see you at the launch, cabin boy.”

With that, Lance McClain was gone.

Chapter Text

It took Keith the better part of an hour to fix the mess in the galley.

He might have made quicker work of it if his mind hadn’t been plagued by thoughts of Lance—but the more he toiled, the more irritation flickered and burned through his veins until it was swallowing him whole.

Stupid Lance.

Stupid Lance with his stupid eyes and his stupid cybernetics. Stupid ship, and stupid crew, and—

Keith swore as he kicked at a cabinet a little harder than he’d intended. Pain coursed up his leg, and he bit back a yell of frustration.

Balling his hands into fists, he pounded at his thigh as he waited for the after-shock of pain to pass.

He’d been so hopeful when they’d left Montressor that morning.

Saying goodbye to his father had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life. It wasn’t as if Keith had never envisioned leaving the Wastes; on the contrary, the fantasy of a new life elsewhere had been the subject of his dreams ever since he’d been old enough to envision it.

He’d just never imagined that he’d be leaving his father behind.

As their skiff had risen into the air, and he’d cast a parting glance at the tear-streaked face behind him, Keith had told himself it would be worth it. Losing his father, if only for the time being, would be worth it for the golden promise of opportunity that lay ahead.

Turned out ‘golden promise’ was just more of the murky, stagnant back-water that Keith had been drowning in his whole life.

Cabin boy. Of all things.

He bent to retrieve another handful of scraps from the ground, part of the table litter that Lance had kicked onto the floor—undoubtedly a deliberate and sadistic move on his part, considering he’d planned to make Keith clean it all.

Grumbling, he shoved the scraps into the half-full burlap sack in his hold, trying and failing not to fixate on the fact that this was his life now.

He turned sharply, looking for something softer than a cabinet on which he might impose his ire. Spotting Lance’s bed-roll, he grinned maniacally, striding toward it with heavy, angry steps. With one mighty kick, he sent it sailing across the room, and—

Something small flew out of the roll and clattered to the floor, rolling out of sight. The smile slipped from Keith’s face as he scrambled after it, eyes desperately attempting to track it. He lowered himself to his knees, peering under the table and frowning as he realized that he was unlikely to find the item among the mess of scraps. He was just about to give up the search when something glittered at the edge of his peripheral vision. With mounting curiosity, he reached out with a gloved hand to brush away fruit peels and dust, plucking the item from the mess and letting it roll into his hand.

In the center of his palm sat a marble, compact and lightweight, yet big enough that his fingers only just managed to close around it. Keith eased himself off his knees to sit with his back pressed against the cabinet, bringing the marble to his face for closer inspection.

Color swirled within the stone—or was it a gem? Keith wasn’t sure, but he was sure that he’d never seen anything like it. Blue and green twirled together as they danced, hues shifting as they merged harmoniously one second, fighting for dominance the next. At the marble’s core, amber rippled up to join the others, flashing like lightning where the two crashed and speckling the stone with twinkling gold stars.

It was one of the most captivating things Keith had ever seen.

Above him, the deck creaked, and Keith was startled from his trance. It occurred to him that the beautiful item in his hand belonged to Lance, and that he preferred not to be caught with it. He got the strange sense that it wasn’t something he was meant to see; nor, indeed, find.

He stood, cradling the stone carefully in his palm as he retrieved Lance’s bed-roll. Shame crept into his chest as he returned the bedding to its place against the counter, pinching the marble tightly between his fingers as he contemplated how to stow it.

After a couple seconds spent debating, Keith sighed, tucking it into his unoccupied pocket. He knew he was asking for trouble, but returning it to Lance’s own hands was the only way he could think to ensure that the marble returned safely to its owner. There was no guarantee that the stone wouldn’t just fall back out if he simply slipped it into the bedding, and he couldn’t risk it being lost to the galley.

Unsure why he cared so much, he rubbed a hand down the side of his face, exhausted by his own emotions. He hated Lance, of that much he was sure; yet…

Yet the marble felt… important, hidden away from the rest of the world in the other boy’s bed-roll as if it were a precious secret. It was clearly—Keith surmised—a sentimental token, considering Lance’s very obvious lack of personal effects.

Recollection of the marble’s colors flashed through his mind, and as the image of two mismatched eyes joined it, Keith finally realized exactly what the stone reminded him of.

Fleetingly, Keith wondered if the marble had been gifted to him by a romantic partner.

He scoffed at the thought, turning sharply to snatch the sack of trash from the floor and sweeping a half eaten tungflower fruit off the table and into the bag. What did he fucking care, anyway?

Lance was an asshole, of that much Keith was certain. He’d probably lose his shit again if he found the stone out of place, or thought that Keith had gone through his stuff.

“Just tell him you knocked it over,” Keith muttered to himself, bending over to pick up a fruit pit the size of his fist. There were teeth marks all over it, as if someone had tried to gnaw through the damn thing. “Put it in his stupid hand and walk aw—”

He didn’t register the footsteps on the stairs until they’d nearly reached the bottom. Without turning, he straightened, schooling his face back into impassivity. The back of his neck prickled under a silent gaze. “Hey, dickhead,” he growled, irritated by Lance’s silence and unwilling to dignify the boy with his full attention. He resumed cleaning, leaning over to pluck something slimy from the counter. “What, you come back to do your job?”

“Mister Kogane.”

Keith had never jumped so hard in his life. He clutched the trash sack to his chest, whirling toward the source of the voice that decidedly did not belong to Lance.

Leaning against the rail at the bottom of the stairwell was one of the most intimidating aliens he’d ever seen. Though their lithe figure was relatively unassuming, their muscles were evidenced by the flex of their bare biceps as they folded their arms across their chest—the top set of arms, because the alien in the galley had three whole sets. Behind them, a thick scaly tail ridged with spikes rested on the stairs, its tip ending three steps above them. Even in the dimly lit galley, Keith could make out a light green tint to their skin, emerald scales littering their cheeks, hairline and arms like patchwork. Slitted, reptilian eyes bore unblinkingly into his own, and Keith fought the urge to take a step back.

“You’re not Lance,” was all he managed to wheeze.

The alien cocked their head, still staring blankly at him. “No.”

Silence fell over them, Keith still frozen in place under that damned stare. After a few seconds, an opaque film shuttered sideways over their eyes, and Keith realized they’d finally blinked. Freed from that unrelenting, watchful gaze, Keith lowered the sack from his chest. “Uh. Can I. Help you?”

A forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. “No.”

Keith snorted nervously, turning to busy himself once more with the trash. There was only the little corner near Lance’s bed-roll now (he’d been contemplating leaving trash in that one spot as a fun little fuck you).

“Okay… ” Keith muttered, dragging the word out. “This the part where you introduce yourself, then?”

No response.

Suppressing a shudder, Keith was just about to drop everything and excuse himself—though how he was going to get past the immobile alien on the stairs, he wasn’t sure—when they spoke.

“Thorn.”

Oh. Keith’s gaze snapped up to meet slitted eyes. “Thorn. Sailing Master, right?”

They nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. In a blur, their tail was whipping forward, pulling a dagger from the sheath at their waist and flinging it across the room. Keith released an undignified yelp, scrambling sideways and nearly toppling into the crates Lance had oh-so-painstakingly stacked.

“Weapons Master, too,” was all they had to add, and Keith swore he saw the corner of their mouth twitch upward.

He swallowed, trying to bring his breathing back to something more human and less frightened desert mouse. “You—” his voice came out slightly higher than he’d intended, and he cleared his throat. “You got a real way with people, Thorn.”

This time, he wasn’t imagining it. The side of their mouth lifted into a smile that showcased a singular fang. “You and Shirogane will train under my guidance for the duration of our journey.”

Keith blinked. “Train?”

“Yes.”

He felt his eyebrows knit together. “For… ?”

Thorn raised a scaly eyebrow. “Space can be perilous, Mr. Kogane. One can never be too careful.”

“Right,” Keith carefully replied. His heart raced in his chest, hammering so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. Thorn’s face remained carefully blank, and it was impossible to discern a statement of fact from a veiled threat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Clever boy. Shirogane tells me you have come unarmed—that is not so clever.”

Heat rose to Keith’s face. He hadn’t mentioned to Shiro the pocket-knife his father had lovingly stowed in his boot. “Yeah, well.” He folded his arms, trying for a casual shrug. For whatever reason, he was struck with the impulse to keep his secrets close to himself. “Dad never was big on weapons. Always said real power lies in words.”

The alien across the room hummed. “Admirable, but words won’t always serve you out in open space.”

Reluctantly, Keith nodded.

“Good. We begin first thing tomorrow.”

“But how will I—”

“I will provide you with a weapon from my own stash.” They gave him a long look, and—feeling suddenly vulnerable—Keith shifted uncomfortably. “I have something in mind that may suit you.”

They blinked, and Keith turned to clean the last vestiges of trash from around Lance’s bedding. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Guess I’ll see you later?”

“Your brother sent me to collect you for the launch.”

Keith straightened again, tying the trash sack shut and kicking it aside. “He’s not—whatever,” he hurried, waving a dismissive hand. It wasn’t the first time Shiro had referred to the two of them as brothers rather than cousins, and—although Keith usually attempted to clear the confusion—he would have been lying if he said that he didn’t secretly love it. “Why couldn’t he get me himself?”

“He is on deck aiding Misters Silver and McClain.”

“Fantastic,” Keith grumbled, heaving an anticipatory sigh and suddenly hyper-aware of the marble in his pocket. “Let’s get this over with.”

He took a step forward, stopping in his tracks when Thorn held out a singular, clawed hand. “My knife, please.”

Turning, Keith found the weapon still embedded in the soft wood of the wall. He’d been too terrified of the deadly projectile to notice before, but the knife hadn’t actually landed anywhere near where he’d been standing, sinking into a beam several feet to his right.

Realizing that he’d never been in any real danger, Keith allowed himself a smirk, fingers closing around the weapon’s hilt and yanking it clean out of the wall.

“Gotta admit,” he muttered, turning the knife in his hands as he examined the wickedly sharp blade. “That was a pretty neat trick.”

He almost expected Thorn to dismiss the comment, but he was gifted instead with another almost-smile. “No trick. Just precision and skill.”

Keith couldn’t help the grin creeping onto his face. “You gonna teach me to do that?”

To his surprise, Thorn’s smile stretched into a knowing smirk. “And more, Mr. Kogane.”

Nodding, Keith crossed the room, no longer feeling frozen under the alien’s unblinking stare. It felt as if the frigid tension between them had started to melt, and—although he had yet to meet Silver—Keith found himself wishing he was apprentice to Thorn instead.

Shiro, you lucky bastard.

He flipped the knife ever so carefully, offering the hilt to the still-waiting hand. “I should probably warn you,” Keith offered testily, not quite sure why he felt the need to be so. “I’m not exactly the best student.”

They laughed, the sound so low and raspy in their chest that at first, Keith hardly recognized it for what it was.

“Always did like a challenge, Mister Kogane.”

…

The deck looked very different than it had an hour prior.

Where before there were only a handful of crewmembers milling about, the ship was now swarming with people. Aliens of races that Keith did not recognize shoved past him, calling out commands and affirmatives in turn as they readied the ship for launch. As Thorn and Keith emerged from the galley, Thorn was immediately bombarded by the crew and whisked away to help with preparations.

Left to his own devices, Keith savored the euphoric excitement fluttering in his chest at the thought of the impending launch—though the feeling was quelled nearly instantly when his eyes landed on Shiro, standing several paces away and deep in conversation with…

Awesome. Just great.

He made a beeline for them, watching as Lance flexed his cybernetic, saying something that made Shiro snort. Lance wiggled his eyebrows, and Shiro laughed even harder, clutching his chest as he threw his head back.

Fuck no.

Keith struggled to suppress a growl as he stomped toward them, glowering at Lance the whole way. As if he could sense Keith’s anger on the wind, Lance met his eyes, his smile falling into a smirk as he registered Keith’s fury.

“Well, look who survived the galley!”

Before Keith could tell Lance to fuck himself, Shiro was turning toward him, eyes alight as their gazes met. “Keith, hey! Lance was just telling me what you did! That was real sweet of you, kid,” he finished with a fond smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Feeling completely thrown, Keith batted his hand away, eyebrows furrowing in suspicion. “I—what?”

“You know!” Shiro clapped him on the back. “Volunteering to finish the cleaning?” he hedged.

Turning to level a flat look at Lance, Keith muttered, “I did, did I?”

Lance laughed good-naturedly, stepping forward to place a hand on Keith’s shoulder, who shrugged it off far more aggressively than necessary. The other boy ignored him, undeterred by his hostility. “Such a help. Not sure what I’d do without my fellow cabin boy.”

“Can I talk to you?” Keith hissed, turning sharply on him. “Alone?”

With an ever-widening smirk, Lance shoved his hands in his pockets, shooting Keith a wink that made him want to punch the other boy in the jaw. “Sure thing, buddy.” He turned to Shiro, oblivious to the fists clenched at Keith’s sides. “See you in a bit, man. Cool talking to you.”

“Uh,” said Shiro, who looked like he was just realizing that he may have potentially missed something. “Yeah, you too—uh, Keith, are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Keith growled, sounding anything but. “Just need a word with my buddy.”

“Uh—”

“I’ll find you when we launch, okay?” Ignoring the confusion etched onto Shiro’s face, he turned on his heel and marched to the opposite end of the ship, Lance sauntering along at his side.

“So.” The other boy’s voice was once more colored with that teasing lilt that Keith hated. “Your brother seems nice. Or is it ‘cousin’? I feel like I keep hearing different things.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just don’t fucking talk to him.”

Lance laughed. “Yikes. I’m guessing he’s the one who gets invited to all the parties?”

Having finally reached a corner of the deck that felt somewhat free from chaos, Keith whirled on the other boy. “Fuck off. You don’t know a thing about us.”

“Eh.” Lance shrugged, folding his arms as he leaned against the banister. “Maybe not, but him? I know I like. You?” He clicked his tongue, looking Keith up and down with that same infuriating smirk. “Not so much.”

Keith turned to the side, grasping the banister with both hands as he tried to control his breathing. He closed his eyes, attempting to ignore Lance’s grin in his peripherals. “You have no idea how bad I wanna hit you.”

The banister beside him creaked. “I get that a lot.”

Peaking an eye open, Keith found Lance watching him with unveiled contempt. “And what does that tell you?”

Lance shrugged, surveying the deck. “That I run into a lot of people with anger issues?”

For a few seconds, Keith stared at him, completely speechless. When he could think of no appeal to reason that would pierce the other boy’s thick skull, he released a shaky breath. “You are… the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

He was rewarded with a sickly saccharine smile as Lance brought a hand to his heart. “Aw, haircut. I feel the same about you.”

Hands shaking with anger, Keith reached into his pocket, withdrawing the marble in a tight fist. “Here. I don’t fucking know why I even bothered.” Lance stared blankly at the proffered fist, and Keith shook it irately. “It’s your stupid rock, give me your fucking hand.”

Blinking in stunned silence, Lance raised a hand, and Keith dropped the marble into the other boy’s palm with shaking fingers.

“There, now don’t talk to me until—”

“Did you go through my stuff?” Lance’s voice was deadly, it’s tone reminiscent of earlier in the galley.

“Of course not,” Keith snapped. “I knocked your bed-roll over—”

“Don’t fucking touch my shit, Keith,” he hissed; and Keith realized that his hand, the one wrapped around his marble, was trembling.

“I didn’t; are you fucking listening?”

“It was wedged in. No way it just fell out.” Even Lance’s voice was shaking, and to Keith’s horror, his eyes looked glassy with unshed tears. “Don’t touch. My shit.”

“I didn’t!” He was unable to prevent himself from yelling, his arms thrown out at his sides. “I kicked your stupid roll, okay? I was mad, and that thing just went flying out, and I wanted to give it back to you to make sure it didn’t get lost again. Okay?”

Lance blinked in surprise, the anger leaving his face—and Keith swore he saw a singular tear cascade down the boy’s cheek. “You—you kicked…?”

“Yes.” Keith’s hands were practically in the air at this point. Not guilty, officer. “It was stupid, okay? But I didn’t go through your stuff. I know you don’t think much of me, but I’m—I’m not that kind of guy.”

For a disconcertingly long moment, Lance was silent, head bowed as he regarded the object in his hand. His expression was hooded, hidden behind the hair that hung over his eyes.

His response was almost so quiet that Keith didn’t hear it. “Okay.”

Keith frowned, irritation building as he wished Lance would just look at him. He’d never been the best at reading people—or indeed, at people in general—and he certainly had no idea what to make of this sudden shift in mood. “Okay…” he hedged, squinting at the other boy. “Is that… it?”

“Keith, please.”

What the fuck does he want from me? Keith let his arms fall to his sides in exasperation, nose scrunched in bewildered agitation. “Please what?”

“I can’t do this with you right now.”

“Wha—do what?!” he asked incredulously.

“Keith, please just leave me alone, I—”

“Well, well,” boomed a voice right behind Keith, and he whirled around so fast he nearly went careening into Lance. “Making friends, Little Blue?”

Towering over them was the most enormous human being Keith had ever seen. He was a tank of a man—at least seven feet tall and pure muscle; barrel-chested and imposing.

It wasn’t the height that stole the air from Keith’s lungs; nor was it the muscle mass. The Captain’s voice rose up from his memories, her strange comment finally clicking into place.

That makes three.

Fuck, was Keith’s only coherent thought as he gaped up at a red cybernetic eye and an arm made of Altean cyber-tech. Fuck.

Three indeed.

“You must be Mister Kogane.” The red glow of his eye felt uncomfortably probing as it trailed across Keith’s face. “I am this ship’s Quartermaster. You may call me—”

“Silver,” Keith breathed, unable to help himself as he took another step backward, his back hitting the ship’s banister.

Silver’s eye glinted in the sunlight. “You’d do well not to interrupt your superiors, boy.”

Despite the man’s effortlessly successful intimidation, Keith found his hackles rising as less-than welcome memories resurfaced. He felt as if he were back at the Garrison; fourteen years old and shaking with anger as his commanding officer Iverson towered over him, red-faced and practically foaming at the mouth as he disciplined his most ‘troubled’ cadet.

Before Keith could respond (thank the stars, he thought; he wasn’t sure what he would have said if given the chance), Silver was turning to Lance. “You wouldn’t be shirking your duties, would you?”

Lance, who’d been subtly trying to dry his eyes, floundered for words as he attempted to pull himself together. “I—no Sir, I was just—”

“He was just showing me around,” Keith interjected, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with the other boy before he even knew what he was doing. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lance give him a surprised, owlish look; and it was the slight glistening wetness of his cheek that kept the words flowing from Keith’s mouth. “I distracted him.”

Silver cocked his head. That damnable eye roved over Keith’s face like a laser-beam, and he suppressed a shudder.

Finally, his probing gaze drifted back over to Lance. “This true, Blue?”

Lance, meanwhile, was still staring at Keith like a desert-cat caught in high-beams. At the sound of his nickname, he seemed to startle out of his gaze, turning his attention back to Silver and clearing his throat. “Yes, Sir. He’s never been on a ship before.”

Keith tried not to prickle at that. It was a hell of a lucky guess, but he had hoped he was being at least somewhat subtle about the novelty of all this for him.

The other boy was awarded another long, calculating look from Silver—and then the man was laughing, a low chuckle that sounded completely devoid of actual humor. “Now isn’t that mighty kind of you, Little Blue? I can count on you to keep a good eye on our friend Mister Kogane here, can’t I?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Silver smiled, and the sight of it was so off and strange on the man’s face that Keith instinctively took another step back, pressing into the banister. The huge cyborg held out a hand, and—as if he knew what was expected of him—Lance stepped forward, letting Silver ruffle his hair with his cybernetic arm.

Something about the gesture made Keith want to be sick.

“Attaboy,” Silver purred, his tone almost mocking. “Now, I’ve got duties with the Captain; but the galley?”

Lance forced a nauseating smile onto his face—a twisted, half-hearted echo of the real thing. “All stocked and clean, Sir.”

“Deck?”

“Swept and mopped, Sir.”

Silver’s giant hand rested at the base of Lance’s neck. The touch might have looked fatherly, but something about it sent goosepimples up and down Keith’s arms.

Don’t touch him, he found himself thinking; the thought spurred by pure protective instinct.

“Kosmo?”

“Uh.” Lance froze, smile sliding off his face and voice suddenly going nervous, and—although he had no idea why—Keith found himself taking a step forward. “I’m not… I thought he was with you, Sir.”

With a click of his tongue, the Quartermaster turned, assessing the deck with that sickly eye. “Blast him,” he muttered fiercely. “Probably wandering the docks and begging for scraps like a starved mutt. No matter.” Silver turned back to Lance, patting his shoulder. “I shall reprimand him when he returns.”

Lance swallowed, and Keith watched his Adam’s apple bob. “I’ll keep an eye out, Sir.”

“See that you do. Report to me when you’ve found him.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Keith found himself scowling at a coil of rope on the floor to his right. Yes Sir. No Sir. Sir, sir. Sir sir sir.

He’d always had problems with authority, but this felt excessive. Authority was one thing, but adults on power-trips… Keith’s mind strayed to Iverson again, and his knuckles and wrist ached with memory.

“As for you,” Silver rumbled, and Keith glared at the toes of the man’s boots as he ground his teeth. “You’ll help Blue, and then you’re free to watch the launch. Plenty of work waiting for the both of you when we’ve set sail.”

Not trusting himself to say anything remotely polite, Keith nodded jerkily at Silver’s boots.

In the dead silence that followed, he thought it might have been better if he’d just said something.

The floorboards creaked as Silver took a couple slow steps forward—one, two, three—until he was encroaching on Keith’s space. With a racing heart, Keith pressed himself backward, still determined not to meet the man’s eyes.

“On this ship,” Silver began, his voice eerily calm and terrifyingly deadly, “—you’ll look your superior in the eye and speak when addressed, cabin whelp. Is that understood?”

Keith folded his arms across his chest. He knew he’d been in almost this exact same situation an hour earlier, but this felt… different. He’d never liked the empty frivolity behind the idea that he should immediately respect those in authority, but he’d found it much easier to lend it to the Captain.

It always seemed to him—in this sort of capacity—that respect was a thing to be earned, not granted. Keith had known far too many authority figures in his life who had sailed by on what they felt was owed them; never working a day to ensure that they actually deserved the respect they were granted. Those people, in his opinion, were always the first to abuse the power they were given. They were all the same, every last one.

“Are you and I going to have a problem, boy?”

His knuckles ached.

He wrenched his gaze upward, meeting a red cybernetic eye and a brown human one. “No.”

Another slow step forward. He was close enough now that Keith could smell something foul on the Quartermaster’s breath. “No… what, boy?”

Keith winced, fighting off the urge to openly gag; his jaw stubbornly sealed shut.

“Keith.” Lance’s voice was a quiet hiss, but enough to draw his attention. The other boy stood at Silver’s shoulder, eyes wide and locked pleadingly onto Keith’s as if trying to convey a telepathic message.

For a few seconds, the two of them remained locked in a silent discussion that Keith did not fully understand.

With a great sigh, Keith relented, turning back to Silver. “No, Sir,” he regurgitated, feeling like a robot stripped of all will. “We’re not going to have a problem, Sir.”

Silver smiled triumphantly, seemingly unbothered by the anger in Keith’s voice. The tank of a man straightened, reaching out to pat Keith on the head and releasing a booming laugh.

Keith’s insides boiled.

“Good to hear, pet. Wouldn’t want to go around making enemies, now would we?”

“No, Sir,” Keith muttered, counting the second potentially veiled threat of the day.

“Attaboy.” Silver backed away, gaze sweeping to Lance, who was still watching the whole exchange with wide eyes. “Keep this one in check, will you?”

“Yessir.”

Silver sighed deeply, reaching up once more to clasp the side of Lance’s head. “I can always count on you, Little Blue.” His voice almost sounded fond, but Lance’s weak smile and downturned eyes sent Keith’s skin crawling.

“Always, Sir.”

Turning to give Keith one final, piercing look, Silver backed slowly away before turning on his heel and departing entirely.

Keith released a breath he had no idea he’d been holding, and from the looks of it, so did Lance.

“He can’t talk to us like that.”

Lance laughed, bitter and wet. “Yeah, well. He can, and he will.”

“You can’t seriously be okay with that.”

“Eh. You get used to it,” the other boy shrugged, and a pang of sympathy shot through Keith’s chest.

“And if I don’t want to?”

With a sigh, Lance rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re like, Mr. Cool and all, okay? But don’t test him, Keith. Seriously.”

“Why?” Keith stepped forward, trying to catch the other boy’s eye. “What’s he gonna do? Threaten me again?”

A frustrated sound ripped itself out of Lance’s throat. “Stars above, I forgot who I was talking to. You know what? Do whatever the fuck you want. It’s not my problem.”

He turned with a huff, striding away from Keith a couple steps before seeming to change his mind. Frozen in place, his fists batted a couple times against the sides of his thighs as if he were weighing an important decision. Before Keith could ask what was wrong, Lance was whirling back around and fixing him with a cautious gaze. “Why’d you do that?”

Keith shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. His fingers grazed a cool, metal surface, and he retracted the wandering digits into a tight fist. “Dunno. Do I need a reason? Guy seems like a dick.”

Lance slapped both hands over his face, muttering a muffled curse. “No, I meant—” He flapped an impatient hand. “Why’d you lie?”

Heat rose to Keith’s cheeks. “What do you mean?” he asked gruffly, despite knowing fully well what Lance was referring to. He still wasn’t sure why he’d tried to cover for someone who clearly despised him, and he wasn’t feeling inclined to figure it out at the moment.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter,” Lance mumbled, his own cheeks aflame with frustration. He took a step away, cocking his head to indicate that Keith should follow. “Let’s just find Kos and then I’ll get out of your luscious hair—”

“Lance, wait.” Keith attempted to reach for the other boy’s wrist, retracting his hand at the last second as he remembered the events in the galley. Lance’s eyes tracked the aborted motion before flicking back up to Keith’s face. “I just… about before.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. The colors of Lance’s eyes were so very distracting. “I—I’m really not that kind of guy,” he finished, much more emphatically than he’d intended. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to him that Lance understood that—understood him.

The look Lance gave him was long and searching, as if he were trying to read the truth behind Keith’s words from his very soul. Something—Keith thought it might have been understanding, at long last—passed between them, and Lance nodded.

“Okay.” It was full of meaning this time, full of subtext that Keith was too tired to read; but he thought that Lance might have been saying, I believe you.

Then, Lance was reaching out to clap his shoulder, shattering the moment. “Still don’t like you, though.”

Letting his eyes drift shut, Keith released a long-suffering sigh. “The feeling’s mutual, don’t worry.”

…

Kosmo found them before they found him.

They’d searched everywhere, Lance giving him an inadvertent tour of the ship in the process. Keith had now seen the barracks, the mess hall, long-boat storage, and even the engine room; but whoever—or whatever—they were searching for was nowhere to be found.

Clambering wearily up the last few steps back onto the deck from the engine room, Lance released a mighty groan, and Keith sighed in agreement.

“Unbelievable,” Lance grumbled, smacking his hands over his face and draping himself dramatically along the ship’s banister. “M’ gonna have a heart attack.”

“Who is Kosmo, anyway?” Keith muttered grumpily, finally caving to the question he’d wanted to ask for the past fifteen minutes. He’d held off till now; partly because he didn’t want Lance’s mounting ire turned on him, and partly because their encounter with Silver hadn’t exactly left him in the most upstanding mood.

Lance dragged his hands down his face, fingers pulling at his lower eyelids till they looked grotesque. “The bane of my existence,” he groaned. “And also the love of my life.”

Keith felt heat inexplicably rise to his cheeks. “Uh…”

“It’s a complicated relationship.” Lance dismissed with a wave of his hand.

… relationship?

“Oh,” Keith slowly responded, hoping he didn’t look as confused as he felt. “Is he… your boyfriend, or something?” he asked haltingly.

The responding laugh was almost a shout, startling Keith so badly that he jumped. From his position draped over the banister, Lance’s head flopped over so that he was grinning crookedly at Keith with twinkling eyes.

Feeling strongly like he was about to be teased, Keith scowled, folding his arms and looking away.

“Yeah, totally,” Lance giggled, sounding somewhat delirious. The sound of his laugh made Keith’s face feel even hotter. “His hair is even thicker than yours.”

Keith rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reach up to touch his ponytail. “Okay…?”

Cheeks red with laughter, Lance spread both hands in front of him as if setting the scene for an elaborate story. “I’m telling you, Keith—he’s got the dreamiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and—” Lance leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially and bringing a hand to the side of his face as if to hide a secret. “He kisses with tongue.”

“Ugh.” Keith leaned away, wrinkling his nose as Lance winked at him. He was pretty sure that his face was literally on fire at this point. “Don’t be gross.”

Lance ignored him, sighing dreamily as he clutched a hand to his heart, touching the back of his cybernetic hand to his forehead. “If it were up to me, we’d just cuddle. Every second of every day.”

“Okay, I get it,” Keith snapped. “You’re in love and whatever. Is he—are we—is he another cabin boy?”

“Yeah he is. The best boy.”

“Is he gonna—quit smiling at me like that, it’s fucking weird. Is he gonna sleep in the galley?” he asked, somewhat scared of the answer. Sharing a room with Lance alone was bad enough; but sharing sleeping quarters with Lance and his… his lover…

Lance gagged in response. “Stars, no. He usually sleeps up on deck. That boy’s farts could kill a rakk hive.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Keith deadpanned.

The other boy flapped a hand. “Doesn’t matter. All you need to know is—”

He cut himself off, eyes widening as they fixed on something behind Keith, who followed Lance’s gaze to find—

Nothing but the crew rushing about the deck.

Wondering what sort of trick Lance was playing, Keith turned back to him with a scowl, only to find the other boy already grinning at him.

“Speak of the devil. You ready to meet him?”

Keith narrowed his eyes, not trusting the wild glint in Lance’s. “I gue—”

He never finished the word.

One second he was standing, Lance’s stupid, crooked smirk inches from his face. The next, all the air had been knocked out of him and he was staring up at eyes bluer than the sky, blue-grey fur filling his vision. He was vaguely aware of Lance cackling as whatever the fuck was on him—dog, he thought distantly, nearly unable to parse the thought from his panic striken brain—licked relentlessly at every exposed part of his face and neck, trailing long lines of slobber up past his hairline and slicking back his bangs.

There was a shift of movement above him, and then Lance’s face was squished beside the dog’s, grinning down at Keith like he’d just delivered the punchline to his favorite joke. “Haircut, meet Kosmo. Kosmo, haircut.”

As if he’d understood, Kosmo yipped happily before continuing to bathe him in affection.

“Kosmo is a dog,” Keith wheezed, struggling and pushing against thick fur in an attempt to ward off another onslaught of kisses. “Kosmo is a huge fucking dog.”

Lance laughed, open and bright, and the sound was too much for Keith’s overloaded senses. “Cosmic wolf, actually. Found him in the Asteria Cluster on a great-whale; he was just a puppy then, but—”

“Lance,” Keith whimpered as the over-excited wolf trod right over his balls, sending his voice skyrocketing upward in pitch. “Gethimoffme.”

Taking mercy on him, Lance straightened, sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling sharply. Kosmo barked in excitement, spinning around before hopping off of Keith, who felt as if he’d been hit by a sand-speeder.

After taking a second to just lie there, Keith groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows to watch the giant wolf prance around Lance like an untrained puppy.

“The hell is wrong with you today, huh? Scarin’ me like that… I looked everywhere for you, you little jerk.”

The not-so-little jerk in question released a booming bark in response, and Lance clicked his tongue just as Keith decided to help himself to his feet, eyes still trained on the pair.

“Nuh-uh, mister; I don’t wanna hear it. Got an earful from Silver because of you.”

Kosmo whimpered, raising his front legs onto Lance’s chest and attempting to lick at his face. “No,” Lance complained, squirming as he attempted to turn his head. “Not the face, you know I hate the face—Kosmo, down—”

“Can he understand you?” Keith blurted, watching with rapt fascination as Kosmo whimpered once more before lowering back to all fours. It felt like a stupid question the moment it left his mouth, and his face flushed under that multi-colored stare.

“Not sure,” Lance eventually sighed, seeming to know what Keith meant. He turned back to the wolf, who was now sitting politely on his haunches, watching them as if following their conversation. Lance sank a hand into the thick fur around Kosmo’s neck, and the wolf turned to nuzzle into his palm. “Like I said, we found him when he was a baby, so he might just… understand us now?”

Keith merely nodded, reluctant to say anything else—not when Lance finally seemed to be opening up to him.

“I dunno, though,” the other boy continued, lost in thought as he stroked through coarse fur. “Cosmic wolves are classified as higher intelligence, you know? I mean, he’s definitely smarter than any dog I’ve ever had.”

Keith blinked, mentally grasping onto that nugget of information like a lifeline. “You… have a dog?” he asked delicately; tentatively—still terrified to shatter their moment.

It was—apparently—the wrong thing to say (but then again, it was apparent that anything Keith chose to say around Lance seemed like the wrong thing to say.) He immediately regretted opening his mouth, wishing that he’d trusted all the instincts warning him against it.

In the span of a second, all emotion drained from Lance’s face, his features going smooth and cold as marble; a hollow imitation of what they’d been seconds before. Keith watched as his eyes shut—ever so briefly—before fixing back on the wolf at his feet. “Can you find Silver, buddy?” he asked, ignoring Keith’s question altogether. “Let him know you’re onboard, okay?”

Frowning, Keith folded his arms, trying to ignore the stinging in his chest and feeling stupid for feeling hurt.

What the hell are you doing, asking about his life? Just because you managed not to fight for five fucking seconds doesn’t mean you’re friends.

As if sensing Keith’s inner turmoil, Kosmo whimpered, trotting over to nudge at his elbow. Keith blinked down at the wolf in surprise, beginning to unfurl his arms to seek the wolf’s comfort—

“Kos! Silver. Now.” Lance’s voice was sharp, tinged with a fridgedness that sounded foreign in contrast to the boisterous, mirth-filled boy from moments before.

Kosmo huffed and grumbled, warm breath ghosting over Keith’s hand.

“I’m okay,” Keith muttered, staring into eyes filled with understanding. “You should go.”

With a final little nudge, Kosmo licked Keith’s hand in parting before backing away and—

Vanishing. Into thin air.

Keith gaped at the spot an entire wolf had just occupied, his jaw hanging open. “I—what just—”

“He teleports,” Lance responded flatly.

Too stunned to give the other boy’s tone much importance, Keith whirled around to search the deck, his eyes eventually landing on Kosmo as he pranced around Silver’s feet several yards away.

His eyes blown wide with adoration, Keith resisted the urge to sink to his knees. “He teleports?”

“S’ what I said, yeah,” came Lance’s snippy response.

This time, the cyborg’s tone was enough to break Keith from his spell. He turned, attempting to meet Lance’s eyes; but the other boy seemed determined not to return his gaze.

“What crawled up your ass and died?”

Although still pointedly avoiding focusing on Keith, Lance’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Keith growled. “The fuck’s your problem?”

Cold eyes finally met his, and Keith found himself foolish for ever having wished that they would.

“You’re my problem, Kogane,” he hissed, taking care to slam their shoulders together as he departed. “Get with the program.”

…

“We are all clear, Captain!”

“ALL HANDS TO STATIONS!”

“Out of the bloody way, boy—”

“Move if ye know what’s good fer ye—”

“LOOSE THE SOLAR SAILS! BRACE UP!”

“You want to lose an eye, cabin rat? WATCH YOUR STEP—”

“Blast it all, I’ve seen great-whales that be takin’ up less bloomin’ space—”

Keith gasped with exertion, stumbling wildly back and forth across the deck as he tried to figure out how to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. It had only been a few minutes since Lance had ditched him, disappearing off to who-knows-where to be a moody asshole and leaving Keith to fend for himself amidst the chaos of the launch. Since then, he’d nearly been speared by a whaling bow, narrowly missed collision with a rotating beam, and just barely avoided being thrown overboard by several frustrated crewmembers. He had no idea what to do, and even less of an idea as to where he was needed—or indeed, what he was needed for.

All in all, he was feeling pretty lost by the time an achingly familiar voice called his name.

The sight of his cousin sitting comfortably atop the ship’s prow—smiling warmly and waving a hand in greeting—was almost enough to bring tears of relief to his eyes. Ducking to avoid another beam, Keith practically ran, only barely managing to avoid flinging himself into his cousin’s inviting arms.

He tried not to wince when Shiro looked disappointed—but Keith couldn’t bring himself to engage in such a vulnerable display of affection; not in front of this strange crew, not in front of—

He’s not even here, he told himself, glowering out at the open sky. Fuck him.

“I dropped your rucksack off in the galley, by the way.”

Grunting in affirmation, Keith hoisted himself up and onto the ledge beside his cousin, who after a small silence clicked his tongue.

“Uh oh. I know that face.”

“What face,” Keith grumbled, jaw tight. “There’s no face.”

“Keith.”

When he turned to look, Shiro was looking at him with unbridled love, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my best friend, bud. I know the face.” He smiled sympathetically, and Keith’s insides rolled with guilt, tears of anger pricking at his eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be happening—today was supposed to be a fresh start; conversations like this weren’t supposed to happen—

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

Keith’s eyebrows knitted together. “What?”

“You were the one who bumped into Lance. Earlier on the dock.”

Sighing, Keith looked away, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Yeah.”

“Stars, Keith.”

“It wasn’t like I meant to! It was a fucking accident, and now he hates me, and I just—” he groaned, letting his head drop into his hands. “This whole thing is a disaster.”

Shiro was silent for so long that Keith peeked back out from behind his hands, finding his cousin staring pensively out into space.

“Can you just say something? Please?”

With a thoughtful hum, Shiro scratched absentmindedly at his jaw. “He didn’t tell me it was you, you know. Heard him tell the same story to two other people, too—didn’t mention your name once.”

“... So?”

“So.” Shiro stood, stretching out his back like a cat that had just been napping in a sun-beam. “If he really hated you, I think he’d be trying a little harder to make your life miserable.”

Keith opened his mouth to object, and Shiro held up a hand. “I’m not saying he likes you, necessarily—but I think you two might have just started out on the wrong foot.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Keith mumbled, “Hell of a wrong foot,” and Shiro snorted.

“Isn’t that the truth. Little birdy told me you didn’t even apologize.”

“Oh yeah?” Keith growled, hackles rising in defense as he stood. “Well, I guess little birdy conveniently left out the part where he was a massive dick about the whole thing. So. No apologies granted.”

“Keith, darling—”

“Don’t,” Keith snapped, whirling on his cousin with fire boiling under his skin. “I hate it when you do that.”

“I’m just trying to—”

“I know what you’re trying to do, Shiro, and I don’t want it, alright? You’re not him, I don’t—I don’t need two dads, okay? The one’s enough.”

Shiro swallowed thickly, his eyes going glassy. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Keith’s stomach sank. “Stars, Shiro. Come on, man; please don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” Shiro mumbled, turning his head to try to discreetly wipe away a tear. “I’m just—if something happens to you out here, I don’t—I won’t know what to tell Dad—”

Dad. A term that Shiro only openly used to refer to Owen Kogane when he was feeling particularly vulnerable; particularly scared.

Fuck the crew. Fuck Lance. Fuck what anyone else had to say or think.

Keith threw himself at his cousin, wrapping him in a unyielding embrace and burying his face in the elder’s chest. Strong arms held him right back, bracing his head and upper back.

“You and me,” Keith started, willing his voice to remain steady. “Are gonna make it back to Dad safe and sound, okay? We got each other’s back.”

Shiro nodded against the top of his head, squeezing him closer and choking back a sob. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, Shiro.” After a couple seconds of consideration, Keith cleared his throat. “And I’m sorry I—”

“Keith,” his cousin breathed, cutting off his uncharacteristic apology. “You might wanna look up.”

Frowning, Keith pushed himself away, hands sliding to Shiro’s forearms. “What—oh. Shit.”

Around them, the world was moving.

Buildings were sinking, rooftops and spires disappearing below the ship’s hull. To their right, a flock of disgruntled gull-swallows took flight in a flurry of white; the ship’s ascent disturbing them from their comfortable perch atop a chimney. Squawking and tittering in complaint, they rushed the ship as a unit, gliding along sails that rippled with wind and swooping amongst the crew with reckless abandon.

As the flock swept past the cousins—who both gaped at the scene in childlike wonder—Keith registered that for the first time since he’d left the Benbow that morning, he was well and truly happy. He hadn’t a care in the world, because right then?

Nothing mattered.

Nothing mattered save for the flight of birds and the untamed smile on his cousin’s face and the invigorating rush of life pumping through his veins like electricity.

A laugh bubbled out of him—wild, and free, and so unlike him altogether that it drew the attention of Shiro, whose giddy smile turned unbearably fond. Returning it with a dopey grin of his own, Keith rushed toward the prow, hands splayed over wood as he peered over the edge at the ever-shrinking port down below. Wind pricked at his eyes until Keith had to blink away tears, yet he couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away.

On the docks down below, tourists and passengers were stopping to watch the Melenor’s ascent, children grasping at their mother’s sleeves as they pointed excitedly. One of them waved, and Keith—not quite knowing what had suddenly gotten into himself—waved back, his cheeks starting to ache with the force of his smile.

“What do you think?” Shiro’s voice asked at his side. A warm hand landed gently on his back, and Keith leaned into the touch, looking up at his cousin with shining eyes.

“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted,” was his honest answer. The winds of the Etherium whipped at his hair, and Keith allowed his eyes to drift shut as he inhaled deeply.

Beside him, Shiro chuckled, the sound warm and devoid of teasing. “I wish you could see yourself right now.”

Cracking his eyes open, Keith cast his cousin a curious look. In response, Shiro simply smiled, brushing Keith’s wind-blown bangs out of his face.

A sharp whistle behind them shattered the peace of their moment, and Shiro’s smile turned into a knowing grin. “You’re gonna want to keep your feet under you, okay? No sudden movements, or you’ll get twisted in the air and falling will suck.”

“What are y—WHOA!”

Keith attempted not to panic as his feet slowly left the ground, the toes of his boots slowly scraping against the deck as his whole body went weightless. His brain scrambled to remember his Garrison training, and his surprise ebbed away as muscle memory took its place; years of simulations returning to him all at once.

Feet underneath you, cadet! Iverson’s voice echoed through his memories like the reverberations of a gong. Keep still, ‘less you’d like to break a limb!

Years later, an entire moon away from Vaarta City and Iverson and the Garrison, Keith obeyed. As the ship rose high above the Spaceport and left the moon’s natural gravity, he took special care to remain vertical, easing all the tension out of his body one muscle at a time.

From a couple feet away, Shiro shot him a careful thumbs up, a seasoned enough sailor that the movement did not throw off his balance. “Good form, Keith!”

Keith, meanwhile, couldn’t do much more than look at him with wide eyes and an uninhibited, slightly manic grin that made Shiro burst into laughter. “You got this man, you’re doing—”

“ENGAGE ARTIFICIAL GRAVITY!” someone shouted behind them.

A low hum filled the air as the ship’s gravity activated, and Keith had barely just remembered to keep his knees soft before he was falling, his body growing heavy once more. To his delight, he managed to land in a crouch, fingers grazing the deck as he steadied himself.

He straightened with a smirk and looked to Shiro for appraisal, who awarded him with light applause. Keith clutched a hand to his chest as he bowed. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll literally be here all… okay.”

Enraptured by the sight before him, Keith’s words died pathetically, lost to the wind swirling around his face. Bright blue sky was slowly darkening to deep blue, threads of purple nebulas woven through glittering stars. The Spaceport sank farther and farther away, it’s crescent shape becoming defined with distance. With a graceful surge of wings, the last vestiges of gulls swept down from the ship’s beams, diving serenely down to the moon below.

Another whistle filled the air, low and long, and Keith sent Shiro an inquisitive glance. His cousin was already moving, grasping at the rope rigging along the side of the ship. “They’re gonna engage the thrusters; I’d hold on to something!”

Keith immediately obeyed, grasping the wooden banister in front of him with both hands—and not a second too soon. Beneath his feet, the ship rumbled as if coming to life; and then they were blasting forward, leaving the moon Crescentia far behind them. Keith yelled euphorically, his heart leaping into his throat and feeling all at once too large to be contained by his body.

I’m home, he thought—even as they slowed to a moderate clip, Keith releasing his death grip on the bow’s banister. Hit by a sudden desire to be closer—to touch and feel and taste—Keith scrambled past Shiro and up onto the ship’s side, yanking himself up by the rope rigging. Ignoring his cousin’s warnings and pleas for caution, Keith shimmied himself along the outside of the ship, gripping the sturdy rigging and using it to turn himself until he was suspended over the vast void of space.

“Keith, if you fall, I swear to the stars I’ll kill you.”

Ripping his eyes away from the swirling colors of the Etherium, Keith looked down and slightly behind him, meeting his cousin’s gaze far below. He had no idea what his face looked like, but whatever expression he was making was enough to curb Shiro’s irritation, the elder’s face falling into fond resignation. “Alright, alright. Just—be careful, you jackass.”

Keith barely heard the words, already turning back to the stars, his fists tightening and loosening around the ropes in succession. His grip on the rigging was the only thing keeping him from falling face-forward into the Etherium and floating away forever; and the thought sent a thrill of danger through him, making him grin in delirium.

I’m home.

There were not enough words to describe it, Keith thought. Not enough words in his language or any to describe the wholeness coursing through his blood; nor the ache of his heart as it strained in his chest, reaching out to unite with the sight before him.

There were not enough words to describe the way his soul sang, all at once complete and found and seen and wanting—for the first time in his life—for nothing.

The wind curled around him, and Keith closed his eyes, savoring its embrace. “Hi,” he choked out, the word falling so short of the love bursting through his being.

As if in response, something enormous moaned beneath him. Well-familiar with the sound (his mind conjured up sacred memories of sleepless nights and nature sleep-tracks), Keith’s eyes shot open, tears finally spilling from their corners as he beheld the pod of juvenile great-whales surrounding the Melenor. As they passed, an incredulous and tearful giggle slipped from Keith’s mouth; and he stared awestruck at the enormous underbelly of the whale passing atop their ship, it’s body at least triple the length of the Melenor.

In front of him, one whale came close enough that the two of them made eye contact as it passed; it’s wrinkly, giant unblinking eye examining Keith with mild interest as it drifted by on the etherium’s currents. Without thinking, Keith reached out a hand, extending the arm still gripping the rigging until he was hovering precariously away from the ship—reaching and reaching until his fingertips were barely brushing against coarse grey skin, and—

“And what do you think you are doing, Mister Kogane?”

Keith yelped, startling so badly that he nearly lost his grip on the rigging altogether. Muscles coiling with tension, he pulled himself in toward the rope netting, turning back toward the ship and threading his arms through the rope patchwork as he clung to it like a terrified kitten. His heart hammered madly, and he tried his best not to scowl down at the Captain below.

“Just… looking, ma’am.”

Striking blue eyes searched his face—for what, Keith wasn’t sure—before she was giving a curt nod. “You’re to come down immediately, and you’re not to footle about on the rigging until you’ve had the proper training. Am I understood?”

“What’s your problem with me?”

The question left his mouth before he could stop it, and Keith inwardly cursed his permanently broken filter, scanning the deck for Shiro as the Captain’s eyes narrowed; but his cousin was nowhere to be found.

“While I admire your spirit, Mister Kogane,” she started, her voice icy, “—I believe it is time that you and I had a talk. In private, if you please.” She stepped back, gesturing with a graceful arm to her private cabin at the back of the ship.

Keith swallowed thickly, feeling the walls he’d built up over the years (that had lowered for one blissful moment) build back up protectively around his heart. “Am I in trouble?” he asked, his face slipping into an indifferent mask.

The Captain’s eyes were little more than slits, and the frostiness of her tone sent a chill up Keith’s spine.

“That, Mr. Kogane, remains to be seen.”

…

When the two of them stepped into the Captain’s quarters, Shiro was in deep discussion with Coran, who’s eyes lit with excitement as they entered. “Keith, my boy! Just the lad we’ve been waiting for!”

Keith frowned, his gaze meeting Shiro’s. His cousin shrugged at him, Keith’s apprehension mirrored in his face.

“Please,” Coran urged, gesturing to the seats in front of the Captain’s desk. “Make yourselves comfortable!”

The cousins exchanged another look before stepping forward and lowering themselves to the chairs, Keith leaning toward Shiro and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Where’d you go?”

Though his cousin looked calm and composed, Keith could see the gears whirring behind his analytical eyes. “Captain came to collect me,” he muttered in response, watching the Captain like a hawk as she joined Coran behind the desk, settling into a high-backed chair next to his. “You were… a little out of it.”

Before Keith could respond, the Captain was leaning forward, folding her hands together as she brought them to rest on her desk. “Before we begin, I’d like to designate my quarters a safe space for the sensitive topic at hand. Any further discussion shall not leave the confines of this room. Do I make myself very clear?”

Shiro nodded gravely. “You have my word, Captain.”

All eyes turned to Keith, and he swallowed. “Mine too,” he hurried. “Ma’am.”

“Very good.” She nodded, inhaling deeply as she unfurled her hands, splaying her palms out on the desk. “In that case, I suppose it’s time I cut to the chase.”

Her eyes locked onto Keith’s, and his heart felt like it might rocket out of his chest.

“I’d like a word about the item you carry in your pocket.”

Chapter Text

Keith forgot how to breathe.

He sat, paralyzed from head to toe as a wave of nausea ran through his body. Blood rushed through his ears and filled his brain with static until he felt numb. His cheeks tingled with the terror of being discovered—of being vulnerable.

Vulnerable to the woman reclining into the chair across from him; her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as if she’d won whatever game they’d been playing. Vulnerable to the curious yet sharp gaze of her First Mate, who watched Keith with a too-casual air from his position at the Captain’s side.

Vulnerable, most of all, to the whim of the precious orb in his pocket; the map that seemed determined to be found even when they’d taken every measure to keep its existence secret.

Breathe.

All at once, air rushed back into his lungs, filling him until he was light-headed and dizzy. Sound filtered back into consciousness, the static in his ears dying enough that the muffled noises of the ship beyond the cabin door came back into focus.

The whole world came rushing back in, and with it, the realization that Keith wasn’t going to let himself go down without a fight.

He leaned back in his chair, keeping his face carefully blank as he raised an indifferent eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Captain’s smug assuredness twisted into a scowl, and Keith inwardly celebrated the tiny win on his inevitable trail to loss. “Don’t play stupid with me,” she snapped, leaning forward to smack her palms against the desk. “You really think you can sneak an item radiating that much quintessence past an Altean?”

“Two Alteans,” Coran piped up indignantly, but Keith was too busy reeling from the new information to pay him any mind.

He supposed it made sense, considering Zarkon’s obsession with the element. Still, it didn’t quell his awe at the knowledge that the item he’d been carrying in his pocket was made from quintessence—likely the work of a skilled alchemist.

It was no wonder that he and Shiro had been made the second they’d set foot on the Melenor. Alteans were practically walking, talking quintessence detectors—the original race to discover and harness the element’s properties. They’d been the first to study the way raw quintessence—the purest form of energy—flowed through each living being, solidifying into solid and liquid forms when concentrated in high qualities.

Out of all living things, it was Alteans who contained the highest amounts of the raw element. It settled on their cheeks, giving them the glowing marks they sported. It buzzed through their veins, gifting them with abilities that—to Keith—seemed almost akin to magic.

It was for that very reason that Captain Zarkon—in his mad quest to harness the unlimited energy of quintessence for his own destructive gains—had begun his conquest with the planet of Altea.

Tearing himself away from thoughts of the map’s mysterious origins, Keith shrugged, picking disinterestedly at a fingernail. “Like I said. No clue what you’re talking about.”

The Captain’s eyes blazed. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind turning out your pockets, Mister Kogane?”

Next to him, Shiro went rigid, and Keith struggled to hold on to his own cool veneer.

“All due respect, Captain?” He leaned forward, resting his hands in front of hers on the desk. She wrinkled her nose at the almost-contact, her fingers retracting away from his and curling into tight fists. “You’re our hired crew. The ship may be yours, but you’ve got no business with my personal effects.”

In the deafening silence that followed, tension settled over the four like a heavy fog—thick and suffocating and inscrutable.

And then the Captain was laughing hollowly, her chair scraping across the wooden floor as she stood.

“You’ve got fire in your blood, Mister Kogane. I’ll give you that.” Her mouth curving into a fierce snarl, her eyes blazing. “But mine burns brighter.”

Beside her, Coran moved to place a hand on her shoulder, his eyes wary. “Princess—”

… Princess?

“No!” She shrugged off her Lieutenant’s touch, and before Keith had even processed her speed, her rifle was unholstered. “I’ll ask one more time,” she snarled. Keith’s pulse raced as he stared, cross-eyed, at the barrel between his eyes. “Give. Me. The bloody. Map.”

“Okay!” The shout filled the cabin, wild and panicked; but it wasn’t Keith who had spoken. Shiro’s chair screeched against the floor as he stood so abruptly that he almost sent it flying. “We’ll give it to you, just—please don’t hurt him.”

Keith—who was still staring down the barrel of a gun—practically growled, “Shiro, no—”

The pistol swung away, and Keith’s heart leaped into his throat as he watched Shiro stare wide-eyed at the weapon now trained on himself.

The safety clicked, and Keith wasted no time in standing, procuring the map from his pocket without another thought. “It’s here, okay?” His chest heaved, and he struggled to think through the pounding in his head. “Just—here, fucking take it—”

He didn’t need to ask twice. In the blink of an eye, the pistol was holstered; and the Captain had snatched the map from his hand, blinking down at it owlishly. Coran was at her side in a couple long strides, peering down at the artifact with undisguised awe.

Keith, meanwhile, was already reaching for Shiro; his mind racing with thoughts of his cousin’s safety as they gripped one another’s forearms.

“You okay?”

“Am I okay?” Shiro’s grip turned tight, his eyes filling with anger. “Keith, what the fuck were you thinking? We’re not here so you can… gamble with your life—”

“Why are you here?” came the Captain’s sharp voice, and the two of them turned to find her and her First Mate closely watching the display. She rolled the map between her hands as she stepped toward them, slow and measured. “The Galaxy Garrison’s Head of Outreach,” she mused, her piercing gaze flicking to Shiro, “—and a humble innkeeper's son.” She threw Keith a disdainful look, and it was only Shiro’s calm hand on his shoulder that kept him from flying forward in rage.

Clearly having caught Keith’s twitch of aborted movement, she raised an eyebrow and reached over her desk to flick a switch on its holo-projector. “Oh yes, Mister Kogane. I did my research.”

Flickering to life in front of their eyes were his and Shiro’s Garrison records, document upon document of data sprawling out beside the awful, black-and-white pictures they’d been forced to take.

Over Keith’s picture, the words Disciplinary Discharge were sprawled across his face in bright red.

“How do you have those?” Shiro asked carefully, giving Keith’s shoulder a comforting squeeze as if he could sense the pure outrage boiling underneath. “Possession of classified records is against the law, Captain,” he finished, voice hard.

She cocked her head. “Whose law, Commander Shirogane? Montressor’s? The Meridian System’s?” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “I do not belong to your law, and therefore am not bound by it.”

Shiro swallowed, and the Captain sat at the edge of her desk, daintily crossing her legs. “I’ll admit I had my suspicions when I answered your husband’s posting. A trip to the Cannon for charting purposes? The rumored location of Zarkon’s trove?” She shook her head, a small and condescending smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “No one travels to the Cannon. It’s a death trap. You must know how foolishly transparent that sounded.”

“Okay, whatever.” Irritated and impatient, Keith stepped forward, ignoring Shiro’s hiss of warning. “You saw the posting, looked us up, figured we must have the map—congratulations. Are you gonna kill us now?”

“Keith!” This time, his cousin sounded truly pissed, stepping forward to shove Keith back into a chair. He fell heavily, wincing as his tailbone collided with wood.

Whirling back on the Captain, Shiro splayed his hands out at his sides. “Look, we’re not going to get anywhere like this,” he growled, sounding himself strained for patience.

Coran nodded emphatically in agreement. “Couldn’t agree more, my boy! Why, I remember the time I was caught in an argument between a Slyvor and a—”

“I want to know why you’re here,” the Captain insisted, ignoring her Lieutenant (who seemed rather unbothered by the interruption). “And,” she continued, pointedly raising the map, “—I want to know how you came to possess this.” She shook it out in front of her, and Keith dug his nails into the chair’s plush armrests. “And if you lie to me again, I’ll throw you both off of my ship before you can so much as beg forgiveness.”

“Fine,” Keith snapped, his voice low. “But then you tell us your deal.”

After a brief hesitation, the Captain nodded. “Very well.”

Not quite knowing where to start (and too angry to coerce his thoughts into a full sentence), Keith was more than a little relieved when Shiro sighed and took over.

“A couple weeks ago, a member of the Blade of Marmora crash-landed outside our Inn.”

The Captain’s eyes widened, and Shiro continued. “He was on the run—we have no idea who he was running from, but they were definitely Pirates. They burnt our Inn—”

“I saw that in the files,” Allura broke in softly. She swallowed, wringing her hands; and Keith was shocked by how instantly approachable the gesture made her seem. “I’m sorry.”

She sounded like she meant it, too. Keith averted his eyes, but not before catching Shiro’s appreciative nod and weak smile. “The Blade agent entrusted the map to Keith, so we—”

“I beg your pardon?” This time—when Keith turned to look at her—she looked less sheepish about the interruption, her eyebrows pinched as she regarded Keith like he were something particularly nasty she’d trod on. “He’s merely a boy—”

“Look.” Keith stood so hard that his chair fell over, clattering onto the floor behind him. His cousin scrambled to right it, but Keith’s entire focus was on the Altean in front of him. “You’ve seen my files,” he bit, ignoring the flashing red across his own holographic face, “—so you’ve clearly already got your opinions about me. And that’s—”

He paused to heave a breath, trying to tame the wildfire raging in his chest. Don’t fucking cry.

“I get it, okay?” He swallowed, his next words coming out far weaker than he’d intended. “I’m used to it. But that map’s already destroyed my home, and it’ll be responsible for destroying others unless we make sure no one else ever finds it.”

The Captain gave him a long look, and Keith shivered, the weight of her gaze reminding him of the way Thace had looked at him before gifting Keith his trust.

Then she sighed, her face falling and shoulders slumping as she turned her gaze down to the map in her hands. “I lost my home, too.”

Entirely too stunned by her sudden change in demeanor to speak, Keith merely stood in silence, gaping at the Captain as she rolled the orb between her palms. Her features, once serene and proud as a marble statue, had crumbled into unspeakable grief and despondence.

As if sensing Keith’s surprise, she briefly met his eyes, giving him a small smile before returning her focus to the artifact in her hands. “I’m sure you’ve both heard tale of the Fluora Galaxy?”

Shiro stepped forward, gingerly lowering himself into a chair as if he too was afraid to break the atmosphere. “We don’t travel much outside the Meridian System, ma’am, but… we’ve heard.”

Keith nodded in agreement, and the Captain pursed her lips, her gaze still lowered. “Zarkon leeched it dry,” she hoarsely explained. “You may know, but you cannot truly know the extent of the destruction until you have seen. That—” her voice wobbled, “—filthy Pirate and his cronies tore every planet in the galaxy apart for quintessence to use as—as damn rocket fuel.”

She looked up, her eyes glistening with anger as they locked onto Keith’s. “Why do you think there are so many Alteans in the Meridian System? On Montressor? He mined the very life force of our planet—of my people, until it was uninhabitable.”

Her hands visibly trembled with anger, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. A haunting silence engulfed the room, and—after a moment’s debate—Keith asked the question that’d been on his mind for several minutes.

“Coran mentioned you were a princess?” The question came out even softer than he’d intended. Over the Captain’s shoulder, Coran shot him a kind smile.

“Yes,” she rasped, wiping at her cheek with the back of her hand. Keith’s chest ached with sympathy. “One of many; but a princess nonetheless. My mother and father were—” Coran squeezed her shoulder “—they fell battling the Witch Honerva.”

“Zarkon’s right hand,” Keith mumbled, eyes wide.

The Captain nodded. “You’ve heard of her, then. What you may not have heard is that I delivered to her the very same fate that she delivered to my parents.”

“Oh,” Keith breathed, falling shell-shocked into the chair beside Shiro, who inhaled sharply.

“You killed the Witch?”

Another nod, and this time Keith could see it in her eyes—the dead-cold conviction of a woman who had seen revenge. “I attacked her on her own ship after Zarkon fled the Fluora Galaxy. She refused to tell me where he’d gone, and I…” She looked out one of the cabin’s circular windows, and Keith suppressed a chill. “We had intel concerning the map’s location from one of the Blade of Marmora’s undercover operatives. Trusting the Galra was a difficult task after… well. Until that point, we’d only ever known Galra to be Pirates, but the Blades proved themselves to be different. They were tried and true; and grew to be valuable friends and allies. We sacrificed many good soldiers, Galra and otherwise, in our attempts to find this.”

She held the map up to the light, huffing a numb, humorless laugh as she stared at it. “And now it has fallen directly into my hands. Fate has an awful sense of humor, wouldn’t you say, Coran?”

Her Lieutenant leaned over, pressing a fatherly kiss to her hair. “It does indeed, Princess.”

For a few seconds, the room’s silence hung heavy in the air between them; and then the Captain was regarding Keith with a tear-soaked face, holding the map out before her. “Take it, Mister Kogane. Put it in the safe behind you, and I trust you’ll not breathe a word about this to anyone on this ship.”

Keith blinked at her. “I—you’re not going to ask me how to open it?”

She chuckled and shook her head, wiping once more at her face with her free hand. “A show of good faith, Mister Kogane.”

“It’s Keith,” he blurted, feeling immediately stupid for doing so. “I mean—you can still call me—I’m just trying to say—”

“Keith.” The Captain stood, stepping toward him with a warm smile. Gentle fingers wrapped around his wrist, depositing the map in his hands with the utmost care and placing her fingers over his own. “Thank you. For being someone I can trust. It has been too long since I’ve allowed myself that luxury.”

Twice. Twice now he’d been granted the unmerited trust of a virtual stranger. “I’m—” he swallowed. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve that, but… thank you, ma’am.”

“Allura.” His responding expression must have been disarmingly ridiculous, because she giggled. “Beyond this cabin, you’re still to address me using the proper titles, but—” she gave his hands a squeeze. “I believe sharing the secrets of the universe puts us on a first-name basis, don’t you?”

Keith was unable to do much more than grin slowly in response, and the Captain—Allura—patted his hand. “Go on, Keith.”

His gaze flicked from hers (hopeful and trusting) to Coran’s (warm and assured) to his cousin’s (fond and proud). He nodded, turning to the safe she’d indicated and pulling open its ornately carved wooden doors. It was empty within save for a small chest, sitting with its lid invitingly open. After a second’s thought, Keith carefully placed the map inside and snapped the lid shut.

“Excellent.” Allura strode forward, reaching beyond the high neckline of her blouse to procure a key from a chain around her neck. She shut the safe with a firm thud, locking it with a practiced movement before whirling back on Keith and Shiro. “You are more than welcome to check on the map at any time, should you need the reassurance. I promise I shall guard it with my life.”

Shiro stood, his chair creaking. “We believe you, Princess.” He threw Keith a grimace, running a hand over his face. “This is the safest place for it. We didn’t have much of a plan, as far as storage goes. So… thank you.”

“Ah!” Coran held up a finger, scrambling from his place behind the desk to join the group at the safe. “Speaking of which! Whatever was your plan when we reached the Cannon?”

“Uh…” Shiro sighed and winced, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck with his cybernetic hand. “Activate the map and steal a long-boat in the dead of night?”

To Keith’s surprise (and delight), both Allura and Coran sniggered. Shiro’s face reddened, his mouth lifting into an involuntary, embarrassed half-smile. “I didn’t say it was the best plan…”

Allura waved a hand, her mouth pressed into a thin line as she suppressed another giggle. “No matter. The four of us shall procure a more suitable solution by the time we arrive.” She turned to Coran with a snap of her fingers. “Perhaps we might leave the ship under the guise of a scouting mission? This is meant to be a charting course, after all.”

We. The word should have made Keith feel terrified. He and Shiro had spent so long preparing to take this risk alone, and now that their operation had expanded…

He should have felt guilty—violated. Instead, he felt nothing but relief; as if two more people had stepped up to shoulder the enormous weight that lay atop his and Shiro’s shoulders.

It made him feel… safer. Less alone.

“The question remains,” Allura continued, pressing the tips of her fingers together before her lips, “—what to do when we’ve arrived…”

“Throw it in and get the hell out,” Keith cut in, and Coran chuckled.

“Brilliant! Can’t find the trove if you can’t find the map,” he reasoned, and Keith grinned at him.

“Exactly.”

Allura sighed, maneuvering around her desk to drop heavily into her chair; and the image was so far from her poised and regal ‘Captain persona’ that Keith almost laughed. She was several years older than him, from what he could recall of the little information they’d discovered on her record (thirty-one, if he remembered correctly—just a year younger than Adam); but at that moment, Keith could imagine the two of them becoming great friends.

“This is… much to process,” she sighed, rubbing tiredly at her temples. “Let us retire this discussion for the time being, gentlemen. I’d prefer that your absence go relatively unnoticed by this particular… crew.”

A chill crawled up Keith’s spine, and he watched his cousin’s brows furrow before Shiro was asking, “You don’t trust them?”

“Frankly, I don’t trust anyone, Commander; least of all a crew that would volunteer themselves for this particular journey without discernible reason.”

“But you trust us,” Shiro asserted.

Their Captain nodded, reclining in her chair. “The two of you willingly put your lives in mortal danger to guarantee that this map remains a secret.” She turned to Keith, her voice taking on a soft edge. “You were willing to die for it.”

Unable to deny the words, Keith bit at the inside of his cheek, ignoring Shiro’s eyes burning into the side of his face.

“The two of you I trust,” Allura confirmed, gesturing to their holographic pictures. “Imperfect records—” she swept a hand over Keith's scowling visage, and the image disappeared. “A rogue Commander…” She dismissed Shiro’s files and fixed him with a pensive look. “At least, I assume you are working outside of Montressor’s Galaxy Garrison? I have found no record of a Garrison sanctioned mission to the Cannon.”

Keith bit his lip, and Shiro nodded solemnly. “That’s correct. We felt it best not to involve the Garrison.”

He needn’t have continued. Allura nodded emphatically, as if Shiro had just proved her point. “Precisely. You’ve both treated this knowledge with the utmost discretion and delicacy. You understand the repercussions of discovery by those who might wish to use the contents of the trove for personal gain or power.”

She flicked a hand, and up shot multiple holographic files. “This crew that Mister Wright hired, on the other hand—their records are clean. Far too clean. I cannot vet them as I did you, precisely because I fear that doing so will reveal our very purpose. But I shall be exercising the utmost caution around them. You’re both to report to me if you see or hear any cause for suspicion.”

“Actually…” Keith traded a look with Shiro. “There’s something else you should know.” One of Allura’s perfectly manicured brows lifted, and Keith took that as a sign to continue. “Before Thace—uh, the Blade operative we met—before he died, he said I should watch out for some cyborg.”

Allura inhaled sharply, and Coran folded his arms across his chest. “Blast,” he grumbled. “If he was referring to Sendak—”

“We shall hope not,” Allura tightly responded. When Keith and Shiro exchanged another look, she sighed. “After Zarkon fled,” she explained, “—many of his most ruthless followers attempted to continue his work from the shadows. Sendak was one of his most devoted commanders; a Galra cyborg famed for his ruthlessness. Coran and I have tried to track him for years in connection to the destruction of Altea, but…” she sighed, wearily, and Keith was reminded again of how very young she was. “We’ve never even seen him. Not even the Blade is sure what he looks like. If Zarkon was a master of disappearance, Sendak is smoke. Impossible to pin. The map falling into his hands would be a cataclysmic catastrophe.”

Another silence fell over them, this one weighted with tense apprehension, broken only when Coran groaned and massaged his temples. “We must too keep a close eye on those of our crew who are cybernetically enhanced.” His eyes met Shiro’s, and his face turned a ruddy shade of red. “Er—present company excluded, of cou—”

“Silver,” Keith blurted, heart suddenly racing.

“And McClain,” Allura added, and Keith felt himself suck in a breath. Taking note of his reaction, she leveled him with a weighty stare. “I shall expect you to keep a close eye on the both of them, Keith. You may very well be our best source of intel.”

Keith nodded, although when he responded, his thoughts weren’t of mismatched eyes and dimpled laughter. Instead, they insistently worried over a glowing red eye and the stench of foul breath. “I’ll let you know the second I hear something.”

She nodded, her lips flattened into a thin line. “Very good. Now,” she stood once more, hands splayed over her desk; and Keith marveled at the way the pose resembled the one she’d struck when they’d first entered her cabin.

We were different people, then, he thought, looking around the room. Before him now stood a team, all determinedly reliant on one another to save the universe.

The thought sent a thrill of purpose through him, and he raised his chin a little higher as the Captain addressed them.

“I advise that we all pull ourselves together and return to the company of our crew before we are missed.”

…

The rest of their first day went relatively smoothly by comparison.

No more pistols were pulled, no more tempers raised; and Keith hardly even saw hide or hair of Silver or Lance for the rest of the day. Lance in particular seemed determined to avoid Keith like the plague, practically teleporting to the opposite end of the ship whenever he noticed Keith’s presence. Silver, on the other hand, had immediately assigned Keith to help Coran with the evening’s meal prep; and as he departed to the galley, Keith had been sure to throw Lance—who was lounging near the bow with Kosmo—the dirtiest look he could muster.

Time passed quickly in the galley, despite—or, as a result of? Keith wasn’t sure—Coran’s endless rambling. The Altean seemed to have no shortage of stories regarding his childhood, and by the time dinner was ready to be served, Keith was well-familiar with the legend that was: Coran, Coran, the Gorgeous Man (as he’d claimed to have been called in his youth).

(Keith really hated how catchy the title was).

Dinner was a pureed goop made of peas and some kind of gelatinous root that Keith had never heard of. When he’d pulled a face upon seeing the finished product, Coran had wagged a stern finger. “Now, now! It’s better than it looks, my boy. My grandpappy's own recipe! The healthiest concoction for the intrepid space-farer,” he’d recited, sticking his nose into the air.

In lieu of a response, Keith had simply stared down at the green, wobbly mass in the pot and silently dubbed it ‘food goo’.

Lance materialized just in time to help Coran and Keith carry three full trays of goo up and out of the galley and down into the neighboring mess hall. Keith had been hoping that the cyborg’s pissy mood might have dissipated, and that the two of them might be able to call a ceasefire. If anything, Lance seemed even more irate, responding to Keith’s whispered, “And where the hell have you been?” with a snippy, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

They’d sat as far as possible from one another during dinner—Lance at a rowdy table with Silver and a few other crewmembers, and Keith at a solemn table with Shiro, Coran, and the Captain. A heavy silence had sat between them, electrified with secret and buzzing with the knowledge of their newfound alliance.

When Allura had finished—dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin as she stood to leave—she’d caught Keith’s eye and winked, the action so minute and intimate that Keith’s mouth curled up into the barest hint of a smile.

He’d just managed to choke down the last of Coran’s wretched concoction—stars above, how his heart ached for his father’s cooking—and was about to follow Shiro out of the mess hall when a large hand landed on his shoulder, the touch uncomfortably heavy.

“And where do you think you’re going, boy?” a bone-chilling voice asked, and Keith turned to find Silver leering down at him. Behind the giant of a man stood Lance, leveling Keith with that infuriatingly smug smirk as he leaned a hip against a table, arms folded over his chest.

Fearing that he might lose control and break the other boy’s nose, Keith took special care not to look at or talk to him for the remainder of the evening—not when everyone had finally filed out of the mess hall, leaving the two of them alone; not when they carried trays full of dirty plates back to the galley; not when their shoulders brushed as they stood in tense silence before the sink, Lance washing while Keith dried.

Not when Lance handed off a plate and their fingers touched, Keith swiftly yanking his hand away and ignoring the prickle at the back of his neck as Lance’s eyes burned into the side of his head.

For hours neither of them spoke, as if they were each determined to win their silent stand-off; and when they finally parted ways, Keith leaving the galley in search of Shiro, he did so without a word.

Above deck, he found his cousin looking pensive and forlorn as he sat on the bow, knees pulled up to his chest as he gazed out at the stars. Keith joined him in silence, his creaking footsteps the only announcement of his arrival before he was hoisting himself up onto the banister beside him.

They talked well into the night in hushed voices, the sides of their heads gently pressed together as they relished one another’s company. Something about the expansive grandeur before them made Keith feel, at that moment, as if the two of them were kids again—as if Keith had never screwed up and let their relationship dissolve over years of willful self-estrangement. As Shiro lamented the way he’d left things with Adam (tense and upset), Keith turned to press a discreet kiss to his cousin’s shoulder, afraid that at any possible minute he might register that it was Keith he was talking to and take off.

Instead, Shiro merely wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, and their precious moment went unshattered.

They sat long after the lanterns had been lit and the final crewmember had retired for the night. Left in relative privacy (with only Coran at the helm several yards away and Thorn up in lookout), their whispered conversation finally turned to discussion of the day’s events. By the time Keith trudged down alone to the galley, nearly asleep on his feet, he was feeling more rejuvenated and settled than he had in weeks.

The feeling remained uninterrupted when he reached the bottom of the stairs and found Lance already asleep; curled on his side atop his bedspread and pressed against the cupboards of the kitchen sink.

Keith sighed, grateful that he could not see the other boy’s face, and unrolled his own bedroll. He flopped down onto it with a grunt, falling asleep almost the second his eyes slid shut.

…

At first, he wasn’t sure what had roused him from sleep. For several long moments, he lay there, blinking himself into consciousness and wondering why he’d woken at such an ungodly hour. His entire body protested, begging him to submit to the pull of sleep; and he was about to surrender to its call when he heard it again—the sound that had pulled him from restless dreams filled with glittering purple quintessence and bright red eyes.

From a couple feet away, Lance heaved another quiet, muffled sob that tapered off into a whimper; and Keith’s gut clenched with guilt as he stared—motionless and stupefied and utterly useless—at the dark ceiling.

Listening to Lance’s futile attempts to contain his tears, he thought, hell of a way to end a first day.

…

Keith rolled out of bed, groaning with exhaustion as his body ached with pain. It protested every movement, forcing him to lay on his side for several minutes before he finally had the ability to straighten. With a yawn, he stretched his arms over his head, wincing as pain bloomed in his lower back and shoulders.

As he’d done every morning for the past two weeks, he cursed Thorn and her entire existence.

Although only sixteen days had passed since his turbulent first day—sixteen days since the launch, and his understanding with the Captain, and his initial misunderstanding with Lance—Keith felt like he’d been in space for months. He was certainly just as sore as someone who had been.

Swearing under his breath, he grunted as he reached for his boots, his fingers flailing as he attempted to reach them without bending his back. After far too much effort, he finally managed to snag one, pulling it toward him as he grumbled to himself.

Fuck Thorn. Fuck her and, frankly, fuck training.

He’d been so excited to start, that first day.

If he was being honest with himself, he was still excited. Combat training had been a favorite course of his during his short stint at the Garrison, and learning to fight from someone that wasn’t Iverson was like a dream come true. Thorn was—without a doubt—totally awesome, and Keith was lucky as hell to be under her tutelage. The hours spent in her company certainly provided a refreshing break from those spent in the stormy electricity of Lance’s, or worse yet: in the hair-raising discomfort of Silver’s.

But she insisted on kicking his ass every morning at ‘piss-o’-clock’ (as Lance had put it when they’d first met all those days ago) and Keith insisted on being as grumpy about his bruised body as possible.

He and Shiro trained separately, Shiro’s sessions being a good deal later in the day and a good deal shorter than his own. Thorn seemed to relish Keith’s inexperience, visibly enjoying the way he would yelp when she attacked with all six arms; six deadly weapons swinging at him all at once.

The first time she’d tried that quaint little trick, Keith had been knocked on his ass within seconds. When he’d complained that six against one seemed phenomenally unfair, she’d argued that: “Space is not fair, Mister Kogane.”

The next time they sparred, she’d punished his complaining by using her tail as a seventh attacker, and Keith had nearly gone careening off the side of the ship when it caught him off-guard.

Though that had happened a couple days ago, Keith was still fuming about it now, his back in agony after taking multiple hits from her tail. “Expect the unexpected, Mister Kogane,” Keith muttered in a poor imitation of her gruff voice. He yanked his boot on, the action far angrier than it had any right to be. “Space is wild, Mister Kogane.”

Deciding his other boot was too far away for the time being, Keith changed tactics, grabbing the knife and belt that lay beside him; fastening the holster around his waist and stowing his weapon. The knife itself wasn’t much (a simple blade the length of his forearm, its hilt wrapped with a worn leather grip), but Thorn had been correct when she’d guessed it would suit Keith. It was one of the most well-balanced weapons he’d ever held, well-suited proportionately and invigoratingly smooth to fight with.

He pulled his shirt down over his belt, rolling his shoulders as he worked up the will to reach for his second shoe.

“Alright. Fuck,” he mumbled, leaning forward. He released a relieved breath when his range of movement seemed to increase, and he stretched himself closer, his fingers grazing the lip of the boot—

With a tiny popping noise that had become all too familiar in the past couple weeks, Kosmo materialized before him, startling Keith into hastily retracting his outreached hand. For a second, the two of them stared at one another; and then they were both lunging for the shoe, Keith’s back protesting with pain.

Kosmo snatched the boot into his mouth, retreating from Keith a couple steps as his hand closed around nothing.

Electric blue eyes pierced his own, intelligent and playful. Keith scowled, fully aware of what was about to occur and all-too-familiar with the game afoot. They had, after all, been playing it for half a month now.

He cursed his past self for encouraging the behavior. It’d been cute, at first—but it hadn’t taken Keith long to grow weary of it. “Kosmo, I’m not in the mood. Drop it.”

The wolf’s tail was practically a blur behind him as he took yet another step back.

“I know you can understand me. It’s way too early for this. Drop it, Kos.”

Kosmo had the sheer audacity to look confused, cocking his head with a tiny whine; and Keith lunged forward in a rush, knowing exactly what would happen next. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

In a blip, Kosmo disappeared, and Keith cursed as he scrambled off the floor, his thigh muscles screaming in agony. Barreling up the stairs and onto the deck, Keith blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the sleep from his eyes, squinting around the deck until he found Kosmo sitting innocently several feet to his right, boot in mouth.

Keith took a slow step toward him. “We can do this the easy way,” he offered, trying to no avail to keep his voice light. “Or we can do this the hard way.”

Apparently, Kosmo thought the hard way sounded pretty damn good. He blinked out of existence, appearing again a couple feet to the left, and Keith lunged.

His hands closed around thin air and he swore loudly, garnering the attention of several members of the crew. They watched him with huffs of amusement, elbowing their fellow crewmembers in the ribs as if Keith were some entertaining spectacle.

He felt his face flush under their mocking smiles, and he growled in frustration just as Kosmo appeared in front of him once more. “This isn’t funny, Kos. I had a rough night, okay? I’m serious, just—”

“Kosmo!” barked a voice behind him, and Keith instantly bristled. Lance came to stand at his side, arms folded across his chest. “Drop it. Now.”

… well. That was new.

This had become something of a regular occurrence. Most mornings found Keith chasing down a shoe or fingerless glove in the most frustrating and impossible game of tag in existence. More often than not, the extravaganza would be accompanied by Lance’s howls of laughter as he watched from a distance, usually perched in the rafters with his breakfast and never moving a muscle to help. In the end, Keith’s saving grace was always Shiro, who Kosmo apparently thought it funny to instantly obey. The result tended to be a good ten to fifteen minutes of humiliation for Keith, only to come to an end when Shiro eventually showed up.

Today was… different.

Keith had learned relatively early on that Kosmo was also irritatingly responsive to Lance, who seemed to just have a way with him. The only issue was, while Shiro used his gifts for good, Lance used his for complete and utter evil. He’d taken to encouraging the wolf’s behavior, developing a nasty glint in his eye whenever Keith was in the vicinity and whispering, “Go get him, baby boy—give him lots of big slobbery kisses.”

Without fail, Keith would end up on the floor as he received an impromptu bath, glaring up at Lance’s stupid grinning face and flipping him the bird.

Never before had Lance actually helped, and Keith blinked tiredly at him, wondering if this was all some sleep-deprived illusion.

To his embarrassment, Lance caught him staring, raising a questioning eyebrow at the very same time that Keith’s shoe dropped to the floor with a dull thud. “What?”

Still watching Lance through eyes narrowed in suspicion, Keith cautiously stepped toward his shoe, noting the dusting of pink over Lance’s cheeks. “Nothing,” was apparently all his brain could manage. He hopped on one foot as he pulled his boot onto the other, trying to figure out why the hell Lance was still staring at him. “Um. I’m late for training. So.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

As Keith awkwardly turned to leave, eager to escape Lance’s weirdness, the other boy caught his wrist in a gentle grip. He released it when Keith blinked up at him in surprise. “I. Um. I just wanted—uh. About last night—”

No. Oh, fuck no. Was that what this was about?

Mortification ushered blood into Keith’s cheeks, and he chastised his own stupidity. Two weeks to get used to waking up in the middle of the night because of Lance, yet what in all hells had possessed him to do that last night?

Keith pulled his wrist away, ignoring the hurt in the other boy’s eyes. “Oh. Uh. We don’t need to—I didn’t think you were awake.”

Lance swallowed, looking far more contrite than Keith had ever seen him. “Yeah, well… I was. So—”

“I’m really late,” Keith blurted, not at all wanting to have this conversation. The expression on Lance’s face, the lightness of his touch, the shyness that’d crept into his voice—Keith was far too tired to venture into such unfamiliar territory. “I’ll see you, though,” he called, already stepping away and trying to ignore the way his heart clenched when Lance’s face fell.

“Yeah. See you.”

…

An hour later, he emerged from training with a nasty bruise under his eye and another lecture on focus to add to his ever-growing repertoire. He’d stood there and taken it all like a champ, but inwardly berated himself for his inability to concentrate his wandering thoughts.

And yet they’d wandered. They’d strayed (despite his best efforts) back to Lance, again and again and again until he failed to block one of Thorn’s many fists and paid the price for his inattention.

In the galley, he sat on the prep-table and nursed the purpling spot on his cheekbone with ice, scowling down at his bedroll and refusing to look at Lance’s. All the while, he cursed his own moral compass for landing him here, chewed out and injured and embarrassed all because he’d tried to be nice.

He had no idea why the hell he’d done it, really; but last night Lance’s quiet whimpering had finally grown too much to bear. Whenever his bunkmate had these… night episodes, Keith normally lay motionless in bed as he waited for the tears to pass. He hated feeling so powerless to help, but worlds sat between himself and the other boy, and he had the tiniest of suspicions that—considering Lance seemed to take great care to muffle the crying as much as possible—an attempt to help would be most unwelcome.

Normally, when Keith stirred in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled sobs, the rustle of movement a few feet away indicated that his companion was awake and restless. Last night, for the first time, he hadn’t been.

Keith had woken to the sound of agonized, unrestrained whimpers as Lance tossed and turned atop his roll, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. Refusing to be a bystander any longer, Keith quietly heaved himself to his feet, snatching his blanket before picking his way over to Lance in the darkness.

It was only by the dim light of the stars peeping through the exit to the galley that Keith was able to see the way Lance’s body shuddered, curling in on itself pathetically as he moaned in his sleep. Without a second thought, Keith drew his blanket—the one he’d brought from Adam’s home, warm and thick where Lance’s was scratchy and nearly threadbare—over the other boy, careful not to rouse him.

Sitting back on his heels, he waited for a couple minutes while Lance calmed, his shaking dying down as he unconsciously clutched at Keith’s blanket.

He didn’t think he’d ever be quite sure what prompted his next wave of madness. It might have been the way Lance whined, his head rotating so that the starlight illuminated glistening cheeks. It might have been the sweat plastering the boy’s hair to his forehead.

It might have been the way Lance looked so heartbreakingly mournful in slumber, or the way that Keith’s chest clenched with empathy as he watched over him.

Before he was even conscious of the movement, he was reaching out with a feather-light touch to brush the sweaty hair off of Lance’s forehead—the way Keith’s own father always used to do when he had nightmares.

For a heart-stopping second, Lance’s breath hitched; and Keith froze, fingers still threaded through sticky-wet hair. Self-awareness came careening back into him, and he held his breath, cursing himself as he silently begged Lance not to wake.

The boy’s breath evened out once more, and Keith released a relieved sigh, gently extracting his fingers from Lance’s hairline and retreating to his own bed.

He should have known then that he’d woken him. It had been so painfully obvious. Stupid. You stupid, stupid idiot.

Why hadn’t Lance said something? Grabbed his hand and demanded to know what the hell Keith thought he was doing? Why the fuck had he just… let him do that?

Now, Keith stood, too bored icing his bruised cheek and too wired to continue to sit and worry over the previous night’s events. Turning, he chucked the remaining ice into the sink before wiping his cold palms against his cargo pants, stomping up onto the deck to complete his morning chores—his irritation at both himself and Lance mounting with each step.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the huddled crewmembers until he was nearly on top of them. With little more than a couple yards between them, their conspiratorial whispers invaded his consciousness; and Keith quickly changed course, ducking behind the lookout pole and busying himself with coiling some rope that’d been haphazardly thrown to the floor.

Struggling to hear more than a vague word here and there, Keith slowly inched around the pole, attempting to look nonchalant as he tiptoed closer. He was almost close enough to make out what Roth—the alien with the face for a stomach—was saying, when something wet flicked at the shell of his ear.

“Cabin boys should learn to mind their own business,” a voice hissed, and Keith couldn’t help the surprised gasp that left him, or the way he whirled around so hard that he stumbled backward into Roth’s arms.

The large alien pinned him in place with two meaty hands, and Keith struggled in his grip as Morena—the crewmember who seemed to despise him most—slithered down the lookout pole, her long tail coiling and uncoiling as she descended.

Fuck. Why hadn’t he checked the post? He’d thought himself to be so discreet, and the snake-woman had seen the whole thing from her vantage point up above.

Keith was jostled roughly as the group unfurled from their tight circle, revealing Morena’s sister Rave in the mix. She winked at him, blowing him a kiss with one of her many tentacles and giggling when he glowered at her.

“You should be more careful, little one,” Morena cooed, bringing his attention back to her half serpentine form. She raised a clawed hand to stroke his face, and he wrenched his head to the side in disgust. In retaliation, she grabbed his jaw, her sharp fingers digging into his skin as she turned him to look at her. “Sneaking about brings trouble; no doubt,” she sang, baring her teeth in a sharp-toothed grin. “Are you looking for trouble, human?”

Finally giving up his fight against Roth’s steel grip, Keith leveled Morena with the most vehement glare he could manage. “Why? Are you?”

The smile slipped off her face, her slitted eyes flashing with anger. “You insolent whelp—”

“Someone wanna explain what’s going on?”

Every head—including Keith’s, still grasped between Morena’s fingers—turned toward the sound of Lance’s voice. He stood a few feet away, leaning against the banister with his hands tucked into his pockets; the perfect picture of nonchalance.

Morena hissed, her sharp fangs glinting as she bared them in a display of hostility. “This does not concern you, Little Blue.”

A couple of the other crewmembers chuckled, and Lance held a hand out like, alright, you got me. “Fair enough. But it concerns him.” The cyborg’s voice hardened as he pointed a casual finger at Keith, who—completely perplexed—resisted the urge to pull a face.

What the hell is he doing?

“And I need him for work. So.” Lance shrugged, slipping his hands back into his pockets as he pushed himself away from the banister, taking a few unfaltering steps toward them. “I suggest you let him go.”

When no one moved, Lance pursed his lips, rocking onto the balls of his feet as he whistled. “Huh. Okay. I can always grab Silver, if we wanna do this the hard way, and—”

With a guttural growl, Morena released her grip on Keith’s face, throwing his head back into Roth’s chest. As she reluctantly slithered away, her eyes locked with Keith’s like a predator onto its prey, and he shuddered under the undisguised hatred she radiated.

“Oh, hey!” Lance was saying, his voice high with false nonchalance. “Look at that! Not so hard after all!”

Roth released him, shooting him a withering glare as he retreated alongside the other crewmembers, each going their separate ways as they returned to the day’s tasks.

When the two of them were finally alone, Lance huffed, the cool mask slipping from his face as he shot Keith an apologetic grimace. “I’d ask what happened, but Ren’s kinda known for picking fights for no good reason.” His eyes roved over Keith’s face, his mouth pulling into a frown. “She didn’t give you that shiner, did she?”

Keith could barely do anything more than blink dumbly at the other boy. What the hell was happening? Had he been transported to another dimension?

“Um. Anyways,” Lance continued when Keith didn’t respond, clearing his throat awkwardly. “You’re welcome.”

Wait… what?

“What?”

Lance’s eyebrows furrowed. “Uh… you’re welcome? For the save?”

“The what?”

Impatience leaked into the lines of the other boy’s face. “You know.” He flapped a hand. “Three seconds ago? When I saved your ass from getting kicked?”

And—oh. Oh. Well. Keith certainly didn’t need any favors, so Lance could go fuck himself as far as Keith and the throbbing bruise under his eye were concerned.

With a temper that was rising by the second, Keith shoved past the other boy, taking care to knock their shoulders together. “Yeah, well. I didn’t need saving. I had it covered.”

“You… had it covered,” Lance echoed incredulously, his voice rising in anger as Keith stepped farther and farther away. “Are you seriously gonna be a prick instead of just thanking me?” The sound of pursuing footsteps followed Keith across the deck, and he sped up, not entirely sure where he was going but determined to get away. “The least you could do is look at me, asshole; I was just trying to help—”

“I don’t need your help!” Keith whirled back on him, his hands clenched into tight fists. He might have gone on, but Lance was throwing his arms out at his sides.

“Okay, well then—neither did I last night!”

A hot, angry flush raced up the back of Keith's neck. “Okay, fine then!”

“Fine!”

“Have fun with your night terrors, or whatever. See if I fucking care.”

Lance sneered. “Thanks, that’s sweet. And hey, while we’re at it; have fun making friends—” Keith growled, pivoting on his heel and stomping away as Lance hollered, “—SINCE YOU SEEM TO BE SO FUCKING GOOD AT IT!”

Stopping at the entrance to the galley, Keith spun around, a hand shooting out to grasp the open hatch. “FUCK YOU!”

“FUCK YOU!”

…

Not once in the two long weeks of their ‘rivalry’ (as Lance liked to call it for whatever stupid reason), had things between them gotten this bad.

The two of them spent the rest of the day trapped in a silence charged with fury and resentment. It leaked into their work, as well as into their interactions with the rest of the crew. One particular instance had left Keith feeling awful for snapping at Shiro; but then he’d heard Lance lose his cool at Roth for stepping over newly mopped floor, and Keith had thought, good. At least he’s just as miserable as I am.

Meal prep that evening was an even bigger nightmare than usual. They’d managed to mostly stay out of one another’s hair during the day, shooting each other the occasional poisonous glare across the deck over the handles of their mops and around the sides of heavy crates.

Now, they were stuck in the tiny galley with Coran, who was the only crewmember that seemed oblivious to the tension between them. He prattled on about everything and anything, missing the way Lance nearly lost a finger trying to cut yber root faster than Keith, and the way Keith nearly sloshed boiling water all over himself as he snatched a pot from Lance.

Dinner found the two of them locked in a heated stare-down across the mess hall, both refusing to back down even as their silverware clattered noisily against their plates. More than once, Keith spotted Shiro glancing back and forth between them, opening his mouth as if to say something and closing it promptly when Keith slammed his drinking canteen against the table.

Shiro left him after dinner with little more than a nervous glance and a tentative wave that Keith returned with a curt nod, already moving to clear his cousin’s plate. As the last of the crew trickled out of the mess hall, the silence around the two cabin boys grew almost unbearably stifling.

Lance was on wash duty tonight, and even in the confined space, Keith was careful to keep some distance between them as he dried. In the terse silence, Keith could feel their collective anger growing to a boiling point; evidenced by the jerkiness of Lance’s movements and the rigidness of his back, and by Keith’s own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He wished he could have been anywhere else, at that moment.

I hate him, Keith realized, nearly breaking a bowl as he angrily set it aside. I hate him, I hate him, I—

It was an accident. Logically, Keith knew that.

But as Lance dropped a pile of plates into the sink a little more forcefully than he’d likely intended, sending a wave of scummy dishwater and suds soaking down Keith’s front, not a single part of Keith’s brain cared for logic.

For a couple seconds, the two of them stared at one another in stunned silence. Lance’s eyes were wide, both hands rising to cover his mouth.

“Keith, I’m so—”

No. Fuck that. He didn’t want to fucking hear it.

Powered by pure rage, Keith lunged, grasping a pot submerged in murky sink water and upending it over Lance’s head before throwing it to the floor with shaking hands.

Lance spluttered, wiping grimy liquid out of his eyes, and Keith couldn’t help but think that he looked like the personification of a boiling kettle.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING, DUDE? It was an accident!”

“Yeah,” Keith growled, hardly even able to remember how to speak through the flames roaring through his mind. “So was that.”

“Oh, fuck you.” With lightning-quick reflexes, Lance dipped his hands into the suds (which were almost gray with filth) and dumped a heap-full on top of Keith’s head. “There. So was that.”

Keith reached for one of the unwashed bowls, scooping out a handful of goo and smearing it down Lance’s face as he growled, “Okay then, so’s this,” through gritted teeth.

The other boy gasped, his raised hands uncurling and curling into fists as goo dripped from his fringe into his eyes, and Keith couldn’t help himself. “What?” he taunted. “That all you got, cabin boy?”

Lance practically snarled, knocking a palm into the sink and sending another wave of stinking water up into Keith’s face. “Stars, I fucking hate you.”

As he staggered back a step or two, Keith’s hand landed on an open burlap sack filled with raw grain. “The feeling’s mutual,” he grunted, lobbing a handful of fine grain at his companion. Lance swore, raising his hands protectively over his eyes as he attempted to duck out of the way.

“You’re fucking insane! You could’ve got that in my eyes!”

Keith dragged an arm across his sopping forehead. “Don’t be such a fucking baby.”

“Oh, me don’t be a baby?” Lance turned to look for ammunition, and Keith’s stomach sank with dread when the other boy noticed the trash sack to his left. “Says the baby who started it!”

Keith whirled, practically diving for the table to his right and grabbing one of their food trays just in time to shield himself from the projectile Lance had lobbed at his head. Whatever it was collided heavily against the tray with a thud before rolling to the floor.

“I did not,” Keith protested hotly. “You—”

“I already told you, it was an accident!” The word was punctuated with another projectile, this one bigger than the last, and Keith gritted his teeth as he nearly lost his grip on the tray. “You’re impossible! You never fucking listen—”

“I’m impossible? Have you met you?” Feeling sufficiently over their stupid little game, Keith tossed the tray aside, and it clattered to the floor with a clang. On the opposite side of the table, Lance stood frozen with an entire melon rind raised above his head, as if he’d been about to throw it and stopped himself just on time. “I mean, what the fuck is your deal? One second I think we’re fine, and the next you hate me!”

Lance’s eyes burned into his as he tossed the rind to the floor. “Oh, you wanna talk about mixed signals? Who the fuck gives someone their blanket and then yells at them when they’re trying to be nice?”

“I don’t know!” Keith’s voice cracked with raw emotion. “You’re so damn confusing!” Lance opened his mouth to respond, but Keith plowed on before he could speak. “It’s like, just when I think we’re actually getting somewhere, you get all pissy for no reason and we’re back at square one!”

“I wasn’t pissy today—”

“I don’t just mean today, Lance!” His brittle voice felt rough around the edges. “You’ve hated me since the day we met!”

“Well maybe if you’d just fucking apologized, none of this would have happened!”

“FINE!” Keith bellowed. “I’m fucking sorry—is that what you wanted to hear?”

“YES!”

Keith threw his hands into the air and released a short, manic laugh, trying to ignore the fact that he felt and sounded slightly insane. “Great! There it is, then! I’m sorry I bumped into you, and I wish it hadn’t happened!”

“THANK YOU!”

“YOU’RE WELCOME!”

Both boys stood panting at one another, their chests heaving with exertion, and Keith… wasn’t sure what to do next. At some point during the last few minutes, he’d subconsciously resigned himself to the idea that they were never going to reach the end—that they’d live out their lives screaming at one another in this tiny galley. But now that it was all over… well. Now what?

He swallowed, searching Lance’s eyes for some hint, some clue; but Lance looked just as stunned as he felt, as if he were still trying to digest what had just happened.

They stared. Silence pressed in on them, seeming to stretch a moment that lasted for seconds into hours.

And then, Lance laughed.

It was small, at first; a little chuckle that quickly consumed him, overtaking his body until he was shaking with mirth, grasping his stomach as he bent. Keith watched him with wide eyes, afraid at first that he’d broken the boy. “Uh…”

Lance flapped a hand, steadying himself against the counter with his other. “Sorry, sorry. I just—you look fucking ridiculous.”

Keith felt his eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“You—” Lance broke off into another peal of laughter. “Your hair, dude. You’ve got, like, a bubble mohawk.”

Frowning, Keith swiped a hand over the top of his head, drawing it away to find a handful of suds. He winced in disgust, wiping it off on his pants as Lance’s laughter increased.

Fighting to ignore the flush creeping up his neck, Keith folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, well. You don’t look so good either, hotshot.”

Seeming to remember the layer of goo covering his face, Lance grinned, swiping a finger across his cheek and sticking it in his mouth. He hummed thoughtfully as Keith gaped at him in confusion. “Yep, it’s just as nasty from my face as it is from the pot.”

It wasn’t that funny. It really, really wasn’t that funny, but Keith’s snort turned into a giggle; and before he knew it, both he and Lance were doubled over with hysterical laughter as they pointed at one another, reveling in the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“I can’t believe you—you threw a melon rind—”

“I’ve never had an apology yelled at me—that was so fucking funny dude—”

They gravitated toward one another as they laughed, sinking tiredly down to sit on the floor, their backs against the sink cabinet. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, their full-blown hysteria eventually died down into sporadic giggles, and Keith relished the sensation of their laughter as their bodies shook against each other.

Feeling thoroughly strung out, Keith let his head fall back, Adam’s apple exposed as his eyes slipped shut. The last of his laughter tapered off into a contented sigh, but his smile remained.

A shoulder bumped against his, and he turned his head, peeking at Lance from behind his bangs. The other boy was already watching him with a soft smile that made him squirm, and he resisted the urge to look away.

“Hey. Did you mean what you said?”

Keith blinked, momentarily confused, and then—oh. Right.

“Yeah.” He made himself hold Lance’s eyes, and blue-green stared back at him, mirroring his sincerity. “I really am sorry, Lance. I should have said it sooner, I just—”

“I was a prick.” The corner of Lance’s mouth lifted, and Keith found himself hesitantly returning the smile. “Guess I kind of made it hard to apologize, in the moment.”

“A little,” Keith admitted, pressing his lips together to fight his burgeoning smile.

Lance snorted, letting his head fall back onto the cupboard with a thunk, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Keith’s. “I’m sorry too.”

“Thanks. And, um.” Keith bit the inside of his cheek, wrestling his pride into submission. “Thanks for earlier, too.”

The surprise on Lance’s face melted into something so soft that Keith was forced to look away, rolling his head back to center.

“You’re welcome.”

A short silence fell over them, uncomfortable only for the fact that Keith actually wanted to keep talking; terrified that if they stopped, this moment between them might have just been a dream.

“You think we would have been friends?”

Keith blinked, turning back to Lance with a curious tilt to his head. “What?”

The other boy’s face was bright red, his eyes trained on his knees and his mouth twisted into a guilty frown. “If we hadn’t—you know.”

Oh.

He was quiet for so long that Lance began to fidget, picking at a thread on his pants.

“I think,” he said slowly, watching as Lance’s fingers froze at the sound of his voice. “That maybe it doesn’t matter.”

Was it him, or did Lance look slightly disappointed?

Pressing a hand against the cupboard, Keith heaved himself onto his feet, and Lance’s surprised eyes followed him up. “I mean, maybe we just… start over.” He cleared his throat. Hell below and stars above, this was so cringy. Who even was he? If Shiro were here to see this…

He steeled himself, holding out a hand to the boy below. “Keith Kogane. Nice to meet you.”

For an uncomfortable second, Lance merely blinked up at him; but then his face bloomed into a grin that crinkled his eyes and scrunched his nose—and suddenly, the heat burning up the back of Keith’s neck was worth it.

Grasping Keith’s hand, Lance hoisted himself up, giggling as he nearly lost his balance. “The name’s Lance,” he purred, wiggling his eyebrows as he gave Keith’s hand a firm shake. Keith snorted and rolled his eyes, which only seemed to widen Lance’s grin. “Lance McClain. Good to meet you, haircut.”

Keith scowled, but the expression was difficult to hold when he was feeling this… this. “I literally just gave you my name.”

“Yep!” Lance beamed at him, his eyes alight with roguish glee. “Haircut Kogane; heard ya loud and clear.”

Despite his most stubborn efforts, a huff of laughter ripped out of him, and Keith tore his hand from Lance’s grasp to direct a light punch to his shoulder. “This what being friends with you is gonna be like?”

He’d been expecting Lance to return the jab with one of his witty quips. Instead, the boy’s face fell once more into that unbearably soft expression; and Keith swore he could feel his heart rate quicken. “Yeah.”

Unable to hold eye contact for much longer, Keith shoved his hands back into his pockets. “Better than rivals, I guess.”

Lance laughed, bright and embarrassed, and Keith felt like someone who’d just struck gold. “Right. I’m not sure that we’d have survived the trip like that,” he admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his undercut.

“I don’t think the ship would have survived,” Keith muttered, turning to survey the disaster zone they’d created. Food and water covered the floor, giving the place a distinct ‘Kosmo-teleported-fifty-times-in-here’ kind of aesthetic.

“Oh, fuck me, we still gotta clean this up,” Lance moaned, smacking a palm to his forehead. “We suck, Keith. Fuck the rivalry.”

Another smile rose to Keith’s face, and it occurred to him that he just might know the answer to Lance’s question.

“Yeah,” he quietly agreed as he watched his new friend reach for the mop with a dramatic groan. “Fuck the rivalry.”

…

Cleaning took considerably less time than Keith thought it would.

He and Lance moved as a unit, tossing dishrags to one another across the room and drying the spots that the other washed. All the while, they prodded and teased and quipped, and Keith marveled at the way the work seemed to fly by. Every time Lance grinned at him from across the table, Keith felt as if he were suddenly full of boundless energy that thrummed through his body and made him feel unstoppable.

A couple hours had passed by the time they’d both exited the washrooms. Freshly bathed and free of muck, they grinned sheepishly at one another as they stole—towel-clad and quietly sniggering—across a dark deck, their footsteps light across smooth wood. The cool winds of the Etherium whipped at Keith’s hair and cheeks, making him shiver with the thrill of vitality.

Before long, they’d laid out their bedding on newly washed floor and climbed in, stretching out their aching bodies as their relieved sighs punctuated the silence. For the first time in the couple weeks they’d known one another, the silence wasn’t smothering, but filled with warmth; and Keith basked in its amicable glow.

Cozy and content, his eyes were just starting to slide closed when Lance’s voice cut through the darkness, quiet and intimate. “Hey, Keith?”

Lacking the energy to speak, Keith hummed in acknowledgment.

All was still, and he was beginning to slip under (wondering distantly if he’d merely imagined the other boy’s voice); when after a hesitant pause, it came again.

“We make a pretty good team.”

The warmth surging between them seeped into Keith’s cheeks, and he turned his smile into his pillow, submitting easily to slumber.

Chapter Text

Keith hummed cheerily as he heaved himself onto the banister beside his cousin, wiping at the sweat dribbling down the side of his neck. His thoughts were so preoccupied with the morning’s training (or indeed, with the previous night’s cathartic resolution to two weeks of antagonism) that he hardly noticed Shiro’s cocked brow.

“You seem… chipper.”

“Hm?”

Across the deck, Lance clambered down from lookout, forgoing the last few rungs and leaping the remaining distance to the ground below. Keith fought to suppress a snigger as he watched Thorn bat lightly at the back of his head, likely berating him for the stunt.

“I said,” Shiro over-enunciated, as if Keith were a toddler, “—you seem like you’re in a good mood.”

Tearing his eyes away from his bunkmate, Keith shrugged, helpless against the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I dunno. Is that illegal, Commander Shirogane?”

“… no.”

“That’s good. ‘Cause when I’m in a good mood—” Keith reached into the deep pocket of his cargo pants, procuring a guyvva fruit he’d nabbed from the galley, “—I bring the people I love extra fruit.”

He tossed the pink fruit over to his cousin, whose eyes widened as if he’d just caught dangerous contraband. “Keith, you can’t just—”

“Yeah, so quit waving it around, would you?”

Shiro stole a nervous, furtive look around the deck before shoving the fruit into his pocket. “Oh hell. I’m an accomplice now,” he lamented, hamming up the dramatics for Keith’s sake, who sniggered.

“How’s it feel to be a common criminal, Shirogane?”

“Honestly?” Shiro leaned back against the rope rigging, patting his pocket as he grinned. “Like I’m not gonna starve before lunch. Thanks, Keith.”

“No problem.”

“You sure Silver—”

Keith groaned, letting his head fall back and his eyes slide shut. “Shiro, no. It’s a nice morning. Nice thoughts only. Besides, what Silver doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He cracked open an eye, peering at his cousin with faux suspicion. “Unless you’re planning to squeal, you filthy criminal.”

His cousin snorted, raising a hand to shove at Keith’s head. “Shut up, you’re in such a weird—”

But Keith had stopped listening. His attention was drawn once more to Lance, who was laughing at something Thorn had said—his eyes crinkled, his head thrown back and his hands clutching at his chest.

Something in Keith’s stomach—something that fluttered with burning, restless wings—stirred to life. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Lance laugh like that.

As if heralded by Keith’s distant attention, Lance’s gaze swept the deck, and their eyes met (like magnets, Keith thought as his heart jumped into his throat). For a split second, they both froze as if caught in one another’s spell.

And then—

Lance’s face relaxed into a warm smile that crinkled his eyes and revealed a singular dimple, and he raised a hand in a greeting that was almost shy, as if he were testing unexplored waters.

Well. Who the hell was Keith to keep him waiting?

He wasted no time in returning the wave, and Lance’s smile expanded into something brilliant—radiant enough to rival the sun.

“Did I miss something?”

Reluctantly ripping his eyes from his new friend (friend—Keith hadn’t had many in his life, and the thought that he might have found one in Lance sent a thrill up his spine), he turned to find Shiro glancing between the two cabin boys with undisguised confusion.

Keith made a noncommittal noise. “Not much. Just a food fight.”

“A food… what?”

At the other end of the deck, Lance cocked his head in beckoning invitation. Keith leaped to his feet, unable to hide the volume of his smile.

“Stars above, did you—did you finally apologize?”

Spinning to walk backward, Keith turned his grin on his cousin, whose expression fell into a knowing smirk. “You did, didn’t you? You—why are you backing away from me?”

“Lance needs me,” Keith shrugged.

“Lance needs—Keith, what the fuck!”

Still walking backward, Keith laughed. “I’ll tell you later!” he called, snorting when Shiro threw his arms into the air. “After dinner!”

“I’m holding you to that! I’ve put up with enough of both of your drama, you hear?” The distance between them grew, and the volume of Shiro’s voice grew to match it. “I deserve this!”

Sniggering, Keith turned and shoved his hands into his pockets, leaving his cousin in suspense behind him. Shiro would get his answers later, but for now…

Despite his best efforts to contain his unbridled giddiness, he couldn’t prevent the spring in his step as he approached the other boy—nor could he stop the grin that practically consumed his entire face. It certainly didn’t help that Lance looked just as bright and eager as he felt, as if the events of the previous evening had finally pulled them into one another’s harmonious orbit.

“Morning.”

Lance’s smile was crooked. “Mornin’.”

“Gotcha something.” Keith lowered his voice, stepping closer and rummaging through his pocket. As quickly as he could, he tossed the second guyvva he’d collected that morning between them. Lance caught and stowed it in one fluid motion, surprise flickering quickly across his face before being replaced with an expression so soft and grateful that Keith’s stomach swooped.

“Awful thoughtful of you, haircut.”

“Still with the nickname?”

“Still with the nickname.”

…

“What’s your favorite color?”

Keith straightened, leaning on his mop and drawing an arm across his brow. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, dripping out of his hairline and down into his eyes. “Can’t believe you haven’t asked me that yet.”

Beside him, Lance sniggered, leaping over a freshly mopped area to reach a spot Keith had forgotten. “There were more pressing questions.”

“More pressing—you asked me what my favorite star was, yesterday.”

“And I stand by the fact that Vitor-3 is superior to Alarayan.”

“I’m not doing this again.”

The responding laugh sent that newly familiar thrill through Keith’s gut, as if the family of sparrow-gulls residing there had been startled into flight. Over the past couple days of their budding friendship, Keith had grown to crave that laugh. He chased it through hours of busywork and chores; hours of idle conversation and silly games.

“I’m serious, Lance. Start that shit again and I’m throwing myself overboard.”

“Okay, okay!” The other boy gasped with laughter, and Keith thought: score. “Favorite color!”

“Guess.”

“Ooh.” Lance tapped his chin with the handle of his mop. “Something dark and broody.” He splayed his hands out dramatically, voice lowering to a ridiculous hiss. “The darkest shade of the blackest night.”

He yelped when Keith, who was trying hard to suppress a grin, shoved him so hard that he was forced to stagger backward. “Shut up. I’m not that edgy.”

“I’m not that edgy,” Lance mimicked, pitching his voice down into an awful imitation of Keith’s.

“Oh, fuck off.” He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice, no matter how hard he tried, and Lance grinned at him as if he’d just won the lottery. “It’s red, you moron.”

“Ah, red,” the other boy echoed sagely. “Color of blood. Fitting, knife boy.”

Divulging that particular piece of information had been… a mistake. He’d accidentally revealed his affinity for knives during a conversation they'd had a couple days ago (the morning right after ‘The Great Kitchen Catastrophe’ as Lance liked to call it; or simply ‘The Incident’ as Keith had dubbed it). Lance’s eyes had lit up with the information, and Keith had received yet another nickname—as well as Lance’s incessant insistence to bring knives up whenever possible.

Keith flipped him off. “It’s because of the flowers where I grew up, asshole.”

Lance blinked, the smile slipping from his face. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.” Heat crept up the back of his neck, and Keith cleared his throat, scrubbing at a patch of floor that he’d already mopped to death. “My—um. My dad used to collect them for the dinner table, when I was really little.”

For a long second, his openness was rewarded only with silence. He stared at the sudsy patch of deck, determined not to look back up.

“Huh.”

The sound of Lance’s voice cracked Keith’s will in half, and he scrambled to meet the other boy’s gaze. When he finally did, he found that he was being watched with that same soft expression—the one that drove the sparrow-gulls in his chest to insanity.

“That’s... actually really sweet.”

“Um.” Oh… fuck. That damned smile. Keith’s cheeks were so hot, he wondered how Lance hadn’t noticed. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Lance’s expression twisted into a devious grin, “—flower boy.”

With a growl, Keith whacked his sopping mop into Lance’s legs. The cyborg squealed in surprise, the sound tapering off into mischievous giggles.

“That’s what you get,” Keith smirked. “I hope your fucking cogs rust.”

That was another nugget of information Keith had recently collected about his bunkmate. The night of The Incident had been the first time Keith had ever seen Lance’s cybernetic leg. He’d tried not to gape at it when Lance had emerged from the shower, and he took special note of the way the other boy had taken a timid step backward under Keith’s surprised gaze, fists tightening around his towel in a rare display of self-consciousness.

(Keith had promptly torn his eyes away from the prosthetic and challenged Lance to a race back to the galley.)

He hadn’t brought it up since then—at least, not in a way that held any promise of meaningful conversation. Having watched Shiro struggle with the loss of a limb, Keith knew better than to pry; and though he couldn’t deny that he was curious, he’d willingly resigned himself to the fact that the prosthetics on the right side of Lance’s body might forever remain a mystery.

Now, with Lance practically choking over his own laughter, the shadow that had fallen over his eyes that night in the washroom was nowhere to be found; replaced instead by the sparkle of mirth.

“They don’t rust, flower boy. I know it looks cheap, but it’s not that—would you stop hitting me?” Lance yelped as he nearly lost his footing over the wet floor, and Keith sniggered, his mop threateningly raised in his hand.

“Only if you can it with the fucking nicknames—”

“No promises.”

“—and tell me what your favorite color is before I decide I’d rather talk to Roth.”

“Boo, gross.”

“For star’s sake, just—”

“Blue.”

Satisfied, Keith hummed. “That fits.”

“Yeah?”

Keith nodded, transfixed by the little dimple between Lance’s eyebrows where the inner ends had quirked together. “Yeah.”

A shy smile overtook Lance’s features, and—after tucking a lock of hair behind an ear—he turned his attention back to mopping.

…

“Favorite band?”

They’d both thrown themselves down atop a pile of rope, hot and exhausted from a joint training session. They’d been in space for a little over a month and a half, and Thorn had decided it was time to implement yet another variable into Keith’s training in the form of Lance. Consequently, training had become twice as chaotic, Keith squaring off against both Lance and Thorn all at once—which was incredibly unfair, considering that (to Keith’s very limited knowledge) Lance had been Thorn’s pupil for quite some time.

(Some days, Thorn simply asked Lance to observe; and the other boy would perch up in the rafters and provide a colorful running commentary of Keith’s progress.)

Considering Lance’s question, Keith fanned himself before tightening the band holding his ponytail. “I dunno. Uh… there’s a bunch my dad likes.”

“What do you like?”

He hesitated for a beat before responding. “Flight of Stars is pretty good.”

“Ooh, oldies! Didn’t peg you as a fan of folk, but it makes sense. Those guys are from Eden-2, right?”

Keith blinked. “You know them?” he asked, trying not to sound too incredulous.

“Mhm. Thorn’s got a couple of their albums on her holo-pad.”

“Shit.” He made a mental note to ask Thorn if he could borrow her extensive music library at some point. He and Lance had been the only crewmembers not assigned holo-pads (Silver had deemed them ‘unnecessary for cabin boys’). “Dad and I would listen to them all the time. Used to dance around our living room.”

“You guys have similar taste?”

“Well, yeah. He was practically my best friend.”

Lance propped himself up onto his elbows. “Was?”

Oh… shit. Fuck. Keith squirmed uncomfortably, pulling restlessly at his ponytail. “Uh. Yeah. We sort of… drifted apart, over the years.”

For a few beats, he could feel Lance’s eyes on the side of his face; and then his companion was humming nonchalantly. “Favorite song?”

And fuck, if that wasn’t one of the things Keith liked most about his new friend. Lance seemed to have an uncanny knack for knowing precisely when he’d trod into dangerous territory, and was always so quick to change course that Keith would never feel pressured to reveal anything he wasn’t ready to divulge.

“'Dream a Little Dream',” Keith hurried, latching onto the subtle change in topic like a lifeline.

Lance wagged his eyebrows, fixing him with a lopsided grin. “Very romantic.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, avoiding the other boy’s eyes in favor of aiming a kick at his boot. “Uh… favorite movie?”

Beside him, Lance stiffened, and Keith’s stomach sank.

It was hard to tell when it was going to happen; but every so often, one of Keith’s questions would send Lance’s walls rushing back into place. Although he lamented the loss of the boy’s open, carefree nature, Keith had come to accept that there were things that his new friend wasn’t ready for him to know.

He couldn’t say that he didn’t understand. Lance paid him the very same courtesy of respecting his privacy, for which he couldn’t have been more grateful. Back home, his less-than-sunny disposition and troublesome reputation precluded him from having friends, but here—hundreds of miles from petty fist-fights and threatening cops—he wanted to be so much more than what he was.

With Lance, Keith felt as if someone had finally given him a chance to be seen: not as Keith the Delinquent, or Keith the Let-Down, but as… as…

He wasn’t sure he knew yet.

“Hey.” He nudged Lance’s stiff shoulder. “You don’t have to answer, you know.”

When Lance remained quiet, Keith hummed lightly. “Favorite… oh, I know; fav—”

“I’ve never seen one.”

The words had been uttered so softly that Keith almost hadn’t heard. “You… what?” he asked, turning to his companion with knitted eyebrows. Lance was staring down at his hands as if they held a way out of the conversation. “Like, you’ve never seen—”

“A movie, yeah. I—stars, this is fucking embarrassing,” he added, face reddening under Keith’s stare. He ducked his head, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, as seemed to be a nervous habit of his. “I just never had a holo-screen growing up, you know? So… no movies,” he finished lamely.

Keith chewed thoughtfully at his lip, digesting one of the only pieces of information about Lance’s past that he’d ever willingly offered. He filed it away for safekeeping alongside what precious little he knew about Lance: the dog he’d offhandedly mentioned having; the marble he carried, clearly a token of history and sentiment; the night terrors, from which Keith now carefully woke him; the cybernetic limbs adorning the right side of his body, which frequently required tightening after a long day’s work—

Of course, Keith had accumulated smaller tidbits of information, as well. Favorite color (blue), favorite food (‘Coran’s goo,’ had been the sarcastic answer), favorite star (Vitor-3, apparently—lame choice, but okay), favorite animal (giant spore, whatever the hell that was).

Other tokens of information, too; irrelevant, perhaps, to anyone but Keith. The way Lance tended to talk with his mouth full when he got excited. The way he’d curl in on himself when he laughed—the way the corners of his eyes would crinkle and his nose would scrunch. The way he’d gaze out at the stars when he thought no one was watching; that forlorn crease between his brows growing more pronounced as some unknown demon plagued his thoughts.

(The way he’d smile at Keith; the special one that he seemed to reserve for Keith and Keith alone—the soft one that brought dimples to his cheeks and warm sunshine to his eyes.)

“Please say something.”

Startled from his reverie, Keith turned to find that Lance had dragged his knees to his chest, his forehead resting upon them. A faint blush dusted the back of his exposed neck, and Keith averted his eyes from the spot.

“It’s not embarrassing. Just means I get to make you watch all my favorites,” he said lightly, nudging the toe of his boot against Lance’s.

The other’s eyes were on him, wide and surprised; and before Lance could even speak, Keith was leaning in to whisper, “Tonight. Meet me in the mess hall after hours, okay?”

“What the hell are you—”

“KOGANE!”

Keith resisted the urge to roll his eyes, the sound of Silver’s voice sending an immediate jolt of irritation throughout his being. “Just meet me there,” he hissed, dusting his hands against his pants as he stood.

He could swear he felt Lance’s eyes on his retreating back.

…

“Wait wait wait—Kya was one of the bandits?”

“Mhm.”

“But how’s she gonna—oh, Dav’s not gonna get to her on time—NO! DAV!”

Trying (and failing miserably) not to giggle like an idiot, Keith reached into the mass of blankets huddled against his side, clamping a hand over Lance’s mouth. “Keep it down, you jackass,” he whispered, grinning giddily. “You wanna wake up the whole ship?”

“Mphomphiphew,” came the muffled response, and Keith smirked, absentmindedly swiping his free hand across the borrowed holo-pad in his lap to pause their film.

“Sorry McClain; didn’t catch that. What was—”

Something wet ran along Keith’s palm, and he retracted his hand from Lance’s mouth with a disgusted gasp, trying to wipe it on the other boy’s sleeve. “You little asshole!”

“I said,” Lance giggled, nearly falling over backward in an attempt to get away from him, “—I’m gonna lick you.”

Keith grunted, shifting onto his knees as he attempted to smear his wet palm against Lance’s face; who was now practically lying on the floor, breathless with laughter. “That wasn’t a lick, you slobbery freak,” he hissed. “You’re worse than Kosmo, just—” he grunted as Lance writhed beneath him, accidentally kneeing him in the stomach, “—fucking stay still—”

Silent laughter wracked Lance’s body, rendering him more and more powerless to fight back, and Keith finally managed to drag his wet palm along the other boy’s cheek. “There,” he panted, petulantly socking Lance (lightly) in the stomach for good measure. “Even.”

As his bunkmate shook with mirth, Keith hovered overhead, caught up in the way Lance’s eyes had scrunched shut and his mouth hung open in noiseless merriment. He looked so… free, and before Keith could think better of it, he’d swept up the forgotten holo-pad.

In the time it took Lance to calm himself, Keith had managed to swipe a discreet picture of the jovial boy, who was too lost in his own wave of happiness to have noticed. The only evidence of the act lay in Keith’s cheeks, which—if their burning was any indication—had darkened considerably.

“You done now?” Keith asked, smacking Lance’s knee and wincing as his knuckles met jagged cybernetics through the material of his pants. He shook his hand out, offering it instead to the boy now grinning up at him. “Can we finish the movie?”

Grabbing the proffered hand, Lance heaved himself into sitting, falling once more against Keith with a tired huff. “Fuck, man. I haven’t laughed that hard in... shit, I can’t even remember.” From the corner of his eye, Keith watched as Lance pulled his blanket back around his shoulders before snuggling back up against Keith’s arm. “Whew. My stomach hurts.”

“I can’t believe you licked me.”

“Oh, come on. You really didn’t see that coming? It’s like, a classic move, dude.”

“For a five-year-old, maybe.”

Lance grinned, wiggling to make himself comfortable. “I’m four, actually.”

“Advanced for your age, then.”

“Thank you,” he replied with a prim sniff.

Keith rolled his eyes, pressing his mouth into a tight line to hide his smile. “Are we gonna finish this fucking movie, or what?”

“Uh, I’m not the one who attacked me.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not the one who—” Keith caught sight of the telltale arch in Lance’s eyebrows and promptly cut himself off. “You know what? No. I’m not playing this game with you,” he growled, ignoring Lance’s answering snigger and turning to retrieve the holo-pad from the floor. He pulled it into his lap, balancing it atop his and Lance’s touching knees. “Okay, so—before someone decided to yell in my ear, Kya—”

“Was apparently at the saloon the same day as Dav, which like—plot twist.” Lance spread out his hands, his eyes glittering with the same awe with which he’d regarded the first hour of the film. “By the way, if Dav dies right now—”

“You think the first movie I’d show you would be one where the love interest dies at the end?”

Lance huffed petulantly, adjusting his blanket so that it covered the top of his head. He looked ridiculous, and Keith suppressed the urge to snigger. “I dunno! But I swear to the stars, Keith—if they don’t get to kiss the living hell outta Kya by the end of this, I’ll—I’ll—”

“Relax,” Keith soothed, nudging his companion with his elbow. “It’s a happy ending, dork.”

“Good.”

He sounded so genuinely relieved that Keith chuckled, continuing to watch the other boy from the corner of his eye as he pressed play. All at once, Dav sprung back into action, dramatic music swelling as they avoided a close brush with death; but Keith’s focus was far from the film. “Didn’t know you’d be so into the romance.”

“Yeah, well.” There was a brief moment of silence, and then—in a voice so quiet Keith couldn’t be quite sure he’d heard it correctly: “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Kogane.”

I want to know everything, if you’ll let me. The words rose into his throat, itching to be spoken and sitting heavily on his tongue. He wanted so badly for Lance to hear them—wanted to cast light upon the shadow that had darkened those features; wanted to reach out and take the hands nervously curling and uncurling around his blanket. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself reach for them, holding them gently in his own to still their restless fidgeting, and—

On-screen, Dav burst into Kya’s containment cell, and Lance’s hands finally stilled. “Oh, thank fuck,” he sighed when the reunited lovers kissed. The shadow melted from his face as if it’d never been there, relief taking its place. “That was beautiful.”

“Told you,” Keith breathed, wholly unable to remove his eyes from his companion; grateful that Lance’s focus was so resolutely devoted to the holo-pad. “Happy ending.”

Halfway through their second movie (Lance had insisted on watching another, despite the hour), Lance fell asleep on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith pretended not to notice.

…

It was a full week later that Shiro approached Keith during one of his breaks, his hands tucked casually into his pockets as he sauntered toward Keith’s perch atop a beam.

“Hey cuz,” he greeted, his voice a little too casual. “How’s the day treatin’ you?”

“Fine?” Keith tentatively responded, an eyebrow creeping up into his hairline. “How’s yours?”

“Good, good!” His cousin glanced around before fixing Keith with an expression he’d never really… seen Shiro make. “Is, uh—is Lance around?”

Instantly suspicious, Keith narrowed his eyes into slits, hoping that his expression might dampen Shiro’s freaky smile. “He’s in the mess hall with Silver… why?”

“No reason! It’s just—you two have been pretty attached at the hip lately, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. We work together. What’s—why are you making that face?”

His cousin’s weird expression intensified. “What face? I’m not making—”

“That!” Keith cried, pointing like a lunatic and drawing a couple stares from the passing crew. He made a conscious effort to lower the volume of his voice, and it left him in a hiss. “That face! What the fuck is that?”

“Nothing!” Shiro insisted, holding up his hands in defense. “I’m just… really glad you and Lance have been getting along.”

What the fuck?

“Uh… okay? That’s not exactly news, Shiro. It’s been, like, two months—”

“I—” Shiro cleared his throat. “I found the picture.”

Keith blinked. “What—” He cut himself off immediately as he watched Shiro pointedly tap a finger against the holo-pad in his utility belt. Realization crashed into him, his mouth suddenly going dry.

“Sorry, Keith. Thorn and I were taking pictures of the wind damage to the hull, and I didn’t mean to snoop—or, well; it’s my pad, technically, so—”

“Gah! Stop talking!” Keith pleaded, burying his burning face in his hands. He’d completely forgotten about the picture—or, indeed, why he’d even thought taking it with the pad he’d borrowed from his cousin had been a good idea in the first place.

It had just… seemed right, in the moment. Necessary.

He leaped down from his perch, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping around Shiro as he retreated to the galley. “Look, just delete it, okay?”

“Hey hey hey—wait.” His wrist was caught in a gentle grip, and Keith turned to find his cousin staring at him with wide, alarmed eyes; not a trace of the strange expression he’d been wearing moments earlier. “Why would I do that?”

Keith shrugged, unable to look his cousin in the eyes. “I dunno,” he mumbled, shifting from foot to foot. “Because it’s weird?”

“It’s not weird to enjoy seeing a friend happy, Keith.” Ever so gently, he was spun around to meet a gaze that was so open and earnest that Keith felt his walls crumble.

And—well. He certainly hoped that his cousin was right, because: stars above and hell below, did he like seeing Lance happy.

“I think he’s my best friend.” The words felt strange coming out of his mouth, considering he’d never used them to refer to anyone but Shiro. It also wasn’t as if he’d ever really had any friends; he’d routinely pushed away anyone that had tried to approach him at the Garrison, generally favoring his own company to that of others. The concept of having a best friend when there were none to choose from in the first place seemed like a bit of a fallacy, but at the same time…

At the same time, he was pretty sure he’d pick Lance. No matter how many people he met, no matter how many friends he made—Lance would be the best one he had.

He just… couldn’t see himself caring about anyone the same way. Couldn’t see himself wanting to know anyone the same way. Couldn’t see himself wanting to be known by anyone the same way.

A light breeze sent his bangs into his face, and Shiro brushed them aside, his expression fond. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said; and Keith was grateful he’d said that and not something truly embarrassing, like, glad you’re finally making friends, champ.

Thanks, Shiro,” he mumbled, his cheeks aflame. He ducked under his cousin’s arm, spotting Lance and Silver emerging from the mess hall across the deck. “I gotta go, but, um—don’t show that to him, okay? He doesn’t exactly know… uh.” He stopped, praying that Shiro would piece together what he was too mortified to say.

“Oh.” Understanding passed behind his cousin’s eyes. “Got it. I’ll see you later then?”

Keith shot him a thumbs up before turning on his heel, willing away his blush as he approached the other cabin boy and their Quartermaster.

…

They’d been sailing for nearly three months when the Leviathan attacked.

The day had started normally—a fact Keith found ironic, considering the way it ended. There’d been no warning on the breeze, no eerie hush befalling the crew before the moment of disaster.

One minute, he and Lance had been playing their almost daily game of: for fuck’s sake, Kosmo; give back the fucking mop—

And the next, there’d come a massive, rumbling roar from beneath their ship; so mighty and tremulous that the deck beneath their feet shook with it.

In the matter of seconds between Kosmo dropping the mop with a clatter and Thorn’s voice yelling, “LEVIATHAN!” the deck broke into chaos.

Something gargantuan slammed into the Melenor from below, and Keith and Lance both went careening to the floor as the ship pitched precariously to the side. Lance was the first to recover, crawling over to Keith and offering him a hand—

There was another roar, and the two of them froze in terror, hands clutched tightly between them as they watched a tentacle the width of the mast peak over the side of the ship mere feet from where they stood. It slowly unfurled to its full height, taking its time with predatory lethargy—although Keith thought that perhaps fear had momentarily slowed the time around them.

“MOVE!”

Lance’s voice broke fear’s spell, and—not needing to be told twice—Keith moved. He and Lance leaped apart, throwing themselves out of the way just in time to avoid the tentacle that came crashing down over the spot they’d occupied moments prior; splintering the banister and sending shards of wood raining over them.

Somewhere, Allura was yelling orders; but her voice was drowned out altogether by an ear-splitting screech. Still on the floor, Keith turned onto his back just in time to witness Lance removing his sword—now dripping with green blood—from the thing’s tentacle. The look in the other boy’s eyes was nothing short of feral, and Keith was alarmed to see a line of ruby blood trailing down his temple.

The tentacle retreated, slithering blindly along the deck until it slipped back over the side, and Keith used the opportunity to pull himself to his feet. “Lance!” He couldn’t manage much more than the other boy’s name as he staggered toward him across the shaking deck. Lance met him halfway, and the two of them grasped desperately at one another’s forearms.

“We need to get to the Captain,” Lance urged, having to yell over the Leviathan’s deafening howls of pain. Despite the wild light in his eyes, he seemed eerily calm and collected, and Keith fleetingly wondered how many times the other boy had danced with death.

Together, the two of them half ran, half stumbled toward Allura at the helm. However fierce Lance might have looked, the Captain was downright animalistic, teeth bared in a snarl as she wrestled the ship from the beast’s hold. The wheel beneath her hands tugged this way and that as if it were a living entity, and as Keith and Lance approached, Allura cried out in anguish as it ripped itself out of her hands. It spun wildly as the ship fell fully under the Leviathan’s control—

And then Silver was stepping out of nowhere, bellowing in anger (and then in pain) as he caught the wheel’s spokes. Beside him, Allura fell back against the balustrade, her chest heaving with exertion.

“Captain!” Lance hollered as they approached, and her icy gaze swept to them. “What’s the plan?”

Her eyes lingered for a beat on Lance’s injury before she turned to take stock of their crew. Towards the prow, the Leviathan had resumed its assault on the ship, nearly swiping Morena and Rave overboard.

“KEEP AWAY FROM THE BLASTED EDGE!” Allura bellowed as she nursed her wrist, and the sisters barely managed to avoid a second swipe.

Also preoccupied with the onslaught of tentacles were Thorn and Shiro, who Keith was immensely relieved to see were both solidly holding their own. Thorn was a blur of movement, dodging and whirling, slicing and slashing; while Shiro rolled and stabbed, equally deadly in the heat of battle.

Accompanied by another hair-raising roar, the ship shook violently as if it were about to shatter, and something in the Captain seemed to snap.

“ROTH! DAVY! On the canons—now!” she yelled, wincing as she tried to grasp her pistol with her injured wrist. “Mister Silver, you’re on the wheel until further notice. Coran—” She growled when she noticed the Lieutenant grappling with the ropes of the sails a few feet away. “Nevermind the sails!” she called. “Are you able to climb lookout?”

“Aye, Captain!”

“Go!”

Coran rushed to the mast, slipping into one of the safety harnesses with practiced ease before embarking on a climb that had been rendered more dangerous than ever.

“Should we harness the rest of the crew, Captain?” Keith asked, watching as she handed her secondary pistol to Lance, who took it with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m afraid we don’t have time.” As if to punctuate the statement, two more tentacles rose into the air, and Allura swore. “McClain—Silver tells me you’re a good shot?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Don’t you dare waste a single bullet.”

Lance smirked, clicking off the safety in one fluid movement. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

“Now find a bloody tentacle and get to work.”

Wrapping a hand around Keith’s wrist and shooting him a smirk that made his heart race, Lance pulled him into the fray—and get to work they did.

They fought back to back, twisting and twirling around one another in a seamless dance borne from weeks of joint training. Lance’s style had grown almost as familiar to him as his own. Where Keith was brash and bold, Lance was calculated and smooth—his perfect compliment. They fought like they’d done so for years rather than months, and Keith was surprised to find that—with Lance at his back—he never truly felt that he was in danger.

Euphoria licked at his heels, keeping his steps light and quick. It thrummed through his veins like the unrelenting beat of a drum, extending through his arm and into the blade of his knife as it arched through the air.

Their dance swelled to a fever-pitch when Keith turned too slowly to block an incoming tentacle—a mistake that might have seen him gravely injured, had the limb reached its intended target. Instead, a shot rang through the air, and the Leviathan screeched in pain. The wriggling tentacle retreated, and Keith turned to find smoke curling off the end of Lance’s pistol, still raised in his outstretched hand.

“I got you, buddy. Told you we make a good team,” the cyborg panted, shooting him a lopsided grin and a wink for good measure.

For a second, Keith could do little else but stare at the sight before him.

A sheen of sweat covered Lance’s face, his wavy locks wet where they fell limply across his forehead. His complexion was ruddy and flushed from the fight, the look in his eyes unshakeable and determined. In his right hand, Allura’s spare pistol glinted wickedly in the light of day; and his sword hung at his left side, brushing the deck with a blood-soaked tip.

He looked every bit the swashbuckling hero Keith had always dreamed he’d meet. He was just so… so…

Beautiful, Keith thought, feeling a smile stretch across his face that was inappropriately self-indulgent for the moment. Around them, the symphony of canon-fire and the beast’s agonized roars seemed to fade until it was just the two of them, caught mid-battle in their own bubble; and Keith was rendered completely and hopelessly unable to tear himself away. He’s beautiful.

Of course, the passage of time had other plans, only allowing the two of them to stare at one another for so long before an almighty shriek pierced the air. The ship’s inhabitants dropped to their knees, weapons clattering to the floor as their hands flew to their ears. A few feet away, Roth staggered onto the deck with a deranged look in his eyes, yelling something Keith couldn’t make out over the Leviathan’s infernal noise—but judging from the meaty fists Roth was pumping into the air, the message was loud and clear.

They’d won.

The Leviathan’s retreat left the crew shattered; a mess of limp limbs collapsed onto the floor in exhaustion. When Thorn found Keith and Lance a few minutes later, the two of them had crawled over to one another and were lying on their backs, their heads on each other’s shoulders as they caught their collective breaths.

She hovered in their vision, a scaly eyebrow raised as if she’d found them lounging around and playing with Kosmo instead of doing their chores.

“Hey, Thorn,” Lance greeted in a reedy voice. “Glad you’re not dead.”

“Up.”

Lance grumbled, removing his head from Keith’s shoulder as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Nice to see you too, Lance,” he muttered lowly. “So relieved you’re alive, Lance.”

Thorn’s mouth quirked into the ghost of a fond smile. “I need to check the two of you for injuries. Up,” she urged, kicking lightly at Keith’s boot.

He scowled at her before heaving himself up with a groan.

The Sailing-Master crouched, carefully cupping Lance’s face with her clawed hands and turning his head as she inspected him.

“I’m fine, Thorn. Can you check Keith? I think he might have bruised—”

“Me? Lance, you’re bleeding.”

“Am not—”

With a feather-light touch, Thorn swiped a finger against Lance’s temple. Despite her gentleness, he hissed in pain, his eyes going wide when she held a stained finger up to his face. “Oh,” he muttered airily. “Would you look at that.”

Keith snorted and exchanged a look with Thorn, who rolled her eyes. “You’re concussed, Blue. You’re to go below deck until I’ve sent someone to patch you up, understood?”

Lance moaned miserably. Thorn ignored him, shuffling instead toward Keith. “Come.”

He complied, shifting to allow her to gently take his face and pat through his hair. “No concussion here, at least,” she muttered. “Make sure he stays awake, then.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Keith promised.

She cocked her head. “Where—”

“Left ribs, I think,” Lance interjected. “He was favoring his right while we were fighting.” When he caught Keith gaping at him—because, what the fuck?—he folded his arms primly. “What?! I pay attention!” he objected, flushing under Keith’s incredulous stare.

“Lift,” Thorn commanded, tugging at the hem of Keith’s shirt. He tore his attention away from the other boy, ignoring his own burning face as he raised his shirt over his head, trying not to gasp at the ugly purple bruise decorating the left side of his ribs. Thorn hissed, but Lance was speaking before she could open her mouth.

“I’ll wrap it for him,” he volunteered—and, fuck. Keith’s face was so hot.

“Very well.” Thorn straightened, and the two of them squinted up at her. “You’ll tend to each other in the mess hall until I send someone to inspect your wound further, Mister McClain.”

“It—does it need further—”

“Stitches, very likely.”

Lance groaned, throwing himself sideways so that he was lying draped across Keith’s lap. “Fuck me.”

“I must respectfully decline,” Thorn deadpanned, her voice so dry and the joke so unexpected that it surprised laughter out of both boys. Keith winced as his bruise throbbed painfully. “You’ll be fine,” she continued. “There’s a medkit in one of the cabinets. You know the one. I’ll send…” she hummed in consideration, her eyes roving across the deck. “Mister Shirogane, perhaps.”

A jolt of guilt raced through Keith’s heart. It couldn’t have been more than a mere minute or two since the Leviathan’s retreat, but Keith had been so caught up in thoughts of… other matters that he’d yet to spare a thought for his cousin.

“Shiro! Is he—”

“He fought well and is unharmed. I would not have let danger befall him.”

Keith released the breath he’d been holding, relief flooding his veins. “Thanks, Thorn.”

She nodded, and before she could leave, Keith hurried to ask, “Wait—what about you?”

“Me?” She cocked her head at him, her reptilian tongue flicking into the air.

“Well, yeah. Are you okay?”

From his spot in Keith’s lap, Lance hummed his assent; and Thorn regarded the two of them with a long look, her reptilian eyes blown wide with surprise. It occurred to Keith that someone as hardy as Thorn was rarely checked on, and he promised himself that he’d grant her that same care that she gave so fully to their crew.

“I am,” came her eventual response. Her voice was so much more gentle than Keith had been expecting, and it coaxed a smile onto his face. She returned it, uncharacteristically fond. “Thank you, Mister Kogane.”

Without another word, she turned heel and stalked toward the next huddled pile of sailors, leaving Keith lost in thought.

“That feels nice.”

“Hm?” Keith asked, watching as Roth demanded Thorn give him a high-five.

“Feels good.”

Keith blinked, his fingers immediately stilling in their absentminded combing through Lance’s soft hair.

You fucking moron.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, extracting his hand. “I was just—”

Lance whined as if he were a child, chasing after Keith’s retreating fingers. “No, keep going; it felt so nice—”

“No.” His voice was firm, despite the fluttering in his chest and the almost unbearable burn in his cheeks. Ever so lightly, he bounced his knee, and Lance jostled in his hold. “Get up so I can look at your head.”

With a profuse amount of grumbled complaints, Keith helped Lance stand on shaky legs, the two of them propped against one another as adrenaline seeped out of their bodies. Together, they stumbled down to the mess hall, pulling out the spare first aid kit as they straddled a bench.

Lance remained stock still as Keith reached up to gingerly cradle his face, brushing the hair from his forehead with the pads of his fingers. He could feel Lance’s eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look away from his task; nor dared he to breathe as he dotingly cleared excess blood from the wound.

“How’s it lookin’, doc?” The words were uttered between them in a voice so low and intimate that they were nearly slurred, and Keith suppressed a shudder.

“Think you’ll live,” he whispered, his mouth twisting into a smirk. He turned, discarding a bloodied fiber-pad and pouring disinfectant onto another. “Might leave a scar, though.” The bottle of sterilized solution shut with a snap, and Keith resumed his tender ministrations, clicking his tongue. “Cuts right through your eyebrow too—was this from the wood?”

“Think so.”

If Keith subtly rubbed the thumb of his unoccupied hand against Lance’s cheek, the other boy certainly didn’t comment on it. “Shit. It got you good.”

“Eh. I’ve had worse.”

Keith hummed, his mind turning to Lance’s cybernetics and immediately feeling the need to lighten the atmosphere. “Kind of surprised you’re not demanding we patch it up with nano-tech, pretty boy,” he teased, not immediately registering the way Lance stiffened underneath his fingers. “Couple insertions and you’re good as new.”

It certainly hadn’t been the first time Keith had teased Lance about his obsession with his looks, and he thought the comment might elicit a chuckle, or perhaps even just a smile. Instead, Lance shrugged, his voice cold and flat when he muttered, “Not a fan of nano-tech.”

For a few seconds, Keith frowned down at the blood-soaked cloth in his hands, wondering what in the hell he could have possibly done wrong.

He’d just returned to dabbing at Lance’s brow in tense silence when realization hit him like a sand-speeder, heat rushing to his cheeks as he cringed. Of course the subject of nano-tech would be a sore spot for someone who’d lost two limbs. Keith remembered Shiro having to explain to him that his arm could never grow back—that most nano-tech affordable to the general public could only alter existing biology, not create.

Fuck, he was an asshole.

“Oh. Lance, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” the other quickly reassured; though his voice was off. When Keith pulled back to look at him, Lance shot him a shallow smile before his eyes darted away.

“Lance—”

“Besides.” He laughed, but the sound of it was all wrong—all awkward and strange. “Not like anyone on this ship’s got nano-tech, of all things.”

He still wouldn’t meet Keith’s eyes, and Keith wanted so badly to make him look. He wanted so badly to finally ask, what happened to you? How can I make it better?

Footsteps slammed down the stairs, and both boys jumped, Keith scrambling off of Lance’s lap as if they’d been caught in some illicit act. The sight of Shiro’s face was a welcome relief, and Keith wasted no time in distancing himself from both the bench and the tension of the unresolved conversation still sitting in the air.

He threw himself fully into his cousin’s arms, grateful to be able to hide his burning face. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“His ribcage is bruised,” Lance sing-songed nonchalantly.

Keith turned to throw him a withering glare, pleased to find that some of the usual glow had returned to Lance’s eyes. “Will you stop going on about my ribs? Shiro, he needs stitches—”

“I can see that,” Shiro winced, sucking air through his teeth. “What the hell happened?”

“Shrapnel,” Lance grumbled; and Keith tucked himself across the table from them as he watched his cousin administer his best friend’s stitches.

Shiro hummed as he worked, whatever sappy song that’d been his and Adam’s first dance at their wedding. Unsurprisingly, Lance recognized the tune and joined Shiro in his off-key rendition, which inevitably led them into an overly detailed discussion of Shiro’s wedding.

“Was Keith your best man?” Lance was asking, trying to look at Keith and shooting Shiro a sheepish smile when the man was forced to clamp a steady hand around his jaw.

“Don’t move. And yes. The grumpiest best man in all of history.”

Keith scoffed, and Shiro shot him a withering look. “Wouldn’t even dance with me. Just stood on the side all night like my personal bodyguard.”

Lance looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Sounds like Keith.”

Bristling, Keith folded his arms across his chest, glaring holes into the side of his best friend’s head. “Not my fault I never learned.”

“Wait, hold up.” Shiro did not, in fact, hold up; and Lance’s eyes strained sideways as he attempted to look at Keith. “I thought you said you and your dad used to dance?”

“I mean, just around the living room, yeah,” Keith acquiesced. The notion that Lance had retained that particular piece of information sent his heart racing. “But we never like, dance-danced. It was more… spinning in circles till one of us got nauseous.”

Shiro snorted. “Stars, I miss your dad.”

“Yeah,” agreed Keith, who suddenly became fascinated by his palms (it was better than allowing himself to be swept away by a wave of homesickness). He could practically feel Lance staring at him, but he refused to meet the other boy’s gaze.

They passed the remaining time in silence, each of them lost in thought. When Shiro finished tending to Lance, he turned expectantly to Keith, only to be practically ushered out of the mess hall by Lance (“I got it, big guy! You just go help Thorn—Haircut will be perfectly fine with me.”) They didn’t speak when they were finally alone, nor did they speak as Lance spread salve over his extensive bruise with the barest press of fingers.

It wasn’t until later that night—hours after his ribs had been wrapped with the utmost care, hours after the deck had been cleaned and the crew had retired for the evening—that Keith was able to decipher the thoughts behind Lance’s uncharacteristic silence.

…

“Keith. Hey. Keith.” There was a hand on his forehead, brushing his hair out of his face. “Wake up, flower boy.”

Keith grunted, his sleep-addled brain urging him to roll toward the touch, and someone snorted. “No, no, no—come on man, get up.”

“Lan’?” he slurred, confusion piercing his semi-conscious thoughts. “Wha’s goin’ on? Attack?”

“No, nothing like that.” Fingers combed through his hair. “Got a surprise for you.”

“Surprise?”

“Yeah. You just gotta wake up and come with me, okay?”

“’S so late.”

“I know, doll. I—you can go back to sleep if you want, I just—”

“No, ‘m comin’.” Though sleep still pulled at his mind, Keith was cognizant enough to at least be aware of the slight note of disappointment that’d crept into Lance’s voice. And he wasn’t about to have that. “Gimme a sec?”

“Of course, yeah. I still gotta finish setting up, but—meet me above deck in five?”

“Yeah.” Keith forced his eyes open, squinting through the darkness at his friend’s outline. “I’ll be there.”

The hand in his hair retreated along with its owner, and Keith was left blinking the sleep out of his eyes, wondering if he hadn’t just dreamed the entire conversation. In the gathering silence, it might have been easy to imagine that he might have—if not for the empty bedroll lying a few feet away.

He pushed himself into sitting, the simple action pulling at his ribs and prompting the breath to leave him in a pained hiss. The sharp throbbing around his torso was enough to pull his mind from the remains of sleep, and he clung to his newfound awareness with desperation and urgency as Lance’s words finally registered.

Surprise. Above deck.

Pain suddenly seemed irrelevant; the need to reach Lance overriding any logical thought for his own well-being. He grunted as he hoisted himself onto his knees, ignoring the way his head spun and his vision swam with exhaustion.

It was then that he heard it.

At first, he couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t just hallucinating—that perhaps the all-too-familiar notes of guitar wafting through the still night air were just a delusion borne from delirium and homesickness.

But then clarity struck him, and Keith thought: ribs be fucking damned.

He launched himself to his feet and ran, careening up the stairs like a man possessed, and—

Stopped dead in his tracks, his heart leaping into his throat.

He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

The deck was aglow with the light of the safety lanterns; their tiny flames dancing against the night sky and casting warm light across the floorboards. On a pile of rope sat a holo-pad, happily casting the opening notes of 'Dream a Little Dream' into the Etherium.

And in the middle of it all stood Lance, ethereal and bewitching, offering Keith an upturned palm and a breathtaking smile.

“Dance with me.”

What is this? Keith wanted to say.

You know I can’t dance.

It’s too much.

I didn’t know I could feel like this.

… Am I dreaming?

A plethora of responses rose to his mind, but the words would not come. Instead, his body moved on pure instinct, reaching to take the proffered hand in almost perfect time with the robust entrance of the bass. He allowed himself to be tugged into a warm chest, and Lance guided his hands to his hips. “So. Your hands go here, and mine—can I touch you?”

Keith nodded, still not trusting himself to speak.

“Mine go like so,” he continued, splaying his right hand over Keith’s hip before clasping Keith’s right with his left. He held their joined hands out to the side, throwing Keith a lopsided grin. “And this is a slow-dance song, so we sort of just sway like… yeah! You got it, partner.”

Feeling as if his heart was lodged in his throat, Keith swallowed thickly, wetting his lips as he finally regained some semblance of composure. “You—you did all this?”

“Well, yeah.” Lance shrugged; though the radiance of his smile belied the casual indifference of his body language. “Figured you could stand to learn to dance to your favorite song. I’ve got a couple more lined up, too. Plus—I mean, I might be overstepping, but earlier you—you seemed a little homesick, maybe?” He swallowed, and Keith tracked his Adam’s apple as it bobbed. “I thought that maybe… uh…”

Keith stepped closer—as close as he dared, considering the very real risk of trodding over the other boy’s feet—and squeezed the hand clutched in his own. Lance’s mouth snapped shut, and Keith was relieved to see some of the nervous apprehension drain from his expression.

“Thank you.” His voice came out as little more than a whisper, and Lance’s expression melted into The Look.

“You’re welcome.”

Before Keith could say something stupid like, you have no idea how you make me feel, Lance was grinning and crowing, “piano break!”; grabbing Keith’s hands and swinging the two of them in dizzying circles until they were both gasping with laughter.

The smooth, crooning voice eventually returned, and Lance reeled him back in with a smile that showcased his dimple and sent Keith’s heart hammering away. Under the all-too-convenient guise of fatigue, Keith let himself slump against his dance partner, relishing the way Lance’s breath hitched as he did so. Spurred by a sudden rush of impulsive bravery—as well as the desire to be closer—Keith hooked his chin over the other boy’s shoulder, praying that Lance wouldn’t feel the way his heart went into overdrive as he awaited his dance partner’s reaction with baited breath.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Lance mirrored the action, tentatively bringing the side of his head to rest against Keith’s and finally relaxing into the embrace with a soft exhale.

It felt like an admission—a response, and Keith relished the heady rush of jubilation that set his veins on fire, sure that he’d never felt so content in his entire life.

As he listened to Lance sing along—his voice barely even a gentle murmur, as if any loud noise might wake them from this ethereal dream—Keith bit his lip, grateful that Lance couldn’t see his hidden smile.

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me

Chapter Text

Dear Dad

Hi, Dad

Pops,

This is weird. I’m not…really sure what to say. Lance says writing to you should help with the homesickness, but I’d rather talk to you in person. Not like you’re ever gonna get this. I can’t exactly mail it.

Oh shit oops, you don’t know who Lance is. This is going well.

Okay long story short, Lance is my

So, I met this boy

I kind of think I might be

Starting over. Space is totally amazing. I feel…fuck it. Not like you didn’t already know.

I feel free up here, Dad. Hell. I just got chills. I feel like me here. Is that weird? I dunno. But for the first time in my life I feel like…there’s a point. I’m sorry. I feel bad even writing that. You worked so hard to give me everything you could and I just feel like

My point is, you were right. And thanks. I miss you, and I wish you were here every day. Shiro misses you too, by the way. Obviously. We both miss our dad

This letter looks…terrible. It’s kind of funny. I do hope Lance doesn’t ask to see it though.

Oh, still haven’t told you who Lance is, or I guess...who he is to me.

Truth is, he

Dad

I wish I knew

…

“I hate you.”

“Keith.”

“I’m serious. I’m never talking to you again. We’re gonna be old and decrepit and I’ll still never forgive you.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Keith shot his cousin a glare, tugging uncomfortably at the chest-plate of the bright red spacesuit Shiro had bought all those months ago from Eden’s Emporium. The thing had to literally be ancient—Keith was pretty sure he’d never seen the model in his life.

“It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” he hissed, scowling down at the suit’s red and white arm-plates and ignoring Roth’s sniggering behind him. “And if you fucking,” he hurried, as Shiro opened his mouth to speak, “mention the stupid goddamn sale again, I’m gonna punch you.”

Shiro had the audacity to laugh, and Keith kicked petulantly at his shin. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he grunted, face growing redder as Roth’s boisterous laughter was joined by Rave’s tittering. When Keith turned to glare at them, Rave blew him a kiss.

“It’s strange,” said his fucking traitor of a cousin, his mouth pulling upward into a smile that Keith instantly hated. “You’ve never cared this much about your appearance. Something change, little cuz?”

Sticking a couple fingers into the suit’s rigid collar and wiping at the sweat dribbling down his neck, Keith leveled Shiro with the most venomous glare he could muster. “I know what you’re doing, and I’m not playing this fucking game with you.”

His cousin’s idiotic grin stretched even wider. “Oh yeah? You gonna play it with L—”

“Well, wouldja look at that!”

Oh no.

Keith had been dreading that voice ever since Shiro had procured the worn black and red atrocities from his duffle bag that morning. He’d been hoping that he might suffer a mysterious and fatal accident before Lance had to see him in it, but—

He turned, miserably preparing himself for an afternoon of teasing jabs at his expense, and promptly inhaled in shock at the sight of his best friend. “Holy shit.”

Lance grinned at him, clad in—of all fucking things—a matching suit, blue where Keith’s was red and Shiro’s was black (Keith hated how good Lance made it look).

“Eden’s Emporium, right?” Lance asked, freeing Keith from his blinding smile as he turned his attention to Shiro.

“YES!” Shiro practically crowed, shooting a shell-shocked Keith a triumphant grin. “There was—”

“A sale, I know!” Lance laughed, his eyes shining with a giddy light that made it impossible to look away. “Eden’s prices are the best. You just gotta know how to haggle.”

“Thank you, Lance. I’ve been trying to tell Keith all morning.”

At the mention of Keith’s name, Lance stepped toward him, his smile growing gentler by the second. “How’s my grumpy-pants this morning?”

Keith swallowed, trying to remember how to form words. “Good.”

“Oh, you’re good now?” Shiro asked indignantly, shoving at Keith’s shoulder before turning to address Lance. “He’s literally been complaining about the suit for an hour.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance appraised his outfit, and warmth bloomed across Keith’s cheeks. “Well, I think you look pretty sharp, cabin boy.”

Before Keith could release whatever embarrassing, inhuman noise was crawling up his throat, Silver’s signature whistle was cutting through the air, and Keith had never imagined he’d be so grateful to hear the sound.

Smacking his knees like an old man, Shiro grunted as he rose from the crate he’d been sitting on. “That’s our cue, gents,” he sighed, turning his back on the two younger boys to lead them to Silver’s waiting figure at the helm. “Let’s go fix some ship.”

Keith was just about to follow him when something brushed against the back of his neck. He whirled to find Lance grinning sheepishly at him, hand still hovering in mid-air. “Sorry. You had—your hair was stuck.”

“Oh.” Keith touched the end of his ponytail, trying—once again—to figure out how in the hell words were supposed to work. “Um. Thanks.”

“No prob. And, uh…” Lance trailed off, shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot. “I mean it. You look good.”

You look good. Praying that the expression on his face belied the frantic pounding of his heart, Keith tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Yeah?”

The Smile was back again, all lopsided and soft in the lines of Lance’s face, and Keith felt lightheaded and giddy—as if he were somehow floating miles above his own body.

“Yeah.”

…

He couldn’t stop laughing.

He wasn’t supposed to be laughing. He was supposed to be dangling precariously from the side of their ship, clad in his stupid red space-suit, held only by the harness around his waist. He was supposed to be working, buffing the ship’s outer hull and fixing all remaining damage from the Leviathan’s attack the previous week.

He was supposed to be on a mission, navigating the dangers of space with the fate of the universe laying heavy on his shoulders.

Instead, he was studying the way Lance’s eyes sparkled every time he made Keith laugh. Instead, Lance was bellowing, “INCOMING!” as he used his harness to swing over to Keith, ignoring Shiro’s pleas for caution. Instead, Keith was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes, releasing his own hold on the ship and swinging to meet Lance—breathless when they met, spinning around one another with smiles that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

Instead, he was caught—no—helpless, ensnared, and falling, falling, falling.

…

Thorn was late, and Keith was miffed.

She’d never been late, but punctuality was a virtue she’d drilled into his skull the hard way. Even now, he shuddered at the thought of tardiness. He viscerally remembered the day he’d overslept and been dragged out of bed by a tail tightly wrapped around his ankles, only to be greeted by Thorn’s unamused scowl as she hefted him over her shoulder.

He hadn’t been late since then, honoring their daily rendezvous with the dedication of someone who’d suffered enough of Roth and Rave’s laughter for a lifetime.

But now it was Thorn who was late, and Keith paced restlessly. He had half a mind to storm down to the crew’s quarters and drag her out of bed and see how she liked it—

“‘Sup?”

Keith jumped, so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard Lance approach.

“Wow,” Lance grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the banister. “Someone’s tightly wound today.”

Attempting to keep the scowl plastered on his face was an almost monumental task in Lance’s presence, but Keith folded his arms across his chest, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Thorn’s late.”

To his bafflement, Lance laughed, pushing himself away from the banister and leveling Keith with a grin. “Actually, I’m late.”

Before Keith could ask what in the hell that was supposed to mean, Lance dropped into a lunge, arms raised above his head as he stretched his torso. “Thorn can’t make it today, so…you’re training with me.”

Tearing his eyes away from the exposed sliver of Lance’s hip, Keith managed an intelligent, “What?”

The other boy snorted, straightening up with a teasing glint in his eyes. “You. Me. Fight good. Me teach how fight better. Yes?”

“I know what you meant, asshole,” Keith grumbled, fighting a smile as he socked Lance in the arm. “I mean—where’s Thorn?”

Lance shrugged, rolling his head in small circles. “Busy. Indisposed. Eloped with Coran. Take your pick.”

This time, Keith was fully unable to stop the surprised bark of laughter that left him. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say it’s not that last one.”

With a far more dramatic flourish than necessary, Lance unbuckled his weapons holster before setting it aside, and Keith hurried to follow suit. “I dunno, Keith. She’s been sending Coran some mad goo-goo eyes—”

“Shut the fuck up and fight me already,” Keith sniggered, falling into a crouch, and Lance’s answering laugh was well worth the number of times Keith proceeded to be knocked onto his ass.

Fighting with Lance was always markedly different than it was with Thorn.

While it was a relief not to have to worry about five extra limbs, years of training under Thorn’s tutelage were evidenced in Lance’s skill and precision, rendering him just as formidable a sparring partner. Keith had observed weeks ago that Lance possessed a strange ferocity that Thorn did not—where she was precise and calculated, Lance was unpredictable and cunning, able to read his opponent’s intentions so infallibly that he always seemed to be several steps ahead.

It was infuriating. It was thrilling. It was…

Fucking painful. Ow. Fuck.

He’d already eaten deck about five times before he saw an opening. He was—for a split second—at exactly the right angle to sweep Lance’s legs out from underneath him, and before he could spare it another thought, he was lashing out with a grunt.

Lance went down so hard that Keith almost froze in shock, rooted where he stood in sheer disbelief. But then Lance was stirring, and Keith was carried forward by feral instinct, pinning his best friend to the ground with a hand to his chest.

“Gotcha,” Keith panted, feeling a manic grin spread across his face as he gasped for breath. “I…win.”

Beneath him, Lance cocked an eyebrow, his face schooled into a carefully blank mask. “Sure about that?”

“Uh…yeah?” He tapped Lance’s chest. “You’re down there, I’m up here, so—”

Keith yelped as the wind was knocked out of him, and suddenly he was staring up at blue and green. “If you’re gonna pin someone,” Lance started, now silhouetted by the sky, “—make sure you do it right.”

“You fucking…cheat,” Keith grunted, attempting (to no avail) to wriggle out from under Lance’s firm grip. “I won that one fair and square.”

Tapping a finger against Keith’s nose, Lance hummed, his mouth curling into a smirk. “How come you’re ‘down there’, then?” he snarked, sounding far too casual and collected considering the fact that Keith was completely winded.

“Cuz I’m not…a fucking…cheat,” he managed as he squirmed, beginning to giggle against his will.

“You’re not gettin’ up till I let you up, doll.”

Keith froze, the pet name rendering him altogether incapable of thought. He was suddenly hyper-aware of how close the two of them had gotten: aware of the sweat dripping down Lance’s temple, of the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, of the thin span of distance between them that shrunk as Lance...

Tapped his chest and stood. Keith’s eyes fluttered open as the other boy’s weight left his chest. He hadn’t even realized they’d slipped shut.

“Anyways.” Lance reached down to offer Keith a hand. “That’s, uh. How you do it.”

He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Keith wondered if maybe he’d taken more of a beating than he was letting on. “Got any questions?”

“Um,” Keith said intelligently, feeling his face heat. They’d been so close. “Don’t think so.”

“Cool.” Lance shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the banister and shooting Keith a mischievous smirk as he watched him crack his back. “Because you know, I could totally show you that flip again if you—”

“Oi, Little Blue!”

Accompanied by the sound of his distinctive, deck-shaking footsteps, Roth’s booming voice was jarring as it cut through their conversation. Keith whipped around, backing into the banister to rest at Lance’s side as the hulking alien shot Lance a strangely saccharine smile.

“What’s up, big guy?” Lance’s face settled into the cool mask of indifference he so often wore around their crew, and Keith wondered—a fleeting, intrusive thought—whether Lance’s smile might return if Keith took his hand.

“Cap’n says we’re approachin’ the Outer Rim,” Roth rumbled, that same strange glint in this eye. “Less’n a couple months from the Cannon, now.”

“Huh.” There was something cold in Lance’s voice, so subtle that it was almost imperceptible; but when Keith looked at him, he was the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Been a while since we sailed these parts.”

The chapped, callused lips on Roth’s stomach curled into a wicked smirk as if Lance had just delivered the punchline to some private joke, and then the hulking alien was continuing on his way as if he’d never been there.

Keith waited until Roth was out of earshot before leaning conspiratorially toward his best friend. “Okay,” he mumbled, drawing the word out warily. “The fuck’s his deal?”

“Hm?”

When he turned, he found Lance gazing off into the distance with unfocused eyes and a vacant expression that sent a shiver down Keith’s spine.

“Hey.” He wrapped a hand around Lance’s cybernetic wrist, careful to avoid the sharp edges of exposed machinery. “You okay?”

Multi-colored eyes snapped to his before flicking away just as quickly. “I’m fine,” he reassured, though the smile he wore was nothing more than a phantom echo of the one Keith had grown so attached to. “Actually just remembered that Silver wanted me to check that one finnicky latch down in longboats, so I’m gonna…”

He trailed off, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as he spun and backed away from Keith, whose stomach was sinking by the second.

“Oh.” He tried not to sound too disappointed, but the sentiment seeped into his tone like water into a washcloth. “I thought we were…uh—” Face on fire, Keith gestured stupidly at the deck, and Lance winced, still backing away.

“I know, and I’m sorry, Keith; I just—I gotta go.”

He didn’t wait for an answer before turning tail and practically jogging across the deck, leaving Keith very much alone and wholly unable to shake the creeping sensation that something was deeply wrong.

…

“NO!”

Keith jolted awake, his heart racing as Lance’s yell pulled him violently from slumber. For a moment, he was gripped by panic, wondering if the ship had been attacked—but then Lance sobbed, and Keith was crawling through the dark as fast as his knees would allow, blindly reaching for the silhouette of his best friend.

“Please, no!” Lance bucked in his sleep, his voice wet with tears, and Keith nearly collapsed over him in his rush.

“Hey, Lance! Lance, wake up, it isn’t real—” A pair of flailing arms almost caught Keith in the face, and he clutched Lance’s clammy palm in his own. “Hey! It’s me, it’s Keith!”

In his grip, Lance’s writhing slowly stilled, and Keith could imagine the other boy blinking blearily up at him through the darkness. “You’re safe. It was just a dream,” Keith reassured, stroking a thumb across the hand in his and wanting so badly to plant a kiss there.

From out of the darkness, a voice hoarse and cracked with sleep croaked, “Keith?”

Keith smiled, reaching tentatively through the darkness until his fingers met soft curls. Although feather-light, the touch was met by a sharp inhale. Keith hesitated briefly before sinking his fingers into sweat-plastered hair, and when Lance relaxed under his soothing ministrations, Keith gave the hand in his own a squeeze before guiding it to rest over his own pounding heart.

“Yeah. It’s me. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

A whimper was his only warning before Lance was sobbing, turning his face to seek the warmth of Keith’s palm. Obliging the both of them, Keith ran his thumb along Lance’s wet cheek, threading his fingers through the ones pressed against his heart. “Hey,” he whispered, his heart breaking with each sob. “Please don’t cry.”

To Keith’s horror, the sentiment seemed to achieve the opposite effect. Lance’s sobs turned so desperate he was nearly wailing, as if he were trying to forcibly expel all traces of grief from his body. Every crackling gasp he managed to draw was so mangled that Keith wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to speak in the morning.

Deciding he could no longer bear the sound, Keith followed the impulse that guided him down onto Lance’s bedspread, their knees bumping together as he situated himself on the floor.

Loath to waste even another second, he breathed, “Com’ere,” into the space between them, drawing Lance into his arms as if this quiet intimacy were a natural thing between them. In the light of day, Keith might have felt self-conscious, but under cover of darkness…

He held Lance as if he were a precious thing, steadfast and unrelenting long after his tears had run dry and sleep had reclaimed them both.

…

Lance’s nightmares worsened the closer they drew to the Outer Rim.

At first, Keith was content to chalk it up to the rigors of their journey; Silver had been working them to the bone, and a combination of muscle-ache and stress was sure to warrant restless nights and agitated dreams.

But as nights spent holding Lance grew more frequent, Keith began to wonder exactly what ghosts plagued his slumber—what memories stole the glint from his eye and hardened the lines of his face. Not even Lance’s marble (warm to the touch when Keith would retrieve it from under Lance’s pillow in the dead of night and press it into shaking hands) seemed to bring him much solace. With each passing day, he seemed to retreat further into himself, and Keith’s heart ached to understand the reason for his melancholy.

He’d wondered, fleetingly, if perhaps Lance was simply embarrassed by their new, almost nightly ritual. But that didn’t explain the way Lance would wrap him in a crushing embrace under cover of dark, breath tickling against Keith’s neck as he desperately pleaded with him to stay—

And stay Keith did, keeping a close vigil night after night and wondering when he’d grown so weak.

However badly Keith wanted to talk to him, to ask what tortured him, Lance seemed to have developed a sixth sense for intimate conversation, as well as a special talent for avoiding it. Every time Keith attempted to broach the subject, Lance seemed to suddenly remember he had business elsewhere, leaving Keith’s unvoiced questions to die on his tongue.

It was clear he had no desire to talk, and while Keith didn’t want to push, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand to watch Lance slowly fall apart.

None of Keith’s questions were answered until they reached the Outer Rim.

Signs of life grew more and more sporadic the deeper they traveled past the Rim’s boundary, life on the ship falling into a dreadful tedium. Lance seemed to go through greater effort than ever before to make himself scarce, and all conversation between the two cabin boys grew as vacant and lackluster as the boy’s smiles. Keith wondered if the version of himself that had set out to space all those months ago—the version that’d harbored an angry, stupid grudge against a boy he hadn’t known—would have even noticed Lance’s subtle shift in demeanor.

He certainly noticed now.

It was on their third night in the Outer Rim that Shiro found him sitting alone atop the bannister after dinner, huddled against the mesh roping as he brooded. That evening had marked the second screaming match between himself and Lance that the galley had ever witnessed, and Keith was too busy stewing over the entire encounter to greet his cousin with more than a grunt.

“Hello to you, too,” Shiro chuckled. “Where’s your other half?”

“Don’t.” It came out quieter than he meant it to, a stark contrast to the humor in his brother’s voice. “Please don’t joke about it.”

“Okay.” Shiro held his hands out in surrender, his tone growing gentle. “I’m sorry.”

The two of them fell silent, Shiro carefully picking his way toward Keith with measured steps. He settled with his back against the banister, hands in his pockets and shoulders relaxed—his signature do you wanna talk about it stance.

A few more seconds passed before Keith finally found any words. “We had a fight,” he mumbled, turning away. With his cheek pressed against his knee, staring out into the vastness of space, Keith heard—more than saw—his cousin sigh beside him.

“Was it bad?”

Keith shrugged, and Shiro sighed again—longer and deeper.

“I’m sorry.” They passed a few moments in silence before he asked, “Think you two are gonna be okay?”

The desire to deflect weighed heavily on his chest, but for the first time in years, Keith found that…he wanted the comfort, wanted to unload. He was sick of running from himself, tired of hiding when things got tough.

He uncurled from his tight ball, drawing a wrist discreetly across his eyes. “‘M not sure,” he croaked, and the vulnerable honesty of his admission felt as if he were opening a door. “I just… I feel like I’m losing him, Shiro.”

The unfiltered surprise in his cousin’s wide eyes might have almost been funny in any other circumstance. “What happened?”

Stinging tears gathered at the corners of Keith’s eyes, and his vision blurred. He wasn’t sure he could even recall the last time Shiro had asked him that—the last time he’d let Shiro ask him that.

“I dunno,” he mumbled, rubbing once more at his eyes as he cast a surreptitious look around deck. It appeared that most of the crew had retired for the night, and the only members left on deck were Coran and Thorn, who were busy lighting the torches several paces out of earshot.

“We were in the galley, and I tried asking him about—about earlier today, and he…he just…”

The memory of Lance, red-faced with anger as the two of them yelled at one another, flashed through his mind and clawed its way out of his chest.

“I guess I just went too far and got totally invasive and I screwed everything up and—”

Shiro’s eyebrows hiked into his hairline in alarm, and Keith stopped talking with a huff. Right. He should probably start from the beginning. “Sorry. You remember earlier? Pandora?”

“I—do I remember the giant planet we passed?”

Ignoring his cousin’s attempt at levity, Keith mindlessly picked at the rusted buckles of his boots, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “He’s been so fucking weird all week, and then we passed Pandora today and he got all quiet, did you notice?” When Shiro shook his head, Keith plowed on, words spilling freely from his lips as his heart finally unburdened itself. “Well, he did; and then Silver said something to him—I didn’t hear what it was, but Lance looked…”

Keith trailed off, unable to adequately express the haunted look that had passed over Lance’s face and settled into the dark circles around his eyes.

“I did notice he left,” Shiro prompted when the silence had dragged on for too long. “Was that… because of Silver, do you think?”

“I don’t know.” He was crying again, and Keith wiped feverishly at his eyes, furious to be shedding even more tears. “He seemed upset, so I tried askin’…but he wouldn’t fucking talk to me about it, and I just—” He took a defeated, shuddering breath. “I’m just so worried about him, Shiro; his nightmares have gotten so bad, I’ve literally been sleeping on his roll—”

Belatedly processing his own words, Keith cut himself off, flushing with embarrassment as his cousin’s eyes softened.

“Oh, Keith.”

He sounded so much like their father that Keith was helpless to the sob that left him, as well as to the way his heart sang with relief when Shiro gathered him up into his arms. He buried his face in his cousin’s jacket, inhaling the familiar scent of home that he so ardently missed.

“I’m sorry,” he spluttered, unsure what exactly he was apologizing for.

Regardless, his cousin pulled away, taking Keith’s face in his hands with firm—yet gentle—hands. “Hey. Look at me.”

Feeling as if he were under a microscope, Keith struggled to meet his gaze through the tears swimming across his vision, sniffling as one dislodged itself from the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek. Shiro brushed it away with a thumb, his smile so bittersweet that Keith yearned to empty all the contents of his heart.

“You don’t have to apologize for the way you feel, Keith. You hear me?”

He nodded, feeling somewhat childish, and Shiro rubbed his thumbs across his cheeks. “That’s my little brother,” he whispered, chuckling when Keith nearly choked on another upsurge of tears. Asshole. “Listen to me. You and Lance are gonna be fine, okay?”

Keith opened his mouth to protest, and Shiro gave the head in his hands a little shake. “No. You are. You’ve been through too much together to fall apart now.”

More tears trailed down Keith’s face as he nodded, and Shiro sighed, brushing the hair from Keith’s forehead with his cybernetic hand. “You’re not gonna lose him, Keith,” he muttered, something strangely somber passing across his face as he dropped his hands, leaning back against the banister.

“How are you so sure?” he asked, his voice wobbling dangerously.

Avoiding eye contact, Shiro smiled—nostalgic and bittersweet—as he flexed his cybernetic fingers out in front of him. “Relationships are hard. Letting someone see all the parts of you is… easier said than done.”

They’d never spoken like this, about this, and Keith bit his lip before dismissing hesitation. “Is this about what happened with you and Adam? After…”

Shiro chuckled softly, his cybernetic hand curling into a light fist as he clutched it to his heart. His gaze roved out over the stars, and the expression on his face sent a wave of empathy rolling into Keith’s gut.

“I couldn’t talk to him about the accident for a year. I just…” His breath turned ragged, and Keith’s heart clenched painfully as he watched a glistening tear slide down Shiro’s face. “I didn’t know how. I didn’t want him to—to see. I was so scared he’d look at me differently, you know? I didn’t—I wanted to be the man he married.”

Keith unfurled his legs from his chest, heaving himself along the banister until he was shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “Hey. You’re still you, Shiro. The explosion didn’t change that.”

“You’re right,” Shiro uttered, his eyes shining with gratitude as he turned to regard Keith. “I know that now, but at the same time…I am different. I know those differences don’t rule me, but…they’re still a part of me, now.”

Fully surrendering himself to his heart, Keith reached for his brother’s cybernetic hand, easing it from its tight grip on his shirt and winding their fingers together. He was rewarded with a wet laugh, surprise flickering through Shiro’s eyes as he gave the hand in his a squeeze.

“My point is, I wasn’t ready to let Adam in for a long time. It wasn’t anything he was doing wrong, I just…needed to know for myself that he’d still be there after I opened the door.”

When he met Keith’s gaze, his eyes burned with sincerity. “I don’t know what’s eating at Lance, but it sounds like the best you can do to help is to be there till he’s ready. I understand—” emotion broke through his voice, and Shiro cleared his throat. “I understand,” he tried in a steadier voice, “if that’s not something you want to do. No one would blame you. I know it’s not easy to watch someone you love in pain—”

“No.” Shiro’s eyes widened as Keith stood, his hand still clutched tightly in his brother’s. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m sick of running, from—from you, and Dad, and—” His brain finally caught up with his words, and they careened to a halt as he stood there, praying that Shiro understood his words as the apology they were. Judging from the open expression of adoration on his brother’s face, Keith supposed that his message had been received loud and clear.

He let his eyes fall shut, breathing through the overwhelming wave of fondness pricking at his eyes. When he’d calmed his breathing enough to speak, he met Shiro’s eyes once more, voice firm as he promised, “I’m here to stay.”

Shiro beamed at him, his cheeks glistening with tears. “Well, in that case: it’s good to have you back, kid.”

…

An hour later, Keith was tiptoeing down into the galley, nearly vibrating with nervous energy.

He and Shiro had spent the better part of the hour concocting their—well, Keith’s—plan, but now that it was time to put things into motion, doubt sank into Keith’s stomach like a lead weight.

The sight of Lance’s eyebrows, tightly knit even in sleep, was enough to cement Keith’s resolve. He crept over, careful not to touch his sleeping friend lest he receive a faceful of fist.

“Lance.”

Nothing. Keith scrunched his nose, resisting the urge to poke Lance in the shoulder.

“Lance,” he whispered. “McClain. Pssst. Get up.”

A sharp inhale was Keith’s only indication that Lance had woken before he was croaking, “Keith?”

“Hey.” He let his hand find Lance’s shoulder in the dark and gave it a light shake. “C’mon, wake up and come with me.”

“Fer wha’?”

“You’ll see.”

Even in his half-unconscious state, Lance seemed to have no trouble trusting Keith on a whim—a fact that had Keith’s stomach flipping with fondness as he helped his best friend to his feet. With Lance leaning heavily into his side, Keith guided them toward the galley’s entrance, falling into a crouch as the two of them creeped up the stairs. Before they’d cleared the deck, Keith held up a hand, pausing a now disgruntled-but-awake-looking Lance in his steps until he heard Shiro’s voice waft through the night air.

“Thorn! Perfect night, don’t you think?”

Keith winced, wondering if his brother could sound any more rehearsed and stilted, but reached for Lance’s hand before he could lose his nerve. “Let’s go,” he hissed, dragging Lance behind him as the two of them snuck out into the night, past a distracted Thorn and toward the longboat hatch.

It was only after they’d begun their descent to the boat room that Keith realized he had no further reason to hold Lance’s hand, and was just about to let go when Lance adjusted his grip, threading their fingers together.

“What are we doing?” he hissed, nearly tripping down the last couple steps as he tried to keep pace in the dark.

“Uh…” Pulling Lance toward the furthest longboat from the door, Keith swiveled, watching Lance’s eyes widen in shock at the sight of the prepared boat. “I guess you can call it an apology.”

A host of emotions crossed Lance’s face, too quickly for Keith to put a finger on any single one. Finally, it settled on a hesitant wince. “Keith—”

“Please.” Without thinking, Keith reached for Lance’s unoccupied hand, rubbing his thumb across metallic knuckles as he held both hands firmly between them. His eyes flicked back and forth between blue and green, subconsciously begging Lance to read his sincerity; when he spoke, his voice was hardly audible even to his own ears. “Come with me.”

For a long moment, Lance merely looked at him, and Keith held his breath—struck, suddenly, by the unshakable feeling that everything they were (and everything they could be) hinged on Lance’s answer.

Then, finally: “Okay.”

Keith’s heart hammered in his ears, quick and elated as his mouth split into what was an undoubtedly moronic grin. In lieu of an answer, he jumped down into the longboat, landing on one of the many blankets he and Shiro had laid out half an hour earlier. When Lance didn’t immediately follow, Keith turned to find him staring at the boat with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

He caught Keith watching and cleared his throat, cheeks darkening as he gestured down at the mess of blankets and pillows. “What’s—uh, what exactly is all this?”

Shrugging, Keith turned to survey the boat’s contents, making certain he’d brought everything he’d wanted to include. “Picnic basket,” he said, jerking his chin toward the small crate tucked between blankets. “Stuff to keep us warm, pillows in case you want to sleep—”

Lance giggled, and Keith’s heart nearly stopped. “Keith, did you fucking loot storage?”

Offering his best friend a hand, Keith shot him what he hoped was a charming smirk. “I didn’t not loot storage.”

The other boy sniggered, and Keith nearly sighed with relief when Lance’s hand slipped into his own, warm and soft and sure. He eased himself down into the boat, and Keith resisted the urge to place a hand on his hip for extra support.

Predictably, Lance made a beeline for the food, and Keith chuckled at the expression on his face as he ripped off the crate’s lid.

“Keith, we could get in so much trouble for this,” he whispered, eyes shining in a way they hadn’t for several weeks.

The thrill of adventure lay thick in the air between them, infectious and wild, and Keith’s hands shook with excitement as he pulled himself back out of the boat, clambering over to the release hatch. Beneath him, Lance stared up at him as if he were something brilliant, and Keith shivered under his gaze.

“We could,” he agreed, watching the hatch split open beneath them to reveal an endless pool of stars and sky. “But isn’t that kind of the fun of playing hooky?”

…

Wind whipped through Keith’s hair as they tore through the sky, the sound of Lance’s unbridled laughter intoxicating beside him. As his mirth climbed, so too did Keith’s recklessness. Before long, Keith was piloting like a madman, spinning and speeding and tumbling—anything to keep the crinkle at the corner of Lance’s eye, the dimple in his cheek. Anything to keep Lance looking at him the same way he looked at the stars, as if he were in the presence of something awe-inspiring, something breathtaking. Anything to watch the deep blues and purples of the Etherium dance across Lance’s face as he leaned over the side of their boat; eyes sparkling as he trailed a hand through glittering, nebulous clouds.

(Anything to keep the ecstasy thrumming through his blood for just a little longer; to continue to pretend that he could stretch one night into an eternity).

Long after Lance had wrestled the thrusters out of Keith’s hands and their revelry had climbed to chaotic peaks—they’d almost lost the fucking food over the side at one point—a silent understanding had passed between them, and they’d navigated back to the ship with stomachs that ached from food and laughter.

They latched the boat to the rope pully, working in perfect synch to heave it upward into its port until Lance yanked too hard on his side, nearly sending Keith flying onto his ass as the boat tipped sideways—and the two of them nearly doubled over with laughter as they attempted to throw one another off-balance.

Exhausted and spent, they collapsed back into the boat the second it was moored, sitting so heavily that it creaked as it swung on its hinges. With a happy sigh, Keith came to terms with the fact that he’d likely fall asleep right then and there, satiated and unconcerned with the world outside their bubble.

Content—as always—just to be in Lance’s company.

There was movement against his shoulder, and Keith startled slightly, not having realized that his eyes had slipped shut. Beside him, Lance hissed through his teeth as he bent his cybernetic knee, pulling it toward his chest and fiddling with a gear.

With his breath held high in his chest, Keith sat up, bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes flicked between Lance’s leg and his face. It was rare for Keith to be privy to a sight such as this. More often than not, Lance insisted on tightening his gears whenever he wasn’t in the room, and Keith had grown accustomed to the way that Lance avoided talking about his cybernetics altogether.

Now, Keith tried not to gape as Lance openly tinkered away, tightening and twisting with the occasional grunts and click of his tongue.

“Does it hurt?”

The question slipped from Keith’s lips before he could stop it, and he felt his cheeks heat in mortification as Lance paused, casting him a sideways glance. As if debating his answer, he held Keith’s gaze for a few seconds before turning back to his leg with a shrug. “Nah. Sometimes it gets too tight and pinches a nerve, but other than that—just annoying, more than anything.”

Lance hissed in pain as his finger slipped from the knob he’d been trying to twist, sliding against a jagged edge of his knee. When Keith reached for him in alarm, Lance merely shook his head, sticking his thumb into his mouth. “‘S fine,” he managed around his finger. “Fucking happens all the time. Perks of shitty cybernetics.”

As if to prove his point, he shook out the injured hand and returned to work, his face twitching in pain as he applied pressure to his finger.

Keith was moving before he could think better of it.

He shifted to kneel in front of Lance, ignoring the way his eyes widened in surprise as Keith took both hands in his own, easing them away from his cybernetics with a gentle squeeze.

Lance’s eyes met his in question, and Keith swallowed. “Let me?”

It came out even softer than he’d intended, uttered low into the space between them. For a couple seconds, the two of them merely breathed one another’s air, Lance’s eyes darting back and forth between Keith’s as if he were trying to read…what, Keith wasn’t sure.

For the first time in his life, he let it happen. He let himself be read, placing every ounce of trust he possessed in his brother’s advice and letting his own metaphorical door swing wide open, inviting Lance to enter the depths of his very soul.

Please, he thought as he watched blue and green trail over his face. I’m not going anywhere.

I’m yours.

It was incontrovertible, Keith realized. It had been for a long time—perhaps even from the start. Irrefutably true, terrifyingly certain. It wouldn’t have mattered how they’d met, or where. The tides of the universe would have always brought them here, adrift in one another’s orbit and helpless to the gravitational pull that kept them together.

The bob of Lance’s Adam’s apple was almost lethargic as he swallowed; the nod that followed measured and decisive. In his mind’s eye, Keith could almost see Lance’s own door inching open, and he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as he turned his attention to the cybernetics beneath his palms.

Ever so gently, he gripped the knob Lance had been twisting between his thumb and forefinger, keenly aware that the other boy’s eyes hadn’t left his face.

“Like this?” he asked, twisting until his twists turned tight. The question was met with silence, and when Keith turned his inquisitive expression to Lance, he found the other boy watching him with a face that was several shades darker than usual.

When Lance seemed able to do little more than nod, Keith suppressed a smirk as he returned to his work. “You tell me if it’s too tight, okay?”

Once again, there was no response. It was clear that Lance had run out of words—not that Keith could really blame him. He’d never touched Lance’s cybernetics (save for the occasional hand-hold), and he couldn’t imagine what it’d taken Lance to open his door to Keith, even as little as he had. He also couldn’t help the little thrill of pride he felt, knowing that Lance had done that for him.

No one else. Just Keith.

Figuring that the growing silence was as good a moment as any to clear the air between them, Keith cleared his throat. “Look, about earlier, I didn’t—”

“Keith—”

“No.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. His fingers trembled around the knob on the outside of Lance’s knee, but his attention had returned to Lance, whose face was contorted into a miserable expression. “I want to. I fucked up, okay? I should never have pushed—”

“Okay.” Lance folded his arms across his chest. “Well I shouldn’t have yelled. You were just—” He broke off, the fight leaving his face as he met Keith’s eyes, his eyebrows rising in the middle. “You were just looking out for me.”

He sounded, suddenly, so close to tears that Keith was unable to keep the emotion out of his own voice as he leaned forward, placing a hand on Lance’s knee. “‘Course. You’re my best friend.”

It may have been a trick of the lantern light, but Keith swore there was a wet sheen to Lance’s eyes as he placed a hand atop Keith’s. “And you’re mine. But there’s—Keith, there’s things about me that I can’t—you wouldn’t—”

“I know.” Panic flashed through Lance’s eyes, and Keith fumbled with his words. “I mean—I don’t know know, I just mean—I get it, okay? There’s things that you’re not ready for me to know, and—fuck, Lance; I get it. I mean…” Keith laughed, short and manic, all the while inching closer to Lance in desperation to get his point across. “Did you know I’m registered in two criminal databases on Montressor?”

Lance’s brows furrowed, his nose scrunching attractively. “You are?”

“Yes!” Keith laughed again, molten warmth spreading through his chest and softening the lines of his face. “My point is, I get that you’re not ready. Hell, you might never be ready, and that’s okay.” He took a shuddering breath, hoping that Lance could see the sincerity in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere either way.”

Something dark and poisonous twisted Lance’s face and he looked away, hair falling like a curtain across his eyes. In a voice as coarse as desert sand, he muttered, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew.”

Feeling braver than he ever had in his life, Keith reached forward, cupping Lance’s cheek and turning the other boy’s head to face him. Lance jumped slightly at the unexpected graze of fingers against face, and Keith laughed wetly as startled eyes met his own.

“There isn’t a single thing in this universe,” he started, heart thundering through the pads of his fingers as he finally took the plunge, “—that could ever change the way I feel about you.”

They were close, now—so close that Lance’s breath fanned across his lips. “Keith, I…”

“Yeah?”

“I—”

Without a hint of warning, the ship pitched to the side with a mighty groan, throwing Keith onto his back and sending Lance toppling on top of him. They fell in an uncoordinated heap, a mess of tangled limbs and—sharp fucking edges, where Lance’s cybernetics were concerned.

Keith groaned in pain as Lance clambered off of him, eyes wild and hands hovering over Keith’s torso. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Ow,” Keith wheezed, already feeling a bruise forming where Lance had kneed him in the thigh with his prosthetic.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, but we gotta—” the ship pitched further, and their longboat swung so hard that Lance almost lost his balance again. “You gotta get up, Keith! Come on!”

Yanking at his arm with a steel grip, Lance hauled Keith to his feet, and together they stumbled out of the longboat docks and above deck.

The sight that greeted them was enough to raise every hair on Keith’s body and to send his heart rocketing into his throat.

Around them, the Etherium was awash with flame. Red and orange painted the sky, glittering embers streaking through the smoky haze. The deck itself had been cast into chaos, and Keith was only barely able to make out Coran’s voice above the commotion of the crew.

“FASTEN ALL SAFETY HARNESSES!”

Not needing to be told twice, Lance and Keith dove for the mast alongside the crewmembers who hadn’t had the foresight to secure themselves. Keith had just fastened the last strap across his shoulder—and had cast a sideways glance to assure that Lance was doing the same—when a hand landed on his shoulder. Whirling around, he came face to panic-stricken face with his brother, whose wild eyes instilled more fear within Keith than any of the chaos overhead.

“Keith! Thank the stars you’re okay! I looked everywhere for you, but you weren’t in the galley, and I thought maybe you were still out there and—”

“Whoa, hey!” Keith grabbed his brother’s shoulders, terrified of his frenetic breathing. “I’m okay, Shiro—alright?” Smoke invaded his throat, dry and thick as it was, and Keith’s eyes watered with the urge to cough. He could almost taste the acrid smell of nuclear fire. “What the fuck is happening?”

“The star Permusa,” Shiro rushed, casting a cursory glance between Keith and Lance as if to reassure himself that they were both still alive. “It went supernova.”

“Fuck.” Vitriol tarnished Lance’s voice. “Who the fuck was on watch?”

“I—me,” Shiro croaked. He looked as if he were about to cry, and Keith tightened his grip on his shoulders. “It happened so fast; I woke the crew as soon as I could—”

“MCCLAIN! KOGANE!”

Silver’s voice rang out high above the din, and both boys perked to attention, hands flying to salute. A few feet away, the red glow of Silver’s cybernetic eye cut through the smog like a beacon. “SECURE ALL LIFELINES IMMEDIATELY! SHIROGANE, WITH ME!”

Keith hardly had time to spare his brother a parting glance before a metallic hand was wrapping around his wrist, forcing him to turn his attention back to the mast.

“Come on!” Lance urged, looking slightly hysterical as he tightened the first lifeline. “Help me!”

Adrenaline thrummed through Keith’s veins as he set to work, tightening thick rope knots around the metal rungs that lined the mast with practiced ease. He fell into a rhythm, only stopping when he’d come shoulder to shoulder with Lance; hand to trembling hand.

“What the fuck do we do now?” he yelled over the roar of the wind, ignoring the part of himself that longed to be mesmerized by the way the fiery embers glinted in Lance’s dual-toned eyes.

“No clue!” Lance yelled back, and Keith was relieved to see that his partner looked just as lost as he felt. “I’ve never seen anything like this!” He cast a glance around the ship, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “They’ve secured the sails—good call, this fiery shit’ll burn the fuck outta them, and I guess—”

“CAPTAIN!”

If Keith had been alarmed by the panic in Shiro’s voice, it was nothing compared to the way he felt hearing the strident tones of terror in Thorn’s.

He turned to find her pointing—reptilian eyes blown wide in fear—in the direction of the exploding star, which had now come into full view through thick red haze.

It was clear what was wrong before Lance muttered, “Oh, fuck me,” grabbing Keith’s hand and dragging him to join Thorn at the port-side banister.

It was clear what was wrong before the Captain’s voice hollered, “RELEASE THE SAILS IMMEDIATELY! RELEASE!”

It was clear what was wrong before Keith’s heart practically stopped, his mind struggling to come to grips with the sight of something he’d only ever seen in his Garrison textbooks.

From the eye of the explosion, a dark vortex was born, hungrily consuming all surrounding matter in its ever-growing maw. If Keith had thought that nothing could rattle him after the Leviathan… he’d been sorely mistaken.

Physically unable to take his eyes off the rapidly forming black hole, Keith gripped the banister, his body trembling with fear. Forced to raise his voice over the deafening roar of the supernova and the clamor of the crew, he yelled, “What the fuck are we gonna do, Lance?”

If he’d been able to avert his gaze, he might have taken more stock of the sight in his peripheral vision—of the way Lance extended himself over the banister, as if the extra inches might give him a better view.

“I don’t know.” His voice trembled, and Keith wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Lance sound so unsure. “But the Captain’s bound to—”

Two things happened at once, in such rapid succession that Keith barely had time to blink.

The first thing was the shockwave that slammed into the ship so hard that it rocked side to side, nearly sending Keith reeling back onto his ass.

The second thing: Lance went overboard.

It happened too fast for Keith to properly process, and it wasn’t until Lance’s safety line pulled taut across the banister that Keith registered the yells of the boy hanging from nothing but his harness down below.

“LANCE!”

He didn’t have time to call for help as he braced his heels against the side of the ship, wrapping gloved hands around Lance’s rope and yanking upward with all his strength. Nature itself worked against him, tugging Lance away as both he and the ship were sucked into the hole’s gravitational pull.

He’d never experienced such agony in his life.

Fire coursed through his limbs, turning his muscles to molten liquid as his elbows locked. His arms felt as if they were trying to dislodge themselves from his shoulders. Pain rippled through his lower back so sharply that he cried out, tears springing to the corners of his eyes.

All the while, Lance fumbled to grasp the rope holding him as he screamed. The sound was awful enough, mind-numbingly harrowing enough to keep Keith grounded even through the haze of pain that’d consumed him. Hand over hand he pulled, tears streaming down his face as his vision swam, head ringing and veins throbbing where they strained against his temple.

Lance’s head had almost reached the underside of the ship when the rope frayed.

Keith didn’t notice at first, too singularly focused on his task that if not for Lance’s sharp, “KEITH! THE ROPE!” he might not have seen it at all.

His eyes widened as it began to snap, thread by thread. Sweat trickled down into his ears as he doubled down on his efforts, teeth clenched so tightly he felt as if they might meld together. The rope grew thinner by the second, whittling down until Lance was practically dangling by a thread, his hands mere inches from Keith’s.

The telltale tingle of instinct down his spine was his only form of warning before the rope snapped altogether. Keith’s mind went blank as he bellowed, diving for Lance’s forearms as his knees slammed against the banister. He was distantly aware that Lance was yelling something below him, though he couldn’t make out the words over the blood rushing through his ears.

He’d never understand where he found the strength, or how; but one second Lance was dangling precariously, metal wrist digging into the flesh of Keith’s palm as he pulled—the next, Keith was falling, his back hitting the deck a second before Lance was tumbling on top of him, knocking the air clean out of his body.

For a second, both boys lay trembling together. The cacophony of yelling and commotion faded until it sounded like everything sounded eerily muted, leaving Keith and Lance in their own little bubble. Keith might have wrapped his arms around Lance if he’d had the energy, but his insides felt as if they’d turned to mud.

It was Lance who finally found the willpower to move, bracing his hands against the deck on either side of Keith’s head as he pushed himself up, arms shaking with effort. Inches away, green and blue shone with impending tears as they raked over Keith’s face.

“Keith.” Lance’s voice was a broken thing, worn and hoarse from screaming and cracked with emotion. “You saved my life.”

Raising his arm was more effort than anything he’d done in his entire life, but Keith’s hand proved steadfast in its short journey to Lance’s face. Satisfaction burned through his blood as his palm grazed against a smooth cheek, and his heart sang with elation when Lance’s hand covered his own as if to secure it there.

Lacking the energy to speak, Keith’s gaze darted back and forth between Lance’s eyes, hoping that his own might convey the words wrapped like a vice around his heart.

You understand, don’t you? he thought, rubbing a thumb along the ridge of Lance’s cheekbone, sighing when Lance turned his head to press his lips against Keith’s palm. You feel it too.

A sharp whistle cut through the air and their spell was broken. Lance scrambled to his feet, and Keith might have passed out then and there if it weren’t for the other boy, flashing briefly across his fading vision as he hauled him upright.

“KEITH! Come on, we have to move!”

The panic that laced his voice was incentive enough to listen, and Keith allowed himself to be hoisted into a standing position as Lance slipped under his shoulder, supporting a majority of his body weight as they ambled toward midship.

“You gotta stay with me, Keith,” Lance was pleading. He sounded seconds away from bursting into tears, and Keith was present enough to know that he hated being the cause of that tone. “Come on, Captain says we’re gonna ride the next shockwave out; we need to hold on to something, but you gotta help me—”

He wasn’t sure when they’d reached the mast, but the breath left him in a little “oof,” as Lance pushed him against it. He crowded against Keith’s back, shielding him in a warm pseudo-embrace as his arms surrounded Keith and found purchase in the rungs lining the mast. Around them, everything faded into darkness—and Keith almost thought he was losing consciousness until he realized that the stars were gone around them, all color absent from the great palette of space as the Melenor succumbed to the black hole.

Somewhere, someone shouted, “WE’RE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT, CAPTAIN!” and Lance’s breath tickled Keith’s ear as he crowded ever closer.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” came a raspy whisper, so soft that Keith wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. “I got you.”

In the looming face of death, Keith closed his eyes against the screams of the crew around him, able to think of nothing other than his father and brother; of nothing but the words he’d never get to say to the boy curled protectively against him—

With a shaking that rattled every bone in Keith’s body, the ship’s thrusters engaged—just as a massive shockwave collided with the Melenor, sending them careening out of the black hole’s giant mouth at a speed the ship should never have been capable of.

Keith’s eyes flew open in time to watch color bloom back to life, red and orange fading back to blue and purple as the ship was freed from the hole’s gravitational pull and propelled back to safety. It rocketed forward—sending Keith’s bangs whipping into his eyes and his teeth knocking against each other—until the thruster’s power had been spent, and the Melenor was slowing to a crawl; drifting unassumingly through the vast expanse of space as if nothing had happened.

For a long moment, silence reigned over the crew—and then they were cheering, uproarious and elated, the victorious cacophony of a narrow escape from death.

A disbelieving huff of laughter ruffled the hair near Keith’s ear. “We made it. We’re fucking ALIVE! KEITH—”

The pressure left his back as Lance released him, spinning him by the shoulders so that they faced one another. Lance’s hands gripped the sides of Keith’s face, squishing his cheeks between his palms. “WE MADE IT!” he yelled, eyes wild and voice bordering on hysteria. “I—” Without warning, the smile melted off of Lance’s face, and before Keith could blink, he was being wrapped in a bone-crushing embrace. In a voice thick with emotion, he uttered, “You saved my life.”

Trembling—from adrenaline or fear or fatigue, he wasn’t sure—Keith returned the hug, hands curling into tight fists against Lance’s back. Indulging himself, he pressed his nose into the nape of Lance’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat and dish soap as reassurance that they were both alive.

When he spoke, his lips brushed against soft skin. “‘Course, dummy. You woulda done the same for me.”

Lance stiffened in his arms, and then Keith was being pushed back ever so gently, held by the sides of his arms as those familiar multi-colored eyes met his own. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the expression on Lance’s face, but he looked pained, almost wounded. “Keith,” he started, eyebrows tilting upward toward the center, “I—”

“KEITH! LANCE!”

The two of them practically jumped apart as Shiro jogged toward them, his white hair sticking up in all directions and giving him an uncharacteristically disheveled look. “Are you okay?”

He swept Keith’s face in his hands the moment he was within reach, gingerly turning it this way and that with an almost deranged urgency. “You’re not hurt, right? I was so busy with the sails, I didn’t get a chance to check if you were okay till everything started going dark, and I could barely see—”

“Shiro!” Keith grabbed his brother’s hands, easing them away from his face and giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’m okay, I swear! Lance is the one who—”

The words died on his tongue as he turned, only to find the spot Lance had occupied a moment before to be empty. Confusion narrowed his eyes and knit his brows, and he swept his gaze across the deck as he attempted to fight off the feeling of wrongness creeping up his throat.

“Where the hell did he go?” Shiro muttered, frowning as he turned to look over his shoulder.

Keith swallowed, trying and failing to think of anything other than the way Lance had looked at him before he’d disappeared. “I don’t know.” His voice cracked, and he finally registered how truly exhausted he was—how bone-achingly numb he was from the night’s events.

Something in his voice seemed to catch the attention of his brother, who abandoned his search for Lance in favor of placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “He’s probably just giving us some space, bud. Or… you know. Processing. That was insane.”

“He went overboard,” Keith blurted, his eyes fixated in a blank stare at the balustrade, where Thorn was congratulating the Captain with a hearty handshake.

“He what?”

“No one noticed.” His voice was hollow. “He would’ve died if I hadn’t pulled him up.”

“Stars above—you pulled him up?”

“Yeah.”

“But—the gravitational pull—”

“Yeah.” He ripped his eyes away from Allura and Thorn, turning his attention back to his brother. “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

With a shuddering breath, Shiro bent slightly, reaching to take Keith’s shoulders as soon as they were eye-level. “Alright. Here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re gonna have Thorn look you over—no, Keith; I’m not asking,” he insisted when Keith opened his mouth to protest. “You’re gonna tell us what happened with Lance, and then you’re gonna find him and make sure he’s okay. You with me?”

Wanting nothing more than to bump the last item on Shiro’s agenda up to first priority, Keith grunted unhappily.

“Don’t give me that, Keith. I’m worried about you. Come on.”

The hint of tears in Shiro’s voice was enough to grab his attention, and Keith nodded with great reluctance, his eyes falling on the entryway to the galley.

“Okay.”

…

By the time he’d been cleared by Thorn and Allura for duty (“duty”, in this case, being code for going the fuck to sleep) Keith was more wired than ever, nearly vibrating with anticipation as he descended the galley stairs. Even as Allura had peppered him with questions about Lance’s fall and their irreparable lifeline, Keith hadn’t been able to shake the image of that look in Lance’s eyes—nor could he shake the lingering sense of dread that’d sunk its claws into his chest.

He’d hardly even said a proper goodnight to Shiro, so preoccupied with Lance’s absence that his brother had been forced to chase him for a hug.

It was only when he was about halfway down the stairs that he realized that Lance may well have opted to sleep and Keith slowed his steps, his footsteps measured and gentle on the creaking wood.

At the bottom of the stairwell he paused, fatigue and relief finally sinking into his bones as he laid eyes on his best friend.

Lance paced near the sink, hands balled into tight fists near his head. His hair looked a mess, as if Lance had run his hands through it one too many times, and when he noticed Keith, he froze like a desert critter in high-beams.

For a couple seconds, the two of them stared at one another—Keith’s exhausted brain completely incapable of understanding the wild light in Lance’s eyes, and even less capable of stringing together any semblance of a question.

Then Lance was moving, hurtling toward Keith like a man on a mission, striding towards him as if he were a cornered animal provoked—

Keith took an instinctive step back, his back meeting wall just as Lance’s fists curled around his collar—

And then, Lance was kissing him.

Lance kissed him with urgency, with the exigency of a man starving. Lance kissed him as if it was both the first and last time, as if he might never again get the chance. Lance kissed him as if their lives depended on it, as if he were desperate for it, months of longing looks and sweet words and fond names and tantalizing almosts culminating in this wondrous moment.

Lance kissed him, and Keith—well.

Keith responded with matching fervor, pouring into the kiss the three words that’d cemented themselves in his heart—the three words he knew to be truer than anything he’d felt in his entire life. He met Lance’s confession (though was it really a confession, he wondered, when he’d known all along?) with a confession of his own, his heart singing with a rapture that he’d never known—could never have imagined.

(He thought, perhaps, that all those nights spent watching the heavens—alone and incomplete—his heart had been reaching for Lance, reaching across stars and space and time itself for the very thing that would make it whole.)

I found you, he thought, hands rising to grip Lance’s hips as he greedily pressed forward, deepening their kiss. I finally found you.

He was still reeling when Lance’s hands flattened against his chest—right over the cannon fire of his heartbeat—and pushed. Keith chased blindly after Lance’s lips, his eyes fluttering open when he found nothing but empty space. He blinked as if coming out of a dream, trying to process the sudden feeling of wrongness that sank cold talons into his heart as he registered the expression on Lance’s face.

If he’d expected to come face to face with the same bliss thrumming through his own veins—pulsing like magic—he was sorely mistaken.

Nothing could have prepared him for the pure horror dancing behind Lance’s wide eyes, glinting in the form of unshed tears, or the way Lance stumbled backward, his hands trembling as they left Keith’s lapel.

Swallowing around the building lump in his throat, Keith barely managed to croak, “Lance?”

Lance’s back collided with the prep table behind him, and Keith was reminded once more of a cornered animal, feral and coiled.

“I can’t,” he choked, the words as cracked and worn as his broken expression. Blue-green flicked back and forth between Keith’s eyes, as if begging him to understand. “This was a mistake.”

Pressure built behind Keith’s eyes, and something large and hot rolled down his cheek. When he spoke, he barely recognized the hoarse voice that left him as his own. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It left Lance as no more than a whisper, and Keith became hyper-aware of how great the distance between the two of them had grown as Lance continued to edge toward the stairs. “I’m so sorry, Keith.”

I don’t understand, Keith wanted to say, but the pressure building in his throat was too much, too volatile. Just stay.

The thought must have been written across his face plain as day, because Lance was shaking his head, another apology leaving him on a whimper as he turned tail and ran—leaving Keith shell-shocked and alone in the galley with nothing but the memory of a kiss and the remnants of his shattered heart.

Well, Keith thought as the first sob overtook him, driving him to the floor in a boneless heap. The stars always were out of reach.

Chapter Text

Waking was pain.

Rough, uneven floorboard dug into his back, accounting for the stiff ache up his spine that seeped into his neck and shoulders. When he swallowed, his throat was sandpaper. His eyes and nose burned with the dry sting of salt, his head pounding and hazy.

Disoriented, he pushed himself up onto his elbows with a mighty groan, blinking around at the galley as the thick fog of sleep slowly cleared from his brain. In its wake, an inexplicable sense of despair settled into him like a lead weight, a feeling of wrongness spreading throughout him until he was nearly sick with it—

His eyes landed on his and Lance’s bedrolls—lying alone and forgotten at the opposite end of the room—and clarity came rushing back to him, the lead weight in his chest growing too much to bear. He collapsed onto his back, eyes squeezing shut as his head collided painfully against unforgiving wood, the throb behind his skull dwarfed by the gnawing agony in his heart.

With his eyes closed, he could almost feel the phantom press of hungry lips against his own, intangible proof that the previous night’s events hadn’t been the imaginings of a frayed mind. If he tried, he could almost recall the puffs of desperate breath as Lance pushed ever closer—could recall his own joy as the two of them finally came together, twin stars meeting in a celestial dance—

This was a mistake. I’m sorry.

Keith’s stinging eyes slid open, his head lolling listlessly to the side as a hot tear rolled into his hairline.

He’d been so sure. For the first time in his life, he’d...he’d thought...

Well. Clearly, he’d thought wrong.

He’d placed it all on the line—his dignity, his pride, his heart—to be left with nothing but the void that had accompanied him throughout his entire life. Even as he lay there it grew, the dark nothingness within him expanding and consuming all in its wake. It tore through Keith with abandon, feasting ravenously as it darkened memories of dimpled smiles and bright laughter. All was at its mercy—all lost to the miniature black hole growing within him, overpowering as it engulfed any light.

Distantly, somewhere far beyond the oppressive dark, he thought that perhaps he should be frightened. It had been months since he’d felt so empty—months since Montressor and chasing after fulfilment that he could never quite grasp. He’d gone to space and found everything he’d ever searched for, everything he’d ever wanted. It’d taken time, but he’d finally managed to fill the gaping void within him with something real, something wholesome.

I’m sorry.

Now the void spread, hungrier and with more to consume than ever before, shrouding those new parts of him that had come to shine so brilliantly over the last few months. He wanted to be scared—wanted to fight for what he’d fought so hard to build.

This was a mistake.

He didn’t fight. He simply...didn’t have the will. Instead, he succumbed to the void, welcoming it like an old friend and allowing it to spread through mind and body until he was numb.

By the time he’d pushed himself to his feet, he was nothing more than an empty husk, lifeless and listless as he stumbled into his boots and up onto the deck. Blinking the last remnants of tears out of burning eyes, he squinted blearily at his surroundings, his resolve crumbling as he searched for a familiar mop of brown hair—

A shadow fell across his path, and Keith stared blankly up at Thorn’s raised eyebrow. “Late, Mister Kogane.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, jerking his head to the side for fear that she might see the gathering storm behind his eyes. He’d hoped that his bangs might hide the void, but the ginger press of clawed fingers around his chin proved him wrong. She turned his face, forcing him to meet her gaze as her hyper-intelligent eyes searched his own.

Feeling as if she were peering into the very depths of his heart, he cast his eyes aside, ashamed to be seen and longing for privacy—but the damage had been done. With a click of her tongue, Thorn released her grip, claws sliding against his face as her hand retreated.

“You are in no state to train.”

Betrayal coursed through Keith’s veins like fire, igniting the remnants of himself that the void hadn’t consumed. “What?”

Thorn cocked her head to the side as she evaluated him. “I prefer not to repeat myself. You will use this time to rest.”

“Wait—no,” he argued—because if she wouldn’t let him retain this one shred of normalcy, then what did he have? He caught one of her many wrists as she turned away, only to be met with a gaze of steel, cold and unforgiving. “I’m—please, I can fight, I’m okay—”

“No.” She sighed, and the iciness behind her eyes melted. “You appear unwell, Mister Kogane. To fight you now would endanger the both of us.”

“Thorn, please,” Keith rasped, heart sinking into his stomach. “Please.”

In a swift movement, she had cupped his face in a hand, her thumb wiping away a tear Keith hadn’t realized he’d shed. “Rest, young one,” she urged, her voice uncharacteristically soft as she brushed the hair from his face.

He could do no more than nod as she walked away, and the void within him sang with delight at her absence.

…

It wasn’t until much later in the day that he finally saw Lance.

The other cabin boy had been mysteriously absent from morning chores, leaving Keith to swab the deck on autopilot with nothing but the static in his brain as company. It was only after Keith had returned from a solitary lunch in the galley that a familiar laugh froze him in place.

“And the Larvinian says, ‘Well! I guess two heads are better than one!’”

The gathered crewmembers erupted into boisterous laughter. In their midst, Lance smirked where he leaned against the railing, his demeanor carefree and casual.

Something within Keith—what little was left of the fire that hadn’t been snuffed out by the void—snapped. Before he could think, he was striding angrily toward the group, eyes locked on their ringleader as his mouth twisted into a scowl.

Rave was the first to sense his approach, tittering when she noticed him and smacking Roth in the arm with a single tentacle. Keith ignored them both, letting their staring fuel the flames licking through his body as he marched toward his target.

“Hey, asshole!” he called from a couple feet away, balling his hands into fists as he came to a halt. Wide, dual-toned eyes met his, and Keith relished the momentary flicker of fear behind them. Good.

“I did all the morning chores,” he bit, venom dripping from every word. “You’re welcome.”

Lance blinked, and whatever Keith thought he’d seen in his eyes was gone.

“Oh, Keith!” Lance greeted, his voice a shade too light to be natural. “Hey! Sorry, Silver had me in longboats all morning.” As if to prove a point, he cracked his back, throwing Keith an apologetic wince. “Damn latch is faulty again.”

Breathe, Keith coached himself, struggling to unclench his jaw enough to form words. “Can we talk?”

A small, uncertain smile crept onto Lance’s face, as if Keith had just asked him a question with an obvious answer. “Uh...sure! What’s up, bud?”

Keith inhaled sharply through his nose. Don’t punch him. “Alone, Lance.”

There it was again, that tiny flicker of something across Lance’s face, gone almost before it was noticeable.

Too bad I know you, asshole, Keith thought, folding his arms across his chest as he studied the stiffness that had seeped into Lance’s falsely casual posture.

“Sorry, Keith, but Silver wants—”

“I don’t care,” Keith growled. Roth shifted tensely in his peripheral vision. “We need—”

“I assume you’re all standing around for a reason?”

A hand landed on Keith’s shoulder and he shut his eyes, turning the full power of his attention to filling his lungs instead of jerking himself out of Silver’s hold.

“Perhaps we’ve arrived at our destination,” Silver continued, giving Keith’s shoulder a squeeze that was slightly too hard to be friendly. “Perhaps there is no need for work.”

With mumbled apologies and averted gazes, the rest of the crew slunk away—all save for Lance and Keith, who was currently still stuck beneath the weight of Silver’s heavy paw. “I believe you know your task, Little Blue.”

Seemingly determined not to meet Keith’s eyes, Lance nodded. “Yessir.”

“That’s my boy.”

Without another glance in Keith’s direction, Lance slipped away, hands sliding into his pockets as he headed toward the mess hall.

Weighty footsteps thudded against the deck—slow and measured—and then Keith was face-to-face with Silver, who regarded him with a smile that made him shudder. “As for you, you’ll be working in the galley today. Lieutenant needs one hundred siffer seeds cracked in time for dinner.”

Keith’s eyebrows knitted together, his heartbeat growing loud in his ears as the fire within him raged. “One hundred—but that’s impossible, that’ll take me all day alone—”

“Then I suppose you’d better start,” Silver responded, mouth curling into a wicked grin. He reached up to ruffle Keith’s hair, and this time Keith spared no hesitation in ducking away, his breath high and angry in his chest.

“Why are you keeping us apart?” he asked Silver’s retreating figure. His fingernails dug painfully into his palms, and he leaned into the discomfort just as much as his newfound anger. “That’s what you’re doing, right?”

Silver froze in his tracks, and Keith braced himself to be rebuked for his insolence. Instead, the Quartermaster merely chuckled, turning his head just enough to address Keith over his shoulder. “That isn’t my doing, boy.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Again, Silver laughed, low and mocking. “McClain thought that perhaps the two of you might cover more ground with separate assignments. Less...distractions.”

Keith’s heart raced, throbbing wildly in his fingertips. There was no way...unless Lance had...

“I suggest you are well prepared for our arrival at The Cannon, Mister Kogane. One can never be too sure what treachery awaits in the far reaches of space.”

…

The following week and a half was the worst of Keith’s life.

He and Lance seldom saw one another save for mealtimes, and even then Lance made himself scarce, sitting as far from Keith as the mess hall would allow. By virtue of Silver’s orders, the two of them rarely shared any chores unless they were surrounded by crew. It seemed as if Lance could no longer stand to be in a room alone with him, always slipping away with some half-assed excuse and a forced smile as he refused to meet Keith’s eyes. On the rare occasion that they had to work together, the two of them completed their chores in terse silence, Keith refusing to entertain Lance’s overly-lighthearted attempts at trivial conversation.

Even in the evenings, Lance seemed eager to avoid him, conspicuously absent when Keith settled in for sleep. Gone were the nights spent holding one another through relentless nightmares, gone were delirious conversations held under cover of darkness. Gone was “Night, flower boy!” from across the room as Keith covered his contented smile with the edge of his blanket.

He’d also be missing when Keith woke in the mornings, leaving Keith to wonder whether or not Lance had even come to bed at all.

He’d wonder how it was even possible to miss someone who had hurt him so irrevocably, but as the spot in his heart once occupied by Lance grew colder and emptier, Keith filled it instead with bitterness and resentment.

This was a mistake.

Lance had kissed him. Not the other way around. As badly as Keith had wanted to initiate something between them for weeks—no, months—it was Lance who had finally taken the plunge.

So. If Keith was such a ‘mistake’, why had Lance spent countless hours attempting to make him laugh as they struggled to complete monotonous chores? Why had Lance flashed him those stupid, special smiles? Why had he taken Keith dancing?

And why in the ever-loving fuck had Lance kissed him?

Five days after the kiss, Keith had long given up on trying to find answers, choosing instead to stew over the same questions over and over as he completed yet another chore by himself.

That isn’t my doing, boy.

Keith slammed his mop a little too roughly into its pail, inadvertently sending grimy water sloshing onto his pants. He swore under his breath, clenching his jaw to keep from screaming.

McClain thought that perhaps the two of you might cover more ground with separate assignments.

The mop hit the deck with a wet slap, flecking Keith’s face with suds.

Less...distractions.

He stepped backward with a growl, jerking the handle of his mop back with more aggression that was strictly necessary—

And nearly lost his balance as it collided with something solid.

The something behind him released a pained reptilian screech, and Keith’s gut swooped with dread as he whirled around and came face-to-face with Morena.

Their eyes met, and Morena’s narrowed into slits. “Cabin boy,” she hissed, the venom in her tone sending Keith’s heart leaping into his throat.

Oh, fuck. If he hadn’t been so distracted...if he’d just been watching where he was going—

He took an instinctive step away as she slithered toward him, fangs bared in anger and claws extended at her sides. “It was an accident, Ren,” he growled, already aware that whatever he offered in terms of an apology would be a waste of breath. “Let’s not escalate this.”

Her responding laugh—low and raspy in her throat—sent a chill down Keith’s spine. “Big words coming from such an angry little boy. Tell me, is that the same wisdom that got you expelled from the Galaxy Garrison?”

Keith’s blood ran cold. “What did you just say?”

“I think you heard me,” she sang, her mouth twisting into a menacing smile. “What was it? ‘Physical altercation with a classmate?’”

The deck swayed beneath Keith’s feet as rage clouded his vision. There was no way she could have known that—no way she should have.

“How the fuck do you know about that?” he spat, nearly tripping over a coil of rope on the floor. “That’s classified information.”

“A girl has her sources,” she laughed, just as Keith’s back collided with the hard edge of the ship’s banister.

In a flash of movement, Morena lunged forward, her massive tail coiling at Keith’s feet and pinning his legs painfully against the banister. She crowded into his space, forked tongue flicking into the air and grazing his cheek.

“Naughty, naughty boy,” she rasped. Something in her voice had Keith struggling against her grip and attempting to peer around her. He desperately scanned the deck for help, though most of the crew appeared deeply engrossed in their chores.

A few feet away, Roth whistled with feigned nonchalance as he caught Keith’s eye and winked.

Abruptly, his face was yanked back in Morena’s direction, her clawed fingers digging into his cheeks hard enough to draw blood as they squeezed. “Who are you looking for?” she chuckled, giving his head a rough shake. “No one’s going to save you this time, my fragile little thing.”

“I don’t need saving,” Keith growled. Where moments ago his blood had gone frigid, it had now reached a boiling point. “I don’t need anyone.”

Morena cooed condescendingly, and Keith had to actively fight the urge to headbutt her. “Is that so?” She leaned closer, and Keith could smell the rancid stink of lunch on her breath as it fanned in hot puffs against his cheek. “Not even your sweet little friend? What happened there, I wonder?”

Without thinking, Keith reared his head back and spat directly into the snake-woman’s face. He had all of a second before she’d grabbed him by the lapel and was pushing, bending him precariously back over the banister and over open space.

“I could do it right now,” she hissed, her eyes glowing with maniacal madness. “One push and the universe would be rid of Keith Kogane. Would anyone miss you, I wonder?”

“Stop playing, Morena,” Keith grunted, straining to no avail against her tail in a valiant effort to keep himself upright. “The rules—”

“You think this is a game?” She giggled, as if Keith had just made a funny joke over breakfast. “You think I care for rules?”

With a shake of her head, she brought her free hand up to caress his face, and tears sprung to his eyes at the unwanted touch. “This is very real, child. It is your destiny. Now—” her coiled tail tightened against him, and he cried out in pain. “Any last words, cabin boy?”

“Get your fucking hands off my brother!”

There wasn’t a single time in his life that Keith had ever been so relieved to hear Shiro’s voice. With rescue so close at hand, one of the tears he’d been trying so hard to suppress slipped unbidden from his eye, and Morena’s finger darted forward to catch it.

She evaluated it for a second—twisting and turning her finger as if she’d never seen a tear—before popping it in her mouth, holding staunch eye contact as she did so.

“Would you look at that, cabin boy,” she mused, her lips stretching into an almost wry smile. “Lucky once again.” She leaned back into his space, laughing as he squirmed and dragging her lips against his jaw until she’d reached his ear. Somewhere behind them, Shiro’s shouts intensified as he approached them, but Keith could process little more than the unwelcome physical gesture.

“But I wonder...” she continued, her lips tickling his ear, “how long until that luck runs out?”

All Keith processed of the next moment was an angry growl, and then Morena was yanked away from him so hard that she fell to the deck, hands splayed haphazardly against uneven wood and hair falling in a greasy curtain over her face.

“Was the first time not clear enough for you?” Shiro snapped, shielding Keith protectively as he glared down at Morena.

Keith shuddered as she parted her hair to reveal a grin that was too wide, stretching across her face in a way that made her look demented. “I wouldn’t have expected such violence from an officer such as yourself, Shirogane."

"Touch him like that again and I'll do a lot worse," Shiro snarled, practically shaking with anger. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

For a terrifying moment, Morena's slitted pupils flicked back to fix Keith with such venomous hatred that he instinctively pressed back into the banister, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.

He almost sighed with audible relief when she returned her focus to Shiro, her smile dangerously saccharine. “Crystal, Commander.”

“Good.” In all the time Keith had known him, he’d never heard Shiro sound so… unhinged. “Now get out of my sight.”

Slowly, Morena uncurled herself from the floor, eyes twinkling as if she were privy to some delicious secret that the brothers weren’t. As if determined to relish the fear and havoc she’d caused, Morena’s tongue slid between her teeth—once, twice—and then she was gone, slithering off across the deck with not so much as a glance back in their direction.

Keith hardly had time to recover before Shiro was whirling on him, ire still clinging to him like a heavy fog. “What. Happened.”

Bristling at his brother’s tone, Keith scowled down at the floor, arms folding protectively across his chest. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Keith. She had you halfway over the fucking banister. That wasn’t nothing.”

“I had it under control,” Keith snarled, the lie acidic on his tongue as he turned to leave. “I don’t always need your help, okay?”

“Hey!” Shiro caught his arm, eyes blazing. “You think this is a joke? You think I could live with myself if something happened to you out here?” His brother’s voice cracked, exposing the real source for his anger as fear seeped through the fissures in his livid comportment. “The hell is going on with you lately?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not!”

With a growl, Keith wrenched himself out of his brother’s grip, desperate to reach the galley before his blood reached its boiling point.

The sound of following footsteps had him increasing his pace.

“You hardly eat,” Shiro was saying, but Keith didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to have this damn conversation—not here, not now.

Maybe not ever.

“You look like you’re barely sleeping, and Thorn told me she’s had to dismiss you from training twice...what the fuck is going on, kid? I can’t help if you don’t—”

“I don’t want your help!” Shiro’s eyes widened as Keith spun about, arms thrown out at his side.

“I—”

“You wanna know what happened?”

Jaw clamping shut, his brother nodded tentatively, and Keith felt something nasty crawl its way into his heart. “Your advice didn’t fucking work. That’s what happened. I opened my door or whatever, and all I got was—”

This was a mistake. I’m sorry.

“I just got hurt,” he finished, his voice small and strained with emotion.

“Keith—”

“No!” Don’t cry, do not fucking cry. “You ruin everything, Shiro, just—just leave me alone!”

He didn’t wait for a reaction before turning, attempting to ignore the way his heart throbbed with regret as he sealed himself away from the only person who’d cared.

It’s fine, he thought, swallowing the urge to sob. You can’t get hurt if you’re alone.

…

“—and when we’ve reached the planet, provided everything has gone to plan we’ll...ah. Am I boring you, Keith?”

Keith, who’d been staring out the porthole for the better part of Allura’s spiel, sat back with a sigh, returning his attention to the Captain.

“No, Captain.”

Her eyes narrowed at the formality, and she primly folded her hands atop the desk between them. “Is that so? Then perhaps you’d care to review the plan?” she asked, reclining in her high-backed chair with a raised brow.

“Sure thing,” Keith huffed, barely catching himself before he rolled his eyes. “We get to The Cannon tomorrow morning, avoid death by asteroids—”

Allura grunted at his flippancy, and Keith pointedly ignored her as he continued.

“Sail to the coordinates on Zarkon’s map, pretend to be surprised when we find a planet in the middle of an asteroid field—”

Again she huffed in displeasure, her eyes narrowing ever farther as she regarded him. When she spoke, her voice had taken on a strained edge—one that too many of the adults in Keith’s life had seemed to have perfected. “Mister Kogane. The next couple days may prove to be the most perilous we’ve faced. I must be certain that you are up to task.”

“I am,” he insisted, avoiding her icy gaze. “I’m ready.”

“Your brother seems to think differently.” She leaned fully back, fingers drumming along the arms of her chair as she searched Keith’s face.

“Yeah, well.” Keith folded his arms, glaring down at his lap. He couldn’t look at her—couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye.“My brother’s wrong about a lot of things.”

“Thorn has refused to train you twice this week,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, raising her voice in a way that left no room for argument. “You look as if you haven’t slept in days—I’d hardly let you handle a knife in the kitchen, let alone embark on a perilous journey to the surface of an unknown planet.”

She was standing now, knuckles resting on her desk as she leaned toward him, breath high and quick in her chest. “The fate of the universe hinges on our success, and I’ll not have this mission compromised by your stubbornness.”

She has a point, his mind whispered, the thought stilling whatever retort had risen to his tongue and shutting his jaw.

You’re bound to screw it up. It’s inevitable. Once a loser, always a loser. Leaving Montressor didn’t change that.

Something hot rolled down his cheek, and he tore his eyes away from her.

She was always gonna see the real you, sooner or later. Just like everyone else.

“Keith.”

Worthless, inadequate, no good—

“Keith.”

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but when he blinked, Allura was kneeling in front of him, shrouded in a wet film as she grasped both his hands in her own.

“Oh, darling. You’re breaking my heart,” she whispered, not knowing how the term of endearment tore at a part of himself that was already raw and bleeding with homesickness. He was helpless to the sob that tore itself from his throat, helpless to the way he melted in her arms when she wrapped him in her embrace as if he were something special, something precious.

“Despite what you may think,” she began, holding him tight and pressing a light kiss to his head, “Your brother and I care about you very much. As—of course—does Coran,” she tacked on with a wet chuckle. “I pray that you’ll remember that.”

Able to do little more than nod, he tightened his grip around her as he struggled to rein in his sobs.

“I couldn’t live with myself if something were to happen to you,” she continued, her voice brimming with emotion and her words a near perfect echo of his brother’s only a few days before. “I’ve lost enough family as it is, I couldn’t bear—”

Her voice snagged on the unvoiced thought, and Keith buried his face into her shoulder. “‘M sorry.”

“No, love. I don’t want you to apologize. I just can’t stand to see you like this.”

I don’t want to feel it anymore, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t leave him as any more than a shaky exhale. It hurts so much.

When she spoke again, her voice was impossibly gentle, and hesitant in a way he’d never heard it. “Does it… have something to do with McClain?”

The name alone was enough to send a new wave of grief crashing through him, and any composure he’d managed to gather was lost as he succumbed to the pain gnawing relentlessly at his heart.

Of course she’d noticed. The whole damn crew had noticed, had watched him and Lance go from inseparable—entwined—to...to...

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Again, Keith shook his head, terror shooting through him when she pulled away. Some poisonous, irrational part of himself expected to come face-to-face with disappointment, to hear the age-old “I can’t help you if you don’t let me” lecture.

Instead, Allura took his face in her hands, wiping away his tears and offering him a smile so fond that it took all of Keith’s willpower not to launch himself back into her embrace.

“Whatever happened,” she reassured, smiling sweetly when he leaned into her touch, “You aren’t alone, Keith. Promise me you’ll try to remember.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Keith’s thoughts strayed to the piece of his heart he’d left so very far behind, a whole galaxy away.

“You aren’t alone.”

…

Pops,

Why’s it all have to be so fucking hard?

I miss him. I was so happy, and now I’m

I miss you. I want to come home.

…

The next morning brought about no impending sense of adventure, nor did it whisper of peril or possibility. It slipped unassumingly out of night’s grasp as if the day ahead might play out as any other—as if the day didn’t mark the beginning of an end.

It was the culmination of months of labor and travel, and despite the lead weight that had settled in Keith’s stomach over the last couple weeks, he now found himself primed and focused, bending the last reserves of his energy to the task at hand.

He’d promised, after all. All those months ago, on Montressor. He’d looked a dying man in the eyes and promised he wouldn’t fail, and nothing—no one—was going to deter him.

Climbing the galley stairs with single-minded determination, Keith reviewed their plan for the umpteenth time as he tucked his father’s knife into his pocket.

Cannon. Allura, Shiro and Coran slip away to Captain’s quarters to ‘chart a course’. They prep longboat with supplies, I stay here to minimize the crew’s suspicion—

Realizing he’d forgotten to latch one of his shirt buttons, he frowned down at the offending button as he fiddled with it.

We leave tonight after curfew. Grab the map from Allura’s office, use it to navigate down to the planet. Return before anyone—

“Keith?”

Keith froze, stopped dead in his tracks as the one voice he needed to hear the least said his name for what felt like the first time in years.

Ignore him. He isn’t part of the plan.

Without so much as a word of acknowledgement, Keith bent to collect a pile of rope that had uncoiled itself from the neat stack he’d left it in the day before.

“Keith, look—I know you probably want nothing to do with me, and I don’t blame you at all, but… can we talk? Alone?”

This time, Keith couldn’t help the incredulous scoff that left him as he coiled rope around his forearm, his lips pressed into a thin line as he fought the urge to...

Fuck. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Yell? Cry?

Ask how things between them had gone so horribly wrong?

“Please. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important, just—”

Quick as a whip, Keith whirled around, throwing his half coiled rope to the floor as his anger finally boiled over. “Oh, so now you wanna talk? After pretending I didn’t exist for two weeks?”

Lance inhaled sharply as if trying to stave off the sudden onset of tears, and the raw grief in his eyes had Keith’s jaw tightening.

Why the fuck are you crying?

“Keith—”

“Stop saying my fucking name.”

“I want to explain, I just can’t do it h—”

“You wanna explain?”

“Please, keep your voice—”

“You had two fucking weeks to explain, Lance!” he yelled, chest heaving with equal parts adrenaline and hurt.

In the silence that followed, Lance gaped at him as if he had no idea what to say, and that—more than anything else—was what broke Keith.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” he asked, voice cracking as he finally aired the thoughts that had been weighing him down. “Do you even—do you even care?”

He couldn’t stand the way Lance’s eyebrows furrowed in pity—couldn’t stand the way he stepped toward Keith with anguish written across his face.

Couldn’t stand the hint of tears in Lance’s voice when he spoke, as if Keith actually still meant something to him.

“I promise I never meant for any of this to happen, I...I never meant to hurt you—”

“Yeah, well. You did.”

Keith dragged a sleeve across his nose as he watched the words register on Lance’s face.

“Keith, I’m so s—”

“I don’t have time for this, Lance; don’t you fucking get it?” he asked, ignoring the tear spilling down Lance’s cheek as he shouldered past him. “You’re too late. We’re done.”

Behind him, a noise like a repressed sob had him balling his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. “Go back to your crew, Lance,” he called without turning. “Before you make another mistake.”

…

Half an hour later, Keith was still hiding away in a longboat. He’d all but run there after his encounter with Lance, struggling to compose himself as he fought back the surge of despair clawing its way up his throat.

It wasn’t fair. The one day he’d been able to scrape the remaining pieces of himself together, the one day he’d truly needed to, and Lance had ruined it all—as if he’d sensed that Keith was finally starting to regain some semblance of himself, and just had to destroy the little bit that Keith had rebuilt.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d gone down to longboats, of all places—nor why he was sitting in the rickety boat he and Lance had taken for a joyride all those days ago, back when everything between them was...

Good. Stars, it had been so, so good.

Letting his head fall back against the rigging, Keith closed his eyes, trying and failing to push thoughts of bright laughter and teasing smiles from his mind.

Cabin boy. Haircut. Doll. Flower boy. Partner.

Sweetheart.

Keith inhaled sharply, wrenching his eyes open as he forced Lance to the back of his mind. No. He wasn’t going to indulge this—this spiral, wasn’t going to play these mind games. For all he knew, Lance was above deck sunning himself as he and Roth and the rest of their stupid crew laughed at Keith’s expense.

What a fucking idiot, got his heart broken by a cabin boy. What a joke.

He grit his teeth as he pulled on one of the boots that he’d discarded, the rigging’s latch creaking above him as the boat lightly rocked with the movement.

Fuck Lance. Fuck him and fuck feelings and especially fuck lo—

A sudden telltale change in air pressure had Keith abandoning his second shoe and scrambling back mere seconds before Kosmo materialized before him, cocking his head innocently at Keith as if he hadn’t just sent the longboat rocking precariously back and forth.

“Stars, Kos,” Keith grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest and aiming a glare at the panting wolf. “You almost fuckin’ squished the life outta me.”

Kosmo barked—Keith imagined it was his way of saying “you’re welcome”—before clambering over Keith’s legs with none of the agility that he might have imagined a teleporting space wolf to possess.

“Sure. Yeah,” he muttered, wincing as Kosmo stepped on his finger as he bent down to examine something to Keith’s left. “Of course you can use me as an obstacle course, buddy, go right a—”

By the time he realized what Kosmo had in his mouth, it was too late. With Keith’s shoe clenched tightly between his teeth, the wolf struggled to pull himself out of the longboat, toenails scratching against wood as he hoisted himself up.

Not quite in the mood to play chase, Keith stuck his hand out, his fingers grazing the wolf’s fur as he opened his mouth to chastise.

Whatever he’d been about to say was promptly swallowed as the air pressure shifted around him, so overwhelmingly intense and abrupt that Keith felt as if his whole body was made of iron, his ears popping as the pressure in his head grew to unbearable in the span of a second—

Keith blinked, and all at once the discomfort dissipated. Kosmo slunk out of his grasp with a low whine and darted underneath a table, and...wait.

Table?

With a gasp, Keith scrambled back on his rear as he gaped around at the mess hall, realization dawning on him bit by breathtaking bit. Seconds ago, he’d been in the longboat bay, and now...

“Kos, did you just—oh shit, oh fucking shit! You can do that?”

On the other side of the closest table, Kosmo blinked at him as a line of drool dribbled out of his mouth and into Keith’s shoe—which Keith might have cared more about, had he not just been fucking teleported.

“You,” he started, approaching Kosmo with slow footsteps and a growing grin, “are so fucking cool.”

Kosmo watched him draw near with an unwavering gaze, his tail a blur as it beat against the floor with rapid thwacks.

“Y’know what would be even cooler?” Keith tried, trying to keep some semblance of levity in his voice. “If you gave me back my shoe. Just—fuck!”

He dove forward as Kosmo blipped out of existence, helpless to the giggle that left him when something large thumped in the storage closet a few feet away.

“Hmmm, I wonder where he could be,” Keith called, his voice exaggeratedly animated as he crept toward the muffled yet conspicuous sound of a tail against wood. “Oh, how will I ever find him?”

There was a heavy thud in the closet, and Keith snickered as he imagined the slobber-covered shoe slipping from Kosmo’s mouth.

“Alright!” His hand closed around the closet handle. “Guess I’m gonna go look somewhere...else!”

Kosmo barked when he whipped the door open, and Keith devolved immediately into laughter as he tackled the wolf to the ground. The two of them fell in a heap, Keith beaming as he dug his fingers into the squirming dog’s scruff.

“Who’s my best boy?” he cooed, spluttering a laugh as Kosmo covered his face in rank kisses. “Who’s my stinky slobbery—”

The sudden groan of the mess hall’s heavy hatch and the accompanying sound of several pairs of feet on stairs had Keith reflexively pulling the closet doors shut, pressing himself as far back as he could as his heart pounded with inexplicable foreboding. As if sensing the same thing, Kosmo released a low, uneasy whine, shuffling toward Keith and regarding him with a question in his glossy eyes.

By way of an answer, Keith put a finger to his lips before burying his fingers in coarse fur and praying the wolf had understood.

“Pick up the pace, bilge rats,” Silver’s voice rumbled, clear even through the closet doors. “We’ll have reached the trove before you worthless scum can make it down a flight of stairs.”

The footsteps grew more frantic, but Keith could hardly register anything other than the unbridled panic running rampant through his mind.

He knows. Goosebumps ran up and down his entire body, and Kosmo nudged at his hand when Keith shuddered. He knows about the trove.

Of course, Keith had anticipated they’d deal with this eventually. It was inevitable that Silver’s crew was going to guess their true destination; it would have been impossible to expect otherwise. There was no way they were ever simply going to ‘stumble’ upon a hidden planet in the middle of an asteroid field—in the rumored location of Zarkon’s trove—and not suspect that they’d found Treasure Planet.

But Silver had said it with the confidence and nonchalance of someone who’d been expecting this. Someone who had known, who’d seen through the guise of their ‘charting course’ from the beginning.

“You’re sure we’re alone?” he rumbled, and Keith swallowed as his heart jumped into his throat.

“Aye, Cap’n!” answered Roth’s voice, and Keith barely had a second to register the fact that Roth had referred to Silver as Captain before the alien was continuing. “Princess an’ her Lieutenant are with Shirogane in her cabin. ‘Chartin’ a course’.”

Dread continued to seep into Keith’s body with every word out of Roth’s mouth, and it wasn’t solely due to the dubious way Roth had said ‘charting a course’, like he knew the words were bullshit.

How in the hell did they know Allura was a princess? She’d been so careful to keep her identity and her business in the Meridian System a secret, and here Roth was—arguably the dullest of their entire crew—throwing around the word ‘princess’ like it was common knowledge.

“And the boy?”

“Headed down to longboats earlier, Captain,” a new voice hissed, and Keith tightened his grip on Kosmo’s coat as he remembered the owner of that voice nearly throwing him overboard only a few days ago.

Morena.

“Good. Last thing we need is that impudent brat sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Scout, get the door.”

Someone on the opposite side of the mess hall called an affirmative, but Keith couldn’t distinguish who it was over the terrified pounding of his own heart in his ears.

The mess hall hatch closed with a great thud, and Keith’s heart rate skyrocketed.

In the weighty silence that followed, Silver’s sigh tapered off into a chuckle that raised the hairs on Keith’s arms. “I shall be relieved to shed this despicable form.”

The sentiment was met by resounding agreement as the crew whooped and hollered, and Keith shifted until he was able to peer out of the crack between the closet doors.

Through his tiny sliver of vision, Keith watched Silver place both arms on a table, and the clamor died immediately.

“I suppose,” Silver started, a slow smile creeping into his voice, “that a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

Shouts of jubilation rang through the mess hall, but they faded into muted static as cold terror seeped into Keith’s body and numbed his mind.

He watched—hand flying to his mouth to muffle his panicked breathing—as Silver’s skin rippled, tan pigmentation fading as a shock of purple ran up his bulky arm. Within seconds, the smooth lavender had consumed his entire body, and Keith was forced to come to terms with a realization that was long overdue.

Because really—he should have seen this coming. He really, really should have seen this coming.

Not like anyone on this ship’s got nano-tech, of all things.

Lance’s words from a few weeks ago came slamming into him at full force, and Keith almost wanted to laugh.

Looks like you were wrong, McClain, he thought as he watched the man they’d spent months working for—now transformed into the most massive Galra that Keith had ever seen—straighten with a grin. Dead. Fucking. Wrong.

At his side, Kosmo nudged his arm, but Keith waved off the wolf’s concern as he crowded against the closet doors.

In the mess hall, Silver rolled his shoulders, sinewy muscle rolling and bulging as he sighed. “It’s been far too long,” he purred, flexing hands that were tipped with lethally sharp claws. “The human form truly is inferior in every aspect. Fragile, weak things. I’ve never been so relieved to shed a form. You did well to pick a Zonarian, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Sir,” came a painfully familiar female voice, and Keith felt the pathetic, shriveled thing that was his heart whither almost completely away.

Because...Silver was one thing. Even by the height of their journey, Keith had never fully come to trust him. From day one, inherent instinct had urged Keith to keep his distance, whispering warnings of danger in his ear whenever the Quartermaster came too close.

But Thorn?

Keith’s hand curled into Kosmo’s coat as he watched another giant Galra join Silver’s side, towering over the already massive man by at least a foot.

Thorn, he’d trusted. Wholeheartedly.

“Though next time, I might consider a form with fewer limbs” she continued over scattered hisses of laughter, and Keith was forced to suppress a shudder at the sheer wrongness of hearing Thorn’s voice come out of a body so horribly unfamiliar and monstrous.

As a Galra—because, stars above, she was a damned pirate, he should have known all along—Thorn was practically a wall of muscle, so enormous that the top of her head nearly scraped the ceiling. Large, tufted ears fanned out on each side of her head, and a ropy tail whipped across the floorboards as she cracked her purple knuckles. Her yellow eyes swept across what Keith could only assume was the rest of their gathered crew before she was speaking again.

“I think we can all agree that it is good to see you back in your true form, Captain Sendak. It has been far too long.”

Any response was lost as Keith’s vision swam, static rushing through his ears and liquifying the contents of his brain as he swayed dangerously. His only saving grace was Kosmo, steady and grounding as he shoved his warm head against Keith’s chest, watching him with wide blue eyes as Keith cradled the wolf with trembling hands.

Sendak. Captain Zarkon’s most trusted Commander. The pirate who had alluded Allura and the Blade of Marmora for years, who had assisted Zarkon in the destruction of Altea and the Fluora Galaxy.

The pirate hellbent on continuing the work of his predecessor.

Beware the cyborg.

He’d been so stupid, so...distracted.

Thace had trusted him with the universe, and he’d just...he’d let him down. He’d let everyone down.

He should have fucking known.

“—enough of this.” Silver—Sendak’s voice filtered back into consciousness, the spots clearing from Keith’s vision as Kosmo licked at the back of his hand. “Our arrival is imminent. If any one of you so much as lay a toe out of line, you’ll face the full force of my wrath. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Morena?

“But of course, Captain.”

Something loud clattered against the wall, and Keith flinched, nearly whimpering himself as he clung to the wolf at his side.

“Insolent snake,” Sendak seethed, his voice low and dangerous. “Mark my words, one more stunt like the one you pulled with the boy, and I’ll have your scales flayed.”

“I was merely doing my part to help move things along, Captain. Surely it makes no difference whether he dies now or later?”

Keith’s blood ran cold, even as something else—something much, much larger—clattered against the wall.

“I said you’ll do as you’re told, scum. You’ll stick to the plan, the lot of you.”

Among the murmured assent, Morena’s voice rose once again above the crew. “Yes, Captain. I wouldn’t want anything to go wrong, after all.”

Sendak growled—actually growled, low and animalistic. “I’ll not entertain you much longer, Morena.”

“I merely suggest,” she continued, her voice overly casual, “that perhaps not all of us here are fit to fulfill our duties.”

This time, Sendak snarled, and Keith watched as Thorn’s hand flew to the sword at her side.

“Speak plainly, woman,” Sendak all but roared, “or the Lieutenant will have your head here and now.”

When Morena spoke again, her voice was serpentine in every sense of the word. “Methinks our precious Scout may have a soft spot for the boy.”

The pirates chattered in angry agreement, growing loud enough that Sendak was forced to raise his voice in order to silence them.

The room fell deathly quiet, and Keith waited with baited breath as Sendak turned the full force of his glowing red gaze upon someone standing outside of Keith’s vision. “Scout. Is this true?”

“Of course not, Captain,” a new voice answered, and Keith’s world stopped spinning on its axis, because...

He knew that voice. He knew that voice as well as he knew his brother’s, as well as he knew his father’s. He’d fallen asleep to that voice, woken up to it, clung to it through hours spent gathering blisters and lying underneath the stars. It had been the melody to the baseline of his heartbeat for the better part of a year, the long-awaited answer to a lifetime of searching.

Hold on, sweetheart, it had whispered, what seemed like a lifetime ago. I’ve got you.

You don’t, Keith thought as he squeezed his hand tighter around his mouth, muffling a sob and feeling smaller than he ever had in his life.

You were never on my side at all.

“Ren doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about,” Lance protested.

Morena laughed, and Keith might have been terrified if not for the shock still running through his veins and rendering him numb.

“Is that so? Remind me, human—” she began, spitting out the word ‘human’ like it was an insult, “was it you or I that snuck off-ship after hours for a joyride?”

“It isn’t like that.”

“Then what is it like, Scout?” Sendak asked, and the deathly calm in his voice sent more dread running through Keith’s body than Morena ever could.

“It isn’t like anything, Captain. You told me to keep an eye on the target. I’ve done nothing but follow orders.”

The target. Something wet dripped onto Keith’s hand, and it wasn’t until Kosmo licked at his cheek that he even realized he’d started crying.

“He’s lying,” Morena sang, scales audibly dragging across the floorboards as she no doubt goaded Lance. “He’s got feelings for the boy, clear as day.”

For a moment, the entire mess hall seemed to hold its breath. Keith found himself simultaneously dreading and needing the answer, the memory of Lance’s lips on his own rising with painful clarity to the forefront of his mind.

Seconds ticked by, though it felt like an eternity before Lance responded.

At first, Keith thought the sharp breaths leaving Lance might have been tears—but then the sound gave way to full bursts of laughter, and whatever little hope remained within Keith was crushed without mercy.

“Shit, you’re just as gullible as he is!” Lance crowed, struggling to speak through his hysterics.

“How dare—”

“You think I care about him?” Lance continued, sniggering as he spoke. Around the mess hall, many of the pirates broke into uneasy laughter. “Stars, no. He’s nothing to me.”

Keith inhaled so sharply that he was sure the sob would be heard by the bloodthirsty band of pirates standing mere feet away—but to his luck, they seemed to be far too occupied with Lance to notice.

“I’ve been fucking with him, Ren. How else was I supposed to get him to trust me?” The laughter had faded from Lance’s voice, now tinged with a threatening edge. “The only thing I care about is the mission. You really think I’d let some asshole get in the way of that? Please.”

He scoffed, presumably directing his next words to Sendak. “I’ve been nothing but loyal to you for five years. Ren’s a loose fuckin’ cannon, she almost—”

“Enough!” Sendak seethed, fist rattling the table and startling Keith out of his spiraling thoughts. “I’ll not have this crew fall victim to petty dissent when victory is so close at hand. Morena—lay another finger on the boy before his time, and you’ll not live to see a single piece of Zarkon’s treasure.”

“Yes, Captain,” Morena bit, barely able to keep the anger out of her voice.

“I’m glad we understand one another,” the pirate captain growled, turning his gaze once more to a corner of the room Keith could not see. “As for you, Little Blue...perhaps a test is in order.”

When Lance spoke, he sounded like a stranger—cold and empty, a soldier awaiting orders. “What did you have in mind, Sir?”

“Before we reach the trove, you’ll be the one to kill the boy and retrieve the map.”

Keith’s heart skipped a beat as his breath rose high in his chest, quick and panicked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he was having a heart attack, or if perhaps this was what it felt like to die.

Please, tell him you won’t, some stupid, foolhardy part of him begged—because there had to be some tiny shred of the last few months that had meant something to Lance.

There had to.

“With pleasure, Captain,” Lance vowed, and Keith could practically hear the grin in his voice, a cruel mockery to the way his own bruised heart throbbed with anguish.

“You’re to wait until nightfall—you’re all to wait until nightfall. I’ll not risk our success against the might and skill of two able-bodied Altean war veterans, and we cannot risk them fleeing if they think themselves to be outnumbered. We move quickly and take them by surprise. Am I understood?”

Several voices clamored in affirmation, and Sendak raised a hand, ushering in another hush over the room. “The minute the Princess thinks she’s in the clear, we ambush their crew before they can—”

“LAND HO!”

A ripple of excited murmurs passed through the hall, and Sendak straightened, rolling his neck in clear agitation as his skin once again adopted a human tone. At his side, Thorn’s entire body shimmered as if it were a mirage—and when Keith blinked, the giant Galra had been replaced by the six-armed Zonarian that Keith had grown so familiar with.

“Blast it all,” Sendak muttered darkly. “We’re out of time. You all know your roles—I advise that you don’t let me down.”

Amidst the resolute salutes and creaking of feet over floorboard, Keith finally allowed himself to break apart, sinking down into lush fur as the last of the pirates rushed up the stairwell and out of the mess hall. The only real indicator that he was finally alone was Kosmo’s high pitched whine, but Keith hardly processed it over the staggering shock buzzing through his brain like a swarm of desert-gnats.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to scream for days, wanted to yell until he was raw and ruined, until he wasn’t able to recognize the sound of his own voice. He wanted to claw his way out of his own skin, to rip it to shreds until he no longer resembled the person who had fallen for a lie, who had fallen in love with a lie—

Someone sobbed, and it was filled with such raw agony that he hardly even registered that it had come from himself. He was aware of little else but coarse fur beneath his fingers and a firm pressure against his chest as Kosmo nosed at his cheek, whimpering and licking devoutly at Keith’s tears—as if by doing so he might soothe the hurt that had settled like molten glass into Keith’s fractured soul.

He should never have come. How could he have ever thought that he—Keith Kogane, loser extraordinaire—would ever amount to anything more than a failure? He was so, so fucking—

Shit, you’re just as gullible as he is!

—stupid, and—

He’s nothing to me.

—insignificant, and—

I’ve been fucking with him.

—naive, and—

You think I care about him?

...angry.

Because really, he should have known, shouldn’t he? He wasn’t a person people loved—he never had been. He should have known all along that it had been a lie, should have known...should have known...

Fury sent him flying to his feet, throwing the closet door open so hard that it smashed against the wall to its left, eliciting a sharp bark from Kosmo.

He should have known. Lance had been so—so fucking transparent, and Keith had been so caught up in him to notice, so busy playing the lovesick fool that he’d fallen blindly for every deception.

It’s not like anyone on this ship has nano-tech.

Fuck him.

You’re my best friend. — You’re mine too.

Fuck Lance.

You saved my life.

Rage painted his thoughts red. Keith yelled, kicking out at a nearby bench and enjoying the pain that traveled up his leg. He should have killed Lance when he’d had the chance, should have let that black hole take him before he had the chance to unravel Keith thread by thread.

Before Lance had the chance to kill him.

Keith stilled, bracing himself on the nearest table with his head hanging between his arms, his breath leaving him in shuddering gasps.

He was going to kill him. Lance was going to kill him.

Two weeks ago, Keith would have...well. He would have done anything for Lance. He would have followed him across the universe if he’d so much as asked, would have followed him across space and time and the infinite stars. He’d looked at Lance and seen a future, one that at long last might bring Keith some semblance of purpose.

He’d thought...he’d thought...

Kosmo nudged his elbow, and the single touch brought Keith spiraling back down to reality. It didn’t matter what he’d thought, not when a mutiny was brewing under their noses, threatening not only his life but the lives of the people he loved.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Keith jerked upright, his attention snapping to Kosmo as if the poor wolf had any answers for him.

“Shiro,” he croaked, and the mere thought of his brother had him turning, stumbling through the mess hall as sobering fear ran through his veins like ice water. He had to get deck-side, had to find Shiro. Nothing else mattered—not Lance, not the map, not Zarkon’s trove, not the fate of the universe. Not when his older brother’s life was on the line.

In his haste, Keith almost tripped over an uneven plank as he neared the stairs, catching himself on the edge of a table.

He could do this. He might have fucked up everything else, but he wouldn’t give up on Shiro. He refused to.

All he needed to do was slip past the pirates while they were distracted, make a beeline for Allura’s cabin, grab his brother and the others, get into a longboat, and get the fuck off The Meleanor before someone—

Keith froze as a shadow fell over him, the top stair creaking just as his foot hit the bottom. Above him, a figure blocked the light seeping through the stairwell, and Keith’s heart leapt into his throat.

Familiar blue-green eyes blinked owlishly down at him, widening as they took him in.

“Keith?”

Of course. Right when he thought he’d actually had a shot. Of-fucking-course.

For every step Lance took toward him, Keith stepped back, edging away until his lower back collided with the edge of a table.

“What are you—”

From his spot behind Keith’s legs, Kosmo whimpered, and Lance’s jaw snapped shut as his eyes flicked from Kosmo, to Keith, to—

To the closet at the far end of the room, door swung wide open on its hinges, just as Keith had left it.

Fuck.

He could see the moment Lance put it together—could see the gears in his stupid cyborg head click into place.

“I can explain.”

Even to his own ears, Keith’s responding laugh bordered on hysterical. “No. No, I’m good. You’ve done enough talking.”

“Please, Keith.” Lance took yet another step forward, hands raised as if he were attempting to ensnare a wild animal. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t—”

“It’s not what I think?” Keith hissed, hand groping blindly through his pocket for his father’s knife. His fingers closed around the hilt, his hand shaking so badly that flipping the blade open was rendered nearly impossible.

Nearly.

“I heard it all, pirate,” he spat. “I don’t need to fuckin’ think.”

Something like hurt crossed Lance’s face, and it felt so much like another lie that Keith sneered. “‘Kill the boy’, right? You wanna do it now?” Despite the quaver in his voice, Keith raised his chin, exposing his clavicle. “Finish the job, Lance.”

“I’m—I’m not here to—”

“Was any of it real?” Keith swallowed thickly, hating the way his voice cracked. Lance didn’t deserve his tears, didn’t deserve to know just how badly he’d ruined him. “Were you ever not lying to me?”

“Keith.”

Stars, he was really starting to hate the sound of his own name.

Lance stepped ever-closer, arms still outstretched as if he intended to touch him, and the very notion of it made Keith’s stomach reel. He crowded back against the table, feeling every bit the cornered animal as his heart thundered away in his chest.

Stay back, he wanted to warn, but Lance was too close—too overwhelmingly close for Keith to even speak.

“I’m sorry.”

It was the lie that was finally enough to break his hesitation, creeping into him and expanding the cracks until the bonds holding him—holding him to Lance, to the past, to nights spent wondering how he could possibly love someone so much—fractured, and he was finally free.

Somewhere above them, the ship’s whistle trilled sharply through the air, and in the time it took Lance to glance back up the stairs, Keith had made his decision.

“Yeah,” he muttered, the fingers in his pocket adjusting snugly around the knife’s hilt. “Me too.”

The last word left him as little more than a grunt as he lunged forward, plunging the blade into Lance’s prosthetic thigh and sending him staggering backward with a cry of pain. Keith darted around him, gasping for air as he flew up the stairs, ignoring Lance’s strangled cry for him to wait.

He hardly even registered the fact that Kosmo hadn’t followed, not until he’d reached the top of the stairwell and froze in his tracks, taking in an entire crew of covert enemies milling about at the railings. To his luck (what little of it Keith even possessed, at this point), they seemed far too occupied to notice him, too busy marveling at the planet before them to notice Keith’s panicked plight.

Good. This was good. If he was quick, he could get to Allura’s cabin before...before…

It was as if it happened in slow motion—as if Keith’s luck had chosen that specific moment to run out.

Across the ship, Sendak turned, perhaps sensing fear on the wind. Their eyes locked, and Keith's heart nearly stopped. He'd never known such terror, had never been so completely petrified. It was like he wasn’t inhabiting his own body, as if he were merely watching someone else run into misfortune after misfortune.

Sharp eyes traveled almost lazily between Keith and the entrance to the mess hall at his back, and Keith could see the very moment realization dawned in them, as if Sendak had just pieced together the final pieces of a particularly pesky puzzle. For what felt like an eternity, Keith remained locked in that bone-chilling gaze, time moving sluggishly between them.

Behind him, Lance cried out again—another pained plea for Keith to wait, and Sendak’s mouth curled into a wicked grin.

“CHANGE OF PLAN!” he yelled, skin rippling as it was overcome once more by a shock of inhuman purple. There was no need for discretion now, not now that Keith knew. “WE MOVE NOW!”

Keith turned, and ran for his life.

Chapter Text

Keith nearly stumbled as he barrelled up the stairs to Allura’s cabin, panic rendering him clumsy where he desperately needed to be sure-footed. Behind him, an entire crew of Galra pirates gave chase, the deck shaking with their thundering footsteps.

He was nearly hyperventilating by the time he reached Allura’s cabin, his eyes blown wide with hysterical fear as he slammed the door shut behind him and latched its deadbolt with trembling fingers.

“Keith?”

When he whirled around, all three of the room’s inhabitants were regarding him with varying degrees of alarm, though the expression of apprehension on his brother’s face far surpassed both Allura’s and Coran’s.

“What’s—”

“Pirates,” Keith panted, wrenching himself away from the hatch and grabbing Shiro’s shoulders in the hopes that the touch might ground him. It might have done the trick, too, if they hadn’t been sitting targets on a pirate infested ship.

Shiro managed little more than to gape at him, and it was Allura who answered him, withdrawing her pistol from her coat before Keith had recovered enough breath to explain. “Are we under attack?” she asked matter-of-factly, as if the entire world wasn’t dissolving around them.

“It’s the crew,” he gasped, tearing himself away from Shiro and staggering toward Allura’s desk, where she stood with her signature pistol drawn. “They’re all pirates, they’ve been using nano-tech this whole time! I saw them in the galley—”

Allura all but snarled, lip curling in fury as she stepped around her desk. “Galra scum on my ship?” she growled, her blaster humming when she deactivated the safety. “I’ll see that they’re all hanged.”

“We haven’t the time nor the resources to fight, Princess.” Across the room, Coran was pressing a panel in the wall, his expression taut with uncharacteristic gravity as the panel clicked outward, revealing itself to be a hidden door. “We must abandon the vessel immediately,” he urged, prying the door open with a grunt.

The fire of Allura’s indignant gaze turned full-force onto her second in command. “I’ll not abandon my mother’s ship to—”

Something rammed against the door, and without thinking, Keith slipped his trembling hand into his brother’s. “Allura!”

Her attention snapped to him, and beneath a veneer of belligerent anger, unshed tears danced in her eyes.

“Silver is Sendak,” Keith explained, heart already aching for her loss. “Coran’s right. We need to grab the map and go.”

For a brief moment in time she held his gaze, her expression so open and raw that he could practically read the thoughts churning behind her glistening eyes.

This ship is all I have left of them.

Thoughts of the Benbow flooded Keith’s mind—thoughts of watching his childhood home go up in smoke as he left it behind.

I understand, he wanted to tell her, but there was no time for words, no time for the conversation that The Meleanor deserved. Instead, he watched as resolve crossed her face, there only a split second before she was crossing the room and swiftly navigating her safe’s locking mechanism until she’d procured the map.

“Keep it safe,” she ordered, tossing the golden sphere over to Keith. He caught it in one fluid motion, wasting no time in pocketing it as Allura angled toward the secret passage, arm held toward it to usher them forward.

“Follow Coran—swiftly now,” she urged as Keith tugged Shiro along by the hand. “I’ll bring up the rear.”

Keith was just stepping through the doorway when the cabin’s hatch rattled with another slam, accompanied by a roar of frustration.

“Worthless brute!” Sendak bellowed, and something thudded against the deck, shaking the floorboards beneath their feet just as Shiro slipped through the doorway behind Keith. “I’ll do it myself!”

They didn’t linger long enough to hear anything else. With a slam, Allura pulled the wall panel shut behind herself, and then the four of them were running through the belly of the ship, flying down maintenance tunnels lined with wiring and littered with cables.

“They’ll waste precious time breaking into the cabin,” Allura called from behind them as they ran, her grin evident in her voice. “And then they’ll have to take the long way round to the bay.”

“Won’t they find the wall panel?” Shiro asked, nearly tripping over some wire rigging as he chanced a look back over his shoulder.

“Not a chance! That panel is synched to mine and Coran’s bio-signatures. By the time that drivel figures out they can’t follow, we’ll be well on our way to escape.”

“Right you are, Princess!” Coran answered a little breathlessly, coming to a halt at the hallway’s end and pressing his right hand to a large iron door. With a groan befitting something that hadn’t been used in several years, the hatch inched open a crack.

“In you go,” Coran grunted, holding it ajar for Keith and Shiro. They slipped through the opening to find that they’d emerged from a secret entrance at the back of the longboat bay, directly in front of the very boat that Keith and Lance had once used for a very different kind of escape.

Stars, it felt like a lifetime ago.

He was pulled sharply back to reality when Shiro stepped down into the longboat, bringing Keith along with him. He stumbled roughly into his brother’s side, and Shiro pulled him into his chest for a quick hug as they watched Coran shut the maintenance hatch.

“It’s gonna be okay, Keith,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his head.

Keith hardly had time to repay the sentiment before Allura was smacking her hand over the emergency panel near the hatch, sending an iron door slamming down over the main entrance to the bay.

“There!” she announced, whirling toward their boat with a look in her eyes that was somewhere between manic and triumphant. “I’d like to see them get through that in a hurry.”

Smirking down at Keith as if to say, see? told you so, Shiro pulled away from him and clambered over the longboat’s seats to the rigging at the front. With a grunt, Allura leapt into the pilot’s seat toward the back, readying herself at the rigging in a perfect mirror image of Shiro.

“When you’re ready, Coran!” she called, and Keith glanced over his shoulder to find the Lieutenant straining with effort as he hefted the lever to the bay’s doors. They opened slowly beneath the boats, revealing a sliver of blue space that widened by the second.

Feeling completely useless and not having the faintest clue what to do with the adrenaline coursing through him, Keith turned to Allura just as she powered up the longboat’s engine. “What can I do?”

“Nothing, for now. But—” With one hand still on the rigging, she reached behind her back and procured her pistol, twirling it effortlessly and handing it to Keith by the grip. “Keep that trained on the door, just in case.”

With a groan and a clang, the sky doors below them opened fully, and Coran scrambled into the boat as Allura and Shiro began to lower it by the rigging holding it to the rafters.

“They’ll be here any moment,” Allura continued, gritting her teeth as she pulled, “but we should be well on our way by the time they manage to so much as dent the emergency door.”

They’d nearly finished lowering the longboat through the sky doors and into open space when everything went terribly wrong.

Without warning, the ropes on Shiro’s side snagged in the latch. All four of the boat’s occupants yelled in surprise as their vessel jerked and swayed dangerously in midair, and Keith realized with growing horror that it was the very same faulty latch that he and Lance always had to meticulously repair—the same one that neither of them had remembered to check after their nighttime escapade.

Fuck. Even in his absence, Lance was still screwing Keith over.

Swearing in an uncharacteristic display of panic, Shiro whirled on Allura with a feral light in his eyes. “Mechanism’s stuck!” he yelled, giving it a couple frantic tugs. “How the fuck are we supposed to get back up?”

On the opposite end of the room, several feet above them and beyond the bay’s main door, several footsteps rattled down the hallway, the sound of angry shouting growing louder with every passing second. For a brief moment, Keith met his brother’s eyes, heart pounding wildly as the inevitable crawled under his skin.

They were going to die.

They were going to die, suspended from the underside of The Meleanor with no way to escape, all because of a faulty latch—

No. That wasn’t right.

They were going to die because of Keith. If he’d just checked the latch the morning after the black hole...if he hadn’t been feeling so sorry for himself, the four of them would have been well on their way to safety.

Bile rose to his mouth as he recalled the last argument he’d had with Shiro, the last time they’d properly talked. He’d avoided his brother in the days that followed, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

You ruin everything, he’d said, but that wasn’t true—not when it was Keith who’d only ever been a poison in Shiro’s life. Not now that he was about to be the reason for his brother’s death.

The yelling in the hall drew nearer to the door and Keith’s eyes darted back and forth between his brother’s as he searched for the right words.

“Shiro, I’m—”

Across the room, just in front of the door, the air warped and crackled with an electricity Keith had grown well accustomed to in the last few months. In the time it took Keith to blink, Kosmo was standing there, regal and proud, and at his side…

Keith’s heart leapt into his throat. Oh, fuck no.

At Kosmo’s side stood Lance, hand wound in the wolf’s fur and eyes widening as he took in the suspended boat and its occupants.

Lip curling in anger, Keith pushed Shiro behind himself with more force than he’d intended, leveling Allura’s pistol at Lance’s forehead.

“You,” he snarled, ignoring his crew’s cries of confusion.

Wide eyes locked onto Keith’s—and then Lance was running, his face flooded with determination and decision as he withdrew his own pistol from its holster.

“Stay back!” Keith warned, his hand shaking where it gripped his weapon, “—or I’ll—”

Lance raised his gun mid-run and fired.

The plasma blast shattered the longboat’s broken latch, sending its occupants toppling into one another as the vessel was finally freed from its rope pulleys. It bobbed as its thrusters helped to keep it stabilized and Allura dove for the pilot’s seat, scrambling for the steering levers as—sans any fucking semblance of permission—Lance leapt the sizable distance from the dock into the boat down below.

He hit the deck with a thump that sent their boat teetering, landing in what might have been a solid crouch had Keith not ruptured the mechanics in his cybernetic leg. The prosthetic buckled beneath him, sending Lance to his knees with a pained growl.

“GO!” he bellowed as soon as he’d recovered himself enough to clamber onto a bench. “Go go go!”

Keith barely registered the wind in his ears as Allura piloted them away from The Meleanor and toward the planet below them. He hardly even noticed Sendak’s furious roar as something enormous collided with heavy iron—the entirety of his attention pulled instead to the traitor sitting among them as if he actually belonged.

Shiro and the others might have been none the wiser, but the truth ran through Keith’s veins like fire.

With a snarl, Keith tackled Lance off his bench perch, some twisted, hurt part of himself relishing the way Lance’s eyes widened with fear as Keith grabbed him by the lapel and slammed his back against the side of the boat.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Keith yelled over the wind, his hands aching to curl into fists and start punching until the face before him was unrecognizable. “Gimme one good reason not to throw you overboard right now!”

To demonstrate his point, Keith tipped Lance farther over the edge, satisfied when Lance was forced to grab at Keith’s arms for purchase. “I didn’t have a choice, I—”

This time, Keith did nothing to stop his fist from sailing toward Lance’s face, enjoying the adrenaline that came with the collison. “I’m sick of your lies!” he snarled, slamming Lance against the boat. “I’m sick of—”

“Keith, what the fuck?!” Shiro yelled from behind him, his voice somewhere between enraged and alarmed as he attempted to pry him off of Lance, but Keith held firm.

“He’s one of them, Shiro!”

His brother reeled back, his grip around Keith’s waist loosening as he regarded him with wide eyes. “What?”

“He’s with Sendak!” Keith roared, turning back to Lance and blinking moisture out of his vision. “He’s a fucking pi—”

The massive boom that cut through the Etherium was enough to momentarily divert Keith’s anger, his grip on Lance slackening as he gaped up at the cannonball hurtling toward them.

From the back of their boat, Coran yelled, “Veer right, Princess! Right!”—and Keith grunted as he was thrown fully on top of Lance, nearly sending the two of them overboard.

At Keith’s back, something whistled through the air, and it was with a sickening sense of horror that he realized they’d only just narrowly avoided cannonfire.

“What in the blazes do they think they’re doing?” Allura shouted, equal parts panic and fury. “They’ll lose the fucking map!”

Whatever response Shiro or Coran might have given was lost to the palm that splayed itself over Keith’s cheek, its touch tender enough to tear Keith’s insides to shreds.

“Keith—”

“Don’t touch me!” Readjusting his position so that he was practically straddling him, Keith tightened his grip around Lance’s lapel, jerking his face out of Lance’s touch and ignoring the pirate’s wounded expression. “Don’t talk to me, just—shut the fuck up!”

“Keith, enough!” Shiro bellowed from his spot beside the pilot’s seat, but the fire in Keith’s veins was too rampant to be contained. “Whatever’s going on with you two, it can wait!”

It can’t, Keith thought, hands shaking with—with fear, or anger, or what, he didn’t even know anymore.

I can’t.

“Nearly there!” came Allura’s voice, just as treetops rose into view over the side of the longboat behind Lance’s head. “Hold on, it'll be a bumpy landing!”

None of it mattered. Not the trees growing closer and closer, or the ground growing more defined beneath them. Nothing mattered but rage and fear and hurt and heartbreak.

“Keith.” Stars above, he’d never hated a voice as much as Lance’s. “Listen to me—"

“One reason,” Keith demanded through gritted teeth, leaning the brunt of his weight against Lance until the other boy was nearly halfway overboard. “Now.”

Lance inhaled sharply—the breath high and tight in his chest—and Keith was caught, caught in blue and green that shone with an emotion that Keith didn’t want to believe.

The smile Lance gave him was a worn thing, weak in a way that had Keith’s insides squirming with pity that disgusted him.

“I love you.”

It was too much.

It was too much—the boom of cannonfire too loud, the whistle of wind in his ears too sharp, the cries of his crew too overwhelming…

The storm of fear and hurt and anger welling within himself too turbulent and volatile.

With a wordless cry of rage, Keith brought his fist back across Lance’s jaw, soaking up the satisfaction that accompanied the pirate’s pained groan and the limp roll of his head. He was vaguely aware of Shiro yelling his name, vaguely aware of Allura’s and Coran’s panicked voices, of something sailing through the air toward them, but he ignored it all as he drew his fist back in preparation to land yet another blow—

He never got the chance.

It happened too quickly for course correction, too swiftly for damage control. One second, Keith was blinking down at Lance through blurred vision, poised and ready to strike.

The next, their entire boat pitched violently to the right, sending himself and Lance careening overboard.

…

Someone was holding him.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to regain full consciousness—whether a few seconds or a few hours—but he was aware, at first, of precious little other than the fingers combing soothingly through his hair and the dull throb behind his skull.

As the pain increased, becoming more persistent and sharp, so too did circumstantial awareness. The someone held him close, arms wrapped protectively around him as they pressed him to a chest that heaved with grief—that heaved with "I'm sorry," and, "Please wake up," and, "It’s all my fault."

It’s okay, he wanted to say, because he knew that voice, didn’t he? He loved that voice, trusted that voice.

Safety, his instincts sang. Home.

Consciousness tightened its grasp around him and he shifted, nuzzling closer to the voice’s source and groaning as the pain sharpened. The chest beneath his cheek heaved with a breathless, relieved laugh, and then the someone was patting his cheek with urgency.

“Keith, wake up for me, come on sweetheart—”

Wait.

He knew that voice, alright.

A second was all it took for trust to sour, for safety to curdle. Memory returned, and with it came anger and hurt and emotions too complex to be examined.

He had Lance pinned to the ground in an instant, his hold leaving no room for escape—not that it mattered. Even as Keith grabbed him by the lapel, Lance went willingly and without struggle, staring up at Keith instead with woeful eyes. “Guess I taught you pretty well, huh?”

Gritting his teeth, Keith ignored the pounding of his head as he pressed Lance harder into the ground. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

“I know I’m the last person you wanna see right now,” Lance continued, apparently ignoring Keith’s extremely clear instructions, “But you’re bleeding, okay? If you let me up, I can—”

“Like hell I will,” Keith spat, even as something hot leaked down his neck. Fear crept into his heart, tightening the fingers curled around Lance’s clothes and whitening his knuckles. “Where’s Shiro?”

“I don’t know.”

Keith opened his mouth to demand what the hell had happened, but Lance beat him to the punch, still staring up at him with that mournful look that made Keith’s stomach churn. “We got hit. You and I got knocked out of the boat before it went down, and the others...” Lance’s face twisted with guilt. “I think they went down with it, but they shouldn’t be too hard to find. Once we look at your head, we can—”

“We?” Keith held Lance’s gaze for another moment before scoffing incredulously, leaning back to examine the jungle floor for anything he could use to tie the cyborg’s hands. “There is no we, Lance,” he grunted, head throbbing in protest as he leaned over to grab a hanging vine from a nearby tree. It gave easily, and Keith pulled it free, winding it around his hands and testing its strength with a couple experimental tugs.

He didn’t register the growing silence until Lance finally spoke, nearly startling Keith into jumping. “That wasn’t always true.”

“Yeah, well—shame one of us was lying.”

Something akin to frustration glinted in Lance’s eyes. “Keith, I keep trying to—”

“Roll over. Now.”

Lance complied, though less willfully this time, groaning in irritation as Keith eased his death hold enough for him to roll onto his stomach. “We don’t have time for this!” Lance complained as Keith brought his wrists together by the small of his back. “For fuck’s sake, Keith, you’re hurt!”

Keith pointedly ignored him, winding the vine around Lance’s wrists with terse movements.

“And Shiro’s out there, somewhere,” Lance blathered on, oblivious to Keith’s mounting ire. The very mention of his brother’s name from the cyborg’s traitorous mouth was enough to send his hands shaking. “He could be hurt, or worse—”

Without warning, Keith yanked the makeshift bindings tight before shoving Lance onto his back, slipping his father’s knife from his pocket and pressing it against Lance’s neck in one fluid motion.

“You’re right,” he growled, cold and deadly, lacing the words with as much venom as he could. “My brother is out there, and I’m wasting time making sure I’m not stabbed in the back by some filthy pirate.”

He’d thought that he’d wanted to look Lance in the eyes as he said it—thought it would be gratifying, satisfactory. Instead, he watched as the spark of resilience in Lance’s eyes left them like water through cupped hands, leaking away until all that remained in its wake was hurt so visceral that Keith’s heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach.

Unable to stand the stupid quiver in Lance’s chin, Keith scoffed again, flipping his knife closed and pocketing it as he yanked Lance into a sitting position. “Get the fuck up.”

Lance rose almost listlessly to his knees, and together the two of them clambered to their feet. Ensuring that his grip remained tight and unyielding around Lance’s bound wrists, Keith finally allowed himself to take in his surroundings, blurred as they were by the ache in his skull.

He’d never seen so much green in his life.

Back home on Montressor, Keith’s world had always been browns and yellows—the unassuming palette of a sun-scorched desert.

Here, his world was awash with green, shade upon vibrant shade the likes of which Keith had never seen. He might have been helpless to its splendor—left to stare in awe—if not for the coarse vine beneath his fingers and the urgent worry buried in his heart.

“Move,” he ordered, shoving his prisoner forward a little harder than was strictly necessary. Somewhere off in the canopy, some sort of animal (a bird, Keith hoped, please let that be a bird) warbled, low and foreboding, and Keith finally noticed the long shadows that signaled the arrival of dusk. “We’re losing light.”

...

In the end, it was Lance who found them.

He’d remained relatively quiet throughout their search, speaking up only when he spotted a broken branch a couple feet above their heads. The wreckage caused by the longboat’s rapid descent became clearer the further they walked, and as they passed more and more mangled trees, Keith’s pace grew into an almost manic urgency.

It was only when they’d stumbled upon the very deserted longboat that Lance really talked, offering words of consolation that Keith might once have welcomed.

“He’s gotta be out there, Keith. If anyone could survive that, it’s—”

Fear leaving him in the form of anger, he’d whirled on his captive in a rage, eyes hot and stinging. “Did I ask for your opinion, pirate?”

Lance didn’t utter another word after that, resorting to pointing sullenly when they finally encountered a sign: the faintest remainder of a footprint pressed into the spongy jungle floor. The following trail went cold more often than not, as if someone had taken great care to cover up their tracks. More than once, Keith considered doing the same for himself and Lance, but his need to find his brother consumed all other notions, no matter how rational.

By the time they found the cave, they were both so exhausted they were nearly staggering into one another. Sweat ran in unending rivulets down Keith’s neck and soaked the back of Lance’s shirt, plastering it to his back and contouring his shoulder blades. Keith was sure he looked equally ridiculous, but he refused to stop for even a moment’s rest—not when Shiro was out there, not when the last real thing Keith had told him had been a lie aimed to hurt.

Not when he’d never had the chance to apologize.

He was so lost in a dismal spiral of guilt and worry that he didn’t notice when Lance stopped, so abruptly that Keith walked right into him and nearly sent the two of them to the ground.

“What the hell are you—”

Following Lance’s gaze, Keith’s eyes landed on a narrow crevice running vertically up the rock wall to their left, wide enough for a single person to fit through at a time. Vines ran down the rock face so thickly that Keith, distraught as he was, would have been unlikely to have noticed the passageway if it hadn’t been for...

Huh. Well, wasn’t that convenient.

Unholstering Allura’s pistol from his side, Keith unlocked the safety, and the gun’s charging mechanism whirred to life. “If this is a trap—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance muttered, the first words he’d spoken in a couple hours. “You’ll kill me. I get it.”

The uncharacteristic bitterness in Lance’s voice made Keith feel a little more justified in prodding the end of the pistol into Lance’s lower back. “Good, you’re catching on,” he hissed—and then, because he was feeling particularly nasty: “After you. Pirates first.”

Again, Lance complied immediately and without complaint, and the two of them found themselves stepping out of muggy jungle and into damp dripping rock.

The tunnel grew narrower the farther they traveled, walls pressing in on them as the darkness gathered, thick and oppressive until—

There was light.

Faint, at first; a pinprick in the darkness so fuzzy and muted that Keith almost thought he was imagining it—that it was some sort of mirage born of his own desperation.

Then came the voices, drifting from somewhere beyond the light—whispered murmurs that grew into distinguishable timbres as the two of them drew nearer, and it took nearly all of Keith’s willpower not to shove Lance aside and run toward the dim glow.

“Shiro?!”

It left him reedy and manic, so much so that Keith hardly recognized the sound of his own voice.

Apparently the same could not be said for Shiro, whose cry of, “Keith?” had Keith shoving Lance forward with a sharp prod of his blaster until they were both jogging toward the blooming light.

It was soon bright enough to make out the cave they’d emerged into, the crackling flames of the bonfire in the center illuminating cavernous walls and throwing shadows along the various stalagmites littered along the floor. It looked, Keith thought, almost like they’d entered the maw of a giant beast, and the thought had him suppressing a shiver as he pressed onward toward the three figures huddled around the fire.

Shiro rose to meet them so quickly that Keith’s eyes welled with tears, and his voice carried less conviction than he would have liked as he prodded his gun into Lance’s back and hissed, “Any sudden moves, and I shoot you.”

Lance stepped out of Shiro’s trajectory, his face eerily blank, but Keith hardly cared as his brother swept him into a bone crushing hug. The embrace—so familiar and safe—dislodged something within his chest, and tears finally spilled down his cheeks.

“I thought you were dead,” he croaked, hiding his face in the crook of Shiro’s neck. He didn’t want Lance to see his tears; Lance didn’t deserve to see his tears. “I was so scared.”

“Hey.” The word was whispered into Keith’s hair as a hand rubbed soothingly at his back. “I’m here, buddy. I’ve got you.”

From outside their little huddle came a sharp hiss of pain, and the voice that followed prickled with irritation. “I’m alright, Coran. If you’d kindly stop touching it. I’m not a child, for star’s sake.”

Rubbing hastily at his eyes, Keith peered around Shiro to find Coran and Allura propped up against the stalagmite closest to the fire.

Even in the low light, Keith could tell that there was something off about the outline of Allura’s arm. He was pretty sure arms weren’t supposed to bend like that, alien anatomy aside.

Whatever Coran had been about to say was swallowed by Shiro’s exaggeratedly loud sigh, drawing the attention of both Alteans. “They’ve been arguing for over an hour,” Shiro admonished, glaring pointedly at the two of them as if they were children he was attempting to discipline.

In his relief at seeing them, Keith almost missed the way Coran’s arms folded, his jaw tightening as he avoided Keith’s gaze and turned away.

He hardly had a moment to think about what it might mean when Allura was gifting him a warm smile, one that crinkled the corners of her eyes in a way that made Keith feel loved.

“Keith. Words cannot express my heart’s relief at seeing you. I trust you aren’t hurt?”

“No, but—Allura, your arm—”

“It’s broken.” The vitriol in Coran’s voice sounded wrong, and Keith took an instinctive step backward as furious eyes met his own. “No thanks to you and your childish temper—”

“That’s quite enough, Coran.”

“But, Princess, if you hadn’t been so distracted by—”

“I said enough, Coran. Assigning blame will only serve to tear us apart, and if we cannot remain united we will fall directly into the hands of the Galra. Now, am I understood, or must I dismiss you to clear your head?”

Coran’s jaw snapped shut so angrily that the clack of his teeth was audible as he huffed and looked away, and Keith sank to his knees at Allura’s side, lost for words as shame and remorse washed over him.

“I—did I?—I didn’t mean—”

“I know, darling.” Allura’s good hand lifted to cup his face, and Keith squeezed his eyes shut, his guilt too visceral to look at her. “It all happened very fast. I don’t blame you.”

The sigh he released must have sounded thoroughly unconvinced, because her thumb stroked over his cheekbone as she added, “I’ll be alright, I promise. We Alteans heal far more quickly than—”

“Can I ask why Lance is tied up?”

The question was phrased innocently enough, the tone light and casual, but Keith knew his brother well enough to recognize his, I’m at my fucking wit’s end voice.

Rising to his feet, Keith scowled over at the pirate, his own joy at being reunited with his brother and the Alteans snuffed out as easily as locking eyes with blue and green.

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” he growled, crossing back around the fire and settling in at his cousin’s side. “He’s one of them.”

“Wh—”

“He’s with Sendak.”

The words echoed through the cave, amplified by walls of rock that’d stood the test of time, now standing testament to this singular truth.

“Lance.” The cavern waited with baited breath as Shiro stepped toward the accused, who had sunk to his knees with his head hung low. “Is this true?”

The hurt laced through his brother’s voice had emotion swelling into Keith’s chest, tight and high as his heart ached with empathy. He clenched his jaw against the same hurt that was still coursing through him, rekindled and burning now that it was communally felt.

Their captive raised his head and, in the firelight, a single tear glinted down his cheek. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice wavering dangerously. “But it’s not what you think—”

“I heard them talking.” Keith stepped forward, placing a hand on his brother’s forearm to draw his attention. “They were planning to take the map and kill us all along. Lance was there,” he insisted, imbuing his voice with as much venom as he could and refusing to dignify his once-friend with a single glance.

He’d been expecting to watch Shiro’s face turn cold, for the same outrage and hatred that was consuming Keith to well up behind his brother’s eyes.

Instead, Shiro took a slow step forward, kneeling in front of Lance with an expression that he’d used to regard Keith with after countless screw-ups and accidents.

Empathy.

“He’s dangerous, Shiro,” was his desperate attempt as Lance met his brother’s eyes—because Lance didn’t fucking deserve that look, didn’t deserve to have Shiro searching for whatever good existed in his soul.

But when have you? asked a small voice in the back of his mind. When have you truly deserved it?

“Shiro,” he begged, his voice cracking as his heart raced in his chest. “He’s a pirate, why won’t you—”

The look his brother threw him was so sharp—so final—that any remaining words instantly dissipated into oblivion, and Keith had to purse his lips together to prevent their trembling.

He wasn’t expecting to feel as betrayed as he did when Shiro turned back to Lance, his eyes softening once more with the sort of affection he’d only ever reserved for Keith, for...

For family.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Shiro’s gentle words achieved the opposite of their desired effect. Lance’s face screwed up against a sob before he was turning sharply away with a whimper, and a part of Keith’s heart—a part that’d been gathering dust through weeks of neglect—seized with pain.

“Hey.” Shiro’s voice was unbearably gentle as he reached to touch Lance’s face, cupping it with both hands and turning it back toward him. “Hey, please don’t cry, kid.”

Another whimper and the dam broke, and Shiro was whispering, “Oh, come here,” as he pulled Lance in for an embrace, cradling the back of his head as Lance sobbed into his jacket. “It’s okay, Lance. It’s all gonna be okay.”

His insides twisting with something ugly, Keith turned away and exchanged a glance with Allura and Coran, who were both watching the display with guarded expressions. The eye contact seemed to break the delicate fabric of the moment, shaking loose the stupor that’d fallen over the cavern.

“Shiro.” Allura’s voice reverberated through the cave, clear and cold and confident, shattering quiet intimacy with a single word. “While this is a touching display, I’m afraid Keith is right. We must exercise the utmost caution, regardless of—”

“There’s more to this than we think,” Shiro interrupted, withdrawing slowly from the hug without looking back at any of them. He instead kept his eyes trained on Lance, whose tear-soaked face he took in his hands, thumbing away at his wet cheeks. “Isn’t there?” he prompted, voice once more growing soft.

Between his hands, Lance’s lips quivered—and then he nodded, stilted and nearly imperceptible. The answer seemed to be enough for Shiro, who replied with a nod of his own before rising to his feet and returning to Keith’s side.

“What,” Keith hissed, hurt and confused and too tired to think, “are you doing? He’s—”

“Something’s not right.” Shiro lowered his voice to a whisper, angling away from Lance so that he and Keith shared a bubble of their own. “Can’t you feel it? Like—something’s off.”

On impulse, Keith opened his mouth to argue—but once more, the words crawled back down his throat, this time accompanied by the underlying sense of wrongness that Keith had refused to examine for weeks; the feeling, somewhere deep inside, that Shiro was correct.

“I need you to trust me on this one.” His brother’s voice had grown even more hushed, taking on a pleading edge that had Keith surrendering even before Shiro gripped his shoulders and delivered the final blow.

“You know better than anyone else that everyone deserves a second chance.”

The last dredges of his ferocity crumbled under the heavy weight of guilt, and Keith found himself nodding stiffly—reluctantly—before Shiro was guiding them both to the floor to sit shoulder to shoulder.

“Okay.” Shiro’s shoulders heaved against Keith’s as he inhaled wearily. “Floor is yours, Lance.”

The cavern was silent save for the drip of water onto rock. And then—

“I don’t know where to start.”

As if anticipating the snide remark rising to Keith’s tongue, Shiro placed a hand on his knee, still watching Lance with that infuriatingly kind expression. “Wherever’s easiest, bud—as long as it’s the truth.”

Again Lance nodded, releasing a shuddering breath as he visibly readied himself to speak.

“I’m from Pandora,” he told the hands grasping at one another in his lap. “Guess that’s a pretty good place to start.”

Keith—who’d been scowling resolutely down at the floor and attempting not to listen—felt a twinge of that same wrongness creep back up his spine as a conversation he’d had several weeks ago came trickling back into his subconscious.

He’s been so fucking weird all week, and then we passed Pandora today and he got all quiet, did you notice?

“I would have told you earlier,” Lance continued, as if reading Keith's thoughts, and Keith could practically feel the eyes burning into him. “But A: no one likes to admit they’re from the poorest, most shithole planet in the galaxy, and B—”

Another shuddering breath.

“Home hurts to talk about.”

The fragile quality of his voice had Keith’s eyes snapping up to meet his—and they remained in one another’s gaze until Shiro softly prompted, “Why’s that?”

Lance’s eyes shut as he sighed, breaking the brief yet loaded moment that’d passed between them.

“My family’s lived on the same farm for generations. We were just...crop farmers.” He said the words as if he were struggling not to burst into tears again. “We never—we didn’t know—”

He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, pounding a fist against his knee. “We didn’t know,” he resumed, slow and measured, “about the quintessence.”

On the other side of the fire, Allura and Coran each shifted uneasily, watching Lance with unwavering scrutiny and countless questions written in the furrow of their brows.

“No one did,” Lance continued, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. “You’d think a planet as dirt-poor as Pandora wouldn’t have drawn any attention, but—that didn’t stop Sendak.”

Blue and green eyes cut across the fire to meet Allura’s. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, Princess, but after you and the Blade drove the pirates out of the Fluora galaxy and Zarkon fled...to this planet, I guess,” he muttered, gesturing around at their cave as if he expected Zarkon to pop out from behind a stalagmite, “—Sendak took his place as Captain. A bunch of Zarkon’s old crew regrouped, and Sendak managed to convince them to help him look for Zarkon and his loot. They couldn’t find him, obviously, so they declared him dead and snuck into the outskirts of the closest galaxy to continue his work.”

For the first time since he’d been silenced, Coran spoke. “And they chose,” he started, his eyes sliding shut as if he were inwardly berating himself, “to start mining the one planet so poor that it cannot afford its own militia, and so distanced from every other planet in the galaxy that it lies outside the protection of the United Galaxy Garrison.”

He turned to Allura, opening his eyes to reveal guilt and frustration and anger swimming in their depths. “We should have known, Princess.”

When Allura responded, her eyes were far away, her voice fragile. “All this time...we’ve spent years looking for them, and all this time they were already here—”

“You couldn’t have known!” Lance shifted onto his knees, reaching a hand out toward Allura as if he could reach her across the fire. “Look, it took Sendak and his army about a day to take over the planet. We had no way to—”

“His army?” Allura’s voice burned with outrage. “Exactly how many Galra occupy Pandora?”

“I—I don’t know. Hundreds, I—they all came in a fleet, but I was just a kid, I don’t—” Lance sank back onto his heels, wrapping his arms around himself and lowering his gaze. “All I remember is being terrified, and then there were pirates everywhere, and then one day Sendak showed up on our farm.”

“What?” It left Keith without his permission, curiosity pushing the word out of his mouth. Lance’s eyes snapped up to meet his with an almost pleading expression, as if he were begging Keith to believe him.

“We’d been living in fear for months, just—kept our windows boarded and stayed quiet, and then Sendak shows up one day with quintessence tracking tech and…”

Lance’s face twitched as his eyes filled with tears. “Turned out the biggest source of mineral quintessence on Pandora was sitting right beneath our farm.”

There was another pause, this one heavy with horror and understanding as Lance’s words dawned upon them.

Shiro was the first to finally stir, coming back to the present with a deep inhale. “Lance, I’m so—”

“He turned our farm into a mine.” Lance’s voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, his eyes closing as if he were reliving the memory. “He and his goons destroyed everything, and when they were done they—they forced my family to work, brought in hundreds of innocent Pandorans—and Sendak didn’t care if...as long as you were old enough to hold a pickaxe, you were working.”

Keith swallowed. “How old were you?”

“I was thirteen. My little brother was eight, th—they made him work too.”

“Fuck,” Keith whispered, unsure of what else to say, because…

Because what could he say?

“If any of us stepped out of line, they’d...make an example out of us, just to make sure we all stayed cooperative, and one day, my—my brother—” Lance’s voice broke, and Keith longed to cross the distance between them and pull him into his arms. “He was just so little, he di—didn’t—he couldn’t keep up, and they—”

He cut off with a whimper, and something in Keith broke apart, shattering the ice cold clamp that’d tightened around his heart. Anger and resentment that’d been weeks in the making were gone within a second, replaced only by grief and an unshakable desire to comfort. He was on his feet before he knew it, crossing the couple steps between himself and Lance in an instant and dropping to sit by his side.

Wide, glossy eyes glued themselves to his face, unrelenting even as Keith slipped his hand into Lance’s cybernetic. “Did they hurt him?”

After a brief hesitation, Lance nodded, sending tears cascading down his cheeks. With his free hand, Keith reached up to wipe them away.

“I was angry,” Lance whispered, his grip tightening on Keith’s hand till it was nearly painful. “I wanted them all dead for what they did to him. I just—I just wanted...I wasn’t thinking.”

His hand still on Lance’s face, Keith smoothed back his hair. “What’d you do?” he asked, his jaw tight with emotion.

Lance squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into Keith’s hand like it was the only thing allowing him to continue. “I tried to kill him. Sendak. Spent weeks carving a knife out of this—this rock I found, and one night I snuck into his tent and I…”

Keith clutched his hand tighter.

“I got caught.”

On the other side of the fire, someone clicked their tongue, but Keith hardly had the presence of mind for anyone other than himself and Lance.

“He had my entire family dragged out into the rain to watch him kill me, and I—I’ve never heard my mom cry like that, Keith.”

Lance was shaking under his touch, so Keith did the only thing he could think to do and pulled him into an embrace, running his fingers through Lance’s hair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the words falling pathetically short of what he meant. “I’m so sorry.”

The trembling hands clutching at his back tightened. “Sendak ended up changing his mind. Obviously. Said death would be too easy for me.”

Understanding dawned on Keith, twisting in his stomach till he was nearly sick with it. “You’re indebted to him.”

A sob ripped through Lance’s body, violent and agonized, and when Lance spoke Keith almost couldn’t understand him. “He s—said he’d kill my family. He said I had to go with him when he went off-planet and he’d—if I ever betrayed him, he’d comm his men and I...I didn’t have a choice, Keith.”

“I know.” The truth settled over Keith’s heart, not quite mending the cracks there, but cooling the fire that ran through them. “You had to protect your family.”

Against his neck, Lance nodded, and Keith released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It felt like he might have been releasing something else, too—something poisonous that’d been eating away at the core of who he was for weeks.

“We left the next day,” Lance whispered, sounding so distraught that Keith’s eyes inadvertently grew misty. “I never even got to say goodbye. I...I never got to tell them I loved them.”

Lost for words, Keith held him fiercely, as if just by doing so he could protect Lance from the universe.

“You haven’t been back, have you?” Coran asked after a long beat of silence.

As if he’d just remembered that the two of them weren’t alone, Lance pulled away, dragging a sleeve across his eyes as he shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen them since...that night.”

“You...” Keith worked his jaw as a tear finally rolled down his cheek. “You haven’t been home for—”

“Five years,” Lance croaked, reaching out to wipe the tear from Keith’s cheek with a thumb, as if Keith were the one who needed consoling. “Yeah.”

Something powerful passed between them—whether it was understanding, or empathy, or something much deeper, Keith wasn’t sure—but for a moment he was transported back to the Meleanor’s longboat bay, to the last night he’d truly opened his heart to Lance.

There isn’t a single thing in this universe that could ever change the way I feel about you.

You wouldn’t say that if you knew.

Keith wished he could have gone back to that night, wished could have held Lance then and there with everything he knew now.

I see you, he would have said. I see you—all of you—and I still want you.

He thought the words in his head might have been powerful enough for Lance to somehow hear, because in the next second Lance was releasing a shaky breath, one corner of his mouth pulling into a bittersweet smile that had Keith aching to hold him again.

Allura—understandably—had other plans.

“Lance,” she began tentatively, as if she were apologizing for even speaking. Keith had never heard her sound like that before. “I hate to make you relive the past anymore than you must, and I cannot begin to imagine your pain, but—”

Blue-green left Keith’s face, leaving him feeling strangely cold.

“You’re wondering how we found the map,” Lance supplied, exhaustion creeping into the shadows underneath his eyes. He sighed when Allura nodded, retreating from Keith enough that they were sitting side by side once more.

“Sendak’s been looking since Zarkon disappeared. Managed to hack some top secret Blade communications…”

Lance sighed, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Whatever. Long story short, we chased leads across the galaxy for five fucking years, nearly died about a thousand times,” he muttered darkly, lifting his cybernetic hand with a sarcastic flourish, “and then we finally found the map. We tracked it to a Blade base, found Thace, he took it and ran to Montressor, and…” Lance’s eyes darted away. “Well. I don’t need to tell you what happened on Montressor.”

An image rose unbidden to Keith’s mind—his father, heartbroken and sobbing in the back of a sandskiff as flames danced across his face—and clarity dawned on him as if he were waking from a nightmare.

“You were there, weren’t you?” he asked, hating the way Lance wouldn’t look at him—hating the confirmation that sat in the tightness of Lance’s jaw. “At the Benbow, that night.”

Keith hadn’t even realized he’d been holding Lance’s cybernetic hand until it slipped out of his own.

“Yes. Sendak wanted the map, and when he couldn’t find it, he ordered us to...”

He trailed off, jaw working like he was trying very hard not to start crying again, and Keith couldn’t stand it. Filled with resolve, he reached for Lance’s hand, the touch startling Lance enough to meet his gaze.

“Lance? Sendak destroyed my home, not you.”

“But—”

Keith squeezed his hand, suddenly sure that he didn’t want to hear anymore. It was enough to know the truth, but the last thing any of them needed was more guilt polluting the air between them.

“You were following orders to protect your family,” he cut in firmly, his eyes finding and holding Shiro’s in the dim light. “I would have done the same.”

“So would I,” Shiro echoed, his gaze somber and unwavering, and it was enough confirmation that it had Keith turning back to Lance to find that he was being watched with an expression he’d only seen once—the same look Lance had given him back in the galley all those weeks ago, right before he’d surged forward and kissed him.

And stars above and below, did Keith want that. He longed to feel Lance’s lips on his own, to remind himself that what lay between them was real and had been all along—he wanted to chase it, that intangible stardust; wanted to chase it across the cosmos until it was all he could see—

But there were answers to be had, and now was neither the time nor place to chase after dreams.

Settling for a gentle kiss to Lance’s cybernetic knuckles, Keith gave him a small smile, hoping Lance could see the truth—the three words Keith had long since carved into his heart—shining in his eyes.

He longed to say them, to finally release them into existence and being, but instead he nodded, hoping Lance understood his silent message. Go on. We’re all on your side.

Returning his nod, Lance stroked his cybernetic thumb along Keith’s hand as if attempting to ground himself. “After the Benbow,” he started, voice shaking, “Sendak figured whoever had the map would make a run for it, so we monitored every single ship leaving Montressor, every single posting for a crew...and then we found your husband’s,” he finished, directing the last part to Shiro.

“How did he know we had it?” Shiro asked, folding his arms and reclining against a stalagmite.

“No other job posting was looking for travel past the Outer Rim. Which would have been a dead giveaway by itself, but Sendak hacked your planetary personnel profiles to make sure—yeah, pretty fuckin’ illegal,” he added at Shiro’s sharp inhale. “Anyways, it didn’t take him long to connect the two of you to the Benbow, so...we signed onto the listing, Sendak and the others learned everything they could about all four of you—” he nodded toward Allura and Coran, “—and a couple weeks later we were taking off. It was...supposed to be my last job.”

“Really?” Shiro asked, eyes narrowing skeptically.

Lance sighed, sagging slightly into Keith as he did so, and Keith splayed a gentle hand on his back.

“That’s what Sendak said. He told me if I helped them get to the trove, they’d drop me back on Pandora.” With a subtle grunt, Lance reached up to tap at one side of his temple, a sign Keith had learned over the past several months meant he was acquiring a particularly nasty headache. “I don’t fuckin’ know, man. He was probably never gonna let me go, but...it’s been five years, Shiro. I’ve lost everything, my...my family, my home, my fucking—”

Again, Lance brandished his hand in frustration, and Keith resisted the urge to ask how he’d lost it.

“I just...had to hope, you know?”

“I know, kid,” Shiro agreed, the words aching with more empathy than any other person would have been capable of. “I guess I’m still not sure—you were going to see your family again, Lance. I mean, Sendak said if you betrayed him, he’d…” Too horrible to finish, the sentence sat heavily in the cavern between them. “So why come with us? You spent years with Sendak to keep them safe—what changed?”

To Keith’s surprise, the question managed to pull a wet laugh out of the boy at his side. “Thought that one was kind of obvious.”

That seemed to be enough answer for Shiro, whose expression fell into one of fond understanding, and when Keith—confused and feeling as if he were very much missing out on something obvious—sought out their Altean companions for help, the two wore similar expressions.

“Uh…” Keith blinked up at Lance, who was looking at him with the smile that’d made his chest ache for months, the small secretive one he’d always reserved for Keith and Keith alone. “I don’t get it.”

Lance laughed again, a fond little huff as he bumped Keith’s shoulder with his own. “I fell in love with you, dummy.”

The scattered chuckles throughout the cavern did nothing to help the hot flush rising up his neck, and Keith tried not to feel particularly stupid when he could hardly manage more than a brittle, “Oh.”

He supposed he’d known. He’d known for months, really; known the heart of the boy at his side as surely as he’d known his own. They’d fallen together, the two of them, and there was no denying it now that Keith finally had the full truth.

It’d been one thing to hear it as they’d been falling through the sky, back when Keith’s heart had been torn and tattered and afraid.

It was another to hear it now, surrounded by warmth and truth and the fire’s dim glow, Lance smiling at him as if Keith was his entire world.

Which…

“I—but what about your family?” Keith asked, suddenly feeling slightly sick as he attempted to come to terms with the sacrifice Lance had made. “Tell me you didn’t choose me over—”

“I didn’t choose anyone, Keith,” Lance reassured, turning to face Keith and reaching for both his hands. Keith let him, emotion swelling in his chest when Lance met his eyes. “Or I—I chose me, okay?”

When Keith cocked his head curiously, heartbeat thundering through his chest, Lance reached toward his face, tracing the edges delicately with the tips of his fingers. “I was with Sendak so long I kind of...lost sight of who I was, you know? And then one day you come along, and you’re brave and selfless and you’ve given up everything to save the universe, and…I woke up, Keith. Like—the real me, the—the me I was before pirates, and space, and—”

He cut himself off, fingers curling against Keith’s cheeks as he sighed. “I wanted...ugh, this is hard.”

“It’s okay,” Keith hurried, reaching up for Lance’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

I love you.

“You’re okay.”

Nodding, Lance released a shaky breath, pressing Keith’s knuckles to his mouth before whispering, “I wanted to be someone I could be proud of. I wanted to be able to look you in the eyes and...deserve you. And after I kissed you, I couldn’t ignore it anymore, you know? It got me thinking about everything I’ve done, and the trove and Zarkon’s weapon and I just—what’s the point? Like, even if I survive all this and go back to Pandora and my family is somehow still alive, like...what then? How could I even face them after helping Sendak hurt...fuck, Keith, billions of people? They wouldn’t have wanted me to do that for them, and I—”

He sagged, defeated, and Keith surged forward onto his knees to gather him into his arms. Hands gripped desperately at his back, and Keith held Lance for all he was worth.

“I don’t wanna hurt anyone else,” Lance croaked, burying his face in Keith’s neck. “I don’t wanna go back.”

“I won’t let you.” The words left Keith fiercely, punched from his gut by bubbling hatred and ardent love alike. “I won’t let him take you.”

“Nor will any of us, Lance,” Allura agreed, her voice resolute and solid as it echoed through the cavern. “And we’ll certainly not allow him victory. He’ll not leave this planet with so much as a pocketful of Zarkon’s quintessence, rest assured.”

“How do we stop him?” Lance asked, the words shaky in a way that made him sound years younger than he was, and for a split second, Keith was able to imagine the thirteen-year-old boy who’d been taken from his home.

Shiro, on the other hand, radiated an authority and calm that had Keith’s mind straying once more to their father, and when he spoke, Keith thought, Dad would be so proud. “We will find a way, Lance. As long as we all have each other’s backs, we’ll—”

“He’s right,” Keith whispered as Shiro kept talking, pressing a kiss to the tip of Lance’s ear for good measure. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

In his arms, Lance stirred, rocking back onto his heels and out of Keith’s embrace to regard him with shining eyes and so much love that Keith wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“—a tactical plan later, but for now,” Shiro was saying, as Keith resisted the urge to recall what Lance’s lips had felt like against his own, “—we just need to get through the night. Keith, Lance,” he called, effectively ripping their attention away from one another. “Why don’t the two of you find some more firewood?”

…

“You’re quiet.”

Keith sighed, squeezing the hand grasped firmly in his own. He supposed he had been quiet—then again, they both had. Neither of them had really spoken as Shiro had made sure they were both equipped with weapons, supplying Lance with a spare blaster to replace the one he’d lost in the fall. They also hadn’t spoken as the two of them had made their way back through narrow rock and out into late evening light, seeking each other’s hands the second they were able to walk side by side.

Although they may have been sent to collect firewood—and they would—Keith wasn’t a moron. He could feel the impending discussion that was to be had between them; knew a pointed, you two should talk, from his brother when he saw it.

And Shiro might have been right, but there was just...so much information to digest that Keith wasn’t sure where to even begin.

When he eventually answered, his breath misted in the now cooled air. “Just...thinking.”

At his side, Lance hummed, kicking at a clump of moss in a way that felt inherently nervous. After a pause long enough to showcase a few of the wildlife’s various calls and rumbles, he asked, “...What are you thinking about?”

Inhaling a deep breath of crisp evening air, Keith readied himself to share his own truth.

“You,” he admitted, running his thumb along Lance’s knuckles as the two of them wandered aimlessly. “Your family.”

Tightening his grip on the hand in his own, Keith gathered his courage. “Us.”

The last word had Lance stopping dead in his tracks, their arms pulling taut due to the hands they both refused to unclasp. When Keith turned, he found Lance watching him with nervous apprehension written in the crease of his brows, so palpable that Keith sighed before taking a step toward him.

“Look. Lance,” he began, reaching for his other hand so that they were as joined as they could be. “I...care about you, okay? Deeply, but—”

“But I hurt you,” Lance interjected, all hints of happiness absent from his eyes as he attempted a hollow smile.

“Lance—”

“I get it. That kind of hurt doesn’t just go away.”

Indignation swelled in Keith’s chest, passionate and unbridled. If Lance would just let him speak, for star’s sake. “Well, no, but...it’s not your fault.”

“Keith—”

“It’s not.” Releasing his hands, Keith moved to grasp either side of Lance’s face, feeling like his heart skipped a beat when Lance sagged into the touch.

Voice growing gentler as his frustration subsided, Keith whispered, “You’d never hurt me on purpose, right?”

Something behind Lance’s eyes softened, which would have been an answer in and of itself—but then Lance was closing the space between them, allowing his forehead to fall gently against Keith’s.

“No,” he whispered back, honest and simple. “But...what I did to you, I...if you ever needed space, I’d...” He drew in a breath, one that sounded like it pained him to take, and his eyes fluttered shut. “I’d understand.”

Heart thundering with adrenaline, Keith pushed forward to touch his nose to Lance’s before pulling away enough to look at him.

“I don’t want space,” he asserted, and surprised eyes blinked open to watch him. Ever so gently, Keith’s thumbs stroked the face between his palms as if he were holding the most important thing in the universe—and stars above, wasn’t that the truth? “I want to do this together. I want to heal together, I want to move forward together, and maybe after all this is over, I want…”

He trailed off, tracing a thumb over the scar that arched through Lance’s eyebrow, a token of their time together.

He loves you, he reminded himself, fear leaking out of him at the very thought. Tell him. He deserves to hear it.

“I want us to build something good together, if you’ll have me.”

The way Lance was looking at him made Keith feel like he could do anything—like he could move planets and skate along the stars and unravel the very fabric of time if Lance so much as asked—but for now, the least he could do was reward Lance’s bravery with some of his own.

“I love you, Lance.”

Accompanied by a quiet whimper, the tears that’d been shining in Lance’s eyes finally spilled over—and Keith didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so beautiful. He thumbed the stray droplets away, struck suddenly by the thought that if he could look at this face for the rest of his life, he might come to understand true happiness. “Can I kiss you?”

Seemingly overcome with emotion, Lance was able to do little more than nod in response, eyes shining with a giddiness Keith had never seen him wear. A wet laugh escaped him through trembling lips, so Keith surged forward to still them, hoping all at once to say I missed you and you’re all I ever want and this is where we belong—together, like this.

It was nothing like their first kiss.

Before, Lance had kissed him like he’d been saying goodbye, like kissing Keith in the galley was the only chance he’d ever get. He’d lost control that night, Keith realized—lost control of the battle raging inside him, had pushed through the web of lies and guilt and deceit in order to indulge his heart for one desperate moment.

This kiss was in no way desperate, nor did it resemble a goodbye. With truth shining a clear path between them, they kissed one another as if they were finally meeting for the first time, embarking on the newest chapter of their story having finally understood each other’s hearts.

When Lance broke away, leaning back to take Keith’s face between his palms, he did so this time not with a look of horror, but with an expression too raw and intoxicated and honest to be classified by a word as simple as ‘love’.

“I love you too,” Lance whispered, and Keith’s cheeks ached from smiling as he snarked, “I know.”

That had Lance giggling as he dove back in, and Keith’s hands slipped down to his hips to pull him closer, deepening their kiss as the two of them pushed and pulled and—

A rustle in the undergrowth a few feet away sent them scrambling apart, both fumbling for their blasters with an uncharacteristic lack of coordination. Keith hardly stopped to consider what he was even doing as he stepped in front of Lance, only for his companion to lay a hand on his shoulder and remove himself from behind his human shield.

“You said we do this together,” Lance murmured, eyes trained on the still-rustling foliage before them. Whatever was approaching them drew closer with clumsy footsteps, and a shudder ran down Keith’s spine.

Pirates.

“True,” he whispered back, leveling his blaster at the threat with an extended arm and reaching for Lance’s hand with his other. “Partners till the end.”

“Partners till the end,” Lance echoed, the sentiment punctuated by the sounds of two blasters charging and Keith’s heart thundering in his ears—

From the tangle of vines and leaves burst a woman, no taller than Keith and no more threatening than a desert mouse, blond hair a mess of twigs and bright blue eyes manic with excitement. She shrieked with delight when she saw them, clapping her hands together as if Keith and Lance were old friends.

“I thought I heard voices!” she gasped, voice rising in pitch like she’d just seen two particularly cute kittens. Through her dirt-streaked face, her Altean markings pulsed bright with excitement, and—

Wait.

Lost for words, Keith could only gape at the telltale pointed ears poking out from beneath the woman’s hair as Lance muttered, “An Altean?” sounding every bit as confused and taken aback as Keith felt.

His brain didn’t even have a chance to formulate a sentence before the girl was blabbering again, a non-stop stream of consciousness that had Keith’s eyes widening and the pistol in his hand lowering weakly to his side, because—what the actual fuck was happening?

“I wasn’t sure at first, you know?” she blathered, a hand stroking her chin in thought. “I told myself, ‘Romelle, there’s no one here but you, you silly old yalmor’—but you’re really here!”

Without warning, she flung herself toward them and their readied pistols, nearly knocking Lance over as she threw her arms around his neck. Apparently, Lance was just as stunned by this as was Keith, because when their eyes met, Lance threw him a silent, wide-eyed plea for help that might have been hilarious in just about any other circumstance.

“Oh, you are a sight for sore eyes!” the woman—Romelle—cried, sighing dreamily as she sagged against Lance’s chest. “Handsome, too, and such lovely eyes,” she observed, tapping a finger against his nose.

The action was strange and intrusive enough that it, at last, was what seemed to return Lance to his senses, his face scrunching in irritation as she batted her lashes and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Taken,” he growled, removing her arms from around his stiff shoulders and shimmying out of her grasp with a grunt. “Ever heard of my good friend, Personal Space?”

To both Keith’s amusement and horror, the woman seemed to genuinely consider the question, cocking her head to the side and tapping her cheek. “Can’t say that I have...are they here too?!” she asked, immediately lighting up again.

In lieu of an answer, Lance turned to Keith with an expression so flabbergasted that Keith was forced to swallow a bark of laughter.

Deciding to save his boyfriend—stars, was that what they were now?—Keith stepped forward, the crunch of his boots against fallen leaves drawing Romelle’s blue eyes to his own. “Ignore him,” he told her, nudging Lance in the arm before stowing his blaster and pretending not to notice Lance’s incredulous expression. “I’m Keith, this is Lance. We’re—”

“Keith!” Romelle clasped her hands together as if Keith had just invited her to his wedding. “What a lovely name. Keith.”

“Uh…” Stars above, it was getting harder and harder not to laugh. “It’s alright, I guess. Look, Romelle—”

“You know my name!”

Behind her, Lance twirled his finger about his ear in the universal sign for someone’s not all there, and Keith staunchly ignored him. “Right! Romelle. See—Lance and I didn’t know there’d be anyone else out here, so—”

“It’s just me, silly,” she snorted, shoving at his shoulder. “The Captain made sure no one could ever find this place. Never get any visitors,” she pouted, folding her arms across her chest, and Keith thought his heart might have skipped a beat.

“Wait,” he started, before she could fly into yet another whirlwind of words. “The Captain?” His eyes flicked briefly to Lance’s, behind which he could see the same dawning realization. “You don’t mean Zar—”

“Captain Zarkon, yes! Do you know him?”

Instead of answering her question, Lance skirted around her to join Keith at his side. “What I’d like to know is how the fuck you know Captain Zarkon,” he asked coldly, sounding like he suddenly regretted his choice to stow his blaster.

Romelle giggled, a hand flying up to cover her mouth. “I was his lead mechanic, of course.”

“Of course,” Keith croaked as he and Lance exchanged glances.

“Designed all his ships,” she continued, listing on her fingers. “His weapons—the big one took me weeks, and all he did was hide it in his—oh! Designed the trove too, and the map, almost forgot about the m—”

“Wait wait wait!” Keith’s heart was pounding so hard, he thought it might grow loud enough for Lance and Romelle to hear. “You built his trove?”

“I designed it,” she corrected primly. “It was built by other Alteans, but they are long gone now.”

Keith shuddered, overcome by the distinct feeling that Zarkon hadn’t just let his engineers leave.

“You designed it.” Lance’s voice was cold, so closely resembling the Lance that Keith had heard earlier that day in the galley that he was forced to suppress a shudder. “For Zarkon.”

“Of course!” she replied, ever chipper. “He wasn’t half as bad as the stories say, you know.”

“Yeah?” Lance growled. His hand settled on the hilt of his blaster, but the threat went unnoticed by Romelle, who blinked innocently up at him as if she hadn’t assisted a genocidal maniac. “Enlighten us.”

“Well,” she considered, tapping a finger to her chin. “He took some of us away from Altea before he shattered the planet, and then when we came here he said he wouldn't let anything happen to Bandor as long as I helped him."

“Bandor?” Keith asked, nausea inexplicably rising to his throat.

With an unwaveringly saccharine smile, Romelle nodded. “My little brother!" she informed, and Keith felt Lance stiffen beside him. "He was such a sweet boy. I was hardly ever permitted to see him, though.”

“Romelle.” Considering Lance has been so guarded mere moments before, Keith was surprised when he reached out a hand, laying it against her arm. “Where is your brother now?”

For the first time since they’d met her, the liveliness faded from her features, replaced by shadow as her brows furrowed.

“I...don’t remember,” she admitted, a hand flying to her temple as she winced. “I—it’s been so long, I can’t...gone, I think. Gone, like all the others.”

The words sat heavily between them, loaded with history and grief that neither Keith or Lance were equipped to visit.

After a moment’s pause, Lance stirred with a deep inhale. “I think,” he said carefully, his hand dropping from her arm, “that you should come with us.”

“Uh...” Keith blinked, turning to Lance in skeptical surprise even as Romelle brightened. “Lance...”

“She worked for Zarkon to save her brother, Keith.”

Two-toned eyes bore into his own, filled with a certain breed of empathy born only from shared pain—and just like that, Keith needed no other reason to trust.

Taking Lance’s hand in his own, he nodded, ignoring the way Romelle cooed at the gesture. “Okay,” he murmured, wanting so badly to kiss him again. Instead, Keith leaned around him, shooting Romelle a small smile that she returned with a cheery little wave.

Ugh. Cute.

“You wanna come with me and Lance? We’ve got a fire—and we’ve got two Altean friends you can meet!” he added, feeling insanely stupid for not having thought to mention it earlier.

Beside him, Lance wordlessly extended his free hand, and Romelle took it without hesitation as she beamed at them. “I should very much like to meet them!” she chirped, and Keith watched as Lance’s features surrendered to the softest of smiles.

They’d question her later, but for now Keith’s only concern was leading them safely back toward the cave, tugging both Lance and Romelle along behind him in tow. She blabbered as they walked, chattering on and on about her favorite flora and badgering Lance with questions about his cybernetics.

For his part, Keith had never been much of a talker, always opting for silence in any given situation—but he found he didn’t so much mind listening to Romelle. Her cheerful optimism was contagious, and by the time the trio was shimmying through the rock crevice and into the cave beyond, Keith was filled to the brim with hope.

They could do this.

They could actually do this.

They had the map, they had each other, and now they had an inside source, someone who could help them navigate the inner mechanisms of the trove better than anyone else ever could. Finally, after months of being unwittingly used by the enemy, they had the upper hand—

And it was with this confidence that Keith approached the dark outline of his brother’s sleeping form, squatting beside him as his eyes attempted to adjust to the light cast by fading embers.

“Shiro,” he hissed, hardly able to disguise his glee as he placed his hand atop his brother’s arm. “Wake up, man! You’re never gonna believe this—we found the engineer that built the trove! We’re gonna be in and out of there before Sendak’s crew even lands!”

Slowly, the huddled mass before him stirred and began to unfurl—and continued to unfurl, growing bigger and bulkier by the second and draining the smile from Keith’s face, sending his heart plummeting down into the pit of his stomach.

Through the darkness, the red glow of a cybernetic eye blinked back at him.

“Well done, Mister Kogane,” rumbled Sendak’s voice as a giant hand wrapped around Keith’s wrist. “Now, I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Chapter Text

“Now, I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

For an awful moment, Keith could do little more than sit frozen in shock. All the self-assured conviction he’d possessed only moments earlier melted away, the sweet and short-lived taste of victory turning to bile in his mouth.

“What’s wrong, little one? You didn’t really think you’d win against the might of the Galra, did you?”

The cavern erupted into familiar jeers as torches were lit, washing the cave in firelight that bounced off the walls and illuminated the terrified, gagged faces of Keith’s own crew. Even Lance and Romelle—who’d been right behind Keith mere seconds ago—were being forced to their knees, struggling against their captors with wide, desperate eyes as they were shoved to the ground beside Shiro and the Alteans.

He’d barely gotten a good glimpse at the fresh bruise adorning his brother’s eye before his face was being wrenched violently back to meet Sendak’s.

“They cannot help you now, boy,” he hissed, his grip on Keith’s chin one of steadfast iron. “But—play your cards right, and you may be able to help them.”

“He’s lying!”

The sound of Lance’s voice surprised them both enough that Sendak’s grasp on Keith’s jaw slackened, allowing him the freedom to see that Lance had somehow managed to shimmy the gag down to his chin. “Don’t listen to a word he—unffff.”

Lance keeled over as Ren socked him hard in the stomach before yanking the gag back over his mouth with a maniacal grin.

Vision awash with red rage, Keith had just opened his mouth to deliver Morena an empty threat when Sendak stepped towards Lance, obscuring him from Keith’s view.

“Well, Little Blue. I must say, I’m…disappointed.”

“Leave him alone!” Keith lunged towards the pirate captain, efforts thwarted as he was reeled back and pinned to a wide chest.

“Keep still if you know what’s good for you,” Roth’s voice growled by his ear, but Keith paid him no attention, far too focused on Sendak’s cybernetic hand as it reached to grasp Lance’s chin between forefinger and thumb.

Although Roth’s grip around his arms was bruising, Keith still struggled to worm his way out of the pirate’s hold. “Get off me!” he snapped, and then raising his voice for Sendak to hear, “Don’t fucking touch him!”

He hadn’t exactly expected Sendak to listen, but his stomach rolled nonetheless as he watched the Galra captain stroke a thumb along Lance’s jaw. “What would your family have said, I wonder?” Blue and green glared up at him, bright and resilient in the reflection of the flames. “Five years of loyal servitude for their sake, gone in an instant. How pathetically weak-willed you humans are.”

“They would have told him he was brave,” Keith said, continuing to buck against Roth as if that might imbue his words with even more bite. “They’d have been proud.”

Lance’s eyes met his own, his eyebrows furrowed in a wordless thank you, but the moment was promptly shattered by Sendak’s laughter.

“A sweet sentiment,” he mocked, “but I’m afraid that your family is no longer of any concern to you.”

If the pirate captain had expected to break Lance, to watch him crumble into a mess of tears and grief, Keith suspected that he must have been sorely disappointed by the set of Lance’s jaw, the challenging tilt of his chin. Pain touched his eyes, but there was something else there, some seed of assuredness and resilience born from something that Keith could not truly name, shining through the tears that spilled down his cheeks and glinted in the torchlight.

Apparently Sendak saw it too—that burning something in Lance’s expression. Whatever it was had the Galra captain leaning down to tug roughly at the gag over Lance’s mouth. “Something to say, Scout?”

Lance leveled Sendak with a look deadly enough to raise every hair on Keith’s arms.

“One of these days,” he croaked, voice low and raspy, the foreboding whisper of leaves against the ground as they ushered in the winds of winter, “I’ll kill you myself.”

Sendak laughed. “Is that a threat, boy?”

Lance shook his head—just once, the movement as final as if he were issuing a death sentence. “It’s a promise.”

For a moment, oppressive silence hung over the cavern like fog, thick with tension and hatred—and then Sendak chuckled. “Strong words for one with so much left to lose.”

Fear finally crept into Lance’s eyes as Sendak whirled back on Keith, drawing a wicked-looking knife from his belt and crossing over to him almost leisurely, the buckles on his boots rattling with each step.

“Wait—”

No sooner had Lance gasped the word than he was silenced once more by the gag, nearly choking on it as he locked eyes with Keith and yelled something incomprehensible.

The thud of footsteps came to a halt, and Keith grunted as he was once again yanked to meet that glowing cybernetic eye.

“I think we both know,” Sendak growled, knife glinting in the firelight as he brandished it overhead, “that this has been a long time coming, boy.”

Unable to scrounge up even a single word from the buzz of angry thoughts clouding his mind, Keith’s lip curled as he reared back and spat as hard as he could into the Galra’s face. Sendak cursed and jerked backwards, and Keith had only a second to celebrate his miniscule victory before—

Searing hot pain exploded across the right side of his face like fire.

He wasn’t sure whether or not the pained cry that echoed across the cavern belonged to him, though when the black finally receded from his vision, he found himself braced against the floor with both palms and panting as spots danced across his eyes.

When Sendak spoke again, his voice sounded shrouded by static, as if he were communicating through one of the old space radios Keith’s father used to own.

“Let that be a lesson to you, Little Blue, and to any of you who wish to play the hero. Bravery will only yield bloodshed. Now—”

The worn, cracked leather of two boots filled Keith’s swimming vision, and he flinched at the sound of Sendak’s voice right above him. “Search him.”

Keith was jerked upwards, the sudden motion making his head spin, and though he was relatively unfamiliar with the face suddenly hovering inches from his own, the eyes hadn’t changed.

“I trusted you,” he whispered hoarsely, squeezing his right eye shut when the pinprick of hot tears drove the pain in his face to levels unbearable. “Please don’t do this.”

For a moment, Thorn simply held his gaze, her expression as inscrutable and impenetrable as always—

And then she was patting him down, reaching at long last into his pocket and extracting the golden orb that Keith and his crew had worked so hard to keep from this very fate.

“No!” Keith struggled weakly as she held the map up to the firelight, examining it in a large palm. “Thorn—!”

“Finally,” Sendak interrupted, tossing Keith aside as he stalked towards her. Discarded, Keith fell weakly to the floor, hissing in pain when his palms met unforgiving stone. “After years of searching, years of hiding in the shadows—it is mine.”

Thorn offered it to him without a word, and Keith’s heart sank as he watched Sendak’s purple claws close around it. “The riches of Zarkon’s trove, at my fingertips. At long last.”

Sendak’s crew cheered, their revelry a crushing weight that drove any remaining hope to the pit of Keith’s stomach. It pinned him to his spot on the floor, rendering him helpless and immobile, weak beneath his own monumental failure.

A hush fell over the cavern as Sendak turned his attention to the map, eyeing the round digits that adorned the orb before proceeding with his task. His crew watched him work with baited breath, as if even a sigh might break the captain’s concentration. But as Sendak’s muttering grew increasingly frustrated and the map remained resolutely shut, the cavern slowly came alive with murmured conversation, and in the midst of it all…

Keith laughed.

He knew he probably shouldn’t have. His face was on fire, and he couldn’t quite open his right eye, but still—something about the image of the fearsome Galra Captain struggling to open the tiny orb felt like a tiny victory.

It was a snide laugh, one that earned him a swift and enthusiastic kick to the stomach that had him hunched and coughing before he was being hoisted by the lapels of his coat.

“Something funny, boy?” Sendak hissed, far angrier than Keith had ever seen him—but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when Lance and Shiro were somewhere near, gagged and frightened and braced for death.

“‘M not scared of you,” Keith slurred, trying desperately to think through the fog of pain that consumed him. “Fuck off.”

Sendak’s responding growl was a low, terrifying thing—the rumble of a predator that was done playing with its food. “Your arrogance will be your downfall. Why don’t we see how brave you are when I decorate the walls with your brother’s blood?”

Despite himself, Keith swallowed, all at once out of words and out of will. Seeming to notice the light extinguishing behind Keith’s eyes, Sendak’s lip curled before he was dropping Keith back to the floor and shoving the map in his face.

“Open it.”

Wordlessly Keith took it, using what little fight he still had to send the hulking Galra a venomous glare whilst his fingers navigated the map, dexterously prodding and pulling and twisting until—

The cave was awash with blue light, surprising and striking enough that several of the Galra were forced to shield their eyes from the sudden glow. Planets danced around them as nebulas twinkled out of nothingness, stars sparkling to life in the oppressive dark. As usual, the display rendered Keith nearly breathless, and a glance around the room proved that he wasn’t the only one. Even Sendak, severe and cruel as he was, stared slack-jawed as the cosmos swirled around him, a whole lifetime of work finally…finally…

With a silent apology to his crew for any potential repercussions, Keith slammed the map shut, drowning the cavern once more in a dark that felt far blacker than it had before.

“You’re taking us with you.”

The protests of Sendak’s crew were swiftly silenced by a flourish of their captain’s hand, the movement as deadly as if he’d drawn his sword. “What are you playing at, boy?”

Steeling his courage, Keith swallowed, aware that his crew’s lives hinged on his next words. “I’m the only one who knows how to open it. You need me. And I’m not doing shit without them.”

“Need you?” Sendak snarled, a cue for Morena to draw her knife across Lance’s throat, pressing hard enough to draw blood. Blue and green eyes squeezed shut, and Keith’s stomach lurched with dread. “You overestimate your power, human. You will show me how to open this map, or you will suffer my wr—”

“He has a point, you know!”

Every head in the cave whipped towards the chipper voice to find that Romelle had somehow slipped her gag down her chin and was now beaming around at them all as if they were long lost friends. “You can’t do it without him.”

“You.” The pirate captain took a step closer to her, eyes narrowing in thought. “I know you.”

In response, Romelle smiled pleasantly up at him. “I know you!”

“You were Zarkon’s lead engineer.”

“I was,” she agreed.

“You built the map.”

Romelle’s eyes twinkled. “But of course! I won’t deny it was a tricky task—Zarkon was adamant about his failsafes, and combining Galra tech and Altean quintessence was—”

“What failsafes?” Sendak interrupted, impatience turning his voice to a low growl.

“Well.” The Altean cocked her head as if trying to remember. “Zarkon wanted to ensure that whoever opened the map was a worthy heir—as well as Galra, of course—so we rigged it to synch to the biosignature of the first person to crack the code—provided they had Galra blood—”

Keith’s blood ran cold, frost spreading through his veins.

No.

It couldn’t be.

“—was a must.” Through the ringing in his ears, Keith was distantly cognizant that Romelle was still talking, completely unaware that she’d sent his entire world crumbling at his feet. “The micro-readers wouldn’t react unless—”

“Stop.”

A slow smile—wicked and foul—had dawned across Sendak’s face as he turned, undoubtedly having realized the enormity of the truth behind Romelle’s words.

“Well.” His footsteps were amplified in the hush of the cavern as he stepped slowly over to Keith, who scrambled back as dread crept into the pit of his stomach. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” Keith bit, fear and unease turning him defensive.

He wasn’t—he couldn’t be…he refused to believe—

Without warning, Sendak was in his face, crowding him against the ground as he ducked closer and drew in a breath.

“Your scent.”

He chuckled as he drew back, rising to his feet once more. “It eludes me no longer. Not quite human. Not quite us. An abomination,” he hissed, eyes glittering with simultaneous contempt and glee. “Vermin.”

“I’m—I’m not.” Keith’s heart thundered away in his chest as he sought Lance, who watched him a few feet away with furrowed brows. “I can’t be,” he pleaded, unsure who he was trying to convince. His gaze turned almost frantically to Shiro, whose eyes were wide with surprise. “Dad is—”

“Human, yes.” Sendak sounded as if he were enjoying the punchline to the world’s sickest joke. “But your mother? You never knew her, did you?”

For the first time since their capture, Keith was completely lost for words, sick to his stomach with dread and wishing, more than ever, for his father.

Sendak laughed again, his eyes flicking between Keith’s as he watched him unravel. “She was a disgrace. To lie with a species so weak, so fragile…pathetic. It’s no wonder she left.”

“She—” Keith’s voice broke. “She didn’t—”

“I’d wager she couldn’t even face the shame. She was a coward.”

Sparks of warm memory danced across Keith’s mind, each marred and tainted by the horror of this new revelation. Soured were the memories of late night conversations beneath the stars, curled up against his father as he recounted stories of Keith’s mother, sweet anecdotes of their time spent falling for one another.

She loved you, his father had always said, his voice so tortured that Keith had never had the heart to ask what’d happened to her—to ask how she must have died to warrant that level of pain. You were her whole world.

The words used to make Keith ache, both with love and loss, but now…

Now, they made him nothing but sick.

Seemingly satisfied, Sendak waved Thorn forward, keeping his eyes resolutely trained on Keith. “Separate the boy’s crew for the night,” he instructed. “We leave at first light.”

Thorn’s brows furrowed. “Do you mean for them to accompany us to the trove, Captain?”

“I do.” Sendak’s smile turned saccharine. “Death would be too kind, Lieutenant. The boy will lead us to the trove come morning. He may take the night to contemplate his…” As Sendak cocked his head, one of his sharp canines glinted in the firelight. “Heritage.”

“And his crew?”

“Perhaps we shall need the extra hands—and perhaps they may keep those hands, provided the boy remains in line.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Thorn turned to the cavern at large, surveying each of the pirates' faces as she addressed them. “You all heard your Captain! Prepare our camp. We move at dawn.”

The responding commotion had Keith flinching against the floor, and he hardly had a moment’s recovery before someone was hitting the ground beside him with a pained grunt.

“Fuck you, Ren. You didn’t have to throw me.”

The emergence of Lance’s voice at his side was enough motivation to send Keith propping himself up on shaky arms, crawling towards him with an urgent need to be held.

“Lance—”

“And get him some salve, or he’s not gonna be able to fuckin’ see in the morning,” Lance called after her retreating form, “let alone—”

“Lance.”

It was Lance who closed the distance between them, urgent hands flying over Keith’s hair and hovering around his marred face before settling for his shoulders. “Oh, Keith. I got you, sweetheart.”

Keith swallowed around the knot in his throat, hands rising to touch every inch of Lance that he could reach—shoulders, neck, face, his touch desperate and searching as his boyfriend pulled him closer. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Lance’s voice broke, his hand reaching to cup the good side of Keith’s face. “Keith.”

“Please, Lance, just—”

“I’m okay.” Doting fingers brushed through Keith’s hair, and Lance’s voice grew hushed and soothing. “I’m okay.”

“Good.”

Something about the way Lance was looking at him rendered Keith unable to maintain eye contact. He squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned into Lance’s touch—the feeling of Lance’s palm against his cheek the only thing viscerally grounding him to reality and sanity.

She was a coward.

Tears pricked at Keith’s eyes.

“I didn’t know,” he uttered hoarsely, his heart a lump of coal in the pit of his stomach. “Dad never—”

“I know.”

The gentleness of Lance’s tone drew Keith’s eyes back to him, even as staunchly determined as Keith’d been to avoid that gaze.

“How are you okay with this?” he asked, taking a shuddering breath as he searched Lance’s eyes. “I’m Galra. You—”

“Half Galra,” Lance corrected, brushing a thumb over Keith’s cheekbone. “And even if you were full, I wouldn’t fucking care. You’re nothing like them.”

Overcome with love, Keith mirrored Lance, bringing trembling fingers up to graze against lightly freckled cheeks. “But what if my mom was a pi—”

“It doesn’t matter. I know you’re hurting, and you have every right…but this doesn’t change who you are, Keith. You’re still—”

Lance’s lips quirked into a small smile, shy and vulnerable and sweet. “You’re still the guy I fell in love with.”

Something fervent and warm reignited in Keith’s chest, some shred of resilience that’d become lost to the oppressive dark. When Lance’s smile deepened, bathing Keith in familiarity and ardor, Keith was once again struck by the thought that—if they ever got out of this—he wouldn’t mind seeing that smile for the rest of his life.

“You told me once,” Lance continued, combing Keith’s hair behind an ear, his voice steady and assured, “that nothing would ever change the way you felt about me. You remember that?”

When Keith nodded, Lance trailed his hand down the side of Keith’s arm till it found his hand, lifting it slowly to his lips and planting a tender kiss to his palm—a far more intimate and meaningful kiss than any they’d shared. “Nothing is ever gonna change the way I feel about you.” His dimpled grin was the first dappled rays of light piercing the clouds after a thunderstorm. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, doll. I’m in this for the long haul.”

Keith laughed, an ugly, wet thing that brought on a fresh wave of searing pain—but through it all, Lance’s hands were steady in his, an unshakable anchor keeping him tethered to hope.

“Thank you,” he whispered, longing to kiss him.

Lance’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he nudged his nose against Keith’s. “Eh. Don’t mention it. And for the record—I don’t know why she left, but your mom missed out. Bigtime.”

“I don’t need her.” Keith’s voice was firm, even to his own ears. He cradled Lance’s face between his hands, sure in that moment that he’d die before he let any harm come to him. “I don’t need some—some deadbeat mom to make me feel whole, Lance. All I need is—”

Something fell between them with a thwack, bouncing off their laps and smacking onto the wet floor. The two of them startled, breaking away to find Thorn hovering over them with a neutral expression.

“The medicine you requested. I would apply it quickly if you’d like to save his eye.”

“No shit,” Lance snapped, all traces of warmth gone from his voice and face as he reached for the packet. “That’s fuckin’ genius, Thorn. Thanks.”

Feeling brave, Keith met her eyes, channeling as much cold hatred as he could muster into his expression. “I can’t believe I thought you were different,” he growled. In front of him, Lance struggled to tear the packet of medication open, but Keith kept his eyes resolutely trained on his former mentor. “You’re just as much of a monster as the rest of them.”

Thorn’s eyes flashed dangerously in the low light, yet her stony expression revealed nothing.

“It is as I told you when we met,” she hissed, turning to walk away but directing the last words smoothly over her shoulder. “You can never be too careful.”

Any attempt at a retort was stilled on Keith’s tongue as Lance touched his hand, drawing his focus back to kind eyes. “Ignore her. It’s just me and you, okay? Let’s get you patched up.”

When another glance proved that Thorn had returned to Sendak’s side, the two murmuring together in low voices as they surveyed the shadowy figures settling in for the night, Keith swallowed. “Where’s—”

“He and Coran are somewhere by the entrance with Roth,” Lance hurried, as if reading Keith’s mind. “And I think I saw Rave take Allura and Romelle further back—like, way behind us. Kosmo’s somewhere back there too,” he grunted, gritting his teeth as he struggled with the pack in his hands until it finally tore. With a relieved sigh, he dipped a couple fingers into the salve before regarding Keith with a crease in his brows. “This is gonna hurt.”

If Keith had thought he was prepared for the pain, he was sorely mistaken. The first graze of Lance’s fingers against his cheek burned, ice-cold and excruciating. It was all he could do to keep his mouth shut, his clenched teeth barring any cry of pain from escaping.

“I know,” Lance whispered—and it was only when his boyfriend spoke that Keith even realized he’d squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

Keith wasn’t sure how long they sat like that—Lance meticulously applying salve and Keith immobilized by pain—but eventually, the agonizing burn dulled to a numb throb, and Lance was pulling away as he wiped leftover salve against his pants.

“Okay,” he muttered, giving Keith’s face one more scrutinizing look before nodding. “All done. Now we just…hope it heals up okay.”

“How bad is it?”

He’d refrained from asking, too scared to actually hear the answer—but now the question slipped out, tentative and nervous. Lance huffed fondly, his eyes going gentle and sad as he tucked Keith’s hair behind his ear again. “It’s gonna leave a mark, that’s for sure.”

When Keith gave a reluctant laugh, Lance leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “I won’t lie to you, it’s…intense, but when it’s all healed up you’re still gonna be as handsome as ever.”

Keith blinked. It really wasn’t the time for this, nor was it the place, but…

“You think I’m handsome?”

To his surprise, that pulled a real laugh out of Lance—one that had Ren hissing at them for silence from her spot next to Sendak and Thorn a few yards away.

“Well, duh,” Lance grunted, lowering himself to sit next to Keith and pressing their shoulders together. “It was really hard to hate you when you were so fuckin’ pretty.”

“So’re you.” Keith swallowed, feeling particularly stupid when Lance looked at him. “Thought so since the moment we met.”

“Yeah?” Stars above, Keith didn’t even have to look at him. He could practically feel the shit-eating grin burning into his face. “That why you couldn’t take your eyes off me that day?”

“Yeah,” Keith confessed, part of him surprised at himself for doing so. The other part was tired, and scared, and sought sweetness like an ointment for his wounded heart. “Thought you had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen.”

He’d been expecting more gentle teasing, but instead, Lance’s head fell against his shoulder. After a small pause, he murmured, “I used to hate them when I was younger, you know.”

“Really?”

Lance nuzzled against him, making himself more comfortable as he settled in. “Oh yeah. You know how it goes. Kids are mean n’ shit. But one day mom comes back from the market and she’s blown, like, two months' savings on that little marble, just because it reminded her of me. Liked ‘em a lot better after that.”

Keith huffed against Lance’s hair as realization dawned on him. “So that marble—”

“Is the only thing I have left of her, yeah. Or—my whole family, really. Sendak didn’t exactly let me pack. I just left with the clothes on my back and whatever happened to be in my pocket.”

Ignoring the jolt of pain along his face, Keith turned his head, angling himself to press a kiss to Lance’s hair. “Is it safe?”

“Yup.” Lance patted his pants pocket, speech beginning to slur with fatigue. “Always.”

“Good.” Keith kissed him again, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he lowered them both slowly to the floor. Catching on, Lance followed suit, snuggling up against his chest the moment Keith’s back hit hard ground.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, both exhausted to the bone.

“What’re we gonna do, Keith?”

With a long inhale, Keith pulled him closer, heart aching when Lance’s arm wound around his chest. “I don’t know. But we’re gonna figure it out together.”

“Together.” He giggled—a quiet, sleepy thing. “Never been ‘n love before. Feels nice.”

“Yeah.” Keith’s heart swelled with affection as he brushed Lance’s hair from his forehead. “It does.”

When Lance mumbled something unintelligible in response, Keith found his gaze straying to the firelight, where Thorn and Sendak still sat conspiring—and something in Keith snapped back to life, blazing fiercely away in his chest.

I’m getting you out of this alive, he promised the boy in his arms, the thought making him feel invulnerable. And I’m bringing you home.

…

He awoke in the morning to a swift and unpleasant kick to his side, courtesy of Roth, who grinned wickedly down at him. “Up you get, navigator. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

Before Keith could tell Roth to fuck off, Lance grumbled against his chest and shifted sleepily until he’d managed to throw the pirate a lewd gesture. When Keith sniggered, Roth’s lip curled, and Keith prepared for another kick as he drew his foot back and—

“Roth!” Thorn’s voice cut clear and sharp across the cavern, jerking Roth immediately to attention. “The captain’s returned from scouting. Cease this foolishness and attend to him at once.”

With a low growl, Roth wrenched himself away, striding towards the entrance of the cavern without so much as another word to Thorn, who watched the boys from a distance with her piercing gaze. “You two. Up,” she commanded. “I recommend you take special care not to anger the captain. I don’t think I need to remind you—” her voice was icy as her gaze found Keith’s, “that your crew’s lives hang on a thread.”

“We get it.” Lance propped himself up, hair mussed on one side from a night spent sleeping against Keith’s chest. “Doom and gloom, yeah yeah. We’re up.”

Keith waited for a reprimand, but none came. Instead, Thorn merely narrowed her eyes before turning, weaving through the busy chaos of her crew and out of the cave.

“How do you think she and Sendak fit through the tunnel?” Half of Lance’s words were obscured by a yawn as he stretched, coaxing several alarming cracks out of his back. “You think they use their nano-tech to shrink, or something? Imagine how dumb Sendak would look if he was, like, a foot tall.”

Despite the urgency of the moment, Keith could feel a smile creep onto his face as he regarded the man he loved, disheveled and exhausted but a spitfire nonetheless. As if it had a mind of its own, Keith’s hand extended towards him, fingers tangling in Lance’s hair and palm settling against his cheek. “Hi.”

The sunshine grin he received in return made something in his stomach flutter. “Hi,” Lance greeted, his eyes going soft. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Keith admitted, finding that the searing pain in the right side of his face had settled into a dull ache. “How’s it look?”

“Better,” Lance echoed, shifting forward onto his knees and taking Keith’s face gently into his hands. “It’s healing up pretty nicely, actually.”

He was so close that Keith had only to lean forward ever so slightly to kiss him, pulling him in by the waist as he tried wordlessly to thank him—for his companionship and his strength, but most of all for his love.

They were separating long before either of them wanted to, eyes closed as they pressed their foreheads together.

“We should stop,” Lance breathed, tilting his chin up enough to kiss the tip of Keith’s nose as his fingertips grazed the right side of his face, careful to avoid his healing wound. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” Keith reiterated, surprised by how much he meant it. It was as if the events of the previous night had made him stronger, somehow—the ache in his face a constant reminder that he’d survived, that he was still alive. “And I’m gonna get us out of this.”

Lance pulled away with something that looked like resigned defeat in his eyes. “Keith—”

“No.” Rocking back onto his heels, Keith pushed himself to his feet, dusting his hands against his pants before offering them to Lance. Around them, pirates milled about as they readied for the day’s excursion, but all that mattered to Keith in that moment was the boy at his feet.

“I need you with me,” he urged, his voice hushed yet full of conviction. “I know you’re scared, but this isn’t gonna work if you give up. We’re a team, Lance—remember?”

The two of them fell silent as one of the Galra passed close enough to make them nervous. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lance sighed, eyeing Keith’s extended hand. “We don’t have a plan.”

“I know. But you trust me, right?”

Green and blue eyes searched his own as resolve hardened behind them, and with an air of finality, Lance placed both his hands in Keith’s upturned palms, allowing himself to be tugged to his feet.

“With all my heart.”

They made their way out of the cavern together, hands connected as they weaved through pirates and ignored the sneers and smug remarks thrown their way. It was only after they’d squeezed out of the rock crevice and into open daylight that they were truly separated, Lance yanked away from him and ushered off to stand beside Shiro—who shot him a helpless, furtive glance.

Keith, on the other hand, was practically thrown in front of Sendak, nearly spraining his wrists for what felt like the upteenth time as he caught himself on the jungle floor.

“Good morning, Red,” Sendak rumbled, seconds before a clawed hand was closing around Keith’s jaw and yanking him to his feet. “You’ve healed well.”

“The name’s Keith,” he bit, trying and failing to wrench his head from the pirate’s grip.

The rest of Sendak’s crew tittered, and the captain’s mouth stretched into a grin that showcased every one of his sharp teeth. “There’s that Galra fire," he hissed, giving Keith’s head a little shake before letting him go. “You’ll make a worthy addition to our crew.”

Rage bubbled up Keith’s throat, red-hot and uncontainable. It built within him, a pressure that rose and rose until—

He snarled.

The sound was so animal, so distinctly Galra, that Keith’s anger dissipated almost instantly, scuttling back down his throat as his eyes widened in surprise. “I—”

“Well!” Sendak thumped him on the back, and the rest of the pirate crew exploded into laughter. Keith cast an embarrassed glance over his shoulder, longing to find his brother’s eyes. He was only able to catch a glimpse of furrowed, worried brows and a shock of white hair before Sendak had laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’re finding your true voice, Little Red. It feels powerful, doesn’t it?”

Lost for words, Keith could do little more than gape up at Sendak as he tried to recover his wits. There was no way that sound had come from…from…

“Now.” Disregarding Keith’s blatant mental turmoil, Sendak reached into a pocket, withdrawing the map with one hand and grabbing Keith’s wrist with the other. “You have a job to do, halfling,” he sneered, shoving the map into Keith’s hands.

Halfling.

The word was somehow enough to jumpstart Keith’s stalled motor, bringing the world back into focus as hatred pulsed through his veins.

You’re not gonna win, Keith silently promised, glaring up at the hulking Galra as muscle memory guided his fingers once more over the map. You piece of shit.

The orb burst open with more vigor than it normally did, as if it could sense that the trove was near—but this time, instead of revealing a map, a beam of blue light shot off into the distance, piercing through the foliage and beyond.

“It appears,” Sendak muttered, resting a hand on Keith’s shoulder as the two of them gazed after the beacon in awe, “we have finally found our course. Good work, Little Red.”

Turning back to his crew, Sendak withdrew his curved saber, slicing it through the air in an arc as he gestured in the direction of the blue beam. “After that light—quickly, now! Glory and riches await!”

…

For the next several hours they walked, following the beam over rough terrain and through thick jungle and stopping for nothing save the occasional animal attack—which Keith learned very quickly not to fear. Sendak was an unstoppable force, close enough to his life’s goal that nothing stood a chance at the fierce swing of his blade.

Keith wondered how soon it might be before he, too, felt its wrath.

As the hours continued to multiply, he could almost feel the pirates’ mounting frustration, could hear the restless murmurs and the slackening footfalls of the crew behind him. More than once, Sendak was forced to turn and command a quicker pace, an order usually met by fearful wide eyes and frantic apologies.

Behind them all, bringing up the rear of their party, was Keith’s crew. Where Keith had been ‘honored’ with a position up front at Sendak’s side—hands free to hold the map—his crew had gotten the rotten end of the deal, their wrists tied together with thick twine as they were tugged along at an inhumane pace. Sweat soaked through their clothes and dampened their hair as they struggled forward on shaky legs, exhaustion evident in the slump of their bodies and the gradual decrease of their speed.

Traits that did not appear to be present in Keith.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d walked, but it was only when Lance stumbled out of exhaustion (Keith nearly blew a gasket when Roth tugged him roughly back up to his feet) that Keith realized he simply…wasn’t tired. He knew that he should be—knew that he’d slept restlessly and that the past couple days had been the most rigorous days of his entire life—but as his crew faltered behind him, Keith found himself matching Sendak’s persistent stride without fail. It was as if the previous night’s truth had unlocked something within him and multiplied it tenfold—some part of him that he’d never quite gotten to examine; the part that’d always been faster and stronger and more agile than his fellow peers, that’d allowed him to pull Lance from the gaping maw of a black hole, a feat no human should have been able to accomplish.

But then again, he wasn’t…human. The evidence was layered atop memory after memory, reaching all the way back to his childhood and so ingrained in his being that he wondered how he hadn’t seen it sooner—how he hadn’t questioned it sooner. He wondered if Shiro had known, or suspected, or if their father had ever told him—if maybe this was just another secret of many that he’d kept from them.

Most of all, he found his thoughts straying to his mother: who she was and why she’d left. He’d thought about her in the past, sure, but he had always assumed she’d passed away, or that she’d left his father over some irreconcilable issue.

Now, he wasn’t so sure. His mother had been Galra, which wouldn’t exactly have boded well for her relationship with his father. As much as Keith would have liked to deny it, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the two of them. It wasn’t as if Galra were exactly welcome throughout the galaxy, regardless of pirate status or not, but Keith…

Well. In his heart, Keith was pretty sure his father hadn’t fallen for some pirate.

Despite the lies, and despite the secrets, Owen Kogane was a good man. Keith had always known that. His father had been his entire world for as long as he could remember, someone whose kindness and compassion he would never cease to idolize.

Whoever his mother had been, she’d been someone worthy of Owen Kogane’s love. Of that, Keith was certain.

He was so lost in the thought of her that he nearly walked into Sendak’s back when the pirate stopped, ramrod straight and exuding tension as he stared dead ahead. When Keith followed his gaze, his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

Ahead of them was an enormous cliff face, sheer unscalable rock stretching up for what seemed like miles. It would have been a breathtaking sight—if not for the insistent pulse of the blue beam against impenetrable rock.

For a second, the only sound was that of ragged breathing, and then—

“Is this some kind of trick, boy?”

Sendak’s lips were curled in anger, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. Heart racing, Keith eyed it nervously before turning back to the map, looking frantically between it and the rock wall as if either one might turn sentient and give him answers.

“No! It’s—I don’t know. Maybe there’s something behind it?”

The pirate captain’s eyes burned. “Something behind the mountain?”

“That’s gotta be the only ex—”

“Then you’ve led us to a dead end.”

Anger boiled up Keith’s throat, and again he snarled, the sound just as unfamiliar as it had been a few hours ago but strangely emboldening. “You saw the same thing I did. It was a straight path all the way here. We probably just have to go around the—”

With a sickening little blip and a whir of gears, the map in his hands closed, taking with it not only the beam but Keith’s last hopes of his crew’s survival.

“Fuck,” he whispered, scrambling after a breathless second to poke at indents that would no longer depress, almost as if the map had locked itself.

Beside him, Sendak bellowed in wordless rage before grabbing Keith by his jacket and hoisting him into the air. He kicked, valiantly attempting to hold on to the map as he grunted with effort. “Just let me—”

“Even now, you still think yourself in a position to use leverage?”

“I didn’t do this!” One of Keith’s kicking feet collided with Sendak’s shin, which prompted an angry roar. “It just closed by itself, I don’t know what’s—”

“Then you’d better figure it out, vermin,” Sendak seethed as he tossed Keith to the ground and unsheathed his sword, pointing it towards the group of gagged prisoners at the rear of the party. “Lest your crew lose their heads!”

Behind them, the pirates clamored in angry agreement and Keith’s heart raced, out of options and out of time. Head spinning, he pushed himself to his knees, eyes darting frantically to meet his brother’s…and Lance’s, and then Allura’s and Coran’s, finding nothing but the same bittersweet resignation in all their faces.

No.

“I can do this!” he yelled from his spot on the floor, unsure who exactly he was trying to persuade. His trembling fingers rounded the map, pressing and twisting in vain as the orb refused to open. “Why the fuck won’t it—”

“Captain, if I may.”

Keith’s attention was ripped away from the map and towards Morena, who had parted with the throng of pirates and an antsy-looking Kosmo and was slithering forward with a look of burning contempt on her face—every ounce of hatred in her eyes trained on Keith.

“The boy clearly lies.”

“Fuck off,” Keith bit, turning back to the task at hand. He jabbed angrily—desperately—at each of the map’s digits. “I just—need a fucking second.”

“So you do not know how to handle the device?”

“I—I do, I just—”

“Then why isn’t it open?” Her voice was low, a dangerous hiss. “He deceives us, my Captain, surely you see.”

“And what,” Sendak growled, rage simmering beneath his words, “do you propose I do about it, Morena?”

Her eyes flashed with a wicked light. “Kill him where he stands.”

The jungle seemed to still, birdsong falling quiet and wind dying in the trees, as if the very planet itself awaited Sendak’s verdict.

Keith’s heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his hands against the metal ball clutched tightly between them.

And then: “No.”

Eyes shutting in relief, Keith released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, even as Morena hissed angrily.

“Captain—”

“I’ll not repeat myself, Morena. The boy may prove to be a valuable asset, and he and Blue shall make fine slaves.”

“What about the rest of them then?” With a sweep of her clawed hand, she gestured towards Keith’s crew, who—despite being gagged, somehow managed to look a lot braver than Keith felt. “Why not kill them? They are a danger, Captain.”

“They’re no use to us dead. The human may yield information about the Galaxy Garrison, if we prove…persuasive enough,” he purred, tapping the hilt of his sword. “And the Alteans have yet to answer for their crimes against our people.”

“But—”

“This isn’t a discussion, snake,” Sendak snapped. “I suggest you get back in line and remember your place.”

“I could do it myself.” There was something strangely desperate in Morena’s voice, something so cruel and animalistic that it had Keith shuddering, edging away from her until his knee dipped into an indent in the ground—small and circular and hard, like cement.

What was…

“You wouldn’t need to lift a finger, Captain. Our biggest liability taken care of.”

As Keith brushed soil and treefall aside, fingers scrabbling to uncover whatever it was that his knee had hit, he watched from his peripherals as Sendak took a step towards Morena. “You wish to free us from liability?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Keith knew what was going to happen a split second before it did, his attention momentarily diverted from his digging to the flash of Sendak’s sword, the cry of terror—

And then the remains of Morena, severed at the neck, falling to the jungle floor with a muted thump.

“Would anyone else like to question my judgment?” Sendak roared as Keith pawed desperately at the soil, suddenly terrified of what the pirate captain might do if he didn’t deliver. He wasn’t even sure what exactly he was digging for, but it’d felt too smooth and carved to just be a natural divot in the rock.

With trembling hands, Keith finally brushed away the last of the dirt, shock rendering him momentarily hesitant as he ran his fingers over a depression in the ground the exact size and shape of the orb, etched with patterns that were an exact match for those on the map in his hands.

“—and you.” Keith was distantly aware that Sendak was talking to him now, though he could barely focus over his own rapid-fire heartbeat. “You’d best figure this out, or—”

The pirate captain never got to finish the threat.

Keith practically plunged the map into the divot, scrambling backwards when the sphere pulsed and sent lines of blue light running across the jungle floor and up the cliff face. Up and up the lines traveled, glowing brighter as they multiplied, the initial lines breaking into more until they’d formed a dense network of pulsing blue that lit the whole cliff.

And then—

And then, Keith was no longer staring at a cliff.

The rock wall vanished as if it had never been there, an illusion likely contrived from the very same Altean magic that’d created the map. Where moments earlier there had been sheer rock, there lay before them now the gaping maw of an enormous cavern, the hollowed inside of a great mountain, and within it…

A hand landed on Keith’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll be,” Sendak murmured, awe and greed alike creeping into his voice as he took in rolling hills of gold coin and glittering gems, stretching on for what seemed like miles. “You really don’t disappoint, do you boy?”

As Keith rose to his feet—wholly lost for words at the sight before him and unable to form even a single thought—Sendak chuckled and bent, snatching the map from the divot and pocketing it before turning back to his crew. “You lot,” he ordered, but Keith had no idea who he was talking to, too captivated and dumbstruck by the enormity of the trove and the volume of Zarkon’s loot. “Remain out here with the prisoners. The rest of you, with me. Bring the scientist—she may be useful.”

Someone shouted an affirmative, and Sendak’s hand tightened around Keith’s shoulder. “And bring Blue,” he added, the command enough to finally draw Keith’s attention. “I’d like to keep a close eye on our dear cabin boys,” he rumbled, giving Keith’s shoulder a painful squeeze. “I trust you’ll be on your best behavior.”

“Wait.” Clarity was beginning to dawn on Keith, the fog that’d settled over his mind at the sight of the trove finally clearing as his stomach churned. “You want us to go in?”

“But of course, Little Red,” the captain purred, his voice sending chills down Keith’s spine. “You belong to me now, after all.”

Any possible response was lost as something hit Keith’s shoulder, and he turned to find that Lance had been shoved towards him, wrists untied but gag still in place. With a malicious smile, Sendak reached out to tug it down. “You won’t give me any trouble, will you, Blue?”

Lance remained silent, glaring at Sendak with an expression that Keith had never seen him wear before.

Apparently, Sendak had, because the smile left his face almost as quickly as it’d come. “I don’t need to remind you that you still have much left to lose, boy.”

Keith could practically feel Lance’s body tense as he drew in a breath to speak, no doubt to say something reckless and angry that Keith might have normally applauded—but now, Keith found himself snaking a hand into his boyfriend’s, sending him a subtle shake of his head as soon as their eyes met.

The burning rage behind blue and green dulled into something softer, yet no less passionate, and Lance squeezed his hand in response.

“We’ll comply,” Keith conceded, trying his best to look resigned and broken even as his mind scrambled for a plan. “Just—please don’t hurt our friends.”

“Of course, Red,” Sendak responded. One corner of the pirate’s mouth crept up into a smile, and Keith got the sense that he wasn’t the only one lying through his teeth. “You have my word.”

When Keith nodded, Sendak grinned, turning his attention to the rest of his crew. “Let’s move!”

No sooner had he given the order than Keith was being thrust forward by a sharp prod at his back, and though he’d never been in this sort of situation before, Keith could damn well guess what the press of a blaster against his lower spine felt like.

He’d taken a couple steps when someone else collided with his shoulder, and he turned to find Romelle beaming pleasantly at him, freed from her bindings and gag.

“Oh! Hello, Keith!” she greeted, not waiting for a response before craning her head to look around him. “Hi, Lance!”

“Hi,” Keith answered, as Lance sighed, “Hey, Romelle,” from Keith’s left.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Romelle asked, eyes glittering with awe. “Zarkon’s trove.”

As if someone had flicked a switch, her palpable joy turned suddenly to what looked like apprehension. “Do either of you feel like you’re forgetting something?” she asked, cocking her head at the two of them as their party neared the entrance.

“My fuckin’ sanity, maybe,” Lance muttered darkly, even as Keith cast a glance behind him, catching only a glimpse of white hair and familiar brown eyes—eyes that he longed to say goodbye to—before he was being jabbed roughly in the back.

“Eyes forward,” the pirate behind him ordered gruffly, and Keith complied with a sigh, worry creeping anxiously up his throat at the thought of being separated from his brother.

He had no time to dwell on Shiro’s safety, nor even on Lance’s or Romelle’s, as Sendak’s hand reached out to grab him, fingers twisting around his shirt and pulling him right up to the mouth of the cave.

“What do you make of this, Red?”

For a moment, Keith wasn’t sure what he was referring to—and then he blinked, suddenly aware of the faint shimmer of blue in his vision. A look around (Keith had to crane his neck at this angle) proved that the entire entrance was covered by it, a film so thin that Keith wasn’t surprised that none of them had seen it till they’d gotten close.

“Looks like some sort of shield, or something,” Keith murmured, bringing a palm up to hover an inch away from the blue film. Even though he wasn’t touching it, he could feel the way it pulsed with energy, as if it were a living organism. “I think it might be—”

“Altean magic!”

All eyes turned to Romelle, whose Altean markings—soft blue and nestled at the crest of her cheekbones—had begun to glow. “It helps to toggle the trove’s disguise!”

“Is it safe to pass through?” Keith asked, not quite liking the way the magic pulsed under his hand—almost as if it were trying to keep him out.

“I suppose,” came Sendak’s low voice, “there’s only one way to find out, Little Red.”

Keith hardly had a second to protest—much less to even process Sendak’s words—before he was being shoved forward, vision distorting for a microsecond before…before…

“Holy shit,” he whispered, almost too transfixed by the shift of gold coins beneath his boots to notice Sendak stepping through behind him, pushing him out of the way with one meaty hand as his giant feet sank slightly into the shifting treasure.

The rest of the Galra pushed through the barrier and past Keith with hushed words of awe, every one of them captivated as they waded through heaps of treasure with dreamy expressions on their faces. For his own part, Keith could hardly move, almost in a trance as he gazed at the incomprehensible expanse that lay before him.

“I can’t believe this place actually exists.”

The sound of Lance’s voice was enough to shake him from his reverie, and Keith turned to find him staring slack-jawed at the glittering gems hanging like stalactites from the ceiling.

“Five years,” he continued, coming to rest at Keith’s side, “and I never thought I’d—I never thought we’d…shit. We’re actually here.”

Keith reached for his hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” Lance’s eyes snapped sharply towards the band of pirates, already a good distance away as they stumbled unrelentingly on. “How are we gonna do this, Keith?”

As if on cue, Roth bent down towards a pile of gems with an elated cry, withdrawing a large nugget of crystalized quintessence.

“You and I both know if they get out of here with that shit, no one’s gonna be able to stop them,” Lance whispered, angling his face towards Keith’s ear as the two of them watched Sendak snatch the quintessence from Roth’s hands. The captain hoisted it triumphantly into the air, sending the pirates scattering in all directions with orders to find more. “Not us, or the Galaxy Garrison or any army. And if they find that weapon…”

“We’re fucked,” Keith finished, eyes darting around the trove as he searched for anwers.

“No kidding.” For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound being various exclamations as the pirates drew further and further away. “Sendak will use that weapon to destroy everything.”

“Not if we find it first.” He turned to Lance with a ferocity he didn’t know he possessed, catching his other hand and giving them both a squeeze. “We split up—I know you don’t want to,” he rushed as Lance opened his mouth to protest, “but we’ll cover more ground that way.”

Lance sighed, the sound so world-weary and lost that Keith found himself once again struck by the fact that he’d been lost to space for a long, long time. “We don’t even know what we’re looking for,” he groaned, just as Keith’s eyes strayed to Romelle, who was muttering pleasantly to herself as she ambled aimlessly a few feet away.

“No,” he agreed, already tugging Lance along by the hand. “But she does.”

“The—are you serious?” Lance hissed as they approached her. “The chick’s got a few screws loose, Keith.”

“That doesn’t mean she won’t remember. Plus, she mentioned it yesterday,” Keith countered, hastily returning Romelle’s wave as soon as she’d noticed them. “Romelle, we were—”

“Hi!”

“Hi,” Keith amended, practically vibrating out of his skin with impatience. “Lance and I were wondering if you knew where Zarkon’s weapon was,” he whispered, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being overheard, though most of the pirates were much too far away now for any real worry. “If you can remember anything at all…”

“Weapon?” Romelle frowned, the expression unfamiliar on her. “You mean his ship? That was destroyed—”

“By the Blade of Marmora, we know,” Lance cut in, sounding about ten times more impatient than Keith. “But all the legends say he made some sort of lethal weapon out of quintessence and stored it here for safekeeping. You said yourself it took you weeks to build.”

Keith nodded vigorously, not quite liking the lack of recognition in Romelle’s eyes. “Right. And if Sendak finds it, he’s gonna hurt a lot of people. Me and Lance need to find it first and make sure that doesn’t happen, so…do you know where it is?”

The Altean girl’s nose scrunched up in thought, and for one hopeful second, it seemed as if she’d remembered something, but Keith’s hopes were dashed a moment later. “No.”

“Great.” Lance released Keith’s hand to run both hands through his hair, causing it to stick up in every direction. “Well, you’ve been zero help, thanks for n—”

“You have to know!” Keith pressed, ignoring Lance in favor of reaching desperately for her shoulders. “Please, it’s—we’d be looking for something big, a—a planet killer, or—”

“If only I could remember,” she lamented, hands twisting into her hair. “I—I’m forgetting something, there’s something important that I can’t…” Her breathing spiked, tears springing to the corners of her eyes. “I just can’t—!”

“Hey, hey! It’s okay,” Keith reassured, even as Lance placed a gentle hand on his back with a quiet murmur of his name. “Lance and I will find it.”

“Can I help?” she asked, dislodging a tear as she nodded.

Keith winced and brushed it away as he searched for the right words. “Look,” he started, glancing at Lance briefly before returning to her searching gaze. “You’ve been plenty of help, okay? Without you, Sendak would have killed us both last night. We just…want to keep you safe.”

It was the kindest way he could think of to say, we really need you out of the way, but Romelle nodded again, and Keith gave her a smile. “Think you can stay hidden for us? We’ll come get you before we leave, I promise.”

“We promise,” Lance gently corrected.

“I…” Romelle looked between them, undoubtedly deciding whether or not to trust them, and Keith couldn’t help but feel relieved that she still had enough wherewithal to comprehend when she might be in danger. “Alright,” she finally agreed, nodding resolutely. “I won't let you down.”

“Neither will we,” Keith promised. “Just—stay by the entrance, okay?”

“Keith.” Lance’s voice was a gentle murmur, kind yet urgent. “We need to move.”

“Right.” Releasing their new Altean friend, Keith stepped back to glance around the cavern, taking stock of endless mounds of treasure and feeling far less confident than he had a few minutes ago. “I go right, you go left?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lance agreed.

“Okay,” Keith muttered, already moving as he scoured the towering piles of gold ahead of him. “I’ll see you—”

“Wait.”

He was tugged back to Lance by a hand around his wrist and immediately pulled into a kiss—short, yet lingering. “Stay close, okay? If something happens—”

Keith pulled him in by the back of the neck for another almost bruising kiss, this one possessing a ferocity that the last had not. “I will,” he murmured—and then he was on his way, turning from Lance before he could lose his nerve and setting off towards the towering heaps of treasure.

It didn’t take him long to realize that he was completely and utterly out of his depth.

Surrounded by mountainous stacks that reached high above his head, Keith was losing faith by the second. The cavern had to have been several miles long, and there was no telling how far down it went—or rather, how high the treasure was stacked. He weaved through the piles almost aimlessly, struck by the sinking feeling that the weapon could be buried several feet below him and he’d never know.

His only cause for hope, it seemed, was that the pirates hadn’t found it. Every glimpse he managed to catch of them through the stacks proved that they were still searching, each one digging through gemstones and loading quintessence into burlap sacks.

He had just resigned himself to regrouping with Lance—hopeful that his partner had been luckier than he—when his mouth was covered without warning, an arm snaking around his torso and lifting him into the air.

Heart suddenly racing, Keith struggled against his unseen assailant, pounding a fist against a purple arm until he was being shoved against a mound of gold, staring into a pair of eyes that he’d once trusted with his life.

“I’ll let go of you,” Thorn began, hand still placed firmly against Keith’s mouth. “If you promise not to scream.”

Unable to do much more than glare at her, Keith rolled his eyes before tapping a finger against her hand. When it fell away, Keith could feel his upper lip curl. “The fuck are you doing?”

“We need to leave. Now.”

Keith…blinked.

Of all the things he’d been expecting, that was something he hadn’t been prepared to hear.

“What?”

Thorn growled, though it sounded as if it were more out of frustration than anger. “I don’t have time to explain. We just—need to leave. Now, Keith.”

“Like hell we do!” Keith snarled as he attempted to shove the mountain of a woman away from him. “I’m not going anywhere with you. If Sendak wants me to—”

Abruptly, Thorn gripped him by the shoulders, baring her teeth in sudden anger as she pushed him against the wall. “I’m not—!” Something sad passed through her eyes, and her grip slackened. “With Sendak,” she continued, her voice growing gentler. “I never have been.”

Disoriented, Keith shook his head, wanting desperately to believe her, but…after the galley…

“Is this some kind of trick?”

For a second, Keith watched hesitation flicker behind her eyes, which were far more expressive in that moment than he’d ever seen them—and then resolve was hardening behind them as she sighed. “Look,” she whispered, craning her neck briefly around the mountain of gold before returning her attention to Keith. “I’m a member of the Blade of Marmora. I’ve been undercover at Sendak’s side for years,” she plowed on, as if Keith’s brain wasn’t melting by the second. “I was tasked with finding and destroying Zarkon’s trove.”

Keith felt as if he were adrift in open space, nothing around to tether himself to for miles and miles. “Wh—but you—”

“I don’t have time for this!” she interrupted, desperation creeping into her voice. “This whole place is rigged to blow, I laid the bombs myself.” She dug through her pocket until she’d procured a black device with a blinking red light. A detonator. “The plan was always to grab you and run, and set it off the moment we’d reached safety, but when I was laying the last one, I found a network of explosive rigs beneath the gold.”

When Keith didn’t reply—caught somewhere on the edge of panic and skepticism—Thorn shook him. “Keith. There’s enough firepower in here to destroy the planet. Zarkon must have rigged it to blow, and the second we stepped through that shield—”

“It was a motion detector,” Keith whispered, stomach sinking with dread.

“Exactly.”

Searching her eyes and finding nothing but open truth, he was hit again by a sudden rage—a sudden fear that this was all just another trap, another scheme designed to hurt, to trick.

“And why the fuck should I believe you? For all I know this is just another game.”

“Keith, we don’t have—”

“You’ve lied to me before,” he reasoned, standing his ground even as she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, losing her composure in a way he’d never seen as she snarled in frustration.

“Ugh! You’re just as—as headstrong as your father!”

The gears in Keith’s head came to a screeching halt, the fight leaving his body and rendering him meek and vulnerable.

Several seconds ticked by, silent and eternal, before Keith finally found his voice.

“What?”

He watched as Thorn hesitated, her eyes flicking back and forth between his. After a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity, she sighed and shut them.

“That wasn’t…how I wanted to tell you,” she whispered as she began to shrink, her whole body shifting forms for a second time since he’d known her. Large ears retained their point as they shortened, arms and legs growing less bulky and facial features turning sharp and angular. Even her skin had adopted a lighter shade of lavender, and before long Keith was once again staring at a stranger—

A stranger that was almost his spitting image.

“I wish we had more time,” she continued, reaching towards Keith’s face with trembling fingers and honesty shining in her eyes. “There’s so much I’ve wanted to—” Her fingers curled and withdrew, and Keith wasn’t sure whether he’d wanted to feel them on his cheek, or whether he wanted to run, or…or…

“You’re—” His voice broke. “You’re my—?”

She nodded, searching between his eyes with urgency and a vulnerability that crippled him. “My name is Krolia Laibos-Kogane. I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me, Keith, and when this is all over, I promise we’ll talk. But right now—”

The cavern rumbled, innocently enough that Keith might’ve thought it to be a quake if not for the conviction shining in Thorn’s—

—Krolia’s—

—his mother’s eyes.

“We need to go.”

Chapter Text

Coins shifted under Keith’s feet as he ran, nearly throwing him off balance in his haste to reach Lance. He’d spotted him a few yards away, crouched at a nearby ledge and ignoring the glittering treasure surrounding him in favor of peering into the endless chasm below.

Keith’s approaching footsteps nearly startled him off the edge, but he relaxed as soon as their eyes met—relaxed as much as anyone could, given their current situation.

“Hey,” Lance greeted as he straightened, eyebrows knitted as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the abyss. “Did you feel that? Must’ve been some sort of planetary tremor, or—”

“It isn’t a tremor,” Keith hissed, tugging his reckless boyfriend away from the edge.

Lance blinked at him, his expression growing grave. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t freak out, but…” Around them, the pirates remained unbothered by the explosion, too preoccupied with their precious treasure to notice that something was amiss.

“The whole planet is rigged to blow.”

“What?”

“I said don’t freak out!”

“Oh sure!” Lance whisper-yelled. “You tell me we’re trapped on a bomb with a bunch of assholes who wanna kill us—why the hell would I freak out?”

“Ugh—we don’t have time for this!” Yanking Lance behind a pile of gold, Keith gripped his jacket in desperation. “Zarkon must have rigged it himself. We probably triggered it when we passed through the barrier. It’s enough firepower to—”

“Where is this coming from?”

“What?”

“How do you know?”

…Right.

Keith hesitated, silently praying that his boyfriend wouldn’t fly off the handle and jeopardize their entire escape.

“Thorn.”

“Thorn?”

“Lance—”

“Are you fucking kidding, Keith? I can’t believe you’re gonna trust Thorn after—”

“Listen to me,” Keith growled, giving Lance an urgent shake. “I need you to listen, okay?”

When Lance answered with a reluctant nod, Keith eased his grip on his jacket. “Thorn’s with the Blade of Marmora. Has been for years.”

Lance’s eyes widened, but Keith plowed on undeterred. “She was laying her own explosives and found Zarkon’s instead. She’s on our side, and she’s trying to get us out of here, but we need to go now.”

Disbelief churned behind Lance’s eyes, dark and tempestuous. “Sweetheart…you gotta know how this sounds.”

“I know,” Keith acquiesced, struggling to keep his voice calm. “It’s a lot to take in, and I know you don’t trust her, but—”

Another tremor shook the ground beneath their feet, and Lance’s hands flew up to steady Keith by the hips.

“—I need you to trust me,” he finished, his words brimming with vindication.

For a moment, Keith thought that Lance might continue to argue, to tell him that Krolia was too dangerous to trust—but then decision hardened behind two-toned eyes. “That, I can do.”

The kiss Keith pressed to his lips was brief—a wordless thanks—and then he was winding his fingers through Lance’s and pulling him over trembling ground.

If he’d thought the tremors had been bad before, it was nothing compared to how they felt now. Keith could hardly keep his balance as he and Lance ran full-tilt for the exit, not stopping even when Krolia and Romelle fell into sync with them.

“Took you long enough,” Krolia yelled over the sounds of panic and rumbling ground. Judging by the yelling, the pirates were definitely aware that something was wrong now, but Keith didn’t dare look back to see if any of them were giving chase.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Lance shoot Krolia a glare, nearly tripping as he tried to look at her. “Yeah, well,” he panted, righting himself with a tug at Keith’s hand, “Excuse me for not buying into your whole ‘good guy’ schtick. I’m only going along with this because of Keith.”

Behind them, there was the deafening and distinguishable noise of cracking ground, and Lance yelped when he turned to look. “Okay! The whole imminent death thing might have factored in, too! Doesn’t mean I trust you!”

“If I can get you three out of here alive, I’ll live with it.” There was something bitter in Krolia’s voice, something Keith didn’t have time to contemplate before a familiar, hair-raising roar behind them signified that Sendak had caught on to their escape.

“Shit,” Lance hissed, just as Keith spared a glance behind them only to be greeted by the terrifying image of Sendak in pursuit. “Shit, shit shit shit, we’re gonna die!”

He was right. There was no way in hell they could outrun Sendak, but maybe…

Maybe there was a way to slow him down.

To Keith’s left, Krolia growled as she intensified her pace, unaware of the rash plan formulating in Keith’s mind. “Just keep going!” she yelled, tugging at Romelle’s hand when the Altean nearly tripped. “Sendak still has the map, so all we have to do is reach the entrance before he does, and once we’re out I’ll detonate my explosives.”

Keith nearly stumbled as he attempted to avoid running over a wicked looking cutlass. “Thorn—”

“The cavern won’t be able to withstand another detonation. It’ll take down Sendak and his precious map, and we’ll—”

“Krolia!” Her real name felt strange as it slipped past his lips for the first time, but Keith was too preoccupied with the thought of getting Lance to safety to think of anything else. He’d already made his decision—had already allowed his hand to slip out of Lance’s as they ran. “We’re not gonna make it!”

“Stars above, Keith, just—”

But Keith couldn’t hear the rest. He’d already doubled back towards the charging brute of an alien, snatching the discarded cutlass out of the gold just as Sendak reached him.

He never stood a chance.

The moment their weapons met, Sendak disarmed him with a vicious snarl, murder dancing behind his eyes. Keith hardly had a second’s reprieve before Sendak’s hunting knife was coming back down with deadly speed. He rolled to avoid the blow, sending a mound of coins cascading into a widening fissure in the ground.

“Eager to be reacquainted?” Sendak bellowed, plunging the wicked blade—the very one that’d marred Keith’s face the previous night—into the gold to Keith’s left, narrowly missing his head. “Do you wish so badly for death, filth?”

As much as Keith would have loved to return the gibe with one of his own, his entire being was focused on avoiding Sendak’s sword for as long as he could. Death loomed above him as surely as the bombs ticking away in the planet’s core, but as long as Keith could buy his mother and Lance some time…

“KEITH!”

Dread crawled up Keith’s throat as he turned, momentarily distracted, to find that Lance had doubled back, though neither Krolia or Romelle seemed to have noticed.

Shit. Just when Lance had finally come so close to freedom…to safety…

“A couple traitors, an Altean, and a filthy half-breed.” Sendak’s voice was nearly inaudible over the deafening cracks of the planet’s core about them, but there was no mistaking the hatred in his eyes as he kicked Keith’s feet out from beneath him. He landed hard, the air knocked from his body as he collided with the uneven ground, staring helplessly up at Sendak as the pirate planted a boot atop his chest and raised his sword. “I should have killed you all when I had the—”

Several things happened at once.

Somewhere—close, but still so far, so far—Lance yelled, wordless fury unlike any sound Keith had ever heard—

And then the hilt of a knife was protruding out of Sendak’s forehead. The pirate only had a split second to look surprised before there was another deafening crack…and then Sendak stumbled backwards as the world tilted on its axis, sending both the pirate and the map in his pocket on a trajectory towards a gaping chasm.

Try as he might, Keith couldn’t prevent himself from the same fate. His heart leapt into his throat as he slid, trying to find any semblance of footing amidst an avalanche of gold as thousands of cascading coins carried him down sloping ground towards a bottomless crevice below. He searched desperately for something that might slow his fall, but he could hardly see over the rush of treasure—couldn’t see Lance, or his mother, or Romelle, or even Sendak as he plummeted towards certain death.

Distantly, he prayed that Lance had done the smart thing and left him for dead, that he’d taken advantage of Keith’s sacrifice and reached safety…

But still a part of him wished that he could have held Lance one last time. If he’d just been able to say goodbye—not only to Lance, but to Shiro, his father, his mother…

Resigned to his fate, Keith closed his eyes. I’m sorry, he thought, unsure who he was apologizing to. I love you.

Fate, apparently, had other plans.

Keith yelled in pain as something grabbed his wrist and his shoulder cracked sickeningly—but he was no longer falling, and he was no longer afraid, because perched above him, his cybernetic hand holding steadfast to a protruding rock, was…

“Lance!” Keith yelled, unaware of how close to tears he’d been until his voice cracked, raw with simultaneous terror and relief. “You came back!”

“You said we’re a team!” he hollered, red-faced and wild-eyed—yet somehow, he’d never looked more heroic than he did then, every bit the man that Keith knew him to be. “I’m not letting you go!”

As Keith laughed—somewhere between a giddy huff and a relieved sob—Lance screwed his eyes shut and pulled. Keith scrambled to get his feet beneath him, a feat made easier by the slowing trickle of treasure. At long last he managed to right himself, heart thundering with adrenaline as he heaved Lance to his feet.

“Lance, I—”

With a teary chuckle, his boyfriend grinned and cupped his face. “You would have done the same for me.”

Something tickled at the edge of Keith’s memory, the sensation of being held by a boy whose life he’d saved—a boy he loved to the ends of the universe.

Course, dummy. You woulda done the same for me.

“I—”

Something exploded, and Lance tugged desperately at his arm. “Run now, thank me later!”

Without another second’s hesitation, the two of them ran for their lives, leaping over splitting cracks in the ragged ground. Stalactites came crashing down about them, yet neither of them slowed as the massive cavern began to collapse in on itself. If anything, the sight of the exit looming up ahead was enough to spur them on—as was the sight of their companions bolting through the cave’s gaping mouth and on to safety.

“Almost there!” Lance yelled, squeezing Keith’s hand for all he was worth. “Just a little—”

He never finished the sentence.

With a sickening boom, the cave entrance collapsed, and Lance and Keith barely had time to throw themselves out of the way before rock was crashing to the ground, sending debris flying in every direction.

When it finally cleared, Keith rose to his feet on shaky legs, coughing as he batted away the residual dust. A few feet away, Lance followed suit, gaping up at the wall of rock standing between them and freedom.

For a moment, the two of them stared in silence, disbelieving and stunned.

“No.”

Heart sinking, Keith tore his eyes away from the rockslide to find Lance gaping upwards, his hands wound into his hair. “No,” he repeated, “We were so close.”

Keith swallowed past the lump in his throat and reached a trembling hand towards his boyfriend. “Lance—”

“WE WERE SO CLOSE!”

“Hey!” Grabbing Lance’s elbow, Keith turned him and grasped his hands, drawing them gently away from his hair. “Hey. I know. I know, darlin’.”

“It’s not fair.” Lance was hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. “We were so close, you were almost out—this is all my fault, you don’t deserve to die like this, you—”

“Whoa, hey! Don’t talk like that,” Keith admonished, his voice shaking and his eyes stinging. “It’s my fault, I promised myself I’d bring you home and I—I tried, but—”

“What the fuck!” Attempting to pull away, Lance struggled momentarily in Keith’s grip, but Keith held on with steadfast devotion. “You said we were going to figure this out together, Keith—what the fuck? If you’re gone, what am I supposed to—how do I—”

Frustrated tears finally spilled down Lance’s cheeks. “What’s the fucking point?”

“I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Lance’s expression crumpled and he fell against Keith with a sob. “I’m scared,” he whispered against the shell of Keith’s ear.

Winding his arms around him, Keith pressed a kiss to the side of Lance’s head before nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “Me too,” he admitted, “But at least we’re together.”

“Yeah.”

A moment of silence passed between them, one that was thick with the hundreds of things Keith wanted to say—but finally, Lance picked for him.

“Keith? I love you.”

Keith screwed his eyes shut as dust rained down around them and the cavern grew dark. “I love you too. I wish—”

Stars above, he knew he shouldn’t say it, knew it would only make everything worse—but the words left him anyways, bittersweet and soft between them.

“I wish we’d had more time.”

In lieu of a response, Lance burrowed closer, and Keith held him as fiercely as he could—just as Lance had held him all those weeks ago.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Keith murmured, readying himself for what was to come. It was a strange feeling, standing on the brink of death. He knew he should be a wreck, but Lance was in his arms, and if these were Keith’s last moments, there was no other way he’d rather spend them.

“I got you.”

With a final boom, the ground gave way beneath them—

And then Keith was falling with a grunt onto something solid, the impact unexpected enough to force open his eyes—only to find himself looking up at a familiar canine muzzle stretching into what looked like a smile.

“Kosmo?” he breathed, receiving a sharp bark in response. “How—what—”

“Keith! Lance!”

Eyes widening, Keith had about two seconds to process who that voice belonged to before he was being scooped up by familiar arms and wrapped into a crushing embrace. “Keith, I thought you were—you—”

“Shiro?” Keith croaked, trembling as he gripped desperately at his brother’s shoulders. “I don’t…what happened? We were falling, and—Lance!”

“I’m right here!”

Shiro released Keith just in time to duck out of the way as Lance practically threw himself at him. He only had a second to grasp Lance’s face—gaping in sheer disbelief at the miraculous, impossible fact that he even could—before Shiro was gathering them both into another hearty embrace.

“I don’t understand,” Keith choked, his eyes welling with tears. “How—”

“How the fuck are we alive?” Lance interjected, clearly as shell-shocked as Keith felt. “I thought we were dead.”

“You can thank Kosmo,” said a voice somewhere above them. “But you can mostly thank your brother.”

When Keith finally managed to free himself from their huddle, he found himself gazing up at Allura, who was framed by rope rigging and purple skies.

The Melenor. They were…they were on…

“We’re back on the ship?” Keith breathed, head whipping about as he drank in the familiarity of his surroundings.

He must have looked truly stunned, because Allura laughed softly as she offered him her uninjured arm. “We knew something was wrong the moment the tremors started,” she explained, and Keith watched as Shiro helped Lance to his feet. “But your brother was nothing short of extraordinary.”

At Keith’s side, Shiro huffed bashfully. “I was just—”

“Oh, pish posh.” Allura waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll not hear humility. You were the only one of us that managed to escape your bonds. If you hadn’t freed myself and Coran and removed that wretched collar from Kosmo—”

“Collar?” Keith asked, his head whipping from Allura to Lance when his boyfriend groaned.

“Oh—that fucking thing. It was this…shitty thing Sendak used to put on him to dampen his powers.”

Allura’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “They collared him the moment you two went inside. The poor thing wouldn’t stop crying.”

At Keith’s side, Lance cooed and dropped to his knees, gathering Kosmo into his arms and whispering something unintelligible against his ear.

“After your brother set Coran and I free,” Allura continued, “We made swift work of our guards, released Kosmo, and…” She sighed, her eyes darting to Shiro and back. “We had no idea that Kosmo could actually transport people until he brought us here.”

She gestured around the ship, and Keith took it in—every weathered pole, every frayed rope—like a sight for sore eyes. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be so relieved to see it, considering all he’d endured on the vessel, and he was surprised to feel as if he were…

Home.

Clearly, Allura felt the same. She reached out to run her palm against the banister, her smile aching with relief. “By the time we got here, the planet was moments from destruction, and—well, your brother wanted him to take us back to the trove to assist you, but it would appear Kosmo knew what he was doing. He saved you at the very last moment.”

With that, she stepped pointedly aside, and Keith crept towards the banister, gasping at the sight below them.

It was wildly sobering to watch as the planet he’d been standing on only moments before tore itself apart at the seams. The entire thing had reddened like coal over heat, fiery and angry as it suffered explosion after explosion, chunks of rock jettisoning off into space.

“Fuck.” Lance pressed up against his back, winding his arms around Keith’s waist and pressing a kiss against his neck as if that were something the two of them just…did. “We were just down there.”

Keith shuddered, unable to wrap his head around how close they’d come to death. If it hadn’t been for Krolia, they would have never—

Wait.

Panic bubbled up Keith’s throat as he whirled back on Allura. “Where are—”

“Kosmo delivered Thorn and Romelle to us shortly before he appeared with you.” Allura’s eyes met Keith’s, all at once unyielding and stern, and Shiro—who’d come to stand against the banister with his shoulder pressed up against Keith’s—stiffened. “For obvious reasons, we felt it best that Thorn be restrained in the galley. Coran is watching both of them closely.”

“Both of them?” Lance asked.

Allura nodded. “One can never be too careful. We still have much to learn about our new Altean companion, and Thorn…well.” She and Shiro shared a meaningful look. “We were certainly taken aback to see her.”

“Keith.” Ever so gently, Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder. “What exactly happened with Thorn back there? She…told us she was trying to save you?”

“Yeah—I’d kind of like to know that too,” Lance muttered, and when everyone turned to look at him, he added, “Apparently she told Keith she’s with the Blade, or something, and next thing I know, we’re just…following her out.”

Steeling himself, Keith met Allura’s eyes. “Look, I know it sounds insane, but—Thorn’s been undercover with Sendak for years. The Blade sent her to destroy the trove, but I guess she realized Zarkon had already kind of done that for her.”

When Allura’s brows furrowed, Keith hurried to explain. “Sendak had the whole place rigged to blow, she found his explosives while she was trying to lay hers.”

“Typical pirate,” Allura hissed, and Keith might have thought she was talking about Thorn if she hadn’t added, “Probably booby-trapped his own treasure to take down anyone powerful enough to find it.”

At Keith’s side, Shiro crossed his arms and leaned against the banister. “That would make sense, but what I don’t understand is…and don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful that Thorn saved you, but—why? And can we really trust her? I mean—how do we know she’s not just lying to cover her back?”

With a skeptical hum, Allura raised an eyebrow. “Your brother’s right. How can we possibly take her at her word when—”

“Just trust me, okay?” Keith bit, a bit more defensively than he’d meant to.

His stomach sank when Allura shook her head, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m afraid that isn’t enough this time, Keith. If we’re harboring a criminal, we need—”

“She’s not a criminal!”

His outburst was enough to loosen Lance’s grip around his waist, and Keith ducked his head as he quietly admitted the truth. “She’s my mom.”

As if they’d rehearsed it, both Shiro and Lance yelped, “What?” and Keith sighed.

“I know it’s weird, I just—she’s on our side, okay?”

“Keith—hold on, hold on.” Shiro waved his arms in front of him, brow pinched. “How do you know? What the hell happened?”

“She just told me, and then she said she’d found Zarkon’s explosives, and then we ran. Sendak followed us, I tried to fight him—”

“Keith!”

“—And Lance killed him.”

Allura gasped, turning on Lance with barely contained surprise. “You?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Lance grumbled.

When Allura continued to blink incredulously at him, Lance sighed and added, “Okay—I mean, to be fair, he also fell into a chasm. So—you know. That killed him too.”

“I—did you see—”

“I found a knife, threw it, it landed in his brain,” Lance said slowly, as if he were trying to explain what’d happened to a five-year-old, “And then I watched him take a dive off a cliff.”

His voice darkened. “He’s dead. I made sure of it.”

As if trying to dispel a headache, Allura shook her head. “Very well, alright—Sendak is dead. But what of the map?”

“It’s gone,” Keith supplied. “Sendak had it on him when he fell. It’s probably been destroyed—Adam figured it was probably rigged with explosives as well.”

“Wait, wait.” When Keith turned to look at him, Shiro was massaging his temples. “Can we go back to the whole, ‘Thorn-is-your-mother’ thing? I mean, you said she just…told you.”

“I know how it sounds.” Exhausted, Keith sighed, sagging back against Lance as he wound his arm back around Keith’s waist. “I know. But…she’s my mom. I don’t know how to describe it, I just know she’s telling the truth.”

To Keith’s surprise, Allura clicked her tongue—and when he turned his attention back to her, she looked almost resigned. “She’s his mother.”

Keith was pretty sure his brother was toeing the edge of a breakdown. “What?”

“Galra have a talent when it comes to this sort of thing,” Allura explained, eyeing Keith thoughtfully. “They can usually sense shared blood. Since Keith is half-human, I’m not surprised he didn’t recognize her straight away…but perhaps that sense lurks somewhere inside.”

She cocked her head. “You’ve always felt an attachment to Thorn, have you not? I would guess from the moment you met.”

“Yes,” Keith admitted, relieved to have an explanation. “Was that—?”

“Your Galra genes? I assume so.” She rubbed a hand along her face, world-weary and resigned. “Very well. We shall release her post-questioning—but I warn you, Keith. She may be a Blade, but she spent many years as a pirate. Despite her best intentions, I fear it’s only a matter of time before she is hunted.”

“Okay—let’s just pause right there.” Lance’s lips brushed against Keith’s hair as he spoke. “I feel like that’s a ‘we’ll-cross-that-bridge-when-we-come-to-it’ type situation, right? Plus, we’re all exhausted, so maybe right now we can just—” Lance’s right thumb rubbed gently against Keith’s waist. “Let the guy say hi to his mom?”

Stars above, Keith loved him. Forgetting momentarily that they were under scrutiny—forgetting the collapsing planet miles below them—Keith guided Lance down to meet him for a kiss, lingering and deep.

“Alright, alright,” Shiro grunted. “Just—cut that out, will you?” he muttered, waving a hand in their general direction.

With a sympathetic sigh, Allura patted Shiro consolingly on the shoulder. “Something tells me we’re going to have to get used to it.”

Keith turned to his brother with a grin, feeling lighter than he had in months. “Give us a break. We’ve earned it.”

“We just survived an exploding planet,” Lance agreed. “We thought we were gonna die. Pretty sure that entitles us to a kiss or two.”

“I like ‘or two,’” Keith suggested, ignoring Shiro’s resigned, “Alright, I’m going down to the galley,” and Allura’s, “Don’t you dare leave me alone with them.”

He pulled Lance in by the waist, searching his eyes before bringing his hands up to cradle freckled cheeks. “I never thanked you for the save.”

Lance let his eyes flutter shut as he pushed forward to nudge his nose against Keith’s. “Like hell I was gonna let him take you too.”

When Keith kissed him, it was slow and languid—the way people kissed at the end of all those movies Keith’s father had always liked.

It was the way people kissed when they had time, when they had…

When they finally had a happy ending.

By the time Keith pulled away, he was giddy, the weight that had rested like an anchor upon his shoulders finally gone after so many months. “We won,” he breathed, brushing Lance’s hair from his face with gentle fingers. “Sendak, the map, the trove—they’re all gone. No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”

His boyfriend’s breath hitched, and Keith pulled him into a hug, cradling the back of his head with a hand. “You’re safe, darlin’. We won.”

“We won,” Lance echoed, and then again, “We won.”

“Yeah,” Keith whispered, feeling as if he were sheltering his entire heart in his arms. “We did.”

…

Keith didn’t have a chance to talk to Krolia alone until after they’d charted a course back to Crescentia and set sail.

Although both Coran and Shiro had initially been hesitant, Allura had elected—after several hours of careful interrogation—to remove the constraints they’d placed around Krolia’s wrists, allowing her to move freely about the ship.

By the time Keith actually summoned the courage to speak to her—readying himself for a conversation nineteen years overdue—he found her perched at the bow, legs dangling over the edge as she surveyed open space.

Wordlessly, he hoisted himself up next to her, not knowing how or where to begin.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as she took a deep breath and turned her gaze down to her palms.

“I never wanted to leave you.”

When Keith looked at her, she shook her head, still staring resolutely at her hands.

“You and your father were my entire world. I was happy. For the first time in my life, I thought…I thought…” She shook her head again. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just—”

“In love,” Keith whispered as he reached for her hand, and she finally looked at him, her expression tortured as she nodded. Heart aching to hug her, Keith squeezed her hand instead. “I get it.”

To his surprise, Krolia huffed a laugh. “I suppose you do, don’t you? You and that boy. I spent years wishing for his happiness, and then he falls for my own son.”

Keith laughed, tentatively letting himself lean against her shoulder—and when she didn’t shake him off, he murmured, “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I always thought about how the two of you were so close in age. I couldn’t help but imagine you in his place.” Her grip tightened as she pulled him closer. “I grew to love him like a son. I would have never let anything happen to him.”

“I think you should tell him that,” Keith responded, his voice quiet as he tried to stave off a pang of jealousy. There was no reason to be jealous—it wasn’t as if Lance had asked to be abducted. But still, the idea that Lance had spent more time with his mother than he had…

He cleared his throat. “He’d want to know.”

Krolia shifted to give him a long look, and then she nodded, settling back against his side. “I’ll talk to him.”

Silence settled back over them, the seconds ticking by as Keith steeled his nerves…and then he took the plunge.

“Come home with me.”

“Keith,” his mother whispered—but the way she said his name was all wrong, almost as if…

Almost as if she were saying no.

“Please.” Dread bubbled up his throat, and he burrowed deeper into her embrace. “Please, I—I can’t lose you again.”

“I—”

“Dad needs you,” he hurried, before he could hear her tell him that she couldn’t stay. He knew it was an unfair thing to say, knew that there was no convincing her. Allura herself had warned him of this, but…

After a lifetime of longing for her, didn’t he deserve more time? It felt like a cruel joke, knowing that he’d finally found her just to have to say goodbye.

“I need you,” he croaked, his jaw tightening when she pulled him into a protective hug. “There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you, and—and there’s so much I need to ask you, I…please come home with me, Mom.”

He hadn’t meant to call her that. It slipped from his lips without permission. Keith waited for her to push him away, to tell him that she wasn’t ready to hear it.

Instead, her grip tightened, and her chest began to rumble gently against his. “I know, Starshine,” she whispered, and Keith whimpered as the first tear spilled down his cheek. “We’ve already lost so many years, but…there are too many who wish me dead. The things I had to do for Sendak…if I come with you now, I put your father, Montressor, everything at risk. It’s why I left in the first place. I had to keep you safe.”

She combed a hand through his hair and Keith took a shuddering breath. “How long have you been undercover?”

“Since long before I met your father.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “When I met Owen, I was on the run. My cover had almost been blown, and I needed somewhere discreet to lie low.”

Keith sniffled and huffed a reluctant laugh. “The Wastes are pretty fucking discreet.”

With a hum, Krolia resumed running her fingers through his hair. “I was looking for someone to repair my ship, I met your father, and we fell in love. He built us a shack in the middle of the desert to keep me safe, and then…we had you.”

Krolia gripped his shoulders as she pulled away enough to look at him—and when Keith ducked his head, embarrassed by his tears, she coaxed him into meeting her eyes with a gentle finger beneath his chin. “You were my entire world, Keith. I never, ever wanted to leave you.”

“I’ve wanted to hear that all my life,” Keith admitted, closing his eyes when she cupped his face. “I—I needed you.”

“I know.” Her voice was raw with emotion as she leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I know, Starshine. I longed so fiercely to stay, but…the Blade received news that Sendak had a lead on the map, and I was forced to return to his side. I didn’t think I’d ever see you or Owen again until…”

She trailed off, breaking into a small smile as she wiped the tears from Keith’s cheeks. “Well. Clearly Thace thought the map would be safe with you. It appears his judgment was sound.”

Keith’s breath hitched as he searched her eyes, yellow and purple shining with truth as they stared firmly back. He’d longed for his mother’s approval for so long—approval he’d long given up on receiving—but a restless question niggled at the back of his mind.

“Was…did Thace give me the map on purpose?” he asked, his brows knitting together. “Like—was he looking for me?”

His mother seemed unsurprised by the question, but was unable to give him much more than a small shrug and an apologetic smile. “We can never know, Starshine. Sendak and I tracked him to the outskirts of Montressor before we could open fire. It is entirely possible that he wished to hide the map with my kin.”

“He knew me,” Keith blurted, hands rising to the side of his face to grip hers as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. “He recognized me, he—he said I looked like someone he knew. I think he recognized Dad, too.”

He was gifted a small smile and another tender kiss before Krolia was pulling away and reaching for his hands, holding them tightly between them. “I do not doubt that he recognized you, Starshine. Your father always said you were my—”

“Spitting image,” Keith supplied, huffing a fond laugh. “Yeah. He’s mentioned it once or twice.”

“I always thought you looked like him.” Her smile fell as she combed his hair away from his face. “The night we destroyed the Benbow, I remember praying the map hadn’t fallen into your hands, but when we found a job listing for the Outer Rim, and it led us to you…”

Her eyes fell shut. “I’ve never been so scared in my life, Keith,” she breathed. “I left to keep you safe, so standing by while Sendak found your files, watching him see your name, your face…”

Without thinking, Keith pulled her into another hug, wishing that the two of them never had to let go.

“I was so scared,” she repeated, cradling the back of his head. “I knew I couldn’t let anything happen to you, but I couldn’t blow my cover—and then the way you looked at me when you thought I was…when I…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Keith hurried, placing his hands on her shoulders and moving so that she could see him. “Mom—it’s okay.” He smiled at her, feeling strangely at peace in a way he never had. “I made it. I’m okay.”

For a long moment, she simply looked at him—eyes flicking back and forth between his own—and then she cocked her head with a small laugh that had Keith smiling back. “What?”

“It is possible Thace sought you out,” his mother murmured, still regarding him as if she’d managed to peer into his soul. “Yet perhaps…perhaps this was your fate.”

Keith’s eyes pricked with the threat of tears. “You think so?”

With a smile that made Keith’s very insides melt, Krolia bent forward to press another lingering, tender kiss to his forehead. “I think that you, my son,” she whispered as she regarded him with unbridled adoration, “Were destined for the stars.”

…

“Hey.”

Keith tore his gaze away from the stars to give Shiro a smile. “Hey.”

His brother dropped onto the beam beside him. “Thought I might find you up here.”

They sat in silence for a few precious moments, and then Shiro laid a gentle hand on his back. “How’re you holding up?”

It wasn’t hard to guess what Shiro was asking about.

Krolia had left the day before, only a couple days after they’d set sail from the asteroid field that’d once been Treasure Planet. Watching her leave had hurt Keith in a way he’d never really been hurt—a deep ache of losing the very person he’d spent years wishing to find.

Yet at the same time…it wasn’t all painful.

Before she’d boarded a longboat, Keith had stopped her to ask if he’d ever see her again—a question he’d dreaded hearing the answer to. He’d expected her to tell him that she wasn’t sure, but instead she’d reached for his face and held it as if he were something precious.

“You will,” she’d said, her gaze steadfast. “Soon, Starshine. I promise.”

That was the last thing she’d told him before leaving, and Keith…believed her. Fully and whole-heartedly, he believed he’d see his mother again.

Someday.

“I’m okay,” he murmured, returning Shiro’s smile with one of his own. It was funny—before they left Montressor, Keith hadn’t felt like he deserved Shiro’s care. He’d been so fucking miserable that he’d managed to convince himself that he had to weather it all alone, but now…

Now, Keith leaned against his brother’s shoulder and spoke his heart.

“It hurts, but…I’ll see her again. It’s not goodbye forever.”

“Yeah.” Shiro pulled him close and pressed a kiss to his hair. “That’s a good way of looking at it. I’m still sorry you had to say goodbye, though.”

“It’s okay,” Keith responded, surprised to find that he really meant it. “It’s like you said. She’s just…a different person now than when she met Dad, you know? I kind of think she’s trying to figure out who she is now that it’s all over.”

With a fond huff, Shiro reached down to ruffle his hair. “When did you get so wise?”

“I didn’t,” Keith snorted, ducking away from his hand. “I just—have a good big brother.”

Shiro’s mouth quirked into a tiny, sideways smile as he aimed a light punch at Keith’s shoulder. “Dad’s gonna be so proud of you.”

Nursing a small smile of his own, Keith turned back to the swirling purples and blues of the Etherium. “How about you?” he asked after a moment of silence. “Excited to see Adam again?”

“Stars above, yes. I mean—I’m excited for the part after he kills me for all the near-death experiences.”

Keith grinned up at him. “Maybe we water it down for him and Dad?”

The laugh he received in response was full-bellied and carefree, one Keith hadn’t heard in a long time. “Yeah. Maybe we should.”

For a moment, Keith chewed at his lip. He’d been so certain they were going to die in the trove, and the last real conversation he’d had with Shiro…

Well. It hadn’t been much of a conversation.

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry for all that stuff I said,” Keith muttered, picking at the frayed lining of his pants. “You know. Back when—”

“Oh, Keith. It’s okay, buddy. We say a lot of things we don’t mean when we’re—”

“It’s not okay at all,” Keith argued, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “There was this moment outside the trove where I was…so sure I was never going to see you again.”

Shiro inhaled sharply, but Keith plowed on. “And the last thing I would have told you was—”

With a rough exhale, he cut himself off. What he’d said didn’t matter now—all that mattered was what he was going to say. “My whole life, you’ve been looking out for me. You’ve always just…been there.”

He paused, overwhelmed by memories of the kindness in Shiro’s eyes never wavering, steadfast and loving through Keith’s every mistake.

“I love you,” Keith croaked, laying both hands on Shiro’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean any of the shit I said. You’re my brother, Shiro. You’re always gonna be my hero.”

Without warning, Keith was being pulled into a bear-hug, grunting as Shiro squeezed the life out of him for the millionth time in two days.

“You’re crushing me,” Keith complained, but he was grinning, hardly struggling to break free from his brother’s hold. “I’m gonna be all hugged-out by the time Dad gets to me.”

“Need a save?”

The two of them scrambled apart to find Lance halfway up the rigging, wincing apologetically for the unexpected intrusion. “Sorry to interrupt, I just—Shiro, is now a good time to…?”

“Oh—yeah.” Shiro cleared his throat and wiped at his eyes. “Let me just get out of your hair.”

“I can come back in a bit if—”

“No, no.”

As Keith blinked at the two of them in confusion, Shiro waved a hand. “It’s better the two of you talk sooner rather than later.”

“Uh—” Keith frowned, his attention on Lance as his boyfriend sat almost gingerly at Keith’s side. He had no idea what the two of them knew that he didn’t, but whatever it was…Keith had an awful feeling it wasn’t good. “What’s going on?”

Giving Keith’s back a firm pat, Shiro swung down onto the rigging and began his descent. “Lance’ll get you up to speed. I’ll see you two later?”

Keith blinked. “I…guess?”

“See you, Shiro,” Lance called, though he sounded off. If Keith didn’t know any better, he might have said his boyfriend sounded…nervous.

For a few seconds, the two of them watched as Shiro descended the rigging, and when Keith could no longer bear the silence, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

When Lance looked at him—eyes churning with something that looked dangerously like guilt—dread hardened in the pit of Keith’s stomach.

“I…” Lance trailed off, eyes cast downward for a moment before he was reaching for Keith’s hand and threading their fingers together. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes?” Keith confirmed, his throat tight. Was Lance trying to…break up with him? “Lance—you’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t mean to, I just—” He huffed in frustration as he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again they’d hardened with resolve. “Keith, I’m…going back to Pandora.”

Thank the stars. Keith was overcome so quickly with relief that it nearly made him light-headed. He wasn’t being broken up with, but then…

Apprehension sank back into his bones just as quickly as it’d left. Why the hell was Lance looking at him like…like he had to tell him something worse?

Before he could say anything, Lance hurried on. “I was talking to Coran and Shiro yesterday after your mom left, and I—Coran said the magnetic field around Treasure Planet would have screwed up any radio signal Sendak tried to send back to Pandora, so…”

“Your family could still be alive,” Keith breathed, beginning to understand the look on Lance’s face.

“Yeah.” Lance sniffed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to know, Keith. I need to go back for them.”

“So take me with you,” Keith insisted, not understanding why this sounded so much like a goodbye—why Lance’s lips were pressed into a thin line. “I can help, I—”

“You can’t, Keith. We may have taken Sendak down, but Pandora is still Galra-occupied, remember?”

“So?”

Lance gave him a strained smile. “No one gets cleared for landing without proof of residency, babe. If you came along, we’d be dead before we even reached the atmosphere.”

“So—” Keith scoffed, fear and heartbreak turning his words angry. “You’re just going in alone? No back-up?”

“Keith…”

“Like fuck I’m letting that happen, McClain! That’s insane!”

“I don’t have a choice!” Lance ran an agitated hand through his hair. “If it was your dad—”

“Don’t do that.”

“—you’d have to go, right?”

Keith turned back out to space, jaw tight as he shook his head—frustrated that he couldn’t deny Lance’s logic.

“I have to do this, Keith. And I’m not asking for your permission, but I…I am asking for your support.”

When Lance covered Keith’s hand with his own, Keith exhaled slowly, his jaw working as he tried to rein in his emotions. “You always have that. I just—you’re asking me to sit by while you…”

“I know.”

Silence sat between them, both boys too afraid to breach it—too afraid of the conversation that awaited them on the other end.

It was Keith who finally took the plunge, heart aching as he turned his palm to lace their fingers together. “Tell me you have a plan.”

With a groan, Lance nuzzled against Keith’s shoulder. “I wish I could. Shiro says I should just focus on finding my family and lying low.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. “We’ll tell the Garrison about Pandora the second we land on Montressor.”

“That’s what your brother said.”

Winding both arms around Lance and holding him close, Keith pressed a kiss to his hair and asked the question he was most afraid of. “When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know.” Lance’s voice was muffled as he burrowed into Keith’s collarbone. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Keith paused, drawing on more bravery than he’d ever needed in his life. “But if there’s a chance your family is still out there, you have to.”

Lance nodded against him, and—as Keith looked out over the Etherium, over billions of stars and sleepy nebulas—he was struck by the same feeling he’d had when his mother had waved at him from the back of a longboat.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Keith whispered, knowing in his heart that it was true. He remembered the night they’d danced beneath starlight, remembered looking into Lance’s eyes and seeing a future there—one that was brighter than Keith ever thought he’d have.

He remembered—more than anything—their quiet moment in the docking bay, when Keith had looked into those very same eyes and been so certain that they’d been destined for each other, that the universe had overcome the impossible so that they might find one another.

As if Lance could hear his very thoughts, he turned to press a kiss to Keith’s collarbone. “I’ll find you. I promise. The second it’s safe, I’ll leave Pandora and find you.”

“I’ll be waiting.” A chill blew through the Etherium, ruffling Lance’s hair and rippling Keith’s shirt, as if in gentle reassurance of their reunion.

“I waited nineteen years to meet you,” Keith breathed, burying his nose in Lance’s hair and content to just hold him. “I’ll wait as long as it takes to be with you.”

…

When Keith awoke four days later, it was with a heavy heart and a pit in his stomach.

He hardly breathed as he took in the planes of Lance’s back, drank in the rise and fall of his shoulders for what was to be the last time in…

Keith didn’t want to think about it.

Instead, he trailed the tips of his fingers along Lance’s arm, delighting in the simplicity of the warmth beneath his fingers—the warmth of the boy who loved him tucked beside him, sleeping soundly with the knowledge that Keith loved him right back.

Compelled by a sudden desire for more, Keith chased after the warmth, pressing kiss after kiss down the lines of Lance’s back until his partner was turning, the bed creaking beneath him.

“Morning, handsome,” Lance murmured, his cybernetic fingers reaching up to trace Keith’s face.

“Hi.”

Something in his voice must have served as a stark reminder of their day to come, because Lance’s expression softened impossibly further as he smoothed the space between Keith’s eyebrows. “I don’t wanna get up,” he whispered, eyes flicking between Keith’s.

“Me neither,” Keith responded, his jaw tight—but speaking was a chore, so for a few precious minutes the two of them remained silent in each other’s company, drinking in their last moments tangled together, limb with limb and heart with heart.

Looking, touching, loving.

Their peace was shattered by the clang of the lookout bell above-deck, and it was with a growing sense of grief that the two of them readied themselves and headed to the docking bay.

It was difficult to watch as Lance said his goodbyes, swept into a hearty hug by Shiro, a bone-crushing embrace by Coran, and an ever-so-slightly tamer farewell from Allura. He was nearly bawling by the time he reached Kosmo, bending down to press his forehead into Kosmo's fur with a quivering lower lip.

“You be good for Keith, you hear?” he whispered, and Keith's heart broke even further. They'd discussed the potential danger that would surround bringing Kosmo to Pandora, and had ultimately decided the space wolf would be safer on Montressor.

“I don't wanna hear about what a little shit you've been,” Lance continued, pulling his face out of Kosmo's fur to scratch around his scruff. He received a whimper and a thorough lick in response, and Keith wondered once more just how much Kosmo could understand. “Only the best of manners for our Flower Boy.”

Keith's heart cartwheeled as Lance stood, green and blue eyes softening when they met his.

“Hey, doll.”

The remainder of their crew was quiet as they slipped out of the loading bay, and—the two of them finally alone—Keith allowed himself to cry.

He was enveloped instantly in Lance's arms, wrapped into an embrace he never wanted to leave. What he wanted was to beg Lance to stay, to come with them to Montressor—but Lance had been taken from his family once, and Keith wasn't going to take him from them again.

“Promise you'll find me,” Keith croaked, his hands curling into fists against Lance's back as pain welled in his chest. “Promise me.”

“Keith.” Lance pulled away enough to cup his face and press their foreheads together, and Keith’s eyes fluttered shut. “I’m leaving my heart behind, love. I’m…fucking terrified. I’ve never—no one’s ever…”

“I know.” Nudging Lance’s nose with his own, Keith drank him in—his touch, his scent, the tickle of his hair against Keith’s forehead. “I never saw much of a future for myself, you know? Thought I’d just live and die in The Wastes.”

Lance’s response was hushed and pleading—almost as if he were asking for reassurance. “What do you see now?”

A strange sensation of peace settled over Keith’s aching heart as he met Lance’s gaze, reaching up to trace along his hairline. “You. I see you, Lance.” Keith felt his smile soften as he searched eyes that shone with tears. “I see a happy ending.”

With a wet laugh, Lance tipped his head back, his hands reaching for Keith’s. “Happy ending,” he repeated, his voice awed. “I spent five years convinced my life was over, and then you come along and—”

Clearly lost for words, Lance’s jaw worked for a couple seconds before he was leaning back in for a kiss, his lips warm and chapped as they worked tenderly against Keith’s. When Lance finally drew away, he was beaming through his tears. “I never thought I’d have this.”

“Me neither,” Keith whispered, trying to stave off his tears as he held his entire universe. “I feel like…”

He swallowed, distinctly aware that he was exposing the truth closest to his heart. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

For a moment, Lance simply looked at him—looked at him like he could see the same future Keith could—and then he was digging around in his pocket and reaching for Keith’s hand.

“I hate asking you to wait any longer, but now that I’ve finally found you…” Gentle fingers pried Keith’s fist open to place something smooth and round in his palm. “I can’t lose you. I promise, there is nothing in the universe that can keep us apart.”

Keith’s vision blurred as he blinked down at the marble in his hand, glinting with the same colors as the eyes he’d loved at first sight.

“Lance,” he choked around a sob, “I—I can’t take—”

“You have my heart, Flower Boy.” Lance closed his fingers around the marble before pressing a kiss to Keith’s closed fist. “Keep it safe until I see you again, okay?”

Tears ran down Keith’s cheeks as he nodded vigorously, and then with a jolt of realization, he was scrambling to retrieve his father’s knife from his back pocket.

“Keith,” Lance admonished, eyes widening the second he realized what Keith was doing. “Sweetheart, I—”

“I want you to have it.” He pressed the pocket knife into Lance’s palm, closing his fingers around it with as much finality as Lance had. “You’ll just give it back when I see you again, right?”

Lance’s lips quirked into a smile and he leaned forward, fingers tangling in Keith’s hair as he kissed him—

And this kiss felt more like a goodbye than any they’d shared.

“I will, Flower Boy,” he murmured against Keith’s lips—a quiet promise unbroken by the clanging of the lookout bell above deck.

“That's my cue,” Lance sighed, stepping down into a longboat and smiling wryly up at Keith. Between them, their still-joined hands strained over the distance. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Forcing a smile, Keith slipped Lance’s marble into his pocket. “I’m gonna miss you too. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Never have, never will.” Sniggering, Lance gave Keith’s hand a final kiss before easing himself into the pilot’s seat. “Stay out of trouble, yeah? Don’t make me bail you out of jail, doll.”

With a chuckle, Keith pulled the release hatch lever, watching as the bay doors opened to reveal the swirling greens and browns of Pandora below. “Shut up,” he laughed as Lance used the pulleys to ease the vessel down into space. “Jackass.”

“I love you.”

Keith’s heart skipped a beat as he took Lance in—beautiful and windswept, framed by open sky and the waiting unknown. “I love you too.”

He was awarded a long look, one that reminded Keith of a night spent dancing—no, dreaming—under the stars, and then Lance was smiling to himself as he guided his longboat out of its berth.

When watching him leave proved too painful, Keith grasped the lever, his heart unbearably heavy as he began to shut the hatch—

“Hey!”

Far below him, Lance had paused his descent, hand cupped around his mouth as he hollered up to him. “I’m gonna marry you one day, Kogane!”

Something between a sob and a laugh tore itself from Keith’s chest, and it took everything he had not to jump into a longboat and follow after him.

“I’m gonna hold you to that, McClain!” he called back instead, trying valiantly to hold the pieces of his heart together—for Lance’s sake, at the very least.

Lance’s responding laugh would live close to his heart during their journey home, but for now, Keith contented himself with watching as the love of his life sailed off towards the future.

“Be safe,” he whispered when Lance finally disappeared from sight, and Keith eased the hatch shut, feeling as if he’d just closed the doors on his entire heart.

“Come home to me.”

…

Keith’s hair whipped across his face as the Melenor anchored back in Crescentia, the spaceport’s docks just as crowded as they’d been when the ship had departed—

As if nothing at all had changed.

It was strange, coming back to a place so unaffected by the journeys of its voyagers. The port itself was precisely as Keith remembered it, but now he gazed about the bustling crowds with a new heart—one that’d seen the impossible wonders of space, that’d learned the beauty of true love and had come to trust in itself above all else.

There was an ache beneath it all, one that Keith knew he couldn’t hope to shake. It sat beneath the joy of their return like an old scar that hadn’t quite healed right—and Keith doubted it ever would.

Not until Lance was back in his arms.

But it had been months since they’d said goodbye, and time soothed the ache with gentle care. Thinking about Lance no longer hurt as it had in the weeks after he’d left. Those had been the worst—nights spent curled up alone, craving touch that he’d have to grow used to missing. His only solace had come in the form of the marble in his pocket, ever-present and steadfast in its company.

There was no mistaking it for what it was: not a parting gift, but a promise.

And that promise above all else was enough to carry Keith home—enough to push him down the Melenor’s ramp and into a bustling crowd as he and Shiro searched for…

“DAD!” Shiro’s voice cracked with emotion as he waved over the crowd, grabbing Keith’s wrist and dragging him forward. “Come on, he’s right—Dad! Owen!”

A couple yards away, a familiar face broke into a smile, and Keith stifled a sob as he and Shiro barreled through the crowd.

They were instantly swept into a hug, Keith’s face buried in his father’s shoulder as someone’s hands—he wasn’t sure if it was his father or brother, or both—gripped desperately at his coat.

“Stars above, I missed you boys,” their father choked as the pressure at Keith’s back increased. “Shit, I missed you.”

“Dad.” Keith could hardly speak around the lump in his throat. It was as if the second he was back in his father’s embrace, the reality of the past few months came crashing down upon him—every close brush with death, everything he’d learned and won and lost.

Shiro apparently felt similarly if the waver in his voice was any indication. “We missed you too, Pops.”

When Keith nodded in vigorous agreement, their father inhaled sharply and straightened, pushing them back with a hand on each of their shoulders. “Let me look atcha—stars, you’re a sight for sore eyes! And look at you.” Owen settled a hand over Keith’s cheek as he examined him. “All grown up and—darlin’.”

Owen’s eyes widened in alarm, and Keith knew what he was going to say before it left his mouth. “What happened to your face?”

“Uh…” Panicking, Keith’s eyes darted to Shiro, who gave him a sympathetic wince. “What would you say if I told you I tripped?”

It was a stupid, stupid thing to joke about, distinctly a result of Lance’s influence—but to Keith’s surprise, his father broke into an expression that looked more relieved than worried.

“I’d say,” he chuckled, ruffling Keith’s hair in a way that made him realize just how homesick he’d been, “We best get home soon as we can so you can tell me what really happened.”

…

They’d been gone for so long that being back in the Wastes felt surreal.

Over the past year, the Melenor had come to feel like a home, and the arid desert that awaited their arrival on Montressor…Keith wasn’t sure how to describe it. It was nostalgic, in a way—comforting, even—but mostly, it just felt…

Wrong.

Returning home was strange when he was coming back to it so different than the person he’d been when he left, now that his heart already longed for the stars he’d held only hours before. This Keith—the Keith that’d fought pirates and saved the universe and fallen in love with a boy beyond the stars—was even more out of place in this monotonous world than he’d ever been.

Not that he had much time to reflect on it. The minute he and Shiro had introduced their father to their Altean companions, he’d insisted that Coran, Romelle, and Allura accompany them to the Benbow—which, to both Keith and Shiro’s delight, Owen had spent the past year repairing. Adam had apparently insisted on financing the repair, and the two of them had rebuilt the inn with help from several of the Benbow’s old residents.

No matter how Keith might have felt about being back on Montressor, seeing the Benbow restored to its former glory had tears springing to his eyes, and Shiro was quick to join him the moment Adam stepped out the front door.

Their tearful reunion had hurt too much to watch—a gutting reminder of I’m gonna marry you one day, Kogane and of the marble sitting in his pocket—so Keith had busied himself with unloading their transport vessel until Adam fussed at him for a hug.

Several hours later—after Owen and Adam had grilled them for every detail of their journey and the three Alteans had been invited to stay—Keith had finally managed to escape the incessant questioning, sneaking up to the Kogane living quarters and wrenching open the bedroom window. Cool night air greeted him as he climbed over the sill, grateful that his father had rebuilt the Benbow using its original blueprint—

Which meant that Keith’s getaway spot was exactly where it used to be.

He eased himself carefully onto the roof and settled in, rolling Lance’s marble between his fingers and unaware that he’d been followed until his father clambered out of the window next to him.

“Hey, ace.”

With a gentle smile, Keith patted the spot beside him, and his father sat with a contented sigh.

For a few minutes, the two of them looked out at the stars—Keith lamenting all he’d left behind and wondering if Lance was somewhere out there staring up at the stars and thinking of him.

“I still can’t believe your mother was there the whole time.”

When Keith looked at him, Owen huffed a laugh and shook his head. “How is she?”

“I’m not sure,” Keith admitted. “She definitely wants to see you again, it’s just…”

“Dangerous?”

Frowning, Keith sighed. “Well, yeah—but I think she’s also just been undercover so long that she wants to figure out who she is now. Before she sees you again,” he added, giving his father an apologetic wince. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His father wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and Keith gladly snuggled into the embrace. “I get it. It’s hard to come back to a place when you’ve changed.”

Keith hummed, eyes trained firmly on the marble in his hands as it glittered in the starlight.

“How about you?”

Still transfixed, Keith stroked a thumb along the marble’s smooth surface. “What?”

“You seem different.”

That was certainly enough to draw his attention away from his hands, and Keith blinked owlishly at his father. He knew he had changed, could feel it in his bones, but how had his father noticed so quickly?

“I do?”

“Oh yeah, kid. Parents can sense these things.”

The two of them fell quiet until Owen pressed a kiss to Keith’s hair. “It’s a good different, I promise. You seem…confident. Brighter.”

He gave Keith a squeeze. “Happier.”

Again, Keith turned his attention back to the marble as he huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Guess I am.”

There was a brief pause, and then his father cleared his throat.

“Who is he?”

Keith blinked up at him, his eyebrows furrowing. “Who—what?”

“Come on, kid. I see the way you look at the stars. Always have. But it’s different now, it’s…” As he gazed up at the sky, there was a familiar ache in his father’s expression that Keith finally recognized. “You left a part of your heart up there, didn’t you? In more ways than one.”

Following his lead, Keith turned back to the stars as he clutched the marble against his chest. “Yeah.”

“Tell me everything,” his dad whispered, oblivious to the gratitude spreading through Keith like the warmth of a hearthfire. “I’m listening.”

For a moment, Keith gathered his thoughts—and then with a fond smile tugging at his lips, he began.

“So…I met this boy.”

Chapter Text

THREE YEARS LATER

It was on mornings like this—mornings when the dawn cast the desert in a warm glow as the fledgling sun crept over the horizon—that Keith felt most alive.

Morning had become a time of solace, a break from the routine and intensity of the Garrison Leadership Programme. With his Captain’s certificate only weeks away, Keith barely had a moment to himself, devoting his every spare moment to his studies—that was, unless he was at the Benbow.

It was his own fault he was so overworked. He’d been the one to say yes when his father had offered him co-ownership of their Inn a year ago—he’d been the one who’d agreed to travel back and forth on almost a weekly basis. It was exhausting, but it also gave his thoughts less room to stray, so Keith welcomed the rigorous pace with open arms.

He tended to travel in the mornings, so they’d become sacred to him—a time to unwind and just be. It was a time to acknowledge the scar that still sat over his heart, that still throbbed with loss and heartbreak.

If Keith was being honest…he welcomed it. It was a reminder that he’d found something good and true and pure. It was a reminder that he’d lived, that he’d…

That he’d loved.

Guiding his hovercraft through the desert with the sun at his back and the wind in his hair, Keith greeted the scar like an old friend. He hadn’t seen the boy who’d left it there since the day they’d parted, but Keith’s faith hadn’t waned over the years. If anything, it had strengthened, reaffirmed by the constant presence of the marble in his pocket and the unshakable certainty in his heart.

Hearing about Pandora’s liberation had been difficult. As badly as Keith had wanted to help—to find Lance and fight at his side—he didn’t have the military skills necessary for such a high-stakes operation, and he’d been barred from leaving with the war fleet that’d set off over two years ago. He’d been frustrated that it’d taken them so long to leave, but despite Allura and Coran’s persistent meddling, the Galaxy Garrison hadn’t initially been able to do much. Apparently, liberating a planet from ruthless pirates required things like surveillance, and tactical planning, and mobilizing troops on various neighboring planets—

The bottom line was, it was bigger than Keith. He’d struggled to accept it at first, especially as he’d watched Coran and Allura board the Melenor and set sail with the fighter fleet—but he’d long since come to accept that he’d had no place in the arms of war.

Now—two and a half years later, long after Pandora had been liberated—Keith had emerged a formidable fighter and a keen tactician. Allura herself had gone through the trouble of getting him a second chance at the Garrison, fast-tracking him to the Garrison Leadership Programme, no less, so Keith had been determined to make her proud.

Somewhere along the way, he’d made himself proud too.

But the question of Lance’s whereabouts still plagued Keith endlessly, exacerbated by the knowledge that several of Pandora’s residents had evacuated to neighboring planets. Allura and Coran had tried their best to find Lance—had searched every mine and dilapidated farm—but neither Lance or whatever remained of his family were anywhere to be found.

A niggling tendril of fear told Keith that he should be worried that Lance hadn’t made it back to him by now, but still Keith waited, his heart so assured that it might one day be whole.

He had the proof, after all. His mother had already visited a number of times, usually dropping by unannounced in the middle of the night. She’d nearly given Keith’s father a heart attack the first time, but their reunion had been so viscerally joyous that Keith had elected to give them space, seeking out his rooftop perch with its millions of stars as a means of feeling closer to his heart.

For any niggling fear, there wasn’t a hint of doubt. Lance was going to come home to him.

In the meantime, Keith had an inn to manage. Well—co-manage.

His hovercraft whirred as it slowed to a stop, and as Keith hopped off to secure it outside the Benbow, the front door swung open with a bang accompanied by a telltale crunch of small feet on desert sand.

“Uncle Keith!”

Okay, so—Keith wasn’t the only person who’d undergone major life changes.

The second they’d filled Adam in on their trip, he’d begged Shiro to take a leave of absence from his Garrison duties. Shiro had eventually acquiesced, opting to aid Pandora’s liberation from the Garrison’s base on Montressor, and in the years following, he and Adam had decided to really settle down.

Which explained the grinning, pint-sized maniac making a beeline for Keith.

“Hey, Rowan,” Keith greeted, scooping his nephew into his arms and grinning when the kid giggled. “Missed you, buddy.”

Rowan gave him a smile that was missing a few teeth, and then, “Daddy won’t let me use your old hoverboard.”

Keith snorted. It was always straight to business with this kid.

“Don’t worry—I’ll take you out when they’re busy.”

His nephew blinked up at him with huge eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” Keith confirmed, bouncing Rowan as he shouldered open the door to the Benbow’s restaurant. He was hit immediately by a wall of sound—a true testament to the growth and success of the Benbow over the years. “I wasn’t that much older than you the first time I got on it. It’s a good starter board, your dad’s just a—”

“Keith!”

Owen Kogane looked haggard as he picked his way around bustling tables, a tray brimming with food balanced in each hand. “Thank the stars you’re here, darlin’. We got a bunch of new guests this morning, breakfast’s been a nightmare.”

“Looks like it,” Keith muttered, setting Rowan down as he took stock of the restaurant. James was tending to the Dahls, a family of nine that normally took up their largest table; Shiro was printing so many receipts at the register that he’d been forced to sling half of them over his shoulder; Kosmo was teleporting juice to a giggling child; and Romelle was dabbing something off Ms. Pennyworth’s lap.

In other words: a typical day at the Benbow.

But Keith wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Okay,” he grunted, reaching over the front desk to retrieve his apron. “Where do you need me?”

His father’s face softened with relief. “Kitchen, please. We got a new potential hire waiting back there to be interviewed, but I haven’t had a moment’s peace. Would you mind—”

“On it,” Keith responded, tying the strings of his apron tight behind his back and giving his father a pat on the arm. “Thanks, Pops.”

Without any further delay, Keith set off through the teeming restaurant, eager to complete the interview and aid the rest of their staff with crowd control.

He weaved through tables of families, all too aware of how different the experience was now compared to how it’d felt a few years ago. Back then, he’d felt as if everyone was watching him, waiting for him to fail—

But now, Keith was a new man, one that carried his head high and refused to let others dictate his worth.

Now, the Benbow’s residents called his name as he passed, greeting him with a kind wave or a friendly pat on the back. He’d made a special effort to learn their names—though the only ones that escaped him were those of their newer residents.

There was a family Keith did not recognize seated near the kitchen, a family big enough that they’d unseated the Dahls from their status as the Benbow’s largest residential family. Where the restaurant's atmosphere was warm and cordial, this family had adopted a more somber tone, huddled together as they held hands and whispered.

As he passed them, a pair of striking blue eyes met his—a woman close in age to Keith's father. When Keith smiled at her, her eyes widened, deepening the lines across her forehead under a shock of gray hair.

Suddenly uneasy, Keith sent her a wave—but instead of waving back, she nudged the man beside her, and Keith squirmed as the two of them devolved into whispers that attracted the entire table's attention.

He averted his eyes, running his hands down his apron and through his hair as he approached the curtain to the kitchen. He'd worry about their strange new guests for later, but right now, he had an interview to conduct.

And stars above, did the Benbow need all the help it could get.

He cleared his throat as he pushed the curtain aside, running another hand through his windswept hair.

“Alright,” he announced to whoever awaited him. “This should only take a—”

Keith froze.

He could feel his entire being just…stop. Everything ground to a halt—all except his heart, which hammered away with a new life, a life it hadn't possessed in three years.

Across from him, Lance's breath hitched.

“Hey, Flower Boy.”

Keith couldn't move. He couldn't speak, he couldn't think.

Lance stepped forward, his eyes shining with tears as he huffed a laugh. “I’m sorry. I know this is sudden, I—I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

Still Keith could do no more than gape at him, tears pricking at his own eyes as his breathing turned shallow.

“We moved in,” Lance explained, as if Keith’s entire world hadn’t been rocked in the span of a second. “Me and my family. I wanted to come find you sooner, but after Pandora, we couldn’t afford to travel all the way across the galaxy, so we all worked and saved up and…here we are. Permanent residents of the Benbow.”

Keith’s mouth opened as he tried to remember how to speak.

“Anyways, uh…” Swallowing, Lance fidgeted with his shirt, clearly unnerved by his silence. “Please say something.”

But Keith couldn’t oblige him. All he could do was stride forward on shaking knees, desperate to touch, to hold, to—

He collided with Lance so hard that it almost hurt, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything other than the feel of the boy in his arms, tangible and real after three years dreaming of his touch.

“You’re here,” Keith breathed, burying his wet face in Lance’s shoulder as Lance cupped the back of his head. “You’re actually—you’re—”

“I’m here. I got you.”

“Lance.”

Callused hands cradled his cheeks as Lance pulled away to look at him with that sunshine smile that Keith had so yearned for. “Still as gorgeous as the day I left,” he murmured, thumbing away at a tear as Keith’s hands rose to grasp his wrists.

“I missed you so much,” was Keith’s response, squeezing his eyes shut through another surge of emotion. “I took your marble everywhere, I—”

“I have your knife.” Lance’s smile deepened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I thought about you every single day.”

There was so much Keith could have said, but action had always been his forte—so instead he pulled Lance in for a kiss.

Out of all the kisses the two of them had shared, this would be the one that Keith would dream of for years to come—the one that would remind him of the indescribable joy of young love even when he and Lance were old and gray.

Something slotted back into place deep within his heart, soothing the scar that’d sat there for so long and healing its puckered edges until it was no more. Keith felt as if he were falling all over again with each kiss—falling, and falling, and falling.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever stop.

“Let me look at you.”

All too soon, Lance was pulling away, taking Keith’s face in his hands and giving him a look that stole his breath—that made him forget how to breathe altogether. “Stars, I missed looking at you. You’re just so beautiful.”

Keith sputtered a laugh, a couple more pathetic tears spilling down his cheeks. “You’re one to talk,” he whispered, running a hand along the stubble lining Lance’s jaw—a testament to how long they’d been apart, to how much of each other’s lives they’d missed…

Oh.

“Your family,” Keith abruptly realized, remembering surprised blue eyes and weary expressions as Lance’s words belatedly registered. “You—they’re—”

“Yeah,” Lance interjected, his hands traveling down to Keith’s hips as easily as if they belonged there. “Turns out Coran was right. Sendak was full of shit. They were all alive, so I made up some bullshit story about how Sendak had found the map and released me from duty, and for some reason the Galra bought it.” He grinned. “The pirates Sendak left behind weren’t exactly his best and brightest.”

Gripping desperately at Lance’s arms, Keith licked his lips as he tried to organize his thoughts into a coherent question. “But how—when did you—”

“We took the first evacuation shuttle we could find after the fighting started. We ended up on Xaebar, that hot-ass trading outpost outside Sector IV, but—”

“You didn’t have a ship.”

Lance nodded. “Couldn’t afford to commission one for a couple years. We spent almost everything to come here, and then your dad let us stay for free, so I figured the least I could do was try to help out a bit around the—”

“You met my dad?”

“Well—yeah.” As he smiled, Lance’s eyes crinkled in a way that made Keith’s entire chest throb. “He told me about your captain’s license. Pretty impressive, hotshot.”

“Shut up.” Keith shoved at him, using the heel of his hand to wipe at his eyes. “It’s not even official yet.”

“Three weeks, right?” When Keith gaped at him, Lance’s smile turned into a shit-eating grin. “Shiro said he’d get us tickets for the ceremony.”

“Wh—” Keith smacked at his arm and was forced to fight off a smile as Lance giggled. “You talked to Shiro? Am I the last person to see you?”

“I’m sorry! We got in last night, I didn’t know you wouldn’t be around!”

We.

“Can I meet them?” Keith breathed, surprising even himself by his eagerness. “Your family?”

Instead of an immediate answer, Lance pulled him in by the small of his back, dipping him slightly as he captured another kiss.

When Lance finally spoke, his response came as a delicate brush of his lips against Keith’s own.

“I’d love that.”

…

The McClains had been…excited to meet Keith, which felt like the understatement of the century.

As Lance had led him hand-in-hand through the curtain and out into the restaurant, he’d had all of two seconds to brief Keith on his family—Mamà will probably cry, and don’t listen to a word Marco says, I did not talk about you for twenty-four hours straight—before he was being swept into a hug by the same woman he’d noticed earlier. True to Lance’s word, Rosa McClain had been crying before they’d even emerged from the kitchen, and she’d wasted no time in thanking Keith for her son’s life.

When he’d tried to argue—to tell Rosa that Lance had saved himself—she’d pulled him close once more.

“He saved himself,” she’d whispered, running her fingers through his hair. “But you made him want to live.”

By the time she’d passed him along to the next McClain, Keith’s face had turned bright red, and after a whirlwind of introductions, hugs, and handshakes, Keith was completely overwhelmed—

And had welcomed the hand that’d slipped into his own and the breath that’d tickled his ear. “You wanna get out of here?”

Keith had looked into his eyes—eyes he’d yearned so long to see again—and nodded.

Which was how Keith’d found himself pulling Lance through his bedroom window and out onto his rooftop sanctuary, now permanently decorated with blankets and string lights. Keith had felt a little silly when he’d bought them, but the second he’d seen them his heart had remembered the glow of ship lanterns and Dream A Little Dream drifting through the Etherium and Lance’s palms in his.

He’d used the lights to conjure the memory of the boy he loved, to feel closer to him every time he curled up underneath the watchful stars; and now at long last Lance was at his side, breathtakingly beautiful as the stars—Keith’s stars—glistened in his eyes.

“Here.” Keith’s voice was hardly more than a whisper as he slipped his hand into his pocket, withdrawing Lance’s most cherished memento and sliding it into his boyfriend’s hand. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Lance turned to look at him, those shining eyes softening in a way that made Keith certain that ‘home’ meant the same thing to the both of them.

“Me too,” he whispered back, offering Keith his pocket knife without breaking his gaze. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Keith murmured, and Lance stole a kiss from his waiting lips before knocking their shoulders together and gazing back out at the stars.

“I came up here a lot when I was little,” Keith finally blurted, nestling his head against Lance’s shoulder. “I used to just sit here and look at the stars and feel so alone. I always wondered if there was anyone out there who felt the same, and then I found you, and it’s like…”

Keith straightened to find Lance looking at him, his smile loving and tranquil in the glow of the lights.

“Everything finally makes sense,” Keith croaked, bringing Lance’s hand to his mouth for a kiss. “We make sense.”

For a moment, Lance said nothing, merely stuck on Keith’s gaze—and Keith almost thought Lance was going to kiss him when he instead reached into his pocket, withdrawing something small and gold between his fingers that looked suspiciously like…like…

Keith’s breath hitched, and his next word left him as a euphoric sob. “Lance.”

“Told you I was gonna marry you,” Lance breathed, his mouth quirking into a small smile as the ring between his fingers glinted in the starlight. His hand rose to cup Keith’s face, stroking his thumb along Keith’s cheekbone. “You never have to be alone again, Keith Kogane. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever.” It was the only word Keith could manage as he grasped Lance’s face between his own and kissed him, unsure what to call the pressure building within his chest.

Euphoria didn’t seem right. Neither did elation, or joy.

Love? The word fell altogether short.

“Forever,” Keith repeated, hoping that when Lance heard it, he might also hear you changed my life and you gave me a future and I love you so much more than words could ever say.

“Forever.”

And as Lance slid the ring onto Keith’s finger, the promise of forever shone upon them as brightly as the stars that’d brought them together.