Chapter Text

Chapter 1: A Bath

✩

Lance trips over a sentry’s leg and finds himself with a face full of blood.

It’s not his blood but after wiping his face and blinking the sickening hot red out of his eyes, he wishes it was. There’s a woman lying dead before him, purple hands uncurled and limp with a baby lying on her naked chest.

The cold horror in his chest settles into something more painful when he sees the tiny blood-colored lump but then the baby stirs, kicks, and Lance can breathe again. Thank god, he prays. He doesn’t believe in god anymore but for this tiny baby, he’ll dedicate a second to the blue skies back on Earth.

“Lance, where are you?” The comms crackle alive and Keith’s voice snaps white and hot. “You should’ve been here two doboshes ago.”

“Untwist your panties, samurai. I’m on my way." He doesn’t tell him about the baby. He can’t. He hasn’t even finished thinking a full thought, hasn’t begun to think further than the baby’s quiet suckling noises.

“¿Estás bien, chiquito?”

Are you okay, little one?

His Spanish comes out quiet and reverent. The baby’s fuzzy ears twitch at his words and suddenly, its head swivels around, mouth still sucking at his mother’s breast but yellow eyes fixed steadily on him.

Adorable.

“Lance, you fucking idiot do you need backup? Ship’s gonna explode in four doboshes! Pidge can’t stall it any longer.” Keith’s fire jolts Lance forward but it also pulls a chuckle from him. Typical Keith, insulting him and offering help in the same breath.

“I’m coming.” Lance clicks the comms off and kneels, he hates to do it but he pulls the baby off its mother, pausing only to shut her unseeing eyes before sprinting out of the room and down the hallway. The baby is too shocked to cry in the first few precious seconds and Lance is glad of it because he spots guards a few feet away. He runs faster, landing on the balls of his feet and then propelling himself forward to minimize the sound of his footsteps, not that he really needs to because the sound of the blaring alarms seems to grow louder and louder the closer he gets to their Lions. He rounds the corner with his Bayard pointed and that’s when the baby lets out a loud, inhuman shriek.

Lance ducks back instinctively. Was the baby hurt or was that its normal cry?

He looks over it quickly where it’s nestled in the crook of his arm against his chest. She’s a girl- Lance can see now, and her fur is too matted with blood to tell if it’s hers or her mother’s. Her lips are still wet with milk from where Lance had cruelly pulled her mother’s nipple out. There’s no time. He can put her in the cryopods later if he needs to, but first they need to get out of here alive.

He rounds the corner, firing off a few shots one-handed before taking off towards Blue. He jumps into her waiting mouth in what feels like the nick of time, the heat from the explosion licking at his back and the boom loud enough to leave his ears ringing for far longer than he’s comfortable with. He shushes the baby as Blue zooms away from the explosion in what he can imagine is a super epic and fashionably timed exit.

He whoops, the surge of adrenaline matched with Blue's roar.

The baby in his arms screams for attention and Lance quickly digs through Blue’s compartments for something, anything-- and finally, he pulls out a shock blanket. Not ideal but hey, they could both probably benefit from a shock blanket right now.

“Shhh, it’s alright pequeña.” He wraps her up like a bloody burrito. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

As he takes a seat and quiets the small bundle in his arms, something inside of him shifts and seals the promise deep in his chest.

✩

When Blue arrives at the hangar he’s twice as glad and a little afraid that he kept his comms off on the way to the Castle.

It's not Shiro, or even Allura that comes to tear him a new one.

It's Keith.

Keith marches up to him, steam practically rolling off of him in waves. The rest of the team does nothing except stare and wince in sympathy. Keith is on a now-familiar warpath.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Keith’s eyes are dark and dangerous, his lips twisted into a snarl. “First, you’re late to checkpoint, then you turn off your comms in the middle of a mission?”

Okay, it was not the middle of the mission it was towards the end, but Lance is smart enough not to say that.

“Keith, wait--”

“Why would you do that? Were you fucking around?”

“Let me expl--”

“I thought you were dead!”

Keith’s voice scrapes out of him and the raw tone is enough to shut Lance up for a second.

Why can't Keith just punch him instead of guilt-tripping him? That’s what he's doing, right? Keith is inches away, his fists at his side like it's taking everything he has to keep from decking and crumpling Lance like a house of cards. But his voice has a strange waver in it that Lance hasn’t heard before.

Either way, it's working. Lance’s stomach twists and his mouth goes dry with guilt. Dios, he's so easy. Weak to those angry, violet eyes. He had no intention to apologize but…

"Keith, I’m sorry–"

The baby in his arms saves him from groveling, cutting him off with a loud aborted cry.

Everyone freezes, including Lance. How he managed to forget Lance has no idea but he blames Keith.

Pidge breaks the seconds of stunned silence like water from a dam.

“Is that a fucking baby?”

Right. Focus, Lance.

Lance quickly walks towards the exit, his mind jumbling again with too many emotions. Keith pumped the brakes for a minute, drawing everything to a screeching halt, but the alarm bells were back and louder than ever.

“Okay. Listen up!" Lance's voice comes out clear and sharp. "Allura, Coran, I need a health eval on this baby. She might need a pod. I found her on the ship with… her mother is dead. I don’t think she’s hurt but I’m not entirely sure– she’s covered in blood. We have to make sure she’s okay. Hunk, Pidge, look over the logs and the data for this mission, there weren't supposed to be civilians on that ship, we need to start tracking down her family.”

“A baby?" Allura gasps. "A Galran baby?”

The words jar him.

Lance swivels around. “Yeah, she’s Galra. Is that a problem?”

His tone is sharper than he’s expecting but the emotions in his head are getting louder and harder to pin down and identify.

He takes in a shaky breath to stabilize himself.

Her warmth is seeping through the blanket. The smell of blood fills his nose. He can’t stop thinking about how little she is. He can't stop thinking about how he used to hold his nieces and nephews and cousins just like this. He can’t stop thinking about the baby’s mother and how her blood is still drying on his face.

His heart beats faster. She’s just a little baby. Fuck, she’s just a little baby with a dead mom who needs his help and if Allura or anyone else tries to stop him he’s going to–

He doesn't know what he's going to do.

“No, I–” Allura stammers, her eyes wide. “I-I will need to adjust the instruments, that is all.”

Lance has never heard her stutter like that before. He wonders what his face must look like.

Keith is looking at him weird too. They all are.

“Lance. Breathe.”

Yeah, yeah. He doesn’t know who says that, Shiro probably with his patience bullshit, but he takes a quick breath and walks after Allura into the medbay. He needs to keep his impending freakout at bay. He will not freak out until this baby is safe.

Several scary minutes later, a complete health scan reveals the baby is fine. Lance waits, anxiously tapping on the table as the blue light sweeps over the naked baby again and again. But Allura is right, there’s not a scratch on her. All the blood is her mother’s. It’s almost a miracle but Lance knows, sure as fact, that her mother died fighting fiercely to protect her and that she was still warm and feeding her daughter when Lance found them. He doesn’t think about what could have happened if he’d gotten there earlier or what would have happened to the baby if he hadn’t gotten there at all.

Something cold grips his throat and he grips the edge of the table where she’s lying passed out from exhaustion. He has half a mind to pass out as well.

“Not to worry, Blue Paladin," Coran stage whispers, his mustache twitching. "All this little kit needs to be back in tippity-top shape is a warm bath and some milk.”

She’s okay?

It sinks in slowly. She's safe.

Lance nods. “Okay, yeah, a bath is a good idea.”

Compartmentalize, Lance. “We can worry about the milk later, she just fed. Do you think I should bathe her right now or wait until she wakes up?”

“She’s not a ‘her.’” Keith whispers.

Lance jumps and spins around.

Keith is still here? He’s more ninja than samurai. Lance's nerves are shot and his heart kick-starts at the recent startle.

The rest of the paladins turned in for bed a while ago because of early training tomorrow but Keith stayed, apparently, leaning quietly against the wall while Coran unwrapped the Galra baby burrito and scanned her for injuries and disease.

There's something tense between them still, Keith's rare vulnerability from earlier, yielded like a weapon, cut into Lance and left him raw and awkward.

“What’d you say?”

Keith meets his gaze, a flash of dark electricity, and then he looks away quickly. “The baby-- he, he’s a boy. His sex, I mean.”

“Uh, no?” Lance glances back at the naked baby to make sure. “Are we looking at the same baby?”

“Yes. He's a boy.” Keith says impatiently.

What the hell? Well, it's not like it really matters but some part of Lance is relieved to fall into the familiar routine of bickering with Keith. "Those are most definitely female parts.”

Keith sighs, dropping his face in his palm. He must be more tired than he's letting on. “Lance–”

“Buddy, I know you’ve never seen a naked woman before but now I’m starting to wonder if you’ve even seen your own dick before because--”

“Shut the fuck up.” Keith grabs his shirt and Lance flinches preemptively. Oh shit. He's finally going to get punched. “Coran, tell him!”

Lance rolls his eyes. "What does it matter?"

"It matters." Keith grunts.

"It really doesn't."

Coran’s mustache quivers and he looks back at the machines, pressing a few keys. “Hmm, well… number four is right, actually. This kit is biologically male.”

Keith finally releases his shirt and Lance lets go of him too, not knowing when he’d first wrapped his fingers around Keith’s surprisingly solid wrist.

As if that would have done anything to stop Keith from putting his fist in Lance’s beautiful face.

“Alien biology, right. Say no more. ” Lance mutters. He really doesn’t want to get into the intricacies of Galran genitals, especially not with Coran. But wait a minute. He looks at Keith. “How’d you know that?”

Keith crosses his arms in signature Keith pose and lifts his chin. “Says so on the machine.”

“Since when can you read Altean?”

“I… " Keith frowns, blinking at the screen and then back to Lance. "...will you stop being fucking annoying and bathe your baby? He’s starting to stink.”

Lance automatically picks the baby up, refusing to react to the ‘your’ part of that statement. Stupid Keith. The baby isn't his.

He huffs, settling the burrito in the crook of his elbow. “Do you really think I should bathe him right now? He’s sleeping.”

Lance’s eyelids are starting to shut without his permission but he peels them open. His muscles burn from exertion and he can feel the aftermaths of adrenaline settling into joints like gunk. Focus, Lance. He can sleep later, the baby comes first. Babies always come first.

“Yes,” Keith grunts. “All that dried blood has gotta be uncomfortable.”

That's true. Lance can already feel the blood on his face stretching out his skin like a morbid face mask. He can only imagine how that feels on the little boy’s entire body.

There is something warm pooling in his chest that Lance refuses to analyze too closely. It’s achingly familiar. He gently scratches at the blood flakes on the baby’s fuzzy cheek. “Alright, I think there are some buckets in the kitchen I could use. Are you heading to bed?”

Keith is looking at him weirdly again.

Weird Keith with his weird face. Lance squints at him. “What?”

“Nothing." Keith looks away. "No. I’ll go with you-- to bathe the baby, I mean.”

Seriously? “Thanks, man.”

“Alrighty then!” Coran declares. Keith and Lance both flinch and look around at the orange-haired alien.

Lance totally forgot they weren't alone. It makes heat rise to his face for some reason.

Coran continues. “Tomorrow we’ll head on over to the nearest purchasing gallery to get supplies for the little one! Then we’ll figure out what to do with our guest. You boys don’t stay up too late!”

“Yes, Coran.”

“Good night, Coran.”

Now they really are alone.

Lance taps his foot anxiously for a beat, sorting out his thoughts. “Okay, you hold the baby while I go get the supplies. I’m pretty sure I’ve got some shampoo gentle enough for a baby. You know the no tear stuff? Yeah. He’s also going to need blankets, a cleaning rag, oh shit, a diaper too probably… what else?”

Keith blinks at him owlishly. “Um, a towel?”

“Yes! Good, Keith.” Lance steps closer to Keith and rolls his eyes when mullet moves away like the opposite side of a magnet. Wow, seriously? He's always up in Lance’s face unless Lance is the one initiating contact, of course. “Here, just take him while I get the stuff.”

Keith holds his hands up like Lance aimed a gun at him, his eyes impossibly wide. “No! Just put him on the table.”

Lance bites his lip. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. Nevermind, it is funny. “Come on, stop being a baby and hold the baby.”

Keith glares at him. “I’m not going to do it, just set him down and I'll watch him.”

“Really, dude?”

“I’m fucking serious! I’ve never held one before and I’m not going to start now. Put him down!”

Never? That explains a lot, actually. Ogre.

“Jeez, okay. Lower your voice.” The baby is stirring, no doubt annoyed by Keith’s bad vibes.

Lance gently places the baby back down on the cold, hard table, the shock blanket crinkling obnoxiously. He steps back and is about to shoot Keith his most disapproving look, but Keith is already staring at the baby with enough anxiety that Lance is starting to feel bad.

How has Keith never held a baby before? He probably should be grateful Keith is helping him, in that case. If he really has to, he knows he can always wake Hunk and ask him for help; his best friend said as much before he went to bed. But there's something about having Keith with him that comforts him. He's not sure why-- the guy is obviously not good with babies and he's as pissy as always, but somehow, he manages to put half of Lance’s worries at ease just by being there.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Lance finds nearly everything on their makeshift list– one of his old T-shirts is going to have to serve as a diaper for the time being –and then jogs over to the kitchen to find a container good enough to serve as a baby bathtub. He's not too worried about the bathtub, that's what his mother did when they got too big for the sink.

He heads back to Keith and pokes his head inside. “Where are we doing this, Keithy-cat?”

Lance takes special joy in seeing Keith grimace.

He turns away from where he’d been staring at the baby to give Lance a clear look of disgust that makes Lance unable to bite back his laugh.

Priceless.

“Did you hit your head on that ship? Don’t ever say that again.”

“No promises.”

Keith huffs and takes Lance’s things from him, brushing past him. “Let’s do it in the showers, it’ll make less of a mess.”

Ha!

That's just too good. Lance smirks. “You know, I knew those words would come out of your mouth someday. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

Keith stares at him blankly, probably revisiting the question of Lance hitting his head, before he finally gets it and turns away sharply, but not before Lance can see the tips of his ears turn red. “Stop.”

“It was only a matter of time, Keith. I’m irresistible. Though, I wish you'd let me take you out to dinner first.”

“Seriously, shut up. There’s a baby in the room.”

Lance chuckles and takes the little bundle in his arms again, walking out of the med-bay in front of Keith. “Aww, it’s okay. I’m just teaching him how to be a player, a lady-killer like me. I've got maaaad game.”

Keith grunts and follows him. “Then practice on a lady, not on me.”

Lance slows down enough to hip-check him, snickering when Keith stumbles. “Would it help if I said no homo after?”

Keith goes rigid. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Whoa.

What?

There's venom in his voice that Lance was not expecting. What just happened? Keith walks ahead of him before Lance can see his expression and Lance almost trips over his own feet in his haste to catch up– not a good thing when one is holding a baby. “Keith, wait–! Hold up. What'd I say?”

Keith sets the bucket down when they enter the communal bathrooms, still not turning to face him. “Drop it.”

Sadly, Lance is physically incapable. "Wait, I'm sorry, my bad."

He has no idea what he's apologizing for, but that's never stopped him before.

“It’s fine.” Keith sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “It’s late. Let’s just get this over with so we can sleep.”

Lance studies his face. What was it? Was it the gay stuff that bothered him? Had Lance offended some sort of weird, fragile sense of masculinity? Oh no, was Keith homophobic? No way. Lance was expertly practiced at spotting homophobia and he would have noticed earlier if Keith was homophobic. After all, Lance wasn't exactly quiet about his sexuality.

Maybe Keith is just tired and fed up with Lance. Yeah. That must be it. It used to happen a lot back when Lance was less adept at knowing when to shut up. His classmates used to think he was super annoying. That particular memory stings a little bit more than it should, so he quickly shies away from that train of thought.

Keith makes an effort to maintain eye contact while Lance finishes his internal panic, raising his eyebrows in a sassy impatient way that asks if he's done yet. It soothes Lance temporarily. Yep, Keith is definitely just fed up.

It's nice of him to let Lance study his expression. He knows Keith isn’t fond of eye contact for some reason. He also has no idea that he's helping soothe Lance’s anxiety right now. The last thing Lance needs right now is to have a social-interaction freak out before his orphaned-baby-under-his-care freak out that was already scheduled for tomorrow. Wait. Is he actually scheduling his breakdowns now? If he'd ever had any doubt about his freshman year's diagnosis this was probably enough to eliminate them. Or maybe this is a good sign? Maybe this means that--

"Hello? Earth to Lance."

Lance blinks and focuses back on Keith.

Keith looks away.

That makes Lance’s lips quirk up at the edges. Shy Keith.

Shy Keith is always cute. Lance nudges him. "That's kind of funny. It should be me saying that. Get it? Cause you're the alien. I'd say 'Earth to Alien Keith, please respond.' And you'd say something like, 'Daibazaal to Earth Lance, we will make contact in fifteen doboshes.'"

“‘Alien Keith?’” Keith frowns. “I’d have a cooler name than that. And why would I be contacting you? I’d definitely find someone more important if I was making an Earth landing.”

Rude! That was just…

“What the hell, Keith? That is so mean. I am more than capable of handling first alien contact and helping you with the landing. Who would you rather have? The President? No way, that guy knows jack shit about landing a spaceship. The Garrison? Hell no. Those guys would dissect you like a frog as soon as you touched down on American soil. Me, though? I would ensure a safe landing, spray you down with some Lysol, give you a couple of free vaccines, and then take you home. You would receive the legendary McClain hospitality, I promise. My mom would make a special dish like... ooh, Lechón Asado, and then maybe some flan for dessert. Veronica and I would make the flan because my mom likes to go light on the caramel– but not me and Veronica. We think that our flan should be swimming in caramel juices, not just a light drizzle…" Lance was still rambling, pouring water and soap into the make-shift basin, unaware of the full focus of Keith's gaze. "...and you'd sleep in my room, of course, but don't worry I'd let you have the bed. I'm used to it, after all, it wouldn't be the first time that the McClains housed illegal alien guests… oh my god, my mom would smack me for that joke. Don't tell anyone I said that. It's just a great pun. I couldn't not say it. I love immigrants. I love my family--"

"Lance."

"Hm?" Lance glances around at Keith.

Keith is smiling for some reason. He points downwards. "You woke the baby."

Lance looks down at the baby boy at his chest who is indeed looking up at him, wide awake and paying expert attention, almost like he can understand exactly what Lance is saying. Adorable.

"Aww. You're not crying! Are you ready for your bath, pequeño?"

Lance carefully unwraps the little Galra burrito.

Immediately, his purple little fists flail around, a furious frown creasing his thin eyebrows. He doesn't cry, though. That's a good sign.

Keith is still looking at him pensively. Weirdo.

Lance raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just, uh, you talked a lot."

Lance rolls his eyes. Here we go. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s annoying–”

“No." Keith interrupts, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh. It was nice or whatever. You’d really let me steal your bed, like in that situation?”

Nice? “I--”

“Or were you just rambling?”

Lance's brain struggles to catch up with this new, bewildering information. Nice? Nice? His talking was nice? Wait, what situation was he asking about? The made-up, ridiculous situation in which Lance helps Alien Keith land on Earth? Well, now that Lance thinks about it, maybe it's not as ridiculous as it seems. But in the future they'd be landing together.

Hopefully.

"I mean, yeah? We're not fancy enough to have a guest room, there’s too many kids in the house. And I wouldn't make you sleep on the floor. At least not on the first day. Unlike you, I have manners. Also, my mom would murder me."

"But you're for real? Not just in your weird alien fantasy?" Keith stares at him intensely again, his dark eyes serious. It's making Lance nervous.

"What do you mean? Like, when we get back on Earth?"

"No." Keith finally looks away, deflating. "Nevermind."

Damn it.

"What? No, come on. Tell me. What were you trying to say?" Lance nudges him with his foot, making his voice extra whiny and sticking his lip out in a pout.

That may or may not be a tactic Lance used on his older siblings.

It doesn't work on Keith.

Damned only child.

Keith kicks him back. Rude. "Nothing. Is the water ready?"

Lance sighs. He's not going to get anything else out of him and he's way too tired to solve the puzzle that is Keith right now. He tests the water, letting it run over his wrist. It's finally warm enough and pleasantly soapy with fluffy bubbles. Perfect. Lance gives it one more stir and slowly lowers the baby into the shallow water.

As soon as the baby touches the water, the tiny Galra yanks his feet back as if burned and then screeches at Lance, digging his tiny claws with enough force to make blood well up.

"Ow! Hey!" Galra baby claws are no joke.

Lance's tone melts into something softer when the shock of pain wears off. "Hey, hey, sweetheart, it's okay. You're okay."

He can feel Keith staring at him again but he ignores it. He scoops some water in his hand and runs it over the baby's back to see how he reacts. Hopefully the cat similarities end on appearances and don't spread to hydrophobia.

Wide, pupil-less eyes glare at him for a second more before he finally unsticks one of his hands from Lance's skin to swivel his head around to study Keith. After some intense eye-contact, he seems to accept his new surroundings sitting in the water, his little toes squeezing experimentally and causing ripples.

Lance grins at Keith because honestly, this is too fucking cute, but Keith is too busy locked in a staring contest with the baby, something like surprise and scrutiny written on his face.

Keith clears his throat and points at Lance, utterly serious. "Don't look at me. He did this to you."

Lance bursts into laughter.

Keith's orders end up working after all; the baby is now looking at Lance in wonder, his fuzzy ears perked and twitching.

Keith blushes, glaring at Lance.

Despite that, Lance can't help but giggle. It's definitely part physical exhaustion, part emotional whiplash, part nerve-wracking anxiety, but all of this is unbelievably cute. The overly formal tone Keith used on the baby, borderline threatening, is just precious. Most people resorted to baby-talk or a gentle tone at the very least.

“What was that?" Lance snickers. "Were you waiting on an answer?"

Keith's cheeks are still red. "Whatever. Start washing him."

"Aww… I know what that was. It was baby to baby communication."

"Shut up. You're the baby."

Keith shoves the bottle of shampoo at him. Lance lets the last of his giggles die down while he pours the shampoo on his hands and works it into a lather. He starts with the baby's hands, trying not to overwhelm him. The baby glances down at either the action or the shampoo curiously before he starts struggling and kicking impatiently.

Lance coos. "Estas bien, chiquito. Don't worry, we'll be done soon."

You're okay, little one.

His little hands are strange, definitely not like a human baby's. There are small round things under the skin on his fingertips and on his palms. Toe-beans. And his claws unsheathe when Lance accidentally presses on his fingertips.

He pours more shampoo on him– this is really going to take a lot –and then starts scrubbing him with a washcloth. When that is unsuccessful, he scrubs with his fingers.

Shit. This is harder than he thought it'd be. The blood is crusted and stuck to the baby's fur. Soon enough, the poor baby starts crying and screaming. Lance is pretty sure he isn't hurting him, but the discomfort of getting his delicate fur tugged on added to everything else he's already been through today is too much for such a little baby. He's due for a good cry.

Keith makes a face at the noise. "Can I help?"

"Try to distract him." Lance spins the baby around to face Keith, not really expecting much, and keeps scrubbing.

"Um, hello."

Wow. Lance hides a snort. So Keith is painfully awkward with babies too. Got it. He's about to say as much, when, to his horror, Keith pulls his knife out of his sheath.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"It's okay, it glows."

"You can't give a knife to a baby!" Lance sputters.

But it's too late. The baby reaches out and before Lance's brain can explode, he has his little fists around the hilt. Miraculously, his ear-piercing cries subside. Keith is holding the other end (the sharp end) with an easy smile on his face. The baby quiets completely and allows Lance to scrub through the hair on his head as he clumsily turns over the heavy knife in his grip.

"You're crazy." Lance grumbles.

He definitely is! Who gives a knife to a baby?

Keith shrugs. "I was holding this in all my baby pictures. He's okay."

Lance nods slowly. That's… weird. And kind of a lot to process. Pretty on brand though? "Just be careful. Did you grow up with all ten fingers?"

Keith snorts and shows him one in particular.

Real nice, Keith. Classy.

The baby examines the knife, trying in vain to pull it out of Keith's grip and grunting softly with the effort. The soap makes clumps of his fur stick up and curl like limp spikes, especially in the longer hair on his head. The spikes bounce every time he fails to obtain the knife.

It's hard to put it out of his mind, the fact that bloody flakes stick to his skin and muddle the water beneath them, but Keith and the cute baby help.

"Oh, you’re so cuteeee." Lance coos, still working through the knots on his back, unable to hold back the smile on his face. "You're so strong! Fight him, baby boy. I believe in you. You can beat him."

Keith smiles too. It's impossible not to. "He's not fighting me."

"He definitely is! You drew your weapon against him and now he's going to disarm you."

The baby yells in agreement, his claws scrabbling at the handle. It pulls a laugh out of Keith, making him duck his head. It's a sweet sound, Lance wonders, low and rough.

"You're such an idiot."

Lance grins. It's great when Keith laughs, he doesn't do a whole lot of that. His eyes crinkle at the corners and the dimples next to his pretty lips show themselves.

"Keith, don’t call the baby an idiot. That’s not nice. Anyways,” Lance declares, rinsing away the last of the bloody flakes. "This baby is done cooking. Hand me that towel?"

Keith hands him Lance's personal microfiber green towel and Lance scoops the baby up, drying his fur gently. Inevitably, he starts crying, not liking the loss of the knife or the cold air on his wet skin. Poor thing. At least he isn't covered in blood anymore. His dark purple coloring lifted to more of a lavender and his fur is incredibly soft and downy. Like the inner feathers of a baby bird, or the pollen-covered petals on a flower.

Once he's done drying him, Lance wraps his T-shirt around the baby's bottom half. It's too big but Lance uses the excess fabric to tie it into knots on each hip. Too cute. Next, he swaddles him with a dry blanket, one he knows from personal experience is super warm and comfy.

He holds the baby close to his chest to comfort him. A pang goes through him when his weak warmth leaks into Lance's skin. He's so small. So perfect.

Exhaustion floods Lance's limbs like oil and he suppresses a yawn. The baby is safe. He can rest now.

"You go on ahead," Keith murmurs. "I'll clean this up."

Lance tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Find him somewhere safe to sleep."

"Will do." Gratitude surges within him and Lance sighs. He's just full of yucky warm feelings today. A baby will do that to you. "Night, Samurai."

Tomorrow will be better.

Chapter Text

Hours later, and Lance has still not slept a wink.

This is torture.

The baby was actually planted by the Galra as an evil torture device meant to deprive him of sleep, rest, and all things good.

He'd created a pretty chill crib next to his bed out of more or less safe materials-- complete with four solid walls and a cushioned, makeshift mattress.

The baby hated it.

He slept all of thirty minutes before he'd started wailing again. Lance tried rocking him, walking him, singing to him, cuddling him, pleading with him, surrendering to Zarkon through him, all for nothing.

Lance isn't a total idiot. He knows the baby is hungry. He needs milk. He needs his mom. Lance just hoped the craziness of the day would be enough to exhaust him for one night.

No such luck.

After that, Lance spent the whole night balancing the baby on his hip while he tested various foods through one of the machines in the med-bay. Coran's sleep-addled instructions had been enough to let Lance know that after several rounds of testing, NOTHING on the Castle was safe for Galra baby consumption.

Who knew purple space-cat babies had such restrictive diets.

Thankfully, they're almost to the space mall where Coran swore they'd find Galra milk.

"Pidge! Pidge, buddy, here take this demon." Lance begs, holding out the baby desperately.

Pidge jerks away, her glasses almost flying off her face from the force of her repulsion. "Hell. No. Has it been screaming like that all night?"

Rude. Lance shoots her his most disapproving look and then swivels over to Keith. He freezes like a deer in the headlights.

"Don't look at me."

Lance groans. "Mierda. How is it possible both of you are useless with babies? Don't think I don't see you hiding, Shiro!"

The black paladin scuttles away like a man half his size.

Hunk walks in and Lance mutters a prayer. "Thank fuck. Hunk, my angel, please take him so I can do my skincare."

That earns him a snort from Pidge but he really does not give a shit right now.

Hunk chuckles and gathers the baby in his arms. The poor baby's indignant screeching had faded into dry, exhausted sobbing throughout the night and he keeps doing that even while pillowed in Hunk's godly embrace.

Lance flees the room.

He's seriously going insane. Listening to the baby cry all night frazzled his nerves even more than the lack of sleep had. His fingers itch to help, to soothe, but he can't and it's driving him crazy with anxiety and helplessness.

Luckily, a short space jump away and finally being in the space mall calms his nerves, even with the baby crying quietly on his chest. There's something about everything else being chaotic that makes him feel calmer.

Lance isn't losing his shit alone; the world is too.

This mall is way different from the last one they went to; in fact, he doesn't even think it is a mall. It's nowhere near as clean and it's missing the blindingly white walls and pretty fountains and sparkling vending machines in every corner.

The floors here are a myriad of pebbles and glass embedded in cheap concrete and there's not even a roof above their heads. The numerous stalls and booths and half-constructed buildings are washed in the soft glow of the pink sky.

The only thing that gives Lance pause from this otherwise picturesque farmer's market is the steep gray walls that enclose them on all sides.

And look, Lance isn't claustrophobic, but being so often in the endlessness of space has made him a bit wary of enclosed spaces. Or maybe it's not so much space itself, but the natural paranoia that comes from being in constant danger. No exit = No safety.

They've entered one of the more permanent establishments packed full of baby items and crystals. An interesting combination. Their basket is already full of baby things but they're still missing a few key items.

"Lance. What about this?"

Lance turns to Keith, patting the baby's back. Keith is holding up a box of what looks like… diapers!

"Awesome. You just saved my T-shirts. Those are reusable, right? That's what it says? Is your translator working?" Lance lets the new topic distract him, content to let his thoughts fall from his lips and away. "My translator works fine, let me see it. Hand it over. Sweet. Okay, we can cross diapers off the list, those will last us a while. Good work, Uncle Keith! I am not looking forward to washing these but reusable is the best option for us, unfortunately. This store is awesome. Hopefully, Coran found the Galra baby formula; apparently, that stuff is harder to find than a weeblenizer in a stack full of garblefloss, whatever that means." Lance holds up another nightie patterned with what almost resembles a cow-print. If cows were neon orange. "Hey, Keith, do you think this style of nightie is better than this one? Don't focus on the print. I know it's distracting, it's all I can focus on, but what's actually important is how easily we can get the baby in and out. And that it's safe of course. Not like those over there that are full of ribbons, like come on, do you want an easier way to strangle your baby? Wait, what's our budget again? Nah, screw it. This one's cuter anyways, it has planets on it! But what the fuck is up with these high-tech buttons? What happened to the good old-fashioned zipper? Actually, zippers are pretty high-tech when you think about it."

Lance looks at Keith for his answer, but Keith just blinks stupidly, looking between Lance and the nightie. He manages to utter out a quiet, "Uh."

"Very eloquent." Lance snorts. "Thanks, Keith."

"Shut up." Keith blushes and scratches his mullet. “You're being more… uh, what's that thing you have? You're being more ADHD than normal."

Lance snorts. No way. The baby kicks him indignantly and Lance tries to stroke a hand over his soft head but he's shaking too much.

Keith crosses his arms. "What? Is that not what it's called? ADD? DID?"

"Keith, shut up. You have no idea what you're talking about. You're lucky I don't beat your ass." Lance says in between giggles.

Keith cracks a smile, the red on his face fading away to a soft pink. "You wish you could."

Lance is about to reply with a swift, killing retort, (swear) when they're interrupted by a bubbly alien. Literally bubbly. Their amphibian-looking skin is blistered with translucent bubbles that inflate and deflate seemingly at random.

"Welcome to Loquat's Galactic Stop Youngling Shop!" The bubble that serves as a mouth yawns into a smile. The alien stares at the onesie in Lance's hands. "That garment right there has specialized buttons, synched to your finger or tentacle print so you can regulate heating, cooling, and moisturization!"

Oh, sick. Gotta love alien technology. Lance hums in admiration, looking closer at the onesie.

He's momentarily distracted by Keith frowning and mouthing the word 'loquat' to himself. True, what even is a loquat? Some kind of fruit? Whatever. The translator must have fudged it

In any case, now that he thinks about it, that kind of technology sounds expensive.

"We won't be needing that, thanks." Lance says, patting the baby reassuringly. He's miraculously quiet right now.

The sales alien is not discouraged. The many eyes dart quickly between Lance and Keith and Lance fights back a cringe when he notices some of the eyes get stuck and roll around like marbles.

"New parents? I can help you find what you need for your little bundle of joy. We have lots of options for four-limbed, un-furred ones like you two."

Lance bites back a laugh. Aw, did the alien think–?

Keith blushes predictably but is too embarrassed to correct her, turning away to rifle through a selection of binkies.

"We are new parents, thank you!" Lance declares, doing his best to look bright and happy like how he imagines a new dad would look. Although, the reality is probably closer to the truth– haggard and running thin on patience.

Keith gives him an annoyed look and Lance's grin grows wider. Maybe he should be more careful given how Keith had reacted to the gay stuff earlier, but Lance doesn't care right now.

In fact, he cares so little that he reaches out and wraps his arm around Keith's waist, pulling him flush against Lance's side.

And holy shit Keith has a tiny waist.

Lance's hand drops and he swears it's pure gravity and the utter deepness of the slope that settles his hand on Keith's hip.

The slope, holy fuck. Lance wishes he could calculate it, derivatives and all, just pin the function down, No.2 pencil on graph paper, and solve the damn equation.

Don't even get Lance started on those hips. To die for. Literally. Lance would take a cannon blast for them.

"No mames, dónde escondías está cinturita?"

Where were you hiding this waist?

The words are low and delivered straight into Keith's ear. Keith ducks his head and he doesn't have to lower it very much to have the hair on the top of his head brush Lance's chin. He looks small like this, his face practically bioluminescent with what Lance suspects is rage or embarrassment, and his lower half frozen where it's pressed against Lance's side.

So cute.

But Lance is totally getting punched after this. And he's infinitely glad their translators aren't calibrated for Spanish or else he'd be getting much worse than just a punch.

Worth it, though.

The alien's bubbles inflate and deflate faster, and little tentacles rise up to wave in what Lance guesses is happiness. Some things never change even across galaxies, a new baby and a happy family makes everyone happy.

Lance focuses back on the task at hand. "This little one is furred, though. You mentioned there's different fabrics for furred people? Ooh, like protective types to avoid breakage and such? That's genius! We definitely need those. Where are they?"

The baby stirs, maybe reacting to Lance's excitement, and one little clawed hand grips at the neck of Lance's shirt, pulling himself up to look around sleepily. Lance kisses his head. His nap didn't last long but Lance can't bring himself to be disappointed because is there anything cuter than baby bedhead?

He expects the alien salesperson to resume an even more frenzied session of tentacle waving because come on, this little baby looks like a fuzzy little bouquet of sleepy lavender, but instead all the bubbles still and deflate, leaving grotesque pits all over their skin.

"Is that… is that a Galra baby?"

The air around them seems to still. Lance is suddenly hyper aware of a fan nearby, creaking rhythmically.

His smile falls. He kind of hopes there's a translation issue, but by now he's pretty adept at sensing when something is wrong. Plus, the word Galra is unmistakable; Lance could recognize it by the tones of dread and fear alone.

And hate.

He hugs the baby closer to his chest and he feels Keith stand to attention.

"Is there a problem?" Lance asks through gritted teeth. The words mimic what he'd said to Allura and he wonders how many more times he'll have to say them, everything in him turning brittle to protect an innocent baby.

"We don't serve Galra here." The alien spits.

Lance purses his lips. What the hell.

He wishes they could just walk out and give the alien a big fuck you but they need this stuff. They can't afford to leave.

"You're serving me. I'm not Galra."

Fuck. Lance gets a bad taste in his mouth as soon as he says it, especially with Keith standing right next to him, but it's out now.

The alien swivels beady eyeballs to stare at the ball of purple and Lance flinches, his blood turning cold. The baby turns away, quietly hiding his face in Lance's shoulder.

"We have the right to refuse service to anyone." The alien's many eyes narrow. "Leave now before I call security."

"We have money like everyone else. Just take it and we'll be on our way."

"We don't want your dirty money."

"Dirty–?" He's shaking. This cannot be happening. His nerves are shot, he's scared and he's furious and the squashed happy feeling from before only serves to intensify the horrible feelings now. "This is the only baby store in this entire place, we need–"

"I'm calling security."

"Are you serious?" Lance is yelling now. "Look, I get it, I hate Zarkon as much as the next guy, but this is just a fucking baby, he's not gonna hurt–"

The bubbles return, growing bigger at Zarkon's name and the alien turns in a frenzied movement, diving to grab a communication device with numerous tentacles fighting over each other. Keith touches Lance's shoulder, ushering him towards the exit.

Lance stumbles. "Keith! We need–"

"I know. Just wait outside."

His voice is quiet, betraying no emotion like the ones currently wreaking havoc inside of Lance's brain.

Lance lets himself be pushed out.

The jingle of the little bell is mocking as the door shuts behind him.

Outside, people are still talking loudly, walking rapidly, unaffected by what just happened. Children dart between skirts and through people's legs, chasing marbles and hoops and little robots that throw colors. Vendors yell out their prices, customers haggle, and a grill sizzling meat crackles. Glitchy holograms of aliens selling things walk amongst the people, their light particles disappearing and reforming when they walk through something.

Lance sits heavily on a stack of crates a little bit away from the entrance, crossing his legs beneath him. His heart is starting to slow and he forces himself to exhale.

The baby shuffles in his new hold, whining and complaining until he sits up on Lance's thigh and looks around at all the bustle and noise.

Lance isn't worried about someone spotting them. He hides the baby at first but people's eyes slide right past them. It's almost like as soon as he stepped out of the pink sunlight and into the corners and shadows of the market, he turned invisible.

He doesn't have to wonder why for long.

A pile of rags rustles next to him and tens of tired eyes turn to stare at Lance and his baby before they slide away, disinterested. People are begging, aliens of all shapes and colors, sitting against the walls and huddled together over plastic signs and sleeping bags. They serve as an invisibility cloak; people don't want to see them. And a baby among them isn't a strange sight.

Lance sighs and closes his eyes, keeping his hands firmly on the baby's middle.

He messed up.

He knows that now. He'd endangered the baby by making a scene. He'd let his outrage and his anger take precedence over the baby's safety. His and Keith's safety– no, actually, he'd endangered all of Voltron. If they had to come save Keith and Lance from whatever prison they landed in, it would've most likely blown their cover. Or maybe Keith and Lance would have gotten beaten and tossed out, the baby hurt or stolen. The thought makes him nauseous.

Everyone was right about him. He's an idiot.

A selfish idiot.

His words come back to him about not being Galra and demanding service and he cringes further. He'd probably made Keith feel like shit.

Lance is such an asshole.

Lance buries his face in soft purple hair. "I'm sorry, baby."

The baby is unfazed and smacks him.

Keith returns shortly, his intense gaze sweeping over the crowd and searching faces among the homeless until he spots Lance.

Lance bites his bottom lip, prepared to get chewed out, but then he sees Keith carrying their shopping basket and all thoughts fly out the window.

"How the hell did you get that? That asshole actually let you buy everything?"

The baby questions Keith too, waving his arms and babbling.

Keith shakes his head and barely stops in front of them, already weaving his way through the crowd. "I didn't buy it. They gave it to me. Come on, let's go."

"Gave it to you?" Lance jumps up, tucking the baby in his arms again like a squirming football. "What are you talking about?"

That made no sense. Keith and conflict resolution did not make sense. Zero.

But Keith just nods and drops the rest of their coins in someone's waiting cup. "Let's go."

Lance follows him as they dart and wiggle their way through the crowd. The baby snatches up hair, cloth, and other alien unidentifiables until Lance grabs his little hands, getting an ear-splitting angry shriek in return. They're almost to the meeting place but Lance can't seem to drop the subject. He stares at the basket in Keith's arms incredulously. There's even the-creature-that-looked-like-a-duck onesie that Lance wanted so bad.

The baby attempts to pull Lance's hair out in retaliation for his imprisonment but Lance ignores him. "Hold on, samurai. What do you mean they gave it to you?"

Keith groans. "Don't act stupid, Lance. I waved my sword around and they gave it to me."

"Oh." Lance doesn't let the 'stupid' comment spur him into an argument like it usually would have, he was half sure Keith only said it because he actually did want Lance to start a fight and change the subject. But it stung a little. He didn't need the reminder right now, thank you very much. He is very much aware. "Because you're a paladin?"

Keith huffs a laugh. "No, because I said I'd cut their throat if they didn't."

Oh.

Geez.

"...so we stole it? What if they call security?"

Keith glances back at him, shouldering someone out of his way like a linebacker. "Trust me, they won't. I left some money on the counter. Not enough to cover all of this, but after the way we were treated, we deserve a discount."

Now it’s Lance's turn to laugh.

He smacks Keith's shoulder. "Keith Kogane, the big bad baby bank burglar, the most dangerous outlaw this side of the universe."

Keith ignores him but Lance can see the corner of his lips quirk up.

This is awesome. Taking care of the baby is going to be so much easier without having to improvise and double check everything. Lance's guilt eases along with the tightness in his chest. Keith doesn’t seem angry at him, maybe he doesn’t even blame him. After all, they’re safe.

No thanks to Lance.

Lance winces, and this time it isn't because he got stepped on. Ugly thoughts come swirling back again but Lance puts a stop to them. No, no. He's not doing this. He will not berate himself until he feels like shit this time. They did it. Mission accomplished. Thanks to Keith, yeah, but they got what they needed. He has to focus on that. Keith, who doesn’t even want to hold the baby, risked his neck to get him some bottles and binkies. The ugly feelings slowly give way to gratitude and something akin to affection for mullet-brain.

Ugh. Lance shakes his head. The baby really is making him softer.

They finally break out of the crowds and jog down a stone path just outside the enormous walls that enclosed them. Lance is relieved there's still no guards at the entrance. It makes him wonder what the point of the walls is.

There's a landing dock a couple miles away for others who came for commercial reasons, but Allura decided to send them down on their lions cloaked with invisibility. No need to announce Voltron's presence to the whole planet.

Lance bounces the baby on his hip while they wait. The action is novel for about twenty seconds and then Baby goes back to eating his fist. Lance smiles so hard his face hurts and he feels himself rock side to side.

It's unbearably cute seeing the baby’s gummy smile with a slobbery purple fist shoved in it. Especially with those smiling yellow eyes focused on Lance.

"Que lindo." Lance touches his nose to Baby's and stares into his eyes. "Que lindo bebé con ojitos de limón."

How lovely. What a lovely baby with little lemon eyes.

Baby giggles and whacks Lance with his spit covered fist.

Lance cuts his gaze to the tree line, drawn by animal instinct, and sees Keith leaning against a tree watching them. Keith has always been a little bit stare-y, it came with the whole angry emo boy who avoids eye contact package, but Lance was starting to notice it more and more.

Before Lance can confront him, because Lance loves antagonizing the other boy, a floating mustache clad in ridiculous space pirate rags emerges from the forest.

He's lugging a cart full of boxes and Lance zeroes in on the pictures and labels, not daring to breathe, and then–

"Yes!" Lance whoops. "Coran you found it!"

Thank god.

Thank god. The baby’s going to be alright.

Coran puffs out his chest with pride. "Indeed, I did, my boy! It was no easy task, I assure you!"

Lance swings the baby above his head like a trophy and runs to Coran. The baby turns into a kicking and squealing ball of excitement and Lance brings him up to Coran's face and makes exaggerated kissing noises.

"Thank you for my milk, Uncle Coran!"

Coran laughs, loud and big-bellied, every bit the proud uncle.

Lance sets his sights on Keith and grins evilly. Keith braces himself.

"And thank you for everything else, Uncle Keith!"

Lance swings the baby up to Keith's face, making kissy noises while the baby shrieks with laughter.

Keith puts his hands up and ducks but he's laughing. Lance grins like an idiot. His mind takes a snapshot– Keith with flushed cheeks, smiling eyes, and his mouth open with laughter while being kicked by a baby. He's actually kind of pretty when he's not scowling or glaring.

Lance lowers the baby and plants a kiss on his fuzzy cheek.

Everything is going to be okay.

Chapter Text

"His name is Joaquin… no, Juanito."

Lance strokes the downy fur on potential-Juanito's neck. It leads down like hyena fur to the small of his back and it's the cutest thing ever.

The purple hyena baby is sitting on Lance's lap wearing one of his brand-new diapers and taking his bottle so well, gulping down the powdered milk concoction like a college freshman after finals. Poor thing, it really had been too long since he'd fed. Every time he finished a bottle, Lance got so happy he thought his chest would burst. He was down to four bottles now.

The baby stops to burp and Lance coos, easing the bottle up to his mouth after a second or two. He can hold it up all by himself but his coordination isn't the best, especially not slouched against Lance's chest. More often than not, he ends up missing and stabbing the rubber nipple into his cheek. Or his eye.

Pidge cocks her head like a bird, true to her name. "Juanito? Wouldn't that mean his real name is just Juan? You wanna call that baby Little Juan?"

Ew. Lance wrinkles his nose. Her accent absolutely butchers that name.

Pidge catches his look and sticks her tongue out. She's sitting at the kitchen table fiddling with something but apparently it's simple enough that she can listen to Lance. She'd been shooting wary looks towards Lance and the baby, but now they were coming with less frequency. Lance has no idea why. Did she think this fat happy baby was going to jump up and attack her? Or maybe she thought Lance was going to try to force the baby on her again.

She's right, though. Juan is no name for a baby this cute. Javier? Jonathan?

"It's not a good idea to name him." Hunk turns around, his sigh cutting through the previously easy silence.

Lance rolls his eyes like a pre-teen.

Hunk, his so-called best friend, is stirring a pot of delicious-smelling mystery soup. He occasionally sprinkles it with whatever alien herb or spice he’d picked up and then tastes it. When he frowns after tasting it, Lance perks up because that means he’s getting a taste.

However, this scene makes Lance feel like he's being scolded by his mom— (He'd spent way too much time getting lectured by his mom while she made dinner) —and he doesn’t like it.

It’s not the first time Hunk has cautioned Lance about the baby and honestly, Lance is getting sick of it. Hunk had taken one look at the basket of handpicked items and asked how long Lance expected the baby to stay with them.

Whatever. Hunk isn’t his mom.

"You're acting like he's a stray dog I picked up." Lance grumbles, gently wiping the milk escaping through the seal of the baby's mouth. "He's a person. He needs a name."

Hunk turns back to his soup. "If you name him it's just going to hurt more when you have to let him go. He's not yours to name, man. Don't get attached."

Lance grits his teeth.

Thoughts swirl in his head, stirred up like dirty water.

He's not attached, and he knows the baby won't stay. In fact, Lance is glad for it.

He's not an idiot, he knows the baby deserves a safe and stable home. He deserves parents, a real family. He can't stay in the Castle where Lance and his friends are constantly flying into battle. This is no place to raise a baby.

And who the hell would raise him even if he could stay? Lance himself? He's practically still a teenager. He isn't cut out to be a dad.

And everyone else treats the baby like a pest.

No, wait.

Lance takes a deep breath.

That isn't true.

Shiro and Allura are using their connections with their allies to try to find a home for the baby as safely as possible, and Pidge and Coran are scanning communication lines for any mention of a lost Galra baby. Hunk tried his best to find food for the baby and Keith–

Well, Keith is helping Lance.

And that's… yeah. That's everything.

But Lance is not fucking stupid.

The baby will be gone one day.

One day soon.

Lance escapes from the kitchen as soon as the baby finishes his bottle, not bothering to offer up an excuse for why he's leaving.

No more bad vibes for Lance and Baby.

He cradles the purple bundle that has become his constant companion (his biceps are fucking killing him but he's gonna be so swole after this) and gives him a guided tour of the Castle. After Lance figures his little stomach has settled enough from all the milk, he lowers the baby to the floor.

Lance had spent the last hour testing all the clothes, toys, and diapers for anything that might hurt the baby. After discarding one or two things, (possible allergens), he'd picked out these tiny–

(absolutely tiny)

–blue socks with grippy rubber dots on the bottom.

But holy shit being in charge of a baby made him worry about the weirdest things. For example, socks and their circulation inhibiting capabilities. Also he'd lost whatever trust he'd had in the space mice. Sorry buddies, no wild rodents around the baby.

(They were devastated.)

And Lance hates to say it but this baby has some weird feet, so he's glad the socks they chose fit correctly.

The baby puts his cat-monkey feet down easily but he grips Lance's hands tighter, his tiny fingers wrapped around three of Lance's fingers.

This isn't his first time doing this, Lance guesses, based on how he immediately tries to lift his feet into the proper positions. But due to his wobbly steps and the death grip on his fingers, it's pretty obvious he doesn't know how to walk yet.

But it won't be much longer until he takes his first steps. Lance can tell.

"Good work, baby. You're so smart." He murmurs.

He remembers all of his nieces' and nephews' first steps; the way they would shakily rise to their feet, their little toddler hands gripping whatever they could find for support. The room would freeze every time no matter what people were doing.

And when the baby let go and took their first clumsy step towards whatever they wanted, their mom, their dad, their favorite toy, tío Lance; the family burst into a flurry of activity.

"Está caminando!"

The baby always flinched, looking up in wonder at the sudden chaos.

"Luis! Carmen! Vengan! Vengan a ver! María! El bebé camina!"

People would run, mamá taking the pan with her from the kitchen, Carmen yanking up her jeans as she slammed open the bathroom door without flushing, Lance digging for his phone to capture this precious moment.

And the baby would grin wide and toothless at the attention, standing victorious.

Those were some of Lance's favorite memories.

But this baby,

This little alien baby,

All alone in the devastating vastness of space,

His family would never see his first steps.

His slain mother never even got to see her baby walk.

Lance's heart seizes at the thought. It stabs into him, invading every corner of his mind. The memories of his family fade away, taking the warmth with them. They're replaced by the cold metal floor of the Castle and the quiet babble of the alien baby in his hands.

He's alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Before the chill running through his body can choke him, the violent sounds of a bot getting destroyed fill the hallway and both of them flinch.

Lance grins, recognizing the sound, and swiftly launches the baby into his arms. "Look who it is! Look, baby!"

He forces as much excitement into his voice as he can, and when the baby squeals happily in response, the hand around his throat loosens slightly. He has enough of those horrible thoughts buzzing around his head when he's trying to sleep, he doesn't need them right now when he's supposed to be taking care of the baby.

"Uncle Keith!" They round the corner into the training hall and Lance stands just outside, holding the baby up to the entrance so that it looks like he's floating in mid-air. "Hey Keithy-cat! Look who's here! It's me and my favorite uncle Lance! We've come to play with you!"

"No, Lance."

No? Unacceptable. Lance needs the distraction right now.

"Excuse me?" Lance pops in and takes in the scene.

Keith is on the floor next to a couple decimated bots. He's, sadly, not collapsed and panting with exertion like Lance would be after god knows how many rounds of hand-to-hand combat with the bots. Instead, his legs are stretched wide and he's reaching for his right foot, pulling his chest towards his knee and frowning at Lance.

His face is slightly pink, his lips wet, and Lance can see little curls sticking to his forehead.

The scene makes him feel a little funny.

Lance sets the baby down and the little bundle rapidly crawls towards Keith. His frantic, squirmy crawl makes Lance laugh but Keith fixes the advancing Galra with a look that would make a lesser man stop in his tracks. But baby boy marches on. Lance too, bravely steps forward.

He starts to babble, (Lance, not the baby) not sure why he's suddenly nervous. "Keith, you've gotta go back to the basics, man. You're supposed to stretch before you fight."

Keith rolls his eyes at the joke but doesn’t let his gaze leave the baby. He offers by way of explanation, "I think I pulled something killing that last one."

"Yeah, that's definitely why you stretch before."

"I did, you idiot. I'm trying to, I don't know, push it back in."

Lance snorts. Push what back in? His muscles? "Wow. That's not how that works. I think you're supposed to–"

Lance's golden advice comes to a screeching halt because, what the hell? He just noticed something.

Keith is wearing Lance's shirt.

He is wearing Lance’s shirt.

Again, what the hell?

Now that he's closer, he takes in Keith's entire outfit. He's wearing black leggings honeycombed with subtle reflective fabric and Lance swears they're designed to outline every curve of every muscle. And there's a lot of them. Muscles. Keith's legs may be short but they are thick with muscle. His thighs are huge. But, weird emphasis on his bro's legs aside, Keith is wearing a blue tank-top that's definitely too big for him, slapped with a cool graphic of a shark on a surfboard. It hangs loose on his frame and from the angle he's twisted in, Lance can see a whole lot of skin.

Admittedly, the blue looks good on him. It deepens his eyes. But Lance is getting distracted. The fact that Keith looks good in Lance's tank top is so not the point.

Lance feels something hot burn in his chest. Jealousy maybe.

"Keith? What the hell! That's my shirt!"

Keith finally looks away from the baby to look down at the shirt he's wearing.

Like he forgot. Dumbass.

Keith looks at him. "So?"

“What do you mean 'so?'” Lance short circuits and he sputters. "You can't- you can't just go around wearing other people's clothes! Where did you even get that?"

Keith shrugs. "Don't know. You probably left it in the laundry room."

That– that is not a valid excuse! Lance has no idea why this bothers him so much. Living with so many siblings and family members meant that he was more than used to sharing. But this… this is different.

"Yeah, Keith, the laundry room is where people leave their clothes! To wash them! You can't just…" Lance trails off, his mouth suddenly dry.

Because Keith is shifting positions.

Keith doesn't know shit about yoga, or muscle groups, hell, Lance doubts he's ever worked out for any purpose other than to fight and destroy.

So it's purely instinctual, an animal following the innate instructions of his body, that Keith crouches on all fours and lowers his front half. He slides his hands forward, pulling his body taut like a fishing line. The blue shirt rides far up his back, exposing his slender waist. His legs spread to accommodate the position and it pulls a sound from him.

Christ.

Lance looks away from the image now seared into his retinas and stares a hole into the Castle wall. The heat crawls up his neck. It's worth mentioning that Keith's leggings leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. Nothing.

"Dios mio que estas en los cielos…" Lance mutters.

My god who art in heaven…

"What?"

"I said," Lance hopes his voice doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels, "What are you doing?"

"I almost got it." Keith grunts. "I think I might've slept wrong, my back hurts."

"Did you pull something or did you sleep wrong?"

"I don't know, Lance. I'm not a fucking doctor."

And what can Lance even say to that? 'Keith, don't dress like a slut?' No, because that's Lance's shirt. Also, slut shaming isn't cool, even though it’d be kind of funny to say that in this situation. 'Keith, I can see every curve of your ass and your thighs look amazing?' No, because that's kind of creepy.

"Well, don't do that. Sit down and I'll give you a massage."

Oh. Good fucking job, Lance. Yeah, that was definitely the best thing to say in this situation.

Keith frowns at him, his furrowed eyebrows spelling out doubt, but mercifully, he sits back on his heels. "Will that help?"

"Can't hurt. I'm good at it, giving massages, I mean." Lance congratulates himself for speaking like a normal person when they're suddenly interrupted by a short cry.

It's the baby.

Dios. Those robots could have rebuilt themselves and engaged the purple eggplant baby in deadly combat or a fatal game of poker and Lance wouldn't have noticed. Lance should be ashamed of himself but it's hard for him to feel much of that when he's sitting behind Keith, his hands itching to touch skin. The baby seems to know that he's being utterly ignored because he's frowning with enough weight in his gaze to rival Keith's glares. He looks like he's seconds away from screaming.

Lance deserves the glare. He totally forgot about the baby.

"Hold on, sweetheart. Let me give you…" Lance searches his pockets. Where did he put it… there. He pulls out a toy and rolls it to the baby.

It's pretty cool, actually. It's an expandable rubber octagon filled with spheres of star-shaped milk snacks that Lance put inside the capsules this morning.

The baby is instantly mesmerized, trying to grip the toy with clumsy fingers. The point is to expand the shape enough to be able to release the latches that contain the food. He doubts the baby has enough finger dexterity to figure that out but it will probably keep him occupied for some time.

Keith smiles, the corner of his mouth twitching when the baby drops the toy for the fourth time. "Is that a dog toy?"

Uh.

Lance blinks. "No. Of course not."

"It looks like a dog toy."

"I-It's not a dog toy. It's designed for babies, to improve dexterity and for mental stimulation and all that."

Fuck you, Keith.

Lance squeezes Keith's shoulders to shut him up because it's definitely not a dog toy. Lance picked it out of the baby section. (Right?) Oh no. Thinking about it twice, that image of a four-legged creature could very well have been a dog creature and not a baby crawling. Whatever.

Lance’s tactic works. Keith drops it, rolling his head back and flexing his shoulders. Lance shuts up too because… this, this is awkward. It's weird, isn't it? Or maybe not. Lance is just helping his teammate stretch so he'll be ready for battle. But it feels weird. It feels like more.

Keith is warm, his skin blazes like a sun-warmed stone through the thin straps of Lance's tank-top. The infamous mullet is curled up on the nape of his neck with sweat. It should be gross but he smells good, like cinnamon deodorant, sweat, like the shampoo he uses, and like something else Lance can't put his finger on… like Keith. He smells like Keith.

Whatever. Lance starts kneading the muscles in Keith's shoulders, embarrassed of his own thoughts. He starts rambling because at this point, it's basically a defense mechanism. He looks up to the heavens dramatically. Mouth, please save me from awkward silences and from my own humiliating thoughts. Oh and also, please don't say anything stupid to put me in more awkward situations like this one.

"So, how'd you get so swole out there in the desert? Bench-pressing coyotes?"

His words hang in the air, strained and awkward. And with good reason because what the hell? He must be cursed.

Lance can't see Keith's expression of hopeless confusion but he can hear it in his voice.

"What? How'd I get… swollen? What did you say about coyotes?"

Lance's face colors but there's only one thing to do. Double down.

"Not swollen, swole. You know, like, jacked."

"Jacked?"

"Big. Like you know, bien mamado."

Keith is quiet for a while and Lance resists the urge to flee. He moves on to the base of Keith's neck, softening his movements. But inside, his heart is racing with embarrassment.

But then Keith huffs out a laugh. It’s soft and muffled but it’s there.

“I didn’t bench-press any coyotes.”

Lance smiles stupidly. “Good. That would be animal abuse.”

Keith laughs again and Lance soars. Keith seems to like his stupid jokes.

He's about to say something stupid again, or maybe he was opening his mouth to change the subject like a coward, when Keith pulls the top over his head and Lance promptly swallows his tongue.

“That feels good. Do it again.”

Lance blushes. “Yeah, okay.”

He frames Keith's spine between his hands, applying more pressure with his thumbs. He starts at the top of his spine, leading all the way down to his lower back.

Keith sighs, his body melting like jello.

It should be gross, but it's not. Keith's skin is soft and damp with sweat and he has a lot of marks– scars, burns and bruises– but also lots of beauty marks and even a small purple birthmark beneath his ribs.

Lance taps it without thinking and Keith flinches but doesn't say anything.

He traces the line of Keith's neck to the slope of his shoulder and gradually deepens his touch. Keith groans as the tension he was holding in his body dissipates. Lance follows his spine down again, Keith seems to like that, and then massages the muscles of his lower back.

“Fuck, Lance. You're so good at this.”

His voice is deep, slightly slurred, and breathless. Lance colors so fast he feels lightheaded.

Keith's gotta be doing that on purpose, right?

He sounds so dirty.

Embarrassingly, Lance can feel himself becoming affected and it makes him panic because this is so so so not right.

But Keith is shirtless, his skin is beautiful, and Lance has his hands around his little waist … plus he smells good. It's really not Lance's fault.

It's normal right? It's not like he's attracted to Keith! Hell fucking no. He's just… attracted to the situation. And to those noises Keith can’t seem to hold back. Anyone would be.

Before Lance can start to beat himself up, Keith speaks up again, almost drowsy.

"They're shaped weird."

Lance pauses. "What is?"

"Babies, I mean. They're shaped weird."

He gestures at the baby by pointing with his chin. Lance glances up at the child, still entranced with his toy, and frowns. "What? No he's not."

"His head is too big for his body, his arms are tiny and fat, and he's bow-legged. All babies look like that."

Lance gasps. Did Keith just roast the hell out of an innocent baby?

"You take that back! You'd be shaped weird too if you had to squeeze through a vagina a couple months ago."

"Gross, Lance.”

Lance laughs. "It's not gross! It's natural! Though that's probably the only time you will be squeezing through a vagina–"

Keith punches him.

The world spins.

Lance falls, reeling and stung. He doesn't stay down for long. He kicks Keith away, more out of instinct than anything, and sends him stumbling back. But Keith quickly recovers and punches Lance again.

“Why do you always have to be such an asshole?” Keith hisses. He tackles and straddles Lance, the fury glowing yellow in his eyes.

Lance is struggling frantically to catch up with the new developments. His training kicks in and he blocks the next hit and punches Keith in the side. They're fighting dirty now, and the shock and betrayal is quickly getting replaced by anger.

“You fucking psychopath!” Lance shouts.

Lance isn't proud of it but he pulls Keith's hair when he gets the chance. (He has four older sisters, okay?)

Keith yelps, surprised, and it distracts him enough to let Lance throw him off and scramble to his feet.

“What the hell did I do to you?” Lance spits, standing in a defensive position.

Keith shoots forward faster than Lance can follow and grabs the neck of his shirt. “Don't act like you don't know!”

Again with that? Don't act stupid, don't act like you don't know, he's not fucking acting goddammit! What the hell did Lance even do this time? Was it the comment about Keith being a virgin that made him go crazy?

“It was just a joke, you fucking animal! And it barely even made sense!” Lance was usually above name calling, (not really) but his face hurts where he'd taken two punches (why the fuck did Keith have to hit him in the face) and his knuckles hurt where he'd rammed them against Keith's side. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

It looks like Keith is done hitting him but Lance sure as hell isn't. He throws himself at Keith, sending them sprawling on the ground, and Keith's head makes an awful smacking sound against the ground.

Lance freezes.

He stops because he's a reasonable human being and he knows when he's gone too far. He has maybe two milliseconds to worry about Keith before the bastard jumps up and puts him in a chokehold.

“You crazy, fucking, dumbass motherfuck–” Lance gets rudely cut off. Along with his air supply.

He kicks and punches but Keith does some crazy maneuver and pulls Lance on top of him, pinning him by wrapping his legs around him, all while not loosening his grip around his throat.

“Just stop!” Keith yells.

He could stop. But he won't. Lance twists his neck at a painful angle and bites Keith's inner arm.

He's not ashamed. The psycho is trying to kill him.

Keith yelps and releases him but Lance stays where he is securely above the smaller man, and grabs his wrists to prevent further injury. He wrestles his arms to cross them over his chest. Lance pants, his muscles straining with the effort to keep Keith down.

“I swear to god I have no idea what you're talking about!” He says, his throat raw and aching.

His eyes water. He’s never going to forgive Keith for this.

But Keith finally stops. He stops fighting Lance’s hold and settles beneath him. His face is flushed pink, his lips bitten red. His impossibly dark hair is strewn around his face in a sweaty halo. His eyes are wild and scary but that makes them shine in a way Lance hasn’t seen up close before.

It slowly mutes the fury inside his chest. Lance has no idea why. The revelation makes him feel weak and he tightens his grip around Keith's pale wrists. “I don't know what the fuck is going on. Talk. Now.”

Keith swallows and breaks eye contact. “Fuck you, Lance. I'm tired of you making fun of me.”

Seriously?

“That's what this is about?” Lance releases him and runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “What the hell, Keith? I'm just joking. I'm teasing you! That's what people do. That's what friends do. If you don't like it then you could've just fucking told me instead of hitting me! What's wrong with you?”

He swings himself off Keith and sits on the floor, rubbing his jaw where he'd taken the brunt of the hit. Fuck this.

“I did tell you.” Keith says quietly.

Lance doesn't turn to look at him. “Glaring at me is not communication.”

“You’re fucking crazy! You—

“I’m crazy? You’re the one who attacked me for no reason like a rabid fucking animal!”

Keith yells again. “You’re nice to me one second and then you’re a total dick the next!”

“Stop yelling at me!” Lance yells.

He turns his back to Keith. Fuck, he needs to compose himself. If he says one more word he feels like his voice might break. He’s not a pussy but this literally came out of nowhere. They were having a nice moment together and then Keith went batshit. His shoulder hurts where he must have overextended it, his throat feels raw and scraping, and his teeth feel like they're burrowing into his jaw.

Keith stands, pulling Lance’s rumpled top back over his head. “I'm… I'm going to get you some ice.”

Was that his version of an apology? Hell no he’s not letting him get away with that. Lance drops his head in his hands. Ow. “I don't fucking want ice. I want you to talk to me.”

Lance doesn't even know why he's trying. (He does) Keith doesn't deserve his patience, his understanding, and much less his forgiveness. (Yes, he does). He has half a mind to quit, to walk away and cool off in his room and wait for Keith to get his shit together and apologize, but Lance can't really do that. He wants to give Keith a chance.

And also, if he leaves right now he’ll toss and turn all night wondering what he did to deserve this.

Keith stops walking, his back to Lance. His hands flex into fists and he rubs his thumb and forefinger together. There's a red bruise deepening on Keith's ribs and there's scratches on the exposed skin of his back. But altogether he's definitely still in better shape than Lance is. The possible head injury does worry him, though.

Fuck him, though.

“Are you gonna say anything?” Lance snaps.

Keith spins around, eyes blazing, the fire stoked again by Lance's tone.

“Fine.” His words are sharp. “I beat your ass because I'm fucking tired of you giving me shit for being gay. It's not funny and you're an asshole.”

Keith keeps talking, a miracle really, but Lance can't hear any of it because his brain is busy blaring alarms.

What?

What?

He registers a few words– “homophobic” “ignorant” “bigot” –before he blurts out the first words he can think of.

“You're not gay!’

Aw, hell.

That is not at all what he meant to say. Lance mentally kicks himself. He meant to say, ‘I didn't know you were gay!’ but of course, he put his foot in his mouth again. Keith’s thick eyebrows rise as he processes Lance’s words before falling and scrunching in disgust. His lips twist.

Holy shit. He’s gonna get his ass beat again.

His mind races.

Keith is gay.

Keith just came out to him and the first thing Lance did was… fucking deny it!

Lance jumps up, shaking his head and grabbing Keith desperately because that is so, so wrong.

“No! That's– That's not what I meant! I just didn't know. Keith, what? I'm not making fun of you for that! I would never do that!”

Keith jerks out of his grasp. “Stop yelling! You… you didn't know?”

“No!”

“Then why did you say all that shit?”

Lance’s brain implodes for the hundredth time. “What shit!?”

Keith groans and covers his face. “When you told that alien that we’re a couple at the baby store! When you said that stupid shit about us fucking in the shower! When you grabbed my waist! The stupid vagina comments!”

Oh.

Lance blushes and turns away. “That's… that's just…”

Geez. When Keith puts it like that, it sounds kind of weird.

“T-That's besides the point, Keith. I wasn't bullying you and I'm not a homophobe! And I'm sorry you misunderstood my jokes, okay? I never meant to hurt you.”

Keith stares at him, his purple eyes rimmed red, big and round like a big baby–

A baby.

Holy shit the baby.

Where's the baby?

Lance trips over himself to search the area but he's nowhere to be found.

The baby is gone.

Chapter Text

The emotional whiplash is making him sick.

Keith found the baby after 10 excruciating minutes in the most dangerous room in the Castle: Pidge’s work room. Pidge started to chew him out, but as soon as Lance held the baby in his arms– his purple fur covered in dust bunnies and clutching alien technology in his tiny fists, Lance burst into tears.

Pidge ended up apologizing for nothing (?) and scurried out of the room like a scared mouse. Hunk ran to get him some soup (?) Allura called off her mice search party, Coran gave him a hug, Shiro murmured some awkward encouraging words, and Keith pressed a bag of ice to his face.

Lance swatted him away, but Keith persisted.

That’s how Lance ended up quietly crying into dirty purple hair with a baby in one arm, drinking soup with his other hand, and resting his jaw on a bag of ice attached to Keith’s arm.

He hasn't been to Pidge’s workshop in a while, usually only to chill and play video games, but now it seemed like Pidge was in the middle of a project. There are all sorts of shit strewn around, and her goblin cave is dimly lit with green lights. Lance, Keith, and the baby are seated in her makeshift bed that looks more like a nest than a bed.

“Keith, put the bag back. You need it too.”

Keith huffs and brings the second bag of ice back up to his head. He looks stupid.

“I’m really sorry, Lance.”

Lance rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the rush of heat that surges to his face. This is so embarrassing. “Shut up, Keith. You’re only apologizing because I cried like a baby. And that wasn’t because you beat me up, by the way. Also, you did not beat me up, so I take back that wording immediately. We beat each other up, if anything. Actually, I kind of won that. You ended up on your back, beneath me. So I totally won. I cried because I was stressed about the baby, okay? It’s a totally valid reason. I can’t believe I was stupid and irresponsible enough to let him out of my sight. Anything could have happened. I don’t even want to imagine… if you hadn’t found him when you did… puta madre…”

Keith stared at him, wide eyed and open mouthed like a dumb fish. “No! It wasn’t your fault, Lance. It was my fault.”

“Again. You’re only saying that because I cried in front of everyone and embarrassed myself. Honestly, Keith, you're so easy. If I had known that all it takes for you to fold is a couple of tears, I would have— actually, it’s probably because you’re emotionally repressed. You need to work on that, bro. I’m fine. You don’t have to make me feel better. And you know what? Crying is good. It’s healthy. Men are allowed to cry. Also—"

“Lance. Stop talking for two seconds. I’m serious.”

Serious Keith. Lance turns to look at him. The angle is a bit awkward because the baby is sitting on Lance’s leg between them, and because Keith is still holding the ice bag to Lance’s jaw. Lance turns and they almost touch noses.

Keith jerks back but he doesn’t let the ice bag drop. He looks ridiculous and mortified at the unexpected closeness and unprotected eye contact. He ducks his head like an ostrich.

Lance laughs wetly. “Keith—"

“It’s my turn to talk.” He mutters.

That expression strikes Lance as childish, and he fights down another laugh. Ok. Serious Lance.

“Look, I distracted you from watching the baby by starting a fight, and I should have been watching him too. I’m sorry. That was really irresponsible of me. And I’m not just apologizing to you because you cried. I… I shouldn’t have punched you like that.”

Keith talks like it physically pains him, but he keeps talking. “I’m really sorry, Lance.”

He risks a glance at Lance’s expression and then ducks down again. “And you aren’t stupid and irresponsible. You’re doing a really good job with the baby. He’s… he’s really lucky to have you.”

Aw.

Lance grins stupidly, for once he’s happy that Keith is allergic to eye contact. His face heats again, but this time it’s a soft glow and one that spreads to his chest.

That was sweet.

That was really very sweet.

It’s true Keith shouldn’t have punched him instead of trying to talk it out, but that was no excuse for completely forgetting the most important responsibility he’s ever been in charge of. Lance still feels bad but he’s starting to feel better. Yes, he made a mistake, and it could’ve been worse, but it wasn’t. Lance is doing his best. And he won’t ever make that mistake again.

“I’m sorry too. I should have paid more attention when you tried to tell me my jokes made you uncomfortable.” Lance puts the soup down and reaches to pull Keith’s hand from his jaw.

Keith looks up at his touch and Lance holds his gaze this time.

“I’m really sorry I made you feel like you weren’t safe here– like you weren’t safe with me.”

Keith pulls his hand from Lance’s and turns away. “Are we good now?”

That’s all the emotional vulnerability Keith can handle, apparently.

Lance bites back the sudden taste of disappointment. They were getting somewhere, why does he have to pull back like that? Lance sighs and places Keith’s discarded bag of ice gently behind the mullet.

Keith shoots him a look and reaches back to grab it. “It doesn’t hurt. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Your head sounded like a basketball, bro. It was just thunk. Like that.”

“Did not.”

“It was like a hollow thunk. Actually, that explains a lot.”

“Shut up. I’ll hit you again.”

“What?” Lance gasps exaggeratedly. “Did you learn nothing? You said you weren’t going to hit me anymore! You’re going to use your words from now on, remember? Honestly, it’s like I’m taking care of two Galra toddlers right now.”

Keith smiles at that, and they both look down at the baby between them. He’s sitting quietly for once, one fist in his mouth while the other fiddles with the bandage wrapped around Keith’s arm where Lance had bitten him. Now, that injury was gnarly. He hadn’t broken the skin, but it was definitely going to be a colorful and painful bruise. Lance’s face seemed like it was following suit, though, so Lance doesn’t feel too bad about the bite.

“Yeah, well, I thought you weren’t going to make fun of me anymore. You just called me a stupid baby.”

Lance snickers. “Hey, I never said that I wouldn't make fun of you. It’s impossible not to make fun of you. I mean, just look at you.”

He pauses to take in his reaction. Keith is leaning back against the ice bag, sandwiching Lance’s hand between the wall and his head. He looks pretty like this, in profile. His hair is starting to dry and frizz out, the curly strands catching the green light like raven feathers. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks and wow, Lance hadn’t noticed how small Keith’s nose is. Keith frowns at Lance, looking sideways at him.

Lance also rests his head against the wall, facing Keith. His hand is going numb from the cold, but he doesn’t care. “...but I understand some of it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll cool it with the sex jokes, and I’ll stop flirting with you.”

Keith blinks.

He scrunches his nose in a now familiar expression of confusion, and it would’ve been cute if his next word didn’t make Lance’s stomach drop.

“‘Flirting?’”

Uh.

Lance breaks eye contact. Did he really just say that? That is not something he wanted to admit to himself right now, let alone Keith. He drops his hand and the ice bag falls against Keith’s neck. Keith jumps from the sensation.

“Um. I mean…”

What does he do? Backpedal or double down? Maybe he should just pretend the baby needs a diaper change and run away.

“Yeah. Flirting. What? You think I’d grab just anyone and say they’re my husband just for the bit? I mean, what kind of a joke would that be anyway? That’s not funny. Okay, wow. Now I see how you thought I was being homophobic.”

Keith still looks confused. “Wait, why were you flirting—“

Oh god. Lance’s heart beats in his ears and he’s sure as hell his face looks as hot as it feels. Thank god the lights in here are dim.

“Shut up, Keith. You wouldn’t get it. It’s part of the bit.”

“You just said it wasn’t.”

“No, I said the husband thing wasn’t part of the bit. The fake flirting is part of the bit. The larger bit. In the grand scheme of things.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You’re not supposed to.”

“Are you gaslighting me?”

“Oh my god shut up, Keith! You don’t even know what gaslighting is.”

Keith laughs. It’s rough and bubbly all at once. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand to catch the tail end of it but it’s too late. Lance is already smiling like an idiot because that laugh is contagious.

He’s caught by the laughter in Keith’s eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.” Keith finally says, still smiling.

“And you’re crazy.” Lance replies, because he has to have the last word.

He’s relieved Keith dropped the flirting thing because that was super embarrassing, and Lance doesn’t want to think about it. He also didn’t like the panicky feeling in his chest during that conversation. His heart is still beating fast but it’s for another reason now, not an unpleasant one. But whatever, he doesn’t have time to delve deep into his feelings right now. Frankly, he’s emotionally exhausted.

He leans his head against the wall again and readjusts the baby.

When is Pidge coming back to kick them out? He doesn’t want this moment to end. He’s just starting to wonder where she could be hiding when Keith reaches out and tentatively brushes the top of the baby’s head.

Like he’s touching a wild animal.

Lance snorts. “Keith, did you just pet my baby?”

Keith blinks owlishly at him. “No? He had dirt on his head.”

“You just pet this little baby like a dog.”

Mullet brain rolls his eyes. “You’re the one that got him a dog toy.”

Hey!

Lance sputters. “I did not! It’s a baby toy! I told you it’s for his mental enrichment! A lot of baby toys are food motivated, that’s normal!”

He’s aware that he’s yelling.

Keith backs away like Lance’s emotional outburst offends him and shrugs. “Why is it such a big deal if he uses a dog toy or not?”

Before Lance can start ranting, the lights flash on and the doors swish open. Pidge pops her head in.

“Are you guys done making out?”

Lance cringes. Screw you, four eyes. That’s the last thing they need.

She sees his expression and smirks, pushing up her glasses like an anime villain. “We’re going planetside. We found a place for him to stay.”

Found– oh.

For the baby.
☆

This is all going way too fast.

Lance undresses himself slowly.

The baby is tumbling around in Lance’s bed, one hand gripping his milk bottle and the other throwing blankets around and babbling.

After much deliberation, Lance had wrestled him into a blue shirt patterned with water bears. The bottoms were a ruffled pair of green shorts. His yellow duck pacifier was clipped to his shirt.

Honestly, the blue, green, and purple combos were shocking and more than a little unpleasant. Lance had to face it: the baby is a walking fashion disaster. Lance really should have bought more neutral colors to compliment the purple, or some soft yellows to bring out his eyes, but it’s too late now. He wasn't used to shopping for a purple baby. Lance had gone to the store and picked out every loud shirt. Every colorful outfit with a pretty design on it. Shorts with zebra creatures, stars, and lots of alien creatures. Socks with baubles and beads. Hats with pom poms in every single color. Overalls and onesies with lights sewn into the seams.

Lance's baby is an eyesore, and Lance is the worst person in the world because of it.

The baby should sue him.

Lance had admitted defeat after the second outfit change, blinking back tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall again. God, what was wrong with him? He couldn’t even blame the hormones.

The outfit didn’t matter, for god’s sake. It wasn’t more likely to keep him safe, to make people accept him. To make people love him.

But he'd held both pairs of black, leather baby shoes, with a flower for a button, in the palm of his hand for a second and his chest had gotten so tight he couldn't breathe.

Hunk was wrong.

Lance didn't need to name the baby to get attached.

He was already attached, and this was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

He's not sure when it happened.

Maybe it was the sleepless nights of holding the baby to his chest, soothing his cries as he nestled in Lance's arms for comfort. Maybe it was the first time Lance had kissed his soft head. The first time his purple fingers wrapped around one of Lance's. The first time he heard him giggle. Maybe it was each time the baby swung his big head to look at him with teary yellow eyes and smiled.

Was that all it took? Was it normal for Lance to feel this devastated, this wounded, this… much?

He's pathetic.

He readies the baby pod, (designed by Hunk and Pidge) lining it with blankets and two of the baby’s favorite plush toys.

Lance takes a deep breath and joins the others.

“Alright, guys. What's the plan?”

The Paladins are gathered in the Bridge. Pidge is scanning the planet below with Coran by her side, and Shiro and Allura are wrapped up in a heated discussion. Keith is draped against the wall scowling in Keith-esque fashion and Hunk…?

“Hunk is loading up the last of the supplies.” Keith offers.

Lance nods, going to lean next to him. He sets the baby pod on the floor and copies Keith's position. Keith’s bed head is almost as bad as the baby’s was, but he looks good. He’s wearing a gray shirt under a black, jean jacket. His belt looks like it’s from Earth, worn leather with a plain silver buckle.

They’re all wearing nice clothes and Lance feels himself relax a bit.

It’s like every other time they’ve had to go planetside.

A thought comes into his head half-formed, and he nudges Keith.

“Hey, Shiro is our leader, Allura is our diplomat and intelligence, Pidge is the tech guy, Hunk is our engineer and chef. Where does that leave us, Keithy boy? What do we do?”

The corner of Keith's mouth twitches. “We're the muscle.”

Lance snickers. “Hell yeah. Lance and Keith–”

“Actually, I'm the muscle. You're the babysitter.”

Hey!

“How dare–”

“Knock it off. Are you two not tired of fighting?” He's abruptly interrupted by Shiro.

He’s standing in front of them, eclipsing the light with his broad shoulders and stone jawline. Holy shit, Shiro's mad. Lance wilts under Shiro's disapproving frown and Keith kicks the wall with his heel.

“We're not fighting.” Keith mutters.

Lance looks sideways at Keith, feeling very much like they're in detention.

Shiro’s arms are crossed. He’s giving disappointed dad vibes. “What happened yesterday cannot happen again.”

Lance swallows dryly. Thankfully, Keith speaks up.

“We're not fighting, Shiro.”

Shiro looks down at Keith, his mouth a thin line. “Then why does Lance look like he's going to a Halloween party?”

Hey.

Rude.

It's kind of true, though. Lance had woken up to do his morning skincare routine, sleepy baby on one hip, when he'd seen the mottled rainbow on his face. It was in the red-purple stage, blooming from his jaw to his cheekbone. Personally, Lance thought it made his eyes pop.

“Keith is bruised too! They're just under his clothes.” Lance says helpfully.

Shiro narrows his eyes, but Keith saves him.

“I hit him first. It won't happen again.”

Lance turns to look at him, surprised. Is Keith really taking the blame? Usually, they talk over each other to pin the blame on the other. Olive branch accepted, Samurai.

“Yeah, but I antagonized him.” Lance offers.

Shirk sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Enough. Keith, I’ll talk to you later. Lance, be more mature, please. Allura will explain the plan to you.”

Lance's jaw drops, aghast. ‘Be more mature?’ Why didn't he tell Keith that? Like Lance is some little pestering kid that needed to be tolerated? That wasn't fair! He's about to say as much and raise hell when Keith takes one look at him and covers his mouth to stifle his laughter.

What’s so funny?

His annoyance fades as quickly as it came.

If someone had told Lance back at the Garrison that one day he'd have Keith Kogane doubled over giggling, his hair falling softly over his face, he would have told them to fuck off.

Lance swallows his words and smiles stupidly. “Shut up, Keith.”

He feels warm. Tingly. Maybe he's having an allergic reaction.

Allura cuts off his inner wonderings. “Lance, you're late for the briefing.”

Aaaand the annoyance is back. Lance scoffs. She should try sleeping with the baby and see how early she wakes up. Lance had woken throughout the night and changed the baby's diaper twice, which is not easy, by the way. The baby hates diaper changes. He acts like he's being flayed alive, screaming and squirming and flipping over to crawl desperately away. Last night, Lance had to struggle between making sure the baby didn't fall off the bed, trailing alien excrement of course, and wrapping up the dirty diaper that stink-bombed his whole room. Galra baby shit stunk just as much as human baby shit, by the way. Then he had to clean up the furious clawing baby and wrap him up in a new diaper. All the while pleading with him and threatening him:

“Nene, por favor. Por favor, chiquito. No te estoy lastimando. Bebé, cálmate. ¡Que te calmes! Si no te calmas vas a ver como te va ir.”

Baby, please. Please little one. I'm not hurting you. Baby, calm down. I said calm down. If you don't calm down, you’ll see how it's going to go for you.

He didn't even have the energy to be amused at himself for repeating the empty threats his parents used to try to scare him with. Dios, is he turning into his mom?

Then there was the twenty to thirty minutes spent rocking and comforting him after the traumatic diaper change, and then another thirty spent lulling him to sleep with a bottle.

Then Lance had to quietly clean up, blinking the sleep deprivation induced hallucinations out of his eyes. (An exaggeration but he swore he saw a couple of space spiders.)

And the mornings were almost worse. He had to peel himself out of bed like a chewed-up piece of gum. His face was disastrous. Not the bruise– at least now he had some color in his face –the rest of his skin was an ugly, exhausted gray. Lance spent a good 20 minutes making himself presentable, applying serums and creams, attacking his eyebrows with tweezers, shaving the rest of his face, destroying whatever pimple dared to show its ugly head. Today he'd applied a subtle lip tint, some blush, and even some concealer under his eyes to restore him to his usual beautiful self.

The baby woke up in the middle of his routine, so Lance had gone and fished him from the sheets.

The exhaustion-fueled anger and bitterness faded as soon as he settled the fat baby in his arms. Even in his sour mood, aided by swollen eyes and a pounding headache, the baby's bedhead made him smile. Lance had never seen such a drastic mess caused by sleep before. The baby looked like he'd been attacked by a mini tornado.

The next part of his morning routine was new:

Lance brushed the baby's tiny teeth and avoided being bit for once. He'd calmed down the fluffy lion's mane into something more presentable and moisturized his fur, applying lotion to his little hands and feet. All the while keeping up a steady stream of gravelly murmuring while the baby chirped and babbled.

Then there was another diaper change and a new outfit for Baby.

The baby sat patiently through his pampering and then threw himself clumsily at Lance in a slobbery baby hug.

“Lance, are you listening?”

Lance blinks himself back to reality. Crap. Had he been spacing out this whole time? They were all staring at him. Heat rises to his neck.

“He fell asleep.” Pidge pipes up, smirking.

Lance points a threatening finger at her.

Allura sighs and Lance cuts his eyes to her. She looks lovely, like always. He doesn't think he will ever stop wondering at her loveliness but that was a common side effect that came with meeting Allura. Her white curls are piled high on top of her head and her long earrings dangle green and pink. She’s wearing one of her diplomacy gowns and somehow manages not to look overdressed. Usually, disappointment from her would make him wither but now he only feels minor annoyance.

“I said, we're going to be landing on the planet Diskashi. Hunk, Pidge, and Keith packed the rest of the baby supplies in the Black Lion while you slept. We've no need for stealth– this is an allied refugee planet and we're going to take advantage of the situation to show the people that Voltron is here. We'll be landing right in their metropolitan area–”

“Okay, but where is the baby staying?” Lance traps the wandering baby with his legs and raises his eyebrows at Allura. The pod’s novelty had not lasted long, and the baby was starting to get restless. Lance too.

Allura's eye twitches. “The Blades recommend an organization that translates to ‘Helping Hands’ in your language. They dedicate themselves to taking in displaced children and placing them with suitable families. Apparently, they're one of the few organizations that responded favorably to a Galra baby.”

The baby chews on Lance's calf while he absorbs that information.

“Okay. What about–”

Allura cuts him off. Revenge for when Lance did it, probably. “We will need to be quick. We have already spent too much time deviating from the mission.”

Princess Allura is p-e-t-t-y. Petty.

Shiro nods. “Let's go. Everyone in the Black Lion.”

Lance scoops up the baby. He hates the idea of wrestling him back into the containment pod, but it has to be done.

But then Keith speaks up quietly and his thoughts take a sharp turn. “I'll stay. In case y'all need Red.”

Shiro nods his assent.

Wait, no.

“Keith, you have to come.” Lance whispers, holding the squirming baby against his chest.

Keith frowns. “No. Why?”

Why?

Fuck. Lance doesn't want to think about why. He just knows he needs Keith there. He can't do it alone.

Anxiety crawls up and down his skin like fire ants and his stomach turns. Why does he feel like this? He's nervous in a way he hasn't been for a long time, and it tastes like sweat and bile.

“Come on.” Lance whines.

“You don't need me there.” Keith says, like he'd read his mind.

Lance bites his lip. He really doesn't want to do this without Keith. He ducks his head to hold his gaze and tries to put all of his emotion into his eyes. “Please?”

It has an interesting effect. Keith's jaw twitches. His eyes flicker from Lance's eyes, down to his mouth, then settle down at their favorite spot on the floor. His bangs fall like an inky curtain over pale skin.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Lance grins and hugs him one-armed, hitting himself on the bruised side of his face with Keith's fat noggin.

Keith shoves him to add insult to injury. “Get offa me.”

Message received.

The trip down to the planet is uneventful and too short. By the time they arrive, the baby has big fat tears rolling down his fuzzy cheeks. He’s decided he hates the transportation pod. He presses his little cat hands against the glass, his claws fully extended. His fluffy ears flatten against his skull, and he lets loose a yowl.

Too cute.

He doesn’t notice that everyone else cringes at the shrill noise.

Lance taps on the glass, cooing. “Ay, que te paso, Limoncito? ¿Qué te hicieron?”

What happened to you, little lemon? What did they do to you?

The baby yowls again, shaking his head and throwing his arms around.

“Don't tease him, Lance.” Hunk admonishes.

“Yeah,” Pidge pipes up. “Stop antagonizing the eggplant.”

Lance snorts. She did not just call him an eggplant.

“He's too small to be an eggplant. He's more like a plum.” Shiro adds wisely.

Not you too, Shiro!

“No,” Allura muses. “He resembles one of your Earth grapes.”

Even Allura is bullying his baby. “You guys are just listing purple foods.” Lance grins.

The baby seems to know they're talking about him, and he turns in circles curiously. He’s still sobbing but his cries are trailing off.

“He looks like a beetroot.” Hunk says seriously, completely ignoring Lance.

At least Keith isn’t–

“Prickly pear.” Keith says, smirking when Lance looks at him, aghast. “Because of his claws.”

He does not look like any fruit or vegetable! Lance can't help but laugh. The atmosphere is lighter than it was earlier, and the nauseating anxiety twisting in his stomach loses its sharp edge. He’s still not okay. He can't bring himself to face the reality of what they're doing today. The fact that he might never see this little baby again is too much to bear but knowing that his space family is here supporting him helps.

Despite the beef that he has with Allura, Shiro, and Hunk, (Keith, Pidge, and Coran are safe for now) he's happy they're here. Except Coran, but he'd given both Lance and the baby words of encouragement.

As soon as Pidge performs one last atmospheric scan at Lance’s insistence, he releases the fuzzball out of the pod. The baby sobs, gripping Lance's arms and clawing his way into his embrace like a startled tarantula. Lance shushes his cries and digs through the diaper bag for his bottle while Limoncito digs his warm head into Lance’s neck.

Two thoughts battle for his attention while they climb out of Black. One, that he'd turned into one of those losers who carried a pastel-colored diaper bag everywhere. No offense to moms. Second, that the baby’s warmth felt hotter than even the sun in Varadero and penetrated so far, he could feel it in his marrow.

Ugh, but everyone else looked so cool. Young, single, and ready to mingle. And Lance looked like he'd been ditched by his baby-daddy.

The anxiety is still there, buzzing under his skin.

Allura pulls her helmet off and her white hair tumbles gracefully down her back. “Helping Hands is right ahead. Paladins, this is a great opportunity to show these refugees that Voltron is dedicated to helping them, so everyone be on your best behavior. Keith, please limit your glaring.”

She’s right. As much Lance hates politics, he knows enough to recognize that the optics look good. Team Voltron in plain clothes pulling up to an organization dedicated to helping orphans was great for their image.

“Lance, is there a hat or something you could put on the child?” Allura says, her multicolored eyes fixed on the crying baby.

Oh, right. The optics looked good as long as no one saw it was a Galra baby they were helping.

Lance pushes down his twinge of irritation and rummages through his hideous diaper bag. He didn't pack a lot of hats because, just like Coran predicted, it's hot as hell on this planet. The only option is a striped, yellow hat he'd cut holes into for the baby's ears. Now the baby looks even more like an eye-sore.

“Perdóname, chiquito.” Forgive me, little one. “I’ll buy you some proper hats, some that match and cover your ear—“

But he wouldn’t, would he?

He’d never buy the baby anything ever again.

He’d never have to think about little socks or what the perfect nipple shape should be for his bottles, the breathability of different cloth diapers, or what oils and creams made his fur the softest. Lance would never have to remember to burp him right after his second bottle or else he'd get so gassy he’d scream, or how he likes to be stroked between his ears down to his back so he can get to sleep.

The thoughts narrow his vision to a pinwheel and he can only see the receding backs of his teammates as he stumbles after them towards Helping Hands. The emotions make him numb and the only thing that ties him to this planet’s feeble gravity is ten tiny needle pricks digging into his neck.

“Paladins! Oh, my dear Paladins!”

His vision expands slowly.

The alien addressing them is pretty.

They’re easily two or three heads taller than Shiro, with skin that looks like it's embedded with billions of multi-faceted diamonds. Their eyes are big and black with clear lashes. They seem to be distressed, if the furrowed non-existent brow and full, pursed lips can be trusted to mean distress.

“My honored guests, we are so pleased to receive you. I assure you, the whole town has been eager and expectant for your arrival. How lovely you are, how beautiful.”

Allura smiles graciously. “You must be Xilinx. Thank you, we are pleased to be here. Your compliments of beauty are returned two-fold.”

Lance looks away from the pleasantries, losing interest after taking in the alien’s strange appearance. There’s only so many freaky aliens one can see before they become desensitized. The ground is green and spongy and the sky is a warm orange, like one of Earth’s sunsets. He realizes, belatedly, that the structures littering the field the Black lion landed in are not organic. They’re playground structures.

They landed right in the backyard of the orphanage.

Allura really didn’t want to waste any time.

Lance sees tiny slivers of light dancing on his skin before he hears the alien, their voice like muffled bells. “This must be the little babe.”

Lance puts on his most charming smile, but it flags slightly. “Yeah! This is him.”

The baby seems to have gotten over his scare and is now happily batting at the reflections of light on Lance’s face.

“And you mentioned he’s bottle fed?”

“Yeah, he’s completely on formula. No solid foods yet.”

Xilinx’s shoulders relax, like they’re releasing a terrible weight. “That’s wonderful. Again, Blue Paladin, our sincerest apologies. I hope you and the little babe find the hotel accommodating for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll have the issue resolved and we’ll give you a tour of our organization.”

Oh, one more night.

Lance’s smile softens into something more genuine. He gets to have one more sleepless night with Limoncito.

Xilinx’s eyes are so dark they don’t reflect any light, and it proves to be a lovely contrast against the reflective gems on their skin. There’s a stupid pickup line bouncing somewhere in his mouth but the usual thrill is gone. He just doesn’t have it in him today.

The hotel is nice. It’s definitely not as fancy as they’ve gotten used to, especially during their press tour as the official Paladins of Voltron, Defenders of the Universe. And who’s kidding, the Castle may be a functional war machine, but it is definitely luxurious. The goddamn walls do laundry.

But hey, Lance isn’t some spoiled brat, he’s not gonna complain.

Except—

“Whoa, whoa, why do I have to room with Keith?”

He complains more out of habit than anything.

"It just makes sense, buddy.” Hunk claps him on his free shoulder and rubs his back comfortingly. The baby clumsily mimics the action. “There are only five rooms available, and you’ve been saying you need more help overnight, right? Keith is your guy.”

Okay. Lance shoots Hunk a look because he wouldn’t say Keith is ‘his guy’ but, yeah, okay. Keith has proven himself to be pretty reliable baby-wise, even despite his unwillingness to hold the baby.

Allura claps her hands. “Ooh, Pidge! Girl's night?”

Pidge grins. “Sure! I have some of Lance's facemasks.”

Whaaat? No fair. He'll never get Keith to do girl's night with him. He shoots Keith a pitiful look, but the bastard ignores him. He probably doesn’t care who he rooms with.

Shiro interrupts his musings.

“Hey guys, before you get settled, Xilinx informed us that there's a festival tonight in the plaza. They're celebrating the hatching of a new generation.” He defers to Allura. “Is that right, Princess?”

“Yes! The native people of this planet, the La’ ar, collectively reproduce once a year. The refugees are involved with the festivities as well, and they are expecting us to take part!”

“Umm,” Hunk speaks up nervously. “What does that mean, exactly? Because no offense, but the last time we participated in a reproduction ceremony–”

“Oh god, don't remind me.” Pidge groans.

Lance snickers and catches Keith dropping his head in his hands.

Lance remembers that week well. Suffice it to say that some alien cultures have wildly different ideas about how humans reproduce and no concept of privacy.

“It's nothing like that!” Allura flushes. “This is just a… oh, what's the human term? A party! Yes, this is just a party.”

Lance whoops. This just gets better and better! The baby blubbers nervously and Lance apologizes by kissing his fuzzy cheek. “Oh man, we could use a party. Isn't that right, Limoncito?”

Everyone seems to agree for once.

They're about to head into their respective rooms, when a familiar voice stops them.

“Not to worry, chaps! Uncle Coran is here to make sure you're dressed to the nines for this party!”

Coran walks towards them with a box overflowing with neatly folded colorful fabric.

“Coran, you came!” Lance gives him a one-armed hug as soon as he puts the box down, and the baby takes advantage of the sudden closeness to pull on Coran's mustache like actual handlebars.

Coran laughs heartily.

“Well, I couldn't rightly let you all party it up without me! Princess Allura informed me we'll be staying here longer than anticipated so I landed the Castle. Black and the rest are quite popular with the children and Xilinx generously gifted us some of their traditional clothing.”

After taking their respective clothes, the Paladins go inspect their respective rooms and Lance is left to follow after his favorite emo.

Their room is just… amazing. Instantly, he decides he likes this hotel way more than the super high-tech ones with white walls and shining metallic surfaces and beds that descend from the ceiling. Here, there’s two beds jutting out of the floor but they’re not shaped like Earth beds or even Altean beds, instead, they’re two sunken ovals with high edges. The egg-shaped beds are full of pillows and blankets. There’s a huge open balcony with flowing curtains instead of glass and there’s a bathroom attached. The place is dimly lit with yellow light coming from an unidentifiable source.

Lance whoops and chucks the baby pod into the closet.

He’s always loved hotels.

Whenever his family could afford a vacation, the hotel was half of the fun for him. He could crank up the AC, take 30 minute showers, use 20 towels, and jump on layers upon layers of freshly washed sheets. Hotels are awesome, ok?

“Keith! Look at this place! It’s fucking amazing. The beds are so sick. Is the bathroom cool too?”

Keith gives him an unreadable look before his lips quirk in a smile. “Yeah. Come look at the shower.”

Lance follows excitedly and his jaw drops.

There's an honest to god waterfall in their bathroom! It loops inexplicably up the wall, across the ceiling, and puddles into a bath that looks to be about 5 feet deep. The next thing he notices is the sheer size of the bathroom. It's easily twice as big as the bedroom.

“Keith. Keith. There's a waterfall in our bathroom! No, there's a whole waterpark in our bathroom! Keith!”

Keith smiles. “I see it.”

Lance and the baby end up fawning over the bathroom some more until Keith yells at him to get dressed.

He is so going to spend hours here after the party. Sucks for Keith, he's just gonna have to shower in the morning.

When he comes out, Keith is struggling to put on his clothes.

Lance laughs. “Just like I said, I have two Galra toddlers to take care of.”

“Shut up. Help me with this.”

The plea for help is very unexpected and reluctant, if Keith's cherry red ears are anything to go by. He's trapped with his arms over his head, the tight fabric restricting his movement and vision.

This is too good. Lace is laughing openly now, bending down to lower the restless baby to the plush carpet.

“Lance, come on. I don't want to rip this thing.”

“Okay, okay. I'm coming. Poor baby.”

“Not funny.”

It is, though.

Lance snickers as he turns to face him and then he kind of… has to stop. Because as ridiculous as Keith looks, he also looks incredibly good. Hot, almost. No. Definitely hot. The fabric is stopped right above the gentle swell of Keith's pecs. Lance flushes as he takes him in. His nipples are small and light and he has a line of soft hair that gets thick and coarse near his waistband. Lance's mouth is suddenly dry. Keith's abs are also incredibly defined, he looks strong and full even with his delicate waist. Why is Lance suddenly so nervous?

Lance wracks his brain while he steps up and gently lowers the clothes over Keith's body. What's wrong with him? Could he be intimidated by Keith's physique? Or self-conscious? That was so lame. Ok so maybe sometimes Lance wished his limbs weren't so long and gangly, but why this fixation on Keith? Whatever.

He yanks the clothes over Keith's head and watches his hair floof. Keith steps back, blushing.

“This thing is stupid.”

It looks nice. Lance steps back and appraises him. The clothes that Coran gave them, La’ ar traditional clothes, look kind of like the Indian Kurtas for men Lance had seen back home. Keith's is red and forms a snug circle around his neck. It clings to his body up until it gets to his waist and then it loosens, the slits on the sides showing off the airy white pants underneath.

“You look nice.”

The admission escapes him, but Lance doesn't want to take it back.

Keith turns sharply away. “Quit.”

Cute. Lance has to bite his cheek to keep from smiling so hard. “Quit what?”

Keith whips back around and glares at him. “You said you were gonna stop messing with me.”

There are tiny filaments of gold in Keith's space Kurta. They glint and flash like flames against the deep rich red garment. They flicker brighter with his sharp movement and Lance feels caught, a moth spotting an unexpected light in the dark. It suits him. Beautiful, elegant, and graceful at first, but then bright and deadly in a second. Lance can feel his heart beat faster.

“How am I messing with you?” His voice comes out hushed.

Keith studies him. Then turns away. “Whatever.”

“No, Keith–” Lance takes hold of his arm. The fabric is unbearably soft. “Come on. We were gonna work on communication, right? I'm not messing with you. You look good.”

Keith's face changes slowly. A soft blush colors his face a dusty pink. His eyes dart away, his brows falling into a frown. He swallows.

“J-Just put your damn clothes on. I'll be downstairs. There's one for your baby, too.”

The spell is broken when Keith disappears, leaving the image of glowing embers going out.
☆

Lance's clothes were a lot simpler to put on because of the laces crisscrossed on the sides. It was a teal blue with silver threads inlaid. The pants are white like Keith's. He kinda likes that they’re matching. It’s cool.

He spins in front of a mirror, (and yes, so far, mirrors seem to be universal 9 times out of 10) before heading downstairs. This was definitely one of the top 10 best alien fits he'd ever worn. Even the shoes are awesome– brown slip-ons that Lance is 100% percent sure are Mojaris. They fit him perfectly.

Limoncito's fit did not disappoint either. He’s wearing a tiny version of Keith and Lance's, but his is loose like a gown and a muted cream color with colorful embroidery down the front. They neglected pants but included an adorable pair of shoes that the baby promptly kicked away. Oh well. He had temporarily allowed the white socks that had matching embroidery and that was good enough.

Lance packed the hat away. Fuck that hat.

He makes his way downstairs, finding only Shiro.

Shiro looks good, too, but that's no surprise. He looks good in everything he wears. His top is sleeveless and a deep midnight black. It has gold trimming, or gold colored metal, decorating the sleeves, collars, and the slits on the side. His pants are brown and cling to his legs.

Lance gets his attention. “Hey, Shiro. Where's Keith? I thought he came down a while ago.”

“He went to help Hunk. The girls are still getting dressed, but Allura is definitely going to take a while. You should get comfortable.”

Lance snickers and sits down next to him. Yeah, they're all used to Allura taking forever to get ready. But to be fair, Lance usually matched her. Beauty takes time, okay?

They seemed to be in the hotel lobby sitting on a couple of organic looking structures that served as furniture. Some people sitting nearby look at them curiously, but Lance ignores them, turning towards Shiro so that he shields the baby in his lap.

Shiro smiles, reaching out to pinch Limoncito's cheek with his metal hand. “How's he doing?”

“He's alright.” Lance sighs. “I just fed and changed him. I'm not too worried about his bedtime; he hardly sleeps anyway.”

The baby giggles and grabs Shiro's thumb and pinky, biting two of the middle fingers savagely. He has exactly four teeth, two on the bottom and two on the top, but Lance knows for a fact that those teeth hurt like needles. Shiro doesn't flinch, just smiles softly.

Lance flinches for him, he knows there’s some pain receptors in there. “Sorry, he doesn't usually do that. He only bites me when I'm trying to brush his teeth.”

“It's alright, he's not hurting me.”

They watch Limoncito for a little bit. He’s trying to use Shiro’s hand to pull himself to his feet but he’s not quite making it. Still, it’s the first time Lance has seen him try to do that. Is it only because he wants to chew on poor Shiro better? Or is he actually trying to stand? Limoncito answers Lance’s internal musings by chomping down harder on black synthetic fingers and giving them a gummy smile.

Lance smiles and strokes through his hyena hair. Hopefully, that’s not a habit that will follow him for much longer.

Shiro suddenly looks at Lance seriously, his overall demeanor still gentle, but his eyes harden like steel. “Lance, I'm proud of you.”

What? Lance blinks. Where did that come from?

Shiro continues. “You took him in and cared for him when nobody asked you to. You've done an amazing job. I'm really impressed.”

Lance rubs the back of his neck and looks away. Geez. This is making him nervous. Why were they talking about this all of a sudden?

“Anyone would have done it.” He mumbles.

“But they didn't.” Shiro leans back and lifts the baby into the air, steering him like a rocketship. An impressive feat with a baby so fat. “You did. And I doubt just anyone would have done it with the amount of patience and skill you did. I definitely couldn't have.”

The embarrassment and awkwardness fades and Lance beams. Shiro is proud of him. Lance hadn't heard those words often in his life, if at all. Initially, Shiro's bluntness made him uncomfortable but now Lance is glad for it. You know what? Maybe he’s right. Maybe these last couple of weeks should be something Lance could be proud of.

“Thanks, Shiro.”

His chest feels like it's glowing and he thinks he should say something else, but they're interrupted by Hunk coming down the stairs and chatting with Keith who follows him down. Hunk’s garment is predictably yellow, but a handsome mustard yellow with billowy sleeves and a high collar. Lance really had to find whoever styled him and his friends and thank them.

Keith comes to sit next to Lance, carrying a large bag. Was that…? Oops. Lance totally forgot about the diaper bag. In his defense, he had been totally caught up with the new clothes. Also he's severely sleep deprived.

“You forgot this.” Keith flops down next to him, avoiding eye contact.

Lance groans. “That totally ruins my fit.”

Keith shrugs. “I'll carry it.”

“Seriously?” Lance looks at him wide eyed.

He'd been joking (mostly) but it was true that carrying around this heavy ass bag and this fat baby was exhausting.

Shiro smiles, resting the baby on his knee. “That's nice of you.”

His tone is weird. Lance looks at him sideways. It is nice of Keith to do that for him. Is he imagining Shiro's weird tone?

Keith doesn't show any confusion. Instead, his eyes narrow into a glare. For once, Lance is not on the receiving end of that glare and he can appreciate how pretty Keith's eyes look when he's mad.

“You look like Chun-Li.” Keith says plainly.

No way.

Lance snorts out a laugh and clamps his hand over his mouth. He can totally see it now that Keith said something. All Shiro needs is those buns on the side of his head.

Shiro raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. Lance has to cough back another laugh because the movement just pushes up his pecs and makes the resemblance uncanny.

Shiro clears his throat. The action, the severity of the expectant silence, makes Lance tense in anticipation. His face is utterly unreadable when he says, “Really? You sure you don't mean Jackie Chan?”

Keith loses his cocky demeanor quickly.

Lance watches attentively. This is awesome. Total sibling fight. But wait, are they lowkey being racist? He knows Keith is Korean and Shiro is Japanese, but he's pretty sure both Chun-Li and Jackie Chan are Chinese, so he doesn't really know what's going on.

But going off Keith's face, he can tell they’re referencing some kind of inside joke.

“Shut up, Shiro.” Keith hisses.

Why does he look so embarrassed? Jackie Chan is cool.

“What?” Shiro is smirking in a way Lance has never seen before. It makes him look younger. “You don't want to tell Lance about your crush on Jackie Chan?”

Keith jumps up, a flurry of red anger, and launches himself at Shiro.

Always so quick to resort to violence.

Shiro pushes the little baby to the side like a bowling ball and catches Keith just as the younger man puts him in a headlock.

Lance's adrenaline spikes. “Ay! Tengan cuidado!”

Be careful! He reaches out to grab Limoncito but the baby is already crawling back towards Shiro and giggling excitedly. He's doing that adorably contagious baby laugh that sounds like bubbles and bells but Lance is still recovering from the shock.

“Fuck you! You said you wouldn't tell anyone!” Keith growls.

Shiro is turning red but to his credit, he reaches out and steadies Limoncito. He uses his other hand to jab Keith in the side.

Lance has to laugh again. He has never seen Shiro act so immature. Even now, half strangled, he's laughing and dodging Keith's blows, looking like he's having the time of his life.

Damn, they really did need this little break. He scoops up the baby, despite his fervent complaining, just as the sound of heels clacking on stone rings out.

The sound is almost as sharp as Allura's voice when she spots them. “Keith, find a seat. Do try to behave yourselves. You are representing Voltron.”

She looks stunning. Her dress looks as if whoever weaved it managed to turn water into fabric. It drapes over her shoulders, cinching at the waist, and then drops down to the tops of her feet.

Pidge is mimicking her a couple steps behind. She is wearing a garment similar to Shiro's, sleeveless with a high neck, but hers comes down to her feet. It's a dark, forest green. She puts one of her hands on her hip and wags a finger at them with the other, mouthing Allura's words.

They all crack a smile at her antics, but Hunk hides his because he's the most polite.

“Apologies, Princess.” Shiro says smoothly.

He manhandles Keith into sitting between them, who curses indignantly.

Aw. Lance grins. It's not often he sees Keith moved around like that, like he weighs nothing. Usually, it's Lance getting thrown around. It's cute.

Keith is flushed, probably with a mix of exertion, anger at having his crush exposed, and humiliation from being moved around so easily. He crosses his arms and legs and pouts.

Limoncito takes advantage of the chaos to struggle out of Lance's hold and crawl to Keith, babbling happily. Keith looks at him like he is an approaching slug.

Usually, Lance would go and defend his little lemon baby from such evil looks, but his attention is caught elsewhere.

He can only blame sleep deprivation.

Keith’s shoes.

Keith's shoes are sewn with tiny black beads. The delicate slippers cover his toes and his heel but they have a dip in between. He has his legs crossed at the knee with his right leg hanging towards Lance. The shoe slips slightly from his heel, exposing a ruddy heel, an ankle made of porcelain, and a soft arch that Lance swears he can already feel against his knuckles.

Wait– what the actual fuck is wrong with him.

He’s a born again sinner, a dog at the foot of the bed.

Chapter Text

So, Lance is pretty sure he’s going insane.

He thinks he remembers something about the CIA using sleep deprivation as a torture device and god does it make sense. What he would give for some coffee beans.

Allura assigned them their food safety devices, gave them money, and sent them on their way with a reminder to stick to the buddy system. Hunk and Pidge immediately head off to the food stalls, following the delicious smells like bloodhounds. Lance would usually be right on their heels.

Allura loops her arms through Shiro’s and Coran’s, while Coran leads to what he calls a cultural center, soliloquizing about the La’ ar’s vibrant history. Shiro shoots them a mournful look, reluctant to join the Alteans for a history lesson. Usually, Lance would jump at the chance to take his place and take the Princess’s arm.

Keith hoists the diaper bag on his shoulder and turns to Lance. “Where to?”

But today he’s here with Keith. Keith who looks like a prince against the burnt orange sky.

Lance smiles widely, pulling the baby more securely on his hip. He winks at Keith. “Wherever you want, Jackie Chan.”

“Fuck you.”

Keith starts off and Lance has to jog to catch up, laughing loudly.

The ‘party’ would be better translated to a festival. There’s beautiful strings and banners looped from the tops of the surrounding buildings. Lance is thrilled to see some that resemble Mexican Papel Picado. The buildings themselves are a mossy green, just like the structures in the playground and the furniture in the lobby. They appear to have been grown right out of the ground. That doesn’t make them uniform though, the vegetation is wildly diverse, with blooms and tendrils looping around windows and door-like structures.

There are people of all types wandering around. These are the planets Lance likes best, full of so many species that it makes Earth look boring.

“Keith, don’t be embarrassed!” Lance pokes Keith in the ribs, earning himself a smack. “It’s totally normal and understandable. Jackie Chan was a gorgeous man and a total badass. It actually makes total sense that you’d be into him.”

“Please stop.”

“Especially because you’re really into fighting and shit. Didn’t he do his own stunts and martial arts?” Lance honestly doesn’t know much about the actor, he just remembers enjoying Rush Hour.

Keith looks at him suspiciously. For some reason he doesn’t look as lame as Lance thought he himself looked with a diaper bag. Instead, it’s kind of endearing. And also a little hot. But only if Lance was like, a mom or something, and also if he was attracted to Keith. But he’s not either of those things. Keith is so not his type.

“He did all his own stunts. He broke a record for that, actually.” Keith says cautiously. “And yeah, he's trained in a lot of different types of martial arts but he developed his own style.”

“Really?”

Keith nods, his eyes starting to sparkle. “He knows Karate, Judo, Taekwondo, Hapkido, oh, and multiple forms of Kung Fu, of course.”

“There's different types of Kung Fu?”

Keith is into it now, using his hands to talk in a way Lance has never seen before. Usually, he has them crossed or balled up in fists. “Yeah! It's crazy actually, he's a master in Wing Chun, Northern Shaolin, and Southern Shaolin Kung Fu, but he combined all these types of martial arts to make his own style.”

Holy shit, Keith is such a nerd. Lance fights a smile.

When he started talking it was almost like he thought Lance was making fun of him, (which he was, but he also genuinely wanted to know,) but now he’s talking excitedly, almost smacking a lady when he throws his hands to describe a move the actor is apparently famous for. Lance feels like he’s unwrapping a present on Christmas Day.

They walk past several stalls of vendors. Lance barely looks at them, he’s too focused on Keith. He notices a few people looking at them, but nothing that raises any alarm bells. Limoncito is calm, sucking on his orange pacifier clipped to his shirt.

“So, what did you like about him?” Lance asks when Keith takes a breath.

“Hm?”

“Why do you have a crush on him? And why does Shiro know?”

Keith scowls and darts inside a stall to flee.

Lance chuckles and follows him into what looks like a weapons shop. He is not about to escape this conversation. The seller perks up when they walk in, and Lance gives him a onceover. He’s relatively human-like, with black iridescent scales covering most of his skin. The scale-less skin on his face and chest is dark brown and soft like a human’s. He’s shirtless with enormous muscles and he grins with two rows of teeth. Grins at Keith, that is, he completely ignores Lance. Probably because of the baby, which makes sense in a way.

“Welcome! Can I help you find anything, gorgeous?”

Lance raises an eyebrow. The translator probably fudged that one, it did that sometimes. It was funny at first when aliens would say the randomest things. One time someone asked him if he would help teach their tiger to play the ukulele. Lance eventually found out they just wanted help getting their pet creature out of a tree. The mistranslations happened less often the more the device learned and recalibrated itself. Keith must have come to the same conclusion because he seems relatively unfazed.

He wanders to the back wall, not even looking at the seller. “I’m just looking, thanks.”

Lance goes to a different part of the store. The walls are absolutely packed with deadly looking instruments and Lance hums under his breath while he looks at them. He’s not particularly interested in weapons, his bayard is more than enough. It literally turns into both an energy rifle and a broadsword, what more could he need?

In his peripherals he can see the seller approach Keith, coming out from behind the counter.

Limoncito throws himself suddenly and Lance has to struggle to hold him. Jesus, he forgets babies are suicidal sometimes. He's trying to reach what looks like a sparkling blue chain mace.

“Absolutely not.” Lance mutters.

The baby whines and looks at him pleadingly, threatening to cry. This is Keith's fault for giving him that knife! Now his baby is bloodthirsty. There are some toys in the diaper bag that should distract him. Lance heads over to Keith and overhears the seller’s drivel.

“You have a good eye! That right there is part of our subtle weaponry collection. This one specifically can be calibrated to your touch.”

Keith is holding something small, curved, and silver. “How do you use it?”

The reptile man takes it from him. “These are solar powered. It hasn’t been charged so we are in no danger. To activate it, you must simply open it–” He pinches one end, and it opens into two parts. “ –and place it where desired.” He reaches forward and gently slides the clip into Keith’s hair, taking some of the front pieces and securing them above his ear.

Lance stumbles to a stop.

The hell?

Why would he just–

The man keeps talking. “Once closed, it is activated. Anyone who touches it will be met with 12,000 volts of electricity.”

Keith nods, flustered. He plucks the clip out of his hair.

“You can keep that one.” The alien says lowly, punctuating his statement with a wink. “Don't forget to add your touch to it. You should also add your family’s touch to avoid any accidents. Do you want to add them now?”

The seller finally addresses Lance. He eyes him up and down, unimpressed. It takes a second for it to click for Lance.

What the fuck?

Fuck this guy.

Well, first, this guy is unbelievably smooth. He just gave Keith an awesome gift! Practical and beautiful. And he snuck in a touch so smoothly it'd have a lesser man swooning. He also subtly asked Keith if he's single.

Part of him is impressed and a bigger part is fuming. Who does this motherfucker think he is? Touching Keith without consent. And how dare he assume that they're a family, and then still blatantly hit on him? Right in front of his baby? Hell no. What a dick. Keith would never fall for–

“N-No, That’s not– I mean, they're not my family.” Keith stutters.

Is that a fucking blush on his cheeks?

Lance's stomach twists. Hell no. He turns on his heel and stalks off. Fuck this. He is not staying to watch this. The baby whines in complaint but Lance shushes him and keeps walking.

What the hell was that?

“Lance! Lance, wait up!” Keith's voice rings out, clear as a bell.

Lance considers not stopping but he's not an asshole. Keith probably doesn't even know what he did wrong. Wait, what did he do wrong?

He didn't lie. Lance and Limoncito are not Keith's family, but then why does Lance feel this sick?

Keith catches up with him, jogging lightly and holding a couple bags. He looks clueless.

“Why’d you leave?”

Yeah, Lance can't answer that. He forces a smile.

“Oh, uh, Limoncito was getting restless. We needed to get some air, didn't we baby?” Lance nuzzles him, closing his eyes so he doesn't get poked by furry ears. He starts walking and Keith falls into step beside him.

Keith looks up at him, brushing the hair that's starting to fall into his eyes. He needs a haircut, not a fucking clip. “What'd you call him?”

“What?”

“The baby. You called him something-cito.”

“Oh.”

Had he said that out loud? He'd been calling the baby Limoncito in his head, little lemon, because of his adorable round yellow eyes. But it hadn’t been a conscious choice to call him that, it’d just slipped out and then stuck. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, though. He didn't want to get scolded and lectured on not getting attached, like that was even possible. And he doesn't want Keith to make fun of him either, he couldn't bear it. Not when the baby is so close to leaving forever.

“It's just a nickname.” Lance says hurriedly. He takes a page out of Keith's book and stops at a toy stall to end the conversation.

Unfortunately, Keith has no manners and keeps talking. “What is it?”

“What is what?” Lance dodges a baby headbutt and keeps rifling through the merchandise, flashing a quick smile at the seller who is staring at them open-mouthed. That could just be the way their face looks so Lance doesn’t acknowledge it. He’s learned his lesson trying to read alien expressions.

“The baby. What’d you call him?”

Stubborn idiot.

Lance sighs. “What do you care? Are you learning Spanish?”

“I just want to know what you named him.”

“I didn’t name him! It’s just a nickname.”

“What’s the nickname?”

“Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?”

“Why don’t you want to tell me?”

Jesus Christ. As the youngest in his family, Lance was an expert at being annoying, but Keith must also be practiced in the art form. Lance picks up a couple toys and shoves them in Keith’s face.

“Here, hold these.” Lance picks his favorites and steels himself. “I guess I’ve been calling him Limoncito. It’s stupid. It just means lemon.”

Keith collects the toys obediently. “Little lemon?”

“Yeah. Shut up.” Lance sneaks a look at the other boy. Is he making fun of him?

He’s not. Keith is cradling the toys in one arm, his shopping bags hanging off his fingers. His other hand is holding a stuffed animal and smiling softly. He looks warm. Happy.

Lance blushes. He’s not sure why. He addresses the alien for the first time. “Hi, we’ll take these, thank you.”

The alien has since closed her mouth. She’s small, with green pigtails and four sets of eyes. Her nose is upturned like a bat’s. She jumps up and down excitedly. “You’re Keith and Lance!”

Her voice is shrill and both Keith and Lance jerk back. She claps her hands over her nose-mouth appendage. “Sorry! Sorry, I’m just so excited! I know you guys, I mean– well, I don’t know, know you guys but I’ve seen you! Sorry, everyone knows Voltron. You guys are awesome! You two are my favorites.”

Even muffled, her voice is still high enough to leave their ears ringing. It’s definitely not suited for human ears. Limoncito yowls and covers his ears, burrowing his head in Lance’s shoulder. He starts making those gasping sounds that means he’s gonna start screaming like a banshee and Lance soothes him, shooting the devastated alien girl an apologetic look. He takes the diaper bag from Keith.

“Keithy-cat, come find me.”

He escapes just as Limoncito starts screaming.

Lance quickly finds them a bench away from the crowds, ignoring the stares they’re getting. He sits the little baby on his lap, tucked against his stomach. Limoncito is still covering his ears, his hands tightened into fists and squishing his ears flat against his head. Big fat tears roll down his cheeks, leaving the peach-fuzz there flattened and darkened. Lance pushes down the stab of fear that runs through him. Was he hurt? Fuck, of course. Galra ears are more sensitive. Especially baby ears. He should have thought of that and gotten Limoncito out of there as soon as that alien started speaking. Or maybe he should have thought of getting some of those noise canceling headphones for him. Lance is so stupid. He should have prevented this.

“Shhhh. Shhhh. Chiquito.” Lance whispers. He hugs him tight and strokes over his ears.

Oh god, is he still in pain? Or is he just crying because he’s upset? He can’t distinguish his cries yet. His mother would know. It’s suddenly hard to breathe. What if he’s deaf now? Did Lance just permanently injure his ears? Oh god. He’s scared to move him. Should he take him to the castle for testing? No, the pods! He should definitely take him to the Castle and put him in the cryo-pods. It took about thirty minutes to get back to the Castle but if Lance booked it he could probably make it in fifteen. But he needed one of the Alteans to operate them, right? Could he do it by himself?

Lance shoots up. He abandons his diaper bag and starts running back towards the market section where he’d come from. He’s barely made it a couple feet when Keith steps out in front of him and Lance stumbles to a stop.

“Move! I’ve got to get back to the Castle! I have to put Limoncito in the pods, fuck, I think I hurt him, I think he’s hurt bad, what if he’s deaf? I think he’s in pain! Keith, I’ve got to–”

“Whoa.” Keith puts his arms out, blocking him. “Calm down. He’s not deaf, he’s fine.”

“You don’t fucking know that!” Lance shouts.

Limoncito is shrieking so loud and his claws stab into Lance’s neck. Lance can’t focus. He’s never felt fear like this before. It’s like icy panic clogging every sense and flooding every pore. It’s way worse than staring down the barrel of an alien blaster.

“Lance, he’s fine. He’s just scared; you’re scaring him.” Keith’s voice is even, low despite the baby’s shrieking. “You need to calm down. Galra ears are sensitive but not delicate. He’s completely fine. Remember how you found him? That place was full of explosions and blasts. If those didn’t affect his hearing then, he’s definitely fine now.”

“But, but…” Lance’s heartbeat starts to slow as Lance struggles to focus.

He remembers running from the explosion with the bloody bundle in his arms, the heat licking at his back, and the boom following them loud enough to shake Blue’s walls. Keith is right. He looks down at his baby. Limoncito is not squishing his ears down anymore. He’s flailing his fists and kicking, throwing his head back hard enough it jolts his entire body. Lance scared him. Instead of comforting him like he needed, Lance rushed off and started yelling.

Keith puts an arm on his shoulder and gently steers him back towards the bench. Lance is suddenly aware of all the eyes on them, and loud whispers hit his ears.

“The hell y’all looking at?” Keith snarls. His southern accent is suddenly thicker.

The crowd disperses and Lance even sees some people bump into each other in their haste to get away. It’d be funny if Lance could muster up any humor right now.

Lance sits and pulls Limoncito up to his chest, holding him close. He grabs a powder blue blanket to drape over him and rocks him, stroking over his head and whispering to him.

“Estas bien, estas bien. No llores, bebe. Perdoname.”

You’re okay, you’re okay. Don’t cry, baby. Forgive me.

Eventually, he calms down enough for Lance to give him a bottle. He reaches inside the cooler pocket of the diaper bag and pulls out one of the formula bottles he prepared last night. Luckily, Limoncito takes it, sucking on it quietly without lifting his head from Lance’s collarbones. Lance kisses his head through the blanket, not able to resist the urge as relief floods his veins.

He’s okay. The baby is okay.

Lance’s body is still recovering from the shock earlier. He can feel himself starting to crash from the sudden burst of horrible adrenaline, but the relief and the comfort of knowing Limoncito is safe and feeling his blazing warmth against his skin softens the edge.

It’s quiet now. The crowd has all but left, avoiding their little spot like the plague. The sky has dulled to a darker orange, like an Earth sunset, and there’s a nice breeze stirring against their skin. A creature nearby almost sounds like the lonely scream of a cicada. A sudden pang of homesickness hits him like a bullet and Lance has to squeeze his eyes shut.

He can feel it.

Soft grass against his heels, the smell of smoke and carnitas, his family’s low chatter mixing with the occasional cicada and the constant answering chirps of crickets. An owl hooting. A cool breeze. The taste of warm cerveza. He misses Earth. He misses his family. His mom would know what to do. She would help him with the baby, help make sure Limoncito was safe.

Lance opens his eyes. There’s no grass here. No moon. Keith has been sitting next to them the whole time, his head bowed, fiddling with something in his hands.

“Hey.” Lance murmurs.

Keith looks up at him, his eyes searching. “Hey.”

“Are you ever going to tell me why you have a crush on Jackie Chan?”

Keith bows his head again, his shoulders shaking as he laughs. Lance smiles too.

God, he’s glad Keith’s here.

Chapter Text

They’re chatting, something Lance realizes he’s missed fiercely.

It’s honestly mostly Lance talking, but it’s okay because Keith is a really good listener. Lance can see every micro expression flitting across his features in reaction to Lance’s words. It’s pretty cute. He’s an open book.

He’s in the middle of describing the time he had to fend off a coconut crab.

“Keith, stop laughing! I’m serious. I was terrified!”

“You were scared of a crab?”

“Stop laughing for a second and listen.” Lance grins. He’s rocking side to side and speaking quietly to avoid waking up his little lemon, but it’s kind of a moot effort with Keith laughing.

Keith has one hand wrapped around his middle and the other covering his mouth, more out of embarrassment than out of respect for the baby. He looks lovely.

“Stop. Please, you’re hurting me. Give me a second.” Keith gasps for air, trying and failing for once to glare at Lance.

Unfortunately, he’s a hundred percent serious.

“I am not hurting you.”

“You are! It hurts.”

“Stop being a baby, laughing isn’t supposed to hurt.” Lance chides. It’s kind of sad, actually. Keith is definitely not used to laughing so hard, his scandalized expression and look of bewilderment are enough to clue Lance in of that fact. Lance is going to change that, he swears to himself.

“I’m the baby? You were the one scared of a crab.”

“A coconut crab! Not just a regular crab. These things are tanks! I mean, have you ever seen one? These monsters ate Amelia Earhart.”

That sets him off again. Keith has the weirdest sense of humor.

He laughs so hard he snorts.

“Stop. For real.” Keith says in between coughing fits. “I’m going to punch you.”

Okay, okay. “You’re ridiculous.”

How was it that when he was trying to be funny, the most he got out of Keith was a look of annoyance, but now that he’s just trying to tell him a story, Keith is cracking up? It isn’t fair. Maybe Keith just likes laughing at him instead of with him, which is rude, but Lance can’t find it in him to be bothered by it. It also must help being away from the Castle, where tensions are higher because all they did was train, attack, evade, strategize, repeat. Either way, it is giving Lance the biggest ego boost and also causing a weird mushy feeling in his chest that Lance is not going to examine right now. Nope. No gracias.

“... so then I climbed up a tree! But guess what–”

Keith slaps a hand over Lance’s mouth, honest to god giggling and ducking his head.

Has Lance been transported to an alternate universe? How could Keith be so cute? Lance blushes, smiling goofily.

He mercifully decides to be quiet, waiting for Keith to compose himself.

He looks down at the sleeping baby, his smile softening. The bottle, coupled with the exhaustion of the day, knocked him out cold. He’s sleeping peacefully with his little socked feet pushing against Lance’s arm and his tiny arms curled next to his head. He looked adorable, like always. He sleeps like he doesn't have a care in the world. Lance kisses his forehead and a familiar pang of sadness passes through him, like one of those marbles meandering through a Goldberg machine. It doesn’t feel as crushing as usual.

He breathes out. It’s going to be okay. This organization would take care of Limoncito until they found him a good home. And he would find a good home. He would be safe, away from all this uncertainty and violence. He would be loved and protected by capable parents.

Limoncito didn't need Lance.

And that was okay.

Keith broke the easy silence, his voice soft. “Limoncito is a nice name for him.”

Where did that come from? Also, Lance raises an eyebrow, that was remarkably well pronounced. “It's just a nickname. I mean, come on. Lemon would be an awful name, especially when he's older. Also he probably already has a name, something Galran. And I don't think I have the right to name him, anyhow. But wait, how come your pronunciation is so good?”

“I can speak a little Spanish.”

Keith says it so fucking nonchalantly, like it's not a big deal, but Lance's brain absolutely jerks to a stop. He resists the urge to jump to his feet dramatically and start shouting only for the sake of the sleeping baby on his chest.

Even so, he still turns to Keith and whisper-yells. “You fucking what? Are you deadass?!”

Keith shrugs. “Deadass.”

“Stop making fun of me! Are you for real? You can speak Spanish?”

“Barely. Just a little bit.”

“No way! Do it! Say something!”

“Hell no.” Keith looks away. He’s starting to get uncomfortable with Lance’s energy but Lance is way too hype to do something about it right now.

“Keith! Keith! Why didn’t you say something? Wait, actually, how did you learn it? Did you learn it in school? Wait, no one actually learns Spanish by taking it in school. How much Spanish do you know, actually? Like, what level are you on? Holy, shit are you secretly Hispanic? Do you–”

Keith sighs. “I grew up in Texas, remember? I lived with a lot of Mexicans.”

“Huh? What do you mean you lived with–”

Just then, they hear a squeaky voice ring out across the field. “Found them!”

Okay fine, Pidge’s voice isn’t squeaky. She just looks like it should be. She jogs toward them, the rest of the paladins on her heels. She’s carrying something that looks like a burger on a stick. Hunk is carrying enormous crates full of what must be this planet’s fruits and vegetables and Shiro and Allura have stuffed animals and shopping bags in their hands. They walk closer and Lance sees the anger in Allura’s face and the worry in the rest of their team’s faces. Uh oh. What happened?

“Everything okay?” He asks.

Allura drops her things. “No, everything is not okay, Lance.”

Damn. She's seething. Lance gulps. What did he do now? But she’s looking at Keith.

Hunk speaks up uncharacteristically, probably to try to save them a tongue-lashing. “Uh, so some of the villagers have been running around complaining that they were almost attacked by uh, the ‘short, red Paladin with the Galra baby.’”

Oh. Oops.

Ever the picture of the uncaring teenager, Keith rolls his eyes and leans back. “Pussies.”

No way.

Lance snorts out his laughter, failing to muffle it. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Pidge smack Keith. Hunk covers his mouth.

Allura frowns. “What does that mean? The translator is struggling with it.”

“Don’t worry about it, Princess.” Shiro says, fixing Keith with a disapproving frown. “Keith, this is serious. We’re here to garner support, you can’t curse at people and scare them.”

“They were bothering us!” Lance interjects. Fine, Keith probably shouldn’t have done that, but it honestly barely even counts as cursing. Also, Lance was really fucking glad he did. “We didn't do anything wrong.”

Allura turns on him. “You cannot be serious! Why are you so immature?”

Whoa.

“Princess–” Hunk tries.

“Not now, Hunk.” She’s on a tirade. “First, you deviate from the mission, turn off your communication device, and take on this child with no regard for the mission, or anyone else. Do you know how much this child has led us astray? People are whispering that we are wasting our time and resources helping a Galra baby when millions of innocent children have been orphaned and abandoned because of the Galra.”

“Because of the Empire.” Shiro corrects.

He corrects her for Keith’s sake but Allura doesn’t even look at him. Lance stands up, fury dancing on his skin like flames. He’s so angry he can’t think straight. “I don’t care what people are whispering about!”

“Well, you should!” Allura shouts. Her usually perfect hair is slightly messy, lone strands trailing down her face. She’s closer now, looking down at Lance, and he can see the bags under her eyes, betraying how much stress she’s been under. “You should care because this whole operation is about us! And as much as you do not seem to realize, you are a part of this team and what you do matters! What you do reflects on us, on Voltron! This is how we gain allies; this is how we gather support! Or are you too stupid to see that? Do you think we can do it all by ourselves? Absolutely not! And we are certainly not able to do it if our Blue Paladin is too busy changing diapers!”

Her words crash and settle between them.

For once, Lance doesn’t know what to say. Wasn't she supposed to be yelling at Keith?

All his words are stuck in his mouth. Angry words, such as, ‘What was I supposed to do? Leave him there?’ Accusatory words, ‘Heartless, cruel, inhuman.’ Logical words, ‘This baby’s life is more important than our image.’ None of them come out. For some reason, the words on the tip of his tongue are the hurt words, the ones squeezing his throat and burning behind his eyes. ‘I’m not stupid.’

A terrible feeling starts churning in his gut, pricking at his skin. He can feel his chest getting tight. He can’t put a label on it. Anxiety. Dread. Humiliation. He feels panicked. Everyone is looking at him. Is everyone looking at him? Can they see how scared he is? How weak he is? How stupid?

“Allura.” Keith’s voice is hard. He stands in front of Lance. “Shut up and leave.”

“I–” She begins, knitting her brow together.

“I said, take a walk. Get lost.”

Lance stares at Keith’s back. He gets the feeling Keith is practicing serious restraint right now.

Allura seems to see something in Keith's face and closes her mouth. She looks around at all of them, her expression unreadable, before turning on her heel and storming back to the village.

After a beat, Shiro sighs heavily and stands. “She doesn’t mean it, Lance.”

It sure felt like she did.

Keith starts to head off after Allura, but Shiro pulls him back and talks to him in a low voice.

Lance sits back down, stunned and confused.

Okay. Now he knows how Allura really feels. Does the rest of the team feel like this? Is he really being stupid and selfish? What should he have done differently?

“Bro…” Hunk puts his arm around Pidge and faces Lance.

Why was he hugging Pidge and not Lance right now? She does look a bit spooked but Lance is the one who got chewed out. Even Shiro is too busy managing Keith to care about how Lance is doing.

“... don't listen to her. You're not stupid.”

Lance huffs and looks away. “I know that.”

“For the record,” Pidge mumbles. “I think it's cool you're taking care of the baby. We all think it's cool. Uh, except Allura, apparently.”

“... thanks.”

Lance really isn't in any mood to talk right now, but he appreciates their efforts. He kind of just wants to go back to the hotel and sleep. The anxiety feels like it might choke him at any moment and being unconscious would totally help with that.

He stands and looks up to see Shiro walking towards him. He places a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I'll talk to her. That wasn't right. None of this is your fault, and it's especially not your fault that Keith yelled at the locals. I'm sorry.”

For some reason, that doesn't make him feel better. He glances off to the right and fidgets. “You don't have to apologize.”

Not his fault, huh? He doesn't hear that often.

“Why don't you two go cool off a bit?” Shiro suggests.

“Yeah!” Hunk says quickly. “I'll watch the baby beetroot.”

Not even Hunk’s cute new nickname is enough to pull a smile out of Lance. He’s still reeling, still gnawing on Allura’s words, still choking back all the nasty emotions.

Miraculously, the baby hasn’t stirred. His brow is furrowed though. Should Lance really leave him now? It’s Lance’s last night with him and Limoncito hasn’t slept with anyone else before. What if he wakes up and gets scared? He glances up at Keith anxiously, hoping for some direction, but Keith just meets his gaze steadily. He’s not pitying, not nervous or awkward, he’s just there. Comforting and stable.

“Okay.” Lance finds himself saying. He hands the baby into Hunk’s waiting arms.

Lance takes a picture almost immediately. It’s like autopilot. It’s just too cute! Limoncito looks a lot smaller in Hunk’s beefy arms than he does in Lance’s noodle arms.

Hunk chuckles and the furrow between Limoncito’s lavender brows melts away.

“You’ll call me if anything happens, right?” Lance worries.

“Nothing is going to happen. But yeah, I’ll call you if we need anything.”

Pidge stands on her toes to look at the sleeping baby and scrunches her nose. “I am not changing any diapers.”

“Of course not,” Lance says smoothly. “You’re barely out of diapers yourself.”

She kicks him in the shin.

Lance worries more while Hunk reassures him. Pidge bounces impatiently. Keith hands off their shopping bags, which are just full of weapons and baby toys, and then helps Shiro put on the diaper bag. Then they head off and Lance stares at their receding backs and worries a bit more.

This is the first time he and Limoncito are going to be apart for longer than ten minutes since he found him so long ago in a pool of blood.

The sky is darker now, no longer a blazing orange. It’s almost the midnight blue Lance is used to seeing back on Earth. The cicada type bug chirps again, and the soft sounds of the festival float back to them now that their friends and their noise are gone.

Lance feels like he can breathe again.

“Come on, Ms. Earhart. Let’s go get something to eat.” Keith says after a while. His tone is completely flat.

Lance turns toward him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be funny, Keith? I could’ve died.”

Keith laughs.

And fuck, he swears it’s like everything is almost okay again.

☆

The festival looks completely different at night.

The Papel Picado decorations glow with a natural phosphorescence. The La’ ar people reflect that soft light and end up looking like they’re surrounded with a glowing aura as they walk interspersed among peoples of all species. There are countless moons in the sky and Lance trips as he tries to count them all. There’s so much to look at! There’s games and performers everywhere they go. People with three tails spinning and throwing balls with blue flames. People clad in flowing robes that fly between stalls. Keith trips over someone who only comes up to his knee and apologizes and picks up their wares while they curse him out in a language their translators can’t pick up.

Keith leads them to a small building like a bloodhound, yanking Lance along when he gets distracted taking pictures.

“Hurry up. I’m starving.” He complains.

“One more selfie.”

“No.”

“Why are we even going to this one? We passed like a hundred food stalls.”

Keith shrugs and ducks into an alley, away from the throngs of people. “It smells… familiar.”

The building is straight ahead but the city is getting darker the further they walk from the festival. Lance isn’t sure he could find his way back to the hotel with all the twists and turns Keith has taken. Dirty crates and boxes line the sides of the narrowing streets, and all Lance can smell is rotting food. He steps in an orange puddle and curses.

“You’re telling me you could smell this place from all the way over there?” Lance asks, noticeably impressed. If it was anyone else, Lance would be 100% percent sure he was being led away to get Ted Bundyed. But since it’s Keith and his Galra nose, he’s confident he’ll escape with his life and his honor intact. And get a nice meal out of it, too.

“Yeah.”

“What other Galra updates did you get?”

Finding out Keith was part Galra had been… traumatic, to say the least. Between the aggression from the Blades of Marmora, and Allura’s blatant distrust, Lance had been scared too. Like seriously, what were the chances that out of all the people on Earth, it had been Keith who led them into space? But as soon as Lance had taken one look at Keith, Lance had thrown that horrible thought out of his mind.

He’d looked so scared.

“None of your business.” Keith replies bluntly and without any sharpness.

Lance runs into Keith’s back just as he’s opening the door. “Right. Of course, sorry. That was a weirdly personal question. Sorry.”

Ugh, why is he suddenly being so awkward?

Keith snorts his amusement and holds the door open for him, which does not help lessen the irritating blush on Lance’s cheeks right now. He steps in quickly and almost spins on his heel and turns back. If ever a bar deserved the term ‘dive-bar,’ it was this one. The floor is sticky with a green substance and the walls are covered from top to bottom with decaying stickers and flyers. The images range from what he can only assume are alien sex positions to honest to god wanted posters. There’s horribly loud music playing that sounds like a hybrid between Irish bagpipes getting tortured and someone farting into a harmonica. Are they really going to eat in this place? They’re definitely going to get food poisoning, even with their food testing devices.

Keith nods at a table in a dark corner and moves past him to walk to the other side of the bar.

Okay. Bossy. Secretly though, he’s kind of happy to avoid the anxiety of ordering.

He sits where he was told on a mossy chair growing out of the ground and tries to pretend everyone isn’t staring at them. The talking slowly resumes and Lance relaxes, taking the opportunity to look around. There’s another reptilian looking person at the bar, except this one isn’t buff and doesn’t look like a douche. There’s a couple of La’ ar here dressed in black robes that whisper to each other. There’s more of those tiny people but these look dangerous, with sharp spikes coming out of their skin like a jackfruit.

Someone bares his teeth at him and Lance quickly looks away. Of-fucking-course Keith would bring him to a place like this. This is the last time he is ever going to blindingly follow him anywhere. Unless, they’re on a mission. Or if Lance gets bored enough.

Keith returns soon, a small smile on his face. “I found it.”

“Huh?” Just seeing Keith smile is enough to throw him off a little.

“What I smelled. I ordered two.”

Lance smiles too. He’s never seen Keith so… food motivated before. This must be some dish he’s smelling. All Lance can smell is the dampness of this place.

“So what does it remind you of? A steak or something?”

Keith looks different under this dark lighting. His eyes look like they’re glowing. “No, it smells like menudo.”

“Menu–?” Wait, what? Menudo? Lance racks his brain. The pronunciation is telling him it’s definitely something Latino. Actually, how had he never noticed how good Keith’s pronunciation is? That totally should have clued him in that he spoke a little bit of Spanish, but he never would have guessed. He just assumed that maybe he was fluent in Korean and that helped his accent a bit.

“Yeah, you know. The soup? The Mexican soup with the little honeycombs in it.”

Oh! Menudo. Of course. That was some of the Mexican’s best work. Was he serious, though?

“Keith-y cat, that is not honeycomb. That is tripe. Cow stomach.”

Keith's lips part in surprise.

Lance coughs to hide his laughter. He decides not to comment on it to spare him the embarrassment but come on. It's true the meat sometimes has a honeycomb pattern, so he’ll let it slide.

“Whatever. It's good.” Keith fiddles with the moss on the table.

“Yeah, it's fucking delicious! But what are the chances that this is going to taste anything like that? You would need chile guajillo to make the broth, onions and cilantro, bay leaves, not to mention the actual beef. Don't get your hopes up.”

Keith looks at him for long enough that he starts to feel self-conscious. Is there something on his face? The food isn’t even here yet. Maybe he thinks Lance is trying to shoot him down. He's not! He just doesn’t want him to get his hopes up.

“You can cook?”

Lance smiles wryly. “What? Is that so hard to believe?” He shrugs. “I'm not great at it, but I used to help my mom cook.”

He would pester her so much while she was trying to cook that she'd have him wash the vegetables, dice and slice them however she wanted, take out ingredients, and as he got older, stir the pot. Talking about whatever nonsense he wanted to talk about all the while. The memory hurts like pushing lightly on a bruise.

The food arrives, served by the slender reptilian, and would you believe it, it tastes like Menudo. Keith takes one spoonful and grins rakishly, his smile full of boyish glee and an unspoken ‘I told you so.’

He has a half ring of red soup on his upper lip from the awkwardly shaped spoon.

Lance's heart skips a beat, and he has to look away quickly. Jesus, maybe he should get that arrhythmia checked out.

He remembers to scan his caldo first, something that Keith irresponsibly neglects. It's completely safe though. It even has chunks in it that taste just like onion.

He wonders if it tastes like home to Keith.

“So…” Lance is halfway done with his plate. “How did you say you learned Spanish again?”

He watches a red drop trickle down Keith's chin. He catches it with his tongue and doesn't look up.

“I told you. Texas. Lots of Mexicans. And you know, other Latinos.”

“Well yeah, but how did you pick it up? That's not easy. Wait, you said you lived with Mexican people, right? How was that? Like, you and your parents shared a house or was it an apartment complex? Did you have a Mexican babysitter? Or–”

Keith sighs. Loudly. “Drop it, Lance.”

“But–”

Keith's spoon clatters against the bowl. “Why are you so…” Keith frowns at the ceiling, looking for a word. “... interested, all of a sudden?”

Uh.

“Interested? I'm not interested.” Heat rises to his face again, an increasingly permanent condition when he's with Keith. “I'm curious! I'm making conversation. Shut up.”

Keith smirks and goes back to his soup. Something about that irritates Lance.

“You know what? No. You're the one being weird. Why do you have to be all mysterious? There's no one here to impress. Actually, even if there was, no one would be impressed! That doesn't work on girls! Or on boys, I guess. Mysterious is only attractive up until a certain point, you know. Eventually, people are going to want openness, honesty, vulnerability. Are you listening, Keith? This is good advice. More than that, people want conversation! You're never going to get a boyfriend if you can't even entertain a conversation.”

Was he really giving Keith dating advice? He probably shouldn't be. All of his relationships had ended pretty badly. Hey, but at least he had experience! He severely doubted that Keith was as experienced as he was.

“What would you know?”

Lance colors and he can feel his mouth dropping open like a dumbass.

Keith says it so fucking casually, completely comfortable with insulting Lance like that! But there’s something else in his expression too. A quirk to his lips, a little scrunch to his nose. He’s teasing him.

“More than you.” Lance says, almost tripping over his words.

He feels off-balance.

Keith smirks. “Prove it.”

Bet.

Lance stands quickly, trying to recover his confidence. Yeah, he’d show Keith. It’s not the first time he’d be putting the moves on after being egged on by his buddies, but it feels different this time, like the stakes are higher. Which is ridiculous. It’s only Keith.

Right. It’s only him and Keith tonight. Going out to eat, sitting together in a dark restaurant Keith brought them to, enjoying food that’s important to him. It almost feels like— with their easy conversation and all, with Keith holding the door open and telling him where to sit, ordering food for him, teasing him, well… it almost feels like they’re on a date.

God, he’s so stupid.

He crosses the bar (it’s a dirty bar not a restaurant, idiot) in easy strides. The Xilinx he spotted, bright, lithe, lovely, turns to look at him, interested. He doesn’t look over his shoulder but he can feel Keith’s eyes on him. They feel like purple heat lamps aimed at the back of his neck.

“Hey, gorgeous. The name’s Lance.” Lance leans on the bar, unleashing what he knows is a dazzling smile.

Their pitch-black eyes widen, reflecting the dim lights of the bar. Their eyelashes lower shyly.

“B-Blue paladin. You are beautiful as well. My name is Salía.” Their voice sounds metallic but sweet.

There’s still not any of the usual thrill. His heart is beating fast, sure, his cheeks are hot, and his breath is coming imperceptibly faster than normal, but that has nothing to do with the beautiful alien in front of him and everything to do with Keith.

Okay, here comes the pickup line. Keith, get ready to be wowed. Under regular circumstances, he would feel like a dick for going up to someone on a dare, but this is space. They know Lance can’t stay.

“Has anyone ever told you you look like the night sky?”

That was a good one. Short, casual, but flattering and poetic enough to—

“Excuse me?” The faceted diamonds glint sharper on their skin and their eyes narrow. “How dare you?”

Damn it. Apparently, Lance can’t step foot on an alien planet without committing some kind of cultural blunder. Lance straightens and starts planning his escape. He’s about to apologize and slink back to Keith when the alien stands, towering over Lance a good two feet and speaks loudly.

“Very well. Your skin is the very shade of the lowly dirt beneath the moss!”

Hey.

Lance raises his hands palms up to show he means no harm, but for all he knows that gesture could mean about a hundred different things. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to—”

The alien walks off.

Okay.

That could’ve gone worse.

Lance turns back to Keith and sees him laughing into his hand, hunched over the table and snorting ridiculously. What an idiot. Lance fights back a smile and sits down, less bothered than ever by the curious stares the alien’s outburst attracted.

“Stop laughing.” He finally says.

Keith collects himself, rubbing his cheeks like they hurt.

“That was so bad.”

“Shut up.”

“What did you even say to them?”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Was it one of your terrible pickup lines?”

“Terrible?!”

“Listen,” Keith clumsily pushes his Menudo away, the spoon clinking against the bottom. There’s still mirth dancing in his features and Lance feels like he’s balancing the most fragile thing in the world. “Let me give you some advice.”

No way.

“You want to give me advice on how to pick up chicks?”

“It looks like you need it.”

Unacceptable. Offensive. How could Keith actually think that Lance had no game? He has game, dammit! How could he not with his charming smile, his dazzling blue eyes, his flawless skin? Not to mention his myriad of talents! His seventh grade English teacher once said he was ‘remarkably eloquent.’ Keith couldn’t judge Lance just on this failed interaction! They were in space! Also, there was no way that socially awkward, emotionally constipated, desert shack dweller, mullet sporting, violent Keith was better than Lance at this.

Keith speaks again, head tilted. “You don’t even have to say anything. Watch.”

Keith stands, tugging on the collar of his Kurta and popping a button loose. The shallow dip of his throat is exposed, and Lance feels a sudden hesitation.

“Wait, uh—"

But Keith is already walking away, hooking his finger into the heel of his shoe to fix it.

He heads straight towards the reptilian bartender, but not before bumping into a chair. Lance watches him worriedly. Why would he go for the bartender? Out of all the people in here, everyone knows you don’t go for the bartender. They’re just here to do their job and after a long day of getting hit on by drunk patrons, they’re the least likely to be receptive. Also, what did Keith mean about not saying anything?

The alien is cleaning glasses, clawed fingers ripping through the cloth. They are a dusty gray color with patterned diamonds like a snake. Their slitted eyes focus on Keith with a question, but Keith shakes his head and the bartender goes back to his task.

Now what?

Lance takes a sip of water and watches.

Keith is going to tank so bad. Is his plan literally to stare that guy down?

But,

The bartender keeps looking back at Keith.

Why is that? Is he weirding him out?

That’s not what his alien features are telling him though. There’s curiosity there, then interest. A forked tongue swipes across his lips. Isn't that how snakes smell things? Did this creep just smell Keith? Then he approaches Keith.

What the hell?

Lance cranes his neck to see Keith better and then suddenly, he understands. Lance leans back like he'd been hit.

Keith is leaning forward, his back forming a gentle slope. He has one leg hooked on the stool he’s sitting on, the other one dangling. One of his arms is resting on the bar while his other hand cradles his face. He’s messing with something in his mouth, one of the silver toothpicks offered at the bar. There’s a smile on his lips, easy in a way Lance has never seen before, and his eyes are dark and half-lidded. The bartender stops in front of him and leans towards him, presumably to say something, but Keith leans back slowly, teasingly. The bartender smirks. Then Keith tilts his head to the right, gesturing with his head, the same gesture he used to tell Lance where to sit. The bartender’s pupils dilate in yellow pools and the forked tongue makes an appearance again. Lance doesn't understand until the bartender comes out from behind the bar and Keith takes his arm, shooting Lance a wink over his shoulder. They head into a door behind the bar, Keith leaning against the much taller alien.

Seconds tick by while Lance's slow brain struggles to catch up.

Did Keith just–?

Without saying a word?

Were they going to–?

The realization of what just happened comes sharply into focus with a jolt and then settles like bile. No, no, fuck. This is so not what Lance meant to happen.

He wants to leave, suddenly. But he's glued to the chair.

Wait.

Something is poking at him, a thorn in his brain. Keith, the greatest fighter he knows, is not clumsy. The images come to him quickly. The plate almost slipping as Keith pushes it away, his body swaying precariously when he fixed his shoe, bumping into the chair, his sparkling red figure leaning way too comfortably against that stranger. That's not Keith. His buttery soft smile, the dark glazed look– definitely not Keith.

Lance is already standing and reconfiguring his food device, setting the species to Galra instead of human and aiming it at the Menudo.

Toxic.

Fuck.

He runs quickly after Keith, cursing under his breath. Stupid, stupid. He must have trusted the fact that Lance’s scanner gave the all clear. After all, they’d yet to find a food that regular humans could eat that Keith couldn’t.

He pushes through the door into what looks like some sort of break room and freezes.

Keith is pushed up against the wall, his legs loosely wrapped around the other man's waist. He has one arm around the alien's neck, corded with muscle, and the other with his hand around his scaly throat. They're kissing. One of his shoes is slipping.

Fury starts to cloud his vision. He's not sure why or to whom it's directed at, but he doesn't care.

“Keith.”

No response.

“Keith! We need to go.”

Keith pushes the lizard man away by his throat and frowns at Lance.

Lance takes a step back and swallows hard.

Keith's lips are bitten red, his hair is a mess, and he looks confused. His eyes are dazed and sleepy in a way Lance should have been able to recognize earlier.

For the first time, Lance notices the way the alien is holding him up. He has one arm gripping Keith's ass and the other one under his Kurta.

Rage blinds him for a second.

The alien starts to speak, “Get the hell out–”

But Lance is already reaching up and yanking Keith off the scaly asshole. Keith stumbles but Lance catches him against his own chest and spins them around, matching out of the storage closet and ignoring the alien's angry protests. Keith complains about the hold, but Lance doesn't budge. He's still angry.

Fuck, he's so angry.

It's blinding and unfamiliar.

Is he angry at Keith?

It's not Keith's fault.

But he takes one look at Keith's bitten red lips and the rage returns full force.

Fuck.

They get until the streetlight at the corner before Keith pulls out of his grip, stumbling haphazardly. Lance groans, running his hands through his hair. He really does not want to deal with a belligerent drunk, especially not Keith, who is unpredictable and aggressive sober. But when he turns, Keith is looking at him with a clueless little smile on his face.

“Lance? What we runnin’ from?”

Instantly, Lance’s rage fizzles out.

He's not mad at Keith.

He decides to be mad at that fucking alien. How dare he? Cultural differences aside, he clearly saw that Keith was here with someone else. With Lance. More importantly, there's no way he didn't notice that Keith was under the influence of something. Also, how fucking dare he touch Keith like that?

He's about to try to explain some of this to drunk Keith when a shrill scream cuts him off.

Instinctively, he reaches for his Bayard– but right, they left them at the hotel for the festivities. They're unarmed.

The scream comes from across the street. There's a shadowy figure sprinting full speed away and a glittering La’ ar slowly giving chase.

They scream again. “Stop! Please! Someone help me! He stole my purse/bag/satchel/suitcase/box/fruit/seed/–!”

The translator crackles off and Lance takes off at a run in pursuit of the thief. He takes a couple strides before he realizes he can only hear one set of footsteps on his side of the road. He stops.

“Fuck! Keith, come on!”

Keith raises his arms. “What? We're not cops!”

“You idiot! We're paladins! This is our entire– damn it, just run!”

He takes off again and this time he hears Keith behind him. He can barely see the thief now but he's confident he can catch up, he has long legs and great endurance, and the figure must be one of the smaller aliens because he looks like he's about Pidge’s size.

The figure darts into an alleyway and Lance groans, he doesn't know the area and, now that he's a couple of minutes into the run, he's realized that these shoes are definitely not made for running.

Luckily, a second later when Lance turns into that same alley, he sees the figure still there, trying and failing to climb over a fence.

Looks like the thief doesn't know the area well either. Lance comes to a stop.

Keith jumps on the figure like a wild cat and Lance would have screeched if he had the air. Jesus Christ when did he get here? The alien oomfs and they both fall to the floor, Keith catching the bag in his hand and landing on his feet in a surprising display of athleticism. Where was all the clumsiness from earlier?

He smirks at Lance, cocky.

Lance huffs and blushes. “I still got here before you.”

“You got a head start, though.” Keith slurs ‘head start’ into something that sounds more like ‘heassart.’

The thief stands but Keith catches the back of his shirt in one easy move, yanking the figure off balance again.

“Now what, Officer McClain?” Keith is grinning widely. He thinks this is some big joke and it's starting to irritate Lance. “Should we beat 'em up? Shake ‘em down?”

“That's not what cops do.”

“Yeah, it is.”

The thief struggles and eventually, a cloth comes off his face. He's a kid. He looks to be a mix of reptilian and the spiky kind of alien, but his features are unmistakably juvenile.

Keith releases him immediately, shoving him towards the alley entrance. The alien sprints away without a word.

The adrenaline wears off while Lance catches his breath. Their clothes are stained now with orange blotches that Lance hopes is just this planet’s rain collected in puddles. The walls are slimy here and smell of rotting vegetation. He can feel eyes on them but nothing that feels threatening or malicious. Still, he scans their surroundings.

Keith opens the bag, because of course he does, and then he laughs.

It starts as a choked giggle and then turns into loud, unrestrained laughter.

Lance shushes him, but he just shakes his head and pushes the bag at him.

“Here,” he says, eyes mirthful in a way that makes Lance wish he was seeing them without hazy intoxication. “Another baby for you.”

There, inside the bag, is a baby made of diamonds nestled inside the translucent shell of an egg.

Chapter Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

They returned the baby to the crying La’ ar as fast as they could, Lance cradling the egg to his chest and ignoring Keith's ribbing as they passed one dilapidated organic building after another. The alien fell to their knees to thank them and hugged Lance, almost reaching for Keith but relenting when Keith jerked back like crying was contagious.

They head back the way they came, worry making Lance short-tempered and impatient.

What if Keith is poisoned? What if his apparent drunkenness is just a symptom of the poison? What if his organs are shutting down?

He’s holding Keith’s wrist, a contact that sober Keith would probably not allow, and pulling him along towards what Lance hopes is the direction of the hotel.

Keith is slurring his words and stumbling more than ever, getting more giggly and stupid. In Lance’s experience, it kinda looks more like a high than an alcohol induced intoxication, and it would be cute, fun even, if only Lance knew that he was safe.

As it is, Keith is getting on his nerves and this whole thing is threatening to give him a panic attack. Why did they not bring their comms?!

“Lance, Lance, iss funny that it was a baby.” Keith insists.

“Why is that funny?”

In Lance's opinion, that was not funny, and in fact, was rather scary. Why would that kid want to steal a baby? It made him nervous about the orphanage they were going to put Limoncito in for reasons he couldn't yet articulate.

“Cause…” Keith wriggles his hand into Lance's, holding his hand tightly. “Y'knoww, you keep findin’ babies. Iss funny.”

Keith's hand is warm. Lance forces himself not to think about it.

He’s intoxicated; he doesn’t know any better.

“Yeah, yeah.” Lance turns a corner and tells himself that a certain puddle looks familiar. He's starting to get a headache. “Two is not a trend.”

“Lance…”

“Keith.”

“Lance!”

“What?” Lance turns to look at him, amused at the outburst.

Keith’s eyes are wide and sad like a puppy’s. “Lance, hey, ‘bout what Lura said…”

Lance sighs. Great. He hasn’t had time to process, and he does not want to hear Keith’s drug-addled thoughts about it, like ever. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Yeah, but, iss my fault. My fault you got in trouble.”

Lance doesn't turn to look at him, but he smiles to himself. Keith sounds so sad, so contrite. It's kind of sweet. Maybe he should listen.

Who would have thought Keith Kogane would ever be described as sweet?

“It's not your fault.” Lance explains, doing his best to keep his tone even. “Allura has some issues she needs to work through. She's just stressed and took it out on me, on us.”

Keith hums, considering. After a beat he says, “You're not stupid. She's wrong ‘bout that.”

“Okay, Keith.”

“And you're not im… immature. You're not.”

Lance smiles wryly and lets him talk. Apparently, he'd been thinking about Allura's rant a lot. Has he been feeling guilty this whole time?

Keith keeps going, talking slowly like he's stringing words from alphabet soup. “You're smart and responsible. You care ‘bout the mission. You care ‘bout saving people. You're a good person, Lance.”

He says it with such sincerity, with such quiet gravity, that Lance feels choked up and uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“...okay.” Is all he can get out.

They round another mossy corner, and, like a miracle, the hotel appears in front of them.

“You're not stupid, Lance.” Keith says again, insistent.

“Okay.”

“You're not stupid,” Keith murmurs, stumbling into Lance's shoulder. “You're cute.”

Lance stops abruptly. What? His face heats again. What did Keith just say? He turns to look at him, but he doesn't have to turn very far before he's met with hot skin and soft hair.

Keith is resting his head on Lance’s shoulder, his eyes closed, with their arms still interlocked and their hands clasped tightly together. He smells like the dampness in the air and the spices in the Menudo.

This is wrong.

Lance pulls away from him, willing the redness in his face to recede.

“C-Come on, we're almost there.”

The smell of his shampoo lingers.

Inside, they wake Shiro, who scolds them as he takes them to Coran, who's sleeping in a ridiculous Scrooge get up. Coran scans Keith and after a tense couple of minutes, declares him, ‘bodily sound and temporarily mentally addled.’ So he’s high.

Keith tries to hold his hand again, but Lance grabs his wrist firmly, blushing and avoiding Shiro's gaze. He feels like he's returning his prom date home drunk to his dad, and Shiro's certainly playing the part, his arms crossed and sporting a heavy frown on his brow.

“So he'll be back to normal in the morning?” Lance confirms.

Coran nods. “Right as rain.”

“And the baby?”

“Am not a baby.” Keith mutters. Lance shushes him.

“He's in my room, sleeping in his pod.” Shiro answers.

He’s sleeping where? Lance can't help pursing his lips. A stab of guilt runs through his body. Limoncito doesn't like the pod, no way he went willingly. Poor baby.

Shiro sighs at his expression. “He wasn't sleeping. Pidge and Hunk gave him to me and I didn't know where else to put him. But he's changed and fed. He drank half a bottle.”

“Okay, thanks Shiro. I'll go get him.”

It's not Shiro's fault. He doesn’t know how to wrangle the baby; this is Lance’s fault.

“Actually,” Shiro says, eyeing Keith. “You take Keith and I'll bring you the baby in a bit.”

Lance turns to look at Keith and snickers. Keith is standing still, breathing evenly with his eyes closed, and gripping the corner of Lance's Kurta. Lance taps his shoulder.

“Hey, weirdo. Did you fall asleep?”

Keith replies calmly, eyes closed. “I'm not a horse, Lance.”

What? A horse?

Lance grins.

Shiro chuckles, shaking his head.

“Let's go get you ready for bed, pony.” Lance prompts, tugging on his wrist.

Keith looks at him seriously, his eyes wide and his chest starting to rise and fall rapidly. “I don't know where my body is.”

Christ.

Shiro ducks back inside his room, his shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter and Lance groans, dragging Keith into their shared hotel room. Great. Now he's babysitting and tripsitting.

“I'm serious, Lance. I feel like my organs are in different places. Different dimensions. Different planes of existence.” Keith rambles.

Lance pulls him into the bathroom, laughing to himself. This is too cute. He's going to tease him about this for the rest of his life. “Brush your teeth.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea right now.”

Lance snickers. He grabs Keith’s toothbrush and squeezes out a drop of toothpaste. He tries to hand it to Keith, but Keith stumbles back and stares at it like Lance just thrust an alien creature in his face.

“Keithy-cat, it’s just toothpaste! Don’t be ridiculous.” Lance takes his hand, closes it around the toothbrush, and then leads it up to his mouth.

Keith groans his reluctance but lets him.

Keith manages to stay calm throughout the rest of their routine, and he doesn’t put up a fight when Lance coaxes him into doing some skincare. He looks so adorable with Lance’s headband pushing up his bangs and blue face wash all over his face. Shiro eventually brings by the baby pod. Lance backs away slowly, asking multiple times if Keith is good to stay by himself. He got a couple of bleary yeses so Lance, now changed into his Altean linen pajamas, pulls the sleeping baby from the pod and settles him in the egg bed.

Immediately, the little crease between his purple brows softens and he stops kicking, the sucking on his pacifier slowing to something gentler. Lance smiles and kisses his fuzzy forehead. One last shared sleep.

He climbs into bed and settles next to Limoncito. Finally.

He releases a tired breath. The baby is safe and tucked against his side, Keith is safe and just a room away. For the first time in what feels like too long, he feels calm. Allura's words seem so far away now, especially with Keith's words, so soft and so present still in his mind. He shies away from that train of thought, pushing down the awkward feelings. He can tackle all that tomorrow.

The yellow light dims and all that's left is ashy blue light leaking through the flowing curtains.

Lance starts to drift off when he hears a soft rustling, and then the bed dips.

Wha–?

It's Keith.

“Dude. Your bed is on the other side!” He hisses.

The rustling he heard must have been Keith's clothes dropping to the floor because he's shirtless, only clad in a pair of gray briefs. He stops, one leg thrown over the side of the bed, and stares at Lance. His eyes are still unnaturally dark but this time Lance swears he can see a yellow glow around the sclera.

“Huh?”

“Your bed,” Lance whispers impatiently. “Is over there! This one is mine.”

“Can't I sleep here?”

“What? Why–”

Keith pulls himself into bed and flops, sighing contentedly. He burrows slowly into the covers and Lance covers his eyes.

Fine. Fine. This is fine.

He chances a peek and is met with his eyes again, like two glowing lanterns. Keith's, unlike Limoncito's, have pupils and look more human, more familiar. Still, Lance covers his eyes again. He can't deal with this.

After the hand holding, the skin against his lips, the sleepy voice calling him cute, Lance just can't deal with Keith being in his bed right now. It's weird.

“Hey.”

Lance cracks open an eye and immediately regrets it. Keith's skin looks like spilled moonlight, his scars flash like mercury.

Lance closes his eyes again. “Go to sleep.”

“Wait.” Keith whispers, moving closer. “I have to tell you a secret.”

Oh lord.

“Don't tell me any secrets.” Lance hisses.

He feels Keith’s warmth before he feels him, and then the soft press of his knees against Lance’s thigh.

“I hafta tell you.”

At least he’s being quiet. Limoncito doesn’t stir.

Lance forces himself to calm down. It’s not that big of a deal, but why does it feel like it is? Why does Lance’s heart insist on beating its way into his throat, why are his palms sweating, why can he feel Keith’s breath, warm and minty, like a physical touch?

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re going to be mad in the morning and beat me up.”

It’s true.

But Keith moves closer still. His legs fall, and Lance feels the drag of his knees like something searing. Keith’s cold toes press against his ankle, and the tops of his thighs rest softly against Lance’s. Lance is suddenly wide awake.

“I wouldn’t ever hit you, Lance.” Keith murmurs.

Lance forces out a strangled laugh. “Are you serious? You just did.”

“I hit you?”

“Yep.”

Keith sits up and Lance opens his eyes against his will, drinking in the sight, and then he looks away nervously. It feels forbidden. Keith’s collar bones cast long shadows over the gentle slope of his chest and his hair falls in front of his face, framing sleepy eyes and a full pout.

“Where?” He touches Lance’s face. “Here?”

Keith cradles Lance's jaw. His thumb brushes over his lower lip.

“Yes,” Lance turns away, his heart beating wildly. “But it's fine. I hurt you too.”

Keith’s eyes are half-lidded, sleepy. “Where?”

Lance swallows hard and points to Keith’s arm. The bite mark he gave him all that time ago is still barely there, bruised green and yellow like a mottled wax seal on ivory paper.

Keith looks at it like he's seeing it for the first time and smiles. He leans forward and Lance stills as dark hair falls over his face. He thinks he's going to die. Keith kisses him on the cheek, soft. It feels like something landed on him, a leaf or a snowflake, and then Keith pulls away and takes it with him.

“I forgive you.”

Lance turns away and doesn’t fall asleep for a very long time.

Chapter Text

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Tomorrow is hard.

He rises sluggishly, pausing when he feels a burning hot body against his. He savors the feeling of bare skin for a few minutes before catching himself and practically flying out of bed, cheeks burning. He leaves Limoncito there and wedges a pillow between Keith and the baby, not trusting that Keith won't roll in his sleep.

He brushes his teeth, does his skin care routine, and dabs a bit of concealer under his eyes. Sadly, that last part has become a daily necessity.

He goes to check on them before he hops in the shower.

Limoncito has one of his fists in his mouth and the other gripping Keith's hair. He smiles when he sees Lance and kicks excitedly.

Lance grins back. He’s attacking Keith’s mullet! That means he recognizes how horrible it is. He's just like Lance. “Buenos días, chiquito. ¿Cómo estás? Me extrañaste?”

Good morning, little one. How are you? Did you miss me?

He whispers to not rouse Keith, but Keith doesn't even stir, utterly knocked out. Lance takes care not to look at him any more than he has to. The baby squeals excitedly in Lance’s arms as he takes him to the bathroom, grabbing the diaper bag on the way.

He's not sure how to feel. His body is telling him he just had the best sleep of his life, even though it could have only been a couple of hours, probably because Limoncito didn't cry during the night. He's reluctant to admit it, but Keith's presence probably had something to do with it too. Lance always slept better with someone by his side, and someone as warm and soft as Keith, with his quiet, even snoring, was about as good a cuddle partner he could get. He remembers feeling Keith's back against his front sometime during the night and being sleepily surprised that his arm fit perfectly over Keith's side.

The thought embarrasses him, but he can't stop wondering at it.

Lance has cuddled with a lot of people, being a naturally affectionate and constantly touch-starved person, and it was rare to find someone who wasn't an annoying cuddler. Farting, slapping, kicking, raucous snoring, excessive drooling, and blanket hogging aside, body size and shape were extremely important. Especially when it came to spooning. If the little spoon was too wide or too small, your arm would cramp from the uncomfortable angle. Too tall and you'd get a face full of hair, too short and you'd have nothing to bury your face into.

Keith was perfect. Lance's arm fit nicely around his side, his hand resting comfortably on the mattress and not dangling. Their legs were gently tangled, and Lance spent the whole night with his face in the nape of Keith's neck, subconsciously enjoying the heat and the soft skin and hair against his cheek.

It's embarrassing, but it's Keith's fault. He knows for a fact he doesn't move in his sleep. But if Lance really was the one who grabbed Keith in his sleep like a heated body pillow, no one could blame him.

His head feels fuzzy.

He can’t think about last night.

He feels happy, but also devastatingly sad. The sadness puts oil in his veins and joints, hoping to make the minutes last into hours, but it also doesn't clog up his throat and sting his eyes with tears like it used to.

Today is the last day he will have with Limoncito.

But it's okay.

It’s going to be okay.

He cleans Limoncito and discards his diaper, then slips off his own blue gold pajamas and wades into the pool-bath.

It's still as impressive as when he first saw it, more so now with the orange sunlight trickling in through imperceptible windows and the hazy fog that makes it difficult to see below his thighs. Lance scans the various shampoos and soaps and finds them to be safe for both Humans and Galras.

Limoncito is babbling nervously, stabbing his claws into Lance's shoulder. He always gets a bit nervous before bath time, but seeing this amount of water for the first time must be even scarier than usual.

“You're okay, baby. It's okay.”

The water turns soapy white and Lance sinks into it, sighing contentedly.

The baby screeches as his feet sink into the water and then he starts crying, batting at Lance's face. Lance works on settling him, scooping up water and trickling it over his purple head and making stupid noises. It doesn't work.

The door opens and Keith pops in, looking like he stuck his head in a blender.

Lance scowls to fight the smile that threatens to spread across his face. He looks stupid cute. “Hey, wait your turn!”

“Shut up. Headache.” Keith grumbles.

So he's not high anymore. Tragic. Lance was going to miss that. They should definitely stop to pick up some Menudo before they leave.

Keith heads inside and Lance squawks.

Was he seriously going to come in with him?! He can't! Especially not after last night.

“No way. We are not taking a bath together–”

“Chill.”

“What?! No, I will not chill–”

“I'll keep my briefs on.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I'm naked!”

“Whatever,” Keith says, wading inside. He's wearing his underwear, true to his word at least. “We're running late.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Stop being hysterical.”

Hyster–? Oh, hell no. Keith is such an ass! He is not fucking being hysterical! It is not too much to ask to have the bath to himself, dammit. By now, their arguing has Limoncito screaming at the top of his lungs, and Lance does his best to soothe him, bouncing and shushing him.

Keith tosses him a bottle which Lance catches instinctively, accidentally letting Limoncito slip into the water up to his waist and earning himself scared screeches instead of angry ones.

The bottle is warmed up. Lance raises a questioning eyebrow at Keith who shrugs.

“I heard him screaming from out there.”

He woke up, mixed the appropriate formula to water ratio, warmed the bottle up to an acceptable temperature, and brought it to Lance? That was nice of him. It was also kind of a lot to expect.

Lance pours a couple drops out on his wrist and tastes them, distrustful.

Keith frowns at him. “For real?”

It tastes okay. He gives it to Limoncito, who after refusing out of spite, drinks it greedily.

Sweet blessed silence. That was actually very nice of Keith.

Lance leans back and studies the other man. He still looks a mess but the pained look in his eyes has lessened. He must be hungover or feeling the aftereffects of the drug in some way. He's leaning back with his arms spread over the edges of the pool. Lance's bite mark is in clear view. He makes no effort to hide it. His little silly smile from last night has disappeared and Lance finds himself missing it. The yellow is gone from his eyes too, as is the dazed look. They're back to being sharp and guarded, and his gaze slides away from Lance, embarrassed.

Lance ends the awkward silence easily. “Yeah, ‘for real.’ You should've seen yourself yesterday. Couldn't trust you not to poison yourself, let alone this sweet little baby.”

Lance starts running shampoo through said baby's purple hair while he's distracted with the bottle. He glances up at Keith, waiting for his rebuttal, but Keith says nothing, he just turns away.

Uh oh. Was he being too mean? He meant to poke fun at him.

He tries to backtrack. “I meant–”

“I'm sorry.”

Keith says it simply, ashamed. He's wrapping a bar of soap in a washcloth with slow, careful movements.

Lance sits up, alarmed. “Dude, I was just joking. You're fine. You don't have to apologize. I mean, it's not your fault you got intoxicated.”

“It is my fault. I should have scanned it.”

“Well, yeah, but come on, we've never had that happen before. It's understandable.”

Keith considers that, his head still ducked. “Was I… uh, was I a lot of trouble? Shiro says you had to bring me back.”

Lance smiles to himself. This must be killing him. But wait, does that mean–?

“You don’t remember anything?!”

Keith looks up at the alarm in Lance's voice. “I remember some things. Not everything.”

Oh. Well, this is… good? Yeah. Maybe now Lance doesn’t have to feel so awkward.

Lance considers while he washes the baby, sitting him down on one of the steps so that he's submerged only up to his chest. Feeling the solid stone beneath him seems to settle him and he allows the change, fixing his yellow eyes on Lance. He can hold the bottle up by himself now, a milestone Lance would note if he didn't think it'd break his heart to do so.

“Nah. You weren't a hassle. You're a nice drunk, sweet even.” It doesn't embarrass him to admit it because he knows it'll embarrass Keith more.

Keith reddens predictably. “Oh.”

Lance snickers. “Was your delicious Menudo worth it?”

“Shut up.”

Keith starts washing himself and Lance looks away quickly, focusing on the baby. He does not need to see all that. It was one thing to see Keith essentially naked, all pale skin and sharp muscles on display, but it’s another to actually watch him bathe. That is way too intimate.

He finishes bathing the baby and then starts on himself a little awkwardly, given that he's only able to use one hand. The other is busy making sure Limoncito doesn't drown. As it is, he only gets done with his hair before Limoncito starts his daily suicide attempts and Lance has to grab him with both hands. He seems to have gotten over his fear for now and is attempting to plunge headfirst into the milky depths.

“Do you need help?”

The voice comes from behind him, low and deep and startlingly close, and Lance yelps.

“Keith! What the hell! Go to your corner.”

He's standing a couple steps behind, dripping wet, his mullet curling on the ends. Lance keeps his gaze firmly fixed above Keith's shoulders, but it's hard because Lance is sitting and Keith is standing and also because no fair Keith looks amazing. What the fuck, why can't Lance be that ripped? Also, let it be known that briefs are not made for swimming.

“What's your problem?”

He snaps his eyes back to Keith’s, who looks pissed.

“What?”

“We used to shower together at the Garrison so what's the problem now?”

Jesus. Only Keith would ask why he's uncomfortable showering with him. And he’s wrong. Sure, Lance showered with other guys in the locker room, but he never showered with Keith specifically; they were in different halls. Trust, Lance would’ve remembered if he showered with the great Keith Kogane. He doesn't understand where Keith’s confusion is coming from, or his anger. He stares at him for a couple more seconds, trying to collect his thoughts. It's surprisingly hard to speak in front of so much naked skin. Keith has a lot of lunares, there's one, perfectly round, next to his belly button.

“You scared I'm going to jump you or something?” Keith says through gritted teeth. For the first time, Lance sees the hurt in his eyes.

Jump him? Did he mean–? Oh.

“What the fuck, Keith, no. How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not homophobic. Stop coming at me.”

Lance remembers that feeling all too well; the way the other boys’ eyes would stick to him in the shower with suspicion and disgust. After that, he started waking up earlier to avoid them. It wasn't always like that, he'd slipped up in some way that was unrecognizable to him and obvious to everyone else.

He didn't mean to make Keith feel like that.

Keith sighs. “Then why are you being weird?”

Was he being weird? He probably was. But it was because of last night, and he definitely couldn't tell Keith that.

“Hey, hold this baby. I'm turning into a raisin here.” Lance scoots the baby towards Keith, shamelessly changing the subject.

Keith seems to accept it. He sits next to Lance, which is way too close, but at least he reaches out and grabs Limoncito's chubby arm.

Lance turns away and washes himself, still sitting.

After a couple of minutes of just the baby's quiet babbling and the waterfall trickling into the pool filling the comfortable silence, Keith speaks up.

“Lance. Did I kiss–

Lance drops the shampoo with a huge splash and turns around, whipping shampoo everywhere. He doesn't want to hear it! He doesn't even want to think about it.

“Oh yeah. It was super gross.” Lance cuts him off, trying hard to sound nonchalant and throwing a casual glance over his shoulder.

Keith jerks back.

His face falls and his lips part in shock. “S-Sorry.”

Awkward. Lance turns away again, dipping his hair under the waterfall to wash the shampoo off. He can still see them when he closes his eyes. The way the alien's claws dug into Keith's muscle. The possessive glint in those slitted eyes. His hand inside Keith’s Kurta touching his soft skin.

Fuck. He's angry again.

And Keith! Why did he have to look so gone? Was it really just the drug? He can't get it out of his head. Keith's lips had looked so bitten red, like they were covered in blood. His face was flushed so prettily and his eyes–

“Fuck, Keith. That motherfucker was ugly.” Lance is talking before he can stop himself. “Look, I'm not usually one to shit on someone else's taste but, seriously? He was even uglier than that other asshole you were flirting with in the market! I can't believe you let him stick his weird tongue in your mouth!”

Keith blinks at him. He has that stupid, confused look on his face again. “Wait, I kissed–”

“Oh, you did way more than just kiss.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Keith's face is rapidly turning red. “So I didn't– you're saying that… that I kissed someone else?”

“What do you mean someone else? It was just that one guy, and like I said, you were all up on him. And you just met him! Actually, you didn't even say a single word to him, you just–”

Keith splashes him with his free hand. “Will you shut up?”

“You're literally asking me shit!”

“Shut up!”

“You know what? No. I won't shut up. All I did was deliver a couple of pickup lines. That was the game, Keith! Not– not doing whatever the fuck you were doing! I had no idea you–”

Keith jumps forward and slaps his hand over Lance’s mouth.

He looks like he's seconds away from punching him but he still has one hand wrapped around Limoncito's chubby arm. There's water droplets on his eyelashes and his brows are furrowed low over his eyes. Rivulets of water trace the lines down his chest.

“Stop being a little virgin bitch.” Keith says gravely.

Rude!

Lance licks his hand and Keith slaps him in response.

He actually slaps him!

Well, it's more like a swipe than anything and it doesn't hurt, but still! What the hell!

“You disrespectful piece of shit!” Lance pushes him and watches him splash into the water. “This is the thanks I get for saving you from alien STDs?”

Keith laughs, sitting up on his knees and shaking his head like a dog. “You can scan for STDs.”

“You weren't scanning shit!” Lance shrieks, stabilizing Limoncito with a hand on his chest. The baby is delighted with their antics, laughing and trying to join them in the pool. “And how would you even know that? This is alien technology, Keith!”

Keith pushes his hair back, grinning, and Lance has to take a deep breath. Holy hell, Keith is gorgeous. He'd always known that Keith is objectively handsome. For one, the girls at the Garrison wouldn't shut up about him, a detail that used to drive Lance insane. He had a sort of effortless beauty that people went crazy for. Like, you could tell this motherfucker had never done his eyebrows in his life, but they were still thick and perfectly shaped to compliment his features. His dark, soulful eyes were framed by the kinds of lashes girls would kill to glue to their eyes. He had an adorable flat button nose and full lips that always looked bright red or petal pink because Keith liked to chew on them. Even the scar on his face did nothing to take away from the effect, instead it made him look cooler, bringing out the sharp angles of his jawline and perfect cheekbones. All this was even more obvious with his hair pushed and slicked back. If Keith ever cut his gay ass bangs or that retro-for-a-reason mullet he'd be unstoppable. Not that Lance would ever tell him that.

“What? You mean you honestly haven't tried it?” Keith is smiling at him, teasing. “You talk big about flirting with all these alien girls, but you're too chicken to take them to bed?”

Lance glares at him, but inside he's panicking. Is it true? Was Keith really hooking up with aliens when they stopped for work? Were they all doing that? Sans Pidge, of course. Wait, Pidge is 17 now. It’s definitely a possibility. Ew. He doesn’t want to think about that. Is Lance the only one not doing that? Christ, is even Coran getting his dick wet?

“Shut up!” Lance is blushing again. “Just because I'm not into scales and tentacles doesn't mean I'm the freak.”

Keith stands and Lance turns away quickly. His briefs are wet and clinging to his skin and Lance does not need to see that, thank you very much.

He hears him take a towel in silence.

Then he sighs, “So fucking an alien makes you a freak?”

Yes, is on the tip of his tongue, both as a manner of defense and as a further way to make fun of Keith, but he stops himself because Keith sounds weird. Sullen. Why is he…?

Keith exits the bathroom, not waiting for an answer.

Lance finishes up quickly, responding to Limoncito's babbling half-heartedly. It's not until he's dressing himself in alien clothes that it hits him.

Oh.

Damn it.

Lance is an asshole.

Why is he always saying the wrong thing to Keith?

He runs out, naked baby wrapped in a towel on his hip, and catches Keith just as he finishes buttoning up his top.

“Hey, asshole,” Nice start, Lance. Solid. “That's not what I meant.”

Keith doesn't look at him. “I don't care.”

Ugh. Why does he make it so hard to apologize?

“It doesn’t– I mean, I didn't mean you, um…” Lance trips over himself, his tongue turning into a useless chunk of meat. “I didn't mean that–”

“It's fine.”

“But I meant–”

“Seriously. It's fine. It's painful to listen to you, you don’t even know what you're saying.”

True.

But he still has to try.

He wedges himself between Keith and the door, pulling back a little to balance Limoncito who's already reaching for Keith. Keith’s hand is on the doorknob so he’s kind of boxing Lance in, and it makes it so that Lance gets a nice reminder of the couple inches he has on Keith. He looks pretty, what the hell. Who looks pretty with wet hair and water droplets dripping off of their unfairly long eyelashes?

Keith groans like staying in this room any longer is physical torture, but he drops his hand from the doorknob and meets his eyes.

They're close. Lance can smell the toothpaste on his breath.

“You're not a freak.” Lance murmurs. “I didn't mean that, I wouldn't ever think that.”

Keith drops his eyes. “I know.”

And Lance wonders if he does.

☆

In the hallway, after Lance finishes dressing Limoncito and gathering everything, ((he’d found that all of his and the baby's things were already neatly organized and packed away.) (He panicked for a second until he realized Keith had left out the essentials: a diaper, a pacifier, a chew toy, an assortment of baby clothes, and Lance's skin care.)) Keith pinches his arm and calls him a prude so he knows everything is okay between them.

So thoughtful.

They eat together and the food tastes like bricks and mud to only Lance. Keith scans his food and Shiro laughs at him, but Lance can't find it in him to smile.

It’s happening.

On the way to the orphanage, Lance can't stop kissing Limoncito's face. He kisses the powder soft hair on his forehead, the thicker hair on his head, and the coarser still hair on the back of his head that leads all the way to his back. He kisses his fuzzy ears, smooshing them down to his scalp. He kisses his little hands, all of his five fingers wrapped around one of his. Limoncito seems to sense something and lets Lance kiss and squeeze him all he wants with only minimal scratches and complaints.

The rest of the Paladins leave him alone, for which he is thankful for.

Hunk is up front dragging the enormous crates of formula and the machine that Lance used to congeal it into different shapes for snacks. Coran is lugging a mixture of disposable and reusable diapers, Shiro has enough baby clothes to rival Lance's closet, and Allura is carrying two boxes full of baby/dog toys with the baby pod slung over her shoulder. Pidge is carrying all the adorable blankets and towels Lance collected, and Keith is carrying a small armada of shampoos, soaps, lotions, and hair oils that Lance assured is safe and good for Limoncito's skin and hair. Keith is also lugging a case full of creams and medicine for Galra babies that Lance thankfully never had to use. Everything was meticulously labeled by Coran and Lance.

Xilinx meets them at the door, smiling brightly. “Dear Paladins! You are radiant this morning! Please come inside. Thank you for your patience, we have resolved the issue.”

Oh, right. The reason for why they stayed an extra day. What was the issue again? Damn it, he should have been playing closer attention to something that important. He asks Hunk.

“They said that one of the kids was having some sort of a medical issue.” He whispers.

Understandable. Hopefully everything turned out okay.

Xilinx looks taken aback at the ridiculous amount of materials, but the alien leads them into a storage room, chattering while they walk inside the building.

“No worrying is necessary, Paladins. We have adequate supplies for one of his kind, including numerous cases of the famous Palen Stro’ formula.”

“Are they hard to come by?” Pidge asks, her glasses barely peeking out from the top of the blankets.

Xilinx cocks their head like a snake. “What did you say, Green Paladin? Come where?”

Screwy 10,000 year old translators.

“Is the formula difficult to acquire?” Pidge rephrases.

“Oh yes,” Xilinx watches as they deposit the boxes, their tone a tad uninterested. “The Palen Stro’ formula is the only formula proven to be capable of sustaining a Galra infant. This is especially difficult because a Galra infant must exclusively nurse until 458 Xols, or, in your time measurements, approximately 3 Deca-Phoebs, at which point other nutrients can be introduced.” Xilinx looks at Limoncito with the same nonchalance. “This young one looks to be just under 12 quintants.”

That's about the age Lance would put him as too, around 12 months, if not younger.

Hunk pushes the last crate of formula up on a shelf, which has Xilinx and a couple of other nosy aliens murmuring with astonishment. That’s Hunk for you, even stronger than he looks. He dusts off his hands, not even out of breath, and addresses Xilinx.

“Why is this formula so hard to find? If it's so important, why isn't it more readily accessible?”

That’s a good question. A sick feeling in his stomach tells Lance he already knows the answer. He’s kind of surprised Hunk doesn’t already know it.

“Most planets destroyed it,” Xilinx says flippantly. “Precisely because it is so important to the Empire.”

That's about what Lance expected. Poor Hunk looks horrified, and he can see Keith and Pidge exchange similar uneasy looks. They really didn’t guess? Lance had about figured as much as soon as Coran told them how difficult it would be to find.

Xilinx continues without noticing their reaction. “We would have destroyed ours too were it not for the occasional Galra child deposited at our center. This is war, after all.”

Lance bites his tongue.

It’s not his place to say anything.

This could be Limoncito’s home. His blood boils regardless.

Xilinx leads them away from the storage room, their happy personality returning. “Follow me, Paladins! We only have time for a brief tour so please come along.”

The building is spacious enough, well-lit, and clean. Lance catalogs all of this in a remote corner of his mind. There's colorful art on the walls that depicts what must be this planet’s animals, and a plush, mossy carpet on the floor that looks alive. They pass an enormous cafeteria and two sets of playgrounds. All in good condition and all empty.

“Where are all the kids?” Lance finally asks.

“We have them contained to allow for the tour.”

Lance frowns. Was that a safety measure maybe? “That's not necessary.”

“Simply procedure, Paladin.”

Right, okay.

“This way,” Xilinx continues, “Are our infant wings where they receive constant attention.”

Babies!

There's so many of them! Lance peeks inside one of the rooms and sees rows upon rows of tiny pods, each containing a sparkly infant. There's floor to ceiling windows on one end of the room, and changing stations on another end. There's several La’ ar inside, feeding, cradling, changing.

“These children are all orphans?” Allura asks, the shock evident in her voice.

Lance fixes his eyes on her for the first time today. It's not like he's been ignoring her, he's just been so wrapped up with the baby that he hasn't even thought about whatever tension there may be between them. Allura seems more than happy to avoid him for now.

“Yes.” Xilinx says, then seems to become aware of their reactions slowly. “Although… I sense we may have different connotations attached to that word. Here on planet Diskashi all children are born orphans. After their mother/father/paternal figure/carer/carrier–” The translator glitches, “--delivers the child, they are taken here to be raised.”

What the hell? Why would they separate the children from their parents to be raised in a facility?

“Why can't their carrier raise them?” Keith speaks up for the first time, his tone decidedly angry.

Xilinx seems surprised at the suggestion. “Well, I'm not sure how it is done on your planet, Red Paladin, but here, not everyone who births a child is capable of raising one. Here at Helping Hands we have trained and educated professionals in the ways of child development. They have been thoroughly vetted and are annually tested for mental abnormalities that could be of disservice to the child. We also assure that they are at peak physical health in order to keep up with a child and to not transmit any illnesses.”

The Paladins are shocked into silence. Lance's mind spins. It makes sense, in a way. It's definitely true that not everyone who has a kid is fit to raise it, they've all heard horror stories back on Earth about less than inadequate parents. But still, it feels wrong.

Xilinx looks into their faces and laughs. It sounds like metal scraping against metal. “Could you imagine? Trusting just anybody with the life of an innocent child?”

Ouch. Okay, okay. They get it. Lance clears his throat. “So you're saying that the children spend their whole lives here, without parents, and then what? They age out?”

“Of course. We prepare them with an education of their choosing and then provide housing and assist them in finding a trade or career.”

The Paladins are silent again, processing.

And then Allura speaks up. “Well, that sounds reasonable.”

Of course she would think so, is Lance's first thought. He thinks it viciously but then he stops. It is reasonable, isn't it? More than that, it's generous. It's certainly more than most systems on Earth do for foster kids.

“And the carriers give over the infants willingly?” Lance asks.

“Of course.”

Lance thinks of the La’ ar they met, crying over their stolen egg.

Something isn’t right.

He turns towards Keith, hoping to get a clue as to how he should feel about this, but Keith is impassive, jaw tight and eyes fixed forward. Shiro goes to him but Keith brushes him off.

“Let us continue.” Xilinx strides over to another section of the building.

Lance kisses the baby's fuzzy cheek and follows.

“Here is the toddler section! This is where your Galra charge will be staying.”

There are several rooms in this wing too and they all peek inside. Again, there's clean interiors and lovely, super-sized windows. Instead of cribs there's soft mats on the floors and different sections marked by baby pens. Toys and books are scattered around, but there's only La’ ar inside the room. A couple more glances into different rooms reveals the same. Where are the rest of the kids? It makes sense there'd be an overwhelming majority of La’ ar kids, given that it's their culture or their law or whatever, but where are the rest of the kids? Finally, at the very end, Lance looks inside another room and sees something other than sparkling white.

“You have them separated by species?” Lance asks, his voice flat.

“Goodness no! They're separated by donors. It's a matter of finance.”

That’s… not any better.

Xilinx is called away by Allura, and Lance is left to stare inside the tiny room. There are spiky toddlers and reptilian toddlers and, now that Lance looks closer, one or two La’ ar. They’re running around a couple of frazzled employees, sporting runny noses and saggy diapers. Lance backs away and then sighs, kissing Limoncito's forehead. The baby is alert and curious, gripping a green chew toy in one hand and Lance's clothes with the other, his purple head swiveling around to stare at everything. He doesn't know what's going on.

Lance's chest hurts to see this place. He turns to look at Keith again, not entirely sure why he keeps looking to him, but Keith is leaning against a wall, avoiding eye contact and looking generally disinterested. Shiro and Allura are talking to Xilinx and the princess nods at something and then hands over a wad of alien cash.

Lance's eyebrows raise. Xilinx shakes their head.

“It is not necessary, dear Paladins! You can be assured that your Galra child will receive the best education and care that we provide here at Helping Hands. It is the least we can do.”

It feels like they're selling him. Lance's grip tightens unconsciously on the baby.

“Please take it.” Allura implores, a perfectly diplomatic smile on her face. “In case he ever needs anything.”

“Very well.”

It's happening. They're giving him up. Is it time?

Allura, Shiro, and Xilinx turn to look at him expectantly.

Oh god, it's time.

Lance suddenly grabs Shiro's elbow. “Wait! Are we sure that this is the best place for him?”

Shiro's eyes soften in sympathy, but both Allura and Xilinx stiffen. Xilinx’s offense is audible, since the stones on their skin grind against each other.

Allura hurriedly speaks up. “Please excuse the Blue Paladin, he has become attached to the child. That is why he is expressing reluctance.”

Is she seriously worried about Xilinx’s feelings right now?

“Lance,” Shiro places a hand on his shoulder. It's usually a comforting act but now it feels suffocating. “This is the best place we could find.”

He knows.

“But he's going to be all alone!” Lance pleads.

“I assure you, Paladin, the children are never left unsupervised.” Xilinx says, their tone cold.

That's not what he meant.

Hunk gives him a one-armed hug. Lance accepts it numbly. “He'll be okay, buddy. These people know what they're doing. Look at these pamphlets!”

He pushes something into Lance’s hand. The pamphlet is printed on a thin sheet of stone. It looks like a promotional ad. Lance looks away.

Pidge steps forward and places her small hand on his arm. “What room is he going to stay in? Can we see it?”

“Of course.”

Xilinx leads them back down the hallway, towards the rooms with the big windows. They're rambling, trying to sell it, not knowing Lance has no power. They say something about how the children play outside every day, even the toddlers and babies. They have a swimming pool where they are taught to swim. They have several sports and even an art class. They are fed four daily meals.

Lance is short of breath.

He focuses on pulling the next breaths out of his chest slowly. They're tangled inside, choking him.

“The children are asleep for their daily nap.”

They enter a shockingly white room, and Xilinx leads them to a corner right next to the window. The La’ ar attendants ogle them, whispering to each other excitedly. The few sparkly toddlers that remain awake grip the bars of their cribs to look at them.

They look like prisoners. Diamonds trapped behind a glass case.

Lance looks away from them sharply. Something is happening. The alien babies start to look disturbing. Their skin is repulsive– a horrifying condition riddled every inch of their skin with hard pustules. The babies are embedded with foreign bodies. They gnash and scrape against each other. They are bleeding on the inside. Their black eyes suddenly look empty, unseeing. They are blind. They look the way fish eyes do when they're gasping for air on the ground. Dead. Glassy. Empty.

There’s a ringing in his ears. Hundreds of tiny lights flash in his eyes, bouncing off of cold skin and stabbing into his corneas.

And now there's an empty crib in front of him.

The baby kicks him, yells.

Lance is holding him too tight.

Mechanically, Lance lowers him into the crib. It's a spotless white, just like the rest of this place. It's cold now in his chest without Lim– the baby. Without the baby. Big yellow eyes blink at him.

Oh god, he can’t get a full breath.

The ringing in Lance's ears gets louder until he sees something else lowered into a crib.

It's a stuffed animal. A blue hippo with mismatched eyes. It looks crudely stitched together, but secure.

Lance looks up and sees Shiro smiling at him, concern etched into the creases in the corners of his eyes. “It's from Keith, he said he used your blanket.”

What?

The baby crawls towards the hippo and explores it, tiny purple fingers sinking into plush fabric.

Lance tears his gaze away, but Keith isn't here.

He's gone.

He said he'd be here, but he's gone.

Chapter Text

˚☽˚.⋆

He didn't say goodbye.

That's the first thought that seems to pull him from his spiral. He thinks about it and takes a deep breath. He's pretty sure he almost had a panic attack or something. It wouldn't be the first time, not by a long shot, but it would have been the first in a while. He's glad it didn't hit him, but maybe it should have because he didn't say goodbye. Maybe it would have been better if he started freaking out because then maybe he would have been able to say goodbye instead of walking outside like a robot. But no. No, it wouldn't have been better because then he would have scared the baby. God, Lance is such a pussy. He can face down hundreds of armed aliens in the vacuum of space but he can't give up someone else's baby?

The baby.

He doesn't want to say his stupid nickname anymore, doesn't even want to think it.

He'd be okay, right?

But something doesn't feel right.

Shiro said it was the best they could find, but a family is what Lance expected. That was the best. This is so far from that.

Hunk had made him some tea. Pidge had mumbled something about how now he'd be able to get some beauty sleep, which he knows was supposed to be a reassurance. Shiro had said something that Lance is sure was an actual reassurance, but he can't remember it right now. Allura and Coran are talking among themselves and then the princess turns, her hands clasped together and her expression remorseful. She heads towards Lance. She's coming to apologize but Lance doesn't want to hear it right now, he can't.

The lions are back in the Castle and Lance hears the thrusters powering up, pushing them steadily out of this planet’s atmosphere and into space. They're leaving him.

Lance just abandoned Limoncito.

But it's fine.

He's safe now. Safer than he was before.

Safe with strangers with diamond skin. Safe? But he wouldn't be able to bite or scratch them without hurting himself. Maybe that was good. He needed to learn to not do that eventually. But would he be able to hug them? Would he be able to nuzzle against their faces like he did to Lance? How would they change or bathe him without hurting him? Were they warm?

The panic is back again. It starts in his chest like it always does, it threatens to choke and kill him.

It's going to be permanent, this panic.

It's going to follow him for the rest of his life.

And then Keith steps in, cutting Allura off. They're all here, all his friends and fellow soldiers, and they turn to look at Keith who just cut Allura off so abruptly she bumps into his back. She’s more than a full head taller than him, but he doesn’t stumble. He doesn’t even turn to look. He’s staring at Lance like he’s the only one in the room.

“You're not leaving him there.”

He says the words with finality. It's an order.

Lance blinks at him, confused. Is it an order?

Allura protests, “Keith! We are at war!”

Shiro stands, reaching for him, “Keith, I know this is hard for you, but--”

But Keith storms out, a blaze of fury. He leaves no room for argument, dismissing his leaders’ words like they don’t matter. Lance stays frozen for a couple seconds before he stands and runs after him; he's headed to the Lion's hangar. The Paladins call after them, but Keith can really hustle even with his short legs and soon they fall out of range.

Lance finds his voice. “Keith!”

“I'll help you take care of him.” Keith snaps.

They round the corner, Lance a couple steps behind.

“Keith, wait.”

“I swear it.” Keith steps into Red, who is ready and waiting. She must have sensed his determination. Even now it crackles and threatens to bowl Lance over.

Keith reaches for him, holding his hand out. There's not a question in his eyes. Not one doubt. He's looking at Lance like he already knows.

And yes.

The answer’s yes.

Lance takes his hand and wrenches Keith into a hug. He stiffens like Lance gave him early rigor mortis and Lance braces to be pushed away. But Keith eases and allows it.

“Thank you.” Lance says simply.

The flight back to Diskashi is short, they barely managed to get out of the planet's atmosphere after all. Red heads back eagerly, piercing through syrupy orange skies, knowing exactly where to go.

Xilinx does not look pleased to see them.

Their diamond feet clack against the tile like gunshots. “Paladins! What a pleasure. Did you forget something?”

This place feels even colder than it did before. All the doubts in Lance's head about safety, stability, teachers, experts, the mission, are quiet now because he's following Keith.

Keith, who's walking ahead through a crowd of aliens that parts for him and stare with a mixture of awe and fear. Keith who is all fire. Keith who has no doubts and none of Lance's awful anxiety holding him down.

And it feels right.

His stomach is unknotting, his chest relaxes. His arms long for the constant weight of his fat baby.

They step inside the toddler room. The diamonds are still in their cages quietly staring.

“We're here to get him back.” Lance says finally, not sparing Xilinx a glance. Instead, his eyes track crib after crib to find the one in the corner. It's empty. His heart jumps at the tiny purple smudge but it’s too small, it’s not right.

Lance stalks forward and snatches up the frankenhippo. “Where's my baby?”

Xilinx blinks, clear lashes fluttering. “You agreed to leave him.”

“I didn't sign anything.”

“Yes, well, there was a cash deposit.”

“Where is my baby?”

“Blue Paladin, this really is the best place for him.” Xilinx tries, stepping forward and towering over Lance. “You have a very important mission to save the universe! The baby will be an obstacle. Let us care for him so that–”

“WHERE IS MY BABY?” Lance shouts.

The La’ ar babies near him stumble back, startled disco balls. Xilinx steps back as well. Keith takes his six, armed but not wielding.

“Puta madre.” Lance curses. He knows where Limoncito is.

He pushes past the gobsmacked alien and storms down the hallway, this time with Keith on his heels. He notices, with little satisfaction, that the crowd of aliens parts for him too. He scans the rooms at the end of the hallway until a familiar scream has him running to a specific room. He bursts inside.

There are lots of crying toddlers, but Limoncito's cries are the loudest. It's not his pained cry or his angry one– that scares him because he doesn't recognize it. There's only one attendant in the room, a La’ ar, and they're holding two crying toddlers on each hip.

Lance's eyes zero in on the purple baby. He's sitting on the floor, one of his little legs tucked under him, his face a mess of snot and tears. He's sitting away from most of the toddlers who are already standing and gripping the La’ ar's clothing. Limoncito must have been doing the same, desperately clinging to the attendant before he fell behind and gave up.

Someone pushes past Lance in a flurry, a bright red reptilian girl, pushing a tray of bottles. She starts passing them out to eager little hands and then drops one at Limoncito's feet. It's awkwardly shaped, more suited to the La’ ar's agile fingers, and Limoncito drops it, spilling it. He cries again. No one goes to him. No one even looks at him.

Lance’s heart breaks into millions of sharp pieces.

He’s seen enough.

He makes his way through the toddlers, careful not to step on them. Limoncito finally spots him and shrieks, sharp and piercing.

It’s demanding and angry but Lance’s nerves immediately settle because it’s not the awful scream from earlier.

The La’ ar notices. “Stop! You two cannot be in here!”

Lance ignores her, his eyes fixed on Limoncito. The purple baby is wriggling like a puppy and crawling towards him desperately. At one point he tries to stand and Lance scoops him up before he can fall, kissing his gross snotty face.

“Hello baby, hi baby.” He whispers. He needs a new diaper.

It feels like he just recovered a part of himself. The gaping hole in his chest fills, a frantic part of his brain stills, and his arms settle easily to hold a wonderfully familiar weight.

The thought materializes and then hits him like a truck.

This is his baby.

His.

This is Lance's goddamn baby and he's never letting him go again. He doesn't care that it's impractical or irrational. He doesn't care that it could interfere with saving the universe or that it's unsafe– Limoncito is safest with Lance, right here, safe and warm in his arms.

The red alien girl storms up to him, uncaring that Lance is going through a life-changing revelation right now. She jabs a finger into his chest. “Who are you? You do not have clearance to be in here! Release the child!”

Hell no. He says simply, “I'm Lance, this is my baby.” Then he takes him to a changing table.

Keith talks to the red alien and eventually she relents, spinning on her heel to attend to the other babies. With the bottles, the children are quieter now, and Limoncito quiets too for the first time during a diaper change. He sticks his hand in his mouth and makes soft whiny noises, his brow still creased.

“Perdoname, chiquito.” Lance whispers. “Lo lamento.”

Forgive me, little one. I’m sorry.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Keith moving around. Lance finishes taping the diaper and tucking the baby under his neck.

Keith is… helping?

He has two toddlers by the back of their shirts, pulling them gently into a play pen like he's dragging around unruly drunks. He sits them down and then hands them their bottles. Then he takes another one and walks her to the reptilian, who exchanges the baby she just changed for that one. She sets the fresh baby on the ground and Keith grabs a diamond hand and walks them to the playpen. It's cute.

Lance feels a smile inch its way on his face. His mouth moves like the gesture is unfamiliar.

Keith’s refusal to pick them up is kind of silly, but he's making it work. Keith catches him looking and picks up Limoncito's discarded bottle, only half full with formula now.

He hands it to Lance. “Are you okay?”

The question is embarrassing. Lance ducks his head and gives Limoncito his bottle, holding it for him while he drinks greedily. It shouldn't be embarrassing, especially since he literally already cried like a baby in front of Keith, but that just makes it more embarrassing. Does Keith really see him as someone so fragile? Could he tell how messed up he’d been?

“Yeah,” He croaks. He's not sure what his face must look like, but he has an idea.

Luckily, there's none of Shiro's sticky sympathy, none of Hunk's suffocating worry, Pidge’s flighty nervousness, nor Allura's confusion and disdain in Keith's face. Instead, there’s just Keith with his soft, determined eyes.

“Ready to deal with Allura?”

Oh boy.

She arrives a couple of minutes later, the Paladins trailing behind her like scolded ducklings. They look tired, anxious, and Lance feels a spark of guilt that he quickly squashes down. He’s gotta keep it together.

Allura glares at them, her arms crossed. She looks fierce and lovely with her hair piled high. Lance is so getting reamed.

“What is the meaning of this?” She says, dangerously calm.

Lance gulps. “Uh, so basically, we're keeping the baby.”

A muscle in her jaw twitches. She looks at Keith like she’s expecting an explanation for Lance’s actions. Keith confirms with a nod and then addresses the rest of the paladins. “Load the supplies back up.”

Pidge and Hunk take a step towards him and then freeze, caught between Shiro, Allura, and Keith's orders. Lance is reminded of children between two authority figures. It makes him smile.

“Lance–” Allura begins, her tone long-suffering, but Lance stops her with a shake of his head.

“Princess, I know. I know, okay? I’ve thought of all the reasons why this is a bad idea. I know it'll be dangerous to have him with us, but we can make it work. I'll make it work. I'm not leaving him here.”

Silence rings out like someone struck a tuning fork.

Allura looks at him, her face hard. “I'm sorry, Lance. We can't.”

The tension fades.

Pidge and Hunk deflate and Shiro sighs.

That's when Lance knows. The words come out of him, even, measured, although he hadn't even known he was going to say them.

“I'll stay with him, then.”

It's like he flipped a switch.

Hunk lets out a worried noise and Pidge shuffles uncomfortably, looking between Lance and Allura with alarm. Shiro frowns at him, disappointed. There's no sympathy left in his eyes, the leader is back. Lance is endangering Voltron now.

Allura narrows her eyes. “What is this? Are you making empty threats now?”

But it's not an empty threat, Lance knows with certainty. It's not even a threat. He’ll do it. He could stay here on this planet if he had to. Eventually, he'd earn enough money to hitch a ride and figure out a way to get back to Earth. It would be hard. It would take years. He would have to raise this baby all alone. But he could do it. Abandoning Blue, abandoning his friends, it would be hard but he would do it for his baby. Voltron would replace him. He knows Allura is thinking it too, she could pilot Blue. It probably wouldn't even be a huge loss.

He's scared to look at Keith. The way he'd reacted when Pidge threatened to leave keeps playing in his head like a bad movie, and he doesn’t want to lose his only ally. He finally risks it, peeking out at him.

Keith is staring at him like he's a puzzle he can't figure out, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The orange sky makes his hair glow like burning coils. He looks beautiful.

Allura snaps, “Keith. Say something to him!”

Keith tears his eyes away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine. We're both staying.”

Yeah, we're both–

Wait.

What?

What???

Is he serious? No, he can't be. He must be gambling on the fact that they can't lose him. Lance is easily replaceable but Keith? No way. They wouldn't be able to keep going without Keith. Hunk covers his face in his hands, defeated or too horrified to look, and Pidge whistles, impressed. Shiro is still frowning at them but there's something else in his expression now, something that fixes on Keith but that Keith avoids, instead staring straight at Allura.

Allura looks between them. “You can't be serious.”

“We are.” Keith asserts and lifts his chin.

Is he?

Lance studies Keith's profile. Could he really do it? Leave the mission, leave Shiro? But why would he? He didn't particularly like the baby. Would he do it for Lance?

His heart pounds and he looks away. No way. It's just a tactic.

But he lets himself imagine it. It would be hard at first. They would probably stay in the hotel with the rest of their money until they found jobs. Maybe Lance could work at the center and keep an eye on Limoncito, he’s good with children and they’re definitely understaffed. Keith wouldn't struggle to find a job, he's strong and smart. They would earn enough money to get their own place, wait no, to buy a ship and then they would head back to Earth. It probably wouldn’t even take that long. The war would be over. They could go home. Home.

An alien cricket chirps.

Finally, Pidge speaks up, her voice tiny. “Wait… Allura, the baby won't get in the way.”

Hunk nods quickly. “Yeah, we'll all pitch in to help.”

Lance looks at them, surprised.

Shiro looks between all of them and then sighs. “This won’t be permanent, Princess. We'll keep looking for a place for him.”

And it's settled.

Chapter Text

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Sort of.

It's awkward for a couple of days.

Allura hasn't spoken a single word to him.

Pidge has been straight up avoiding him, Hunk is treating him like he’s got some kind of disease, and Shiro constantly looks like he’s deciding whether to scold him or refer him to a therapist. (Not that they’d be able to find one, Lance looked) Lance knows what he said was pretty serious, threatening to abandon the team and telling the universe to go fuck itself and all that, but honestly, he thinks they’re overreacting. He thinks they’re debating over two conclusions; either they think that Lance’s actions are indicative of some kind of mental or personality flaw that shows that he is unstable and untrustworthy, or… no, yeah. That’s all Lance can think of. Ordinarily, that conclusion would have him stressing and worrying about it all night, but he’s actually getting some sleep now. The bags under his eyes have gone from 20-pound Juicy Couture vintage leather purses, into sleek Kate Spade clutches with tiny, patterned cherries. And it’s all thanks to Keith, because they’re sleeping together now.

Yeah. It’s totally not weird.

But he still has work to do. He has to fix this. Damage control– Lance style.

He starts with Pidge.

He corners her one day after practice, showing up to her room after he knows she just finished a major project, equipped with space popcorn, two face masks, and Space Mario Kart. Limoncito is making an effort too. He’s wearing his little, green alien onesie complete with antennas. He also brings his frankenhippo and presents it to her solemnly.

She sighs and lets them in, knowing better than to take Limoncito’s offering. “This place isn't baby proof.”

Is that her way of telling them they're not wanted? It’s going to take a lot more than that to scare Lance away. It’s not his first time forcing a moody teenager to talk. She probably means it literally though, there are random wires, tools, nuts and bolts, and other unidentifiables strewn around.

“You're just scared to get your ass handed to you.” Lance suggests, sitting in his designated bean bag. They all have one, even Keith. Pidge is cool like that.

She snorts. “That’s not going to happen. You suck.”

“I’ve developed new strategies.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to get so caught up in trying to run Keith off the road that you both end up in last place?”

“I… do not do that.”

He sets the baby down with a couple of random toys to hopefully keep him entertained while Lance and Pidge play. Lance does a quick sweep of the area, but nothing jumps out at him as obviously deadly. Still, he nudges some of the metal unidentifiables away and earns himself Pidge’s stink eye. Oops.

They play a couple rounds in silence while Lance tries to figure out what to say.

Pidge looks at him critically during one of the victory laps. “What's the point of that toy?”

Lance sighs. Geez, what is it with his friends judging his toy choices? He glances down at it and, wouldn’t you know it, it’s almost identical to the one Keith made fun of before punching Lance’s lights out.

“Are you serious? He presses the buttons to get the milk treats out. Obviously.”

“Yeah, that's a dog toy.”

Goddamnit. “You know what? At this stage in his development, it doesn’t matter! So what if he's food motivated? He's a smart, chunky baby. There's nothing wrong with that!”

Limoncito babbles and bounces where he's sitting, spurred by Lance's energy. It does nothing to bolster his argument. Pidge snickers and Lance looks at her suspiciously. Keith must've put her up to that. There's no way.

Lance loses the race epically, but he puts up a good fight, and Pidge congratulates him without sarcasm this time. It's only later when he's painting a radioactive green face mask on her tiny bird features that she addresses the tiny purple elephant in the room, gesturing at him awkwardly.

“Were you really going to stay behind for him?”

Oh. That wasn’t how he wanted to start this.

Her hazel eyes bore into his soul and he has to look away.

Fuck. He remembers her voice when Lance thought he'd leave, small and plaintive in a way he’d never heard before. Lance did that to her. She's lost so much already, they still haven't been able to find Matt or her dad, but she’s still here, showing up every day to train and help Voltron. She’s focused on the mission. What does that say about Lance? What must she think of him?

He looks back up at her, finishing one last brush stroke on her forehead. He thinks about her question. Yes. Yes, he was going to stay. Maybe they’re right about him. Unreliable and unstable.

“I think so. I'm sorry.” He sighs.

She drops her gaze down at Limoncito, who's doing an adorable job of smearing heart shaped formula snacks into his hair.

“I don’t get it. And I don’t think you’re sorry.”

Hey. He is sorry. Lance studies her. She manages to look intimidating and pissed off even while green and slimy, an impressive feat. “Pidge. I’m sorry about the way it all went down–

“Is this because of what Allura said?” She turns in the bean bag suddenly and Limoncito clings to the side of it, balancing precariously. “Is that why you wanted to leave? Don’t listen to her Lance! She doesn’t understand– she doesn’t know how you are.”

‘How he is?’ What does that mean? He tries not to let the confusion show on his face. He’s mildly offended. This has nothing to do with Allura.

“We all support you, Lance,” She continues.

“Pidge–”

She raises her hand to stop him. Limoncito reaches for it, chattering quietly.

“Listen. I know we were kind of… assholes in the beginning. I was an asshole.” She grits her teeth, and Lance flinches when he sees her eyes are wet. “This shouldn’t have been all on you. We’re a fucking team. I hid behind the excuse that I know fuck all about kids, but I could have learned. We all should have.”

Lance shakes his head. “Pidgeon. You have things to do. You practically single-handedly develop all our technology. You’re busy.”

“We all have things to do!” She jumps up and the beanbag jumps with her, sending Limoncito scrambling away. He crawls towards Lance and carelessly tramples his hippo. Lance chuckles and rubs his back comfortingly when he settles in Lance’s lap, looking at him with big, worried eyes. He relaxes when he sees Lance’s expression; he’s so smart.

Pidge stomps towards her bathroom, throwing the door open and jabbing a finger at Lance. “I am so sick of you acting like what you do here isn’t important! We are all part of this team, Lance–”

She cuts herself off, blinking rapidly. It sounds like what Allura said.

Lance sighs and joins her in the bathroom with Limoncito on his hip. She’s staring at herself in the mirror, her knuckles white on the counter. He turns the sink on and gestures for her to wash her mask off.

She does. “All I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry. I wasn’t lying when I agreed to chip in. I’ll do my part to help you with him, we’re a team after all.”

That’s sweet. Lance smiles down at Limoncito. It’s not at all like what Allura said, it’s the opposite actually. The Princess’ argument basically boiled down to how selfish Lance was for not thinking of the team and putting his needs above theirs, and now Pidge is saying that the team is actually being selfish for not helping Lance. Bless Pidge and her big overthinking brain and her sweet, sweet heart. He wants to hug her and profess his undying love like he would if this was Hunk, but that would probably get him beat up. He thinks about it for two more seconds. Screw it.

He hugs her one-armed, squeezing tightly. “Pidge! You’re my new best friend now. You’re so thoughtful! I knew the rumors of you being a robot were completely unfounded.”

Limoncito immediately grips her hair, grinning triumphantly.

She squirms out of both their grips.

“Quit it. I’m not done talking. There’s still one thing I don’t understand.”

There’s the analytical, leave no stone unturned Pidge he knows and loves.

“Why didn’t you leave him on Diskashi?” A bit of anger creeps into her voice. Lance deflates a little. He is so tired of every woman in his life being mad at him. There’s only two, but still. “He's not your responsibility. He would've been fine there.”

“I don't think so.” Lance says, addressing her last statement.

“Better than here.”

Lance thinks about that for a second, turning to wash his face. He understands why she thinks that. Surely anything would be better than staying on a battleship with a bunch of teenagers.

But.

“There was no way to know that. Here, with me, I'll know.”

It's weak. Pidge’s skeptical eyebrow confirms.

Okay. Maybe it is weak, but she doesn’t understand. The not knowing, it would’ve killed him. That isn’t even the main point though. He sighs. “Keith agrees with me. That place wasn't good enough. It was… weird.”

She rolls her eyes and turns away from him. “Well, of course Keith would think so.”

Huh? Lance looks at her skeptically. He really thought Keith’s opinion would carry a little more weight with her, especially because he wasn’t a big fan of Limoncito in the first place. “Why?”

“Duh. Because of the way he was brought up.”

Lance blinks. What is she talking about? He searches through his Keith database and comes up empty. He knows his mom wasn’t there for him, but that’s not relevant. The only other thing he can think of is– “Mexican?”

They're very family oriented, after all. Most Latinos are. Is that why she thinks he’d disapprove of an institution that does away with the concept of family? Yeah, that makes sense.

But Pidge looks at him like he was dropped on his head. “Keith is not Mexican, you idiot.”

“I know that! That's not what I meant!” Lance defends hotly, his face reddening.

Damn it. If it's not that, what could she be talking about? Wait a minute, why does she know more about Keith than he does? That is so unfair.

“You mean because his mom is an alien?” He tries.

“Never mind.” She sighs. “I guess I just don't understand why you're so attached to this baby, he's not a pet.”

What the–? Okay, that’s rude.

Lance bites his tongue and takes a deep breath. He has to be patient. “Pidge. I know that. He's a baby, I–”

“He's not really your responsibility!”

“He is!” Lance insists, meeting her eyes and willing her to understand. “Don't you see? He is the weakest, the most defenseless he will ever be in his life, and he has no one. He’s just a baby. He needs someone to protect him, someone to love him. And he has no one. No one except for me.”

It's the first time he's put it into words.

It's the same feeling he got when Limoncito was trying to walk, clutching Lance's hands like a lifeline. He'd gotten that feeling several times since then. It always snuck up on him at random moments: when Limoncito would sleep with his face squished against Lance's chest, when he would get startled and look towards Lance for comfort, when he would cry himself to sleep for seemingly no reason, missing his mom. It would choke him at first, the sadness, the feeling of loss, then it would crush him. The huge sense of responsibility. The sticky nauseating fear.

He has no one.

No one except for Lance.

Pidge stares at him for a second, then drops her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Does she understand?

She hugs him and he thinks she does, or she’s beginning to.

☆

The conversation with Pidge keeps playing over and over in his head while he does routine maintenance in one of the Castle’s engine rooms.

‘Because of the way he was brought up.’

Thinking back, Keith had definitely been acting weirder than normal. As soon as they stepped foot in that place, he’d avoided Lance’s gaze more than normal, drawing himself in tight with his arms crossed over his chest. He’d even shrugged Shiro away when he tried to comfort him. Why had he needed comforting?

Damn it. Why was Lance so self-absorbed?

Okay fine, at that moment he’d had other things to worry about. Giving up his baby to an alien planet full of diamond people with no concept of family, for one thing. There was also that weird panicky sort of episode that Lance chalked up to too many awful emotions at once.

But he was pretty self-absorbed back at the Garrison. He’d been so caught up in his own problems, and when it came to Keith, all he cared about was their pathetic one-sided rivalry. God, he’d had his head so far up his own ass. There were rumors of Keith, of course. But most of them had been so far-fetched that Lance hadn’t paid them any mind.

He hadn’t cared.

Guilt stirs in his chest as he disinfects yet another sensitive piece of equipment.

Excuses.

That was then. He’s had plenty of opportunities to talk to Keith since.

Selfish. He’s always been so selfish.

He catches himself looking around for his baby before he remembers he’s with Keith. Right. He's still getting used to not always having him around. His friends had really stepped up in the babysitting department, especially Keith. They all took care of Lance's baby now.

His.

His baby.

Ever since he had that life changing revelation in that horrible alien nursery, it’s been easier to wrap his head around those words. His baby. His.

He’s Lance’s responsibility now. His to protect, care for, and love.

Of course he wasn’t going to leave him in that strange place. How could he have even considered such a thing? He’d been so stupid. That place…

He’s sliding out from under the machine before he realizes where he’s going. He wipes his hands clean from the grease quickly and rubs his face against his shoulder, jogging out of the engine room.

Hunk looks around at him from the hallway, surprised. “Did you finish cleaning the flexitallic gasket?”

Hunk! Perfect.

Lance loops his arm around Hunk’s enormous bicep and pulls him along. The first two steps are just lance straining against an immovable object. “Whatever that is, it’s clean.”

Hunk relents and lets himself be pulled, chuckling. “You know, you’re allowed to use a rag. You didn’t have to use your face.”

“Very funny, Hunk. Come on, back me up. I need your help.”

Hunk is solid. They’re solid. Sure, it’s been awkward with Hunk looking at him like he’s going to fall apart at any second, but other than the constant worried looks and a slight increase in personally delivered snacks throughout the day, they’ve been like always. Solid.

He can depend on him.

“What am I backing you up on again?” Hunk asks.

“I need to talk to Shiro.” He doesn’t think he needs serious back up, but some emotional support would be good. He’s also not sure where he stands on Shiro’s scale of trustworthiness right now, but having Hunk on his side would definitely give him some credibility.

Sure, Shiro already said he was proud of him for stepping up and taking care of Limoncito, but choosing him over the team is a different story.

Not to mention the fact that, to Shiro’s knowledge, he almost took Keith with him.

Fuck. Wait.

Lance trips over his own feet. Oh no, if Shiro thought Keith was serious about leaving with Lance, then he probably blames Lance! He’s probably sitting there fuming, thinking about how he’s going to beat Lance into Cuban flavored pulp for turning Keith away from the mission! For ruining their best fighter! For stealing his precious child prodigy little brother!

Hunk catches him and the worried look comes back. “You know he’s not going to bite your head off, right?”

Oh god, he hopes not.

Lance laughs dryly, trying to cover his nerves. “Yeah, I said Shiro, not Allura.”

“Has she talked to you yet?”

Lance raises an eyebrow.

Does he seriously think she’s going to be the one to approach him? Yeah, right. And do what? Apologize to him? Fat chance.

Lance shoots him a look that conveys all of that, and Hunk smiles and rolls his eyes in a way that tells him he thinks Lance is being dumb, but he’s going to support him anyways. Best friend ever.

They find Shiro at the bridge, but he’s not alone.

Keith’s there too.

But where is—?

Oh.

Oh, hell no.

“Keith Akira Kogane! Are you insane? I know damn well you don’t have my baby leashed!”

Lance stands back, aghast.

Limoncito, his poor, sweet baby, is sitting by Keith’s feet. There’s a neon green harness around his chest attaching him to a leash that— that the bastard tied to his belt loop! Limoncito squeals when he hears Lance and starts pulling against the leash to crawl to him.

Keith blinks at him; the picture of innocence. “How do you know my middle name?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Lance explodes. Where did he even get the leash from? Lance definitely did not buy that.

Keith crosses his arms, defensive. Shiro raises his hands and steps out of the line of fire, smiling and ducking his head. Hunk also inches away.

“What’s it matter? It’s so he doesn’t run off.” Keith grumbles.

Lance sputters as he kneels and tries to figure out how to free his baby from the contraption. “‘Run off?’ He can’t even walk!”

Limoncito giggles and paws at Lance’s hands, drooling happily at the attention.

Keith shuffles uncomfortably, rubbing his thumb against his finger slowly. “So you’re good with dog toys but draw the line at baby leashes?”

“Keith!” Lance throws his hands up, exasperated.

“Lance!”

“Ugh! You are so annoying!”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he bends down to help him undo the harness. Lance’s anger breaks down slowly, like someone’s turning the dial down on the gas. Keith is. There’s no clasps on the thing, but Keith seems to know what he’s doing. Yeah, he better know; he’s the one who put him in it. Lance huffs and watches his nimble fingers gently loop the straps through each of Limoncito’s chubby arms. He moves his purple limbs achingly carefully.

Lance finds himself watching Keith’s face. He’s got his angry eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

He didn’t know Keith could be so gentle.

He finally frees Limoncito and Lance scoops him up, kissing his chubby cheeks.

Keith stands. “Are you done with your chores or did you come in here just to be annoying?”

Thank you, Keith.

He gives him a dirty look and Keith sends it right back.

Lance sighs. “No, I… I wanted to talk to Shiro. Just, uh, wanted to run something by you.”

He points at Shiro with his baby for the last part of his statement. This is awkward now. He ran out of the engine room as soon as the thought came into his head, and then there was Hunk, and now this, so he didn’t really have time to prepare a speech or even get his thoughts in order. And now Keith is mad at him. Maybe he shouldn’t have yelled at him. No, no, focus. This isn’t about Keith.

“What’s going on, Lance?” Shiro says kindly.

Some of the nervousness lessens. He doesn’t seem like he wants to crush Lance like a grape.

“I was talking to him first.” Keith mutters.

“Fuck off.” Lance says instinctively, then winces.

But Shiro just smiles, amused. “You were saying, Lance?”

Ha.

“Right. So, um. I was thinking it’d be a good idea to send someone down there, to… to Helping Hands. Or whatever that place was called.” Lance tries to maintain eye contact with Shiro, but Keith is being super distracting by staring at him. He’s totally doing that on purpose. “There was something off about that place. Keith probably doesn’t remember because he was high out of his mind—

“Hey.”

“He was just, like, completely zonked.”

“Lance!”

“Absolutely zooted.”

“Shut up.”

“Zoinked. Straight up tripping balls.”

Keith takes a menacing step toward him and Lance placates him by turning his palm up and stepping back. “Anyway, as I was saying. While Keith was greened out on Mexican soup, there was this La ‘ar person that got their baby stolen. By a kid. Right in front of us. And like, remember Xilinx said that everyone gave their baby up willingly, right? Well, that wasn’t the impression we got. Right, Keith? Hunk?”

Keith nods. “She was crying.”

“What?” Hunk frowns. “Why would a kid steal a baby?”

Lance rubs his face against Limoncito’s. The baby loves that. He giggles and does it back clumsily. “Money, probably. Xilinx took money from Allura for Limoncito.”

Hunk swallows. “… that’s dark. Why would—”

“Regardless,” Lance interrupts. “We should send someone to check things out. Maybe the Blades?”

He looks at Shiro and pushes his shoulders back, trying to portray an air of confidence. Shiro looks at him thoughtfully for a couple of tense seconds, before he nods.

“Well, if you think there’s something off about this place, then I trust your instincts. I’ll talk to Kolivan and keep you updated.”

…really?

Wow.

Okay.

That worked?

Shiro smiles at him. “If that’s all, we have group training in an hour. Go get ready.”

☆

An hour passes too quickly.

Pidge is watching the baby while Lance gets his ass beat.

Shiro throws him across the room for the fourth time, the heat from his bio hand sizzling on the edge of Lance’s blade. At least he managed to hold on to his bayard this time. He falls the way they’ve been taught but it still stings.

“What did I do wrong?” He groans pitifully.

“You left your right too exposed. You’re overcompensating.” Shiro instructs.

Lance pulls himself to his feet. “Story of my life.”

Shiro smiles at that. At least someone appreciates his commentary. They’ve started implementing this sort of hunger games-esque training tactic that is essentially a battle royale. It’s exactly what it sounds like– they beat the shit out of each other until there’s only one person left standing. It’s complete and utter chaos and Lance hates it. He hates it so much that he sucks at it and now he’s getting one-on-one training from Shiro. They keep telling him it’s just like the chaos of an actual battle, but it’s not! Even in the midst of battle there is one constant that Lance can rely on; that he can always trust his friends.

“Shiro! This exercise is just too unrealistic! When are all of you ever gonna jump me all at once?” Lance complains, putting his sword in front of him in the proper position.

He's spent so long training with his rifle that learning to use his sword has been kind of a steep learning curve, but he thinks he's getting the hang of it.

Shiro advances again. “This is serious. You're getting too complacent.”

Complacent? Nuh uh.

Lance blocks a blow but the impact sends him stumbling back. He regains his balance and uses it to aim for Shiro's legs. The blow doesn't land but Lance manages to dance backwards in time to avoid a strike.

It's fast, it's all Lance can do to keep up. He takes a couple hits but manages to land one strike to Shiro's thigh with the flat of his blade. Shiro nods, an acknowledgment, before he sends Lance sliding across the room again. This time Lance scrambles to feet and charges, Shiro gets ready for him, but Lance throws a feint and goes left. He almost has him! But Shiro steps into the move and disarms him with a painful smack! Lance falls back hard and plays dead, cradling his arm dramatically.

Shiro laughs. “You need to take this seriously.”

Lance pops an eye open. “I am!”

“Your fighting is solid–”

“Yeah right, that's why I'm mopping the floors right now. No wait. You’re mopping the floors with me.”

Shiro helps him up. “You can hold your own. Your problems are all mental.”

Lance raises an eyebrow doubtfully.

“Don't panic when the fight starts. If you know you're going to get overwhelmed, take a defensive position. Focus on one opponent at a time.”

Lance scowls. He does not panic! (He totally does.) Is it that obvious?

Shiro studies him and Lance squirms.

“About what Allura said—”

Hell no. He doesn’t want to talk about that with Shiro. Especially when he still has their last conversation so fresh in his mind. He trusts Lance’s instincts, he’s proud of him… that’s not something Lance tends to hear a lot. It’s embarrassing but it means a lot to Lance. He doesn’t want anything to change those words.

They don't have time to talk anymore, thankfully, because Lance hears a familiar cry and he's already walking towards it before he realizes he is.

“Where's my baby?” He calls. “Dónde estás?”

Where are you?

The cries escalate to shrieks in staccato and Hunk groans loudly. “Why do you have to rile him up?”

Lance snickers. He does do that.

Hunk enters the room with Keith, Pidge, and Allura in tow. He looks appropriately frazzled having watched Limoncito for two hours and so does Pidge for that matter. Her glasses are smudged with tiny fingerprints.

The baby flings himself from Hunk's arms, but Hunk doesn't even flinch, easily rebalancing the baby before handing him over to Lance. Lance greets him with kisses that lessen his cries into little upset whines.

“Ay, no llores chiquitín. Estas bien.”

Don’t cry, little one. You’re okay.

“He knows he's going in the pod.” Hunk remarks, a touch impressed.

“He's smart.” Keith says simply, like it's fact.

Lance smiles into Limoncito's hair.

“He hates it so much,” Pidge complains. “What if we just leash him?”

“Hell no.” Lance says, walking him over to the pod in the corner of the training room. “That's so dangerous. He could hang himself. He'll be fine in the pod.”

He looks at Keith pointedly.

Keith rolls his eyes. “I was watching him.”

“Okay, pony.”

Keith’s eye twitches and Lance hides his grin in Limoncito’s hair. If Limoncito is easy to rile up, Keith is way easier. And more fun, too.

“Oh, right. I forgot your baby's suicidal.” Pidge grumbles, taking off her glasses and wiping them clean with her shirt.

“All babies are suicidal.” Lance asserts. It's an important lesson for anyone near a baby to learn.

“Why don't we just bring his playpen in here? He can't get out of that.” Hunk suggests.

“No… anything could hit him, if something were to fly over here, you know? The pod is safest.” Lance struggles to talk and wrestle Limoncito into the pod at the same time. He's getting stronger and more bitey.

“I got him.” Shiro says, surprising them. “I'm a bit worn out from Lance's training. I'll sit this one out.”

He takes Limoncito, who quiets immediately, and sits him on his lap. It's nice of him to say that Lance wore him out, but he doubts anyone believes it. He hardly looks like he even broke a sweat. It's more likely he's going to sit and watch them so he can give pointers.

Still, though….

He knows the team is committed to helping out more, but it still makes Lance a little wary.

Limoncito looks at Lance, a little scared. He sticks his hand in his mouth uncertainly and his ears flatten. He's not used to being held by Shiro, so it makes sense he'd be uncomfortable at first. Shiro is too busy to babysit him much.

Aw. It’ll be okay. Lance winks at him and gives him his stuffed hippo. He draws back in time to see Keith punch Shiro in the shoulder.

“You gettin’ old?” He smiles.

Shiro tries to smack him but Keith dances away, laughing. Limoncito yelps at being squished against Shiro's chest. Then he giggles, pointing at Keith with one spit-soaked finger.

“Get in your places!” Shiro barks.

Limoncito flinches.

Lance goes obediently. The five of them are evenly spread out, circled around a target. It's one of Limoncito's toys this time, a yellow elephant that quacks like a duck. When Shiro says go, they'll fight each other to reach it.

Lance steadies himself, the nerves making the hair on the back of his neck prickle. They're all wearing armor so the chances of them getting hurt are lessened, but he still worries. He worries he'll lose control of his blade and hurt someone.

He blinks those thoughts out of his eyes.

Focus.

Shiro told him to focus.

Allura and Keith are the biggest threats with Shiro out of the picture. Allura is freakishly strong, one blow from her would throw Lance off his game. But she’s slightly slower than him. Hunk is also insanely strong, but he has a lot more hesitance and care that he can’t seem to shake. Lance loves him for it, but it makes him an easier target. Pidge is fast and slippery, dangerous with that electric hook she liked to zap them with. But Lance knows he can get her if he’s careful.

“Ready!” Shiro shouts.

Lance makes eye contact with Pidge, gesturing at Hunk with his chin. Pidge raises an eyebrow, skeptical, before she melts into a wicked grin. She’s always down for some mischief. They don't have to worry about Keith, he would run to Allura first.

“Get set!”

He always does, either to Shiro or Allura. It makes him predictable, but it works out.

“Go!”

Lance and Pidge take off towards Hunk, who freezes like a startled cat. “Hey! Hey! No fair!”

They ignore his hollering and attack. Lance distracts him with his sword, parrying attacks from his staff, gifted to him on an alien planet. He only uses it for practice, since the blaster would probably kill them. He's faster than Hunk and more experienced at this kind of combat, but Hunk's sheer strength pushes Lance back. His blade glances off the staff and Lance struggles to lift it again with the same speed because of the shock of pain that goes up his arms. He has no idea how Keith can hack away endlessly like he doesn’t even feel it.

An electric whip shoots out and tries to yank the staff from Hunk's hands but only manages to jerk it away from Lance for a second.

Lance grins, a second is all he needs.

He goes for the kill strike.

But then Hunk roars, a wooly mammoth speared, and charges at Lance. It surprises him and makes him trip over his own feet with a yelp. Distantly, he hears Shiro laughing.

Lance takes off at a run, glancing behind to see poor Pidge being dragged behind the battering ram that Hunk has turned into.

Pidge lets loose her own battle cry, equally as chilling as Hunk’s, and uses Hunk’s momentum to somehow launch herself at his back, her tiny arms wrapped around his throat.

Lance spins on his heel and levels his sword at Hunk's chest, making him freeze with his hands above his head trying to peel Pidge off.

“You're done.” Lance crows.

Pidge hops off his back. “That was totally my kill.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way. If this was real, I would have strangled him.”

Hunk trudges back to the sidelines and Shiro yells at them to focus. Right. Who kills who doesn't really matter in this game.

Lance grins evilly at Pidge. “It's just you and me, Pigeon.”

It's not, really. He doesn't dare take his eyes off her, but he can hear Keith and Allura still going at it, Allura exclaiming and Keith, deadly silent.

Pidge narrows her eyes at him and raises her bayard. “You're on, twink.”

“You're dead mea– what?” What did she just call him?

She laughs and takes off towards some of the newly generated terrain. She's heading to higher ground. Lance curses and runs after her.

She scampers up the artificial hill and then flings her electric whip at him. Lance has to duck into a roll to get out of the way. She's lowered the settings so it shouldn't be too painful, but it's not pleasant either.

Lance stays out of reach, ignoring her taunts. How can he get her? He can't climb up without her zapping him, and he doesn't have his gun to shoot her off. His sword is not long enough to reach but maybe… an idea starts to form in his head. He runs, yelping as the whip cracks and fries the air next to his head. He circles the mound rapidly, forcing her to spin as well. He pretends to try to climb it and gets a lash on his hand for his troubles.

Pidge yells triumphantly but Lance ignores the pain, bringing his sword up and throwing it. He doesn't miss. It smacks her helmet, and she falls off the mound with a loud clatter.

He runs to her. “Damn, are you okay?”

He didn’t expect her to fall so hard.

She groans pitifully but moves to stand. “Kill me, you bastard.”

Lance isn't the only one blessed with the gift of drama.

He recovers his sword and taps her on the back. “Dead.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She limps back to Shiro and Hunk.

Did she fall too hard? Lance looks after her worriedly. Should he not have done that? But then he notices Hunk gesturing frantically behind him a second too late.

Lance goes flying, not even seeing what lifted him off his feet. He manages to bring his arms up to cover his head and roll into a crouching position, but his back hurts like a motherfucker, and the pain rolls all the way down his spine.

Keith is standing a few feet in front of him, breathing heavily and grinning. He looks worse for wear, having lost his helmet and his chest plate. His hair is all askew and there's a trickle of blood painting the side of his face. He looks wild.

Lance’s heart beats faster. A fear response.

Shiro boos loudly while Hunk and Pidge cheer. Traitors.

“Did you just kick me?” Lance croaks, once he recovers his breath.

Keith nods, gulping in air. “Shouldn't've been standing around like a dumbass.”

Oh, it's on.

Lance grabs his sword and starts running.

It would be nice if Keith was tired and in pain after his fight with Allura, but instead, Lance knows from experience that the battle makes him run hotter, faster, harder. At least for a while. It's terrifying. It's part of what makes Keith such a great fighter.

Lance skirts around obstacles, Keith hot on his heels.

He doesn't even have time to think, dammit! Should he take a page out of Pidge’s book? No, he doesn't have time to climb. Should he just turn and face him? No, he needs more time to plan. Keith has to be hurt or handicapped in some way that Lance can exploit.

“There's no use running!” Keith shouts.

“You sound like a serial killer!” Lance shoots back.

But there is use in running, he realizes, or else Keith wouldn't have wasted his breath. He's getting tired. Okay. Lance can play this game.

He stops and runs back at Keith, surprising him. Then he darts away again before Keith can swing. He does the same thing twice, running in close to feint a stab and then skirting out of reach. He uses the obstacles to hide behind and catch his breath. It's a cat and mouse game and Keith is one big, purple cat.

Lance watches him from behind a giant computerized boulder. Keith is still breathing hard; he probably didn't even take a second to rest after beating Allura. The cocky asshole must have run straight to Lance. That's another thing Lance can use, his impatience.

The crazy smile has disappeared from his face and is replaced by annoyance. Lance counts that as a minor victory.

Keith groans. “Lance! Stop drawing this out.”

He's right. Lance can feel his own body protesting as well. His arm hurts from both the electric zap and from Shiro's and Hunk’s blows. His back still stings, and his legs are starting to tire.

Lance runs out from behind Keith, raising his sword. Keith turns and blocks it just in time, having to use both hands to compensate for the weight and momentum. Lance takes the opportunity to kick him square in the chest, before jumping back and sprinting away again.

He laughs at Keith's muffled ‘oof’ but that betrays his location and has Keith chasing him again. Oops.

Their friends are still yelling. Shiro seems to be clamoring for Keith’s downfall, and Hunk and Pidge cheer for Lance.

But Keith is almost on him.

He can hear his footsteps behind him, the sound of his breathing. And just when Keith is seconds away from reaching him– Lance drops like a stone.

Keith trips over him, falling flat on his face.

The cheers and laughter from the bench turn hysterical. Good to know they're putting on a show, at least.

Keith whips his head around to stare at Lance, uncomprehending, before it clicks that Lance did it on purpose. He reaches for his sword before he even tries to stand, but Lance tackles him desperately, straddling him like he would a vicious alligator.

He only has a couple seconds! He wraps his hands around Keith's neck. “Dead!”

The bench erupts with cheers and Lance turns to look. Pidge is sitting on Hunk's shoulders and they're both throwing their hands up and screaming. Shiro and Allura clap, Shiro heckling and Allura smiling politely, but pleased.

He can feel Keith’s pulse beneath his fingertips. Fast and strong.

Lance looks down at him and jolts. Goddamn. He clambers off. That’s another image he won’t be able to erase. And... maybe he doesn't want to erase it.

Keith grins at him, wiping his sweaty forehead. “That was good.”

Lance glows at the praise, at Keith’s smile.

Holy shit he can't believe he just won. He beat Keith! He helps him up and Keith’s smile doesn’t leave his face. Lance can't read it. Is it surprise making him smile so earnestly? Is it pride?

Hunk claps him on the shoulder and Pidge slams her body into him, making him wince. She slaps his arm. “Nice work, Katniss! That was awesome.”

“Thanks, Pidge.” Lance is choosing to believe that's a compliment in her world. Katniss is badass.

Shiro nods. “That was good strategizing, Lance. You didn't lose your head.”

That's true. This time, Lance hadn't experienced those mind-numbing seconds of panic that made him slow or clumsy to react. But– Lance’s head whips around. If Shiro is here baby-less, then where is…?

Oh.

Allura has him.

Her hair has come loose from its tight coils and is now messily past her shoulders. She still looks tired from the fight but she's smiling down at Limoncito, who's cradled in her arms. He's stretched out luxuriously, his feet kicking her arm lazily while he plays with her bouncy, white curls.

This is the first time she's held him.

Lance tears his eyes away when Shiro swings an arm around Keith's shoulders and squeezes. “Unlike you. You got impatient.”

Keith ducks out of the hold, huffing and wiping his face. “I underestimated him.”

Lance grins stupidly. Keith underestimated him! Maybe he should be upset Keith was doing that in the first place, but, out of Keith’s mouth, admitting that Lance was too much to handle, that he was impressive—

Wait.

Keith must have thought the bead was sweat but instead, he wipes his face again and it paints an alarmingly bloody streak down his face, mimicking the scar on the other cheek.

Lance murmurs some kind of noise unconsciously and takes Keith's face, angling it to the side. “Jesus! Where's all that blood coming from? Did you hit your head again?”

Keith frowns, unsure. “No?”

Lance looks closer and wipes some of the blood away carefully. “Oh, it's just a scratch. On your temple right here. Go wash it off.”

Keith goes and Lance smiles after him, his words running victory laps in Lance’s head. He underestimated him! That means he realized Lance is a better fighter than he thought. Maybe now Keith would see him differently?

He turns back to see Shiro looking at him weirdly, along with Hunk and Pidge.

“What?”

Is there blood on his face too?

“Nothing.” Shiro assures, smiling knowingly.

“Nope.” Pidge says, walking off. “I'm off to shower!”

“Nada, buddy.” Hunk chuckles. “Let's go celebrate your win! Meet you in the movie room?”

“Sure.”

Weirdos. Lance shrugs it off. Nothing is going to ruin his high right now.

They agree to meet up in an hour and Lance heads quickly to Allura, saying the first words he's said to her since they got back from Diskashi. “Thanks for watching him.”

The rest of the Paladins clear out and they're left alone.

“It’s no problem.” Allura finally stands and towers over him. She hands him the sleepy baby. “You fought well.”

Lance scans her face while he settles Limoncito on his chest. Does she mean it? Does it matter? Lance finds that it does. Despite how much he might not want it to, it does matter. He hates this awful tension between them but he doesn't know how to make it go away.

“Allura–”

“Lance, I–”

Lance shuts up and gestures for her to go first, mainly because he has no idea what he was about to say and also because he's a gentleman.

Allura sighs and starts to pick up her hair. “Please, let me apologize.”

Okay, he can do that.

“I am sorry about what I said to you, and I am sorry about the way I spoke to you.” Her words are careful and measured. “I know my apology is late. These last couple of days I was… I was trying to understand you.”

Lance frowns. A bit of defensiveness creeps into his tone. “What’s so hard to understand?”

"No, I…” She sighs. “I just couldn’t understand the impulse to abandon everything, us, the mission, just to stay with this baby who has no relation to you. At first, I thought perhaps this was some human need. Research about humans shows you are at an age where your body expresses the biological need to procreate and—”

“Oh god. No, that’s not…”

She waves his mortification away. “… and then Pidge suggested that perhaps it is cultural. I understand that you were raised in a very big family and were often responsible for children, correct? Your culture gives much importance to the concept of family.”

"Well, yeah.”

“But then, Keith explained, rather rudely might I add, that it is just because of who you are. That you are kind and brave, and you would never turn away someone who needs your help.”

Her words settle between them like falling leaves. Quiet and meaningful.

“I do hope you can forgive me.”

And he finds that he does.

Chapter Text

.𖥔 ځ ˖(*).𖥔 ځ ˖

Lance is still riding that high hours later.

Keith, demon that he is, took his pathetic ten-minute shower and is now watching Limoncito while Lance finishes up. Honestly, Lance is already planning on how he’s going to harass Keith about that. How do you even get properly clean in ten minutes? Ridiculous.

He finishes lathering conditioner into his hair and then starts exfoliating. Keith probably doesn’t exfoliate, he thinks. But then a picture flashes into his head. Soft skin like spilled milk stroking against his own skin. Inner thighs on his own thighs, silk beneath his palms— yeah, okay. Maybe he does exfoliate.

Lance shakes his head as if trying to clear an etch-a-sketch.

He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

Everything is good!

He made up with Allura, Hunk wants to celebrate Lance, and even Pidge is cool with him now. Also, he won their battle royale exercise for the first time ever! Not even Pidge and Hunk have been able to do that yet. And holy shit Keith said he underestimated him! In Keith’s world, that’s probably the highest praise he’s able to give.

But Allura's words creep into his ears again. Kind. Brave.

That’s what Keith thinks of him.

A giddy glow vibrates in his limbs, stronger even than Allura’s apology and his win.

He’s pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear that. Just like he wasn’t meant to hear Keith’s drunken confessions from the other night.

Smart. Responsible. A good person.

Cute.

Lance flushes. He turns to face the water, letting it splash on his face. He imagines it sizzling off his heated cheeks.

It’s possible Keith didn’t mean it. Likely even. Especially if you compared his behavior to his sober self. He had probably just been confused.

Still, though.

Cute.

That would be crazy, wouldn’t it? If Keith Kogane thought he was cute.

Whatever.

He finishes and shuts the water off.

He needs to stop getting ahead of himself.

He wraps his green microfiber towel around his hair and then pats himself dry with another towel. He hears Keith exclaim, “Finally!” through the door, and Lance chuckles to himself. Fool. The actual shower was the short part. He starts by moisturizing his neck, then his shoulders, down to his arms, until he’s nice and moist. He uses special creams on his hands and feet, and then a third cream on his face. Finally, a fourth cream to the areas that he’s prone to get stretch marks in. Namely his ass, thighs, and arms. He pulls on his signature satin robe and then he goes in with his razor and a pair of tweezers. When he’s satisfied with making the hairless parts of his face even more hairless, he applies the essential under eye cream and is about to start a lip scrub when he hears Keith gasp.

“What— oh shit, Lance! Lan—”

Lance bursts through the door.

Limoncito is upside down, being held by his ankles by a very panicked Keith. Lance runs forward and falls to his knees. He reaches for his baby, his heart in his throat.

“What?! What happened?!”

“He swallowed a—

Lance digs his finger in Limoncito’s mouth. He forms a hook and swipes from the back of his throat.

Distantly, he remembers the shitty first aid lecture he attended in high school. For a choking baby this size, he thinks he’s supposed to place him face down on his arm and then pound on his back with his other hand. Oh god, he doesn’t think he should have tried digging the item out, what if he pushes it in further? But just then, he feels it— round, slippery, and yanks it out of his mouth.

Limoncito howls, furious and scared, and throws himself back. Keith catches him and the purple baby scrambles further into Keith’s chest, directing outraged cries Lance’s way.

Lance pays him no mind, shaking and staring uncomprehendingly at the silver ball in his hand.

Keith looks similarly shaken, his face whiter than Lance has ever seen it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see him grab that.”

“No, it’s not…” He recognizes the ball from the hole on the bottom. It’s the top of his favorite cologne. “It’s not your fault. I must have dropped it and not realized.”

He looks back at Keith, not 100% sure if he's going to burst into tears, laughter, or if he's going to comfort the other man, but Keith isn't looking at him. He's holding Limoncito around the middle but he's looking resolutely away, his cheeks red.

What… oh.

Lance is naked.

He pulls his robe closed, cursing and running back into the bathroom. “Check the floor!”

“On it!” Comes Keith's strangled voice.

Goddamnit.

He finishes getting ready while he waits for the whiplash of emotions to stop threatening to kill him. He dresses himself and cuts his hair routine short to just a bit of mousse. He's hoping it will be enough to calm down the frizziness but he knows from experience it probably won't be. Oh well. He's still fighting the embarrassment from before and he just wants to get out of here so they can go and be with everyone else.

Having Keith constantly in his room was awkward enough without moments like this.

After Keith had sworn to help out with the baby, he'd really followed up on it. Not that Lance doubted he would, it's just that he couldn't have guessed the extent. They took turns in the night just like they did at a stake out, tapping each other on the shoulder to exchange shifts. That was amazing. As soon as Limoncito stirred during Keith's shift, Keith would miraculously soothe him. If he started wailing in that inconsolable way of his, Keith would take him from the room so he wouldn't disturb Lance’s sleep. Lance felt like a whole different person.

Keith didn't seem to suffer any from the change, except for yawning more throughout the day. He'd dragged his mattress over from his own room and settled it in the opposite corner of the room. It worked great because it served as a play area for Limoncito during the day, something that Keith had initially grumbled about, but had eventually been okay with once Lance started washing and changing his sheets for him. Limoncito was one messy baby, so it was only fair.

He also claimed he didn’t mind sleeping on the floor mattress, but Lance had felt bad about it at first. He'd insisted on switching every night until Keith convinced him that was ridiculous.

The sleeping situation wasn't the only thing that improved.

Keith learned how to change the baby's diaper. He'd done surprisingly well on his first time, with Lance supervising to make sure he'd done it correctly. He even washed the reusable diapers sometimes without complaint.

Lance chuckles to himself remembering the faces he makes.

His heart finally slows down from the scare. He presses his fingers against the side of his neck to make sure; a habit he'd developed recently. You'd think by now he'd be used to the constant scares, but every time still feels like it could be the last time. He exits the bathroom and grins when Limoncito squeals delightedly and crawls towards him. Apparently, he's been forgiven for his earlier insults.

Lance scoops him up and kisses him. “No andes comiendo todo lo que encuentres, gordito. ¿Que voy hacer si te pasa algo?”

Don't be eating everything you find, fatass. What am I going to do if something happens to you?

Okay so that was a loose translation. He did not call his baby a fatass.

Keith watches him steadily, but when Lance turns to meet his gaze, he looks away.

Coward!

There's still an irritating blush on his cheeks. Is he embarrassed for Lance? Oh my god it was not that big a deal. So what if he saw him naked? Lance bites his cheek. Did he see everything, though?

In the hallway while they walk towards the rec room, Keith is still looking away and glowing redder than his stupid jacket. It cannot be healthy to blush for that long.

Lance hip checks him and Limoncito giggles as Keith stumbles away, glaring.

“Now who's acting like a virgin?” Lance smirks. “Stop blushing.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’m not– I wasn't, I didn't see anything.”

“Okayyyy.”

“Hey.” Keith says gruffly.

“Hey?”

“Is…” Keith stops, his eyes fixed on the baby curled up on Lance’s chest. “Is he okay?”

”Huh? Why?” Lance cranes his neck to try to see him. The top of his head looks fine and he’s still relatively calm. Oh, he must be talking about earlier. When was Keith going to develop some actual communication skills? “Yeah, he’s okay. He didn’t choke or anything, it didn’t go down his throat.”

Keith keeps staring at the purple bundle, unsure.

By now, Lance can tell there are more words coming, stumbling their way through the labyrinth of Keith’s mind. He waits patiently and lowers his gaze to the purple tufts to make it easier for the words to come.

“I’m really sorry. I-I don’t know how to say it right, but I’m really fucking sorry. I should’ve been watching him better, and I should have reacted better. I don’t know how I—

To Lance’s horror, Keith’s voice cracks.

Lance waves his free hand to stop him. “Whoa, hey. Hold up. Dude.”

This isn’t right. Keith’s head is low and his bangs cover his eyes but Lance doesn’t make any attempt to force eye contact. He doesn’t need to look in his eyes to know how he’s feeling.

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“But—”

“I’m serious, Keith. You cannot beat yourself up about that. These kinds of things happen with babies.”

Keith finds the strength to look up, piercing Lance with an awful look. “He could have died.”

“Yeah. But he didn’t.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Listen! He could have died when I lost him that time when we were fighting. He could have died when he rolled off my bed! Or that time he hit himself with Pidge’s astrophysics textbook, or the time Hunk tripped over him! He could have died that one time I was eating and dropped food goo on his face. Or when I was bathing him and he decided to dunk himself face first into the water.” Lance softens his tone. “These things happen with babies, all it takes is one second. Accidents happen. As long as you learn from them and do your best to make sure they don’t happen again, you can’t blame yourself.”

Keith chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding his eyes again. He’s not convinced.

Lance sighs. He knows there’s probably nothing he could say that could convince Keith’s stubborn ass. But he has to try.

“I know how you feel.” He ventures. “Shit, even before I had Limoncito I could relate. One time, I was taking care of my prima when she was two and her hair got caught in my bracelet. She only lost a couple of strands but we both cried like she’d been scalped.”

Keith cracks a small smile.

Lance keeps going, encouraged. “Oh, and my parents literally dropped me from a Walmart shopping cart, a church pew, and from my dad’s truck. And look at me! I turned out fine! Better than fine.”

Keith laughs.

Lance grins. The thinness is gone from Keith’s voice, as is most of the tension from his body.

He smirks at Lance. “Dropped you on your head?”

“Yup.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Low hanging fruit, buddy. Even for you.”

☆

Hunk had probably been a master bartender in his past life.

First, he’d pureed some of the fruit they recently acquired and mixed it with other frozen fruits he had in storage. Then, he presented several jars he’d fermented with a flourish. Pidge stood on standby while he worked his magic, one scanner in either hand to check each new ingredient for both humans and Galra. He distributed the makeshift alcohol into each of the solutions… and boom. Alien margaritas.

Pidge drank too many, too fast.

Shiro had been scandalized, especially when she brought out a bunch of colored shot glasses and threw them back like she was trying to put out a fire.

“Not my first time, grandpa.” She smirked.

“None of you are old enough to drink.” Shiro despaired.

That had them giggling.

Keith only drank one alien margarita, at Hunk’s insistence, but it had been enough to put a rosy blush high on his cheeks. He elbowed Shiro in the gut. “Don’t act like you were such a boy scout.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Lance spoke up, wiggling closer with the baby in his lap and balancing his own drink as well. “I need to hear this story. You’re telling me Shiro wasn’t the Garrison’s perfect poster boy?”

“That’s what he’d have you think.” Keith assures him.

His words have a domino effect. Pidge’s ears perk up like a prairie dog responding to a silent whistle. She abandons her and Hunk's makeshift pong game and pulls Hunk after her. They sit next to Lance inside the playpen he’d built out of blankets, pillows, and bean bags.

It’s the perfect pillow fort especially because they’re all in their pajamas! Lance was secretly hoping they would all have a sleepover after this, but it would probably be impossible with the baby. Limoncito seems delighted with the evening as well, crawling away from Lance’s lap to tackle one bean bag at a time. He’d skitter over to it, pull himself clumsily to his feet, and then start his futile attempts to climb it, eventually rolling back with a defeated cry. He’d lie on the ground for a few seconds, assessing, then roll back onto his hands and knees and look for Lance.

“Come here, baby. Estas bien.” Lance would coo.

You're okay.

And then Limoncito would crawl back to him and start the process all over again. He was wearing an adorable duck onesie, complete with an orange bill hanging over his head and tiny dragon wings sewn to his back.

Allura and Coran are also in their pajamas. Allura is wearing purple flowy pants that seem to be made out of the same fabric as Lance’s robe, and one of Pidge’s tank tops with an image of Darth Vader eating pizza on it. On Allura, it fits more like a crop top. Her hair seems recently washed and she’s combing through it while talking to Coran in his Scrooge cosplay. They both stop and turn towards Keith with interest.

Keith tries to hide his smile behind his cup, looking towards Shiro slyly.

Lance looks him over. He really can’t help himself.

He’d changed into a blue cotton T-shirt over a black pair of shorts. Simple enough sleeping clothes but he looks so good he could have easily been at home sitting on the sandy beach back in Varadero. Lance can almost see it, the drink in his hand replaced by something tropical adorned with a little paper umbrella. There would be streaks of sunscreen all over his skin, and a little white dollop on the tip of his nose just like the tourists he used to see all the time.

His heart seizes at the thought, and he drops his gaze. Ridiculous.

Did he really just get homesick thinking of Keith of all people? And those annoying tourists? Ridiculous.

Unfortunately, his gaze drops right to pale, muscled thighs, and he has to wrench it away back to Shiro.

Shiro shakes his head and wags his finger at Keith. “I didn’t have my first drink until I turned 21.”

“Yeah, and you got so drunk that you crashed your hover bike into a cliff at 2 a.m.” Keith snickers.

Hunk gasps and Pidge cackles. Lance is too shocked to say anything. Seriously? Shiro? He doesn't believe it.

Allura looks between them, a confused smile on her face. “What does that mean? He got ‘drunk?’”

Shiro gestures to Keith with his chin. “Intoxicated. Like what Keith was the other night.”

Keith purses his lips and glares at Shiro.

Aw. He’s embarrassed. Even with Lance, he refuses to talk about that day any more than he had back at the bath.

Allura puts a hand to her chest, concerned. “You were also poisoned?”

“No, no, Princess.” Pidge interrupts, slurring slightly. “It's just a little bit of poison. Voluntary, fun poisoning. Did you not have that in Altea?”

“Of course not.” Allura shakes her head.

There’s no way! Even dolphins got high.

“Well, actually Princess,” Coran starts, fiddling with the ends of his mustache and confirming Lance's suspicions. “There was a substance on Altea that was occasionally used recreationally to achieve more or less the same effect that number four here experienced. Tell me, my boy, did you suffer any hallucinations?”

“No.” Keith grunts.

Lance grins and nudges him. He can’t pass this opportunity up. Altean shrooms! “You sure? I’m pretty sure you thought you were a horse for a bit, Pony.”

That sets them off again. Pidge rolls around on the floor, pulling a startled yelp from Limoncito.

“No— no. I specifically said I wasn’t a horse.”

“Wait, you remember that? You said you didn't re–”

“Shut the hell up.” Keith kicks him, frowning and blushing.

“Guys, chill out.” Pidge claps Keith on the shoulder. “Tell us more about Shiro’s birthday. Did he get caught?”

Lance nods his encouragement, but inwardly his mind is racing. Keith remembers that? What else does he remember? Was it possible that he… but wait. Lance is getting ahead of himself again. What even is there for him to remember? The fact that he called Lance cute? That they held hands? That they cuddled each other to sleep? That didn’t mean anything. It meant less than nothing. Before that he’d literally been eating face with some lizard guy, he hadn’t been in his right mind.

Or… maybe that last part wasn’t exactly out of character behavior. Maybe it was the rest of it, the parts with Lance, that were out of character.

Lance looks down at his hands. Why does that thought bother him so much?

Just then, a noise pulls him from his thoughts. Limoncito babbles, a unique, “ah! ah!” that means he wants Lance’s attention. He’s standing shakily, bracing himself against Allura’s back with one hand, and gripping a fistful of white hair in the other. He presents his findings to Lance with a toothy grin.

Allura clutches the other side of her hair so it doesn’t hurt, smiling.

“Ay, bebe!” Lance hurries over. Perfect. He spaces out for two seconds and Limoncito decides to bother the one person who wants him gone the most.

The baby squeals, stomping his feet.

“Sorry, Allura.”

“It is alright.”

She won’t be upset about something like this, she’s not a monster, but he can’t help but be nervous about it. Even though Allura apologized to him and said she understands Lance’s decisions, it’s not like she agrees with them. He doesn’t want to push his luck. He pries Limoncito’s purple fist open gently, trying to distract him with his purple hippo. It works. He reaches for it and sucks one of the ears into his mouth. His own ears twitching happily.

That damned magic purple hippo.

Out of all the toys Lance had painstakingly picked out, complete with teething rings, loud crinkly fabric, flashing lights and music, Limoncito’s undeniable favorite was the blanket hippo.

Lance wasn’t allowed to talk about that either, by the way.

It’s soft and plush, except for in places like the insides of his ears, the pads on the hands and feet, the tummy, and the tail. Those are made of a slightly scratchier blue material. Keith had probably cut up a towel for that fabric. The eyes are made of the same black thread that he’d used to stitch the whole thing up, and there’s even a matching smile. The stitches themselves are surprisingly even. It’s obvious that Keith put a lot of time and effort into it. And honestly, it is so devastatingly sweet that Lance doesn’t even care that Keith cut up his blanket without asking. In fact, even that is unbearably sweet. He’d wanted Limoncito to hold onto a bit of Lance, his scent maybe.

It was the hippo that broke him out of that downward spiral that day he left Limoncito in that alien crib.

Why a hippo? Keith wouldn’t say.

When did he start making it? Wouldn’t say.

Why did he make it? Wouldn’t say.

Still. It was cute.

Limoncito’s ears perk up at the sound of Hunk’s laughter, big and contagious, and Lance tunes into the end of Keith’s sentence.

“… so when I showed up, there he was, standing only in his underwear and trying to fix the hoverbike one-armed. His other arm was in a sling he made out of his pants.”

No way.

Shiro laughs too, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. That was the last time I ever got that drunk.”

”No one ever found out it was him.” Keith said solemnly.

“I rebuilt it!” Shiro insists.

Lance whistles, pretending to be disappointed. “I don’t believe it. Takashi Shirogane, drinking and driving.”

Shiro blanches. “Now, wait a minute—”

Keith bursts into laughter, tipping over until his head sinks into a bean bag. Lance grins, ignoring Shiro’s protests about how riding a hoverbike doesn’t count as driving, how he was in the middle of the desert, how he had no choice. He moves on to what sounds like a lecture, but Lance is too busy staring at Keith.

He’s happy.

He’s lucid this time, but he’s flushed and happy like before. The T-shirt has ridden up a bit, exposing a strip of soft skin around his hips. His shorts ride higher with the movement. His hair is sparse at the top of his thighs, almost invisible on his inner thighs. It gets thicker on his calves. He’s wearing a red pair of fuzzy cat socks that Pidge gave them last Christmas.

He looks good.

Allura clears her throat, drawing his attention. “Lance. Will you braid my hair?”

“Sure.”

Hunk cuts them off alcohol-wise soon after that, specifically, right after Pidge gets too heated.

“I just don’t think Mothman is real.” Hunk explains.

Keith shakes his head disgustedly.

Pidge throws her hands in the air, accidently smacking Shiro in the head. “Hunk Garrett! Are you serious? Are you, mcfreakin serious? There is countless evidence! Bountiful amounts of evidence!”

“None of it is solid—

“We’re literally in space! We’re fighting an alien war!” She explodes, standing and waving her arms around like a conductor. Lance ushers Limoncito out of the way. He stumbles like he's drunk himself and giggles, pointing a drool-covered finger at Pidge. “But no, believing in the existence of a well-documented creature is too much of a stretch for your imagination and intellect.”

“Hey now, Pidgeon…” Lance tries, but Hunk shushes him, grinning in Pidge’s direction.

“That’s different.” Hunk argues, and now Lance can see the alcohol enabled spark of playfulness in his eyes. He’s enjoying making her crazy. “That is Earth, this is space.”

She sputters. “Wha— Hunk! Hunk! There were aliens on Earth! There is living proof right HERE!” She points at Keith dramatically. He goes cross eyed looking at her finger centimeters from his nose. “So not only do we have UNDENIABLE confirmation that aliens arrived to Earth and LIVED among us, we also know that they were FUCKING AND BREEDING–”

Keith claps a hand over her mouth, wrestling her down to the ground.

They collapse into hysterics. It’s too much. Pidge thrashing around in her pajamas like a drunk preacher and Keith, red and highly offended is too much for anyone to bear.

It's the best night they've had in a while.

Lance wishes it could last forever.

Chapter Text

˚ ༘ ~*𖦹⋆｡˚

They chat aimlessly and mess around until sleep gets the best of them. Pidge goes first, their tiny, crazy, mad scientist passes out with her glasses askew and a bottle clutched in her hand. Shiro carries her to her bedroom, but not before Lance takes a couple pictures for blackmail. Their drunk space leader says good night and one last congratulations to Lance before he leaves. Keith calls him old on the way out. Then Lance figures he should go next, given that poor Limoncito is similarly passed out cold on the floor, drunk on milk.

He gathers him up and kisses his forehead. He really does look adorable in his sleep. His lips gather into the tiniest purple pout, and his eyelashes practically tangle in the downy fuzz on his cheeks. He’s warm like a loaf of bread just put out to cool.

“Good night, guys.” Lance whispers. “Baby and I are done for the day.”

“I’ll come too.” Keith says and Lance shares a smile with him.

They really are a team.

They say their goodnights and head out, Lance sighing contentedly. Today was awesome, minus the scary cologne topper incident. Making up with Pidge and Allura, talking to Shiro about the shady organization, beating Keith in the Hunger Games Space Edition, drinking and playing games together, and now this. This! Sometimes it’s his favorite part of the day. Getting ready for bed with Keith and Limoncito.

Hopefully they exhausted Limoncito enough that both Lance and Keith can sleep uninterrupted. It’s rare to have a night like that, but it’s been known to happen.

Keith greets their room with a yawn and then looks at Lance blearily. “I’ll get a bottle ready.”

“Thanks. Could you pass me a diaper?”

They settle into their little routine.

Keith hands him one of the cloth diapers patterned with stars, along with wipes and baby powder, and then goes to the mini fridge. Instead of being filled with beer, protein smoothies, and leftovers like any self-respecting mini fridge belonging to a college-aged boy should be, it’s stocked with formula and specially distilled water. Keith washes his hands and starts the process, beginning with sterilizing the bottle.

Lance settles Limoncito on the bed, hoping he won’t wake up. The baby hates getting changed but he hates waking up to a diaper change even more.

Lance carefully unclips the diaper. He's just started wiping the baby down, with preheated wipes of course, when pee splashes all over his hand.

“Aw, fuck.”

“Hm?” Keith looks over.

Lance waves him off, immediately regretting the gesture. “It’s okay. Just got peed on again.”

“Need to change the sheets?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.”

“Yup. Do we have those backup sheets?”

“No, they’re dirty.”

Perfect. Lance sighs and wipes his hands clean before finishing up, powdering the baby’s bottom and putting him in a fresh diaper. He scoops him up and places him on Keith’s bed, holding his breath like he’s detonating a bomb. An adorable, fluffy bomb with deafening capabilities. Luckily, Limoncito doesn’t stir. Lance gathers his sheets and chucks them in the chute. He’s just going to have to wait until the sheets are dry before he can go to sleep. In the meantime, he starts on the stain on the mattress.

When Keith comes back from brushing his teeth, he rubs the back of his neck and averts his eyes in signature awkward Keith mode. “Lance?”

“Hm?”

“Just… just sleep here.”

“Oh.” He means on his bed. It’s a twin mattress. It would be a tight fit, way tighter than the egg bed they shared before, but Lance finds himself nodding, ignoring the way his stupidly anxious heart starts beating faster. It’s not a big deal. Nothing to get worked up about.

“Sure. Okay. Thanks. Yeah.”

Idiot, shut up.

He escapes inside the bathroom and brushes his teeth furiously, staring at himself in the mirror. Why is he being so weird? He tries to smooth out his hair, regretting not finishing his hair care process earlier. His hair isn’t so much frizzy as it is curly in a way that Lance usually doesn’t let it be. Well, he can’t do it now because he can’t go to sleep with wet hair. Plus, nobody said anything about it so maybe it doesn’t look as bad as he thinks.

He goes back to his room, shedding his robe so that he’s just in his boxers now. Most of the lights are off, except for a small blue nightlight in the corner of the room. It’s faint enough that he can barely make out Keith’s figure, already in his bed and facing the wall. The baby is sleeping soundly next to his hippo in his own makeshift bed between the two bigger beds.

The light in their room the other night they slept together was blue too. Except, that time it was silvery and soft. Now it’s a lot more pigmented, almost purple and heavier in that artificial way light bulbs tend to be.

Lance climbs into bed, apologizing under his breath when he elbows Keith in the back by mistake.

Keith grunts.

Fuck, he can’t get comfortable. He tries tucking his knees up, almost spooning Keith, but the slight touch from the backs of Keith’s thighs has him fleeing. He turns his back to him but the line of their backs, touching from neck to waist, sends electricity zapping right into his spine. He tries just sleeping on his back, but his hip juts against Keith’s butt and earns him a smack on the stomach.

“Oof.”

“I swear to god.” Keith mutters.

“Ouch, Keith. You said you would stop hitting me.”

“You deserved that one.”

“Wow.”

“Will you just sit still?”

“I’m trying!”

Keith huffs and Lance mimics him. After a while of sitting still, Lance speaks again.

There’s so much he wants to ask him. So much he still doesn’t know about the mystery that is Keith Kogane. How does he know Spanish? Why hippos? Why does he still refuse to hold the baby?

Was he really going to stay behind with Lance if Allura rejected the baby?

He could ask him. All these questions rest on the tip of his tongue. He savors them, mulls them over. But ultimately, Lance is a coward. He knows any of these questions could push him away. Any of these questions could make him raise his defenses and end the conversation with one sharp word. And Lance doesn’t want to risk that. Not now in the soft blue light. Not when Keith is so soft and warm next to him.

But he wants to know. He wants to know Keith.

“Keith?”

“Lance.” His voice sounds sleepy. Maybe he shouldn’t bother him.

Something flutters in his chest at hearing his name coming from deep inside Keith’s chest. He’s gotten so used to this thing they do, saying each other’s names as a response. Maybe at first they did it just to be annoying, but it’s turned into something else now. At least for Lance. It’s an acknowledgment. An excuse to say his name. Keith. Keith.

“Keith. When we were at the orphanage, why did you leave? You weren’t there when I… you know, when I gave him up.”

You said you would be, is what he doesn’t say.

“Sorry.” Keith whispers after a beat. “I just… I didn’t like that place. I should have stayed.”

Had Keith sensed its wrongness from the beginning? Lance mulls over his words. Keith doesn’t know how much it meant to him. He himself doesn’t know completely why he thought he needed Keth so badly at that moment. But he did. He thinks about the stuffed hippo and the way seeing it brought him back from the edge.

He hums. “You don’t have to apologize… I just, did you know about that place? Is that why you left?”

You should have told me. He swallows the words down.

He turns towards Keith, staring at the back of his neck. It’s exposed for once because his hair is splayed out on the pillow.

He watches Keith shrug. “I… I just couldn’t be there. It didn’t feel good that you were leaving your dumb baby in there. It felt wrong. But still. I’m sorry.”

Lance props himself up on his arm. “Don’t apologize. You got him back.”

It’s true. A rush of gratitude flows through him so fast he almost chokes on it. He doesn’t know what he would have done if Keith hadn’t spoken up. If he hadn’t looked at Lance in his eyes like that and ordered him to return.

Keith flops on his back and shakes his head. “No, you did that. I just helped.”

A little burst of something happy makes Lance’s lips quirk. He turned towards him! Sort of. Does that mean he wants to talk more?

“In any case, thank you. I should have thanked you earlier but–”

Keith groans and turns back on his side. “Shut up. Don’t thank me, idiot. Go to sleep.”

What? What did he do?!

Lance pouts. They were getting somewhere, dammit.

He pokes Keith in the side despite his self-preservation instincts begging him not to.

It’s worth it.

So worth it.

Keith lets out a startled wail and his body jerks and flops like a fish out of water. Lance is already barking out a startled, delighted laugh when Keith whips around and pins Lance to the bed, his hand over his mouth.

Lance laughs helplessly against his palm. He really can’t help it! The noise he just made, all high-pitched and ridiculous, and the way he seized at the simple touch, it’s just too good.

Keith presses him down harder, glaring. “Don’t wake the baby.”

A quiet noise escapes Lance at the pressure.

It feels… good.

He likes Keith’s hand on his mouth. Strong and firm. He couldn’t talk or even move his head if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. He very much doesn’t. He wants to be held down and pinned, completely helpless under Keith’s solid weight.

What does that make him?

Keith releases him when Limoncito doesn’t make a noise. He settles back into his spot, huffing and giving Lance his most threatening glares.

Lance smiles at him softly.

He doesn’t care what it makes him.

Keith’s on his stomach now, fluffing up his pillow and wriggling into the mattress like… like a chicken. Yeah. Like a chicken who chooses the perfect spot to sit in, rustling her feathers and flicking her wings.

Keith scowls at him. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yes sir.”

“I’m serious!” He hisses.

“Okay, okay. I’m serious too. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Lance starts out sounding remorseful, but a muffled snicker escapes him. It was an accident. He thought of the face Keith made. Completely outraged.

Hilarious.

Keith pinches him. Sort of.

He takes some on the tender skin just beneath Lance’s subclavius muscle, under his collarbone, and pinches him. He just squeezes him between his thumb and forefinger, and it just makes Lance laugh harder. It doesn't hurt at all.

“Keithy-cat, you’re supposed to twist!” Lance whisper-laughs. “Let me show you.”

“No!”

He reaches for Keith and Keith bats him off, squirming and wiggling away. He starts to laugh, and the sound feels so good it hurts. If Lance died right now listening to that low, hushed laughter, he’d die happy.

“Veronica taught me this method–

“Stop–”

“--when you pinch the skin, you have to use your thumbnail, like this–”

“No!”

“--and only then, can you twist. In this direction. Are you paying attention, Keith?”

He doesn’t actually pinch him. He’s just tickling him, skirting his fingers over Keith’s bare chest and sides faster than Keith can catch him.

It’s completely self-indulgent. He’s getting drunk off Keith’s gasping laughter and his soft, warm skin beneath his fingertips.

“Did you learn it? Use it wisely. It’ll leave a nasty bruise.”

Keith finally grabs his hands, holding them until he stops laughing. When he catches his breath, he grunts a gravelly, “I’ll break your fucking fingers.”

Lance snorts. Cute.

He releases Lance after a beat, probably after he’s sure Lance won’t do it again. Lance keeps his hands to himself but doesn’t take his eyes from Keith. He’s lying on his back and panting, shooting Lance wary looks. Lance forces himself to look casual and innocent, resting his head again on his newly recovered hand. His heart is beating abnormally fast, and it’s not because of the exertion.

After a second, Keith speaks again. “Your sister taught you that?”

He sounds doubtful.

Lance smiles, genuine now. “Yeah. I was pretty annoying.”

“‘Was?’”

“Shut it.”

Keith grins. “Did she teach you how to bite and pull hair too?”

Embarrassing. Lance blushes. “Shut up. I was fighting for my life. It was a life or death situation.”

Keith’s smile twitches and flags a bit. “Sorry.”

“What’d I say about the apologizing?” Lance flops down on the bed, stealing Keith’s pillow out from under him just to be annoying. It smells like him.

“Give it.”

Lance gives it back. “Stinks of Mullet, anyways.”

Keith takes it but doesn’t put it under his head again, he just hugs it to his chest and stares at the ceiling, thinking. Lance watches him, taking advantage of the fact that Keith isn’t on the defensive for once. He’s loose and relaxed, happy. He can’t help thinking that this is the last opportunity he’ll have to see Keith, to really see him, to know him without all his barriers and thorns he’s built around himself.

He drinks in the sight greedily.

Keith licks his bottom lip. “You… fought with your sister a lot?”

“Both of them.”

“Like you and I fight?”

Lance bites back a laugh. He can’t scare Keith away, not now when he’s trying to get at something. He’s like a stray cat nosing at a free meal and pretending not to want it.

“Um, I guess? I mean we weren’t punching each other. And, well, I was six. My dad put a stop to all the physical fighting, quick. No hitting women and all that. He should have told them not to bully a six year old! They were twice my size!”

Keith smiles at the ceiling.

Lance studies him thoughtfully. Would it be too much of a stretch to assume that Keith is trying to define their relationship in some way? Why else would he try to compare them to the way that siblings fight? Is he maybe trying to say that Keith and Lance are like brothers? That’s… Lance doesn’t like that very much. When this all began, he would have been flattered at the suggestion. Elated even. But now, not so much. But he’s getting ahead of himself. For all he knows Keith was asking for a different reason altogether.

What reason?

Did he want to talk about family?

Keith's mom must have left at an early age, since he hadn't known about his alien blood until the Blades told him. That was probably what Pidge meant earlier today about how Keith had grown up. His mom abandoned him, so he hadn't been okay with abandoning Limoncito. Had he grown up with just his dad?

“Hey,” He tries. “What’s your dad like?”

Keith blinks slowly, and his eyes search the ceiling.

He’s quiet for so long that Lance starts to think he’s not going to answer. Then,

“He was a firefighter. He tried to teach me Korean. And he had a scar on his right eyebrow, here.”

Keith touches the end of his eyebrow absently, near the arch.

Was.

Lance’s stomach sinks.

He said was.

His dad is dead. His mother, gone.

That’s why Pidge said what she did about Keith’s upbringing. Of course being in that place, a glorified orphanage, would make him feel… what? Lance can’t even imagine.

Did he grow up alone? In the foster care system?

He must have been quiet for too long because Keith turns to look at him and studies Lance’s face.

Lance looks away quickly. Keith won’t want to see whatever’s written on his face right now. Horror? Guilt? All selfish feelings. How many times had Lance said something he shouldn’t have? He tries to think back frantically. Had he hurt Keith? Had he said something unforgivable? Wait. Is this why Keith doesn’t like Limoncito, why he refuses to hold him? Maybe Limoncito reminds him too much of what it felt like. Maybe the baby makes him feel alone. And here Lance has been forcing him to interact with him. To care for him, even.

“Why are you making that face?” Keith squints.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know.”

Keith shrugs. “Don’t be weird.”

“Okay.”

Impossible.

Lance chews on his bottom lip and scoots forward. He knows he shouldn’t, but he feels like he needs to. He reaches out and curls his fingers around Keith’s bicep. He doesn’t know why. He just… needs to.

Keith tenses and Lance speaks hurriedly. “Do you miss him?”

No. That’s a stupid question. He shouldn’t have asked that.

But Keith just nods. He allows the touch, but Lance doesn’t miss the fact that Keith holds his arm out away from his chest a little.

“Sometimes.”

Sometimes. He must have died when Keith was young. That was probably why he only said three things about his dad; three things he must have repeated to himself so many times it started to sound like a list instead of a memory.

“He was a good man.” Lance whispers.

Keith looks at him, sharp.

Lance explains himself quietly. “He was a firefighter, right?”

“That’s how he died.”

“So he was a hero. And he made you. And you’re… amazing. So yeah. He must have been amazing too.”

Keith stares at him. An expression passes through his eyes that Lance can’t recognize, and he ends up turning back to the ceiling, swallowing hard.

Lance releases him, uncertain. Was it too much? But then Keith shifts and their shoulders touch. He hums before he speaks, like he's gathering the courage.

“Do you miss your family a lot?”

He’s not upset, he still wants to talk. The tension leaves Lance’s body and he sighs, turning on his side. Keith’s hair tickles his cheek. He fights the irrational urge to bury his face in it.

“I miss my mom a lot.” Lance confesses, losing his secret in the inky waves.

Keith breathes out, listening.

“I always thought I would have her with me… when I had a kid, you know?” Lance closes his eyes. “I thought I’d always be able to ask her if his cry sounded normal. If his poop should be this color. If I should try to raise him bilingual or only teach him Spanish like she did with me. I thought she would be here to help me with this.”

Lance waits for the ache in his chest to ease before he tries to speak again. But something stops him. Oh fuck, is he being selfish again? How can he talk about missing his mom when Keith never even got to meet his?

But Keith doesn't show any signs that he minds. Instead, his voice is soft. Open. “Did you always want kids?”

Lance smiles. “Yeah.”

When he was little, he would take his sister's baby dolls and pretend to care for them. Then he would hold them hostage and force his sisters to either bribe him, snitch, or defeat him in battle to get them back. He doesn't share that fact with Keith.

Keith turns. They fit okay like this, with both of them on their backs, except their arms overlap. But he keeps turning until he's on his side and they're face to face.

There's no yellow in his eyes this time. They're dark. Impossibly dark. Lance drops his gaze. There's too much emotion in them. For all that Keith keeps bottled up, it bubbles and pours out of his eyes.

“You can still have that.” Keith says quietly, with all his typical determination and assurance that Lance can't handle. “When we get back to Earth and you have your own kids, ones that look like you, you can have that.”

Keith sounds so sure.

“I don't care that he doesn't look like me.” Lance whispers.

It's an admission. An admission to something bigger that he's too scared to acknowledge. A secret. He glances up to see if Keith knows and he sees that he does.

Shiro says they'll keep looking for a home for Limoncito. And they have been. They should.

Lance won't stop them.

But inside, deep, deep inside, he knows that when that moment comes, he'll lose a part of himself.

Keith sees that, takes that from him, holds it.

And they fall asleep like that.

☆

Lance dreams about hot skin and strong limbs. Fleeting touches and wet lips. He wakes slowly, reluctantly, to quiet babbling and a weird sensation on his back.

His room looks different from this angle, and he blinks slowly.

It's his scar tissue. He didn't completely lose sensation from the blast, but it definitely numbs and distorts touches. Still, whatever is on his scar feels cold and wet. And then a hot puff of air blows against it and he hears Keith murmur something in his sleep.

It's drool.

Another sensation comes to him then. A hand on his hip, way too close.

Lance grabs Keith’s wrist clumsily, pulling it up and away. Unfortunately, Keith chooses that exact moment to wake up. He jerks back and slams against the wall, giving Lance a well-placed kick to the ass.

Lance yelps and tumbles off the mattress.

Ow!

“Haven’t you had enough of kicking me, Samurai?” He grouches, rubbing his butt. His lower back is still sore from Keith’s kick yesterday and now this?

Great. It’s his first time waking up with a sore ass up next to a guy and he didn’t even get to–

Wake up, Lance.

He climbs back into the mattress, resuming his previous position. Limoncito isn’t up yet so maybe he can get a couple minutes more. Maybe he can even return to his lovely dream.

After a few sleepy curses, Lance feels a hand touch his back gently, wiping away the drool. It feels weird having someone touch him there, but Lance allows it. He must still be half-asleep.

“M'bad.” Keith rasps.

Lance muffles a laugh. Keith's morning voice is like 3 octaves deeper. It's nice.

Limoncito shouts his good morning indignantly and Lance groans. He reaches over at Limoncito's insistence and fishes him out of his tiny crib without getting up, bringing him over and settling him between them on the bed.

“Buenos días, amorcito.” Lance greets him.

Good morning, little love.

Limoncito squeals happily and bounces excitedly in place. He crawls to Keith, who frowns at him and tenses. But then Limoncito drops and rubs his face against Keith’s arm with giggly gasps and Keith melts like butter in the Texas sun.

Lance physically sees him soften. The frown eases between his brows and his eyes brighten as if reflecting the glow from the small smile gracing his lips. Keith bends down to meet him and nuzzles his face against Limoncito's. The baby stills his happy wriggling and coos, soft and awed.

Lance promptly hides his face in his pillow, his heart beating wildly.

Goddamnit, he's going to die. They're going to kill him.

It’s too fucking early for this level of cuteness.

“C’mere, stinky.” Keith mumbles, and Lance peeks out to see Keith sliding the baby in front of him and reaching for the diaper changing materials Lance left on the side of the bed last night.

Limoncito whines in complaint. He already knows what’s coming and his bottom lip starts to quiver. Poor baby. Lance is on the way. He army crawls to them and buries his face in Limoncito’s neck, blowing a raspberry.

It works.

All in all, it’s a perfect morning.

But it doesn’t last.

☆

“Planet VBP is unmarked in most interstellar maps. It’s protected by the Blades of Marmora and reserved for former prisoners of war. The Blades will arrive within the day to take us planetside. We'll let them know that Voltron is here, that we are real and contributing to the war effort. We will also be dropping off supplies.” Shiro stops his briefing to look at Lance, who's currently fighting to keep down his breakfast. “There's a family there who is very eager to meet Cito.”

Oh.

A family?

Hunk jostles him, grinning. “Holy shit, Lance. A Galra family!”

“‘Eager’ is crazy.” Pidge nods enthusiastically. “In this economy?”

They're just trying to be helpful, he knows, but it’s annoying. He needs to process. He looks down at Limoncito.

The purple baby is standing on Lance's legs, clad in a pair of red corduroy overalls and a blue shirt. Lance's baby dressing game has most definitely improved, choosing colors that compliment his lovely, lavender fur. Sadly, shoes and socks are a losing battle. Limoncito will let Lance put them on his feet but then he'll just reach down and pull until he's barefoot again. If Lance made it so that he couldn't do that, say, with Velcro, buckles, or laces, he would raise hell. And Lance hates upsetting him, so toes-out it is.

Limoncito grips Lance's shirt for balance and he’s most definitely poking holes into it with his claws. He's happy, bouncing up and down by bending his knees. He hasn’t quite figured out how to jump yet. His little monkey feet grip Lance’s jeans. He has no idea what’s going on.

He feels Keith’s eyes on him, but when he looks up, everyone is looking at him expectantly.

What are they waiting for? Consent?

No. They’ll go whether or not Lance wants to.

They just want him to agree.

And what’s the other choice? Burst into tears? Freak out and demand that Limoncito stay? He can’t.

“Awesome.” Lance throws on his best smile. “Let’s go meet them.”

Chapter Text

⋆｡˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

He doesn’t have time to process.

It’s a constant fucking trend now. He never gets time to just sit and think and work through all his issues. Instead, they just come, one after the other, bowling him over and stacking on top of each other until he can’t breathe.

The Paladins burst into a flurry of activity. Allura says they don’t expect to see any combat but to still secure their more subtle weapons on the off chance their position is discovered. They don’t want to arrive on a planet full of traumatized civilians armored and fully geared up.

Shiro had taken Limoncito from him to let him get dressed.

Lance almost refused.

Lance walks numbly behind his friends towards the armory.

Pidge tucks her triangle shaped bayard into the waistband of her army green cargo pants. She’s wearing an unbuttoned, long-sleeved blue shirt that Lance is 90% sure is one of his, (what is it with his friends taking his clothes?) and she straps a sheathed knife, gifted to her by Keith, on her forearm. Hunk has a pair of electric modified brass knuckles that convert into gold cuffs and rest on his wrist. They shine against his dark skin and complement nicely with the peach shirt he’s wearing.

Keith is a different story altogether.

They get to the armory and he drops his pants. It catches Lance off guard because, what the hell, and it manages to snap him out of the weird mood he’s in, at least temporarily.

“We didn’t order a strip show, Samurai.” Lance informs him.

“Shut up.”

Pidge snorts.

She and Hunk don’t even blink. Weirdly, it seems like Lance is the only one captivated by the sight unfolding in front of them.

There are two black straps wrapped around each of Keith’s thighs, and he proceeds to fill the loops and pockets in them with a series of flat blades and other contraptions that Lance can’t identify.

Lance watches him with a dry mouth and a bit of heat in his lower stomach. Indigestion, probably.

Keith’s thighs are positively bulging out of the straps. Fuck. If Lance had those legs in front of him back at the Garrison, he would’ve aced the muscle group section of Anatomy 101. He’s wearing a pair of thin, stretchy black briefs that hug his ass like they were made to frame it.

Keith catches him looking and frowns.

Lance swallows hard, darting his eyes away. “Uh. So. When did you guys get all this stuff?”

It’s not weird.

He won’t let it get weird because of last night. Last night was special. Nothing can ruin that.

This morning however… yeah, things could definitely get weird because of this morning.

Pidge finishes arming up. “Hunk and I have been working on these for a while. You know, while you’ve been busy with the baby. Keith has been helping design some of these weapons too, actually.”

Ouch. FOMO. Lance has always been particularly susceptible to the cruelties of FOMO. He raises his eyebrows in response, trying to play it cool.

Keith shakes his head. “Not really. I just came up with some ideas. You guys did all the work.”

“Oh, right! This one's for you, Lance.” Hunk approaches him with a silver chain with some kind of pendant. “Keith designed this one for you.”

Wait, seriously?

Lance takes it and grins at Keith. “Really?”

Keith’s eyes widen like Lance just aimed a gun at him. “What? No.”

“No?” Pidge echoes, smirking.

“No, I told y’all. I didn’t design anything.” Keith snaps.

Hunk rolls his eyes. They’re perfect opposites. He looks completely done with their shit while Pidge looks like she’s enjoying every minute of it. He says, “Anyway, this pendant here is a scope. You can attach it to any of your guns because it’s made of a specific alloy that reacts with most types of metals in order to achieve a molecular bond that—

“Bro. Skip the sciencey stuff.” Lance waves his free hand in a circle. He studies the chain with his other hand.

It’s made out of a thin metal with chain links that vary from long and oval to small and round. It shines so prettily. The scope itself is flat and just looks like a piece of glass, but when he looks at it in the light it’s obvious.

Hunk throws his hands up in exasperation and Lance grins sheepishly at him. How is it possible his two best friends in the world are the biggest nerds he’s ever met?

“Basically,” Keith grunts, not looking at him. “It’ll detach from your chain once it makes contact with your gun. So, just tap your gun to it and the scope will go where it needs to go. Your gun works with the same technology. It’s disassembled in three parts right now, but all you need to do is tap them together and the metal will fuse.”

Keith hands him the gun in three pieces. The barrel, the magazine, and the buttstock. They’re all small and thin enough that he could easily hide them underneath his sleeves, and he sees there’s straps attached exactly for that purpose.

Wow. Lance turns the parts over in his hands. A portable, inconspicuous, and easily accessible sniper rifle. He’d never thought that was possible.

“So, how do you know how it works, Keith? If you supposedly didn’t design anything?” Pidge grins cheekily.

Keith shoots her the look he usually reserves for Limoncito when he’s crawling towards him covered in snot.

Lance ducks his head. Holy shit. He feels a little lightheaded. A blush climbs into his cheeks and a stupid smile blooms on his face. Keith designed this for him. He must have put so much thought into it.

“The chain links are the bullets.” Keith continues, ignoring her. He’s still not looking in Lance’s direction, busying himself with the belt holding his jeans up. That’s probably full of weapons too.

“This is sick, thanks you guys.” If his voice comes out a little weaker, he hopes no one notices. His FOMO is officially cured, though.

Hunk and Pidge clear out to finish loading the rest of the baby stuff into the hangar. After having done it so many times, they have the process streamlined.

They’re alone now.

The silence is uncomfortable, suddenly.

It’s Lance’s fault. He’d just felt so fucking bad that he didn’t know Keith grew up an orphan. Keith probably knows all of Lance’s siblings by name by now because Lance apparently can’t stop running his mouth long enough to listen to someone else, but Lance hadn’t known about something as important as his dad’s death. But Lance has to be able to deal with it. So what if sometimes he feels like he got sucker-punched in the chest when he thinks about Keith growing up all alone?

But one annoyed look from Keith was enough to Lance snap out of it. Keith doesn’t want his pity.

Keith doesn’t want his pity, and he doesn’t want to be treated any differently. So that’s what Lance is going to do. He’s just going to keep teasing, making fun of him, and just generally being Keith’s personal, royal pain in the ass. He can take a page out of Keith’s book and repress all those mushy feelings that make him want to hug Keith so tight he can feel Keith’s heart beating against his own.

Keith finally buckles his belt. His Blade knife is in its usual holster at his side. He’s wearing a black tank-top that clings to his waist like it’s trying to shrink-wrap it. It cuts a nice silhouette. He shrugs on his red leather jacket. Cropped, of course, and it only serves to highlight that killer waist. He looks at himself in the mirror, turning to make sure his weapons aren’t visible through his pants.

His slight turn, the way he lowers his head to look at himself properly, esa cinturita…

Lance holds his breath like he’s staring through the forest at a deer, like he’s intruding on a private moment and if he so much as breathes, the moment will disappear.

Keith faces the mirror and runs his hands through his hair. He raises his chin, runs his knuckles softly across his jaw. Then he catches Lance’s gaze in the mirror and holds it.

Lance breaks it first. “Ahem. Uh, seriously though, dude. Thanks for the gun. This is awesome.”

“No, I—” Keith sighs. “I just sketched it out. Pidge and Hunk did all the work.”

"Still!” Lance moves towards him, chasing his eyes. “I mean, just the concept is crazy. Who thinks of making a sniper like that? And the fact that I can use the scope on all my guns? That’s so cool. All my smaller pieces are good, right? But nothing does long distance like a sniper. Holy shit and the ammo? No one will ever guess that this chain is ammo. It’s almost a shame because it’s so damn pretty. And I look damn good in a chain.”

Keith smiles at him. “We can always make more chain links. We can even recycle the bullet casings if we have to.”

“How did you think of something like this?”

“When Hunk explained how the metal works, the way it sort of remembers…” Keith shrugs and fishes something out of his pocket, turning back to the mirror. “I don’t know, it just made sense. You’re our sharpshooter.”

A burst of something, pride and something mushier, goes off in his chest. He tries to collect himself. “Will you help me put it on?”

“What?”

“The chain.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He could probably put it on himself using the mirror, but it would take a while, and Keith knows the chain and the clasp better than he does. Why waste valuable time? Plus, it’s his gift. It’s only right.

He turns his back to Keith and hands it to him. Lance is a little taller than him, a fact that he usually doesn’t hesitate to lord over his head, but it’s not an issue this time. Keith takes the chain and loops it over his neck.

Lance shivers. Keith’s fingers tickle the hair on the back of his neck and the chain is cold. It reminds him of this morning; Keith’s sleepy fingers clumsily wiping away his own drool from Lance’s skin. Except this time his fingers are deft, and he can’t feel the soft puffs of breath against his skin. Bizarrely, he wishes he could.

“There.”

"Thanks.” Lance tucks it under his shirt so the silver flash is only visible on the sides of his neck.

Keith nods and turns back to the mirror.

Then Lance sees what Keith has in his hand and his mood sours. Seriously? It’s that fucking pin the lizard man gave to him. It’s a slight thing, and as Keith slides it into his hair, he realizes it’s barely visible. But, goddamnit, it’s cute. It pulls some of the hair back from Keith’s face, exposing the skin of his temple and the soft lobe of his ear. The subtle glint of metal in his hair does something. Lance isn’t sure what, but it’s there.

“You’re seriously going to wear that?” Lance finds himself saying.

Keith’s eyebrows twitch like he wants to frown. He licks his lips and looks at Lance uncertainly. “Why?”

Because you look stupid. The words are in his mouth, but he pushes them back, suddenly flooded by guilt. He’s such an asshole. Why did he even–? Why did he just get the impulse to say that? What was that ugly feeling that threatened to push those words out? Jealousy? What is he even jealous of?

“No,” He forces himself to say. “No, it looks good. Really good. Just seems dangerous, is all.”

“It’s fine. I already calibrated it to everyone’s touch, even Limoncito’s, and it doesn’t activate until I tap it twice. It’s off right now.”

The smile returns to Lance’s face for a bit hearing Keith pronounce his baby’s name. He’s the only one that says it right. Everyone else tripped over it so much, and Lance complained about it so much, that Shiro dubbed him ‘Cito’ and it stuck. That’s okay, though. The nickname is adorable.

“Wait, when did you get my touch?” Lance frowns. He would’ve remembered doing something like that. Is Keith trying to kill him? The thought doesn’t scare him as much as it should.

“While you were sleeping a couple nights ago.”

“While I was–” Santo dios. Is he serious? He said it so nonchalantly, too. “What the quiznak, Keith. Why didn’t you just ask me?”

Keith shrugs. “Does it matter?”

Someone save this boy from himself.

Lance shakes his head. “Moving past that, how do you know it works the way it should? That guy was super sketchy. And I don’t know, the fact that it could kill someone with one touch is kind of scary. How are you comfortable keeping that so close to your head?”

Keith snorts, smiling at himself in the mirror in a way that somehow conveys he’s making fun of Lance. “Pidge checked it out, it works. And I have three knives and two bombs strapped five inches from my junk. The pin is fine.”

Christ. Bombs?

“You're going to blow your dick off.”

There's a joke there Lance won't say for fear of getting punched.

Keith chuckles anyway, which is psychotic because Lance definitely did not say anything funny. Was the horrible mental image of his own goods getting blown up enough to make him laugh?

Lance’s lips twitch into a smile. He pushes past it and continues. “How are you planning on getting to all that anyway?” Lance gestures. “If someone threatens us, what are you going to do? You’re gonna drop your pants?”

Keith covers his mouth to stop his laughter, but it escapes. Lance laughs too but he backs away quickly because Keith comes over and smacks him even as he’s laughing. Who understands this guy?

“You’re fucking ridiculous.” Keith shakes his head while Lance rubs his arm. “I can reach 'em through the pockets.”

He thinks he's starting to get Keith's sense of humor. He's not one for subtle digs, puns, or wordplay, instead he reacts more strongly when Lance paints an image for him. Him running away from a crab, for example.

“You cut the bottoms off your pockets?”

Keith grins. “Stop making fun of me or I’ll cut you.”

“You’re crazy.” Lance says, grinning.

Oh god, he’s the crazy one. Why is he smiling so hard?

They chat for a while longer while Lance gets dressed. But then Keith tries to talk to him about what’s going to happen next, about the new planet, about leaving Limoncio, and reality comes crashing down all around him. He brushes Keith off and tries to focus on getting ready. Keith seems to understand and gives him space.

Afterwards, he goes to recover his baby from Shiro and Allura. He didn’t feel like getting nice and dressed up like he usually does for planetside visits, so he just dressed in his usual jeans and signature jacket.

He hears Limoncito before he sees him, howling furiously, and breaks into a sprint. Something’s wrong.

Allura is in the hangar, holding Limoncito away from her with a puzzled look on her face. She looks relieved when she sees him.

“Lance! The excrement is escaping through his diaper.”

Oh geez. A blowout? But Lance hadn't done anything different with his food. His baby ate the same thing he always eats, the only thing he can eat, actually, and he ate at the same time.

“Ay, pobrecito. Come here, darling.”

Poor thing.

What could have caused it? Is he coming down with something? Lance cleans him up with Keith's help, ignoring Allura's horrified looks which in any other situation would be funny. Then he runs Limoncito over to Coran, Keith hot on his heels, promising they’ll hurry. He needs to make sure his baby is okay.

Limoncito puts them through hell.

The first time he was subjected to Coran's medical machines, he'd been sleepy and scared, too tired or too shell-shocked to put up much of a fight.

Not this time.

Lance places him on the examination table while Coran readies his instruments. Lance makes quick work of Cito’s buttons and starts undressing him, but Limoncito howls pitifully and wriggles desperately. His clothes are ruined. His waste ran all the way up his back. Keith comes closer and places a hand on Limoncito’s chest to hold him down while his other hand rifles through Lance’s bag for wipes and a new diaper. They need to be quick. The Blades will be here any minute.

Lance finally pulls the soiled overalls off his feet and starts pulling Cito’s shirt over his head. As soon as it’s off, Limoncito starts shrieking, his cries pitching in volume so quickly that they all flinch. He’s angry and in pain. The table is cold.

“Shhh. Bebé, estas bien. Por favor.” Lance murmurs.

Baby, you’re okay. Please.

Limoncito meets Lance’s eyes at his words, but that seems to make him angrier. He yells and throws his head back, hitting it against the table. Lance gasps, but Keith is already placing his free hand behind Limoncito’s tiny head. Lance focuses on getting his diaper off.

He cleans him off as best he can using just the wipes.

Coran finally brings one of the machines over, a scanner of some kind. He wheels the imposing metal thing and pulls it down by the neck, settling the glowing, circular head above Limoncito’s stomach.

“Keep him as still as you can.” Coran orders.

Lance’s heart jumps in his throat. He has to restrain him? He can’t do that.

The machine terrifies him. Limoncito looks around wildly. He kicks and screams so long and so loud Lance worries he’s going to hurt himself.

What should he do?

Hold him down?

Suddenly, Limoncito’s fists stop flailing and his little white claws unsheathe. He scratches at Keith’s hand violently.

Lance turns cold. His baby has never done that before. Never.

He stumbles forward. “Oh no, no. Wait. Coran, wait. He’s scared. Stop.”

He tries to replace Keith’s hand with his, but he’s shaking too hard. Keith pushes him away. Lance reaches for the machine, unthinking, but Coran stops him. “I have already started the scan, my boy. It wouldn’t do any good to stop now. Keep our little furry friend still, will you?”

No, he can’t!

Coran presses the machine closer.

It makes contact. His baby’s screams change.

They sound like pain. Pain and terror.

Nausea spikes so fast in Lance’s body that he feels dizzy. He grabs the machine again. “It’s hurting him! Coran!”

“Don’t move the machine!”

“Stop!”

Keith shoves him roughly, making him stumble back. “Lance. Get out.”

“But–”

“Go!”

Lance goes.

He spends four agonizing minutes outside the medbay.

Staring at the wall.

Listening to his little baby scream in fear.

Then pain.

He screams for Lance to come and save him.

But it’s all over now. Keith tries to tell him the scans came back clear, but it’s like he’s talking underwater. He reaches for Lance and lifts him on his feet– Lance doesn’t know when he sank to the floor –and pulls him inside where Coran has Limoncito next to the sink. He’s washing him clean.

Coran tells him maybe the bottle wasn’t refrigerated at the correct temperature. Perhaps they didn’t clean it thoroughly enough before giving it to him. He doesn’t know.

Afterwards, if Keith can tell that Lance is shaky and his eyes are rimmed with red, he doesn't comment on it. He just helps Lance dress Limoncito quietly.

Lance’s hands tremble violently as he tries and fails to button Limoncito’s shirt. His poor baby is still crying, throwing his head back and moving his limbs in short, jerky movements.

Lance can't stop imagining what it must have felt like for him. The fear. He must have been terrified lying on that metal table with a huge, cold, unfamiliar machine touching his tender belly. And then to have Keith, a face he's come to know and trust, hold him down despite his desperate pleas. Then the betrayal he must have felt when Lance left him. He saw Lance leave him. Oh god, he shouldn’t have left. How could he have done that? His baby. His baby.

Lance stops breathing and he tastes vomit.

He sinks slowly back to the ground. He’s shaking so hard his bones are going to come out of their sockets. He’s going to throw up. Oh god. He can’t breathe, he's going to choke on his vomit. Lance's breaths start to come too fast. He can't catch his breath. His chest won't expand.

He tucks his head between his knees.

Oh god.

Then Keith says, “Now he looks like you.”

The words don’t make sense. They don’t register. He tries to speak but all that comes out is a croak. “H-Huh?”

“He looks like you.” Keith repeats.

Lance tightens his grip on his short hair, feeling the sting on his scalp. He blinks rapidly against wet denim. What?

Limoncito is in front of him now on the floor.

Lance is making noises that sound more like strangled cries than gasps. Limoncito whines. His crying has petered off into small sobs.

Lance forces himself to look at his baby closer, blinking wet out of his eyes to focus his vision. His eyes are watery and rimmed with red. He has snot all over his nose and mouth. He's wearing a blue button down, with little white buttons. He's also wearing a pair of brown khaki shorts and little white socks with embroidered fish creatures.

“W-What?” Lance's voice comes out as a croak.

Keith nods. “All he needs to complete the look are those ugly boat shoes. Sparrows? Sperrys.”

Lance reaches for Limoncito and his baby crawls desperately into his arms. His breaths come easier now. He breathes loudly, shakily. He blinks down at his baby.

What is Keith saying? Lance has never worn this in his life. What is he even describing? Lance tries sluggishly to put his thoughts together. Button down, khakis, boat shoes– wait a damn minute, that's the upper middle class white boy fit.

“What are you talking a-about?” Lance sputters. His words sound like a groan or a sob. “You're the one who d-dressed him. That's not my style at all.”

Does Keith actually think that's what he wears? The preppy rich boy aesthetic? It's true Keith has mostly seen him wear the Garrison uniform, and the only pair of clothes he brought to space, the clothes he's wearing now, but seriously? That’s not him at all! Lance has impeccable fashion taste. Since then, he’s devised so many excellent outfits from the alien clothes they sourced. How can Keith think that?

Just when he's about to put all of that into words, Keith takes one look at Lance's face and cracks a smile. He ducks his head and runs his hand over his face in a failed attempt to school his features.

Idiot. He was joking.

Lance shakes his head and smiles.

Keith making jokes. The world must be ending.

He tugs on Keith's jacket. “I know you're not talking. Look at what you're wearing.”

Keith smacks his hand, smiling. “Fuck off. Give me a wipe.”

He’s not being careful with him. He’s not being gentle. He’s not scared or weirded out, he’s just Keith.

Lance passes him the box and watches as Keith wipes Limoncito's nose. Limoncito jerks away but Keith has his nose pinched. Then he balls up the wipe and chucks it at Lance.

“You need it too.”

Lance groans. “Gross, Keith. Get me a new one.”

He does.

Lance cradles Limoncito against his chest, holding his limp, exhausted, little body against his own until his heart settles completely and his sweet baby falls asleep. Eventually, footsteps come to find them and Lance tenses, but Keith holds out a hand and Lance stays. Keith leaves to buy them more time and privacy.

Lance forces himself to stand, going to the mirror and wiping his face.

He’s a mess.

He can’t gather up the usual energy to berate his appearance, so he just splashes water on his face and wills the redness to go away. It’s a tremendous effort, but he forces himself to be okay. He can’t afford to crawl into bed right now and recover from what has to be the one of the worst panic attacks he’s had in years. He has to be okay right now, for his baby. For the team. He stares at himself in the eyes and tells himself that.

When they get back to the hangar, Lance finds that each step is easier. Most of the nasty feelings from earlier are gone, and he can't help but cut his eyes to Keith from time to time suspiciously. How did he do that? Lance usually takes a long, long time to get back to being close to normal after feeling that awful, no matter what distractions he uses to try to get away from those feelings.

But his thoughts about Keith quickly take a turn when the Blades start disembarking from their ship.

Immediately, the tension in the room skyrockets.

It focuses Lance’s mind and puts him on edge.

The Lions seem to feel it too, or at least Red does. She shuffles in place. The Blade ships are huge, state of the art, sleek in a way the ancient Lions aren’t. Maybe the Lions feel a little embarrassed sharing a hangar with such new technology. Blue nudges his thoughts, amused. She’s telling him he’s completely wrong, and further, she thinks it’s funny he would even think so.

Right. They’re incomparable.

But of course, there’s some tension. Seriously, how couldn't there be? Keith went on a couple missions with the Blades, at their insistence, and then, for mysterious reasons known only to them, or possibly, known only to Keith, he had refused and come back to Voltron. The Blades of Marmora are a very proud organization, they could have taken it as an insult.

Maybe Red is jealous. Lance sure is.

Er–, just because Keith is an asset. Voltron wouldn’t be Voltron without him.

Kolivan steps from the ship, his presence as commanding as ever.

He greets Allura first with a short bow that she returns. Then he shakes Shiro's hand, an Earth greeting he must have taken care to learn specifically for Shiro. That's where the greetings stop, which is kind of rude. He doesn't acknowledge Keith at all. That has to be deliberate, right?

Keith doesn't look like he's expecting some sort of greeting though, he just looks bored. But his eyes narrow when one Blade in particular approaches.

He's heading toward Lance.

Lance tries to remember the guy's name to be polite. He’s tall, like most Galra are, but he has a slimmer build and a thick tail. Roland? Richard? Lance nods at him when the distance between them is acceptable but he keeps coming. Lance takes a step back, but the Blade just ducks his head and… sniffs him? What the hell?

And suddenly Keith is there, forcing himself in between and jostling the Blade with a noise that sounds like a growl.

“Back off, Regris.”

Regris. That's what it is.

Regris grins at Keith. “Little Galra. This Paladin smells of you.”

Uh, okay? Weird observation but not something that requires any kind of intervention or god forbid any kind of violence– yeah. Keith punches him.

Regris doesn't expect the blow to the jaw and stumbles back, but not before hooking his tail around Keith's leg and dropping him like a bag of bricks.

Limoncito giggles but Lance rushes away, not willing to risk getting the baby caught in the middle of that. When did he wake up? He hides them behind Hunk but pokes his head out to peek. Keith probably won't need help, but he watches just in case.

Keith is down for less than a second before he springs back up and tackles Regris around the middle.

Shiro barks a command at the same time Kolivan does.

They both stop.

Allura looks up to the ceiling, and if she was Catholic, she would definitely be saying a prayer and crossing herself right now. Regris bows his head, the picture of dignity and regret, and steps away from them. Keith scowls and crosses his arms, stepping back into his place next to Lance. He looks more like a scolded teenager than a repentant dignitary.

“I apologize,” Shiro says stiffly. “Keith usually has more discipline than that.”

Does he, though?

Keith doesn't react.

Kolivan glares at Regris, who wilts.

Yikes.

Kolivan is definitely scarier than Shiro.

The stone-faced commander with fists the size of meat clubs turns his attention to Lance and extends his hands expectantly. Limoncito swivels around to face him then turns back to Lance, clinging tighter to his clothes.

Yeah, Lance would probably have the same reaction in his place.

“Esta bien, chiquito.”

It's okay, little one.

He peels him off reluctantly and hands him over. Kolivan will give him back, right?

Luckily, the huge, terrifying Galra doesn't march away with him or anything like that. Lance would probably have a heart attack if he did. The baby looks absolutely tiny in his large hands and he struggles half-heartedly and yells. Kolivan sniffs him, ignoring the baby's attempts to grab his ears.

Maybe smelling is just how they greet each other. But no, Kolivan didn't smell any of them. Is it reserved for children? Is that why Keith got so offended? He wants to ask, but now isn't really the time for that.

Suddenly, Kolivan's ears press back like a cat’s, like Limoncito's do when he's really upset, and he wrinkles his nose. It's the most expression any of them have seen from the leader and they stare.

What? He’s clean. He shouldn't smell bad.

“Why is his scent obscured?” Kolivan asks, looking directly at Lance.

Lance panics a little. Huh? Obscured? What does he mean? Is there something wrong with his baby?

Thankfully, Keith speaks up for him. “To wash him.”

What?

Lance stares at Keith for a second before it clicks.

Oh, the shampoo. That’s what is probably obscuring his natural scent. Kolivan is probably also smelling the moisturizing cream, the hair oil, and the diaper powder.

“Why was that necessary?” Kolivan asks Lance sharply.

Geez. This must be what getting interrogated by CPS must feel like.

Lance swallows nervously. “Uh… to clean him? We used those products to clean him.”

Another Galra approaches, this one smaller and with more delicate features. She looks distinctly more feline than Kolivan, except for the second set of eyes on her forehead and two more sets of ears. She peers at Limoncito, sniffing, and then narrows all four of her eyes at Lance.

“Why did you not use your mouth?” Her voice is severe. Definitely a woman, definitely mad.

Lance blinks. “What? To clean him?”

Ew.

Okay, but it makes sense. They are purple alien cat creatures; of course they gave each other tongue baths. It’s still gross, though.

“Yes.” She insists. “These ‘products’ you speak of obscure his natural scent. How will you know if he falls ill? If he is hungry?”

No way. Galras can do that? They can smell disease? Hunger too? That’s amazing. Can Keith do that? No way. Well, he did smell that Menudo from miles away back on planet Diskashi. If that’s true, how does he deal with all that sensory input? Wait, is Keith like one of those miracle cats that can smell cancer? He wants to ask him immediately, but when he turns to Keith excitedly, Keith looks over his features and promptly looks away. Rude! This is exciting new information!

Shiro shakes his head. “Humans do not have an olfactory sense like you do. We aren't able to smell those things.”

Regris snorts like this is a thing that should embarrass them.

Lance cuts his eyes to Keith again.

But then the woman takes Limoncito from Kolivan and settles him on her hip in a way that shows she does not intend to give him back any time soon. She does it with authority, without asking, even though Kolivan is her commander. Limoncito hums but doesn’t protest the change, staring at Lance with wide eyes, before turning to fiddle with one of her ears.

Lance looks between them anxiously. What’s going on exactly?

The tension is still thick in the air. The Blades in masks look at one another. Kolivan is unreadable again, but the female Galra has disapproval etched into her features.

Are they upset because they thought Lance endangered Limoncito? Or did they suspect Lance was trying to deceive them in some way? He's itching to take his baby back, but something stops him. He's not sure what. Weirdly, it feels like it isn't his place to do so. And Limoncito looks happy. Maybe he's happy to be with his own people. Maybe she reminds him of his mom.

Does he still remember his mom?

Lance feels a pang. Cito probably just likes the attention.

A Blade comes up and says something to Kolivan, who then addresses Allura.

“They are done loading the supplies. If you will accompany us to the ship, we have a need for haste.”

“Of course,” she says. “I will join you on the bridge to oversee navigation.”

She's not asking for permission.

Tactically, they’re at a huge disadvantage. They're entering unknown territory with no ship of their own, not even the Lions. They are flying with strangers shrouded in secrecy, to an unmapped place with little knowledge of its terrain or people. No leader would want to put their people in that position, and Lance knows Allura already has a certain distrust for the Blades of Marmora. But they're doing it anyways.

“Lance. Should I grab the baby pod?” Pidge asks, her face serious.

Lance nods absently, his eyes tracking the woman who's currently walking towards one of the ships carrying Lance's baby. The audacity! Is she not even going to ask? Or notify him at least? He starts after her.

She spots him just as she's going in, pausing. “Blue Paladin. You are free to join your companions in the cabin.”

A polite redirection.

“The name’s Lance.” Lance smiles in a way that he hopes is disarming. Her face gives away nothing. He clears his throat. “We usually put him in a travel pod. You know, for extra safety. Can I see him?”

She ignores the invitation for introductions and considers this. “It is a good precaution.”

Lance nods and holds out his hands. For a second, he thinks she's going to refuse, but then Limoncito throws himself at Lance and squeals, kicking his little legs like he's trying to swim. She lets him.

Lance gathers him up and kisses him. He won't let him go so easily next time. He takes him back to the paladins, feeling her eyes bore into the back of his neck.

What's her problem?

Is she that worried about Lance's incompetence? A trickle of anger starts to set in. Lance isn't stupid. If he was able to smell all those things then he obviously wouldn't have done anything to risk covering the baby's smell. He’s doing the best he can.

Lance grits his teeth. Does she think she's entitled to the baby just because she's a Galra like him? He's not hers.

But a thought persists, awful, annoying, like a circling wasp.

He's not really Lance's either, is he?

Lance climbs inside the ship, pushing down horrible emotions and metaphorically swatting the wasp away. He doesn’t want to think about that. Not now, not ever. He's directed to the area where his friends are, in a room full of chairs and seat belts.

Keith isn’t here.

It's the first thing he notices when he looks up again, fastening the seat belts around the baby pod. Lance swings the diaper bag beneath his legs and pulls out Cito’s favorite toy. Limoncito whines quietly around his newly acquired hippo while Lance slides him into the baby pod.

Lance tries to comfort him with a steady stream of low Spanish while he scans his surroundings. The ship is dark in a way that is the total opposite of the Castle's. It’s lit with purple and green lights that make all the colors look weird, and there's exposed panels and running wires everywhere. It's kind of creepy and it does nothing to set him at ease.

“Where's Keith?” There’s an edge to his voice.

“He's catching up with his buddies.” Hunk says helpfully.

“Or he's beating them up.” Pidge snickers.

Seriously? Is he going to ride with them? Lance huffs.

What catching up does he even need to do? How much time did he spend with the Blades? It must've been two months at most. That wasn't that long. Does he miss them or something? It didn't look like he had. And it's not like he talks about them a lot, or at all, for that matter.

But something starts to bother him, and he repositions himself uncomfortably. What if he decides to leave Voltron again?

Pidge smirks, pushing up her glasses. She looks like she's studying Lance the same way she studies her alien plant specimens. Except she finds him amusing.

Lance frowns at her.

She turns to Hunk and raises her eyebrows, cocking her head at Lance a bit.

Hunk’s expression changes to one of amusement, looking to Lance, then back to Pidge with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

She shrugs and leans back, buckling herself in and signaling the end of whatever eye conversation they just had without Lance. No fair!

Shiro doesn't notice any of this. Typical. He’s always too busy with his nose in a data pad.

Just then a door opens from the back of the ship, sliding into the wall with a quiet woosh, and a Blade walks in. It's Regris, with Keith on his heels looking like someone spat in his food.

Regris takes the open seat next to Lance, stretching his long legs and reclining comfortably

Lance raises an eyebrow. So, he'd been low-key saving that seat for Keith but whatever.

Keith positively glowers, dropping into a seat across from them.

Interesting.

A couple more Blade members walk in, unmasked, and settle into the open seats next to them, whispering to each other and openly staring. The woman from earlier is among them and Lance avoids eye contact from her. It's awkwardly silent for a couple seconds while the ship starts up, but then one of the Blades, huge and tall with three sets of tusks coming out of his face, breaks the silence.

“Does that containment unit have an air filtration system?”

Lance looks around helplessly, but unfortunately, he's talking to Lance.

“Uh, you'd have to ask her,” Lance gestures to Pidge. “She designed it.”

The Blade grunts in what could be surprise. “The child Paladin?”

Lance grins at Pidge. Ha! That’s perfect revenge for the eye conversation she initiated at Lance’s expense.

She scowls.

Another Blade speaks up. “She is not a kit. She is just small like Keith.”

This is just too good! Lance widens his grin in Keith's direction, who rolls his eyes and looks away from him.

From there, the conversation flows easier. The big Blade and a couple others interrogate Pidge and Hunk about science and mechanics and other mumbo jumbo. One of them addresses Shiro as The Champion and the Paladins tense for a second, but Keith clicks his tongue, and the Blade corrects themselves after meeting Keith's gaze.

That’s cool.

Lance looks at Keith, interested and about to ask him about that noise but Keith looks away from him stubbornly.

What the heck? Is he mad? What did Lance do now?

A voice breaks him away from his thoughts. It's smooth and deep and there's a slight musical lilt that sounds like it comes from the back of his throat. “Blue Paladin. We have not been formally introduced.”

Lance smiles hesitantly and turns to face him. “It's Regris, right?”

Does Keith have beef with this guy? Is he dangerous? He must have attacked him for a reason. Lance is sitting between Regris and the baby, and Hunk is on the other side, but still. It makes him kind of nervous.

“Yes.” Regris smiles, pleased. “And you are Lance. I have heard a lot about you.”

“Oh?” Lance looks towards Keith, but the bastard is still ignoring him.

Did Keith tell him about Lance?

Regris leans towards him, obscuring his view. He has a nice face, more or less round, with angled planes that cut sharp cheekbones and spikes. His coloring is more of a dusty blue than it is the signature Galra purple, and he has pupil-less eyes just like Limoncito.

He continues, “I have never seen eyes like yours.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. Is this guy… flirting with him?

“The color is beautiful.” Regris continues. “Crythyl.”

Definitely flirting.

Lance cracks a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Keith's head whip around. Oh, so now he wants to acknowledge him. Lance doesn't look, instead he turns his body more fully towards Regris.

“‘Crythyl?’ What does that mean? That they're blue?”

Regris shakes his head and makes quiet clicking noises. “Crythyl is my people's word for something rare and unseen, so much so that it becomes precious.”

Precious, huh? This guy is good. Lance almost blushes. Almost.

He's not as good as Lance, though.

Lance lets something easy and somewhat shy slide on his lips. “Then it looks like we complement each other. I haven't seen your shade of blue before either.”

He touches the back of Regris' hand, colored a light blue that’s honestly barely similar to Lance’s eyes but whatever.

Regris’ eyes widen and he inhales sharply, his tail twitching. Pidge gags somewhere to his left but he barely notices. Regris' reaction is interesting. It’s fun.

The compliment of rarity and uniqueness must mean more to him. With all the different people he must see, all the unimaginable varieties of colors and characteristics– it must definitely be high praise. But that's why Lance hardly thought Regris was being serious. Blue eyes? No way he hasn't seen that before. Blue eyes are boring. Basic.

They spend the rest of the time making small talk. Regris is nice to talk to and the conversation flows easily. He doesn't seem to mind when Lance goes on a little too long. In fact, he seems to enjoy listening to Lance speak. It’s flattering.

But after about an hour, Limoncito runs out of patience and starts wailing again.

It's not surprising, he lasted way longer than Lance expected.

The ship seems stable enough, and he has no idea how much longer they're going to be stuck in flight, so Lance fishes him out of his constraints and settles him on his lap, shushing and bouncing him.

They attract a couple of stares but Lance is pretty much used to that by now.

“You did so good, baby!” Lance kisses his fluffy ears and Limoncito takes that as permission to stand, gripping the collar of Lance's shirt to pull himself up. “Are you feeling better? ¿Ya te sientes mejor, chiquito?”

Limoncito babbles, smiling goofily. His tears are all forgotten. Lance chuckles and wipes away the tracks from his fuzzy cheeks. The baby catches Lance's necklace in his tiny fist and yanks like Lance owes him money.

Lance laughs. “Wow! You're so strong, little lemon.”

The necklace glints like pure silver and Lance lets Limoncito examine it, turning it over in his clumsy fist.

“That is a beautiful adornment.” Regris notes.

Lance beams. “Thanks! Keith made it for me.”

Regris’s yellow eyes widen and he turns to Keith, who freezes.

He'd been in peak emo mode, scowling, avoiding eye contact, and refusing all attempts at conversation. But apparently, he'd also been listening intently, because he narrows his eyes at Regris.

“Truly?” Regris's tone is unreadable to Lance, but Keith bristles.

He meets Lance's gaze for a blistering second, searching, and then it's back to Regris.

“Yeah.” Keith says gruffly. “It's none of your business.”

Wow. Was there actually bad blood between them or was Keith just being his regular antagonistic self?

Regris makes a strange clicking noise and Lance looks at Keith intently, determined to understand. The clicks mean something. Is it a Blade thing?

But Keith rolls his eyes and… blushes?

What the hell?

The blush looks so pretty on his pale skin.

Why is Regris making him blush like that? Has Lance severely misunderstood their relationship? But earlier… Keith wouldn't attack someone he had a crush on, right? No, that totally sounds like something Keith would do.

Regris slithers over to Keith and puts an arm on the wall over Keith's head.

Instead of leaning away or at the very least looking away, like Keith has so often done when Lance invades his personal space, Keith bares his teeth and never once looks away from Regris.

That expression…

A twinge of something vicious snaps in Lance’s chest.

Jealousy.

He can’t deny it now. He’s jealous.

Why doesn't Keith ever look at him like that?

The unwavering eye contact, the fearlessness, the brashness. Like he wants to rip his throat out.

Images of the other night make Lance lower his eyes suddenly. Keith might not have ever looked at Lance like that, but there’s something else. A blue night.

Blankets and pillows that smell of Keith. Keith’s soft breath against his face. Beautiful, dark eyes gazing into his soul. Lance's secret, freely given, and Keith sharing the weight of it with him.

The rest of the flight goes much the same, with Limoncito babbling and grabbing anything he can get his little hands on, and Lance thinking things he shouldn't.

It's a comfort.

Chapter Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ᯓ★

Planet VBP isn't a planet at all.

It looks more like an asteroid, pitted and scarred with canyons and craters. There is no visible vegetation anywhere, and the bodies of water are all artificial.

If not for the barely discernible structures littering the surface, it would look like any other lifeless rock. It's surrounded by hundreds of other identical asteroids. VBP seems to blink in and out of existence as if avoiding focus. It's the perfect camouflage, one that doesn't require traceable technology.

They hit their first batch of turbulence as soon as the asteroid cloud becomes visible, and the tiny pebbles hitting the ship at incalculable speeds soon turn into chunks of minerals the size of boulders.

Lance scrambles to stuff Limoncito back in the baby pod, who surprisingly doesn’t put up a fight. He just buries his face in his blanket and shrieks.

Regris buckles Lance's seat belt while Lance buckles Limoncito's and smiles at him, speaking loudly to be heard over the sirens. “Do not worry, Lance. The ship is built to withstand.”

Lance nods, gripping his seat belt despite himself. He should definitely be used to a little rough flying by now, and he is, but he's never experienced it with Limoncito before and it's a thousand times more terrifying.

“This happens every time?” He asks just to make sure.

“Yes. It is the asteroids. Not all are avoidable.”

“Right.”

They manage to make an okay landing, the last bump feeling like someone stopped a roller-coaster too early. Limoncito babbles nervously and shrieks as his pod strains against the seat belt.

A few of the Blades crack a smile.

Lance musters up a smile too when Limoncito looks at him like it’s his fault.

Limoncito is the cutest baby in the universe.

Afterwards, when they take their first steps on the dusty ground and breathe in the artificial atmosphere, things are harder. The Blades scatter, taking most of Voltron with them with explanations and instructions that Lance blatantly ignores. Apparently, they’re going to help set up some kind of defense training center or something like that. Keith stands next to Lance, taking the diaper bag and the baby pod from him wordlessly. Limoncito settles quietly against Lance's chest, swiveling his head around like an owl.

There are carts in front of them that the remaining Blades use to transport the supplies. There’s more in there than just Limoncito’s things; there’s canned food, medical supplies, technology, and other basic stuff they typically donate to stations and camps like this one.

Regris is there too. He swishes his tail and smiles when he catches Lance looking. He’s lifting a particularly heavy crate of formula like it’s nothing. Lance smiles back.

Keith pushes forward and clips Lance’s shoulder.

Lance stumbles. Jerk. He totally did that on purpose.

He follows after Keith, miffed. “What the fuck crawled up your asshole?”

Okay, so he’s a little angrier than ‘miffed.’ He should know better than to do that when Lance is holding Limoncito. It’s dangerous.

Some of the Blades turn to look at him with confusion. He doesn’t want to know how the translator fudged that one and he doesn’t care. This is a private conversation happening very loudly in a public place, thank you very much.

More importantly, he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve Keith’s attitude this time. Nothing!

The cursed pin draws Keith’s hair away from his temple, exposing the end of his angry eyebrow. He shed his red jacket at one point just to torture Lance, that undershirt really is unfairly tight, and Lance watches the muscles in his arms flex as he works.

Keith’s mouth twists, avoiding eye contact while he unloads the Blade ship. “What were you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Keith slams something down harder than he needs to. “You were flirting with him.”

Is that what this is about? Lance stops glaring and frowns to himself. He reaches up to take some of the med kits one-armed and starts stacking them on the same cart Keith is loading up, mostly just to have something to do while he thinks. Is Keith mad at him for flirting with Regris? Why?

“So?”

Keith glares and says nothing.

Lance resists the urge to huff a laugh. What the–? He’s being kind of pouty. Keith is mad, Lance is mad, why does Lance want to laugh and tease him? More importantly, why does Lance find this cute? He needs to focus on being angry, damn it.

He turns back to the conversation. “That’s not new. What’s your problem?”

Keith slams a box down harder than he has to. He looks around furtively, probably looking around for Regris, but he’s gone. He took one of the loaded carts to wherever it is they’re taking them.

“You said you didn’t like aliens.” Keith mutters without looking at him.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t like aliens!” Keith snaps.

People turn to look and Lance blushes a bit. Dammit, Keith. Way to put Lance’s shit out there. “When did I say that?”

“You did.”

“I’ve always flirted with pretty aliens! You remember Nyma.”

Not his best moment.

Keith stops. “But you said– never mind.”

No way. He is not getting out of this conversation. “Come on, when did I say that?”

“Never mind! Go away!”

When did he–? Oh. Right. Lance groans. “Keeeeeeeith. You’re talking about that dumb shit I said when we were in the bath. You can’t hold that against me, okay? I was… I was talking out of my ass because you were making fun of me. Not. Not that it’s your fault I said those things.”

Lance comes closer while he talks in an effort to keep their words between them. He cringes, thinking back on how he’d basically called Keith a freak.

There are some things you just can’t take back.

“I was trying to make fun of you like I always do, but yeah, I was also being defensive because I was embarrassed, okay? I didn’t want you to think…” Lance bites his lip and deliberates. “I didn’t want you to think, you know, that I’m a loser or something.”

Keith stares and says nothing.

Lance squirms. Fuck Keith Kogane. He should have been a detective. Lance can see him now across an interrogation table, a bare bulb casting eerie shadows over his face, his scar in stark contrast. He’d shackle Lance to a chair and circle him threateningly, a shark with a sleek tie against a tight, white button-down. He wouldn’t even have to say anything. He’d just glare and slam his hands against the table to make sure Lance is good and scared and Lance would spill.

No. Law enforcement isn’t right. Maybe a man of the cloth. Yes. He’d look good in black robes with that white clergy collar nestled against the hollow of his pale throat. He should have been a priest because Lance’s confessions are just tumbling out of him, no wooden lattice work needed.

Lance’s face heats in anticipation of his next words.

“I lied, okay? What you think of me… is important. To me. So I’m sorry. Are we good now?”

If he’d just been upset that Lance lied to him then they should be good now. Lance waits hopefully for some clue in Keith’s pretty face, but his expression just darkens.

“Regris? That’s what you like?” Keith says, accusingly.

Motherfucker. Lance just totally embarrassed himself and stripped his heart bare, but Regris is all Keith cares about?

Lance is so fucking lost. What now? If it isn’t the lying, (which isn’t even Keith’s business in the first place, seriously, what does he care if Lance is into scales and tentacles or not?) then what can he possibly be upset about? Why the hell does he care if Lance flirts with Regris?

A thought nags at him and he tilts his head, thinking.

No way. Maybe his earlier hunch is right. Is Keith actually crushing on this Regris character? Is that why he’s upset?

Fury bursts inside of him. Does Keith see Lance as some sort of competition? That’s gross. That’s so gross. That’s worse than him thinking of Lance as some kind of brother figure.

“Relax.” Lance spits. “He’s all yours.”

He tears away and barely manages to take a step, when Keth grabs his arm and spins him around to face him.

Lance slaps his hand. Hard.

“Don’t fucking do that when I’m holding the baby!”

A look of surprise parts Keith’s lips and hurt, hurt, shines clearly across his dark eyes before Lance storms away.

Joder.

Fuck.

Lance is never going to forget that look. Already, his stomach is twisting.

Limoncito howls angrily and kicks, throwing his head back. Lance has to scramble to rebalance him. He jostled him pretty roughly when he smacked Keith.

“You’re not helping.” He hisses. “Calm down.”

Of course, that does absolutely nothing to calm him.

Lance crouches against a random boulder and he thinks about just setting Limoncito on the ground and taking a few breaths for himself, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s sensing that his baby wants some sort of comfort right now, even though it seems like he’s doing his best to fly out of Lance’s arms.

He needs to calm down.

They both do, but the baby needs to calm down first.

A few minutes go by of Lance just uselessly staring at Limoncito while his poor baby gets more and more upset. Then he hears quiet footsteps behind him and whips around.

It’s Regris.

Great. The second to last person he wants to see right now.

The alien seems aware of Lance’s mood, but he doesn’t try to address the source of it, instead, he inclines his head in Limoncito’s direction. “May I?”

Regris wants to hold him? While he’s throwing a tantrum?

Lance snorts and holds him out. “Be my guest.”

Slowly, almost as if to not startle Lance, Regris brings his tail forward and wraps it around Limoncito’s middle and lifts him out of Lance’s hands. He holds him in the air for a second and Limoncito stops crying out of sheer surprise. He coos at Lance, demanding an explanation, then shrieks in outrage when Lance makes no move to retrieve him.

Lance’s lips twitch.

Then Regris flips him upside down like a tortilla and Limoncito gasps and giggles. Regris takes a seat next to Lance, keeping Cito entertained without even breaking a sweat. Lance eyes him for a second before dropping his head against the boulder with a groan.

His day started out so nicely too. It’s only going to get worse from here.

Lance clears his throat, unwilling to think too deeply about what they’re here for. “So, I bet everyone heard that back there, huh? Super Galra hearing and all that?”

Regris makes a quiet clicking noise and Lance cracks an eye, contemplating if he should tell him he doesn’t know what that means. “Not all of us are blessed with that ability. I for one, do not possess these big, fanned ears designed to catch sound.”

He flicks Limoncito’s ears with the tip of his tail.

That’s true.

There are two bony ridges on either side of his head, but now that Lance looks closer, neither seem to function as ears. Where are his ears then?

Regris swallows and leans away from him. “... but yes, everyone heard that back there.”

Lance chuckles.

“Do not worry,” Regris continues. “We Blades are very discreet, and we are very accustomed to you humans and your loud emotions. When Keith was angered, as he is now, he would flood the entire ship with his angry scent. Just like a kit.”

Wow. Lance grins. “The entire ship?”

“Oh yes. Several of us would try to reprimand him for doing so, but that would only make the scent worse. We realized he did not do it intentionally.”

Like a kit? That’s pretty cute.

Lance rests his head on his palm and eyes Regris. He gets the feeling Regris thinks it’s pretty cute too.

Lance sighs. “I shouldn’t have hit him. I totally lost my cool. I’ve never smacked someone like that, you know, in anger, least of all my friends.”

Regris makes an amused sound. “Somehow, I do not think Keith will resent… how did he put it? The rough handling. We do not go a single day without ‘smacking’ each other, as you say. If he is anything like us, and he was, then perhaps he even revels in it.”

Lance frowns. No way.

Regris sees his face and snorts. “Truly. Perhaps it is the fact that you trust him enough to touch him casually. That you know him enough to know to do so. He seems to struggle with verbal communication, perhaps he would prefer a more physical kind.”

“Hmph. You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Keith.”

“Yes. He is interesting. As are you.”

Interesting. Right.

“So you two fighting back at the Castle, that was some of your special, physical communication?” Lance asks a tad sarcastically.

Regris laughs. It’s a noise somewhere between a chirping and a trilling noise. “No, that was simply confirmation.”

“Confirmation of what?”

“Do not concern yourself.”

That’s the polite way to tell Lance it isn’t his business. That’s okay. He’ll let Regris keep his Keith-related secrets, for now. He’s done a lot to settle Lance’s mood, and Limoncito is happy now too. He tries not to think about in what context Keith would have taught Regris the phrase, ‘rough handling.’

“Lance. I know you do not wish to speak about it, but I feel it would bring you comfort to know that the family you will meet today is a good one. Their children are safe and happy and the couple is a loving one.”

“...thanks.” Lance says dryly.

As much as he's tried to put it out of his mind, it's impossible now. Lance's heart squeezes like it's been frozen and vacuum sealed, made ready for consumption.

This is it. This is where Limoncito is going to live.

But maybe not?

Lance kicks at the ground.

This place is too… dead.

The sky is transparent, a clear window to the millions of stars above them. The horizon is peppered with one geometric concrete structure after another. The ground crumbles at the slightest touch, like parched Earth, but finer. No plant could take root here.

Regris returns his happy baby to him and Lance kisses Limoncito's forehead absently, lost in thought. There's no grass. How can a kid grow up without grass beneath their feet? Without trees to climb? Without an ocean to play in? Lance can't leave him here.

But the little bit of hope he allows himself to cultivate feels shameful. Especially when they meet the family.

Keith is back at Lance’s side, avoiding eye contact and betraying nothing.

He looks like a Blade.

The couple is undeniably Galra. The smaller one is a purple so dark it looks midnight black, and her smooth skin reflects the light from the two moons. She must be the mom. Her partner is much taller and hairier, and a light shade of purple that almost matches Limoncito's powdery lavender. By their feet is a small Galra child that looks very much like their own, and her yellow eyes are narrowed and suspicious whereas her parents’ expressions are carefully blank. She looks like she can't be older than 10, and she's holding a teenager's hand that is the spitting image of his mother.

They're a cute family.

Lance holds Limoncito tighter.

The smaller adult speaks to them, but her eyes never leave the baby in Lance's arms. “Welcome. My name is Oltha. This is Derek. Our youngest is Listha, and this is our son, Lithia.”

Lance gets momentarily distracted by the name Derek. It's kind of funny. But when he tries to speak, he finds that he can't. It’s for the best. He was probably going to say something stupid.

Keith glances over at him. His eyes feel like spotlights and Lance flushes. Why the fuck does Keith always have to be present for his weak moments? The universe has it out for him.

Keith turns to the family. “We're Voltron. This is Limoncito.”

That's Keith, succinct and to the point.

The smaller Galra, Oltha, raises her hands. “May we smell him?”

Not this again. Lance sighs and finds his voice, not surprised when it comes out quiet and weak. “His scent is obscured. You can hold him.”

He repositions his hold on Limoncito and pries him off. The baby complains and grips the collar of Lance's shirt, his other hand scratching the nape of Lance's neck.

“Ya, ya. Estás bien. Cálmate.” Lance whispers, kissing the wispy hair between his ears.

Enough. Enough. You're okay, calm down.

Oltha takes him, already sporting a frown between her brows. Lance feels an uncharacteristic spark of anger looking at her and her expression, so he takes a deep breath and focuses on analyzing her. It's important he learns everything about them.

She's bald, which is good because Limoncito won't have anything to pull. He's taken to yanking on any long hair, even Keith's shorter locks have become victims. Lance wishes he could say she at least has gentle eyes, but her look is severe.

She smells him and wrinkles her nose. The rest of her family comes close and takes several sniffs as well.

Lance wants to be angry. He wants to be defensive and judgmental. But despite himself, Lance smiles. They're like a family of cats.

The kids smell the baby too. They copy their mother’s expression, backing away, before coming close again to take another sniff. Oltha holds him away from her body, her hands wrapped around his rib cage. Limoncito curls his legs close to his body, studying the new person holding him for a second, before twisting his head to look back at Lance. Then he starts kicking and swinging his arms, upset. He doesn’t like the hold.

“Is he ill?”

Lance's smile drops fast. “What? No. Why do you say that? Do you smell something?”

Anxiety resurfaces quick enough to make his head spin. The scans showed there was nothing wrong with him! Coran said he was fine!

Oltha studies him, unfazed. “No. It is like you said. His scent is obscured, probably by similar products to the ones that linger on your body.”

“Then why–?”

“Because of the way you were holding him.”

She repositions Limoncito, and before Lance can even start to figure out what she's talking about, she drops him.

Just drops him.

Lance chokes on an inhale and rushes forward, arms outstretched.

Keith flinches violently with a small noise and takes a step.

But Limoncito doesn't fall.

He shrieks and clings to her torso, climbing up rapidly until he's at his favorite spot, fisting the neck of her shirt.

Lance stares up at them, his knees throbbing from falling on them so hard.

A beat passes. Then,

“What the fuck?!”

Oh, that yelling is coming from him.

“Fuck! Why would you do that!” He jumps to his feet, gesturing wildly. The children scatter behind their parents and the family takes several steps back. “You could have hurt him! Are you crazy? Give him to me!”

“You–” She tries to speak.

“Give him to me!” Lance yells again.

Limoncito starts crying. Oltha snarls and steps forward to meet Lance. She's several inches taller and glares down at him.

“You are weak. So is he.”

“Huh?” The blood is still rushing in his ears. His heart is pounding so hard he feels it like punches to the chest. Nothing makes sense. What is she saying? Limoncito is weak?

“He has not nursed sufficiently.” She spits. “Now he is underdeveloped and will always be. He will always be small and weak, like this half-breed.”

She throws her arm at Keith who bristles and warns, “You don't know what you're talking about.”

She turns to Keith, pushing Lance aside roughly. “It is obvious. You half-breeds are never nursed sufficiently.” The hairier Galra tries to intervene, but she brushes him off and continues, yellow hate burning in her eyes. “Look at you. My youngest is almost your size. And all because your whore of a mother left and–”

Lance swings.

Now, Lance has never hit a woman. Unless she's heavily armed and attacking first, of course. You can't discriminate in a space war. His reservations fell away pretty quickly the first time Allura slammed him into the floor and chewed him out for hesitating when she could have killed him twice over. But Oltha is holding his baby.

And even now, with his body acting faster than his mind, he aims his punch at the father.

Derek stumbles back, holding his jaw in shock. The smallest child screams and the teenager snatches her up and takes off running.

Lance has approximately two seconds to feel bad, before Oltha snatches Limoncito, ripping him violently from her chest and dropping him over her shoulder.

Limoncito screams.

It's as if Lance's organs were also violently ripped out. His knees turn to jelly in the worst way.

Thankfully, Limoncito clings to the back of her clothes like a purple burr, and Lance falls to the ground, his head bouncing off the floor from the force of the blow he didn't even see. Keith jumps forward and catches the next hit before it lands, twisting her arm. She swings her body, aiming for a kick, but Lance scrambles to his feet and throws himself at Keith.

He catches him around the middle, ramming his injured nose into Keith’s abs.

“No! The baby!” Lance’s voice is raw. Terrified. “Déjala!”

Leave her!

Keith stops.

She stops too. Her fist drips with Lance’s blood. Her partner is gone, running after the children.

Limoncito’s cries stab into Lance’s heart. He howls and scratches at Oltha’s face, but she doesn’t flinch. She’s snarling at Keith like she wants to kill him.

Lance wipes the blood from his mouth and staggers to his feet. There are people shouting and heading towards them. Keith turns to meet them, pressing his back against Lance’s, trusting him to protect them against Oltha, but Lance is too busy pleading with Oltha.

He has enough time to say, “Just hold him! Please! He's going to fall!!”

Before it’s over.

Chapter Text

ˋ°•*⁀➷

He's numb as clawed hands grab him and pull him along.

The pain in his nose is the only thing keeping him from going fully catatonic. It feels like half his face is caved in, and all he can taste and smell is thick, disgusting copper.

He might be walking calmly, but Keith fights like a wildcat.

It takes four full-sized Galra to hold him, one on each limb. And even then, they struggle and drop him, cursing as they get a knee or an elbow to the face.

They're led underground into a room Lance has seen enough times to recognize as a prison. The walls and floor are unsmoothed stone, with piles of silt collected in the corners. There are strips of light on the ceiling flickering with neglect. The air is dry and still, and the metal bars of low cages don't help to make the place look any more alive. It's cold.

The door shuts behind them and Keith shouts and fights harder. It's the only exit. The two Galra holding Lance up between them like a ragdoll drop him and run to help the others.

Lance watches blankly, not registering anything until he catches sight of what Keith is freaking out about, and then his mind kicks into gear.

They're pushing a collar around Keith's neck.

“Hey…” Lance whispers, hoarse, then tries again. “Hey. Hey! Stop! What are you doing? He didn't do anything! Leave him alone!”

He jumps on one Galra and gets thrown into a wall.

Keith fights like a man possessed. He bites into a purple finger that gets too close to his face until a crack sounds in the air and the Galra hollers. They smack his head into the ground to get him to release, and then the almost fingerless Galra slaps him hard enough to send the sound ricocheting off the stone walls. Keith doesn't even blink, throwing an elbow into someone's face. Someone thinks to cover his mouth while three others pin his body down. A fifth Galra takes the collar, an ugly metal thing with blue lights, and fits it around his neck. Keith reaches up blindly, but he doesn’t try for the collar like they expect, instead he follows the arms up and just about scratches that Galra's eyes out.

That Galra stumbles back and Lance kicks off of him, jumping on another one and putting him in a headlock. He jerks back from Keith, which is the goal, but he ends up slamming him against the wall.

Lance groans and tightens his grip. Everything in him is telling him not to fight, to calm down, to strategize and talk his way out of this, but the collar scares him. And if Keith is fighting, he's going to fight too.

“Press the button! Press it!” One of the Galra screams. “Press–” His voice dies out with an ugly sound after Keith kicks him in the windpipe.

A button? What button?

With the blinded Galra incapacitated, Lance turns to see another Galra dive towards a device laying on the floor. He presses it and Keith seizes, the men on top of him jumping back as if burned.

Horror clogs his throat.

Lance runs toward the Galra holding the device, but he kicks him in the gut, sending Lance flying across the room and into metal bars, gasping for air. Another man grabs him and throws him inside the cage like a garbage bag. He rights himself, spitting bile. They throw Keith in with him and Lance manages to catch him against his own body.

Keith has stopped seizing but he's groaning, his eyes shut tight.

The Galras shut the cage door behind them with a heavy clang and lock it.

“Fucking Zarkon,” One of them curses, cradling an arm to his chest. “That one is feral. How much did you zap him with?”

Another Galra mutters a quantity and Lance shakes, moving Keith's hair away from his face. He's still rigid and immobile.

The five Galra stare at them, breathing hard. The sixth one is still on the ground where Keith left him, a hand over his face and moaning about his eyes. The Galra with the broken wrist limps over to attend to him. One of the other ones has a dagger sticking out of his thigh and a swollen eye. The other one has vicious scratches and is missing part of an ear. The other two are less hurt but still stand back warily.

“We have to disarm him,” Says the stabbed one. “He has weapons under his clothes. Sneaky vlek.”

Lance's stomach sinks.

“Do it now while he is still under the effects.”

“You do it.”

“No. It is your turn, Zityer.”

“I'll do it. I'll disarm him.” Lance asserts. His voice is strong, for once.

The Galras look at each other doubtfully. They don’t trust him, obviously, but none of them are willing to enter the cage to try to retrieve him. They’re unarmed and weren’t expecting a fight. But they’re definitely former soldiers.

One of them points at Lance. “Do it. Remove his clothing and yours.”

“Dorok do not be foolish, you cannot trust him to do it. If Kendra hears about this–”

“Then you do it.” Dorok growls.

But Lance is already taking off Keith's jacket with trembling fingers.

They shocked him. Was it like being tased? No. This had to be stronger. Keith's eyes are still shut, his eyelids fluttering restlessly. He’s whimpering, a soft noise audible only to Lance. They electrocuted him.

Fear rolls across Lance's body like a fast-acting poison. Why isn’t he responding? The collar is really close to his head. Is he brain damaged?

He pulls his red jacket off carefully. His arms are red and scratched and there's a purple flush on his chest spreading to his neck. It doesn’t look like a bruise. Lance folds the jacket and pushes it through the bars, aware of the guards staring. Keith loves that jacket.

Lance forces himself to speak through the ball of fear in his throat. Keith has to be okay. He has to.

“This is all a big misunderstanding.” Lance meets their eyes. “I'm the one who hit that guy, okay? I get it, that was my fault. But Keith didn't hurt anyone, he–”

Dorok, the one that appears to be the leader, kicks the bars. “‘Did not hurt anyone?’ That feral vlek–” he spits, literally spits the word into a wet glob on the ground, “--maimed me and my officers!”

He thrusts his hand in Lance's face and… yeah. Geez. Lance has only seen that kind of injury in degloving accidents. He makes a mental note to steer clear of Keith's teeth.

Lance backs away. “That's because you put that collar on him!”

Dorok sneers. “That is the procedure for all the untamed!”

The what?

“He is stalling.” Another one growls. “Disarm him!”

Lance swallows hard. Where the fuck is everyone? Shiro, surely Hunk at least has noticed they're gone?

“Do it,” the stabbed one says. “Or I will press the button.”

No! Lance can't let that happen again.

He unbuckles Keith's belt and gently pulls it through, hesitating when Keith groans at the movement. Is he coming to?

“Keith?” He whispers. He tries undoing the button on his pants for the third time, his fingers shaking too much to coordinate. “Keith, buddy, you with me? You okay?”

Keith doesn't respond. He moves his legs sluggishly, one of his hands falls on Lance’s wrist, pushing at it weakly. He knows he’s being undressed. He’s trying to stop it.

Bile rises to the back of Lance's throat.

Fuck. This is so fucked up.

Lance still has his gun. Designed by Keith, made by his friends, it's still tucked in his sleeve. But could he assemble it fast enough? He has his back turned; he probably could. Could he shoot the Galra holding the device before he presses the button? Yes. But it could go off when it drops, or malfunction and go off, frying Keith's brains until they drip out of his ears. He can't risk it.

And still, in the back of his head, the thought doesn't leave that these men are innocent. They are refugees from the war, fathers, maybe. They're just doing their job. Lance assaulted one of their people and now he's been detained. And Keith… apparently what they did to him is just procedure.

But they hurt him.

This is all Lance’s fault. He put all of them in this situation.

“Keith, cariño, it's me. It's Lance. Can you hear me?”

Keith doesn't respond. His hands are still pushing at Lance's. Lance lets go of him. He pretends to still be fiddling with Keith's button, but instead he slips the folded gun from his arm and tucks it into his waistband. He won’t shoot them now, but he might need it later. He strips off his own clothes next, leaving his underwear on because if these aliens try to make them take those off, then he really is going to shoot them.

He turns back to Keith’s pants.

The button comes loose, and Lance pulls the zipper down. He tugs Keith's pants down as gently as he can, sliding them down his thighs.

One of the Galra makes a noise that almost sounds like a whistle.

He doesn't know what that means.

He strips Keith down to his underwear, murmuring to him all the while and trying to comfort him, ignoring the awful feelings in the pit of his stomach. It feels like he's doing something terrible to his friend, undressing him while he's incapacitated and doing his best to fight Lance off in his confusion.

“It's just me, it's Lance.” He tries again.

He settles Keith's head into his lap, stroking his hair. The Galra are talking again, and Lance does his best to pretend he isn't listening.

“There are more weapons here than I have seen even a Blade carry.”

“Take them away. Put them in the armory.”

“I need to go to the hospital.”

“Slevok you overgrown trexiel, it is just a flesh wound.”

“When does the fighting start? I am going to bet 500 GAC on the little one.”

“I will jump into the pit myself and beat him to a pulp for what he has done! I can hardly see out of this eye.”

“I really need to go to the hospital. Please.”

“Shut up.”

“Once he has lost, perhaps I will pay him a visit. A vlek like that needs a good fucking.”

Lance startles. What?

He tears his eyes away from Keith. One of the men is collecting their weapons and putting them into a bin. The rest of them peer through the bars to look at them, a strange look in their eyes and a nasty sneer on their faces.

“Yes. He is beautiful, despite his size. One hour with me and I would have him tamed, kneeling for cock.”

“The other one would not be a bad prize either–

“Enough!” Lance interrupts, glaring furiously. What the fuck are these bastards talking about? “Have some respect. We're Voltron, we're here to help you people. Is this how you fucking repay us?”

Dorok sneers. “Respect? We owe you nothing.”

“Have you not heard of Voltron? Big robot, defenders of the universe?”

“We know who you are.” Dorok puffs out his chest and stands over Lance. “You're a couple of foreigners meddling in things that do not concern you.”

“Are you serious?”

“We heard your planet is not even under Zarkon's control.”

“So what?”

Lance can't believe what he's hearing. In all his travels, from all the people he'd met, he'd never heard an argument like this. They don't want Voltron's help?

“This is a Galra matter.” Dorok narrows his eyes, black with pinpricks of yellow. They're full of hate. “You are not welcome here.”

Another Galra grunts his agreement. “Bunch of useless kits, barely weaned. Hiding behind your big robots and your magic Alteans. The real war is fought here, on the ground.”

“You're hiding on an asteroid.” Lance can't help but say.

He earns a kick through the cage.

“We'll be rid of you soon enough.” Dorok growls. “You won't survive the pit.”

The pit. Lovely name. Spells out good things.

The Galra leave, taking their weapons and clothes and waving the remote connected to Keith's collar threateningly. Lance holds his breath for a few seconds, but they don't come back.

The fluorescent lights flicker.

Lance leans back against the stone wall. He runs his fingers through Keith's hair, shushing him. His skin is cold to the touch. The hair on his arms is standing on end. Lance strokes over his arms uselessly, before pulling him more fully over Lance’s body. Now he's leaning against Lance’s chest, his head tucked into his neck, just where Limoncito likes to tuck his head.

A lump forms in his throat.

His baby. He lost him again.

Was that woman taking care of him?

She said Limoncito is weak, but surely she wouldn't hurt him? Regris said they were good people.

Keith stirs and Lance quickly looks down at him. The purple has almost completely covered his body now. They definitely did something more than just shock him. He'd thought that the strange bruising could be caused by an electric burn, but it's definitely not that. Could it be poison? There is bruising around his neck though, and when he shifts, Lance can see tiny, evenly spaced dots. Is that where the electricity had touched him directly? But Lance can’t see any prongs on the collar.

“Lan…?” Keith’s voice is painfully quiet.

Lance’s heart jumps. He’s speaking. He’s awake. He said Lance’s name. He’s okay.

“Yes! Yes, it's me. Keith, are you okay?”

“Wha….aa?”

He makes a move to sit up, but Lance holds him down gently. “Hey, calm down. You’re safe. Wait a little before you get up.”

Keith miraculously obeys. He blinks sluggishly and frowns down at himself. After a beat, he looks at Lance's naked body and his eyes widen. He sits up and scoots away from him.

“What the fuck?”

Valid reaction. But it's also his first coherent sentence. They can rule out brain damage. Relief trickles in slowly.

“We uh, had to undress.”

“Did you take my–”

“Yeah. I'm sorry.” Lance clears his throat nervously. Hopefully, Keith won't be mad. He had to undress him.

Keith frowns and looks at himself, then he reaches down and grabs his crotch. Lance turns his head away so fast he hears a snap. The hell? Why is he–

“Sorry,” Keith says, his voice raspy. “Thought I pissed myself.”

Oh.

Pain makes Lance’s jaw clench tight. Fuck, it must’ve hurt so bad.

Keith draws his attention again. “Did they take everything?”

“They took everything, except for…”

He glances around furtively. Is it possible they kept cameras or recording devices in here?

He gestures for Keith to come closer. Keith doesn't move. Lance rolls his eyes and scoots towards him, his hand cupped near his mouth. Keith stiffens.

“I kept the gun, and I guess they didn't notice the necklace.”

Is Lance imagining things or do Keith's ears look kind of pointed?

He backs away to take him in better.

Keith nods and gestures vaguely to his head. “And this.”

But Lance is too busy scrutinizing him because yes, Keith's ears definitely look more pointed. And purple. And his eyes have a tinge of yellow. There's blood all over his mouth that Keith tries to wipe away with his arm, scrunching his nose in disgust. His incisors look sharper. Longer.

Lance absently wipes at his own mouth, the pain in his own nose having faded to a dull throb. Is Keith… yeah. He's definitely going through some transformation.

Lance has seen hints of it, particularly during a fight. Keith's teeth would be sharper when he'd bare them in a snarl. His nails caused more damage, forming into claws, and his eyes would get that golden ring around them whenever he'd narrow them with fury. But this was different.

He's purple now.

Keith glares at him and shoves him.

Ouch. His ribs are still tender from when he'd been thrown against the bars. Lance rubs them pointedly and pouts.

“Stop staring at me.” Keith hisses, turning away from him. “It's just a thing that happens.”

“You've… turned purple before?”

Keith glares at him. “What'd I say?”

What? Oh, he wants him to look away. Geez. Lance turns his back to him, sighing dramatically. “But have you?”

“Yeah. When I was with the Blades.” Keith's words come out halted, reluctant. “I think it's a proximity thing.”

Lance leans against the stone wall. Their cage is too small to stand in, and it looks like they'd been too lazy to build all four walls. The anxiety from before is lessened to the point that he's almost relaxed now that Keith is awake. Sure, they've been taken prisoners and beaten up, and Limoncito was away from him and is probably still with that awful woman, but now that Keith is awake, talking and moving, Lance's body slowly releases all that pent up stress and fear.

Now that Keith is okay, everything else would be okay.

Because Lance isn't alone now, and whatever “pit” those guys were talking about, Keith and Lance would face it together. Their friends are here, probably already aware that they're missing and tracking them down. And Limoncito is safe enough with that family that probably knows him better than Lance does.

A twinge of sadness thrums somewhere in his chest. Lance hadn't known that Limoncito could climb like that. Maybe that's a skill he's now underdeveloped in, thanks to Lance's ignorance.

He returns to the conversation, his thoughts split in two directions. “Maybe it's an adaptability thing. Cause you definitely weren't turning purple when you were on Earth. Now that you're around more Galra, your body is trying to get you to fit in. Like camouflage.”

Keith doesn't say anything for a beat too long and Lance looks over his shoulder at him.

Whoa.

He's completely purple now.

And fuzzy.

His purple skin is similar to the soft shade of Limoncito’s, except for the dark stripes that race across his skin. They look a bit like tiger stripes, but they're softer and curl around the planes of his body in pretty waves. Thick lines on his legs curl towards his inner thighs and fade to lighter fur, and thin stripes bend around his neck and drape over his collarbones.

Lance's heart beats fast while he looks at him. Keith’s eyes are a golden yellow now, and there's soft fur on his face, almost imperceptible. His features are slightly more cat-like. The stripes start from behind his face and curl softly around his cheekbones.

He's still undeniably Keith.

His strong angry eyebrows are still there. The delicate curves of the epicanthal folds over his eyes are still there, and his eyelashes are just as long and dark.

Keith glares at him. “I told you not to look.”

“You look cool, though.”

It’s the understatement of the century. So much so it feels like a lie.

Keith looks breathtaking.

“Turn around.” Keith snaps.

Lance chews on his lip. He doesn't want to. Keith is going to fall silent, and Lance is probably going to go insane sitting in silence and staring at the wall. He tries for a distraction. Bizarrely, he doesn’t want to be alone right now. Aaaand maybe he wants to look a bit longer. Shoot him. “Wait. Is my nose broken?”

It works.

Keith's glare diminishes, and he schools his features into careful blankness.

That's all the answer Lance needs.

“No.”

Lance snickers. “You are such a bad liar.”

Lance scoots closer until their shoulders are touching. His body needs to make sure Keith is okay, but Keith stiffens like Lance has contagious flesh-eating bacteria. Lance sighs.

Keith allows the contact for maybe five seconds before he pulls away, swinging onto his knees with a fluid movement and taking hold of the bars. “Did you already try breaking out of here?”

“No.”

“What were you doing the whole time, then?” Keith asks, irritation creeping into his voice. He shakes the bars. They don't budge.

Lance tracks the way the stripes ripple over his back muscles.

Is that a… yeah. Keith has a tail. Cool. Cool. Yep. Holy shit. Lance can be normal about this. Totally.

“Um. Taking care of you.” Lance tears his eyes away from Keith’s lower back. Why does it feel like he shouldn’t be looking? “You were cold. And I thought you were brain damaged.”

“Whatever.”

“And they’ve only been gone for, like, ten minutes before you woke up.”

“It should've been the first thing you did.”

Lance scowls. Why is Keith picking a fight right now?

“I doubt they would have put us in here if it was easy to break out.” He argues.

Keith takes the pin out of his hair and inserts it into the lock. “So you didn't even try?”

“I was busy!”

“Prioritize.” Keith snaps.

Heat climbs up his neck. What an asshole.

“I did!” He shouts. Obviously, making sure Keith was alive and well took priority over everything else. Now he’s starting to doubt that conviction. Jerkwad.

Keith doesn't even turn to look at him. “Getting us out of here should've been your first priority.”

“And then what? Why would I drag a vegetable around?” Lance bites his tongue. Oops. That was a little meaner than he intended.

Keith turns to look at him, angry. He throws the pin to the other side of the cage. “So what's your plan? Sit here and wait for someone to rescue us?”

Uh. Yeah. Their friends are here. But Lance can’t say that. Keith would just ridicule him and call him stupid. Or weak.

Lance hugs his knees and drops his face.

Keith tries kicking the bars. Shaking them. Tries picking the lock again. He looks for weak spots. Examines the wall behind them. And then finally sits down next to him, breathing heavily.

Lance doesn't look up, but he can't help but say, “Now what? You're going to sit here and wait for someone to rescue us?”

Petty, yeah.

“Shut up.” Keith grunts.

Okay.

A few seconds go by, and Lance hears movement again. He takes a peek.

He sees Keith’s feet first. They still look the same, small and pretty, but purple now. Then his legs, striped like a tabby. Lance rushes his gaze upwards and freezes.

Keith is fiddling with the collar.

Fear shoots down to the base of his spine and he sits up. “Keith, stop.”

Keith ignores him.

“Don't mess with that!” Lance pleads.

Nothing.

Lance grabs his wrists. “I'm serious! What if it goes off again?”

Keith yanks his arms away, glaring. “Leave me alone.”

He looks pathetic. His fluffy ears press down against his hair. Anger bursts behind Lance’s eyelids.

“You’re not a fucking kid!” He explodes. “Control yourself!”

Does he not realize how dangerous that is? They have no idea how that technology works; anything could set it off.

Keith shoves him and Lance falls back on his ass. Keith jabs a finger into his chest. “You're one to talk about control. You got us into this shit, punching that guy for no fucking reason.”

Lance slaps Keith’s hand away, and Keith's face contorts in anger. If Lance was wearing a shirt, Keith would be gripping the collar of it. It's one of his favorite moves.

Lance breathes out slowly. Keith has a right to be mad. This is all Lance's fault. It always is. It's his fault Keith is hurt. Even if Lance can't see most of the bruises and scratches anymore due to the fur on his body, he can tell he’s still in pain. He’s breathing harder than normal, and there’s a slight tremble to his movements. They have no idea what kind of damage that electrical shock did to his body. So yeah, he has a right to be mad. If he wants to push Lance around, so be it. Lance wants to argue more, tell him that he shouldn't have fought those guards so hard, that they could have worked this out peacefully, but the guilt crawls into his throat and chokes him.

It's his fault.

It is.

He sits back against the wall quietly and works on his breathing through the guilt.

He can't stop thinking about the night before. Falling asleep listening to Keith breathe, feeling safe and not so crushingly lonely for the first time since they went into space. The morning after, soft lips on his back, warm limbs on his body, the sheets tangled around them, and Keith, his voice low with that sleepy rasp, nuzzling Limoncito and sending Lance a sweet smile that, half-asleep, he almost thought…

Lance covers his eyes.

Not good.

He can't be thinking like that.

How did things get so bad? Everything fell apart.

Keith seems to take Lance’s movement as a sign of weakness or something, because he comes closer tentatively.

“It's fine.” His voice is soft. Too soft. Keith clears his throat and tries again. “It's fine. It’s not your fault. We'll get out of here.”

Is he trying to comfort him? He sucks at it. His tone is completely flat and rushed. He doesn’t sound like he believes his own words. Keith lets the silence hang between them for a minute before he breaks it again, all softness gone from his voice.

“You could shoot the lock.”

Was that it? Well. At least he tried to comfort Lance.

Lance shakes his head. “The bullet would ricochet.”

The space is too small. They’d kill themselves. From the sound of Keith's stubborn silence, he probably would've risked it if he was alone. Reckless idiot. The universe should be grateful Keith Kogane chose blades over guns.

“They'll come find us.” Lance assures.

But he’s wrong.

Two hours pass with no sign of their friends.

Another light goes out.

The temperature drops quickly.

Lance starts shaking so hard it feels like his teeth are going to shatter and fall out of his mouth. Why the fuck is it so cold? This chunk of lifeless rock is probably too small to generate its own heat. Or maybe it’s intentional. Maybe they mean to freeze them to death.

“Stop shaking.” Keith snaps.

Idiot.

“T-T-Thanks-sss-s, I h-hadn’t t-thought-t of-tha-t.”

Keith sighs. Then, after an agonizing second, he grabs Lance’s arm and starts manhandling him. No way he’s actually going to– he does. He pulls Lance into his lap. No fucking way. Lance laughs at the absurdity of it and almost bites his own tongue off. Instant karma. Keith pulls him like a mannequin until he’s settled against his chest, struggling with Lance’s stiff limbs.

He grunts in frustration. “Will you just–?”

Lance keeps giggling. This is ridiculous. But he can’t deny the instant relief he feels. Keith is so warm. Lance turns to the side so that more of his body is against Keith’s front, folding his knees against his chest and tucking his toes under Keith’s thigh. Then he grabs Keith’s arms, because he knows Keith isn’t about to do it of his own volition and puts them around himself.

Keith tenses, breathing fast.

It takes a couple minutes for Lance to stop shaking, and he breathes a sigh of relief when it finally stops. He can feel his fingers again. He tucks them under his armpits. His nose is cold too; he pushes it into the fur of Keith’s neck.

Keith jolts like Lance stabbed him.

Poor Keith. The physical contact is probably killing him.

He is so soft.

There are places where his fur is coarser, like the backs of his thighs, but the fur on the front of his neck is incredibly soft. And warm. Did Lance mention Keith is warm?

He starts to drift off.

“Hey! Hey. Don’t sleep.” Keith says sharply.

“Huh?” Lance rubs his face against Keith’s fur, earning what sounds like a disgusted noise from the other man. “Why the hell not?”

“Hypothermia.” Keith grunts.

“Funny. I don’t have hypothermia.”

“Just don’t.”

“Fine. Talk to me then.”

Keith’s fingers twitch nervously. “What– What do I say?”

Oh, Keith. Absolutely hopeless. Lance smiles to himself. “I am not about to feed you lines.”

Keith falls silent. He feels and hears Keith swallow.

“Uh.”

“Good start.”

“Shut up.”

Lance chuckles. Keith flinches. He doesn’t seem to like Lance talking against his neck, but Lance can’t bring himself to move. He’s so soft! So warm.

Keith starts again, tentatively. “I’m sorry.”

“Ooh. That’s an even better start.”

“Are you going to let me talk?”

“Sure. What are you sorry for? For being a dick?”

“...Yes.”

“Which time?”

Keith grunts angrily. “You’re so annoying.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I’m trying to apologize.”

“A miracle, really.” Lance says drowsily. There’s no bite behind his words.

“I’ve apologized to you a lot, Lance. It’s hardly a miracle.”

“Hm? When?”

One of Keith’s hands breaks away from Lance’s arm to gesture in the air. “I apologize to you a lot! Shut up! And now I’m apologizing for earlier. With Regris. I don’t care that you flirted with him.”

Whatever that outburst was about, it was the opposite of not caring. “Liar.”

Keith tenses. “I’m not! It’s just–” He sighs. “I just don’t get it. Why would you do that? After what he did to you?”

Lance blinks the sleep out of his eyes. Is it just his sleepy brain, or is Keith not making any sense? “Huh? He hasn’t done anything to me.”

“When he smelled you.”

“Oh. And then you hit him.”

“Yes. He disrespected you. For us, smelling someone like that, it’s an invasion of privacy. An insult.”

Us. Lance smiles to himself. Keith doesn’t usually include himself in that ‘us.’

“Is that why you hit him? You were defending my honor?” He doesn’t try to hide the amusement in his voice.

Keith cringes. He would definitely be putting some space between them right about now if he didn’t think it would literally kill Lance. Even so, Lance thinks he still considers it. “No. He insulted me too. He implied that–”

He cuts himself off and falls silent.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Whatever. How was I supposed to know that? Why would you get mad at me?”

“Because I hit him!” Keith snaps, jostling him. “That should tell you. You should have known.”

Lance snickers. “What? So now I can only flirt with people you like?”

“I don’t care who you flirt with.”

Lance bursts into laughter. This is cute. It almost feels like Keith is jealous. But that’s ridiculous, what could he possibly be jealous of? In any case, it doesn’t seem like Keith is crushing on Regris. He genuinely sounds pissed off at him. Lance was stupid for thinking so.

Keith bristles at the laughter but settles after a bit. “...and I’m sorry for grabbing you.” He says reluctantly. “You were right. I should be more careful. For Limoncito.”

Lance shakes his head, closing his eyes and inhaling Keith’s scent despite himself. It’s not like he can stop himself from doing so. Maybe it’s just an insult when you do it deliberately and obviously. He’s enjoying it, though. He smells of Keith, but stronger. He smells of boy. He smells good.

“I overreacted. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Sorry about that.” Lance murmurs.

He relaxes his body, slumping more heavily against Keith. His thoughts are slowing. He’s about to have the best sleep of his life.

Keith taps his arm. “Wake up.”

Not a chance.

“Listen." Keith shakes him. "You… you smell bad sometimes.”

What the hell? That wakes him up. He unsticks his head from Keith’s shoulder and glares at him. “No the fuck I don’t.” He knows for a fact he always smells great! Mr. I-lived-in-a-shack-in-the-desert-for-a-year and I-take-10-minute-showers cannot be talking right now.

Keith backs away a little, probably because their faces are too close, but it’s still offensive. Does his breath stink or something?

“No,” Keith looks to the side, his arms twitching where they’re still clasped around Lance. “You usually smell like coconut and vanilla and other stupid shit…”

Lance swears Keith’s face is red right now under all that purple. He squints at him to try to confirm.

“... but sometimes you smell like acid. Like something sour, underneath the fruity shit.”

“‘Fruity shit?’”

Keith meets his eyes, threatening. “You gonna make a gay joke right now?”

Lance hesitates. “...no.”

“Uh huh.”

He totally was. He sighs and focuses. “I do not smell acidic.”

Keith shrugs and looks away again. Lance feels the movement with his whole body, and it sends a strange tingle down his spine. “The smell’s from inside.” Keith continues. “Deeper. I smelled it earlier when those guys were jumping us.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. Had he seriously been thinking of what Lance smelled like while he was getting beat up? Also, those guys did not jump them. It was more like Keith jumped them, got the shit kicked out of him, and Lance got thrown around. “When else?”

Keith talks to the wall. “Uh, it was strongest when the baby… when we were doing the medical exam. And afterwards too, when you got all quiet and we were dressing him.”

He’s talking about when they scanned Limoncito. A drop of anxiety licks at him just thinking about it.

“... and also when we lost him in the Castle.”

Hm.

Keith turns to him suddenly. His eyes narrow. “There.”

“Huh?”

“That’s it. That’s the smell.” He ducks his head, sticking his nose in Lance’s hair. “You’re doing it again. Smells bad.”

Lance angles his head away. Geez. “Okay. I get it. Yeah, that’s probably the anxiety disorder. Haha.”

Isn’t this supposed to be offensive? He’d just finished lecturing Lance about that, and now he’s sticking his face in Lance's hair to take a whiff. Hypocrite.

It’s crazy how Keith can smell his anxiety, though. Lance bites his cheek. That kind of thing is private. The hell? He doesn’t want Keith to know every time he starts freaking out like a crazy person. He doesn’t want him to know how he’s constantly so close to flying off the rails. Panic. Instability. Weakness. All the worst things about Lance. Keith knows them now. Has known for a while, apparently.

Keith’s gaze turns softer, thoughtful. “It’s going away.”

Is it?

Yes. It’s being replaced by anger now.

Lance sighs and releases the anger with the exhale. It’s not Keith’s fault. He didn’t choose to be able to smell Lance’s ugliness. He puts his head back against Keith’s chest shamelessly. “Sorry the smell bothers you.”

Keith makes a noise, like a word got caught in his throat. “Anxiety? But you don’t… you don’t get it when we’re in battle. Or when we’re on a mission. Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s why it’s a disorder.” This line of questioning is making him a little uncomfortable.

“You just think yourself into that state?”

“I guess.”

“Just stop thinking, then.”

The words sit dead in the air between them for a second.

Did he just–? ‘Just stop thinking?’ Was that Keith Kogane’s brilliant advice to cure Lance?

Lance smacks his thigh, then punches his shoulder for good measure.

Keith yelps.

“You think if it was that easy, I would still be like this?” Lance seethes. “Keep your nose out of my fucking business and don’t talk about shit you don’t understand.”

Keith stares at him, bewildered.

Lance pushes him aside and clambers awkwardly to the other side of the cage. He accidentally brushes up against one of the metal bars and it’s so cold it burns like fire. He curses and puts his back against the stone wall. Without Keith’s warmth, the cold feels like something stabbing. It penetrates into his bones and steals his breath. It’s so fucking cold. He’s never missed Cuba more than he misses it right now.

Keith flattens his ears against his head. “I’m sorry, Lance.”

“Y-Yeah? F-F-Fuck you.”

Keith is quiet. He’s probably uselessly searching his limited vocabulary for something to say. He speaks again,

“You’re right, I don’t know what I’m talking about. I don’t know anything about that.”

“O-Of course you don’t! Y-Y-You’re too fucking-g perfect and s-s-strong to know,” Lance says with as much sarcasm as he can muster, but it’s hard because it feels like he has to bite through a block of wood just to talk. It comes out sounding more like another admission than an accusation. He bites his cheek accidentally and tastes blood. “F-Fuck.”

“No– I, that’s not what I meant.”

Lance is sick of it. He’s fucking tired of dealing with Keith’s bullheaded social ineptitude. Was everything really so easy for him that he never learned any emotional intelligence? He never had to learn to communicate?

“I get it.”

“N-No you f-f-fucking don’t.” Why is the f-word so hard to say right when he needs it the most?

Keith moves towards him and Lance chances a look. His ears are still pressed pitifully against his head. He looks like a sad cat. His eyes are firmly lowered, fixed to the dusty ground beneath them. They glow yellow like crescent moons. “Maybe not completely. But some of the school counselors used to say that I was… disordered too. An anger thing.”

Yeah, that makes sense. He definitely struggles to control his anger.

“I know it’s not the same,” Keith continues, “but I also feel like I can’t control it sometimes. So I’m sorry, I should’ve known better than to say that.”

Lance hugs his knees and studies the same ground Keith is looking at. This is information about Keith, freely offered. It’s rare. Keith is… actually sharing with him. And it was an okay apology. Fuck it. It’s too cold for this.

“Y-You f-f-fucking suck-k.” Lance shivers violently and scoots back into Keith’s space, assuming the previous position. Keith hugs him tightly until Lance stops shaking.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while. Keith’s heart is beating too fast, but it soothes Lance nonetheless. He feels his eyelids start to droop and his breathing even out.

“Lance.” Keith warns.

Crap. How does he know?

“M-Maybe we should rest for a b-bit.” Lance tries. He’s so tired.

“No.”

“I don’t have hypothermia! I-I’m lit-terally warm right now.”

“It’s your turn to talk.”

“Ugh.” Well, talking has always been easy for Lance. He thinks sluggishly. Something pricks at his brain. “T-Those guys, the ones who tased you, they were saying some disgusting shit. They were calling you a vlok, no, a vlik? A vlek, something like that. Do you know what that means?”

Keith stiffens.

Lance looks up. Keith is working his jaw. Angry maybe?

“You do know.” Lance confirms. “What is it? The translator didn’t even try.”

“It’s just an insult.”

Lance is definitely awake now. Keith is hiding something. “What does it mean, though?”

“It’s a sexual thing.”

“Yeah, I got that part. But why? Why you? What–”

“Drop it.” Keith hesitates, looks down at Lance, then says, stilted, “Please.”

Alarm races down Lance’s nerves. Keith doesn’t say please. What could it be? Did something bad happen? No, not possible. They just got to this damned planet and Lance hasn’t left Keith’s side since they landed. Does Keith know those guys from when he was with the Blades? No. He would’ve said. Then what? They didn’t say it to Lance, only to Keith. So maybe it’s a Galra thing. Something Galra about Keith they saw fit to insult him about. That he’s a hybrid? That’s what most asshole Galras seem to have a problem with. But no, Keith said it was a sexual thing.

“You should probably scent me.” Keith says quietly.

Huh? Lance backs away to look at Keith better. His ears are down again, to the sides this time, not pressed down. He looks miserable.

“What–

“Just put your scent on me. We’ll put our scents on each other. It’ll make things easier.”

Lance blinks. Okay, weird Galra thing. Got it. “So, like, marking our territory?”

“...yeah.”

Lance thinks about that, studying the frown on Keith’s face. This is serious. He means it. And it obviously pains him to ask. He’s so uncomfortable Lance feels some stirrings of pity.

He nods thoughtfully. “Let’s do it. Are you going to piss on me? Or should I go first?”

Keith’s mouth falls open in horror.

Lance takes one look at him and bursts into laughter.

Too good.

Keith shakes his head, relaxing. “You are such an idiot.”

But he’s smiling. His ears are back to normal.

Victory.

Lance grins at him. “How do we actually do it?”

“There’s um, scent glands. We just have to cover them. In spit.”

“We’re going to spit on each other?” That isn’t much better than pissing. No wait, it actually is much better. Still though. Ew.

“No,” Keith says patiently. “Licking.”

“Okay.” That’s slightly better. “Where? Are you going to lick my armpit?”

Keith sighs. “I hate you. Can you be serious?”

Lance snickers.

“Just give me your wrist.” Keith gestures.

“Okay…” Weird. Lance has scent glands in his wrists?

Keith takes his hand in his and Lance’s lips part in surprise. They’re holding hands. Okay, yeah, they’re basically cuddling naked right now but that doesn’t matter. It’s literally for survival; it’s nothing… affectionate. This is different though. Hand holding. The last time they held hands was when Keith got poisoned and he put his head on Lance’s shoulder and said all those sweet things about– yeah. Anyways.

His touch is gentle. He bends his head and touches his lips to Lance’s wrist.

Lance jumps out of his skin.

Then he feels his tongue, hot and wet, and it’s like Lance’s breath is punched out of him. What the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck– fire races down his front so quickly it scares him. It settles in his lower body and Lance squirms uncomfortably. Okay. Okay, what the hell? Why does it feel like that? Lance’s skin is so thin there. He didn’t know it was so sensitive. And why is Lance reacting like this? He needs to calm down.

He tears his eyes away from the dark crown of Keith’s head and focuses on the buzzing lights, trying to steady his breathing. Keith switches to the other wrist and Lance shivers. God, this is weird. He feels a hint of teeth and Lance has to clear his throat to mask some kind of squeak.

Finally, finally, Keith pulls back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Lance about passes out.

“Now rub them on your neck.” Keith’s voice is gruff.

“Y-You want me to put your spit on my neck?”

“Yes.”

“Gross.”

He rubs his wrists on his neck, hoping the lights are dim enough that Keith can’t somehow see the heat on his face. “Are we done?”

“You have to do me now.”

Christ.

Lance doesn’t think he even has enough spit; his mouth is so dry. “O-Okay, give me your hand.”

“No, uh…” Keith sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “That won’t work. There’s too much fur to transfer, it needs to go on the skin. So just… just lick my neck directly.”

Señor Jesucristo que estás en los cielos. Lance curses and prays. What the fuck? What did he do to deserve this?

He stalls and trips over his words. “Right. Yup. Okay. So. Like, the scent glands? They’re in our necks? N-Not the wrists?”

“Galra scent glands are in both the wrists and neck, and in, um, other places.”

“Okay, okay, and you’ve done this before? This scenting?”

“Yes.”

“And it works? To keep others away?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, with who?”

“What?” Keith frowns at him.

“Who did you do this scenting stuff with?”

Keith blinks at him, confused. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t!” Lance insists in a voice that’s maybe too high pitched.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Lance, just get it over with.”

Right. Okay.

He scoots closer to Keith, which is already too fucking close, and Keith tenses again. “Don’t make it weird.”

Don’t make it weird?? Seriously? “Bro, this is already weird. Like, really fucking weird.”

“Just do it!”

“Okay, okay. Don’t rush me. I’ll bite you.” Lance jokes.

Keith jerks away from him. “You better fucking not.”

He’s dead serious, his tone severe.

Lance blinks. Where did that come from? “I was kidding!”

Keith studies him. His chest is rising and falling too fast, and his eyes are too intense.

Lance’s jaw drops. He seriously thinks Lance is going to bite him! Why would he– oh, right. He’s bitten Keith before; on the arm, that time when they were fighting in the training room. That was self-defense though, Lance wouldn’t do that now. He’s not a psycho. But Keith is looking at him like he is.

“Dude!” Lance says, seriously offended.

Keith rolls his eyes, then relaxes. “You know, you only call me that when you’re uncomfortable.”

“No, I do not, dudebro.” Enough with the Lance analysis!

Keith snorts and nods at him, gesturing towards his neck.

How is he so chill about this?

Lance huffs and moves closer again. It’s awkward since he’s kneeling between Keith’s legs, so he throws one leg over Keith’s thigh, practically straddling it. The cold rushes in again now that he’s left Keith’s embrace. “F-Fuck. It’s cold.”

Keith closes his eyes like he’s in pain and then wraps his arms around Lance’s waist, bringing him closer. It helps. Lance shivers.

He puts a hand on Keith’s other shoulder and then braces himself with his other hand on the floor. Okay, here goes. He takes a breath to steady himself and then wets his lips. He leans forward and licks him. Licks Keith. Licks him right on that muscle that stretches from his clavicle to the back of his ear. The sternocleidomastoid, his mind suggests unhelpfully. He wonders why Keith makes him think so often about his Human Anatomy 101 class.

Keith shudders, with disgust probably, and lets out an unhappy grunt.

Lance keeps licking, moving to the spots Keith had gestured to. He has to work around the collar. It’s not so much the neck as it is the dip that slopes into the shoulder. The fur feels strange on his tongue, not bad, just unfamiliar. Thankfully, it doesn’t come off into his mouth. So Keith doesn’t shed! Good to know he’s a hypoallergenic breed.

Lance laughs into Keith’s neck. That was funny.

Keith gasps. “S-Stop. Be serious.

His voice is breathier than normal, and Lance feels a jolt of satisfaction. He’s not as cool with this as he pretends to be.

He hums to acknowledge his words but Keith curses. He must’ve not liked the vibrations. Lance keeps licking.

Keith squirms and clicks his tongue in frustration. “You can’t shut up even with your mouth full.”

Lance didn’t even say anything! Lance bursts into laughter again, and Keith jumps away from him, his eyes narrowed.

“You’re not the first to say that to me,” Lance snickers. “I’ve been told the best part of my blowjobs is the ten minutes of silence.”

Keith blinks, taken aback. “Jesus. That is not funny.”

It definitely is. Lance lets the last of his laughter die down, but it’s hard because he doesn’t think he’s ever heard Keith say Jesus like that before, and for some reason, that’s hilarious right now. He must’ve gotten that from Lance. He settles back into Keith’s chest. He can’t handle the cold anymore, and being pressed up against Keith feels like spreading balm on a burn. Keith seems to be getting used to it too, because he doesn’t tense and doesn’t hesitate to put his arms around him, even lifting his leg a little so that Lance can put his feet under it. It’s nice. After a while, Keith speaks again.

“Did someone actually say that to you?”

His tone is weird. It takes a second for Lance to figure out what he’s talking about.

“Oh, yeah. He was kind of a dick. Funny, though.”

“It’s not.” Keith insists quietly.

Lance shrugs.

They lapse into silence again before Keith speaks again and Lance smiles. Keith is unusually talkative today. Maybe he really is scared Lance is going to get hypothermia and die.

“You said you were a virgin.”

Loaded sentence. Lance raises an eyebrow. “Uh. No, I never said that. You just assumed.”

“Oh.”

Were they actually talking about this? Was this a normal friend bonding conversation? Lance thinks back to when Keith called him a virgin. It was when they were bathing together after Lance told him he’d kissed that alien at the bar. Keith said he’d slept with aliens before, and Lance had replied with that awful comment about how having sex with aliens makes you a freak– accidentally implying that having sex with Keith would be something strange. Unorthodox. Bad. Lance sighs, guilt flooding him again.

“I am a virgin, basically.” Lance offers.

“But you just said… um, that.”

Lance snorts. Who was the virgin between them? Keith couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

“I mean, I’ve done some hand stuff. Some head. It’s not really sex, though.”

Keith squirms, obviously uncomfortable. “Oral sex… is still sex.”

He whispers it! Like they’re in church. Lance snickers but covers his mouth. He doesn’t want to get smacked. Eh, but he can somehow sense Keith isn’t in the mood to smack him. He’s not defensive, for once in his life. He’s soft and open. Both physically and emotionally. He’d kind of have to be, given that he’s literally cradling Lance in his arms.

Lance considers what he said. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Keith nods. Then, “With that guy?”

Lance frowns, trying to figure out what he’s trying to say. Would it kill him to use more words for the sake of clarity? It probably would. Then it clicks. Oh, he’s trying to ask Lance how many people he’s slept with. Interesting. Since when is Keith curious about Lance’s life? It’s kind of weird but hey, Lance is an open book. And with what they just did, licking each other and cuddling naked, this is nothing. It’s also not like Lance has much to hide, even if he wanted to, Keith knows about his panic attacks.

It strikes him suddenly. He trusts him.

Lance trusts Keith.

Sure, he’s always trusted him with his life. But this is a little different.

Lance hums. “Him and this girl. My high school girlfriend.”

Keith releases a breath. Weirdo.

It’s Lance’s turn. “What about you? How many people have you slept with?”

There. That’s how you ask a question.

Keith’s grip tightens on him, then releases. “Four.”

“Really?” Lance smiles at him. Keith looks at him for a split second and goes back to staring straight ahead. “Is that humans and aliens?”

“Just aliens.”

That peaks Lance’s interest. “How come you never did it back home?”

“I didn’t want to.” Keith shrugs.

“What made you want to now? In space, I mean.”

Not now, now. Obviously.

Keith’s fingers tap against Lance’s arm, his foot twitching restlessly. He breathes and looks ahead like he’s thinking, but Lance feels like it’s more that he’s deciding whether or not he should say it.

He does. “Aliens won’t… they don’t-- they haven't judged me. They generally don't have any preconceived notions. And they were... careful. We both were, because we didn’t know what we were doing. Not completely, because of the anatomy. Also, it's easier because I never have to see them again. It doesn't have to mean anything.”

Keith breathes out like he confessed something. He bites his lip, a pointed canine cutting into the plush skin. He’s nervous.

And it is almost like he did confess something. A secret. Something serious and personal that he placed in Lance’s lap for him to examine.

Lance’s heart hurts. It aches with the vulnerability of the knowledge, with the vulnerability of Keith. He’s not sure why Keith would think humans would judge him, or why he found it necessary to put such an emphasis on them being careful, like Keith was something that could be hurt or broken. Lance had never thought of Keith like that. But even though it sort of hurts to know, it also feels warm and safe. He knows Keith better now. It's something he's always wanted to do since he first laid eyes on him.

Lance doesn’t say anything, he just nods and shifts even closer. Keith’s thumb traces slow circles on Lance’s elbow as the tension leaves his body.

They fall asleep holding each other.

~

Chapter Text

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

Hours later,

Keith’s ears twitch and stand at attention, his spine suddenly ramrod straight. “They’re here.”

Lance blinks the sleep out of his eyes. Hope surges. He sits up but Keith takes one look at him and shakes his head.

Oh.

It's not Voltron.

Lance scrambles away from Keith, fiddling with his underwear. “Keith! Keith, does it look like I’m packing?”

Keith darts his eyes to him and then away. “What? I’m not–”

“No, does it look like I’m packing heat?”

“What the hell are you saying?”

“Just look!”

“I’m not looking at your dick right now, what is wrong with you?”

“No, I’m saying– you are so homophobic, you know?”

“Excuse me?” Keith glares at him.

“What if I was asking you to look at my dick? I’m not, but what if I was? It would obviously be for a good reason. Bro to bro. I’m not just out here sexually harassing you, you know that!” Lance waves his hands for emphasis. “And this time it is for a good reason, you dumbass! Can you see my gun?”

“Oh.” Keith finally looks at his crotch and shakes his head. “I can’t see anything.”

“Good. Wait,” Lance frowns. “Don’t say you can’t see anything, come on, you can’t tell me that–”

“Okay, now you’re harassing me.”

Lance snickers.

Keith shakes his head.

Some of the guards from before burst through the door, armed and waving the device connected to Keith’s collar mockingly. There are some new guards too. The one at the front looks like a woman, tall with enormous muscles and a nasty smirk on her face. She has lightning bolts shaved into the sides of her head.

“These are the aliens that beat up our guys?” She aims a blaster at Lance and laughs. “You’re tiny.”

Hey.

Lance smiles smoothly. “I’m big enough for you, baby.”

Keith smacks him.

“Ow!” He rubs his shoulder, shocked.

He didn’t even let Lance’s line sit in the air for a second!

The woman throws her head back and laughs. She unlocks their cage, still training her gun on Lance almost lazily. “This one is adorable. Why is he not restrained?”

Another guard speaks up, the one with Keith’s device. “It was not that one who attacked, commander Kendra, it was the vlek.”

That word again. Also, why are they talking about them like they’re not here?

Lance clambers out of the cage with her prompting, holding his hands up. Keith follows after. Another guard takes Lance’s hands and binds them roughly behind his back. He flinches when the guard pulls his hands up too high.

Keith takes a threatening step towards him and Lance's guard yelps, “Watch the vlek!”

Lance turns to Keith, eyes wide. “Ey. No vayas a hacer nada.”

Hey. Don’t try anything.

Keith looks at him and Lance can practically see the gears turning in his head. He's calculating their chances, which are laughable. Lance is bound, they're both practically unarmed and outnumbered. They don't know where they are, or how to escape, and they have no way of calling for reinforcements. More importantly, there's still that awful collar around Keith's neck. And still, this motherfucker is deliberating whether Lance and Keith can take them. He's insane. Does Keith understand what he's saying? It’s too dangerous. They can’t risk it.

Keith scrunches his nose at him and Lance blinks.

What the heck. That’s cute.

But it means he understands and agrees, he’s just not happy about it. Okay, good.

The woman, Kendra, shoves the blaster into Lance’s side. “Don’t conspire or I’ll put a new hole in you.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t even tried the other ones. Why make new ones?”

Kendra grabs the back of his neck and yanks him towards her. She presses her face into his hair and sniffs deeply. Ooooookay. So not the reaction he was going for. For being such an offensive act, everyone seems intent on smelling Lance. Her claws press into his windpipe and Lance freezes, suddenly a little scared. She could rip his throat out in one move.

A growl rumbles behind them.

She steps away without releasing him. “Yours, kitten?”

What? Lance risks glancing at her. She’s addressing Keith. Did Keith make that noise? What exactly was she asking him? Is what his? She must see something in Keith’s face because she releases Lance and walks towards Keith, binding his hands behind his back. He doesn’t put up a fight, thankfully, but he bristles and growls, his hair standing on end. He looks like an angry kitten to Lance, and not just because Kendra put that idea in his head, but the other guards visibly shrink away.

Kendra smirks at Keith and pushes him towards the other end of the cave. Kendra touches her hand to the wall. A line of light cuts a rectangle into the rock, and then the door slides into the floor. They go inside, Lance leading the way with a blaster pressed into his back, Keith behind him probably with his own fiery incentive.

Lance clears his throat. “Where are we going, Commander?”

Nothing.

“This is all a misunderstanding, you know. If we could just talk to our leader, Shiro, the Black Paladin–”

“Quiet.”

“You might know him as the Champion. Or Princess Allura?

"Quiet!"

"You’ve heard of her. I’m sure we could work something out.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Actually, we were led here by the Blades. You know Kolivan. Just talk to him! Let us talk to him and we can–”

“Shut him up or I will.” Kendra snaps and Keith lets out an unhappy grunt. Did she hit him?

“Wish I could.” He growls.

Rude.

“Can you at least tell us where we’re going?” Lance tries. He cranes his neck to look up at Kendra, arching his back a bit over the blaster. “Please?”

She glares at him, then softens.

“Fine. You are going to the holding cells. After that, you will go into the pit for judgment. You will receive a lighter sentence than your other One, because you have caused less harm. You will need to fight and prove that you are worth more than you have cost. If you survive, you will have your freedom.”

“A lighter sentence how? Who will we fight?” Lance asks, hoping no one can hear the hope in his voice rear its ugly head. At least they’re not just throwing them into a literal pit to fall to their deaths. If there’s one thing Keith and Lance can do, it’s fight.

Kendra snorts. She ignores his first question. “It is what you will fight, not who.”

A creature?

They reach another room, the touch activated door sliding into the floor once again and flooding the hallway with light. Lance squints, blinking the blindness out of his eyes. Immediately, they’re assaulted with jeering and hooting. Kendra shoves him forward.

These must be the holding cells.

There’s only six of them, three on each side of the big room. There are windows high above their heads, letting in what Lance assumes is sunlight. Fifteen to twenty people of different species are held in each cell. Some are sitting calmly, others cling to the bars and shout and scream, all stare at them. No one is naked like they are.

Kendra points her blaster at the prisoners in the cage closest to them. They back away and quiet down but the action makes the people behind them even louder.

This is horrible.

There’s too many of them. They’re too loud. They’re speaking too many languages. The translator isn’t working but Lance knows well enough what fury, desperation, and insanity sound like.

A guard unbinds Lance’s arms and shoves him inside without a word. Keith follows, gracias a dios.

Thank god.

Lance’s heart just about beats out of his chest. His senses are on high alert. Are these people dangerous? They can’t fight all of them.

But they don’t make a move. They just stare.

Keith gestures to an open space on the bench with his chin. Lance swallows thickly and nods, following him. They sit. A lot of the prisoners lose interest then. One of them goes back to shaking the bars. Another sits on the floor, shaking and muttering.

Lance sinks into himself. The gun jabs into his pelvis, trapped beneath his waistband. It does nothing to comfort him.

“This is good.” Keith mutters.

“How... exactly?”

“It won’t be people we kill.”

Lance rubs his face. He’s right. It’s just not easy to see the good side of this. He can’t help but feel a little resentful. Why haven’t their friends found them yet? Are they even trying? Lance tugs on the chain around his neck. He looks at Keith without raising his head, at his purple knees and bare thighs. “How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?”

“Nah.” Keith nudges him with his foot. “I’m good. You good?”

Lance smiles. Keith’s worried about him. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He wishes they were back in that other cave, even if it is considerably warmer here. Keith scopes out the other prisoners, and Lance forces himself to do the same. Doesn’t Keith ever need to take a minute? It’s like he’s always ready for action, always ready to face the next thing.

The person sitting beside them is small for a Galra, with spikes all over their limbs like an iguana. They also have a collar around their neck. There’s another person that draws Lance’s attention, and that’s because they’re easily the size of four, full-grown Galra put together. They have scars all over their body, but these are definitely intentional, cut into sharp, threatening designs like tattoos. There’s no collar on him. They meet Lance’s eyes.

Lance quickly looks away.

That’s a mistake.

“You two kits, what did you do to get in here?” He asks.

Keith doesn’t say anything, he just rolls his gaze away like he’s bored. Should Lance ignore him too?

“Just a misunderstanding.” Lance finds himself saying.

The man guffaws. “That’s what they all say.” His eyes twinkle with mirth. Maybe he’s friendly. He points at Keith. “Does your pretty thing talk?”

Keith stands suddenly and Lance startles. Keith just went from lax to tense, springing to his feet before Lance could even blink. He flexes his hands at the wrist and his fingernails turn into vicious looking claws, black and curved like a cat’s.

No, nonono.

“What are you doing?” Lance hisses.

Keith doesn’t look at him. “Gotta show ‘em. They’ll leave us alone.”

The enormous man doesn’t flinch. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face, revealing teeth like spirals. The people around him stir and watch Keith distrustfully.

“Just sit down.” Lance whispers. “Please.”

Keith frowns at him, and a strange expression passes over his features that looks like confusion.

“Are you feeling it yet, pretty vlek?” The man says.

“Feeling what?” Lance asks, more than a little panicked.

The iguana alien next to them whispers. “The drugs.”

What drugs?

“Come here.” The man demands, in a voice that’s different from before. He pats his tree trunk sized leg.

Is he serious? No way in hell is–

Keith walks.

“Come sit on Crescioul’s leg.” He says again, and this time the people around him laugh. For the first time, Lance notices how they track his moves, how they sit around him in a circle, responding in kind. This man is a leader. If Keith tries to attack him they’ll end up having to fight all those people. Lance tenses. He’s ready this time. As soon as Keith makes a move, Lance will be there.

But Keith never gets into a fighting stance. Instead, he just sits on Crescioul’s leg.

Lance stares. What the fuck? Is this some kind of ploy?

The girl turns away from them, tucking her knees into her chest. A couple of other prisoners also turn away. The muttering guy on the floor covers his ears and rocks faster. Some prisoners leer. The hair on the back of Lance’s neck stands up, alarm ringing in his ears. Something’s wrong.

Crescioul puts his hand on Keith’s back, and Lance readies himself to watch it snap in two, but nothing.

Keith does nothing.

What the fuck?

“What are you doing?” Lance repeats, louder.

Keith ignores him.

“Get back here!” Lance says desperately.

For some reason, that makes the prisoners explode with laughter. Crescioul doesn’t laugh. He levels his gaze at Lance and licks over his weird teeth with a pair of black tongues.

“You mean to challenge me?” He says, almost in disbelief.

Challenge him? God, Lance is so tired of not knowing what’s going on.

Crescioul runs his hand up Keith’s back, hooking his thick finger into Keith’s collar and pulling it back, exposing his neck in a lovely arc. Keith does nothing, his eyes are blank. A bolt of anger cuts through every other emotion in Lance. If he never sees Keith in another creepy alien’s hands, it would be too fucking soon.

“I will explain it to you, since it seems you are too clueless/ignorant/stupid to know.” Crescioul says. “This collar you see on so many of us is put on those guilty of violent crimes. It is a means of submission. From the burns on his pretty neck, I can see he has tasted both the shock and the lax drug. It is slow acting, but it makes them unable to resist a command. And I am very commanding.”

He grins. There is food stuck in the teeth spirals.

Lance feels sick.

How is it possible that Keith is drugged with only Lance to protect him? Again?

“Give him to me.” Lance says. He feels like he’s talking from another room.

Crescioul licks his lips. “Take him from me.”

A command? That’s all Lance has to do? He puts as much steel in his voice as he can muster. “Keith, come here.”

Keith doesn’t move.

The prisoners laugh again, and Crescioul roars with laughter.

“It will not work.” The girl whispers. “You are not Galra. He will not listen to you.”

“Come here!” Lance yells over the laughter.

If Keith isn’t next to him soon, he’s going to kill someone. He stands and reaches for his gun, but this time Keith moves. He stands and walks over to Lance, completely casual, as if he wasn’t just sitting on that creep’s lap. The laughter ceases abruptly. They look shocked, enraged. Lance grabs Keith's arm and sits him down, cornering him between himself and the wall. He pulls the gun out of his waistband and assembles it in three easy moves.

“The next person who comes near us is dead.” Lance says quietly.

No one moves.

The prisoners glare at Lance’s gun and shuffle away, but other than that, they don’t protest. They’re likely hiding weapons of their own. They won’t rat him out. Crescioul grumbles and puffs out his chest but says nothing.

Keith snaps out of it a couple of minutes later. They have more or less been left alone, with all the prisoners going back to their own conversations. Crescioul’s eyes linger on them once or twice, but Lance pays him no mind, the gun resting loosely on his open palm, his finger comfortably on the trigger.

“Put that away.” Keith frowns. “The guards will take it.”

“Not until you go back to normal.”

“What do you mean?”

Lance blinks. Does he seriously not know? Does he not remember? He risks turning away from the prisoners and looks into Keith’s eyes. They’re unclouded.

Keith looks away like Lance burned him and Lance huffs in frustration. “Look at me!”

Keith does.

His pupils are blown now. Hazy. It lasts for maybe ten seconds before he tears his gaze away.

Fuck. He really is drugged. For one second, he had complete and utter control over Keith.

That's terrifying.

“Do you see now?” Lance hisses. He knows he’s being overly aggressive, but he can’t help it. The rage is still running through his veins, aching in his trigger finger. “You’re fucking compromised.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Clap your hands.”

Keith does. He stares down at his hands uncomprehendingly. “How did you–?”

“Show me two fingers.”

Keith does. He grabs his offending hand with his other one and clasps it tightly to his lap. He glares at Lance. “Do that again and I’ll hit you.”

Lance grits his teeth. He has half a mind to hit him first. “Don’t give me that shit. I just saved you from that pervert motherfucker over there.”

Keith jerks back like Lance slapped him.

Instantly, Lance’s rage fizzles out like a leaking balloon.

“Nothing happened. You just– you just went over there. You came back when I asked you to. He says you’ve been drugged. There were some marks on your neck, I thought maybe they were just burns, but they’re probably where the needles went in. I don’t know what’s going on, Keith. This isn’t safe. If you have to do what everyone tells you to do, then we’re fucked. This is more dangerous than we thought. We have to get out of here.” Lance can feel himself starting to ramble, but he can’t stop. “We can’t rely on our friends to come save us; you were right. Fuck this. Fuck the blades, fuck diplomacy, we have to get out. We’re not leaving Cito here either, so it doesn’t matter how many bridges we burn. And I don’t care that everyone here was a prisoner of war, or a refugee or some shit. If this is how they treat people they deserve what’s coming to them. This is inhumane. You know this is the second time you’ve been drugged? Do you know how fucked up that is? How scary that is? This can’t keep happening. We need to make a plan. As soon as the–

“Shhh.” Keith touches Lance’s arm, gently pushing it down. Lance hadn’t even realized he raised his gun. Keith comes closer, until the line of his chest is pressed against Lance’s side.

Lance becomes aware of how fast he’s breathing, feeling his body rise and fall against Keith’s fur. He focuses on slowing it down.

Keith speaks after a second, his voice low, into Lance’s ear. “Shh, you’re okay.”

Estas bien.

Lance purses his lips, annoyed. He’s annoyed because it works. The alarms stop screaming, he can take a full breath, and his muscles relax like Keith turned a guitar peg.

But that’s what Lance says to Limoncito to comfort him, down to the shhh and the soothing tone. Lance is not a baby, goddammit! Embarrassing. It’s kind of… sweet, though. Lance didn’t know Keith had been paying attention to that, that he’d picked up on it enough to mimic him. Still though, embarrassing.

“Do I smell?”

Keith studies him, his eyes switching from one eye to the other. “...no.”

Lance snorts. “You are such a bad liar.”

Keith looks away but he stays where he is. Lance resists the urge to lean into him. That would be pushing it.

“He will not do whatever anyone says,” The girl speaks, drawing both their attention.

Lance forgot she was there. He’d subconsciously categorized her as not threatening and discarded her. He turns to study her again. She’s mostly green with parts of blue. Her eyes are sad, downcast, with black and yellow centers, and there are little iguana spikes on her face.

She raises her head from her knees. “That is not how the drug works.”

Lance turns toward her, keeping his gun carefully aimed away. “How does it work?”

“He will obey those he perceives as having authority over him. It is easy to obey Galra, we are able to produce a pheromone to persuade each other into submission. That is why I told you, Blue Paladin, that he would not listen to you, because you are not Galra. But I did not realize that you are Ones. Of course, as Ones, he will listen to you above all.”

That's ridiculous. Keith does not see him as an authority figure. He'd probably sooner keel over than take orders from Lance. It must be that other thing she said. Her voice is so quiet Lance has to strain to hear. “Did you say ‘Ones?’ What is that?”

Keith clears his throat. “It's the scenting thing we did earlier.”

Lance considers. “So, because we have each other's scent you listened to me?”

“That is part of it.” Iguana girl agrees. “The other part is–”

“How long does the drug last?” Keith interrupts.

Lance nudges him. Rude.

Iguana girl takes it in stride. “It will last several moons, but it will wane in strength.”

Jesus, that long? Then again, they don't have any idea what 'several moons' means to her.

“No side effects?” Lance asks hopefully.

She cocks her head. She has no ears, just holes in the side of her head. “It varies.”

Great.

“Do you know anything about the creature we're going to fight?” Keith interjects.

At that, she ducks her head. “There will be several creatures.”

Several creatures, several months, several varying potential side effects. Perfect. They're screwed. Lance leans back against the prison wall. They don't have time for much more conversation because the guards come back. Lance hurriedly takes apart his weapon and tucks it back into his underwear while Keith covers him.

It's Kendra, she looks grim. She bangs on the prison walls and shows them several electrocution devices. “Your turn for judgment, you pathetic bags of shit. If anyone tries anything we won't even bother to bury you.”

Her words seem to be deterrent enough, but a line of armed guards stand behind her.

She watches them as they exit the cell, and she smacks Lance on the butt with her blaster on his way out. “Don't die.”

Lance grins at Keith, delighted. Hell yeah.

Keith rolls his eyes so hard it's surprising he doesn't injure himself. Hey! It's important to have allies.

The prisoners line up. Keith pushes Lance forward, behind Iguana girl, and then stands uncomfortably close behind him. Lance tries looking over his shoulder but sees only a purple shoulder. What the–

“Are you taller than me?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Is that really what you should be worrying about right now?”

“Are you?”

“Always been.”

Lance chokes on a scoff and an outraged laugh. “Keith. Samurai. My man, I swear to god and all the gods, I was taller than you.”

“Nah.”

“I was!” Lance sputters. “Are you serious? It must be this new transformation making you taller because I was taller!”

“Don't remember, didn't happen.”

Lance scowls. He's throwing those words back in his face! “Pinche pendejo te estoy diciendo que–”

Fucking idiot I'm telling you that–

Keith shoves him forward. Jerk. This is important!

They're the only ones talking. Even the more rambunctious prisoners are quiet now, shuffling forward like they're walking to the executioner. Which they probably are.

They walk for long enough that all the light dies and throws them into pitch blackness. They descend forever and the ground gets slick and gross beneath their bare feet. Miserably, Lance slips more times than he can count. He steps in a puddle of gunk and falls backward, sending Iguana girl toppling on top of him.

“Sorry– ow! Are you okay?”

Her spikes stab into his skin. The more she struggles the worse it gets. Keith steps over them and hauls her up.

“I'm sorry, Blue Paladin!” She squeaks.

Keith lifts Lance like a sack of grapes and stands him up. Jesus Christ. Lance shakes off his bruised ego and pretends it didn't happen.

“No worries, Igu– I mean, what’s your name?” Oops.

“Ionna.”

“Seriously? Uh, I mean, the name's Lance. This is Keithy-cat.”

Keith pinches his side and Lance swallows his yelp, throwing an elbow backwards. He shouldn’t have taught him that technique.

The narrow tunnel finally widens into a clearing and the sludge beneath their feet dries into soft sand. A sound reaches them, almost like the roaring of the ocean. A glance upwards into blinding light shows it's not an ocean– it's people. Hundreds of them. They sit in stands behind metal grates.

The prisoners are in a stadium.

Their trials are entertainment?

Lance scowls. This is some justice system.

Ionna wraps her arms around herself and shakes. Keith steps next to her. “Focus. Are we all fighting together?”

“Yes.” She whispers, trembling. “There will be several rounds. Some of us will die. Those who do not will continue until their sentence is met.”

“How do we know how many rounds we have to complete?”

“It will be announced, Keithy-cat.”

Lance snorts. She totally thinks that’s his name now.

Just then, a voice breaks through the dull roar of the crowd.

“LaaaaaAAAAAANCE!!! LaaaaAAAAANCE!!!!!”

Lance spins around, his heart beating in his ears, but he can’t tell where it’s coming from. There are too many screaming audience members. People jump around wildly and shake the bars separating them. Keith's ears stand at attention then flatten against his head. He grabs Lance's arm and points to a speck in the distance. “It's Pidge.”

“Holy shit! Let's go!” Lance starts off at a run, then stops and turns back when Keith doesn't move.

“You go.” Keith shakes his head.

Stubborn idiot. They don't have time for this.

Lance sprints towards Pidge, feeling like he's running to freedom. But his heart sinks when he gets close enough to see her face. That is not what freedom looks like.

She's squished down against the grate separating them. She looks scared. She reaches through the fencing and hands him a bundle of cloth. “Lance! Here!”

Clothes. Nice. This probably means they’re not getting out of here anytime soon. He bites down his disappointment and puts on the yellow shirt she gave him. It falls off his shoulder and goes down to half his thigh. It's Hunks. She tosses him another one, Shiro's shirt. Does that mean Shiro and Hunk are shirtless somewhere in the crowd? That's kind of funny.

“Where's Keith?”

“He's back there being emo. But what's going on? Where's my baby?”

Pidge lowers more things to him. Two water bottles and a bag full of snacks. Lance opens one of the bottles immediately, he is so fucking thirsty, he didn't realize until right this second.

“The rest of the gang is hiding in the stands. We’re not supposed to be here because apparently Kolivan and the Blades have been trying to stop this fucked up hunger games shit, but he's so fucking cucked because of the contract he made with the government of this shitass rock. He basically signed his balls away.” Pidge shakes the bars in frustration. “Cito is still with Oltha, but don't worry we've been watching them. Everyone says she's good. I don't know what happened back there, Lance, but everyone here is fucking insisting that they're upstanding members of the community.”

But why couldn't they take Limoncito from her? Lance worries at his bottom lip.

She shakes her hands at him. “But I have good news! We got Derek and Oltha to drop the charges against you. You're free.”

She doesn't look too happy about it, though.

“But?” He prompts.

“We couldn't get Keith. The police force won't budge. They’re saying two of their men have been permanently maimed. He's going to have to fight.” She grips the bars and looks back at the prisoners, searching for him. “Is he okay? Shiro is worried sick. He almost got put in here himself, but we convinced him we needed him outside, we can’t lose what little leverage we have.”

“Keith is okay,” Lance assures.

But inside his mind is racing. He's free?

But Keith isn't.

“Okay, the guard is on his way to get you out. Give Keith the stuff and let's go.”

Wait.

He steps back.

“No, I'm– I'm going to stay.” The words come out before he can properly process them but as soon as they're out, he knows they're right.

He's not leaving.

Fuck no, he's not leaving Keith here by himself.

Pidge groans and bangs her head against the grate. “I fucking knew it. Lance, be rational please. Keith is going to get out of this, he's a good fighter–”

“I'm not leaving him.”

“We can't have both of you getting hurt! Think about the team!”

“I'm not leaving him, Pidge.”

Tears well up in her eyes. “He’s a better fighter than you are!”

Um, rude. She's not thinking straight. Lance grabs her hand. “Pidgeon, I have to stay. I have to stay.”

She yanks her hand away and wipes her face furiously. “You’re so fucking gay, I hate you.”

Lance laughs. “What does that have to do with anything?”

A whirring buzzes through the air and they both turn to see a screen rise from the floor. There’s a bizarre juxtaposition between the dusty ground, the craggy rock walls, and the high-tech platform that rises to reveal rings of weapons.

Lance turns to say goodbye to Pidge. She squeezes his hand and waves him off, disappearing into the crowd of leering aliens. He sprints back to Keith, his mind spinning. Nothing has changed. He's staying because he has to, same as before. He tosses Keith the shirt when he gets close enough. It fits him a little better than Lance's does, Lance notes a little saltily.

Keith tugs it down. “What did Pidge say? Can they get us out of this?”

Lance swallows the lump in his throat. “No.”

“Figured.” Keith smiles at him, genuine and confident. “We got this.”

Lance flushes. Keith has to be careful aiming that smile at innocent people. “Yeah.”

The screen flashes to life. It displays Crescioul's ugly face. He doesn't seem to be surprised to be on screen and he lifts his arms in the air, roaring. The crowd goes absolutely crazy for him. Then a number flashes, ten. He has to fight ten rounds. He doesn't seem fazed. He marches up to pick a weapon, an enormous club. A couple of other tens follow, the screen displaying their faces, twisted in horror and dismay. They go reluctantly to pick their weapons.

Ionna’s face appears next. Eight.

Seriously? Lance watches her go. She’s so small and timid, what the hell did she do to deserve eight rounds?

Keith's face flashes on screen suddenly, startling them both. His ears flatten against his head, and he turns away from the camera, but it follows him.

Lance steps in front, covering him for a second. “Go get a weapon.”

Keith goes.

Shit. Lance has to be careful giving commands. But is something as casual as that enough to trigger the drug?

Keith comes back with a sword and Lance tries to catch his eye to find out, but Keith avoids it. They both turn to look at the number. Seven. Fuck. Seven is a lot.

Lance winks at the camera when it’s his turn– it’s instinctual, but he gasps when he sees his nose. God-fucking-dammit. It’s definitely crooked now. Can the healing pods perform rhinoplasty? They better. Lance refuses to let a reminder of this day ruin his perfect face. Apart from the crooked, swollen monstrosity on his face, there’s purple bruising on the bridge of his nose that spreads under his eyes. He looks like a goddamn busted racoon.

He trudges to the weapons and picks up another sword. The screen shows a 3.

Keith nods at him when he returns but Lance glares at him. “You said it wasn’t that bad!”

He takes a second to figure out what Lance is talking about. “It’s not.”

“It definitely is!”

“You still look good.”

“My nose looks like an eggplant! One with a huge curve in it.”

“It compliments your eyes.” Keith says, completely deadpan.

Lance stares at him. Really? Oh. He’s joking.

“You’re such a dick.” Lance pouts, touching his nose gently. “Your entire body looks like an eggplant.”

Keith snorts his amusement, but he glances away, uncertain. Lance remembers the way his ears dropped against his scalp when the camera turned on him, displaying his purple face to the hundreds of people in the stadium.

Lance smirks, poking him. “You know, the purple compliments your eyes too.”

Keith rolls his eyes and smiles.

Lance steps closer, wiggling his eyebrows. “You still look good, too.”

“Go to hell, McClain.”

But he’s grinning.

He really does look good. He really hasn't changed all that much. He’s still got that sharp, perfect jawline. His lovely piercing eyes. And hell if the purple doesn’t add to his looks. The stripes on his face are lovely. There’s two, symmetrical, just barely kissing the corners of his eyes like eyeliner. Another that highlights those prominent cheekbones. Another above the curve of his jaw, leading to those plush, bitten lips. His eyes look all the more darker against the light purple of his face, and his huge ears make his face look smaller, almost delicate. But he’s definitely taller now, and Lance swears his muscles look bigger. Even his tail looks cute– thick, strong, and twitching at the end like a cat’s.

Lance frowns at himself. Is that weird? How can he still find Keith beautiful in the harsh light of the arena, with that awful collar around his neck? Looking so alien and yet so familiar?

“Lance, give me some water.”

Oh, right.

Lance passes him a water bottle and the bag of snacks. He offers his own water to Ionne, who takes it after a moment of hesitation and smiles gratefully. Keith drinks and then pushes his own bottle into Lance’s hands, who rolls his eyes and drinks the rest of it, knowing better than to fight it. Keith can be such a mother hen sometimes. Even more so than Hunk.

Ionne looks around nervously. “It is about to start.”

Keith tosses the rest of the food away and draws his sword. “Save your gun for an emergency.”

Yeah, duh. “Got it.”

Keith nods at Ionne. “Stay near us.”

She blinks, bewildered. “Why?”

“You helped us, now we'll help you.”

They’re cut off by the whirring of the weapons and the screen sinking back into the ground, another perfect circle of sand taking its place. The other prisoners ready their weapons. Lance scans them quickly. There’s twenty prisoners exactly. There’s a group huddled around Crescioul, who pays them no mind. The rest are scattered. No one looks twice at Keith, Lance, and Ionne, so he doesn’t think they have anything to worry about from the other prisoners. There’s no incentive for them to sabotage each other either. In that way, at least, this is a thousand times better than what was done to Shiro. And at least Lance has Keith with him. Shiro was utterly alone. Something twists in his gut. This must be awful for Shiro, having to relive this. Having to see his little brother in this arena.

“Focus, Lance.” Keith mutters.

Right.

Wait, how could he tell that–

Gates open on all sides of the arena and Keith readies himself. “Back to back!”

He says it for Ionne’s benefit. Lance lifts his sword, stepping backwards until he can feel Keith against his back and Ionne’s spikes digging into his skin.

Four-legged creatures rush out of five– no, six entrances. They stop. They’re the size of wolves, but scaly all over. They have no necks or heads, just a gash where the neck should have started. There’s a mouth too, ringed with rows of teeth.

A shudder goes down his spine. They’re horrible.

They charge.

They go after the smaller targets first, pouncing before the prisoners can even raise their weapons. The creatures lower their bodies and the sounds of screaming and ripping flesh fill the air. The screaming starts and stops like a fucked-up orchestra out of synch as more prisoners fight and lose.

“Change of plans.” Keith grunts and takes off after the nearest creature.

Lance’s jaw drops. Is he fucking serious? The one plan they have– they have to follow the plan!

“Keith! No!” He starts to shout, then swallows his tongue, because Keith comes to a violent stop. Oh fuck, oh no, he’s going to get Keith killed! “I mean, do what you want! But consider not doing that, because–”

Keith launches himself on top of the beast, driving his sword right into his back. But even from where Lance is standing, he can see it’s too late. The prisoner is dead. The creature ate his fucking head clean off.

The snacks in his stomach threaten to make an appearance but he forces them down.

“Lance!” Ionne screams.

There’s a creature running straight for them. Now that it’s closer, Lance can see the spinning rows of teeth inside its body. It’d be like getting attacked by a hungry blender. But worse, obviously. He raises his sword, but the creature doesn’t break its stride. It must be blind. It jumps and Lance swipes at it. His blade is duller than he’s used to, so it takes more force, but the leg comes off. He uses the momentum to kick the wounded creature to the side, spurting blue blood everywhere, then stabs into it in the same place Keith did. It does not go easy. It fights and thrashes around his blade and Lance shakes, stepping on the corpse and driving it deeper. He can feel its skin beneath his bare feet.

Then a buzzer sounds.

Round one is over.

There’s three dead. Several injured.

Keith jogs back to them. “You alright?”

No.

Lance looks him over. There’s not a drop of blood or speck of sludge on him, whereas Lance is covered in nasty blue streaks and sand-crusted greenish slime. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. Even though you literally told us what to do and then immediately threw that out the window.”

Great leadership skills, Keith.

Keith examines him, his purple eyes scanning every inch of available skin. It feels like something physical. Lance huffs and tugs at Hunk’s shirt. It keeps slipping off one shoulder no matter what he does.

Then Keith smirks, apparently satisfied that all of Lance’s limbs are intact. “You know how to improvise.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The bodies of the dead sink into the floor, including their weapons. The creatures disappear too and Lance grimaces. “This is so fucked.”

“We should work together. All of us, so no one dies.” Keith states quietly, in that determined way of his that leaves no room for doubt or argument.

Lance is about to reply, but Keith stalks off towards Crescioul without waiting for a response. It makes sense. Whether they like it or not, that bastard somehow established himself as some kind of leader. But he’s not a leader. No way in hell does he care about anyone other than himself. Keith doesn’t know that because he doesn’t remember the fucked-up shit he tried to pull.

“Keith, wait.”

Keith stops again, abruptly. Oops.

He spins around and grabs the front of Lance’s/Hunk’s shirt, his eyes narrowing in quiet fury. “Do that again. I dare you.”

He’s still hot from the fight.

Lance smacks his hand away, his own anger rising in response. “It was an accident. And if you would’ve just listened to me, I wouldn’t have done it. Listen. You’re not going to get anywhere with Crescioul, he’s an asshole.”

“They respect him.” Keith exhales from his nose, looking out at the other prisoners. “And from what you said, I already lost any possibility of gaining their respect. You have a gun, so they won’t trust you; you’re not on equal footing. He’s our only chance.”

It’s true. It’s also uncharacteristically perceptive of Keith. Or maybe Lance has had him pegged for a socially inept idiot for so long he’s forgotten how much of an innate leader he is. When he wants to be.

He follows Keith to Crescioul.

Crescioul's hands are stained blue, and disconcertingly, there’s also blue around his mouth. He smiles wide when he sees them, and the blue gunk in his spiral teeth makes Lance reconsider throwing up his lunch. His greasy eyes stay on Keith.

“Hello, pretty vlek. Back for more?”

Keith clenches his fists but remains otherwise composed. “We need to organize. You’re our strongest fighter. Take twelve. Pick someone to cover your nine, and Lance and I will cover the rest. We’ll put the prisoners in order from strongest to weakest, so that we can switch out with the row behind us when we get tired. Got it?”

Crescioul laughs obnoxiously. “You want to protect them? They are scum, just like you and me. You wish to trade in your life for these criminals? Go ahead. I will not.”

“We stand a better chance as a group.” Keith says stubbornly.

Crescioul ignores him and points to Ionne. “This is who you wish to protect? She received a higher sentence than you. That is because she killed a kit and ate it.”

Lance goes cold. She did what? To a baby?

Keith ignores Crescioul, single-minded. “You won’t do it?”

Crescioul bends until he’s just inches away from Keith’s face. Lance bristles but Keith doesn’t move, keeping his gaze steady. Crescioul’s bloody lips crack into a smile. “No, I will not. But it is a shame you will die a vlek. If you want a taste of cock before you die, I–”

Lance sees Keith’s movement in his face before he makes an actual move. He sees it in a fleeting micro expression, the delicate muscles in his face tense in a snarl. Lance jumps and snatches him away before he can make contact, dragging him away from Crescioul while the big alien laughs and laughs.

They can’t afford to get into a fight right now. Keith seems to realize the same thing and calms. He opens his mouth, but Lance is already marching towards Ionne.

Her eyes widen when she sees his face. She clutches her knife in both hands.

“Did you do it?” Lance barks. “Did you kill a baby?”

Her face falls.

The gates open. Lance swivels around, raising his sword. There's a sick taste in his mouth. How could she do something like that? How could Lance have been talking to someone like that? He protected her! Anger twists in his gut.

He kills the next creature before he even realizes what it is.

Whatever it is, it can fly.

They swoop out of the gates in a flurry of black wings. Glints of light shine through the cloud and Lance finds out quickly that those are razor sharp claws and beaks.

There's too many of them.

They slice at him no matter how many he cuts down.

After an eternity of being shredded, the cloud finally thins and the buzzer sounds.

Lance works on catching his breath, spitting feathers out of his mouth and trying to wipe away the gristle on his body. That was fucking awful. Where are they finding these creatures? This is straight up animal abuse. He looks down at the one closest to his feet. It looks like a raven, but a pterodactyl sized one with eyes tucked inside the wings.

Poor creatures.

“Are you alright?” Keith asks.

Lance doesn't turn to look at him. “We need to get off this fucking planet.”

Keith doesn't say anything.

Lance grabs him by the elbow and pulls him in the other direction. “Let's get away from her.”

“She'll die.”

“She can fend for herself. She probably killed more of those things than I did.” He's not lying. Her knife was perfect for that, and she’s quick too. She also has tougher skin, so the hundreds of cuts didn't faze her.

Keith frowns at him. “We don't know if Crescioul was telling the truth.”

“I saw the look on her face. She did it.”

“Lance.” Keith sighs.

He sounds like Shiro when he does that.

The third round starts but no gates open. The crowd’s roar dies down to a quiet murmur, and the prisoners look around nervously.

Something is different.

He can taste it in the air.

Keith pushes up against his back. “You ready, sharpshooter?”

“Born ready, baby.”

The sand stirs. It’s just a subtle shifting of sand and at first Lance thinks it’s just the wind, until he remembers there is no wind. He nods at it and Keith’s eyes track the movements. Then suddenly, someone screams. They turn to look. Arms rise out of the sand, pink and wet and crusted with sand. They move fast and wrap around a prisoner’s arms and legs. They don’t have time to see what happens next because Keith suddenly drops to the floor with a shout.

The pink arms burst from the sand, snakes, no– worms, they wrap around his legs and arms, pinning him to the ground. They're disgusting, scarred with pockmarks that leak foul fluid. They leave trails in Keith’s fur. Another one wraps around his middle, but Lance doesn’t wait for more to show up. He cuts the one around his sword arm and Keith quickly frees himself, never having dropped his sword.

“Run,” He gasps.

They sprint towards the walls.

They barely make it twenty feet before Lance drops to the ground, cursing. They got his ankle. He spins and slices it but another one grabs him before he can get up. Fuck. What happens if they don’t cut them fast enough? He doesn’t want to find out.

Keith hauls him up and they keep running. They’re all headed in the same direction. Sand kicks up as all the lucky prisoners, the fast ones, sprint across the arena.

They jump off the wall and cling to the gate that keeps them fenced in like animals.

The crowd screams, wild and bloodthirsty.

Lance whips his head around to look at them, horrified. There are people screaming in his face. Spittle flies from their grinning lips and their eyes gleam, bloodshot and bloodthirsty. They look like animals. No, worse.

A movement catches his eye across the arena. The prisoners are dropping from the grates. Lance searches frantically for the cause. Can the worms reach them up here? But no. The worms don't rise. What– the crowd is attacking them!

Pain rips open his skin and Lance turns back to see a woman clawing at him with her nails. She leers at him, gnashing her teeth. The people around her scream. It's deafening. Lance can't hear anything other than crazed screaming for blood. Lance's blood. They want him dead. They try to push past her to get at Lance's hands. She cuts harder into Lance's knuckles.

Blood rushes in his ears while he stares at her.

Why is she doing that? He doesn't understand.

Why?

And then there's a flash of silver going into her hand, sending blood spraying into Lance's face. She lets go of him.

It’s just a smattering of drops but they feel like acid.

Lance blinks. The silver weapon is attached to a Keith's hand. It's his pin. He follows the line of Keith's arm to see him snarling at her. He looks terrible. His canines are long and glinting and his silver pin is in his hand, dripping with blood. His eyes flash yellow. He looks beautiful.

What is happening?

The woman seizes and drops to the floor. The crowd sucks her in. People give them a wide berth after that, but they don't stop screaming. They want Keith and Lance to die.

Keith is trying to talk to him.

Lance shakes his head slowly. He can't hear him.

Keith scowls and drops to the ground, taking off at a sprint. It’s like he took Lance’s organs with him– they swoop out of his body and make him cold. He’s about to jump after him but something makes him freeze. Keith is running in some kind of pattern. The worms aren’t taking him. He’s running toward the other prisoners; he’s trying to save them.

Why? They’re not worth Keith’s life.

But then, he sees Ionne pinned to the ground by writhing, slimy tentacles. She’s screaming, her eyes wide with terror, until one covers her face, suffocating her.

Lance drops to the ground and runs toward her. He’s following Keith’s pattern, knowing it without really knowing it. Copying instinctively from what feels like a lifetime of imitating and responding to the expert movements of Keith's body. He hacks at the worm on her face, cutting it off at the base where it sinks back into the sand. There’s no blood, it oozes unidentifiable organs. She shakes her head wildly and screams. Lance keeps cutting until she’s free, then he takes her arm and drags her a couple feet to the side.

Keith whistles to get his attention, loud and sharp. “Lance! The worms won’t attack–”

“Next to where they just attacked. I got it.” Lance shouts.

That’s the pattern.

Keith jumps from the tell-tale sinkholes in the sand where the worms disappeared into, to places where prisoners are actively struggling. Lance follows his lead and runs to the nearest prisoner. He’s a large Galra desperately clawing into a worm around his middle with his claws. He lost his weapon. He’s not fast enough. The worms coil around his legs like ropes, and the gored worm on his stomach tightens even as its organs fly out in chunks.

“Stop moving!” Lance orders. “I’ll cut you free.”

“Please help!” The man claws faster, tears and snot flowing down his face.

Lance slices the worms quickly, guilt burning a fire in his throat. The shock-induced haze he was in fades away quickly, extinguished by sharp adrenaline. His mind runs quickly now.

He's a piece of shit. How could he have hesitated to help these people? It doesn't matter that they're criminals, they're people and they don't deserve to die like this. He shouldn’t be weighing their lives against Keith’s, it's not his place to do so. They’re Voltron. Defenders of the universe. What's wrong with him? His eyes track Keith as he saves yet another person. He lifts them into a Fireman’s carry with practiced ease. He's a better man than Lance is.

Lance finally frees the man and drags him to safety.

The round ends.

Lance takes a quick look around. There's only thirteen of them left, including Keith and Lance. The crowd has calmed a little, and Lance swears he can hear some booing. What? Was there not enough blood for them?

“Lance, you okay?”

It's Keith. He says Lance's name weird, like the L takes up more space rolling off his tongue than it should.

“I'm good. You?”

“Uh, you're being spacey.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Stop smelling me.”

“I wasn't.”

He's fine. He's not being spacey.

Then Lance's face flashes on screen and startles them both. The screen says he's free. Relief hits him like a truck, and then the realization sets in. Right. He's not free until Keith is.

Keith doesn't seem to realize that, though. He smiles at Lance and the tips of his canines poke out from how wide his smile is. “Awesome. Go get Limoncito.”

Ugh. Is Keith really that oblivious? Even Pidge thought Lance would leave. Is that really what his friends think about him?

“Dude, I'm staying.”

“What?” Keith's smile drops. “No.”

“Yes. Duh. I'm not leaving you here by yourself. That's like, obvious.”

Keith steps into his personal space. “This isn't a joke. You could die.”

“So could you! That's why I'm staying, so we can help each other. Watch each other's backs, you know.” Lance kicks at the sand. Why does he feel so awkward right now?

Keith shakes his head, and Lance really doesn't like that he has to look up at him now to meet his gaze. It should be the other way around.

“I don't need your help.”

“Wow.”

“I'm serious, Lance, just go.”

The gates open without a buzzer sounding, and the other newly freed prisoners start making their way towards it. They walk hesitantly at first, looking around like someone is going to stop them, then they run. The other prisoners look on in envy. Lance pointedly heads in the other direction. There's a certain kind of uneasiness simmering beneath his skin. Coño. He hates being somewhere he's not wanted. Absolutely fucking hates it. Also, he really doesn't want to antagonize Keith right now. Usually, he loves that shit, but he doesn’t feel too good right now.

Having to kill all those creatures with nothing shielding him from the horror, no armor against his skin, no long-ranged weapon affording him distance, no trustworthy voice in his ear crackling through the comms telling him what to do and why.

This was filthy, senseless killing.

And the woman. She tried to kill Lance for no reason other than to watch him die. Something had split in Lance's mind. Looking into her eyes, something snapped that line drawn between what was a human, a person, and what was a monster. A violent, mindless creature that needs to be put down. Executed. Culled.

But that's not Lance. He doesn't know who that was.

Keith pulls him back by his shirt, effectively yanking him from his spiral. “Get the fuck out of here. Your dumb baby needs you.”

Hey. Limoncito isn't dumb.

“Pidge says he's okay, he's with–”

“I don't need you here.” Keith narrows his eyes and his hand on Lance's shirt clenches into a fist. “I don't want you here. You're not a good fighter. You'll hold me back.”

The words sting.

“Shut up. If there's even a chance that me being here could help you–” Lance starts, a little desperately.

“There isn’t. You're a distraction at best and a handicap at worst. You think it helps that I have to constantly make sure you don’t get yourself killed?”

Lance bites his cheek and tastes blood. He shoves Keith hard enough to make him stumble. “Fuck you! You think I don't know what you're doing? I'm not stupid, you're just saying these things to get me to leave because you're a self-sacrificing idiot who doesn't accept help when he should!”

Keith growls at him. Actually growls at him! What a fucking furry.

Then he walks towards Lance quickly and Lance puts his fists up. He is not getting punched again, not this time, no sir, this time he’s ready–

But he is not, in fact, ready, because Keith ducks at the last second and wraps his arms around Lance's legs, lifting him and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Lance screeches as his world turns upside down. “What the fuck! Put me down!”

This is so fucking embarrassing. His cheeks burn. Is everyone watching this on the screen? Since when is Keith strong enough to do this?

He kicks and struggles, but Keith doesn't budge as he walks him to the gate. His arms are like iron bars around his waist and thighs. Lance’s yellow shirt falls down around his head and he can feel his briefs riding up. Finally, Lance grabs hold of Keith's surprisingly heavy tail, and yanks.

Keith jolts and makes a weird noise, dropping him like a bag of cement. It kind of sounds like nnnnghaaa!

Lance would have laughed but the sand does nothing to cushion his fall, and his ribs protest. Instead, he coughs pathetically. “Ow.”

To add insult to injury, Keith kicks sand over him and curses him out.

Lance pushes himself to his feet when he regains his breath. “You're a psychopath, Keith Kogane."

“And you're the most annoying and irritating person I've ever met!” Keith shouts.

“Save it, princess.” Lance says, fully aware he's triggering Keith into choking him out. “Just ‘cause you're on your fucking period doesn't mean you can–”

Keith snarls and jumps at him with literal murder in his eyes.

Holy shit, he's actually going to kill him.

Lance spins on his heel and runs for his life. Shitshitshit, Keith is going to kill him before this shitty planet full of crazy people and fucked up monsters does. He knows he shouldn't have said that last bit. By now, he's gotten pretty good at realizing what angers Keith, and he's done a pretty good job of avoiding those topics thus far. Now Lance did it on purpose, like a jerk.

Why is it so hard for him to be a good person?

But he said those things because the hurt was so thick in his throat that he had to get it out somehow.

Annoying. Irritating. Useless. Stupid. A handicap. How did Keith know?

How did he know just where to stab him so that it hurt the most?

God, he's going insane. It's not the first time Keith or anyone has said those things to him. But it hurts more now, a thousand times more, and he can't for the life of him figure out why.

Keith stops chasing him, but Lance doesn't stop running until he's on the other side of the arena.

He pants. Running in the sand is hard and his ribs are threatening mutiny.

Keith is a small figure now, standing by himself and leaning on his sword. He put that bloody pin back in hair, Lance can tell from the way his hair falls around his face.

Lance watches him and curses under his breath. Puta madre. This is so stupid. He should go over there, apologize, and stick by him so that Lance can protect him. But who is he kidding? Keith is right. He is a way better fighter than Lance. He can protect himself. Lance would probably just get in the way.

A lump forms in his throat and Lance's self-hatred explodes into something vicious.

Is he really about to cry over something like this? He's a grown man for god’s sake. He's such a fucking pussy.

Get it together, Lance.

“Blue Paladin, I–”

The small voice breaks him from his thoughts and irritation surges. “Not now, Ionne.”

She snuck up on him.

“I just wanted to say thank you for saving my life again, I am eternally grateful.” She whispers. She's holding Lance's sword out to him. He doesn't even know when he dropped it.

Lance takes it with a heavy sigh. He can’t do this right now. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill a baby, and… and–”

He can’t say the rest of it.

She looks at him sadly. She looks old, suddenly. “In my home planet, what I did was not a crime. I killed the baby while it lived inside of me because I did not want it.”

“Oh.”

“Crescioul and the others like to say that I… that I consumed it, but I did not. Those are their own twisted imaginings. I solely did not want to share my body.” She ducks her head. “I apologize if my actions offend you, paladin. I understand in times such as this, my people believe every Galra life to be a precious soldier. I selfishly took a soldier from the cause.”

Lance feels bowled over. Now he wants to cry for a different reason. He sighs again.

“No… Ionne. I owe you an apology. I judged you and I shouldn't have.” Lance meets her eyes. “It's not a crime in my home planet either. Of course you have a right to your own body, this place is just backwards. I’m sorry. Don't worry, we'll get out of here. Stay next to me.”

Her black, yellow eyes study him for a second, in disbelief, before she nods.

Lance grips his sword, wishing he had his bayard instead. He's exhausted, both physically and emotionally and he just wants this day to end. He wants to be cuddled up in bed with his baby on one side and Keith on the other.

But it's only round three.

Chapter Text

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

Charging rhino turtles, blood-sucking mosquitos on coke, creatures that roll like boulders and bleed like stuck pigs, teleporting monkeys that screamed and screamed and screamed until Lance stuck his rusty excuse for a sword through their furry necks.

The others die despite their best efforts to protect each other. There’s only six of them left.

Instead of the crowd growing bored of the same gore and death round after round, they grow even wilder, hollering and gripping the grate like they want to break through and kill the prisoners themselves. That scares Lance way more than the actual monsters.

Ionne is a quick learner, and Lance finds himself having to protect her a little less each round. Keith is still stubbornly not talking to him, but they’re not on opposite sides of the arena anymore, and Lance can feel his purple eyes on him more often than not.

Lance watches out for him too, watching the way he steadily grows more confident in his new body. His claws stay unsheathed the whole time now, and once he watched Keith use his tail to pick up a fallen prisoner’s weapon and use it to slash through a creature while he fended off another one with his arms. That made Lance stumble and stare in awe. That was badass as fuck. Keith had paused after pulling off that move and swung around to grace Lance with a wild, proud grin that sent Lance’s poor heart pounding like he’d been shot with adrenaline.

That was the end of round six. Round seven is about to start and Lance starts heading towards Keith again. Maybe that smile means he’s forgiven.

But then the buzzer sounds faster than it had in the previous rounds. Lance looks around, confused. Are they taking away their time to rest? Suddenly, the ground shifts violently beneath his feet and Lance falls, almost impaling himself on his own weapon. He’s rising. Ionne is on the platform with him on her hands and knees. Lance scrambles to the edge.

The sand falls rapidly like curtains as several circular platforms rise into the air.

Two of the prisoners don’t make it and stay on the ground. That gives Lance a feeling of dread. For some reason, he feels like the best place to be is on the platforms, probably because of the natural advantages of higher ground and– oh fuck, Keith’s not on the platforms.

He’s not going to make it.

Panic climbs into Lance’s throat.

But Keith runs and jumps and when the sand finally falls away, Lance sees him. He made it. Sort of. He’s clinging to the underside of the platform and is steadily climbing. Lance sits back on his heels, relieved.

Okay, so what kind of monster are they going to unleash now? Probably something that flies so that the crowd can enjoy watching them fall to their deaths.

He peeks over the edge. Keith is closer now.

“Hurry up!” Lance calls.

Keith’s ears twitch and turn towards him before his face does. “This thing wasn’t exactly made for climbing, Lance.”

Lance grins. He’s definitely forgiven. “C’mon, Pony. Giddy up.”

Keith groans. “Why are you calling me that again? Do I even want to know?”

“You don’t remember?” Lance bites his lip, grinning. He doesn’t remember.

Keith rolls his eyes.

Something catches Lance’s attention, a movement. But it’s just a shadow. He goes back to thinking of things to say to annoy Keith. But then it moves again. It looks like it’s heading towards them. No, it’s definitely heading towards them.

“Uh, Keith, dude. You might want to get a move on.”

“Huh?”

“Hurry! Hurry!”

Keith doesn’t turn to look; he just climbs faster. But then a scream rips through the air behind them and they both freeze. It’s coming from another platform. Two shadow creatures are on the platform, and now that they’re closer, Lance can see that they’re more like inky clouds with stuff that looks like barbed wire inside. Nasty. But Lance doesn’t really see how they could be deadly.

The person screams again.

It’s Crescioul.

He’s grappling with the shadow creature, trying to hold it back, but it wraps around both of his arms and– no. Something else is happening. His arms are turning black, then his neck, and then his face, and then… he dies. He just screams, turns black, and dies. Holy shit.

He turns back to Keith and screams.

Keith’s ears flatten against his head. “What?!”

“Nothing! Nothing!” Lance screams, shrill.

The creature is almost on him, climbing up much faster than Keith is. Lance pulls his gun out of his underwear, yeah, he’s going to have permanent bruises down there, and starts assembling it. He should’ve fucking practiced. The slim pieces almost slip out of his hands. But then it clicks and Lance slots the pieces together, tapping it against his necklace. The scope pops into place with a quiet schlink and then the bullets too, until his chain shortens to rest around his collarbones.

He hangs over the edge and takes aim. Will the bullets even pierce these things?

He shoots.

The bullets go right through the creature’s inky body. It pauses for a second, then resumes.

Keith jolts like Lance shot him. Oops. He probably should have warned him. The bullet whizzed by not even a foot away from him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t–! No, don’t look back, Keith just climb! Climb!” Lance takes aim again and shoots. Nothing. Fuck, fuck, Keith isn’t going to make it.

But what if he… Lance looks through the scope, examining the creature. It really is just a cloud of ink with black tendrils floating out of the mass almost lazily. But there! Some of the tendrils are different. Lance aims for the barbed wire ones. It’s hard because they’re indistinguishable from the cloud until they poke out and form a slight silhouette against the background. He waits, and waits, and waits, until one black tendril reaches out for a purple ankle and then he shoots.

The bullet hits.

The creature draws back, arms waving, and then it plops to the ground and bursts like a water balloon.

Ew. Also, thank god. Thank god, that was too fucking close. Lance prays a lot for an atheist.

Keith finally reaches the top and Lance puts his gun aside to reach down and haul him up with both hands. He’s sweaty. Then Keith’s foot slips and his eyes widen. He falls on top of Lance, flattening him like a pancake.

Lance groans. He swears he can hear his ribs creak. For such a small guy, Keith weighs a fucking ton. Not that he’s small right now. And he’s hot. Hot and sweaty and his fur feels soft against Lance’s damp skin. His weight feels good, solid, pressing against his chest and his thighs and his… crotch. He can feel his breath on his neck and whoa, whoa–

“H-Hey!” Lance struggles to sit up and that makes the sensations better, wait, no, worse. Definitely worse. “What the fuck.”

He hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud but seriously? What the fuck. Lance has never been horny during battle, not once. That was something that he typically left for perverts like Keith. Well. Okay, Lance can’t help but notice how heated Keith gets after a battle, or a good training session. He gets that gorgeous, unguarded, wild smile on his face, and his cheeks take on that rosy glow, his hair all wind-swept and mussed and– hmmm. Okay, Keith is probably just an adrenaline junkie and Lance is the pervert. Yeah.

Keith sits up. He draws his thighs up against either side of Lance, spreading his legs, and a jolt of panic shoots through Lance.

“Ah! Fuck, Keith focus!” He turns around, accidentally bumping Keith with his ass. Keith curses and grabs him to avoid falling off the platform. Lance scrambles forward, swatting his hands away. “We have to kill the shadow creatures!”

“The what?”

Lance picks up his gun again. He notices the crowd for the first time. They’re furious, screaming and protesting. It’s the fucking gun. They think he’s cheating because he has a gun. Well, fuck them. They can go fuck themselves.

Then the screaming starts up again.

The shadow creature reaches another platform.

“Don’t let it touch you!” Lance shouts. “Get out of the way!”

It’s Crescioul’s goons. They see that he has a gun and stand back. Okay, so they’re not totally stupid. Lance throws himself to the ground again and takes aim. He can take a minute to really appreciate the rifle now. It’s so deceptively light that at first Lance almost mistook it for a low-quality gun, but god, she’s perfect.

He leans his cheek against the cold metal, breathing out as he waits for the creature to appear in his crosshairs. He readies it, cocking back the trigger that slots perfectly in the bend of his finger. He shoots. The gun jumps back against his shoulder and it’s powerful, but it’s smooth and Lance doesn’t even blink before reloading her and shooting again. He doesn’t miss this time. The creature bursts.

“Keith. Get those people over here.” Oh, crap. “Uh, I mean, if you want to. Please.”

It would be easier to protect everyone if they’re all on the same platform, and it would make it easier for Lance to shoot the shadow creatures too. But he doesn’t have to explain all of that to Keith. He knows.

Keith helps the prisoners come to their platform. There’s three of them and Keith catches them as they jump, hauling them up with Ionne’s help. Lance registers this out of the corner of his eye because he’s too busy shooting the creatures mere feet away from the escaping prisoners. The creatures come up from behind them too, but Keith steps over him.

“Keep shooting. I got this.”

“Don’t let them touch you.”

“I know.”

Lance settles into a familiar headspace. He knows how to do this, he’s good at this. He doesn’t have to think. He doesn’t miss anymore, killing the creatures within seconds of each other. But they just keep coming.

And then they stop.

At the same time, something sprays his back and it feels like acid. Lance yelps and starts to turn, but then it all happens way too fast for him to follow. There’s a lot of people over him. Keith, Ionne, and a stranger. They’re all holding weapons. Keith is yelling. It’s a horrible, terrified sound that overloads Lance’s brain. He’s stabbing the stranger. Ionne is jumping at the stranger and the stranger’s face is covered in black goo like a mask and he’s bringing down a sharp piece of metal. The metal winks at Lance, mocking, and then pain takes over Lance’s world for an eternity that flashes by in the blink of a second and then the world goes dark.

Just dark.

Chapter Text

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁

Keith is in love with Lance McClain.

It’s a weakness that goes bone deep.

He’s not sure when it was well and truly over for him. He tries to pinpoint the moment while he waits, staring at his bloodied hands and counting.

It took thirty minutes to get Lance out of the arena.

Ten minutes to bring him to the hospital.

Three to roll him into the OR.

He was in surgery for nine hours,

Unconscious for four hours since then.

His heart rate is approximately 110 beats per minute.

And his blood pressure is 120/80 mm Hg.

Lance is breathing evenly now, like he’s asleep. But Lance doesn’t sleep like that. Keith knows. He doesn’t sleep with his head perfectly centered on the pillow, his arms outstretched on either side of him and his body perfectly straight, and he doesn’t sleep with his lips parted because there’s a splint on his nose.

He’s pale. His usually glowing, brown skin is gray and dry like he lost all his blood.

And he practically had.

Keith squeezes his eyes against the image, but it comes anyway.

Blood bursts from Lance’s leg. It sprays against Keith’s chest as he bends over him. It felt like acid. It splatters against his chest in heavier bursts and then sprays in a fine mist over his neck and lips. It tastes like copper. Keith drops to his knees, closing the wound clumsily with his bare hands. It’s hot and wet and oh god he’s holding Lance’s leg closed with his bare hands. He’s bleeding out and there’s blood everywhere– Lance’s blood. There's too much blood and it smells revolting and he can’t get a good grip because Lance’s flesh is slippery and dead. Lance is dead.

He thought Lance was dead.

Keith had tied the world’s shittiest tourniquet– gasping because every time he released Lance, gallons of blood poured out from between his fingers –using Shiro’s shirt and Ionne’s dagger.

The doctors say it saved Lance’s life, but he thinks that’s just something doctors say.

Lance is alive.

The quiet beeps of the machine, Lance’s heartbeat, pull him back. The image leaves him. Keith swallows it down because Lance is alive. It leaves him nauseated, but Lance is alive.

He blinks until the hospital sheets in front of him stop looking so blurry.

Maybe the moment Keith realized it was over was when Lance was late.

It was all those days ago, the last time they fought Zarkon’s army, when Lance deviated from the plan. He didn’t take the planned route, the one they rehearsed a million times. He was late to the checkpoint.

And then Lance turned his comms off during the mission.

There was a second right after the line went dead during which Keith’s heart stopped beating. He stopped breathing. Lance never turned his comms off.

But their system registered that Lance turned them off intentionally.

He watched Lance on the holographic map of the ship. He was just a glowing, blue circle that pulsed as it went from corridor to corridor. Sections of the ship went dark as they exploded, crumbling to nothing in the vacuum of space. The deadness chased Lance. Keith kept staring at that blue circle, waiting for the darkness to catch up and for it to pulse for the last time.

And then the whole ship went dark and that was it.

Lance was dead.

Then he wasn’t.

Blue flickered on screen. She barely escaped the flames.

She’d flown right into the hangar and delivered Lance safe and sound. He stepped out of her jaws. His hair was singed. His cheeks were red from the heat. There was ash on his face and blood in his hands. He looked down at the bloody bundle in his arms so gently, so wondrously.

Maybe that was the moment Keith realized he loved him.

Lance looks so small now.

Nothing at all like the hero from that memory, standing tall and triumphantly, whooping as he ran faster than fire and plasma.

Lance looks dead now. Sleeping like he would in a coffin. He has cuts running up his arms, up his neck, all over his face. Keith counts them meticulously, despite himself, turning Lance’s arms slightly to count accurately. He touches his skin with the barest of caresses, using just his fingertips, like he’s touching a corpse. He walks around Lance’s hospital bed, counting.

He counts for two more hours before Lance finally stirs. His fingers twitch, then his eyelids flutter.

One hundred and ninety-seven cuts.

Lance groans as Keith turns the inside of his wrist to recount.

Keith sits up like someone blew a dog whistle. “Lance? Lance, are you awake? Can you hear me?”

A frown forms between Lance’s thin eyebrows. Keith’s voice brings in the rest of Voltron from the hallway. They run in and rush to Lance’s side.

Lance raises one of his hands to touch his nose tentatively, squeezing his eyes shut.

Keith pulls Lance’s hand away from his face. “No. That’s just the splint, don’t touch it.”

He tries to make his voice gentle, but he’s never been good at that.

“Wha–?” Lance’s eyes finally open all the way. He’s awake.

He’s alive.

Lance takes them in, his expression slowly turning into one of confusion. He squeezes Keith’s hand and Keith flinches. “Why… why are you naked? Keith. Keith. Am I naked?”

He’s slurring. Keith’s name in his mouth sounds like a prayer. His eyes are dilated. The doctors said he’d be under a lot of pain medication. Keith tries prying his fingers away from his hands subtly, but his grip is like a vice.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Hunk says, and he wraps his arms around Lance in the gentlest possible hug. “You just got out of surgery. We’ve been waiting here at the hospital since you got in.”

His voice is gentle. Why can’t Keith do that?

Hunk wipes away a tear, careful to make sure Lance doesn’t see. He’d been absolutely silent in the hospital waiting room, hunched over the bloody rag in his hands that used to be his shirt.

“We thought you were dead!” Pidge bursts out. She smacks Hunk, probably because she can’t smack Lance. She’s crying now, and Keith averts his eyes. She’d spent hours crying on and off, clutching Hunk’s arm. Keith didn’t think she had any more tears left. “We were watching you on the screen and there was so much fucking blood!”

So much blood.

Keith focuses on Lance’s hand. He still hasn’t let go.

There are scratches on his knuckles where that woman in the stands clawed at him. Keith didn’t count those. They go so deep he can see the pink underneath. Keith should’ve killed that woman. She’s probably dead, but Keith should have made sure. Lance has a broken nail on his ring finger. He's going to be upset about that. His fingers are long, they wrap all the way around Keith's hand.

Lance lets go suddenly. It feels like a loss.

He pulls the blanket away from his legs and stares at them uncomprehendingly.

The bandage on his thigh is a spotless white, and so is the rest of Lance's body for that matter. Spotless, not white. The nurses gave him a sponge bath after the emergency surgery. All the blood that drowned him before is gone. There’s only cuts and bruises left, so there's no reason why Lance should be looking at his leg like it's not there.

“It's okay.” Keith says stiffly, just about choking on the guilt he's been trying so hard to push down. He pulls the blanket back over Lance's lap. “The doctors say you'll be okay. You'll regain full function, or whatever.”

It's his fault Lance is hurt. He was supposed to protect him.

Allura rubs Lance’s shoulder, drawing his attention. “You did good, Lance. You stayed and you fought well. We're proud of you.”

Keith lowers his gaze. She shouldn't be congratulating him for staying. That was stupid. She's probably going to scold him later, once she gets over the shock of Lance almost dying. And if she doesn’t, Keith will.

Lance’s only reply is to stare at her in surprise. “¡Un ángel! ¿Has venido a visitarme?” He turns to smile at Keith dopily, like he wants to share the good news with him.

An angel! Have you come to visit me?

Keith didn’t catch all of that, but he gets the gist. He’s calling her an angel. Allura looks confused.

Lance opens his mouth again and Keith just knows he's going to say something he's going to regret, so he clamps his hand over Lance's mouth as softly as he can. “Allura, will you please go find Lance a change of clothes?”

Allura nods and ducks out, giving Lance one last pat on the shoulder.

They’re not naked, contrary to what Lance said. Lance is wearing a hospital gown of course, and Keith still has his underwear on, soaked in blood. But their state of undress seems to bother him so they should make it a priority to change that. Their friends had given Keith plenty of opportunities to get changed, but Keith didn’t want to risk leaving Lance for even a second. So he’d waited in his bloodied underwear, pacing outside the OR and watching as little robots wiped clean his bloody footprints.

Lance's lips are soft beneath his palm. He's looking at Keith now, really looking, for the first time since waking up. His eyes are wide and startlingly clear.

Keith releases him and looks away.

“Keith! You're not purple anymore!” Insanely, Lance sounds disappointed. He reaches out and grabs Keith's arm, yanking him back to his bedside with a strength a sick man shouldn’t possess. “No! What happened? Where are your fluffy ears? And your tail?”

Keith squirms. Great. The first coherent thing he says, and it has to be that? Keith doesn't want to call any attention to what he looked like. It’s bad enough knowing that all his friends were watching him in that form, half naked, through high-definition screens.

But then Lance's arm drops, searching behind, and fully grabs Keith’s ass. “Is your tail–?”

Keith jumps, gasping.

What the fuck?

He smacks Lance's hand away, stumbling back. His face burns and he knows the blush on his chest is visibly spreading.

Pidge starts cackling.

Hunk shakes his head and says, “Oh man,” and Shiro pretends to cough into his fist to hide his laughter. There’s relief there. Pounds of tension audibly leak from their voices thanks to Lance’s antics. That’s something he can do for the team, even while drugged and half-dead. Keith wishes he could feel the same relief, but his is mixed with humiliation and anger.

Assholes.

Keith debates whether he should punch Lance for that, recent surgery be damned.

But Lance is still looking at him cluelessly, and his pupils are dilated like a baby seal’s. He didn't do it on purpose. Of course he didn't. Lance wouldn't do that. Still.

“Where's your tail?” Lance whines. He looks like someone just told him Santa isn't real.

“Shut the fuck up, Lance.”

“Is it inside you?”

“Be quiet!”

“This is crazy. Do you think your tailbone–”

“Can you please be quiet?” Keith begs desperately. He feels like he's going to melt into the floor, and his butt still feels weird. He swears he can feel the imprint of every single digit.

Lance smiles at him, and it's almost sweet. “You're blushing!”

Nope. He can't do this, actually.

He stomps out of the room, a hard feat to achieve barefoot, and brushes off Shiro's attempts to get him to stay. Once he's out of the room he puts his back against the wall and just breathes. It’s the first full breath he’s taken in 14 hours and 40 minutes.

Lance is okay. He made it.

It feels like… he doesn’t know what it feels like. It feels like life can go on again.

He looks around with new eyes.

The hospital is busy.

People rush back and forth, and no one gives him more than a first glance, if that. He assumes the other former prisoners are still being tended to. The survivors. A lot of them were in pretty bad shape. Some even had to be carried to the gates.

But the man who attacked Lance is dead. Keith made sure of that.

It's cold here.

He feels so much colder now that he's back in his body. He feels less naked, but also more vulnerable. He's glad he's normal now, that he didn't have to face his friends with that other face, that he didn't have to watch Shiro's expression when he first saw Keith looking like… looking like the enemy. Looking like the monsters that still keep him up at night.

Keith closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose.

He needs a shower. And a proper meal. And some sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. His muscles feel like he just ran a marathon, and he has to concentrate to keep his knees from trembling. He's about to look for somewhere to shower when Lance's voice, loud and angry, has him rushing back in the room before he even realizes what he's doing.

“Just fucking bring me my baby!” Lance shouts.

The heart monitor beeps with terror, sending scary green lines spiking all over the screen. Keith takes a step towards him, alarmed. Shiro has his palms raised toward Lance, trying to placate him.

“Lance, Cito is safe.”

“Bring him to me!”

Hunk tries to touch him but Lance throws him off. He tries again. “Buddy. Listen, you're still recovering. You're in no position to be taking care of a baby right now. You can't even walk.”

Pidge is pressed flat against the wall, eyes wide.

“We just checked on him. Oltha and Derek said they have no problem caring for him a little longer.” Shiro explains.

“How could you leave him with those people?” Lance pushes Shiro away and the force of it sends his own body flying back against the pillow. He looks at Keith desperately, tears clumping his eyelashes together, and that's all it takes.

Keith nods once and spins on his heel.

He grabs a folded nurse’s uniform on his way out and pulls it over his head while he walks briskly out of the hospital. People move aside for him. He heads toward where they last met with the family, and asks someone who fearfully points at a plain cement-looking house.

He's aware he looks a little crazy right now. He's still covered in blood.

He knocks on the door, then steps back to kick it down.

Luckily, the teenager opens it. “What–”

Keith pushes past him. The little girl shrieks and her brother scoops her up, running to another room in the house. Keith only has to search two rooms before he hears Limon squeal.

He's standing in a crib, bouncing up and down.

He looks happy to see Keith, if his excited movement and toothy grin can be taken as evidence.

“Hi.” Keith mutters.

He hesitates standing in front of the baby, not really sure how he's going to do this. He decides to just grab his arms, pulling him up. But Limoncito yelps and Keith drops him, flustered. Did he hurt him? But Limon giggles and rolls back up on his feet, stretching his arms up towards Keith and bouncing excitedly. Keith tries lifting him under the arms, but then he's just awkwardly holding him outstretched, and his arms tremble from the weight of him. In his defense, he’s tired as all hell, and Limon is a fat baby.

An awful feeling floods him then, feeling the baby's weight in his weak hands.

He pushes it down, fast.

He can’t afford that. The mission comes first.

He scans his surroundings. This place is bare. There’s a strange chandelier hanging on top of the crib with dried plant matter, bones, and little stuffed toys. There’s a dusty rocking chair in the corner, and a changing table pushed against one wall, both painted an ashy gray like the rest of the place.

He decides to just bring the baby towards his chest.

Limon squeals and touches Keith's face with his free hand, soaked in spit. Disgust rises in Keith's mouth, but he swallows it back. Gross.

He manhandles Limon until his back is against Keith’s chest and he's facing forward. Keith places one arm under him for support, grabbing his leg, and he uses his other hand like a seat belt across the baby’s chest. That works, right?

It's the first time he's held a baby in a long time.

A really long time.

But he'll do it just this one time. For Lance.

By now, the kids have alerted the parents, who run towards him as he makes his way out of their living room. Oltha leads the way, fury etched into her features, followed by Derek, who looks more uncertain. There’s a dark bruise on the man’s jaw, Keith notes with satisfaction. Lance can throw a punch.

“What do you think you are doing?” She shouts, grabbing at Keith's clothes. “You cannot just take him! Give–”

Keith snarls at her.

His teeth grow and sharpen, and his claws extend. His snarl is louder than they both expect, and she stops short. Limon jolts and starts screaming. An expression of fear flickers across Oltha’s features.

Good.

He likes not having to say anything to get his point across.

He walks out.

Limon starts to squirm and Keith tightens his grip, careful to put his claws away first. He's getting better at controlling that. He hurries. He's seen the way Limon acts when he wants to get out of a hold. It's creepy, like a scene out of the Exorcist. He throws his head back until his body forms a backwards C. He kicks and stretches his legs like he's having a seizure, drawing himself tense and then snapping. He waves his arms around, hitting and slapping. Not to mention the hollering and screeching noises he makes.

He doesn't understand how Lance tolerates it.

Always, he keeps that patient smile on his face, like the baby isn't being absolutely demonic.

And Lance is so strong too.

Keith has never seen Limon slip, not even once. Lance just expertly maneuvers him, always making sure his oversized, purple head is carefully supported. He speaks to him in that quiet even tone of his, just absolutely dripping with affection. He says stupid things to calm him down, his accent melting between buttery soft English and warm Spanish.

“¿Qué haces bebé? ¿A dónde vas? Estás bien, amorcito, estás bien. Quédate conmigo. You're alright, baby boy.”

What are you doing, baby? Where are you going? You're okay, little love. You're okay. Stay here with me.

And if that didn’t work and it was safe to do so, he'd put him down and entertain him or bring him a bottle or whatever. He always let the baby do whatever he wanted.

Keith complained once.

“You’re really gonna let that baby order you around?” He’d grouched.

“He really wants to touch your hair, Keith.” Lance bounces the restless baby, dodging a slap. “Just let him!”

“No. You’re spoiling him.”

He said it wasn’t possible to spoil a baby. Keith had relented a second later, weak to those blue eyes, and Lance had been right. Limon gripped Keith’s hair in his gross, little hands and quieted down. Brat. Then Lance kept speaking to him, rocking and soothing until Limoncito stopped being an asshole.

Keith bursts through the hospital doors like he's giving birth instead of delivering a baby.

He turns the corner and pushes Lance’s door open with his foot.

Immediately, Limon spots Lance and starts shrieking. He jumps in Keith's hold and Keith can't help but gasp in terror.

He's going to drop him.

But no, he just rushes forward and Lance takes him, grinning widely and not thinking twice about his hold on the baby. It's like it comes naturally for him, like Limon belongs in Lance's arms.

“¡Ay, mi bebé! ¿Dónde estabas, corazón?” Lance exclaims.

My baby! Where were you, my heart?

He looks happy.

Happier than Keith has ever seen him, maybe. Limoncito breaks down into sobs from the emotion, and his little hands wrap around Lance's neck, gripping the hospital gown. Lance kisses Limon's head over and over and pats his back.

Lance's eyes get teary too, but for once, Keith doesn't feel the urge to look away.

Keith picks up the hippo Limoncito dropped as soon as he saw Lance. Keith didn’t even realize the baby took it with him, he must have been clutching it the whole way over. Keith watches them for a second more before he looks down at the toy. He feels like he's intruding somehow. He can tell the rest of the Paladins feel the same way. The scene makes them uncomfortable, but in a different way than it makes Keith uncomfortable.

Theirs is in a guilty way. They want to separate them.

Not Keith. He knows that won't happen, even if Lance doesn’t seem quite ready to admit it to himself yet.

Keith pulls a chair next to the bed, resting an elbow on the mattress and putting his chin in his hand. He needs to rest. He looks at his friends. “Shiro, look for a crib for Cito. Hunk, we're going to need some of his supplies. Focus on bottles and diapers. Pidge, Lance could probably use some food right now, and can you track down his nurse?”

Shiro nods and leaves. Hunk and Pidge hesitantly follow him out, reluctant to leave Lance’s side. Keith would go in their stead, but honestly, he doesn’t think he could take another step without collapsing.

They're alone now.

Limoncito sits on Lance's chest and whines petulantly. It's like he's complaining and demanding that Lance explain why he's been gone. Lance catches his little purple hands and coos. He reaches up with their joined hands and wipes Limon’s tears from his fuzzy cheeks. “Pobrecito.”

Poor thing.

There's a lot of emotion in Lance's eyes and Keith focuses on Lance's elbow instead. His skin looks a lot darker against the white hospital blankets.

“Thank you, Keith.” Lance’s voice is warm, happy.

Keith chances a look despite himself and quickly looks down. Lance’s expression is open and unguarded. His eyes are practically sparkling with gratitude, and Keith feels heat rise to his face again. He doesn’t deserve this gratitude, he knows he doesn’t. But his body betrays him with a soft blush.

He can’t let himself be swayed by this version of Lance. It’s not the real him.

He’s still feeling the effects of the pain medicine. If it wasn’t obvious from his mannerisms, Keith would be able to tell instantly by the chemical smell emanating from deep inside Lance’s body. It’s not the antiseptic or the iodine, so it has to be the drug in Lance’s system. At first, he thought it was the blood-replacement fluid they pumped inside of him during surgery, but he got a good whiff of that, and the smell is distinct.

Now he can tell when Lance is ‘compromised,’ as he put it.

The real Lance wouldn’t be looking at him like that. Keith doesn’t believe what people say about how alcohol or how any other drug brings out the truth in people. The toxins just melt away inhibitions. Inhibitions that are there for a reason, boundaries and restraints that sober and rational Lance put up intentionally.

That’s the real Lance, not this silly, messy Lance that grabbed Keith’s ass.

“Yeah.” Keith says stupidly, delayed.

Lance shakes his head. “Keith, are you hurt? You’re covered in blood.”

No. He’s not hurt. He should be, but he’s not. Lance was the one who got hurt instead, and now Keith is covered in Lance’s blood and none of his own.

Guilt floods back to overwhelm Keith’s senses and he grits his teeth. He needs to control himself. Those feelings are useless. He failed Lance, yes. It’s his fault Lance got hurt, yes. He was too slow. He didn’t act quickly enough. He should have gotten Lance out of there before, yes, yes, yes. But there’s nothing he can do about it now. What’s done is done. All he can do is try to make amends and try to rebuild Lance’s trust in him.

“It’s not my blood. I’m fine.”

“You’re scratched all over, and you look so tired. You’re not fine.” Lance says softly.

His tone is too earnest, too caring. The real Lance would laugh and tell him he looks like shit.

He thinks about Lance’s tone last night in the dungeon when Keith told him more than he should have. He was soft then too.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Thankfully, a nurse walks in before Keith has to think of something.

He’s a young Galra wearing blue scrubs that cover his neck and wrists. He has nervous eyes, but he smells harmless. He eyes Keith for a second before turning his full attention to Lance. “Mr. McClain. How are you feeling?”

Lance turns from him, and it feels like the sun turned away from him too. “I’m great!”

The nurse smiles. “That’s the medicine talking. Your nose is broken, your ribs are seriously bruised, and you have a femoral shaft fracture. You’re lucky that’s the worst of it. The surgeons thought they would have to amputate your leg.”

Keith tenses. Amputation? Should he be saying that to Lance? What if he scares him?

But Lance just nods distractedly. He's trying to teach the baby to clap. He’s not in the right mindset to care about his own health. It’s up to Keith, then.

“His ribs?” Keith repeats, looking back at Lance.

Keith should have known that. How long have they been bruised? Since they were first detained? He remembers hearing and sensing Lance fighting the guards, but he didn’t see anything. Keith shoved Lance while they were inside the cage and dropped him from his shoulder too in the arena. Why didn’t he say anything?

He shouldn't have dropped him. But Keith didn't do it on purpose. Lance pulling on his tail had been such a shocking, unexpected sensation that Keith just reacted. Still, Keith should’ve known. How did he not notice?

He reaches up and moves Limoncito off Lance's chest, sitting him on the bed by Lance's shoulder and pushing the stuffed hippo back in his hands. The baby stays but fixes Keith with a look that threatens his compliance is temporary.

“Yes,” The nurse says, and now his eyes linger longer on Keith. His eyes are blue. “But they will heal soon.”

“And his leg?”

“In about eight of your human weeks.”

Keith nods and checks to see if Lance is paying attention. He's not. He’s staring at Keith like an idiot.

The nurse clicks his tongue, and Keith looks back at him, an eyebrow raised. The clicking. That's a bit familiar. The nurse points to a door in the corner of the room. “Cleanse yourself. I'll watch over your One and your baby.”

Keith is already standing before he remembers to curb the impulse to obey. The stupid lax drug is annoying, but he’s gotten better at resisting it, especially now that the collar is off. Still, it throws him off and he trips over his words. “He's not min– uh, he's not my One.”

“It’s okay, Keith.” Lance interrupts. His tone is weird. Lance waves him toward the door to the attached bathroom. “You really should clean yourself. You look like a tampon. We’ll be fine.”

It’s a suggestion, not an order. Allura and the rest should be back soon, and the nurse smells harmless. He’s small too. Lance could probably take him even in his weakened state. Keith spots his knife with the rest of their weapons and places it next to Lance, just in case. He nods at him and walks to the bathroom.

Each step feels like it won’t hold him. He just wants to sleep.

Once inside, the shower helps. He watches Lance’s blood swirl at his feet. It’s yellowish against the white tile, but he runs his hands through it on his stomach and thighs where it’s still red and only slightly brown. And when it’s all gone, he scrubs every inch of his skin methodically, like he can erase all the memories of everything that happened in the last two days. Like he can erase the memories of Lance’s blood, hot and swift, penetrating through his fur all the way to his skin. The smell of it, suffocating. Like he can erase the way Lance’s limp body felt in his arms.

Except,

Maybe he doesn’t want to erase all the memories.

Maybe he wants to keep the ones of Lance in his lap, shivering and hiding his face in the fur of Keith’s neck. Or the ones where Lance looked at him with amazement in his eyes in the heat of battle. All the grins he tossed him when Keith was right where Lance expected him to be, where he needed him to be.

He has to sit down to do his hair, all his muscles aching. It feels like murder to lift his arms above his head. He’s not sure how many hours they fought with only dwindling minutes in between rounds to rest, but he knows that’s not the only factor contributing to his exhaustion. Despite the fact they haven’t eaten a proper meal in far too long, he knows the main cause of the weakness in his body was the terror; the fourteen hours right after the metal cut Lance’s leg open that he spent thinking Lance would die.

But the water is warm. Lance is alive and safe, and so is his baby.

Keith closes his eyes and sleeps.

Chapter Text

⋆⁺₊❅.

Keith dreams of being alone in a strange house with strange people, all of his belongings in a trash bag.

It smells faintly of cigarettes and mold.

There’s a baby crying somewhere.

His mouth tastes like blood.

He wakes to Shiro tapping his shoulder, his voice quiet. “Keith? Keith, are you alright?”

For one second, he thinks they're back at the Garrison and he overslept again. He’s late to class and Shiro came to tear him a new one. But then reality smacks into him with the shock of white on Shiro's head and the raised scar on his nose.

He also realizes he's naked.

“Shiro!” He covers himself and flings a bottle of shampoo. “Get out!”

It bounces off Shiro's head, and he covers his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I'm going.”

Hasn't he ever heard of knocking?

Keith waits until his heart stops racing and then climbs out of the tepid water. There are new clothes on the counter, and he squirms thinking of Shiro being in here long enough to leave them. They fit though, and they're comfortable. It's a pair of soft, loose blue pants and a slightly fitted white shirt. They aren’t his but the detergent smells familiar.

Lance.

Allura must have grabbed the wrong clothes by mistake.

He fiddles with the collar, panicking, but then he decides to man up. It's fine. Lance probably won't even notice. And he's right.

The first thing he sees when he comes out of the bathroom is Lance waving at him frantically. “Keith! Help! They're trying to probe me!”

Keith moves forward automatically. He needs his help. But the command is unclear and he blinks, snapping out of it quickly. Wait, what'd he say? Probe him?

“I will not probe you.” It's the nurse from earlier with his completely flat nose, and full lips, and pretty eyes framed by swooping, white eyelashes. Irritation is written all over his face “This is just a rectal thermometer.”

Oh.

“You see?” Lance sputters, still waving his arms wildly as he gestures to the poor nurse. He's back to being his dramatic self. “Aliens! Probing me!”

Keith eyes the thermometer the nurse is holding warily. It’s huge.

Shiro is minding the baby, one hand resting on Limoncito's back while the baby tries in vain to escape his plastic bassinet on wheels. Shiro nods at the nurse. “Isn't the oral reading enough?”

The nurse shakes his head. “We need a more accurate reading. It is very important to monitor his temperature to look for early signs of infection.”

“The oral reading is enough.” Keith grunts. His tone is final.

Lance takes Keith's hand from where it's holding the handles of the hospital bed and kisses it. “My savior.”

He says it with feeling.

Keith's mouth goes a little dry. Lance’s lips are soft.

He’s had contact with those lips three times in the last forty-eight hours.

The nurse sighs and leaves the room, giving up. “Your food will be here soon, Mr. McClain.”

Lance refuses to let go of Keith's hand. Keith doesn't want to just pull it away, that'd be rude. And he's in a state. But. He glances at Shiro and sees him smirking. He's making fun of him.

Keith flushes. Nosy old bastard. Whatever. He doesn't care. He sits back in his chair.

Shiro can think whatever he wants.

Keith squeezes Lance's hand and Lance smiles dopily. If it makes Lance happy to hold his hand now when he's not in his right mind and he's recovering, then Keith will do it.

It's just hand holding.

It doesn't mean anything.

They’ve even held hands before. Lance held Keith’s hand when Keith was drugged. He remembers being so dizzy and confused. The world kept rushing out from under his feet, and he would just squeeze Lance’s hand, and the ground would come back where it belonged. Now the roles are reversed. Holding Lance’s hand is the least he can do for him.

It doesn’t mean anything.

He feels better now after the shower and the nap, and Lance seems to sense that. He looks at Keith softly, unbearably softly, with his head pressed into the white pillow behind him.

“Hey.”

Keith feels himself smile. “Hey.”

Lance is kind of endearing like this. Still annoying, though.

“¿Si viste cómo está vestido Limoncito?” Lance whispers.

Did you see how Limoncito is dressed?

Keith takes a second to decipher the Spanish. Lance speaks it comfortably, like he's talking to another native speaker, but when Keith told him he only spoke a little he meant it. Although, he doesn't want Lance to stop talking to him in Spanish, so he's not gonna tell him he doesn't understand him any time soon.

He knows viste is some form of ver, which means to see. And vestido sounds like vestment so maybe clothes?

Keith turns to see Limon.

He hadn't noticed what the baby was wearing earlier, but now he looks him over obediently.

Limon is standing up in his hospital bassinet, gripping the top of it and staring at them like a prisoner on death row. He's wearing a yellow dress, made with soft, bumpy fabric and patterned with flowers. There are flower-shaped buttons on his overalls, and there's a white T-shirt under the dress. He has matching frilly white socks on. Someone combed his hair and put a band in it, making it stick straight up, like a turnip. He looks so stinkin’ cute.

He smiles at Lance who grins back. “¿Se ve bonito, verdad?”

He looks cute, right?

Ve, form of ver. To see. He has no idea what verdad means, but Lance’s inflection tells him it’s a question. Bonito. He knows that word. It means cute. Or pretty.

“Si,” Keith whispers. “Se ve muy bonito.”

Yes, he looks very cute.

Lance's lips part in surprise. “Keith! Your Spanish is so good!”

“Hush.” Keith mutters, extremely aware of Shiro doing god knows what behind them. He can feel his ears turning red. “I said one sentence.”

“Si, pero tu pronunciation is so good! Holy shit. Say something else, uh, if you want to. But please.”

He's getting better at avoiding giving direct commands, even in this state. Keith never noticed how often he usually did it, but it must’ve been often.

Keith, come here.
Keith, talk to me.
Stop training so much.
Keith, moisturize.
Heat up a bottle.
Pass me his chupon.
Help me bathe him.
Stop training!
Keith, fix your hair.
Help me with this.
¡Pasame los pañales!
Pass me the diapers!
Etc, etc.

Keith fights a smile, thinking about it. Bossy.

“No.”

“Keeeeeeeeith.”

“Nope.”

“Keithy-cat!”

“Now there’s even less of a chance I'mma say it.”

Lance snickers.

Idiot. Keith smiles stupidly.

It hurts his cheek muscles, and he lowers his gaze. This is wrong. He can’t let himself.

He can’t love Lance.

The realization has been settling over him slowly since he woke up.

He just can’t.

He really thought Lance was going to die. He remembers the feeling well, and tragically, the feeling is not altogether unfamiliar. He reaches for it easily now. It was terror. Pure terror. Watching the blade slice into Lance's leg and cut through him like he wasn't anything but a chunk of meat until he hit bone, it made Keith feel like he'd left his own body. He hadn't returned to reality until his own sword was clean through the alien's chest. Then there was the blood and the horrible white peeking through Lance’s leg. Keith had vomited inside his mouth and swallowed it back, pulling his shirt off and ripping it down the middle mechanically. Ionne had been shaking too much to be of any help. She had pushed the alien and most likely saved Lance's life because that man was definitely not aiming for his leg. Keith had taken her knife and used it to tighten the tourniquet around the wound, but even then it was drenched in seconds. He was losing too much blood, too fast.

Then, Keith had gone crazy.

It was actual insanity that compelled him to take Lance's gun and shoot it wildly into the crowd.

He's not sure if he had a plan when he did that, but it worked. People scattered and screamed, and the platform lowered quickly.

Then Keith pulled Lance's body into his arms and ran for the exit.

He later learned that it was thanks to their friends that the operators opened the gates at all, and that there was already an ambulance waiting.

He feels sick now, remembering, and puts his head down on the blankets next to Lance's leg. Lance touches the back of his head and starts running his fingers through Keith's damp hair.

It feels good.

Soothing.

But this isn't right.

He has to stop. He can't let himself feel like this because of Lance. He needs a distraction, he needs–

“Your food is here, Mr. McClain.” The nurse announces, looking between Keith and Lance critically.

Yes. That's what Keith needs. Keith rests his chin on his hand again and studies the nurse. He's dark purple, almost black, with little smatterings of lavender white dots. He's wearing a thin pair of blue scrubs that are tight around his legs. He's not really Keith's type, but he's pretty, and Keith’s never slept with a Galra before.

And his eyes are blue.

The nurse pulls out a tiny table, forcing Keith to back away, and sets down a tray full of interesting looking hospital food in front of him.

Lance makes a face.

The nurse catches it. “It has been checked by our dietitians and declared safe for you to consume. It has also been altered to aid you in your healing process.”

Lance pokes one of the food items that looks like what an alien thinks Jello looks like. “Ew. So it's medicine?”

Keith snorts his amusement. Sober Lance never would’ve been so rude to a perfect stranger, and especially not to the nurse who’s been assigned to take care of him. Sober Lance would probably be flirting with him right now, although actually, Keith has really only ever seen him flirt with girl aliens. Or what appeared to be girl aliens. The thought unsettles him, and he discards it.

The nurse sighs. “It's food.” He looks at Keith seriously. “Make sure he eats it.”

The command rolls through him, threatening to fill his brain, but Keith nods and releases it with a breath. A spark of anger threatens to form, but he reminds himself that since he's not wearing the collar anymore, no one knows he's under the influence of the lax drug except for Lance. The nurse means no harm.

The nurse leaves and Shiro follows him out, saying something about giving Lance time to eat. Personally, Keith thinks he's just running away from babysitting duty.

Lance picks up his spoon and holds it out to Keith. “Want some?”

“You eat it.”

“Ugh.” Lance eats.

He forces a couple bites down before he points at Keith with his spoon. “You like him.”

Keith blinks. “What? No.”

What are they talking about, exactly? He just denied the accusation automatically.

Lance smirks smugly. “Yeah, you do. I can see the way you’re looking at him.”

Fucking Lance. It had only been what? Five minutes? “He's not even my type.”

Alarms start ringing in Keith’s head.

“Oh, yeah? Then what is your type?” Lance teases. He's so much more articulate than Keith was when Keith got high off that Menudo. Quick, too. It's not fair.

“You know,” Keith says, uncomfortable. “Whatever. I don't go for pretty boys.”

It’s true. Keith wouldn't be this forthcoming if Lance was his normal self, but there's something about seeing Lance so vulnerable, so giggly and earnest, that disarms him. He’s Lance with all his barriers down, and that makes Keith want to put his down too, if only slightly.

“Hmmm…” Lance swallows another spoonful of hospital food and chews thoughtfully. “Soooo, you think he's pretty.”

Nope. Keith’s out.

Keith stands, his leg muscles protesting. His social instincts are telling him to run, so that's what he's going to do. “I'm gonna get food. Will you be alright with Cito? Hunk and Pidge should be back with those supplies soon.”

“Okay,” Lance nods, but there's a frown between his brows. “I'll be okay. But about that nurse–”

“Nope. Bye.”

“Wait–”

But Keith is gone.

He expects to feel the same relief he usually feels when he escapes an awkward social situation, but the feeling doesn't come. Instead, he feels the slight sting of loss. Maybe it's because they don't smell like each other anymore. He’s been glued to Lance’s side for what could be two days now, holding him, smelling him, tasting him–

He’s getting off track. The point is he got used to having Lance’s scent on him. Even before they scented each other, just the proximity was enough to have Lance’s lovely, subtle scent sticking to his fur. During surgery Keith was only one room away, still able to find the scent of him through all the chemicals and blood.

But now they both washed their scents away.

Whatever. Keith forcefully pushes those feelings away. He imagines scrubbing his brain clean.

The scenting was weird anyway.

It had been necessary in the moment to protect them, to protect Keith, but it’s over now. And that's good. Yeah.

He thinks about Lance’s tongue against his neck, his soft laugh bubbling into his fur, and hurriedly pushes that thought away.

But he struggles.

Keith still has that electrical burn on his neck, and Lance's wet tongue had felt horribly good against his injured skin.

He gets that singular tightness in his crotch that tells him he needs to stop thinking about that immediately. It's not his fault. It's been a while. Anyone would get confused in a situation like that, especially with Lance's naked body on his lap, with all that soft, brown skin pressed against him, with legs that went on for miles practically wrapped around Keith's thigh.

Okay. Enough.

He's so busy trying to shake those thoughts out of his head that he bumps into the nurse rounding a corner. He drops something but Keith catches it reflexively. It looks like a stethoscope. A piece of it falls.

“Sorry.” Keith mutters.

The nurse is taller than him.

He looks spooked. His ears twitch nervously but his voice and eyes remain steady. “No apology necessary, Paladin. This instrument is broken. I was just on my way to replace it.”

“I'll join you.” Keith says simply.

Hm. He didn’t know he was going to say that until he did.

The nurse holds his gaze for a couple seconds too long, before finally nodding, ducking his head and walking. Keith steps into place next to him. He's not sure this is a good idea, but there's a heat in his lower stomach now that he wants to extinguish. This will be good for him. It will make him forget, at least for a while.

They walk into a storage closet and Keith closes the door behind them, leaning against it.

The nurse avoids Keith's gaze. He reaches up to take boxes from a higher shelf and his sleeves roll up his arms, revealing more white spots on slim, muscled arms.

Yeah. He'll do.

The nurse finds what he's looking for and presents it to Keith awkwardly.

Cute. Quiet, though. Keith finds himself smiling with the corner of his mouth. It’s mostly a fake smile, he decides, one he takes to put the nurse at ease. He's not sure yet if the nurse wants what he wants, but he knows how to find out.

“You're sure that works?” Keith asks.

The nurse looks at it thoughtfully and Keith’s smile spreads into something smirking.

He pushes himself off the door and approaches. The nurse watches him, eyes half-lidded. He definitely wants it. Keith's confidence grows and he lets it show. He shoves the nurse into a box of supplies and takes the stethoscope from him.

“Gotta test it, right?” Keith says lowly.

“Mmm.”

A man of few words. Keith's not sure he likes that. He definitely prefers not to be the one talking.

But it's working for now. He throws a leg over the nurse and sits in his lap. Bold, yes, but there's a thrill running down his spine now that he knows for sure the other man is willing.

And he looks more than willing. Disbelief parts his lips and there's hunger in his eyes. His hands are hovering on either side of Keith, afraid to touch. That'll change soon. Keith unbuttons the nurse's scrubs halfway down his chest and then hooks the stethoscope around his ears.

There's a smell suddenly, dark and sweet. Arousal. Pheromones. Keith can feel himself responding in kind, signaling without meaning to.

“Stay still.” Keith whispers. He places the metal on his chest, soft and furry, and watches him flinch. “I'm going to use this to listen to your lungs, Mr…?”

“Sil.” The nurse breathes.

Keith pretends to listen for a beat, then slides the cold metal over a small purple nipple.

Sil jolts, gasping.

He reaches up to grab Keith's wrists, but Keith brushes him off, slinging off the stethoscope and ripping Sil’s shirt open until the buttons pop.

Keith runs his hands down his chest. He's thin but toned with a trim waist. The hair gets thicker and longer in the center of his chest and Keith runs his fingers through it, the flicker of heat at his core burning hotter. He strokes all the way down his chest and raises an eyebrow. Are those… yep. Six nipples. Cool. The four on the bottom are smaller than the two on top. He leans forward and licks one into his mouth.

Sil makes a weird noise and stares down at him, surprised. Keith ignores him and tries a gentle nibble.

“Ah– you…” Sil laughs weakly. “You are suckling like a kit. Is this what humans do?”

What?

Gross. 'Like a kit?'

Why would he say that?

Do Galra not do this? Keith pulls back, licking his lips. He likes it, personally.

Sil rises, catching Keith in his arms and pressing him against the wall. Keith struggles half-heartedly and turns his head to the side when Sil comes too close, he doesn’t want to kiss, but Sil just presses his face into Keith's neck and inhales deeply.

For some reason it makes Keith's legs weaken a little.

“This is what Galra do.” Sil says quietly, and licks Keith's neck.

An image of Lance bursts in his mind so clearly Keith gasps and shuts his eyes. It doesn't help. He's all Keith can see now, with his impossibly soft, pink lips and his low voice dripping all over Keith's bruised skin like a balm. He’s here, laughing into his skin, tracing his tongue deftly under the collar. His lips close to suck lightly at the sensitive skin above Keith’s collarbone. Lance.

Lance.

He makes a joke, teases him, runs his hand through Keith’s hair and tugs at it. His perfect thighs straddle Keith’s leg, strong, and Keith can feel him through his briefs, hard and wanting.

Then Sil’s hand finds its way into Keith's pants, and the lovely image shatters. Sil easily pushes past the elastic waistband and into the soft fabric.

Keith pulls away instinctively. He doesn't let anyone touch him there, especially not aliens with fumbling fingers and claws.

But something stills him. Maybe it's because he thinks he can smell a hint of coconut and vanilla.

Sil finds him and Keith cringes, flinching away, but Sil responds by deepening his kisses, licking harder into Keith's neck and sucking the burning skin into his mouth.

Keith grips his shoulders, trembling as Sil finds what he's looking for between Keith's legs and sends a fiery lick of pleasure throughout his entire body.

It's too much.

He doesn’t like it.

Keith pushes Sil’s hand away by his wrist.

His mind is jumbled, confused. He’s aware he’s breathing fast and his body is shaking. Was he– he was. Keith was thinking of Lance. For one second he thought, no, his body thought, it felt like–

This is wrong.

Sil starts to say something, confused, but Keith pushes past him and yanks on his clothes, slamming the door shut behind him as he walks out.

This was a mistake.

☆

Keith spends 35 minutes freaking out.

He checks the perimeter of the hospital twice, making a note of all possible exits. Then he slows down and starts to write a mental list of potential threats. There’s Oltha and Derek and their children, who might try to recover Limon. There’s the guards Lance and Keith apparently maimed, and all the other members of this planet’s police force who might want revenge. Not to mention their individual families. They all have a motive to hurt Lance. Who else? Anyone related or associated with the woman Keith killed for trying to kill Lance. As for the man who stabbed him, they still have no idea what his motive was, what his associations are, or if there’s even going to be an investigation into the matter. That makes at least 10 confirmed hostiles and an unknown number of possible hostiles. But wait, there’s also the people Keith might’ve shot in the stands.

Keith heads back to Lance’s room hurriedly.

There are too many possible threats.

He can’t leave Lance alone, not even for a second.

He bursts in, catching the door before it slams against the wall because he manages to see Lance sleeping, his dumb baby splayed out like a starfish on his chest. He’s sleeping normally now, his face turned to the side, one of his arms curled slightly next to his head. The other rests gently on Limon.

He’s safe. Pidge is standing guard.

Well, she’s in the room typing on her laptop, but she pushes it away when Keith walks in. She raises an eyebrow then dismisses his weirdness. “Thank fuck. I'm tired of playing nurse. You missed all the gross x-rays. Oh god, and the shots. He was such a baby about the shots.”

Keith smiles. He's kind of disappointed he missed that.

“Hunk got the worst of it, though. Lance refused to use the damn bedpan afterwards.”

That, he’s glad he missed. Poor Hunk.

He’s happy to see Pidge back to her usual self. She looked so scared while Lance was in surgery, clinging to Hunk’s arm and sniffling. Her eyes are no longer red, and she fixes them on Keith. “Where were you?”

“...washing up.”

It's technically true. He went to the bathroom to clean himself while he was freaking out, scrubbing away all traces of the nurse.

“That lady was here too.” Pidge continues. “Olga, or something like that. She was trying really hard to get in here, but Allura kicked her out. It was so badass. You should have seen Allura. She got all up in her face. That lady was saying some really weird things, though. I don’t know. She’s kind of a bitch. Maybe Lance was right, we shouldn’t have left his baby there.”

Keith sits down next to Lance, in the chair he’s come to recognize as his, and nudges Limoncito's sleeping form until he's tucked against Lance's side instead of crushing his injured ribs. It’s like pushing a ragdoll.

Cito opens an eye and frowns at him.

Keith sticks out his tongue.

The baby gasps and buries his face in Lance's neck.

Cute. Lance’s gross baby definitely has his moments, however, if Lance was awake to see that, he would accuse Keith of bullying him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He looks at Pidge. “I get it. Y’all were busy trying to get us out.”

It's not surprising that Oltha came for Limon. He remembers the room he found the baby in. They definitely meant to keep him. It was convenient for them that Keith and Lance got sentenced to the pit. Maybe they were hoping they died in there. Why anyone would want that annoying baby so bad was beyond him.

But Lance wants the baby that bad.

He loves him, maybe.

Lance is impossible to understand, though.

He looks at said impossible boy. He sleeps pretty peacefully for such a loud and annoying person. And he doesn't drool like Keith does. His lips are pressed lightly together, pink and perfect. He doesn't know how he gets them like that, Keith's are always chapped or split. Bitten.

Pidge squints at him, looking at him suspiciously, before wiping her eyes and nodding. It's a while before she speaks again but when she does, her tone is strangely careful.

“He saved your life.”

Keith nods, waiting for more. But she doesn't say anything else. She just keeps staring at him.

What’s her point? There were too many close calls and too many monsters to try to figure out which time Pidge is referring to.

“I know.” He says quietly.

Is she thinking that Keith would have died if Lance hadn't shot that shadow creature while Keith climbed up the platform?

Pidge nods. “Make sure you tell him that.”

Keith tilts his head. Ok. Now he’s lost. “Tell him what? That he saved my life?”

Pidge doesn’t usually make him guess what she’s trying to say. That’s more Lance’s hobby.

The pieces slot into place slowly. She wants him to thank Lance, not literally inform him that he saved Keith’s life. He knows.

Has Keith been acting ungrateful or something? They save each other's lives all the time. They don't really go out of their way to thank one another. They don't need to.

“Yes. He stayed because of you.” She asserts. She packs up her laptop and stops in the doorway.

Keith clenches his jaw, a spark of anger dancing up his skin. Is she blaming him for Lance getting hurt? He doesn’t need that, he’s already blaming himself enough/ Keith tried to get him to leave after his rounds, they all saw that. And what does she have to be angry about? Keith couldn't have known that guy was going to attack Lance.

“I tried to make him leave. He's too stubborn.”

“No. Didn't he tell you?” Pidge blinks and drops her head against the doorframe. “Of course he didn't tell you, what am I saying. They dropped the charges against him. I told him before it all started, but, like you said, he's a stubborn idiot.”

The information registers like a high-pitched whine in Keith's mind.

They dropped the charges?

Pidge rubs her face with the back of her hand. “Ugh. Just make sure he knows he didn't get hurt for nothing. You know how he is.”

She leaves when she gets no response.

Keith stares at the hospital wall blankly. The machines whirr and click around them.

Lance wasn't supposed to be there.

Lance wasn't supposed to be there.

At all.

But he said–

He lied.

He lied to Keith's face. Why?

To stay and protect Keith.

How could he do something like that?

Why?

Keith stands, his entire body vibrating with anger. He can't even storm out of this shit hospital because he has to watch out for the world's biggest dumbass and his dumb baby, and he can’t start yelling because Lance needs his rest.

He sits.

He tries to get his breathing under control, but all he wants to do is start throwing shit and grab Lance by the shoulders and shake him and rattle him until his tiny brain starts bouncing around in there and starts generating intelligent thoughts. Stupid! Stupid! How could he be so stupid? He never needed to be there in the first place! He put himself at risk for no reason.

Liar. Idiot liar. Self-sacrificing idiot liar.

Keith drops his face on the mattress, gripping the bed frame so hard it creaks.

He’s going to kill him.

And suddenly, a sadness so big threatens to wash out his anger.

Lance stayed for Keith. Why?

He almost died.

Keith watched Lance’s life bleed out through his fingers.

He almost died.

Keith thought he was dead.

He held his limp body, slipping on Lance’s blood trying to stand up, and thought he was carrying a corpse. Lance’s corpse.

Why?

He cries. He cries so hard his body shakes.

Chapter Text

ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

Lance dreams of Keith.

He's golden, standing against the sun with the bright rays playing in his dark hair. He has Lance's baby in his arms and he's lifting him up and up until he's a tiny silhouette against the light. His baby laugh tumbles out as Keith presses his face against his tummy, tickling him. Limoncito laughs and kicks like he's trying to fly.

It's a nice dream.

Lance blinks slowly as the hazy edges of the dream blur into focus. He's not dreaming. This is real.

“...Keith?” He murmurs.

Those dark eyes jump to him and Lance swears he feels a sluggish jolt race through his body.

“Hey.” Keith’s voice is soft, tinted with sleep. His hair is an adorable mess and his eyes look slightly swollen. “How do you feel?”

Lance thinks about that. His head feels heavy and cloudy, like he can only grasp at his own thoughts. There's a tightness in his muscles. He’s so sore. His leg aches faintly. He can't take a full breath or else his chest starts to burn. And his face pulses like he has a giant blister instead of a nose.

He smiles. “I'm okay. Were you worried about me?”

Keith huffs and lowers the baby to his hip. He's awkward, handling Limoncito like he's afraid to break him. Cito puts up with it, rubbing his face against Keith’s sleeve roughly. “No.”

Lance's smile widens. Typical Keith. “Hey, since when do you carry him?”

“Since yesterday. When you made me bring him.”

Bring him? From where? Lance cocks his head, puzzled. But his head is heavy and he ends up dropping it against the pillow and letting it fall to the side. He tries to remember. His baby. Keith brought him his baby. But he's Lance's baby, where else would he be? In fact, Lance just gave–

Oh. Hmm.

Something else snags in his brain and he looks at Keith again.

His hair is squished on one side like he just rolled out of bed. There’s bruises and pinpricks on his neck from the collar. The collar, right. Keith is compromised.

“Wait, I made you?” Lance asks, upset. Is that what he means? That's not right. He can't be making Keith do things.

Keith frowns, then shakes his head. “Uh, no. You didn't force me or anything.”

“But you said–”

“You were all upset,” Keith says, frustrated. “And you were crying like a baby. So I went and got him.”

Lance smiles. Keith. Keith is so nice to him. He brought Limoncito to him. His precious baby.

“From where?” Lance asks softly.

“What?”

“Where did you bring him from?”

Now Keith is alarmed. It looks funny on his face. His thick eyebrows creep into his bangs. He steps forward and bends so that his face is close to Lance's head. Limoncito squeals and reaches for Lance, but Keith tightens his hold.

“You can't remember? Did you hit your head?”

Did he?

Keith sniffs him. Sniffs him!

Lance laughs and pushes him back. He's like a big puppy. “What are you doing?”

“You're still high off that medicine they gave you. They must have given you more while I was out.”

“It's just morphine.” Lance insists. He’s not high, he’s against drugs. Say no to drugs.

Keith shrugs and readjusts Cito. The poor baby is starting to struggle in Keith's hold, whining and reaching for Lance. “Whatever it is, it's making you loopy.”

Lance laughs. “You're loopy.”

Keith is funny. Lance is glad he's here. Pidge was not so funny. She had a pinched look on her face the entire time the doctors were talking to her, like she wanted to be anywhere else. And poor Hunk was just so worried, but he carried Lance to the bathroom, which was nice.

“Keith. I have to ask you something.” Lance fights to focus. This is important.

Keith is trying to put Cito back in his plastic hospital crib, but he's not having it. He digs his tiny claws into Keith's clothes, into a pair of plain blue scrubs, and cries.

Keith looks good in those scrubs.

Real good.

“What?” He grunts, in typical Keith fashion.

“Oh, uh. Right. Did I have surgery?”

Keith doesn't look at him. His hair falls in front of his face. His biceps are practically bulging out of the thin material. Holy shit he looks good in that nurse outfit. “Yeah.”

“Oh. Did I get a caesarean?”

Now Keith looks at him. “A what?”

“A caesarean. A c-section. You know, because Limoncito’s such a big baby.”

Keith stares at him. Lance can practically hear the gears whirring in his head. Doesn't he know? Lance doesn't expect him to know all of his medical information, but surely he should at least know this. It's such a major surgery! Even Pidge tried to take notes.

Keith’s lips twitch. His eyes soften with amusement. He looks so lovely when he smiles, it's so unfair.

“No, you did not get a C-section. They did surgery on your leg. You did not give birth to this baby.”

“Oh.” That makes sense. Limoncito is purple, after all. “Keith, I need to use the toilet.”

Keith sighs, taking the abrupt change in conversation in stride. He unsticks Limoncito like a burr. “C'mon.”

Yay. The journey to the bathroom is a hard one. Lance instructs Keith as best he can, having already worked out the process with Hunk. It hurts like a bitch to put any pressure, let alone weight, on his leg, so he has Keith lift him bridal style, with his arm secured around only one of his thighs. Lance rambles nervously the whole time. This is so embarrassing. Way more embarrassing than it had been with Hunk.

Lance doesn’t quite know what to do with his arm. He throws it over Keith’s shoulder instinctively at first, clutching his shirt nervously, but Keith doesn’t waver or even exhale with Lance’s weight. How much does this guy lift? It’s unreal. In the arena when Keith had thrown him over his shoulder like a trash bag, he’d thought it was thanks to Keith’s extra Galra strength, but this is just unfair.

“... and then, the nurse brings out a bedpan! Lo puedes creer? Can you believe it? It's an actual pan, Keith. It looks like the ones you bake cookies on! That's so gross. She was trying to make me shit in it. Like, couldn't they get like a mini toilet or something? You know the ones. Like the little plastic ones you bring on road trips for your toddler. We're going to have to get one of those when we start potty-training Cito, by the way. They're so convenient. Anyway, I was like, hell no! Humans shit in circles! Even way back then when we shat in the ground, we would dig a hole. Not a square. It's just not natural. And the nurse was so annoyed, she was all like, you can’t be moving after surgery! But there are some things we can't sacrifice, Keith. Like dignity. Like honor. They can take our clothes, beat us, make us kill innocent monsters, but they can't take our dignity. Ohhhh, that's how I got hurt. That guy stabbed me. Holy shit, that was crazy.”

Keith settles him gently on the toilet. “There's your circle to shit in.”

Lance laughs, then hisses when his leg touches the floor.

Keith freezes. “Sorry.”

And Lance laughs again. He’s cute.

Keith waits outside while Lance does his business. Then, Lance maneuvers himself over to the sink to wash his hands. Every small jump he takes sends ripples of awful pain up his leg. He’s gasping raggedly by the time he gets to the sink. He avoids looking in the mirror for as long as he can, but it calls to him like the green goblin mask. He has to know. Finally, he gives in.

Hijueputa, he looks awful!

He has raccoon eyes, a clown nose, and stubble on his jaw. His skin is pasty and uneven. His hair is frizzy and curling at his temples and around his forehead. Those damned bird creatures cut up his face. He studies the cuts. They’re all superficial, they won’t scar. Still though.

He looks away quickly, his mood soured. He digs through the cabinets and finds nothing that resembles makeup or a razor. Damned hairy Galras.

“Keeeeeeeeeeiiiiith.”

Keith pokes his head inside and Lance gestures at the mirror. “I need my things! My bags. Do you have a razor?”

“No.”

Lance squints at him. “Of course you don't. You can't grow a beard.”

“Yes, I can.” Keith says immediately. Too quickly.

Lance snickers and leans forward on the counter, ignoring the pain that's beginning to buzz like angry bees in his thigh. “You wish. Your skin is baby smooth, dude.”

Keith rolls his eyes and stomps towards him. “You're so annoying. Get back to bed.”

“Careful! Damaged goods!”

For all his threats, Keith is gentle as he carries Lance and tucks him back into the hospital bed. He brings the blanket up to his chest and then rolls the bassinet within reach where Limoncito is held prisoner. “I'll get your bags. Hunk’s posted outside. Yell if you need him.”

“Thank you!”

“Shut up.”

Keith is the best nurse ever. He even left a glass of water close by. Lance fishes Limoncito out of the crib, who babbles and reaches for him. Lance sighs in relief as he holds him close. It feels like it’s been forever since he last held him. He's freshly changed and he smells like baby powder. It hurts his ribs to hold him but Lance doesn't care. He buries his nose in his soft hair, squishing his ears. He can smell blood, but it’s his own. How long until his nose heals?

Cito grabs Lance’s chain, pulling it taut. Lance lets him, stroking over his hair. They have all their weapons back, even Lance’s gun that he must have dropped in the arena. Lance can't remember how they got out of there. The last thing he remembers is getting stabbed and feeling like someone reached into his leg and started pulling out all the muscles and essential bits.

Why did that man stab him?

They hadn't even considered the other prisoners a threat, they were too focused on trying to save those motherfuckers. They had no reason to attack them.

If Lance was in his right mind right now, he's sure that thought would upset him. The woman in the crowd who attacked him for no reason, the fellow prisoner who tried to kill him for no reason… these were people Lance was supposed to be protecting. He’s fighting this awful war to protect people like them. And for them to–

But he’s not in his right mind right now. His thoughts daze by without their usual drag.

Lance looks thoughtfully at his baby. “Tu que crees, chiquillo?”

What do you think, little one?

Limoncito's ears twitch toward him and he lifts his head to smile at him. His cute, gummy smile is blocked by a slobbery fist.

Lance nods as if Limoncito answered, and then he gasps exaggeratedly, grinning at his baby.

“Bebé! Ya te cargo tu tío Keith por primera vez! ¿Cómo te sientes? ¿Estás feliz?”

Baby! Your uncle Keith finally carried you for the first time! How do you feel? Are you happy?

Lance tickles him and pitches his voice higher. Limoncito shrieks with laughter and scrambles away. Lance holds onto his dress to prevent him from crawling too far, and Limoncito laughs, rolling around. He sits up and starts babbling insistently, meeting Lance's gaze and talking with his hands.

Lance listens intently and nods, humming his agreement.

They converse animatedly for a while and Lance smiles fondly. It won't be long before Limoncito says his first word. He wonders what it'll be.

It won't be Mamá or Papá.

Sadness floods into him slowly, and Lance takes several painful breaths to keep it at bay. He should be enjoying his space morphine, dammit. He focuses back on his happy, giggly baby.

Keith returns soon and takes Limoncito from him, despite Lance's protests.

“You're never going to heal if this fatass keeps sitting on you.” Keith says bluntly.

Lance hopes he's joking. He did not just call his baby a fatass.

Keith hands him the bag he packed before going on this awful trip. He rummages through it and takes out his essentials. Fucking finally. He takes the razor out first. He shaves meticulously and washes his face with water from a basin that Keith holds for him.

It's kind of weird. Intimate. To have Keith watch him and help him shave. Not in a bad way, though. Keith avoids his gaze, blushing lightly. He's uncomfortable too.

Then Keith holds a mirror in front of him while he dabs concealer under his eyes with a beauty blender.

Keith shakes his head. “Why are you putting all that shit on your face?”

Wow, Keith. He's so lucky he's not into women.

“Obviously, I'm doing it to cover these hideous bruises.”

He has no idea why a broken nose equates bruising under his eyes, but oh well.

“Who cares about that?” Keith grumbles. “You look fine.”

What's his problem? “I care. Put the mirror down if you're tired of holding it.”

Keith doesn't, and Lance rolls his eyes. Who understands this guy?

Lance finishes blending and smiles. He's so lucky he packed a color corrector thanks to Keith punching him in the face a while ago. Now he has the perfect colors to cancel out the bruising.

He removes the splint next. The swelling has gone down, thank god, and there's no noticeable curve anymore. The doctors set it straight, maybe when he was under anesthesia. He dabs a little concealer around the area.

“Why do you want to hide the bruising?” Keith pesters.

“Because it's ugly. Duh.”

“That's stupid. It's not ugly.”

Lance groans his irritation. “You're annoying! You know what? You could use some concealer too. Come here.”

“What do I need that for?”

“For your neck.” Lance studies it critically.

“You're saying my neck is ugly?”

“No. It's just to cover up the bruises.” Actually, now that he looks at it, other than the tiny pin pricks and a couple curved scrapes, there's only one other bruise. Right where Lance licked him… it looks like a hickey.

Lance sure as hell didn’t do that.

Just then, the door opens. The nurse from yesterday walks in, his flat nose twitching as he enters the room. He's wearing pink scrubs this time and a striped shirt underneath that covers his arms. The deer-like spots on his ears stand like exclamation marks. His eyes dart to Keith and then quickly away.

“Mr. McClain. I’m here to change your bandages.”

Lance puts his makeup away. “Sil, I told you to call me Lance.”

Sil nods his understanding but doesn’t look like he’s planning on correcting himself any time soon. Keith stands back, taking Limoncito’s bassinet with him. Is he going to leave the room? That's what Hunk and Pidge did. Lance looks at him anxiously and, yep, he’s eyeing the door like he wants to take off running. Geez. Since when are his friends so squeamish?

Lance reaches for him and ends up just turning up his hand, palm up. “Quedate.”

Stay.

Keith's eyes fix on him intently.

“...if you want.” Lance corrects. He has the feeling that, if he wasn't under heavy pain medication, he would be feeling some kind of pathetic. As it is, he doesn't care.

Keith nods.

Sil steps between them, almost deliberately. He breaks the heavy eye contact in any case. He rolls over a cart with a metallic tray full of fun instruments like scissors, tweezers, and gauze.

“Can you give him a bottle?” Lance asks Keith, craning his neck around the nurse to look at him and watching as Limoncito struggles in vain to get out of his plastic crib. He has his hippo clutched in one hand, hindering his progress dramatically.

“Yeah.” Keith turns to prepare a bottle.

Sil is looking at him weirdly. His blue, slitted eyes look at him with an indiscernible expression before he quickly wipes it away, replaced by pure professionalism.

He snaps gloves over his hands, and Lance pulls the blanket back, wondering.

Why was he looking at Lance like that? It couldn't be the injury; he hasn't even unwrapped the bandages. Is it the baby? Maybe he disapproves of Limoncito being here with them, and not with a proper Galra family. He thinks of Oltha and feels a stirring of guilt.

“What is your pain level?” Sil asks.

Lance focuses back on the nurse. He's cutting through the bandages with a pair of tiny scissors.

“No pain.”

His words are barely out before Keith whips around. “Not true.”

Lance looks around at him with annoyance. “What the fuck, man. Mind your business.”

Keith ignores him and glowers at Sil. “He was in pain earlier when he was standing.”

Lance crosses his arms. How did Keith even know that? He waves him away. “I don't want any more pain medication. It makes me loopy.”

Sil frowns. The expression looks strange on his features. “Paladin, you should not be standing in your condition. We have provided a mobility aid–”

“I don't need a wheelchair.”

“-- we have provided a mobility aid because the surgery was not complete. I told you that your leader, the Princess, forbade us from giving your bone structural support. She said you have superior healing technology that is on its way, and any metals we install would just hinder your healing process. That means you need to stay in bed.”

Lance squirms. Oh right. He was too loopy to process that correctly the first time. Is Coran bringing the Castle here? Or did the Blades head back to the Castle to retrieve a pod? Either way that's a lot of trouble to go through just for Lance, not to mention dangerous. It's not like he's going to die.

Sil continues. “I will give you more… morphine to ease your pain.”

“No.” Lance throws his arms up. “I said no more. Don't increase the dosage.”

Sil sighs, long-suffering. His hands work quickly, unwrapping the soiled bandages and cleaning the area. There’s a lot of drainage. Lance wrinkles his nose and focuses his gaze somewhere else.

On Keith.

He looks more comfortable now with the baby, almost natural. Emphasis on almost. For some reason his hand is clutching the back of Limoncito’s clothes, fisting them tightly like Limon is going to fly away. He’s also pulling him back slightly away from his own chest with a small, disgusted look on his face. There’s not really that much space he can put between them because Cito's on his hip drinking eagerly from a bottle, his tiny claws scrabbling on the glass.

Yes, on his hip.

Keith’s hips really are perfect for that.

Lance has to use his arms more to hold the baby up, but not Keith.

This is all to say that Keith has great hips. Yeah.

Keith catches his gaze and comes forward, peeking around Sil's shoulder.

Lance raises an eyebrow at him, tensing. Wait. Why does he want to look? Lance doesn’t want him to look at his gross ass wound. He doesn't like the idea of Limoncito looking either, though the baby is way too focused on his bottle to care about Lance's injury.

But Keith just comes closer.

“Is it going to scar?” Keith asks, his voice low like he's at church.

Good question. Lance looks at Sil.

The nurse tenses at Keith's proximity. “I… I do not know how humans heal, or what your new technology will do, but if he heals like a Galra it will scar.”

Damn. Lance stares down at it. It starts high on his thigh and swoops down, curving out and stopping a couple inches above his knee. It's huge. It’s gotta be almost a foot long. An ugly feeling creeps up his neck. The stitches are black and raised. The skin around it is red and damp with sweat, blood, and saline. It's hideous.

Another hideous scar for his collection.

And his legs! His legs are one of his best features. Ruined now.

Keith peers closer and Lance resists the urge to cover up.

“Sick.” He says.

Lance flinches. Sick? It is sick. And gnarly. And disgusting. He doesn’t need to hear that.

Sil grunts. “Keith. You are too close. You risk contaminating the injury.”

He just called Keith by his name. Lance blinks, momentarily distracted from his disfigurement. Keith draws back and glares at the nurse. Lance’s eyebrow climbs higher up his face. Okay. Weird. Why is he upset?

Keith deposits Cito in his bassinet unceremoniously and stomps back. “Move. I'll re-wrap it.”

Sil's ears point backwards. “You have not disinfected.”

“I just washed my hands.” Keith pulls on a pair of gloves, snapping the latex against his wrists. He really does look like a nurse now. It'd be kind of hot if Lance wasn't so confused. Never mind. It is hot.

“You do not know how.”

“I can wrap a bandage.” Keith sits on the edge of Sil's chair, effectively knocking him out of his seat. The nurse stumbles but doesn't fall, regaining his balance awkwardly. “And if I do it wrong, you'll correct me.”

What the hell? Lance stares at Keith in amazement. Why is he being so rude? He just threw Lance's nurse out of his chair!

“No.” Sil growls. Actually growls. “Move.”

Keith jolts. His pupils dilate. His body makes to leave, but then he sits heavily, his chest rising and falling.

Lance's stomach twists. He hates seeing Keith not in control of his own body. It must be so painful, so overwhelming.

“Don't give him commands. He was injected by the lax drug.” Lance finds himself saying.

Sil's stiffens in surprise and his ears go up.

Keith has an unexpected reaction. He turns his glare on Lance like he wants to punch him.

The hell? Lance's jaw drops. What did he do? He's defending him! Did Keith not want Sil to know? That's so stupid! He's a nurse, he's utterly harmless.

Keith rolls his eyes at his expression.

Rude!

Sil bows his head. “I apologize, Keith. I did not know.”

Keith doesn’t even turn to look at him.

Wow. And here Lance thought Keith was rude to him. This is on another level.

Keith comes closer and Lance gulps, his thoughts turning. Is Keith actually going to do it? Why does he want to? Is it just because he has some kind of beef with the nurse? If that's the case, then Lance definitely does not want Keith's angry fingers anywhere near his very delicate and painful injury, thank you very much.

An involuntary, nervous noise escapes him when Keith touches him.

Keith shoots him a look, offended. He grabs Lance’s leg tightly in response and his dark eyes focus on him. “I can wrap an injury, Lance.”

Holy shit. Lance swallows hard. “Baby, you can wrap whatever you want.”

He did not just say that.

Keith’s glare turns murderous.

Oops.

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m just nervous. I m-meant, I know you can wrap an injury, but why are you doing that, exactly?” Lance says, and if his voice gets all high pitched and crack-y that's not true.

He's also weirdly conscious of how high his gown is pulled up. He's wearing underwear underneath, of course, but still.

“You’re not going to be in this hospital forever.” Keith places small squares of gauze directly above the injury. “Someone is going to have to change your bandages.”

“I have hands.” Lance squeaks.

“Yeah? Then why are you not doing it?”

Good point. “Because it's gross.”

“It's not gross.” Keith murmurs. He's concentrated now. He places three fingers under Lance's knee, applying pressure. It’s a cue. Lance flinches and raises his leg obediently, ignoring the strange sparks that seem to creep up his thighs at the touch. Weird.

It’s totally gross. Keith’s lying. “Yeah, that’s because you saw it after Sil wiped away all the slime.”

Keith rolls his eyes. His hands are cold. He wraps the bandage around and around Lance's leg. His fingers are deft, careful. He doesn't touch the actual injury at all. The back of his hand brushes against Lance's sensitive skin only once.

It feels like fire.

“It's cool.” Keith continues. “You're going to have a sick scar.”

Oh. That kind of sick. What an idiot. How can he think this is cool?

Lance swallows thickly. “It's not.”

Keith taps his skin. “Yes, it is.”

Ugh. He's such a boy.

“Why the hell would I want this on my body?” Lance snaps. There’s heat climbing up his skin because he can already tell his conversation is exposing him in some way.

Keith looks at him seriously. His eyes don’t leave Lance’s. “Because you won.”

The machines beep politely while Lance absorbs what Keith just said. It takes him a second.

“‘I won?’” Lance spits bitterly. “What the fuck did I win?”

Keith is still holding his gaze. Lance could probably drown in those eyes. He feels like he is. Maybe it’s the medicine.

“He's dead. You're not. You won.”

That’s… Lance swallows thickly. His fingers fist the blankets. “You killed him?”

“Yeah.”

Something cold washes over him. He takes a shaky breath. Keith killed someone. Lance made him kill a person. No. No, wait. That person was trying to kill Lance. He remembers now.

He was on his stomach shooting the last of the shadow creatures. The gun was hot against his cheek. A yell. A scuffle. Lance turning as fast as he could. Ionne ramming into someone. Keith yelling, angry and terrified. And then painpainpainpainpa– and then nothing.

Keith saved him.

Keith finishes wrapping his injury, stroking over the seam gently to make sure it sticks.

“You won.” Keith repeats.

Lance leans back against the pillow and closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

˚⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧~*

Lance falls asleep.

There's a tiny crease between his thin brows. Keith resists the urge to touch the peak of his top lip. He doesn’t think he’s ever noticed that particular feature.

He's upset.

Knowing that makes Keith sticky and uncomfortable. He wants to fix it, but he doesn't know how. Lance is upset about the bruises, his nose, the scar. All superficial. All unimportant.

But he's also upset that Keith killed the alien that attacked him.

Is he upset with Keith?

That isn't fair. That alien was going to kill Lance. The only reason why he got Lance in the leg was because Ionne pushed him. He was aiming for his chest.

Keith had to kill him.

It's not like it's the first time. This is war.

Lance has killed his share of people too.

Keith presses a thumb to Lance's brow until it smooths.

A voice breaks through the hospital quiet.

“He is not a warrior.”

It’s that fucking nurse again. Can’t he take a hint? There’s gotta be other nurses who can take his place. He’s flipping through Lance's chart, comparing whatever he’s reading to the numbers on the machine. Where the fuck does he get off insulting Lance? While Lance is asleep? While Keith is right here?

Keith stands. “What the fuck are you talking about? He's the Blue Paladin.”

“He is not a warrior.”

Keith lurches over to where the nurse is standing, shoving him and looking up into his stupid face. “Did you not see him in the arena? Did you not see how he fought? No one else was able to kill those things in the last round. Lance did.”

Sil is unfazed. “Not everyone is born a warrior, Keith.”

What? What the hell does that mean? What kind of bullshit does being born a warrior mean? No one is. Actually, why is Keith wasting his time with this guy? He's known Lance for two days. He doesn't know shit.

Just because they messed around does not give him a pass to talk to Keith like that.

Limon starts crying. Keith narrows his eyes and steps away. He has to quiet the baby before he wakes Lance. He’ll deal with Sil later.

The baby grips the edge of the bassinet with one hand and waves his hippo angrily. He stops his wailing once Keith gets close and furrows his brow disapprovingly. He’s tired of being ignored. It hasn’t even been that long, though.

Keith picks up the pacifier clipped to his shirt and sticks it in his mouth. There. That’ll keep him quiet.

Limon spits it out.

Brat.

Keith sighs and picks him up.

It's difficult. He has too many limbs. Keith doesn't know where to grab him. It’d be easier if Lance let him keep that leash.

He doesn't like babies. Never has, never will. They're gross and sticky. He doesn’t like that they can’t communicate and that they’re loud. There are a million reasons to dislike them. Limon rubs his gross, sticky face on Keith's shirt and cries louder.

Can't he see that Lance needs his rest? The baby is also selfish. Rude. Keith doesn't get the appeal, at all.

Limon grabs the collar of Keith's shirt, sobbing softly. He buries his snotty face in Keith's neck. Keith cringes. He pulls him away by the back of his shirt, but that makes him cry louder and his face gets all screwed up. He can't really get away from the baby while he's holding him, so he takes a couple of breaths and counts to ten. It’s gross. But Limon settles. His little ears flick against the underside of Keith's jaw while he sobs. It’s a sad sound. Keith rubs his back reluctantly.

Well, okay.

He's kind of cute sometimes.

He's held a baby before, just like this.

No.

Keith steels himself and pushes the memory down. It's getting harder and harder to do that.

He sits down carefully and watches Lance and Sil.

The nurse is fiddling with Lance's IV. Then he scans his temperature on his forehead. He moves around him, checking this and that, marking things on his clipboard.

It’s so annoying. He can smell Sil’s anger, his displeasure, so strongly. It's pungent. It's as if Sil was standing in front of him flipping him off. Keith doesn't know how to send that smell back at him, not sure if he even can, but he would if he could.

He didn't do anything wrong. Sil has no reason to be mad at him.

Still.

He’s been avoiding thinking about it.

He hopes Lance didn't notice anything.

Sil stops before he leaves and turns toward Keith. The smell recedes. “Keith. I did not mean to insult your One.”

Keith bristles and clicks his tongue sharply. “He's not my One. You know damn well.”

To even insinuate that Lance could be his One after what they did in the hospital supply room would usually be enough to have Keith jumping up, fists flying. But Lance is sleeping, and his baby is in Keith's arms.

Still, the thought hurts.

Lance, his One.

“Regardless. I only meant he is not like you. Some of us are not warriors, but healers.” Sil says, still in that even, condescending tone.

Keith glares. “Lance can fight. Just because you can't doesn't mean that–”

“You are being obstinate.” Sil says calmly and then turns and leaves.

Keith grits his teeth. Yeah. He definitely made a mistake. That man is a stranger and now he’s acting like he’s not. This is why Keith prefers one-night stands.

He's not even that hot. He's too lean. Too small. Too weak. Not Keith's type at all. And he acts like he's better than him, like he's above it all. Keith hates that. He should've picked better, or better yet not indulged at all.

Nothing happened in the first place.

It’s not a big deal.

Sil's words ring around in Keith's head until he shuts them down.

Enough.

☆

Eventually, Pidge and Hunk return.

“Shiro says he's sorry they didn't say goodbye. The Blades had to pick up emergency supplies last night, and Shiro and ‘Lura took advantage of the trip to get to the Castle. They said they’re going to take about a day or two.” Hunk explains.

Keith sets his jaw. He would have preferred to be included in the decision-making. Also, he doesn’t like to let Shiro out of his sight for too long; he tends to disappear. But it's an emergency. Allura will take care of him. “They went to get a pod for Lance?”

Hunk nods. He's distracted. His eyes keep jumping from Keith to Limoncito. “Yeah. The doctors say his injury is going to take several months to heal, and we just don't have time for that.”

“We’re working on establishing a more reliable line of communication.” Pidge says.

Limoncito nods and gurgles a reply, gesturing at Hunk like he's trying to swat him away. Keith is holding him how he's found easiest, facing out, with his back against Keith front and sitting on Keith's arm. This way he keeps his gross face away from Keith’s skin, and if he gets one of his demonic possession fits, Keith is ready to tighten his arm around him like a straitjacket. The only thing is that his arm tends to get tired supporting the baby's entire weight on just his forearm, but Keith welcomes the strength training.

Limoncito tolerates the hold for now, relaxed and slumping against Keith's chest like he's found his new favorite couch and is about to settle in for a long night of TV and pizza. He even kicks his legs happily once in a while.

He seems to be distracting Pidge, who stares at the pair of them with her big bug-eyes.

“What?” Keith grunts.

She fixes her glasses, and Keith imagines her licking her eyes like a frog.

“Nothing. It's just I've never seen you hold him before.” She smirks. “You look very… shall we say, dad-like.”

“True.” Hunk agrees. “You look very cute.”

Cute?

Keith shoots Hunk a disgusted look. Hunk has never insulted him before, why is he starting now?

“Right?” Pidge chirps. “He looks so soft holding a widdle baby!”

“Especially with that spit-up on his shoulder.” Hunk agrees.

They're messing with him. Keith rolls his eyes and stomps back into Lance's room. No wonder those two are such good friends with Lance. Dumbasses, the three of them.

Back inside, Lance is up and dressed. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and he looks achingly soft. He's arguing with a couple nurses who stand behind a wheelchair like they need a shield.

“I'm telling you I don't need that! Have you seriously never heard of crutches? Any two-legged population should have developed crutches by now!”

They wrestle him into the wheelchair.

Limoncito giggles like it's the funniest thing in the world.

It kind of is.

But Lance finally gets his fresh air, rolling over bumpy gravel and staring at the sky. The nearby star illuminates everything coldly, like a spotlight. It’s ugly as sin out here. No trees, no mountains, just plain, square structures in the distance. Keith has no idea why Lance was so insistent about going out. All his doctors and nurses told him it was too soon. He’s only rested for two days.

But he wanted to, and Lance gets his way.

Keith pushes Lance's chair with Limoncito in his lap. Hunk and Pidge hang back and talk about how they've got a tracker on the Blade ship, and how they can figure out how to maintain the signal after a certain distance. Keith tunes them out.

He focuses on wheeling Lance over yet another series of bumps as carefully as he can.

It's not careful enough, apparently.

“Keith! You almost threw us off this thing!” Lance turns to glare at him, holding the arm of the wheelchair like he's on a roller coaster.

Keith sighs. “You're the one who wanted to go outside. D'you forget what this place looks like? It's dead.”

“I know.” Lance flops back against the chair. For someone who refused the wheelchair so adamantly he seems to be enjoying it now. “I just couldn't stay cooped up in there any longer.”

Yeah, okay. Keith can understand that.

He keeps pushing him. There's a path leading from the hospital into some kind of living space, so he leads them there. Maybe they can find a park or something. A park full of rocks and dust. After a second, he ducks down and sniffs the crown of Lance's head.

The drug scent is still there. Subtle though. Sil gave him less. Is he in pain?

Lance pushes his face away. “Stop it! You freak.”

Limoncito laughs.

Keith shakes Lance's hand off his face. He feels his face start to heat but he pushes it down. He needs to know how Lance is doing, and smelling is easier than asking. Lance is injured. Everything inside of him is screaming that Lance is injured and that he needs to protect. They still don’t know why that man tried to kill Lance. They don’t know if someone is out there just waiting to try again. Keith is itching to go out and investigate, but he can’t bring himself to leave Lance’s side. He slows down and rolls him more carefully.

Lance leans his head back and stares at Keith. He looks better out here. More relaxed. Maybe it's the lack of fluorescent lights.

Keith avoids his eyes. If Lance wants to look at him then whatever. If he stares too long, he's going to smack him, though. Out of self-defense.

He's just beginning to enjoy the silence when Lance speaks up.

“You hooked up with that nurse, didn't you?”

Keith stumbles.

Okay, now he's embarrassed. How did he know?

“No.” He grunts.

Lance grins for some reason. “You totally did.”

It's like his denial is confirmation. How the hell did he find out? Does Lance have superhuman powers? It would explain a lot. It would explain how he's always able to push Keith's buttons. How he can tell how Keith feels just by looking at him.

“Shut up. It's none of your business.” Keith growls. Discomfort prickles his skin.

They're in public. Pidge and Hunk are right behind them. He doesn't want to talk about this. Especially not with Lance. He doesn’t want him to know.

Lance pouts. “Come on. Was it nice?”

Keith considers throwing him out of the chair. Is this something normal people talk about?

He grips the handles tighter. He could just ignore him, but Lance would probably get louder and more curious.

“No. He's an asshole. Now shut up.” He mutters.

“Oh.” Lance's face falls. “Are you okay?”

Jesus. Keith hates that question.

“I'm fine. Will you be quiet?”

Lance falls silent, but he doesn't stop staring at Keith. He's definitely still feeling the influence of the drug, but to a much lesser extent. Lance would never be acting like this if he was normal, he's much too self-conscious, too scared of what people might think of him. Or maybe Keith doesn’t know him at all.

Then Lance grins, his expression sly. “Did you not cum?”

What the–

Keith smacks him on the head.

Heat rushes to his face, turning him into what he knows is a close impersonation of a tomato. Fucking Lance. That is so inappropriate! How can Lance ask him something like that? How can he even say it out loud?

Lance cackles. “Keith! Keith, don't leave!”

Fuck this.

“Aw, sweetheart!” Lance says in between laughs. “You're still wound so tight! You're doing it wrong.”

Keith reddens even more. If Lance wasn't injured, he'd go over there and punch him. He has to walk away so he doesn't do it anyway. He's not above punching Lance in a wheelchair.

“Keeeeith.” Lance complains, his laughing fit dissolving into stupid giggles.

Pidge and Hunk are getting closer, they'll get him. Keith needs a break. He starts to leave, but then a figure catches his eye.

It's running fast and heading towards Lance.

Keith sprints back, his hand on his knife. He's ready this time. They won't even get close. But he quickly comes to a stop.

It’s a child.

Relief trickles in slowly, but he doesn’t take his hand away yet. How was it that Lance described himself? A chick-magnet? Yeah, no. He's more like a baby magnet. What is it about him?

As soon as one makes contact, three others appear seemingly out of nowhere. The rest of them approach more cautiously. There’s about 10 or 12 of them. All Galra, and the oldest among them can’t be older than 15. The youngest looks to be just a couple of years older than Limon, toddling behind cautiously.

Some of them scatter when Keith closes the distance between them. He tries not to take it personally. He’s scarier looking than Lance. That’s something he should be proud of. Maybe.

“Are you the Blue Paladin? We saw you on the tech pads!”

“You are so cool!”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“How did you know how to kill the dark things?”

“Where were you hiding that gun?”

“Who is that kit?”

Lance stops them, holding his hand up. “Hold on a second, your parents let you watch the fight?”

One of the smaller ones squeals. She’s missing an eye. “A second cannot be held, Paladin!”

She laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Lance grins at her, visibly softening. “I beg to differ.”

She fiddles with her clothes, giggling. “You do not need to beg!”

Lance pokes her in the side and she squeals again, running to the other side of his wheelchair. She’s being silly, she’s old enough to know he’s not being literal. Maybe that’s why Lance seems to like kids so much. He likes to be silly too.

Lance turns in his chair trying to catch her. “What’s your name?”

A flurry of children answer so many names that Keith immediately blocks out their words. Lance tries to nod and acknowledge all of them. The little girl tries to climb up Lance’s chair. “Myname’ssStila.”

She talks with her hand in her mouth.

Lance steadies her as she climbs. Her bare feet wrap around the spokes of his wheelchair. They look like Limon’s.

Lance smiles at her. “Stella?”

“Stila.”

“Stila! I’m Lance.”

“I know!” She shoves Limon over in Lance’s lap, right on top of his injured thigh. Lance flinches and Keith steps forward, but Limon is already climbing up Lance’s chest, whining and starting to cry a little. The girl looks proud of herself, sitting comfortably on Lance’s leg. “You are Lance Mmmcane. I seen you.”

Lance’s pain spikes. The smell is distinct.

Keith steps closer. Should he take her away? Should he take Lance away?

Lance ruffles her hair, smiling.

He doesn’t look like he wants Keith to do anything. Should he be touching that child, though? What if her parents got angry? Actually, what about stranger danger? Don’t these kids know not to talk to strangers? Let alone crawl into their laps?

Dumb kids.

Another child shakes her head, pigtails bouncing. She grabs Lance’s sleeve to pull his attention. “We stole a tech pad to watch the fights!”

“We always do it.”

One of the smaller kids tugs the purple hippo out of Limon’s hands, pulling an outraged cry from the baby. Another one grabs Lance’s ear curiously. “Why is it round? Can you hear out of this ugly thing?”

Lance’s ears do stick out a bit. Keith fights a smile.

Lance laughs, pulling his head away. “Hey! Help me get that hippo back, okay? Also, what are you guys doing here? Is that a soccer ball?”

“What is a hippo?” The rude kid chases the toddler around, trying to convince him to give it up. Limon tracks them anxiously, swiveling his head around and babbling nonsensically. The kid hands the toy back to Lance triumphantly, “What’s a sucker ball?”

Keith goes to stand next to Lance uncomfortably. Can’t Lance send them away? Is he enjoying being attacked by a bunch of unsupervised children? He glances around for Hunk and Pidge, but they have the good sense to stay away. Or really, it’s Pidge digging her heels in and Hunk pretending that’s having any effect on him. Keith wants to leave. He wants to storm off and wait until this awful, hot embarrassment is gone from his chest, but Lance seems to have forgotten their earlier conversation for now. He's too focused on these annoying kids. But how could Lance say those things with a straight face?

Keith tightens his grip on the wheelchair. No, it was worse than that. It was that look on his face. He’d been smiling, wearing that teasing smile that’s there so often Keith thinks about it every time he pictures Lance. But his eyes were different this time. Dark. They regarded him sharply. It sent a confusing tingle of electricity down his spine that Keith blames on not getting off earlier.

Oh, but he really didn’t want Lance to know. He’s not sure why Lance knowing makes him so… upset.

Keith frowns at himself. He ran off. He left Lance all by himself with a broken leg just because he’d been a little embarrassed, despite all of his earlier convictions to protect him. He can’t do that anymore. He has to stay by his side. No matter what.

“No, not a sucker ball, a soccer ball.” Lance exclaims. “How do you guys play with it?”

One of the girls holds out their ball to Lance. It looks nothing like a soccer ball, it barely looks like a ball. It's made out of rags. It’s a rag ball. Does Lance like soccer? Keith needs to know, suddenly.

The girl fights to be heard over all the other kids jumping to explain the rules to Lance. They manage to make out some of her words. “We stand in a circle and, and we throw it to someone! Whoever gets chosen has to hide with the plasma ball, and, and if you’re found, the ball will explode, and you will die!”

She screeches that last part in delight.

“Oh, wow…” Lance glances quickly at Keith. “But it doesn’t actually explode, right?”

That makes all the kids laugh, but Keith was thinking the same thing. You never know.

“No, it does not explode! Will you play with us? The two of you?”

“The paladins talk funny.”

“The Blue Paladin is scared!”

“They have to play too.” One of the boys points at Hunk and Pidge.

Lance grins at Keith.

And that’s how they end up playing a fucked-up version of Hide and Seek.

Lance wheels away rapidly, holding the ball between his legs because of course they chose Lance to be the one to potentially explode. The rest of the children scatter. Limoncito clings to Lance’s green shirt, giggling every time they bounce over a rock. He’s already poked multiple holes through the white lettering stating, “Life’s a Beach.” Lance is also wearing a pair of shorts. They barely go halfway down his thigh, and they don’t even start to cover the bandage. It leaves his long, brown legs on display.

Keith remembers them browner. They need sun. Keith wishes he could get him some sun. None of this cold, distant starlight. Some real, hot sun. The kind he got back in Texas. The kind that feels like a physical weight punching you deep into the hot ground. Lance would like it. He was made for the sun.

Keith tears his eyes away. “Lance, we shouldn’t be playing. You’re injured, and we have better things to do.”

“Keith! Go away, go hide, uh, if you want.”

Wow.

Very mature.

“Lance.”

“Keith.” Stubborn. “Seriously, dude.” Lance frowns at him over his shoulder. “Please go hide.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re going to blow my cover!!”

“I’m not leaving, Lance.”

“Damn it! It’s already going to be hard enough hiding this big ass wheelchair and my loud-ass baby, now I have to hide you too? Keith, just– oh! In that alley! Push me. Push me, Samurai, this bitch is uphill, and my ribs are killing. Oh, fuck, I mean please. If you want to. Please do not feel obligated at all–”

“Oh, shut up.”

The command flows through him, tingling. The full brunt of it is cut off by Lance’s pathetic disclaimer, so it just warms him and leaves him feeling a little lightheaded.

It’s quickly starting to become Keith’s biggest embarrassment. Ionne said there would be side effects, this definitely has to be one of them. He buries it and throws away the key with no small amount of shame.

He pushes Lance up the hill, finally.

Lance smirks at him. “Out of breath already?”

Not for the reason he thinks.

Keith blushes. “Do you remember earlier when I said shut up?”

“Testy.”

“What alley do you want to be dumped in?”

Lance grins. “That one. We can hide behind the dumpster.”

“Great.”

Keith wrestles them behind the dumpster, smirking as Lance struggles to balance Limon and the ball. The wheelchair barely fits behind the dumpster, or what they’re assuming is a dumpster. It doesn’t have much of a smell. Keith is left standing in front of him in plain sight.

“Keith! You don’t fit. Please go hide somewhere else.”

“I already told you–”

He’s cut off by the chilling sound of children screaming. They’re getting closer.

Lance’s eyes widen. “Shit, Keith, you’re not hiding!!”

“No.” Why is Lance taking this children’s game so seriously?

“There’s no time! Come, climb, climb!”

Keith gasps and jolts forward. Lance smacks himself in the head, reaching for Keith as he unwillingly climbs forward. “Sorrysorrysorry, I’m so sorry! You don’t have to. You don’t have to if you don’t want to!”

But Keith is already on him, his knees spread on either side of him on top of the wheelchair. It creaks under their combined weight. He flushes, reddened and humiliated. “Fuck you, Lance.”

Lance’s hands flutter between them nervously. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. Here, just, if you want to, duck down a little, or get off, fuck, do whatever you want, I’m so sorry.”

He makes a gesture to pull Keith’s knees forward. His hands feel like fire and Keith fleetingly wishes he could feel those fingers on his bare skin. He crushes the thought, but it’s hard because his knees are sliding forward along the outside of Lance’s bare thighs. It’s a tight fit, Lance between his legs and the wheelchair squeezing them in. He lowers his body so they can’t be seen over the top of the dumpster, wary of Lance’s injury.

Lance’s hands finally settle on the chair’s armrests. He gulps audibly. “S-Sorry.”

Keith sighs. He rests his hands on the backrest on either side of Lance’s neck and stares down at their laps. Limoncito grins toothily up at him, trying to stick his foot in his mouth. He has exactly four teeth. Two in the bottom, two in the top.

He wonders how many times Limon will be between them. In Lance’s arms, in the crib next to them, or on the mattress between them, contaminating the sheets with his drool-covered face and sticky hands.

He wonders if he minds.

The subject helps distract him from their current position. He can be normal about this. In fact, he can’t even bring himself to be mad at Lance for the accidental command. He chooses to attribute that to his patient nature and growing maturity, and not the fact being this close to Lance, and in this position, is making him feel all… gross.

Gross as in mushy and fluttery.

So yeah, disgusting.

“It’s fine.” He grumbles, unable to stand the growing smell of anxiety coming from Lance’s skin. It’s not the disordered panicky smell. That smell is different, pungent the way maybe a rotting fruit would be. This is softer. Still not good, though. “It was an accident.”

“Okay.” Lance tries to catch his gaze. “Hey. You better not be smelling me.”

Lance’s nervous scent spikes.

Keith rolls his eyes. “I can’t just stop breathing.”

“Can’t you breathe through your mouth?”

How is that supposed to help? “Do you want me to taste you instead?”

Oh no. Oh god, he did not just say that. Keith ducks his head further, hoping against hope Lance won’t see the blazing red on his face and ears. For the first time, he wishes he was purple right now. He slumps.

Lance inhales shakily. “Ha. Funny. Um. So. Anyways, you… you come here often?”

What? Keith frowns, looking up at him for the first time. Lance is… slightly pink. He’s staring somewhere behind Keith’s shoulder and down his back. What? Is there something on him? “Huh?”

“Uh. No. Nothing. Nothing.”

He’s being weird. Keith bites his lip and Lance looks at him. Well, he looks at his mouth. He’s distracted. “Lance.”

“K-Keith.”

Did he just stammer? Why is his voice breathy?

“Lance, are you mad at me?”

Now, Lance locks eyes with him. “Wha–? Mad at you? Sweetheart, I thought you were mad at me.”

That’s the second time Lance has called him that. Sweetheart. Sweetheart.

No.

“Don’t call me that.”

Lance smiles at him, soft. “No? Back to Samurai?”

“No.”

“Mullet?”

“Lance. I’m serious.” Keith feels like he’s begging.

“Alright, alright. Why would I be mad at you? Is it because you’re wearing my clothes? Because that’s fine. Totally, totally fine. Last time you did that, and I made a big deal of it, I was joking. Mostly.”

“Last time?” Keith blinks. He would never wear Lance's clothes on purpose. When--?

“You remember. That awesome shark top you stole from my laundry pile, then the bite to your muscled arm, the sucker punch to my beautiful face?”

“It wasn’t a sucker punch. You saw it coming.”

“Wow.”

“No. No.” Keith shakes his head, repositioning himself. The sounds of searching kids are getting quieter. He fights down his blush with all he’s got. “It’s not about the clothes. That’s Allura’s fault. No, I mean earlier, you know. You were upset with me because I killed that man… are you upset with me because I killed that man?”

Lance blinks. His gaze shutters. “Oh… Keith, no. No. I could never be mad at you for that. You saved my life, dumbass. I’m just... sad, I guess? I'm sad that I made you do that.”

“You didn’t make me do anything.” Keith sits back on his heels, on Lance’s knees. Lance is sad because of what Keith did? That’s worse. “I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad I killed him.”

Lance’s expression changes. “Don’t say that.”

“He tried to kill you. I’m glad I killed him first.”

“Don’t.”

Something’s wrong. Keith can’t read Lance’s facial expression. He thinks it’s cold all of a sudden. Keith steps off Lance’s chair into the alley and straightens. He knows Lance can see the confusion and displeasure clearly on Keith’s brow, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t understand.

A child squeals before Keith can say anything, and just like that, they’re discovered. Children swarm them, or rather, swarm Lance, and Keith is pushed somewhat to the side. Lance lights up, all the sad, confusing traces disappearing off his face.

Keith put those ugly feelings there.

He’s not good for Lance.

“Blue Paladin you exploded!” One of the kids crows.

“You and your kit!” Another one chirps excitedly.

Keith raises an eyebrow. These kids are so violent. He studies Lance’s face. Is this how he sees Keith? As some violent, disturbing kid?

“Oh, whoa. Hey guys, listen up.” Lance raises his hands like a circus ringmaster. “Let’s play something from my planet!”

The children cheer.

Seriously? More babysitting? Limon is one thing, but they’re not even responsible for these kids.

No. No more games.

Lance grins at Keith. “We are so playing soccer.”

Keith tilts his head at him. How can he do that? Smile at Keith all happy and effortless, after what just happened between them? Is it genuine? Or is he that good at disguising his emotions?

Wait. No soccer.

Absolutely not.

There are way more important things they should be doing with their time. They need to start the investigation. They need to find a base and ensure its safety. They need to establish communication with Shiro and Allura. More importantly, they can’t play soccer right now because Lance is injured. It’s too dangerous. He’s supposed to be resting. Keith won’t take no for an answer.

He’s putting his foot down.

He tells Lance all of that, and that’s how Keith ends up drawing a soccer field while two children push Lance around. Then he sits at the edge of his makeshift field and tries to keep Limon from eating sand. Lance is a goalie on one end, Hunk on the other. Pidge is body-checking children on the field. She’s their height so it’s okay.

Lance yells at the children, having the time of his life. “¡Mano! ¡Mano! Hey! Rex! No hands, don’t forget!”

He wheels forward suddenly, blocking an errant ball with his chair. “Defense! Where are you? Come get him! Get him! Yes! T’lasia watch your left, no honey, your other left, that’s it! Now take it down! Take it down! Pass it! She’s open! ¡Andale! ¡Rápido! ¡Con ganas, chamacos!”

Quickly! Fast! Show some enthusiasm, kids!

Keith covers his mouth to laugh. Lance is getting way too into this. If he could, Keith’s sure he would be running up and down the field. He bets Lance is good at soccer. He’s got those long, agile legs after all. Even in the wheelchair he seems to be holding his own.

After a while, Pidge jogs up to him panting. “Those little assholes jabbed me in the throat. Your turn.”

“Hell no.”

“Get up, Kogane.”

“No.”

“I’m being so for real right now, you emo fuck. Your crippled boyfriend hasn’t let us score a single goddamn goal. We’re down three zero. Get your ass up.”

Christ.

Keith gets up without grumbling. He lets her get away with the boyfriend comment because she’s being extra scary right now.

“Don’t call him that.” He mutters.

“Boyfriend?”

“Crippled.”

“Fine.” Pidge rolls her eyes and sits down heavily, pulling her shirt away from her neck.

She’s definitely not a kid person, despite being a kid herself. Keith can relate to that. He jogs to the field, glancing back to see Limon desperately crawling after him. Pidge catches his little foot before he gets too far, and he howls in anguish. Dramatic. Lance is a bad influence on him.

The children pounce on Keith as soon as steps foot on the field. They jump around him like little rabbits on cocaine.

“It is the red one! The Galra one! Are you going to play with us too?”

“You are the coolest paladin!”

“It was so brave how you saved Lance!”

“My daddy says you killed people.”

“Are you really Galran?”

“Where’s the Princess?”

“Coran is my favorite.”

They’re rude, loud, annoying, they have no sense of personal space, and they seem intent on invading Keith’s privacy. They’re just like Lance. Keith smacks the ball out of a kid's hands, bringing it towards him with his feet. “Are we gonna play, or what?”

The children cheer and scatter. One of them steals the ball from Keith and runs it towards Hunk. They’ve gotten pretty good at playing soccer, even though their ball isn’t made to be kicked. Keith watches them head toward the other side of the field and walks to Lance.

These kids are interesting, he decides. He’s never really seen Galra children. Not up close, not for more than a couple seconds. They’re all varying shades with different features. Some you wouldn’t recognize as Galra at first glance. It makes him wonder what all that garbage Oltha was spewing was about. Most places they’ve visited don’t seem to have anything against mixed Galra specifically. In fact, Keith would wager he’s seen more people like him than not. Not that he’s very good at telling either way. Although, he guesses it’s true that most people with Galra blood tend to look… well, like a Galra. Maybe that’s why Oltha jumped so far down his throat. Keith looks 100% human. Either way it’s stupid.

What was it she said exactly?

She called the baby weak. She was upset that Limon was small for his age, underdeveloped. She blamed Lance for that, saying that he hadn’t nursed sufficiently. Like that was his fault? Then she’d turned on Keith for some reason. Said something about his mom being a whore and leaving, which really is… wait. How did she know that? That she’d left?

No one except Voltron and the Blades knows.

Lance draws his attention. “Look alive, Pony.”

Keith’s heart jumps painfully just like it always does when Lance calls him one of his stupid names.

He glares at him.

The kids run back, screaming triumphantly. Hunk is on the ground behind them. Not a good sign. That probably means they're down four to zero now. Wait, whose team is Keith on again? He stares at the kids, but they're not wearing anything to distinguish them from each other. Some of the kids look kind of rough. Torn ears, missing limbs, scarred faces. The little one, Stila or something like that, runs behind the larger group, panting and grinning hard. They're clean and well-fed, and all the injuries look old. They're happy. They must have gotten those injuries from the places they lived before coming here.

Some of them start to scream at him. “Steal! Steal! Red Paladin steal!”

Two players shove each other trying to take control of the ball. Keith has no idea what to do. He has to steal the ball from one of them? Which one? How? Why?

Lance laughs behind him, and he resists the urge to look, flushing red. He’s never played this sport! Lance can’t make fun of him.

Finally, one of them breaks free and turns his back, intending to take the ball back towards Hunk. There. That’s his opponent.

Keith runs forward, taking the ball from between his legs. The teenager growls and pushes at his chest and Keith grins, maneuvering the ball away from him while struggling not to trip over it. This is more difficult than it looks.

“Whoa! Whoa! Keith Kogane coming in hot!” Lance shouts, pitching his voice ridiculously like he’s an announcer. “And he steals the ball from former Copa Mundial star player Rezzy! Can Rezzy get it back? Can the world champion stop Keith Kogane from scoring his first ever goal?”

Keith ignores Lance, turning his back on this Rezzy kid and fixing his eyes on his target. He kicks.

Lance won’t be able to reach it. It’s too high.

The children still. They gasp.

The ball shoots towards Lance.

It’s going to go over his head. There’s no way. Even if he were to–

Lance pushes up from the wheelchair with one hand, launching himself into the sky and smacking the ball with his other hand like it’s a volleyball. It shoots towards the field. He falls back into the chair and pumps his fist, cheering. Half of the children run towards him hollering, the other half groan.

One of the older girls claps Keith on the back. “Good try, mutt.”

He shoves her lightly and she goes giggling.

Okay. These kids are cute. Maybe Limoncito will be more tolerable when he’s older.

Keith raises an eyebrow at Lance when the pack of demons recede. That move was impressive, but it probably hurt.

“You’re really not gonna let them get a single shot?” Keith takes the opportunity to look Lance over. Errant curls stick to his skin with sweat, and there’s a tired line to his mouth. It’s not exertion doing that, it’s pain.

If he was in his other body, he would be able to smell him better. Deeper. As it is, he can still smell a hint of pain. It smells like blood and sweat. But his eyes are bright, cloudless, and he’s smiling in that way of his.

“It's called a goal, and are you asking me to let you win, Kogane?” Lance smirks.

Keith ignores him. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Nah.” Lance punctuates his statement by rubbing his uninjured leg and wincing.

Keith’s eyes drop to the motion. “Liar.”

The word has a little more weight than he intends, but Lance doesn’t notice. Keith pauses, thinking. He thinks maybe his feelings are hurt. Lance lied to him in the arena. He chose to stay and fight instead of leaving to be safe, and he lied about it. There's that other thing. The fact that Lance is sad. Sad because of Keith. What does that mean, exactly? Is he disappointed? Disturbed?

Lance waves him away. “How about you focus on scoring a goal? That was some shitty footwork I saw out there.”

“Shut up.”

Keith jogs back on the field. Lance doesn’t stop pestering him throughout the whole game:

“What was that? Did you just let that little boy take the ball from you?”

“Are you tired? This is child’s play! Literally!”

Keith rolls his eyes and tries to focus. He’s not sure if Lance is doing that to distract him and throw him off, or if he just enjoys being annoying. It’s probably a bit of both.

Keith’s starting to work up a sweat. These kids play dirty, and he’s pretty sure Lance is encouraging them. Two kids cling to Hunk’s arms, and one hangs from his neck trying to slow him down. Lance cackles and commands them to tickle him. Hunk wails. The kids keep pulling Keith around by his shirt, so he strips it off, chucking it at Lance’s face when he’s not paying attention. He lets out an outraged cry that makes all the kids laugh, even the ones on Lance’s team. It doesn’t stop Lance from running his mouth, though.

“What kind of pass was that, mullet-head? Hidi was wide open!”

“Are those legs just for decoration or what?”

“Come on! Run faster!”

Faster.

The command rockets through his body and he picks up speed.

He takes his knife from its holster and stabs it through the spokes of Lance’s wheelchair when he reaches him, kicking up dust all around them. There. That oughta shut him up. Keith brushes his hair away from his face with a smug grin and looks up at Lance from where he’s kneeling, looking for a reaction.

Lance stares at him with a wonderful, shocked expression on his face. He definitely didn't expect that.

The kids immediately notice what’s up and charge. They score their first goal.

Keith’s head spins from the command. He’s guessing it wasn’t as strong as before because it wasn’t direct; it could have been misconstrued as meant for someone else. But still. He pushes it down again, but it’s getting harder and harder to do so when Lance keeps slipping up and taking over Keith’s body, his mind, every inch of him, with just a couple of words.

Lance is so used to being the annoying, bossy person he is, that it’s probably going to take him a while to get used to not ordering Keith around like his personal servant. Still. That doesn’t mean Keith can’t give him a little gentle reminder here and there.

Lance smiles at him and helps him up. “Nice move, Pony.”

That name!

Keith shakes his head and bites down on a grin. “Shut up. Stop calling me a damn horse.”

“I’m serious! The whole knife bit was cool. I think I saw Messi pull that move once.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

Lance gasps and puts his hand to his chest. “Are you kidding?”

A voice tears their gazes away from each other. “I never did think of you as a cheater, Little Galra.”

Keith looks behind them to see none other than Regris.

Keith stands, bristling. He didn't hear him coming, he was too focused on Lance. That sets him on edge.

Regris can fuck all the way off as far as he’s concerned.

He’s still angry.

White hot mad.

‘Little Galra.’ A few of the Blades had taken to calling him that, at first, just as a descriptive term; Keith was the shortest of all the Blades after all. But Regris is such an asshole he’d done it constantly, at least until Keith kicked his ass over it. Now it looks like he forgot his much-needed beating. Or maybe he's doing it deliberately to make Keith look bad in front of Lance.

Anger pricks like needles all over his skin.

That must be it.

He wants Lance for himself, he sees Keith as some kind of threat, and now he’s trying to humiliate Keith.

Lance catches Keith’s eye. He raises an eyebrow and mouths, ‘Little Galra?’

Keith burns, turning away from him.

He's not in the mood for Lance’s teasing. Some of the anger boiling inside of him is directed at Lance too because what the hell did Lance and Regris even talk about when they first got here?

Fine. Fine. He understands why Lance yelled at him and walked away from him. He was furious with Keith, rightfully so, for not keeping his hands to himself and for not being careful with his dumb baby. He gets that. Lance was right, Keith was wrong. But why did Lance have to go talk and laugh with that asshole? Why did he have to come back all smiley and happy? Keith fumed the whole time he finished helping the Blades transport the supplies, thinking about storming behind that stupid boulder and pulling them apart.

Why can’t Keith be the one to do that for Lance? Why can’t he make Lance happy? He always has to do the opposite.

“It’s not cheating actually; this is how my people traditionally play soccer.” Lance says, reaching down to pluck Keith’s knife from his spokes. He handles the blade confidently, running his thumb against the edge. “We bring weapons on the field and use them to immobilize each other in fun and creative ways.”

Regris nods seriously. “I see.”

Keith rolls his eyes. Is he supposed to just stand here and watch them flirt?

Regris’ tail swishes languidly behind him. He’s out of his Blade uniform. He’s wearing some sort of green garment that looks like a sleeveless turtleneck, tucked into black pants. He looks stupid as hell. Regris and Lance are both wearing green and that irritates him. What was it that Lance had said? That they complement each other? What the fuck does that even mean?

Regris clears his throat. “Lance, I am glad to see that you are well. I attempted to visit but,” he glances at Keith, “the hospital was well protected.”

Keith snorts. Coward.

Lance raises an eyebrow at him and Keith flushes. Caught.

Lance shakes his head at Regris. “It was just a scratch, don’t worry about it.”

Regris smiles, his stupid fangs glinting. “I am glad to hear it. I did not mean to interrupt your game. I came to invite you to dinner, and to let you know we have designated a place for you and the kit to recover until your leaders return.”

Absolutely not.

“Awesome! What about the children?” Lance asks, throwing Keith’s shirt back at him.

Keith grips it tightly, wishing he was gripping Regris’ neck instead.

“They will return to their homes soon.” Regris gestures at the scampering kids.

He’s right, they’re starting to scatter. They shout goodbye and Lance leans over his wheelchair to shout at them too. He calls them by name. How did he memorize them so quickly?

Regris clears his throat. “Will you join me? It would be an honor to feed Voltron.”

No.

“Yes!” Lance smiles. “We’re pretty hungry. Are you sure we’re not putting you out?”

He’s hungry? Keith would have fed him. Why didn’t he say he was hungry?

Regris tilts his head. “Putting me out? Where would you put me?”

Lance chuckles.

Of course Lance would find that funny instead of irritating. Keith grits his teeth.

“I meant, if it’s no trouble.” Lance explains.

“None at all. Further, I wish to have a word with you Lance, in private.”

No!

“Oh.” Lance turns to look at Keith, but Keith is already walking away. “Wait, I still have your kni–”

Keith doesn’t hear the rest over the seething anger buzzing in his ears. Fuck Regris. Fuck Lance. There’s a dangerous edge to his anger like there always is when it comes to Lance. It stresses him. He feels unstable. No, not unstable. What is this feeling?

Hurt. He’s hurt.

He’s teetering on the edge of a sharp blade and it hurts.

Lance was going to send him away. Is that why Keith feels like he’s coming apart at the seams? He needs to get ahold of himself.

He swallows thickly and looks for something to punch.

Lance sent him away.

Hunk and Pidge are picking themselves off the ground and dusting themselves off when Keith reaches them. Keith walks to them, trying his best to calm down. He refuses to turn and look behind him because he just knows that seeing Lance laughing and joking with that asshole will set him off, and Hunk and Pidge don't deserve that.

Hunk looks at him worriedly as he approaches, peeling a kid from his side and urging him to go on his way. “Hey, is that guy cool?”

“No.” Keith grunts.

Hunk does not look reassured, but seriously, Keith wouldn’t have left if Lance was in danger. That’s common sense.

He takes a deep breath. Hold on. He needs to stay in control. Hunk doesn’t deserve this attitude. He's just worried about Lance.

Pidge smirks, lifting Limon higher against her chest. “What's the deal with those two?”

Aaaand the attitude is back. ‘The deal?’ Even Pidge can see it. She can see there’s something between them.

Keith scowls. “Lance likes him.”

He didn’t mean to say that. He kicks the dirt. It’s not something he wants to admit.

Lance sent Keith away because he likes Regris. Just then, he chose Regris over Keith. It hurts. It hurts! It’s not supposed to hurt. This is wrong. Keith is all wrong and it’s Lance’s fault. Keith doesn’t get hurt. The realization makes his heart quicken. Loving Lance has always ached, but it's never felt like this. Like stabbing. Like burning.

He can’t even disappear and work it out of his body with training because he’s not going to let Lance out of his sight. So, he’s stuck. And fuck Lance, he was right when he was saying that perverted stuff earlier. Keith’s wound up so tight he’s about to snap.

Pidge fixes her glasses, shifting her hold on Limon again. He keeps slipping down her chest. The baby whines and reaches out to Keith for help, his eyes big and watery, but Keith shakes his head at him. He’s not going to hold him. That’s the last thing he wants to do. He can't summon the barest ounce of gentleness right now. Limon better start climbing.

Pidge shoots Hunk a look, smiling like she’s in on a joke. “Ooooh.”

Hunk returns the look and turns back to Keith. “How do you know Lance likes him?”

How does he know? Why is Hunk questioning him? Does he not see it? It's obvious.

Keith shuffles uncomfortably. Some of his anger starts to stutter out. What is this? Are they gossiping? He doesn't want to say, but he already let it slip he was so angry. Now he has to explain himself. “They were flirting.”

There. Is that the end of the conversation?

Pidge rolls her eyes. “That’s it? Booooring. Lance flirts with anything that moves.”

She doesn’t get it. “That’s not true. This is different.”

“Different how?” Hunk asks.

Keith looks away, turning his back on them. He’s hoping that’ll signal he doesn’t want to talk about this for much longer. “You were there. Lance said he likes how Regris looks, that he’s blue. And that they complement each other,” He looks at them intently. For some reason, it's suddenly important to him that they understand. “And then he… he touched his hand.”

Don’t they remember?

Regris said that horrible, corny line and Lance had eaten it up.

Pidge and Hunk are silent for a second. Keith looks between them searchingly. They can confirm that it's true, this is evidence enough. Lance likes Regris.

Pidge breaks first.

Then Hunk.

They start laughing. To their credit, it’s restrained. It sounds like pffffttttt.

Keith glares at them, his face heating. What the hell is so funny? Don't they believe him?

“Blue is his favorite color.” He insists.

That makes their laughter near hysterical.

Alright. Fuck them. Fuck everyone.

He stomps away.

They try to call him back, but he refuses. He’s not going far.

And he’s sure as hell not going to that dinner.

Chapter Text

⋆˚꩜｡

Fucking fantastic. Lance is finally clear headed for the first time in literal days, and he’s already managed to make everything confusing and jumbled again. It’s a talent. A skill Lance had long attributed to be one of Keith’s, but this time it’s definitely his fault.

He watches Keith’s naked back retreat sadly, sighing. He upset his favorite furry emo again. He doesn’t need Galra smell superpowers to know that.

On the subject of his back though… santo dios what the hell was that earlier behind the dumpster?

Lance hadn’t been thinking when he ordered Keith to climb on top of him. He’d only realized his mistake too late, when Keith was already spreading those muscled thighs practically bursting out of the soft fabric and putting them around Lance like he was trying to give him a heart attack. He leaned over Lance, strong arms fencing him in on either side. He tried to crouch at Lance’s insistence, but that just made his back curve low in the loveliest arch that had rewired Lance’s entire brain chemistry.

Then Keith looked at him with those kicked-puppy eyes talking about, ‘Are you mad at me?’ and Lance had just melted.

And now Keith's angry again.

Lance looks back at Regris, an eyebrow raised. This is his fault too.

Regris smiles, amused. “Lance. I wish to apologize.”

“For scaring away Little Galra?” Lance snarks. There’s irritation in his tone because he really does not like that nickname, and he knows for a fact Keith hates it too. Maybe he can get Regris to stop, for Keith’s sake.

“Lower your voice.” Regris whispers jokingly. “He would resent the implication I could cause him fear.”

Lance snorts. “Yes, he would.”

Regris’ tail swishes behind him, stirring up moon dust. “I wish to apologize about my cousin Oltha. Despite what people are saying about you, I know you would not have attacked unprovoked.”

Oh no. People are talking about him? What are they saying?

Lance forces himself not to ask that question. He would look absolutely pathetic. He shouldn’t care about what people are saying about him. He has to be more like Keith. Cool and apathetic. Nonchalant as fuck.

He waves Regris off with a suave air of casualness. “She’s your cousin? You don’t need to apologize for her.”

Regris sighs. “I further apologize that the Blades were no aid in extracting you and Keith both from The Pit. If it is any consolation, the actions Keith took to save you have made the leaders of this commune consider alternatives to that barbaric practice.”

That is good to know.

Regris steps closer, frowning. “However, if I may ask, I do not understand why you remained. Were you not informed? I went to see Oltha myself and saw to it that the charges were dropped.”

Regris did that for him?

A bit of Regris-related irritation seeps away.

“I appreciate that,” Lance begins hesitantly, fiddling with Keith’s knife again. He catches a glimpse of himself in the blade and studies it. “But I never would have left Keith.”

Regris’ frown deepens. “But the mission comes first. If both you and Keith were killed, Voltron would have been at a huge disadvantage. The entire universe–”

Lance scowls. He’d forgotten about those insane Blade of Marmora ideals. It was because of that horseshit they drilled into Keith’s head that he almost fucking sacrificed himself for the sake of the mission. Fuck that.

“Well, that’s where the Blades and Voltron differ.” Lance says stiffly. “We don’t leave each other behind. No matter what.”

That’s the end of that conversation.

☆

Dinner is wonderful, despite Keith and Lance’s rudeness. They freshen up and change to find that Regris really pulled out all the stops. The small, concrete house is nicely decorated with candles and long, woven pieces that add a pop of color to the plain walls. He even managed to track down Ionne, dressed in a simple brown dress. She hugged Lance when she first saw him, apologizing and tripping all over herself, but Lance quickly assured her she has nothing to apologize for. From what people tell him, she probably saved his life. So he’d thanked her, and that made her black eyes widen and she lowered her head, insisting that he not thank her. There are other people too; most of the Blades come, and others that Lance doesn’t recognize. The dining room is big enough to hold several tables and Lance rolls up to sit with his friends.

Then Regris brings delicious-looking slices of meat to their table. Keith’s eyes go big and round and he shoots Regris a grudgingly impressed look that makes Lance laugh. Apparently, Keith is weak to a good meal. Though the Menudo incident was evidence enough. Good to know.

Keith digs in almost as soon as his plate touches the table, ignoring the utensils and tearing the juicy meat apart with his hands, sucking it into his mouth and licking his fingers clean. Lance tries not to stare. Terrible table manners, yes, but also kind of cute. He looks happy.

Maybe it’s that time he spent in the desert eating nothing but–

Actually, what did he eat out there? Canned beans? Lizards?

The only utensils on the table are knives of different shapes and sizes, but Lance still uses one of them like a person with manners. He takes a bite and immediately understands Keith’s gusto. It tastes like steak. Deliciously seasoned, juicy and tender, pink in the middle. It melts in his mouth.

“Mmm!” He can’t help but exclaim, blinking at Regris. “What is this? Hunk! Hunk, did you give them Kaltenecker?”

Hunk is too blissed out to listen, savoring every bite and looking up at the ceiling like he can see through to heaven.

Regris frowns. “It is not this Kaltenecker animal you speak of. It is–”

“Vowl.” Keith cuts in, licking his lips.

“Yes, Vowl. It is Keith's favorite.”

It tastes like steak, but it falls apart like brisket cooked to perfection. Even Pidge is tearing up her plate and she’s been leaning more towards being a vegetarian. A considerable feat in space.

Keith’s favorite, huh?

“Does it grow here?” Lance asks, an edge of doubt creeping into his voice. He doubts anything can grow here.

“Don’t tell him.” Keith says. He stabs a piece of meat with a knife and juts it in Lance’s face. “Eat.”

Lance opens his mouth to protest. He can’t just–

Keith sticks the knife in his mouth.

Lance takes the meat, chewing and glaring. Psycho. But the meat really is good and Keith’s smile is better as he goes back to his food, smug. It sends a little bit of a flutter down Lance’s spine, but he refuses to be distracted.

“Tell me, Regris.”

“Why are you looking at a horse’s teeth?” Keith demands.

Lance snorts. “It’s ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’”

“Whatever.” Keith takes a strip of meat and rubs it in the juice pooled in his plate.

Lance shoots Regris a look.

The poor Blade looks between them, confused. He’s probably deciding who to listen to or wondering why Keith is irrationally trying to keep information from Lance.

“They are imported.” Regris says finally, choosing the side of reason. “This one was actually killed by Keith, in the Pit.”

Oh, hell no.

Hunk’s knife clatters on the plate.

Pidge starts coughing around a piece of meat.

“Are you serious?” Lance chokes. “Which–?”

He can’t even get the words out.

“The ones with the spinning jaws.” Keith supplies, licking a drop of juice, or blood, from his bottom lip. He goes in for another bite and Lance stares at him in disbelief. Does he actually not care?

Regris smiles. “I had it brought and prepared.”

He looks proud.

Lance yanks Keith’s knife away, derailing its path to his mouth. “Keith! Those things ate people!”

Keith looks at him with suffering in his eyes, looking from Lance to the piece of meat dripping from the knife. The puppy allegations are getting serious.

“Not this one,” Regris interrupts. “It is clean. I confirmed it.”

Lance’s appetite is officially ruined, but he catches Hunk sneaking in another bite. He pushes his wheelchair away from the table, but Keith grabs his wrist to stop him.

“Lance, come on.”

“Dude! This is really, really, really gross.”

Keith rolls his eyes and glares at Regris. “I told you not to tell him.”

Hey. He does not appreciate being patronized right now. This is serious! Seriously gross.

“Look. It’s clean, it’s not going to waste, what’s it matter?" Keith sighs. "Sit and eat. It’s the first proper meal we’ve had since we got here. I know you’re tired of hospital food.”

“But–”

“I killed it. In his culture–” Keith nods his head at Regris.

“Our culture.” Regris corrects, and Keith rolls his eyes so hard Lance is afraid they might get stuck like that.

“--if you hunt something and you bring it to your… to your people, it’s like a big deal or something.” Keith says.

“It is a great honor.” Ionne murmurs, nibbling on her own slice of meat.

“Yeah.” Keith nods and frowns at Regris. “Yeah. So thank you, or whatever. It’s a nice thing you did. You’re still an asshole, though.”

“You are welcome, Keith.” Regris says happily.

Wow. Okay. Friendliness. That’s good. Progress. Lance sighs and stares down at his plate. It’s still gross, but if Keith says it’s an honor for him to put something on their plates, then he guesses he’s going to eat it. He’s certainly not going to turn his nose up on something Keith considers an honor. This is important.

He eats another piece.

It really is good. Almost good enough to overlook the grossness factor.

Keith smiles.

After dinner, people mingle and drink. Lance pushes a cherry red drink in Keith’s hands and winks. The poor guy looks uncomfortable pressed against the wall.

“How are you holding up?”

Keith looks down at him, shrugging. “I’m okay. I just checked on your baby. Still sleeping.”

“I’d hope so. He drank two whole bottles.”

“Did you change him?”

“Yep.” Lance takes a sip of his own drink, a blue one, smiling to himself. Here they are at a nice dinner party and they’re talking about Limoncito like a couple of boring parents. It's cute.

Keith shakes his head, shattering Lance’s little fantasy. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We’re wasting time. We should be investigating.”

“We’re resting.” Lance pokes him. “We’ve been through a lot.”

“Hm.”

Lance studies his profile. There’s a lot they need to talk about. Their conversation from earlier keeps playing in his head, and it just serves to make him realize that there’s a lot he needs to untangle to make things right with Keith. This thing with Regris isn’t that important. As far as Lance figures, Keith and the Blade seem to have some kind of friction between them. Lance accidentally got in the middle of that by flirting with the guy, and that ticked Keith off, but they both apologized for that, and Regris just made that lovely gesture with the meal, so Lance thinks they’re okay. What’s actually important is the conversation they had behind the dumpster. He seems to think that Lance is upset with him because Keith killed the man that tried to kill Lance, but that’s not right.

He thinks about how to start that conversation, when Keith suddenly stiffens. Lance follows his gaze to a slight Galra, tall with long, delicately shaped ears. It’s Sil, his nurse. Regris greets him at the door and invites him inside, handing him a drink.

Lance smiles wryly. That’s another conversation altogether.

He knows it’s none of his business.

He knows.

But he can’t help it when it comes to Keith.

Keith mumbles something indecipherable and makes to leave, but Lance hooks his finger in his belt loop and pulls him back. “Running away, Kogane?”

Keith turns pink. “Shut up.”

“You should just talk to him.” Lance says, making his face a bit serious so Keith knows he’s not trying to tease him.

“Butt out.”

“Come on, we’re going to be here a while. I’m guessing something went wrong? A misunderstanding, maybe?”

Keith takes a long swig of his drink. The red on his face gets brighter, and Lance bites his lip, smiling fondly. He can’t hold it back, but it’s okay because he knows the last thing Keith wants to do right now is look at him. The risk of eye contact would be too great. Keith blushes so easily. It’s so cute.

“Nothing happened.” Keith grunts.

“Okay. Then that should make it easier for you to clear things up, right?”

Keith stares down at his cup and then seems to make up his mind, sighing. “Fine.”

He unsticks himself from the wall and heads towards the nurse.

Lance looks him over. Sil looks nice. He’s out of his scrubs for once, and he’s wearing a black top with a high neck laced together with tiny buttons. A lot of the clothes around here sport a high neck. Lance wonders why. It’s not particularly cold here. Not above ground, at least.

An image flashes in his mind.

Keith’s furry ears. The lovely stripes curving underneath his jaw. The fine hair on the thin skin of his neck. Lance’s nose in Keith’s fur, his tongue lapping at the dips created by Keith’s perfect collarbones, tracing the lines of his muscles, leaving his scent on him.

Maybe that’s why.

Lance lowers his gaze. A pang of something ugly stabs in his chest as he stares at Keith over the rim of his cup. He’s standing in front of Sil. He looks so short compared to the other man, and he’s looking up at him in a way that Lance knows makes his eyelashes look extra long, his lips extra pouty as he brushes those inky bangs out of his face. They’re talking quietly. The way Sil looks at him… Keith has no idea, does he?

The night ends young. Regris shows them to where they’ll be staying; in another identical concrete house a couple houses away. They thank him for the meal and the party, and Keith doesn’t even sound sarcastic or begrudging when he says it. The alcohol makes Keith softer around the edges. He’s such a lightweight.

Hunk and Pidge haggle their way into their yown separate structure because, apparently, sleeping near Limoncito is bad enough in the Castle, let alone in a small house with no doors in between rooms. It’s not really fair because Limoncito has definitely been doing better at sleeping through the night. In fact, he’s sleeping like an angel right now, drooling against Lance’s chest. But it’s okay. It’s just the three of them most nights anyway. Except,

“Keith?” Lance asks when they have a moment away from the other three. “You sure you don’t want a break? I’m sure Hunk wouldn’t mind staying with me.”

“A break from what?”

“You know.”

“No?”

He’s really going to make him say it. Lance sighs. “You barely slept in the hospital. You didn’t even have a bed. Seriously, every time I woke up you were folded like a pretzel. You need your rest too.”

Keith scrunches his nose at him. “You want me to take a break from you?”

Way to put it out there. Now he knows how to communicate?

“I’m just saying–”

“Shut the fuck up, Lance.”

Geez. Okay.

☆

The house is lovely. There are intricate tapestries on all the walls and tasteful furniture in all three rooms. More importantly, all of their things are in the house. Their respective toothbrushes are on the edge of the sink, all of Lance’s products are neatly arranged next to the mirror, Limoncito’s things are also laid out next to the hospital bassinet. Lance takes a peek in the closet and finds his and Keith’s clothing neatly organized. All of their (Keith’s) confiscated weapons are in the living room, organized and displayed. Keith goes to inspect them.

Lance is so tired he lets out a breath of relief at the sight. Unpacking is such a drag. “This is awesome! Who do you think did this?”

“Regris.” Keith mutters.

“Oh, right. Why do you think he’s being so nice to us?”

“Cause he’s weird. He didn’t have to go through our stuff.”

Typical Keith.

Lance yawns. “Push me over to the baby bed, will you?”

Keith lowers it to his height, and Lance settles his baby gently. He tucks his hippo next to his side. It’d been sitting here waiting for him. Regris hadn’t forgotten that either. Then he leans over and kisses Cito's forehead.

“Alright, Keithy-cat. You can carry me to the toilet now.”

He doesn’t really. Now that he has this cool new wheelchair, he can get around much more easily. To sit on the toilet all he has to do is put his chair in park and use the handles to maneuver himself. He shouldn’t have resisted using it as much as he had.

They go through their nighttime routine together. It’s easy, comfortable, and exciting all at once. No one else gets to see this side of Keith. Just Lance.

Keith brushes his teeth meticulously, serious and concentrated. He splashes water everywhere when he washes his face. He flosses like he's trying to take out his teeth. That’s it. Then he makes fun of Lance’s routine, swiping his foaming face wash from his cheek.

“What is this? Are you trying to look like a sponge?”

“Shut up.” Lance laughs.

“You look so stupid.” Keith grins, snapping Lance’s yellow headband, a gift from Hunk, where it’s keeping his hair away from his face.

“You’re one to talk.”

Then, after Lance rubs moisturizer into his face until he’s glistening, “D'you think you're a frog or something?”

“You’re not funny!” Lance protests, laughing. He can’t help it. This is so Keith, except the other boy is loose and relaxed, flushed with alcohol and soft with sleep. His jokes are so dumb. Even his teasing is sillier than usual.

“And you’re not supposed to be slimy. You’re not going to shower?”

“Hell no.” Thinking of going through that long, awful process right now is almost more than he can handle. He’s already so tired it’s hard to keep his eyes open. And his leg, which has been at a dull throb ever since the soccer game, is spiking with pain every time he moves his body.

“Gross.”

Limoncito’s cry interrupts them and Keith turns to peer into the little bed. The space is so small he only has to take a couple of steps to get to him.

Keith sighs. “He had another accident.”

“What?”

Keith picks him up under his arms and a twinge of worry snaps in Lance’s chest. Another diaper blowout. Keith settles him on the bathroom countertop, undressing him quickly. Limoncito cries quietly the whole time. It’s not his angry cry. It’s his exhausted, pained cry.

“What’s wrong with him?” Lance asks pointlessly, a pit in his stomach.

Keith shoots him a look. “Coran checked him, remember? There’s nothing wrong with him. He probably just overate. Or the bottle wasn’t refrigerated correctly, or they made it wrong. We weren’t here to make sure.”

Maybe he’s right.

Lance clears his throat, trying to push his anxiety down. “The others… they said that Galra can smell sickness and stuff in babies. Can… can you try? Please?”

He feels wrong for asking. If he could, he would have already told Lance. But Lance has to ask.

Keith avoids his gaze, working his jaw. But he bends down to sniff Cito’s head, then his stomach. The baby cries and bats at him, tugging on his dark hair angrily. Keith reaches up and massages his little hands until he lets go, replacing his hair with his fingers.

He stares down at the little baby, his face forcibly blank. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Lance shouldn’t have asked. Still, the words come. “What can you smell?”

“I don’t know. He just smells like himself. Like milk. Like baby powder, and soap, and the wipes I just used. I can’t just… I have to have a point of reference, you know? Something to compare it to. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. I know, I know.” Lance looks down at his hands. “Don’t apologize.”

“Do you want to bathe him?”

“Do you think we need to?”

Keith lifts Limoncito again, bringing him towards his chest awkwardly. “Yeah. It went everywhere.”

Lance sighs. This is going to be hell.

Limoncito screams, bawling with all his strength. He scrabbles at the smooth surface of the glass tub with his little feet, his claws digging into Lance’s hands mercilessly. The poor baby hates it so much. He’s clinging to Lance like Lance is trying to drown him, drawing blood. Lance is twisted awkwardly since he can’t kneel in front of the tub, and his ribs are threatening to murder him for it. He’s sitting on the floor, still reeling from the pain of being lowered from his wheelchair. The pain is getting worse. He has a pounding headache now, and Cito’s screams seem to reach new decibels every second.

Keith rubs shampoo into Cito’s hair, bending over Lance to reach him. The baby reacts like Keith is attacking him and twists out of Lance’s grip in his right hand. Lance gasps as Limon slips into the water and screams. Lance lifts him by his other hand, his heart pounding.

“Fuck. This isn’t working.” Keith curses. “Just let me do it.”

“He needs me here.” Lance snaps.

They have to yell to be heard over the baby’s cries, and it’s not doing anything to keep things calm between them.

“You’re not even doing anything! You’re just getting in the way!”

Lance squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head on the edge of the tub. Keith can be such an asshole. He knows he’s a fucking obstacle and a goddamn annoyance right now. But this is his baby. He has to be able to do this for him at least. He needs to be here for Limoncito.

He hears rustling behind him, but he refuses to raise his head. If Keith wants to leave then fine. Lance can do this on his own, injured leg and all.

But then the water splashes, and Lance shoots up quickly.

Keith is in the water.

Grumbling, he takes Limoncito and peels him away from Lance. The baby screeches and kicks but settles down when Keith drops him on top of his stomach. Cito yelps as he goes under for a second and then pulls himself up with Keith's arms.

“Careful!” Lance gasps.

“He's fine.”

Limoncito whines, looking at Lance with big, watery eyes. His fur is standing up in spikes and his ears droop. He looks miserable, poor thing, but he’s not screaming in terror anymore. Keith’s idea worked. Cito looks up at Keith uncertainly and tries to climb higher up his chest to get away from the water, but Keith pushes him down.

“Lance. Rinse his hair.”

“On it.” Lance scoops some water in a cup and pours it over the back of Limoncito’s head, putting a hand over his forehead to keep shampoo from running over his face. Cito shakes his head and bats him away but doesn’t scream.

Holy shit, this is a huge improvement.

Lance looks at Keith, keeping his gaze determinedly above the shoulders. He can totally be normal about Keith half-naked and dripping wet in front of him, he’s determined not to make him uncomfortable. Keith is shy about these things. “How did you know that would work?”

Keith shrugs. “That other time when you and I got in with him, he calmed down pretty quick.”

He’s talking about when they were on planet Diskashi. He’s right.

“Good idea.”

“Mm.”

“But don’t do it when I’m not around,” Lance interjects quickly. “Or without anyone else, I mean. Getting in and out of a slippery bathtub can be dangerous with a baby.”

Keith nods. Lance scrubs Limoncito with a washcloth while the baby holds Keith’s arms. It seems to work for him. The baby is a lot more relaxed now, making soft crooning noises.

Then Keith cuts his eyes to Lance. “You don’t trust me with him.”

Where did that come from? “That’s not true! Keith, that’s just general bathtub advice–

“No. Not because of the bathtub thing. You obviously can’t reach him without hurting yourself, but you don’t trust me to bathe him alone.” Keith says, gesturing with one hand and sending drops of water everywhere. “And I didn’t mean it. What I said about you being in the way. Sorry, I’m just, I’m not good with words like you are.”

Keith thinks he’s good with words? The compliment flutters a bit under his ribcage, but then Lance realizes he probably just means in comparison. Anyone would be good with words compared to a socially inept hermit who lived in a shack.

Compliment aside, Lance is not letting him get away with that half-assed apology. “Or maybe you’re just an asshole. This is the second time you’ve called me useless, you know.”

“Useless?”

“You called me a handicap. In the Pit. Very ableist of you, by the way.”

Keith frowns. “That doesn’t count. I called you that before you became temporarily disabled. Stop twisting my words.”

“That’s even worse!”

Lance knows they’re joking, but a terrible part of him buried deep inside is starting to smart at the reminder.

That hurt.

Keith huffs. “That’s because you weren’t supposed to be there at all! You… you shouldn’t have stayed. That was–”

“I’ve heard enough of how stupid and useless you think I am, thank you.”

Oh.

Those words definitely escaped without permission. Lance sucks in his cheek, biting it. He focuses on scrubbing through Cito’s fur. So embarrassing.

Keith is quiet for long enough that Lance is starting to think he does it deliberately just to let Lance stew in the humiliation of being weak and exposed. Yes, he exposed himself. Even though Keith is the one half-naked Lance is the one bared.

“Lance, you know I didn’t mean that.” Keith mumbles. His hand rises, before falling back to hold Cito’s arm. “I don’t think you’re useless.”

He sounds like he’d rather be anywhere else right now.

Lance sighs. Great. He managed to make things uncomfortable. “It’s fine, man. It’s not a big deal. Just drop it. Please.”

It really isn’t a big deal. He knows Keith only said those things to try to get him to leave for Lance’s own sake. Still though, those words had to come from somewhere, right?

Keith pats Lance’s arm awkwardly. His hand is warm and solid as he grabs Lance’s upper arm suddenly, holding him tightly. “I was just trying to protect you,”

Lance glances up.

Keith is actually looking at him. He clears his throat.

“I need you.”

Lance’s heart stutters to a stop. Keith’s words stay between them, tense and loaded. Lance lowers his gaze. Fuck. Keith and his mouth. Why does he have to say things like that? Things that confuse Lance. Things that sound like he cares. Like he might, well, like he might actually need Lance.

He knows he’s making some type of expression, caused by the unexpected pang in his chest, because Keith frowns slightly and draws back.

“What?”

Of course he doesn’t mean it like that. He doesn’t mean it in the way that just tore Lance’s heart open like a new injury.

Lance shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing. Look, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes! I know you don’t actually think I’m useless, okay? Sorry for being a little bitch about it.”

“Hm.”

“And I don’t need protecting.” Lance adds for good measure. Since they’re putting it all out there.

“Neither do I.” Keith says. “But you stayed to protect me.”

“Fine. Whatever. We both need protecting sometimes. Let’s leave it at that, okay? We’re even.” Lance finishes scrubbing his baby, moving on to the conditioner.

“Okay.” Keith agrees. “Back to you not trusting me.”

Christ. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Since when is Keith this insistent on conversation? It’s usually the other way around.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you with him. Of course I do.” Lance cranes his neck to meet Keith’s eyes. He drifted away from him as soon as he opened his mouth and registered the change of tone. Keith reluctantly holds his stare for two seconds before compromising by dropping his gaze to a little below Lance’s eyes. “There’s no one I trust more to keep him safe.”

Now Keith looks at him properly.

“It’s just…” Lance sighs. “You don’t really have a problem with letting him cry. And I rather he didn’t cry.”

“He’s a baby. He’s going to cry.”

“I know! But he was scared earlier. That’s why he cries like that.”

Does Keith know that? Sometimes Lance feels like Keith thinks Cito cries just to be annoying and not because he actually needs something. It’s not a lack of empathy that’s the problem; Keith is one of the kindest people he knows. It's more like Keith doesn’t know how to communicate with Cito. He doesn’t pick up on his cues and therefore doesn’t know how to respond. There’s a lot of other things mixed in there that Lance isn’t sure about, like why Keith refused to carry him for so long, why he makes that grossed-out expression sometimes when Cito is just being Cito, why he doesn’t baby-talk, etc etc. Oh, and another thing.

“And you’re not so big on comforting him, you know? I just don’t want him to be upset. I want him to feel safe. Always.”

Keith frowns at the baby on his stomach. He mulls over Lance’s words while Lance finishes bathing the baby. Finally, he says, “I’ll do better.”

Really?

Keith looks at him, determined. “I’ll try harder to make him feel safe.”

Lance smiles. He didn’t expect that. He wasn’t asking Keith to change, he was just pointing things out and trying to explain himself.

Keith lifts his hands to hold Limoncito around the waist, securing him.

Something warm blooms in Lance’s chest.

Keith’s trying.

Lance lifts the washcloth from Cito’s back, winking. “Want me to do you next?”

“Shut up.”

Lance chuckles, lifting Limoncito and wrapping him in a fluffy towel. He turns away from the tub finally, giving his ribs some relief. He kisses Cito’s tired, little face. “¿Ya te sientes mejor, chiquito? ¿Te duele tu pancita?”

Do you feel better, little one? Does your tummy hurt?

“You’re a pansy-ta.” Keith remarks.

Lance snorts. “That’s so bad–”

He turns to look at him and let him know exactly how bad that joke was, but something wet slaps him in the back of the head and he yelps in surprise. What the hell did Keith throw at him?

“Don’t turn around.” Keith grunts. “I’m going to shower.”

Seriously? But Lance is still here! And it’s not like he can pull himself into his wheelchair and leave with Limoncito drifting off to sleep in his arms. He can’t even set him down to do that because then how will he pick him back up? Lance grabs the wet thing from his head and stares. It’s Keith’s underwear.

“You’re so fucking gross, Kogane.” Lance hisses.

“Says the one who hasn’t showered in four days.”

Lance reminds himself he has to keep his voice low. Cito is almost asleep. “I’m injured!”

“Injured and gross.”

“I hate you. I should have made Hunk be my nurse.”

He can hear Keith washing himself under the steady stream of water pouring from twin shower heads. It makes Lance blush. He’s bare-ass naked and washing himself not even two feet away from Lance. Lance was so wrong about Keith being shy. It’s Lance who’s shy, damn it. He realizes he’s still holding Keith’s wet underwear and throws it over his shoulder, his face reddening even more.

It makes a schlap sound that tells him it found skin, and Keith lets out a bouncy, surprised laugh that has Lance smiling stupidly at the purple bundle in his arms.

“You wouldn’t have made him.” Keith says belatedly. He’s talking about Hunk. “We’re not your nurses, we’re your friends.”

“Your point being?”

“My point is that even Pidge would give you a sponge-bath if you asked.”

Terrible mental image. “She would drown me.”

“Shiro, then? Allura?”

Lance scoffs. Keith seems to be getting into these moods where he tries to be funny. “I can bathe myself and you know it.”

“That’s not the point.”

Then what is his point? “You’re right. You’re not good with words.”

“I’m saying, stop acting like you’re a burden.” And then because Keith has to ruin every nice thing he says, he adds, “Grow a pair.”

“You did not just say that to me.”

Keith laughs. It’s a tipsy, borderline delirious kind of laugh that Lance can’t help but join in on. Dammit. Keith really needs his sleep. It wasn’t that funny.

They eventually make it out of the bathroom and put Limoncito in pajamas and a new diaper, setting him gently into his bassinet. Limoncito immediately curls up to his hippo and sleeps, sucking one of the ears into his mouth. He’ll probably wake up sometime during the night, missing their body heat, and Lance will bring him into bed.

Speaking of the bed, Lance eyes it warily. It’s small. “I can take the couch.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, you’re injured.”

“You need your rest, Keith, seriously. I think you’ve lost more brain cells than you can make do with after five days without sleep. You’re delirious.”

Keith doesn’t argue the point. “Then we’ll both sleep on it. It’s not like it’s the first time. Don't be weird.”

Lance shoots him a look. “It’s not that. You’ve been complaining about how I smell.”

Keith frowns at him. “No, I haven’t.”

“You just said I’m gross.”

Keith groans. “I was messing with you.”

Keith takes a step toward him and lowers his face against the side of Lance’s neck, inhaling deeply.

Lance freezes.

His wet hair drips on Lance’s bare skin.

Keith moves away after a second and flops into bed. “You smell fine.”

An indignant flush climbs up his neck. That's the second time! He can't just do that. But Lance kind of invited it this time, didn't he?

He rolls up to the bed and hauls himself up using the headboard. Keith scoots over to accommodate him, grumbling. He's face down with his arms under the pillow, lying over the covers. He looks like he's two blinks away from falling asleep. He’s not wearing Lance’s clothes anymore, unfortunately. The comfy style and the cool tones really suited him, and of course they did, Lance has excellent taste. Keith’s back in his plain sleep shorts and a T-shirt.

Lance changes quietly, noting that Regris folded their pajamas at the foot of the bed. Very attentive. Lance glances frequently at Keith to make sure he’s not looking, but his face is definitely sunk into the fluffy pillow. Can he even breathe like that?

Lance pulls the covers out from under him and earns more sleepy grumbling. It's kind of cute. Keith generally doesn't mind losing sleep. Before Lance and Cito started disturbing his sleep routine, he'd only slept an average of 5 or 6 hours, waking up early to train. Now, between being incarcerated and spending those uncomfortable nights in the hospital, he'd been stretched too thin. Lance still doesn't get why he didn't just go find somewhere nice to sleep. The rest of the Paladins were accommodated.

“So, how did your talk with Sil go?” Lance asks a bit randomly.

Keith grunts and says nothing.

“Keith?”

“Ugh. Sleep.”

“Aw, come on! You know I like to talk before bed. Come on.”

Keith peeks out at him. Half his face is still squished by the pillow. He studies Lance long enough to make him self-conscious about the fact he’s not wearing makeup anymore.

“It was fine.”

“That’s it?”

“I apologized for being rude, then I told him not to talk to me again. Or you.”

Lance shakes his head. “Ouch.”

“He’s fine. I’m telling you nothing happened. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Then why the cold shoulder?”

“He was talking out of his ass.”

“About?”

“... he said you were weak.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. His own nurse was roasting him? Great. That explains why Keith took it upon himself to tell him not to talk to Lance. Keith sees the look on his face and takes it as skepticism. “I don’t know why he was saying that shit. Forgot his place, I guess.”

Lance presses his lips together to stop a smile. “His place?”

“Yeah. As a failed hookup.”

Now Lance laughs. He turns to muffle his laughter in the pillow. “You are so fucked up, oh my god.”

“What?” Keith asks, defensive.

“So basically, as a failed hookup, he couldn’t perform, and that means he loses the right to speak?”

Keith hides his face again, until all Lance can see is the tips of his red ears. “No, it’s… it’s not that he couldn’t…”

“It wasn’t him? It was you?” Lance props his head up and grins. “You couldn’t get it up?”

Keith smacks him without looking. “Shut. the. Fuck. up.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Why are we even–? This is girl stuff. Stuff girls talk about.” Keith says through his pillow.

“You think guys don’t talk about sex?”

“No.”

Lance snorts. “You just don’t have any friends.”

“Neither do you.”

“Well, that’s because we’re in space. You probably didn’t have any friends before, and that’s why you didn’t talk about sex.”

Keith cracks an eye open. “You probably only had little gay friends, and that’s why you only talked about having sex. With men.”

Lance smothers him with his pillow, laughing. “Are you making fun of me for being gay? You’re gay too!”

“Yeah, well, you did it to me first.”

“This again? I wasn’t making fun of you!”

Keith groans loudly. “Will you go to sleep, please? Please?”

“Fine.”

Lance settles back into the bed, feeling like his grin is permanently carved into his face. Even his leg doesn’t hurt so much anymore. Still, it’s going to take a while for him to fall asleep. He’s used to tossing and turning, rotating like a rotisserie chicken until he finds a comfortable position to sleep in.

So.

Keith didn’t sleep with Sil.

Interesting.

Or maybe not? It really is none of his business. Still. He’s relieved. He’s not sure why. He looks over at the most confusing boy in the world.

Keith settles deeper into the sheets, sighing contentedly.

Maybe Lance is relieved for selfish reasons. If Keith were to shack up, or god forbid, fall in love with this guy, then Lance would lose his personal servant. A baby is a lot of work for one person.

That’s the only way he can think of to explain all this internal conflict over this particular subject.

Although, Keith pushing into his personal space is still fresh on his mind. It’s always been the other way around, unless Keith is yelling at him and about to punch him. But now, twice now, it was him stepping into Lance’s personal space. Granted, it was to smell him, which is weird. Really weird. But he’s long accepted that Keith is weird.

“Keith. Keith. How do your smell powers work, exactly?”

Keith ignores him for a couple seconds too long. Is he asleep?

“They’re not powers, don’t be dumb.” He finally mumbles. “I can smell same as you, just a bit more.”

“That Blade lady said you can smell cancer.”

“I can’t smell cancer, Lance.”

“You can smell when I’m in pain. You can smell the drugs in my system.”

Keith sighs. “I can’t smell pain. I can smell your injury, the lack of pain medication, your sweat spiking. And you know, that smells like pain.”

“... you can smell my sweat?”

Keith scoffs. “You don’t smell bad, Lance.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Lance sits up and wiggles to the edge of the bed, but Keith grabs his arm. “Stop being a drama queen. I’m telling you you don’t smell bad.”

“You’re saying I smell like sweat and an open wound!”

They struggle for a bit before Keith growls and pins him, laying on his arm. He avoids touching Lance’s chest or his legs, so he just crushes Lance’s arm and pushes down on his collarbones, near his throat with his free arm.

“Stop. You smell good. Now go to sleep.” His voice is so low it makes Lance’s hair stand on end.

He makes one more attempt to free his arm before he sighs and gives up. He might as well be pinned under a concrete block. “You’re crazy.”

“You smell good.” Keith insists drowsily. “You smell like yourself. Iss good.”

He slurs his last words and drifts off.

Lance stares at him in disbelief.

Did he just–? Seriously?

His eyes are lightly closed, and his mouth drops open a little bit. He’s definitely asleep.

His face rests near Lance’s shoulder, the hair on the top of his head tickling Lance’s cheek when he tries to lower his gaze to look at him. Lance’s arm is quickly falling asleep under Keith’s ribcage. It’s like… well, it’s almost like they’re cuddling.

Lance blushes.

He’s being ridiculous. This is totally normal. Completely okay. It’s like Keith said, it’s not even their first time doing this, accidentally cuddling. It’s Keith’s fault. Lance takes back everything he said about Keith being a polite sleeper. He’s not. He drools, he takes up space, and he seems to think Lance is his personal body pillow.

Also, does he really think Lance smells good right now? He could be lying, but since he fell asleep so close to him, with his face practically in Lance’s armpit, he could be telling the truth.

Lance waits until the pins and needles are too hard to ignore, and then he wriggles his arm below Keith’s ribs, into his side where he’s softer, if only minimally.

It’s okay.

He’s warm. So warm they don’t even need a blanket.

Chapter Text

✧˖°.˚♡˚₊✧

“Shiro, why are they sleeping like the space mice?”

“They’re cuddling, Princess.”

“Adorable.”

Pidge’s voice cuts in, a lot less impressed. “I thought his leg hurt.”

“That’s his injured leg right there, Pidge.” Hunk whispers. “On top of Keith’s. It’s the left one.”

“Oh. Gay. Wake them up.”

“No. I’m scared.”

Keith frowns at the noise. He buries deeper into his blankets that smell suspiciously of Lance and rubs his face against his pillow. It’s soft and has a sharp edge that he bumps with the bridge of his nose. His pillow makes a noise that sounds like a pleased hum, and it rumbles against his lips. It really is a nice pillow. He buries his hands beneath the pillow cover, sighing when he finds it’s warmer inside. And really smooth.

“Whoa, under the shirt is like, second base. Shiro do something.”

“I’m not really here, remember? Close your eyes.”

“Maybe we should come back later.”

Shiro? Is that Hunk’s voice? Keith blinks slowly. Can’t they see Keith is trying to sleep? What are they doing in his room?

His eyes focus on a long column of brown in front of him, and he follows it up to see a sharp jawline. He bumps his nose against it trying to back away.

It’s Lance.

Lance’s chest beneath his arm.

Lance’s legs thrown over his.

Lance’s hand on his hip.

Oh god. Keith jerks back, horrified. He looks around at the rest of their friends. Did they see? They definitely did. They’re just standing there, Pidge with that irritating smirk on her face, Hunk pretending to be polite by staring at the ceiling, Allura with a delighted smile on her face, and Shiro grinning like he knows something Keith doesn’t. What the fuck are they doing standing there watching? And why are Shiro and Allura blue and flickering in and out of existence? Wait, that’s not important.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” His voice comes out as a low growl and Lance stirs, throwing an arm over his eyes. One of his legs flops open, bending at the knee.

“Well, we tried knocking on the front door, but you guys didn’t answer.” Hunk says, wringing his hands and looking anywhere but at Keith. “And well, you know, there’s no bedroom door to knock on.”

Not possible.

Keith would have heard knocking. But why didn’t he hear them come in? Why didn’t he hear them talking? Is he getting sloppy? He looks down at Lance, still utterly knocked out. He’s the reason. It’s his fault Keith’s guard is down. He looks so comfortable, so soft. No wonder Keith slept so deeply. Lance’s hair is fluffy, and sleep mussed, his white shirt rolled up to his midriff, exposing his toned stomach that’s barely soft around his belly button.

Keith stares until Pidge clears her throat.

He blushes. Dammit, he’s still half-asleep. He smacks Lance’s stomach. “Wake up!”

Lance groans. “What time is it, asshole?”

“I don’t know, Lance, we’re on a fucking rock.”

Lance peeks out at him grumpily, and Keith’s heart trips all over himself. “Charming as always, Samurai. Exactly what I like to wake up to.”

“Get over it.”

“Did you check on the baby?”

“I just woke up.”

Their morning is ruined. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. He didn’t even get to enjoy cuddling with Lance. He shoots his friends a murderous glare, making sure they each get the full brunt of it. Only Hunk and Allura have the decency to look a bit ashamed.

Pidge just waggles her eyebrows at Shiro. “They’re like a married couple already.”

Shiro chuckles. “Now I’m worried about Mr. and Mrs. Gunderson’s relationship.”

He looks at Keith with the stupidest look Keith has ever seen, smiling softly. What is that supposed to mean? Married couple? She can’t say things like that!

Keith clambers out of bed, shoving Lance’s head one more time for good measure. He doesn’t want to know what crazy things Shiro is thinking right now thanks to Lance.

“Ow, dammit, Keith. What the hell did I do to you?”

Keith scoops Limoncito out of the bassinet, ignoring his babbling to lift him up and sniff his diaper. “You can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Lance gasps, outraged. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know you’re the cuddler. Or did you forget the way you were manhandling me last night?”

That’s not true! He doesn’t remember– oh, right. Well, he wouldn’t call it manhandling. He only grabbed him and pushed him down a little. And that has nothing to do with the cuddling. That’s Lance’s fault! He must have moved during the night. Deep down inside he wonders how Lance could’ve moved Keith’s face into his neck and his arms over his chest, but that doesn’t matter! Keith doesn’t cuddle. That’s not who he is. That’s definitely more of a Lance activity.

“Ooooh.” Hunk and Pidge say in unison.

Keith glares at Hunk. He expected better of him.

Hunk ducks his head, shamed.

Good.

Keith focuses on changing Limon, watching him intently to see if he’s going to cry. He has to prove to Lance that he can comfort Limon. Limon looks like he’s been up for a while. He’s half out of his clothes and the hippo is soaked with spit. The baby stares at Keith for a second, before he makes a face and starts whipping around looking for Lance. Rude. Lance starts talking behind them, trying to figure out why they’re all crowded in their bedroom probably.

Keith tunes them out. He leans down close to the baby and whispers, “Limon. Don’t cry. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

Yeah, that’s not very comforting.

Limon squeals angrily and starts squirming before Keith can put the new diaper on. Keith fights to keep him still, murmuring. “Shhhh. Shh, hey. Brat. It’s okay. It’s okay, what is it Lance says to you? Estas bien.”

You’re okay.

It works. He stills enough to listen to what Keith is saying. Keith doesn’t bother dressing him, not willing to test his luck. He scoops him up as soon as he clips the cloth diaper closed and brings him to Lance. Lance reaches out, making stupid noises and causing the baby to squirm like an overexcited starfish. It's like he's voice activated to go into a frenzy as soon as Lance speaks to him in his baby-voice.

Keith sits on the edge of the bed and rubs his face. “What’s so important you couldn’t call?”

“We did call,” Pidge says sassily. “Three times.”

They slept through that?

“We are on our way back with the pod,” Allura addresses Keith and Lance. “It is slow going because we are working hard to avoid detection. The Blades identified a trend that does not bode well for the refugees with you on Planet VBP. Zarkon’s forces are increasing activity in nearby zones that suggest they might soon discover the camp. Raids on trading posts, increased vigilance and violence at ports, and reports from undercover Blades state they established a military base in the next star system.”

“Are we going to hit them first?” Keith asks.

Shiro and Allura look at each other. “That’s what we’re trying to work out with Kolivan.”

Keith nods. For the sake of this camp of refugees, they need to figure out if it’d be better to strike first, or to help evacuate while they’re still undetected. Taking out a military base sounds good to Keith either way, though, risks be damned.

“Also,” Shiro says hesitantly. “Lance says you’re compromised?”

He told? Keith glares at Lance. “Snitch.”

Lance pouts. The effect is stronger because the purple under his eyes makes them look all the more blue. He also hides behind his baby. “It’s not snitching! This is dangerous, Keith.”

Whatever.

Pidge waves her tablet at them and reads from it. “My research says the Empire has been using this drug they called Lax for a couple years now. It’s relatively new but seems to be pretty normalized, and good for us, it’s been researched extensively. Basically, it’s injected into the bloodstream and works to make the subject more malleable. It reacts a little differently with everyone’s biology, but it’s nothing directly life threatening.”

“Malleable?” Shiro asks, alarmed.

“He follows orders.” Lance adds, avoiding Keith’s gaze.

“Anyone’s orders?” Allura looks worried.

“Yes.”

“No.” Keith butts in, glaring at Lance. What does he mean yes?

“It says there are different factors that affect how the drug reacts with his system.” Pidge shoves Keith aside, climbing into bed next to Lance. Her shoes are still on. Cretin. “This bed better be clean. Anyway, that’s probably why Zarkon never used this shit for military purposes. You can’t be sure soldiers will follow the right orders.”

Why wouldn’t the bed be clean? Lance and Keith aren’t the ones with shoes on.

Limon giggles and makes his way out of Lance’s lap to Pidge, trying to take her tablet. She holds it out of his reach, huffing. “Down. Down, boy.”

Lance glares at her.

“What kinds of factors affect you?” Shiro asks, frowning. His hologram appears to sit on nothing. He pats the area next to him and Allura joins him.

“I don’t know.” Keith mutters.

He doesn’t want to talk about it. He can’t think of anything more embarrassing than to sit around talking about his weaknesses with his friends.

Lance sighs. “So, tone is one of the factors. If you tell him to do something, like urgently, he reacts faster and doesn’t fight it as much.”

Okay. He’s done.

He stands and walks to the bathroom, but Lance catches his wrist. “Come on. This is important.”

Keith shakes him loose. What is this? Some kind of intervention?

“Keith. What if someone asked you to betray us? Or to jump off a cliff?” Lance insists, staring up at him with clear eyes full of worry.

Keith hesitates. He hadn’t thought of that. But nothing could make him betray the team, not even this stupid drug. He would fight it, …right? He stares into Lance’s eyes for a second more, searching, but there’s nothing there except for worry and gentleness, so he sits. Lance is right. The team is more important than his feelings. He’ll put up with this humiliation. It doesn’t mean he has to like it though.

He flops over into the bed and snakes his way between Lance and Pidge, face down to block out the world. It’s too early, damn it. He slept like a dead man, and it still doesn’t feel like he got enough sleep. Why couldn’t they wait for breakfast? It’s not like this is urgent. Keith’s been dealing with it. It’s fine.

Someone touches his hair, and he stiffens, thinking it’s Lance, but then there’s a tug and a baby gurgle that tells him it’s just Limon being annoying. He better not drool on Keith.

Pidge pats Keith’s back. “What else?”

“Well, Ionne said– that’s the iguana lady you all met yesterday, isn’t she cool? –she said that he’ll listen to people who he sees as authority figures. Oh, and Galra pheromones are also a factor. And he’ll listen to me because we, uh, because–”

Keith freezes. Lance still doesn’t know why, and Keith intends to keep it that way. He reaches beneath the covers and pinches Lance’s leg the way Lance taught him.

Lance jumps. “OW! Culero!”

Asshole.

Oops. Wrong leg.

Limon gasps and crawls on top of Keith, stepping on his neck and choking him a bit. Then he babbles loudly and nervously, scared by Lance’s outburst.

“--because of the time we spent in the dungeon.” Lance finishes, flicking Keith’s cheek.

He must think Keith obeys him above everyone else because they scented each other. That might have been part of the reason at first, but their direct scents on each other have long since worn away.

Lance doesn’t like to risk looking stupid, so he stopped asking. There's quite a lot he stopped asking about. The meaning of that insult people kept hurling at Keith, vlek, the significance behind the word One– with that important inflection people keep putting behind it, the reasoning behind scenting, the nonverbal communication between some of the Galra, and more.

That’s something Keith realized about him pretty early on. Lance doesn't like looking dumb, despite constantly saying and doing dumb shit.

It’s an insecurity Keith’s been exploiting, which is probably not a Good Thing for him to do to his friend, but oh well. If Lance were to find out the real reason everything would fall apart.

He should probably stop calling Lance an idiot, though.

Keith covers his cheek to protect it from anymore flicking. Ouch. It was an accident, dammit. And Limon already avenged him by almost crushing his windpipe. Pidge snickers.

“Ya, ya. Estás bien, chiquito.” Lance soothes. “Tu tío Keith is just being a big baby.”

There, there. You’re okay, little one.

“M’ not his uncle.” Keith protests. What would that make Lance? Keith’s brother? Gross.

“What are you, then?”

“... I’m his roommate.”

“What!?” Lance sounds outraged.

“Will you guys focus?” Pidge interrupts. “From what you guys have observed, if I told Keith to sit up and dance right now, he’d do it?”

Keith snorts. “Try it.”

She takes it as a challenge and not a threat. “Okay. Keith, dance.”

Everyone quiets.

Keith doesn't move.

She tries again. “Keith, slap yourself in the face.”

Nothing. Also, rude. Keith already knew she wasn't going to have any effect on him because she tried to make him play soccer in her place yesterday. And he did play, but not because she forced him. He just took pity on her. And maybe because he also wanted to play with Lance.

Lance chuckles. “I guess you're not an authority figure.”

She sniffs. “Very offensive, Keith.”

“You tried to make me slap myself.” Keith grumbles, reaching under the blanket to pinch her bony leg.

She squeaks and pushes his face into the pillow. Limon giggles and hugs the back of Keith’s head. Together, they try to suffocate him.

The Paladins take turns testing to see if their orders have any effect on Keith. Hunk goes first, outright refusing, then asking Keith for permission directly. That’s why Hunk is his favorite. Keith feels nothing from him either, and Hunk sighs in relief. With Allura he feels a slight tug when she commands him to state his full name, but he guesses that since he’s expecting it and bracing for it, it has no effect. He relays all of that to Pidge. Then it’s Shiro’s turn.

“Okay. Shiro, go.” Pidge says quietly, tapping on her tablet to log their information.

Shiro sounds worried when he speaks. “Keith, tell me your favorite color.”

A shot of something races through his body and he opens his mouth, his tongue already forming the shape for the word. He stamps down on the impulse, but it comes out anyway.

“Blue.” Keith blurts, shocked, then horrified.

“Blue?” Lance asks, at the same time Pidge says, “Did you try to resist that?”

A sick feeling turns his stomach.

His secrets aren’t safe. That means Voltron’s secrets aren’t safe either. This is real. This is dangerous. The team is quiet because for the first time, they realize it too.

Except for Lance.

“Blue?” He repeats.

Idiot.

Maybe he can get away with just ignoring Lance. He focuses on calming down. When Shiro asked him that seemingly innocent question, a picture formed behind his eyes, and for a split-second, Keith was terrified he’d say the words that came to mind. Blue. His favorite color is blue like Lance’s eyes. If Shiro had asked, ‘Tell me your favorite color and why’ it’d be out there. His secret.

“I–yes. Yes, I tried.” Keith mutters. Should he try to escape again? He doesn’t think he can handle much more of these tests.

“Ookay." Pidge checks something on her tablet. "Lance, your turn.”

No!

Lance shakes his head, looking at Keith with concern. “Uh, we already know that works. Let’s not.”

Pidge groans. “You are all the most annoying test subjects. Keith, would you say it’s the same effect from both of them?”

Not even close. It’s like night and day. With Lance, there’s a rush of something hot and overwhelming, something that sets all his nerves on fire. It feels... well, he hesitates to compare it to anything because it feels wrong. Maybe Keith's a pervert.

“No. Move on. Don’t we have better things to do?”

“I have a questionnaire!” Pidge protests.

But Keith is already sitting up. Limon tumbles off his back with a startled yip. Damn. He’s really not helping Keith prove he can be more attentive and comforting. He climbs out of bed, ignoring the way Limon chases after him, crawling quickly. Why is he coming after him? Lance is right there.

“Okay, okay, we’ll do a speed round.” Pidge bargains, climbing after him much like Cito’s doing. “If someone gives a general command, without your name attached, can you resist it?”

“It’s easier to resist that, yes.”

“Alright, Galras with stronger pheromones are harder to disobey?”

“Yeah.”

“Since Lance and Shiro have a stronger effect on you, are they able to cancel out other people’s orders?”

“Yes.”

“How long does it last?”

“Don’t know.”

“Any side effects?”

“None so far.” Keith lies. But he can’t tell her it’s turned him into a pervert.

“If someone were to ask you to stop performing an important bodily function you have no control over, say, to stop your heart from beating, would you be able to do that?”

Jesus. Keith stops his escape to look at her.

Lance looks a little nauseated. “That’s so dark, Pidgeon.”

She’s unfazed. “So? Keith?”

“I don’t think so. It’s not magic.” Keith says, frustrated. “It’s a mental thing. I wouldn’t be able to fly or something like that either.”

She stares at him over her glasses like a tiny librarian. She’s not convinced with his answer.

She snaps her fingers at Lance. “Try it.”

“Excuse me?” Lance leans away from her. “Hell no.”

“Yeah, not a good idea.” Hunk mumbles nervously.

She’s trying to kill him. Keith makes a mental note not to get between her and her science.

“You could tell him to go to sleep,” Shiro suggests. “Would that be equivalent?”

Pidge thinks about that for a moment then nods. “Good enough.”

“Not ‘go to sleep.’” Lance interjects. “He’d just climb into bed. What about ‘lose consciousness?’”

“Sounds good.”

“Wait,” Keith protests. This is all going way too fast. They went from contemplating his death, to agreeing to knock him out in the span of 5 seconds. “Shiro, you do it.”

Lance raises an eyebrow, but Keith stubbornly refuses to look at him. He doesn’t want to feel one of Lance’s commands, intentional and powerful, in front of everyone. It’s bad enough when Lance does it accidentally. He sits on the bed in case he actually does pass out, and nods at Shiro.

“Keith, lose consciousness.”

Keith waits, but nothing happens.

They all collectively breathe a sigh of relief. Pidge throws herself at him in a hug and Keith tenses, not expecting it. “Don’t ever be my lab rat again, okay?”

He pats her back awkwardly. “Okay.”

It’s not a promise he can make, but she knows that.

The focus shifts away from Keith after that. Pidge and Hunk retreat into the living room to give Cito his bottle that Lance taught them to prepare. Shiro informs them that the Blades are working with the Council to launch an investigation into the attack against Lance. Regris is leading it. Apparently, they managed to identify some of the culprit’s known associates. They still don't even know his name. They're trying to track them down now to conduct interrogations. Keith insists on joining, but Shiro makes him choose between being Lance's personal bodyguard or joining the investigation, and he relents.

Lance takes offense to that. “That's what you've been doing? You think you're my bodyguard?”

“Yes.”

Lance sputters. “Dude! Where's your bodyguard?”

“You're the one that got stabbed.”

“What? Do you think they were gunning for me specifically? Obviously not. They were trying to kill the easiest Paladin.” Lance blinks. “Not, not that I'm the easiest Paladin to kill, I mean. It's just, you know, I was on the floor and not paying attention.”

“I know.” Keith says, frustrated. “It was my fault.”

He knows. Lance was on his stomach looking through the scope of his rifle, trusting Keith to protect him. That was Keith’s responsibility, his purpose. He failed.

“What?” Lance gapes at him. “I didn't say that.”

Keith shuffles uncomfortably. Uh oh. He misspoke.

He retreats into the bathroom, but Lance follows him in. Shiro and Allura take that as their cue to leave, with the excuse that they’re letting them get ready for the day, promising they'll call back with any updates. Shiro winks at him and mouths good luck. Keith is going to need to have a talk with him because he’s definitely misunderstanding something.

“I need to piss.” Keith tries, hoping that’ll make Lance wheel his way out.

“You better not be running away again.” Lance points at him threateningly. “And I’m using the bathroom first. I need to shower and change my bandage.”

“I’ll get your things.” Keith says, sidestepping him and going back into the bedroom.

“Wait–”

Keith closes the door behind him.

He’s a coward.

He bites his lip hard enough to bleed.

It’s his fault. He failed and Lance almost– he almost died.

Keith collects himself listening to Limon babble in the other room. He needs to be strong. Lance hasn’t confronted him yet, hasn’t called him out and demanded for him to explain how he could have let it happen. But when he does, Keith needs to stand and face him. He owes him at least that.

He takes the liberty of choosing Lance’s outfit. Lance can just pick something else if he doesn’t like it. Another pair of tan shorts so he doesn’t have to worry about the fabric bothering his injury, and a simple blue button down with pearly white buttons. He grabs an undershirt too and hesitates before snatching a pair of Lance’s briefs. Lance won’t mind; Keith is doing him a favor. Keith also takes the first-aid kit Sil sent Lance away with.

He knocks then lets himself in. Lance is brushing his teeth, looking annoyed. He has the water running already. There’s a bath chair in the corner of the bathroom that Keith sets up in the tub. Regris really thought of everything.

“Do you want me to change your bandage before or after you shower?” Keith asks without looking at him. There’s a weird atmosphere between them. Maybe Lance is sore about Keith blowing him off.

“Now.” Lance says, then grimaces. “I can do it myself.”

It’s true, he can. But Keith wants to do it for him. He wants to be the one to take care of him.

It’s a selfish desire.

“Well, I’m already here.” Keith mumbles. “It’s up to you.”

Lance thinks about it for a while, tapping the armrest. Finally, he says. “Are you sure? It’s pretty gnarly.”

Keith’s perks up. He’s going to let him. “I’m sure.”

“Fine. Weirdo.”

Keith washes his hands thoroughly and then kneels in front of him, taking scissors from the kit and cutting through Lance’s old bandages. They stick to the injury when Keith tries to pull them away, and Lance flinches, turning away and breathing out through his nose.

“Sorry.” Keith murmurs. He'll be more careful.

“It’s okay. It didn’t hurt.” Lance says without looking. Maybe he’s just queasy.

Keith takes a spray bottle of saline and lightly soaks the cotton bandage. Then he unsticks it carefully. It looks good, Lance is healing well. The black stitches are neat and uniform. The skin around it isn’t as red and irritated. There’s a lot of sticky fluid, some red, some yellow, mostly clear. He washes it away with the saline then wipes at it as carefully as he can until it’s dry. Then he places a new bandage over it. This one stays with adhesive instead of tension, and Keith runs a finger along the edges, making sure the glue sticks to Lance's skin. They shaved his leg all around the injury, and Keith can't resist brushing over the prickly hair that's already growing back.

“There.” He chances a glance upwards and sees Lance looking at him thoughtfully.

“Hey. Did you ever want to be a doctor when you were a kid?”

Keith lowers his gaze, feeling something soften in his chest. Lance isn’t mad at him anymore. “No.”

“What did you want to be?”

“Nothing, really.” Keith puts away all the materials and stands to wash his hands.

“Oh, come on. Then why did you join the Garrison?”

Keith shrugs. “Shiro said I should. Try to keep this bandage dry, I think it says it's waterproof but--"

“I don’t believe that. Come on, you never wanted to be an astronaut? A policeman? A firefighter?”

A firefighter?

Lance sees the look on his face and winces. “Fuck, sorry.”

Keith shrugs him off. “It’s fine.”

“Keith–”

“I said it’s fine.”

Lance falls silent.

Keith kicks himself. He made things awkward again. He sighs. “When I was little, I wanted to be a cowboy.”

Lance smiles. It lights up his face. “A cowboy?”

“Yeah. I had a lot of toy horses, and my dad– are you making fun of me?”

“No. No.” Lance tries to cover his grin with the back of his hand but it’s futile. “I’m not. Keep going. I mean, you should keep going.”

“No.”

“Keith! Please! Come on.”

“No.”

“Por favor–”

“Asking me in Spanish isn’t going to change anything. Now, do you need help getting in that chair?”

Lance sighs, giving up. “No. I got it.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything, I’ll be right outside.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

☆

Lance is going to be fine.

His pain level is relatively low, his injury is healing well, and most of the artificial blood they pumped him with is almost completely filtered out of his system.

He repeats this to himself, then he whispers it to Limon, not that the baby cares.

Keith gets dressed for the day and says goodbye to Pidge and Hunk. Apparently, Hunk is going to join the Blades in hunting down the culprit’s associates, and Pidge is going to help this so-called council find an alternative criminal justice system. Keith tries not to let his jealousy show too much as they hand over the baby. (Jealousy towards Hunk, not Pidge. He can’t imagine anything more boring than sitting around and talking to the old farts who almost made Keith and Lance fight to the death.) He makes them promise to keep him updated, then he pushes a handful of weapons into their arms. Lance is right, if this wasn’t a random, isolated incident against him, any one of them could be next.

He takes his hair pin from the nightstand and fights Pidge to put it in her hair.

She dodges him. “Hands off Gerard Way. I saw you kill that bitch in the stands, no thanks.”

Hunk looks on with interest. “How does it work?”

“Dunno.” Keith sighs, sidestepping Pidge as she tries to step on his feet.

“It weaponizes static electricity.” Pidge says, having already studied it for Keith’s sake.

“Just don’t let anyone touch your head.” Keith says, exasperated. Why is she refusing?

“Did you clean it?” Pidge yelps, ducking his hold again. “Also, I’m five feet tall, that’s impossible!”

True. Hunk and Lance regularly use her as an armrest.

Keith gives up his physical tactics and holds it out to her instead. “This will discourage that. And I did clean it.”

She considers that, then nods. “Fine. Give it here.”

Success.

Hunk looks at her worriedly. “Are you sure you want to go by yourself? These are the same people that kidnapped and imprisoned Lance and Keith.”

She scowls at him, sliding the pin in her hair. “I’m chill.”

“She’ll be fine.” Keith finds himself asserting. “Lance and I got locked up because we’re stupid. Pidge is smart, and this place really needs her help. They’re lucky to have her.”

Pidge beams.

Keith walks them out, avoiding her eyes. Why is she looking at him like that? He just told the truth.

He uses his feet to block Limon from crawling out the door like he's an ungrateful house puppy, or a particularly slow soccer ball. Keith raises his chin at Hunk before they leave. “You have your brass knuckles?”

“Yep.” Hunk rolls up his sleeves to show him the golden cuffs around his wrists.

“Okay,” Keith nods, satisfied. “Go beat them up.”

Hunk smiles nervously. “We’re just going to question people.”

“Yeah? And how do you think the Blades interrogate witnesses?”

“Wait, wha–”

Pidge drags him away. “Hurry up Hunk! We’re going to be late!”

That was a joke. He’s not sure Hunk got it.

Keith closes the door, and tiny needles go into his shin. He moves to kick reflexively, but then Limon giggles and gasps, pulling himself up and using his little feet to grip the fabric and push. He’s climbing. He’s climbing Keith’s leg like a monkey. Keith watches him curiously. He’s not quite sure what to do about it.

“Hey! That’s so cool!” Lance says, wheeling his way in.

He’s wearing what Keith picked out for him.

Keith’s heart tumbles somewhere into his stomach, bouncing off his ribs like a drunk falling down the stairs. Lance looks amazing. The shirt compliments his broad shoulders, his toned arms, his lovely collarbones. His wet hair is pushed away from his face, already perfect and styled. His skin is glowing. He covered up the bruises seamlessly again, and he looks bright and happy, confident and at home in his wheelchair.

Keith makes a stupid noise that sounds like, “Ahhum?”

But thankfully Lance isn’t looking at him, he’s shining at Limon. “Mirate! You’re doing such a good job, baby boy! Keep going, you can do it!”

Look at you!

Limon squeals and babbles back, raising a little hand to wave at him. Then he focuses back on climbing. He finally settles on Keith’s hip. He looks up at him and makes a weird sound, drooling on his shirt.

Lance gasps. “He said ‘Keith!’”

He absolutely did not.

“Kee. Kee.” Limon prattles, making that noise over and over. “Kee!”

“Holy shit, Keith! He learned your name!” Lance wheels his way over, kissing Limon’s head noisily. “Are you saying Keith’s name, baby? You’re so smart! Oh my god, you’re so smart. Keith, this is his first word!”

Lance is ridiculously happy.

This is too much.

“He’s not saying my name.” Keith argues, but Limon does seem to be looking at him, making that sound over and over. Why would he be saying Keith’s name? Keith unsticks him from his clothes and dumps him in Lance’s lap. He’s absolutely failing at this whole comforting thing. Fuck.

“Did you teach him that?” He can’t stop his words from sounding accusatory.

Lance is too caught up to care, lifting Limon into the air and making him laugh and laugh. “Of course I didn’t teach him that. Ey, bebe, say Lance. Laaaance.”

“Kee! Kee!”

Launce laughs. “So cute.”

“Then why is he saying that?” Keith demands.

Lance grins at him. “I don’t know. Look, he spends a lot of time with me, and I spend a lot of time with you. That means I say your name a lot. It’s not like I’m saying my own name all the time. Oh, but you should be happy! You’re his first word! That’s so sweet, you love your tío Keith, don’t you, chiquito?”

He’s a baby. He doesn’t love anything.

Limon chirps and reaches for Lance, nuzzling against his face with happy coos. The sight settles something in Keith. He doesn’t want to put a name to that feeling, but it goes away slowly.

“I told you I’m not his uncle. That’s gross.” Keith moves over to his weapons table, starting to arm himself with the more subtle ones.

“What are you, then?” Lance asks distractedly. “His brother?”

Keith wrinkles his nose. That’s not right either. He turns to let Lance see his displeasure.

Lance snickers. “What? You don’t want me to be your daddy?”

Pervert. He shoves the back of Lance’s head again, making both him and his baby laugh. Keith looks at him for a terrible, indulgent second. His hair is getting long, but the nape of his neck is still buzzed relatively short. Keith loves the back of his neck. Looking down low enough, the hair there is so thin it looks almost blond, curving down symmetrically like a delicate arrow to the first subtle bump of his spine.

He forces himself to speak. “Does that mean you think you’re his dad?”

This is important.

Lance squints those pretty blue eyes at him, probably trying to figure out if Keith is trying to make fun of him. Then he sighs, tilting his head to study his purple baby. “No. I was just joking.”

“I know,” Keith says impatiently. “But do you–”

“I know what you’re trying to ask,” Lance interrupts, not unkindly. Instead, he sounds a bit sad. “The answer is that I don’t know, Keith.”

“Kee.” Limon answers thoughtfully, sticking his fingers in his mouth.

“Are you going to leave him here?” Keith asks bluntly.

“I don’t know.”

“But–”

Lance turns to face him. “Why are you asking me this? Do you want me to leave him here? Or do you honestly think we could raise him in space?”

We. He said we.

Keith breathes deeply. “You already have been.”

It's true.

He doesn’t get to hear Lance’s reply because an unfamiliar voice interrupts them.

“I see he learned to climb?”

Keith whirls around, hand on his weapon

It's Regris. He smiles at Keith's expression. “I apologize. I let myself in. I brought something for Lance.”

He's holding what looks like a paper bag.

Keith scowls, willing his heart to slow from the shock. Nobody does stealth like a Blade. “Remember I taught you how to knock? Or how to announce yourself, at least?”

“I feel terribly silly bashing my knuckles against the door, Keith.” Regris says, closing the door behind him.

“Do it anyway.” Keith scowls.

“I want to talk to you in private.” He says, setting the little bag on the table.

No thanks.

Limon squeals and reaches for Regris, struggling in Lance’s hold. Keith’s scowl deepens. What the hell? Did Lance let this guy hold the baby? Lance doesn’t look surprised at all, even though Limon usually shies away from strangers. Instead, Lance chuckles, balancing Limon expertly and holding him up. Regris grabs him around the middle with his tail, swooping him away. The baby giggles in delight, yelping as Regris turns him this way and that in the air.

Even Lance's dumb baby likes Regris more than Keith.

The thought stings, and he busies himself with opening Lance's package. He doesn't care that it's rude. It better not be a gift. He'll throw it out.

Inside, there are little glass vials full of red liquid. He uncaps one and sniffs it to confirm. Yeah. It’s Lance's pain medicine. Now it'll be easily accessible in case the pain gets to be too much. He looks up at Regris with grudging approval. It’s a good idea. Keith should have thought of that.

“Thanks,” He grunts, “but whatever you have to say, you can say in front of him.”

Lance raises an eyebrow at Keith, smiling. “I really don’t mind.”

“Shut up.”

Dumbass. Keith doesn’t want him to leave. What if someone attacks him while Keith is distracted with Regris? Hold up. Keith zeroes in on Regris, eyes narrowed. What if that’s his plan? He admitted that he’s related to Oltha, and it’s her fault Lance and Keith were taken in the first place. What if this is all an elaborate ploy?

Regris smirks like he can read Keith’s thoughts. “It is alright, Lance. You can stay. What I have to say concerns you as well.”

Keith huffs. “Spit it out then.”

Maybe he’s being paranoid.

Lance tsks at him, pulling him backwards by his belt loop. He’s strong. He yanks Keith all the way until he sits on the furniture next to him. “Stop being so rude.” He whispers.

Keith grumbles. Now who’s manhandling who?

But he sits quietly, scolded.

Regris sits in front of them and crosses his legs at the ankles. He’s wearing his Blade suit again. He sets Limon on the carpeted floor between them, pushing him on his back and keeping him entertained with his tail, like teasing an upside-down turtle.

He addresses Keith. “I came to ask your permission to court–”

“No.” Keith seethes.

“Let me finish.”

“No.”

How dare he? Keith clenches his fists. Adrenaline spiked with anger and fear rushes through him.

Regris knows. He has to know. And still, he comes in here asking to date Lance? Why even ask Keith’s permission? Just to rub it in?

Regris smiles at him, amusement playing on his lips. It pisses Keith off to all hell. Why does he always have to act so damn superior? Like Keith is a stupid kit.

“Let him finish.” Lance says, frowning at Keith with clear disapproval.

Oh.

Keith’s stomach twists. Of course, Lance wants to hear Regris out. He likes him. It isn’t even Keith’s place to be here, let alone form an opinion. He needs to leave.

“What court? Is there a court here?” Lance asks.

Moron.

Lance has no idea what they’re talking about.

Regris laughs, utterly indifferent to the fact that Keith’s world seems to be falling apart. What’s going to happen? Would Regris travel with them, replacing Keith as Lance’s go-to? He’s already so much better with Limoncito than Keith is. Lance probably wouldn’t have to tell him to be more comforting. And that’s the best-case scenario. What if Regris somehow convinced Lance to stay here? He could raise Limoncito here with Regris and his family.

No. Lance wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave them.

But he would, for the sake of the baby.

He's already said as much.

Keith stares at Limon. He’s playing with his ears, squishing them flat against his head. He senses Keith’s gaze and grins, showing off his four teeth. He crawls to him. “Kee! Kee.”

“There is no tribunal here.” Regris confirms. “I meant ‘courting.’ Does that translate?”

“Oh, yes.” Lance looks at Keith, confused.

Keith refuses to meet his gaze. Here it comes. He holds his breath.

Regris continues. “I would like to ask permission to begin courting you,

“...both of you.”

Chapter Text

⍟~⋆｡°✩

Keith is in a sour mood.

What a pervert. One Paladin isn’t enough for him?

He’d said as much, but Lance scolded him again with that disappointed frown on his face.

Lance being angry with Keith is one thing, but disappointed in him? That was more than Keith could handle.

Keith stood up and left, and that was the first time Regris’ confident smile had slipped from his face.

Keith paces outside, scanning the perimeter and making a mental map of everything they’ve seen so far. There’s the hospital, the stadium where the Pit is held, the dungeon somewhere underneath, Oltha and Derek’s place a couple blocks away, and the field they played in close to the residential area. There are a couple more structures in the distance he wants to check out. It’d be good to know where food production/storage is in case of an emergency. He should also make sure to find out where the dangerous creatures they used in the Pit are held.

Eventually, he runs out of exits and escape routes to count and his mind turns elsewhere.

Regris. Why would he approach them with that kind of proposition? Why both of them?

Lance eventually finds him, a backpack strapped to his chair and Limoncito in his lap. Limon grips Lance’s blue shirt tightly every time they go over a particularly rough bump. His little ears perk up when he spots Keith.

“Kee! Kee!”

He really is calling Keith’s name. He still doesn't know how to feel about that.

“There you are,” Lance smiles, looking at him a little too searchingly.

“I was close by.” Keith says quickly, guiltily.

Lance was safe with Regris.

Lance seems to sense his guilt and shakes his head. “It’s alright. Regris caught me off guard too. He insisted we talk about it when we get back.”

What else is there to talk about? Keith thinks he made his answer pretty obvious. He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. He’s crazy.”

Lance starts heading down the path again. “I don’t know, I think it’s kind of sweet.”

Sweet?

“Right. Because you like him.” Keith mutters angrily, falling into step next to him. “Doesn’t it bother you that he’s saying he likes me too?”

If that’s even what he’s saying. Maybe he only included Keith in his gross threesome fantasy out of some misguided attempt to protect his feelings.

Lance looks at him, puzzled. “I like him okay. And why would I care that he has a crush on you? That’s kind of cute. You really had no idea?”

Cute?

“Not just me.” Keith grumbles.

“Why are you so hung up on that?” Lance raises an eyebrow. “Polyamorous people exist, you know. You didn’t have to go and call him a pervert. He looked like you shot him when you said that. And also, he only just met me. He’s known you for how long? His feelings for you must be much deeper.”

Keith doesn’t need a dictionary to know what polyamorous means; the name is self-explanatory. Still. He’s never heard that term before and tries to work it out in his brain. There are people out there that have more than one partner? How would that even work? Lance doesn’t seem to think the concept is perverted, but Lance doesn’t always know what he’s talking about. Especially because he’s under the impression that Regris is suffering from ‘deep feelings’ for Keith.

Keith tries to think back on his interactions with Regris, but nothing really sticks out to him except– oh right.

Hm.

Well, Regris scented him a lot. Maybe that crossed his wires a bit. It’d been necessary when a mission required stealth, which was most of the time. Apparently, much to Keith’s embarrassment, he had little to no control over his own chemical messages. After having that uncomfortable conversation with Kolivan, Keith chose Regris because he was the closest in age and size. The last thing he wanted was to have an enormous, old man hulking over him and licking his wrists.

And that was all they did. Wrist licking. Pretty tame. Or at least, Keith always thought it was until it was his turn to claim Lance with his scent. That’s besides the point.

Regris refused to leave his scent on Keith’s neck, stating that just the wrists would be enough. And it was. Regris’ overpowering, claiming scent obscured his own and made him bland and uninteresting.

He looks away from Lance so he doesn’t catch any of this playing on his face. He’s still not 100% percent convinced Lance doesn’t have unnatural perception skills.

“He also said that he didn’t want to come between us,” Lance says carefully, angling his head to catch Keith’s eyes. “He said he can tell we have a special bond.”

Keith trips over a rock.

No! Regris knows– he must know how Keith feels about Lance. Did he tell him?

He turns to Lance so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t lose his balance entirely. But Lance looks none the wiser. He’s sporting the expression he uses when he’s teasing Keith. A smirk on his pink lips, his eyebrows high and playfully, his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

“Where are we going?” Keith asks abruptly.

“Where am I going, you mean?” Lance huffs, taking the shift in stride. “Regris said some of the botanical scientists are working on a garden, so I’m going to go see it. You’re dismissed, bodyguard.”

He says the last word with enough dripping sarcasm that not even Keith can miss it.

“I’m not leaving you, Lance.”

“This again! I told you, we’re all in danger. Why don’t you follow Hunk around instead?”

“Hunk and Pidge aren’t injured and burdened with a baby.”

“That doesn’t mean you can treat me like an invalid.”

Keith groans. What is this? Is he going to complain constantly? What’s so bad about having Keith around? Does he want some alone time or something? Why doesn’t he just say that? Keith would find some way to give it to him. Maybe if Lance was in a secure building, and Keith stood guard outside.

“I’m not!” Keith argues. “You showered by yourself, didn’t you? And I didn’t even help you get in and out of the bath chair.”

“I didn’t need any help! Because I’m very agile and flexible.”

“I know!”

“You know?”

“Yes, I–” A trap.

Keith walked into a trap.

Lance’s face shows he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s good with his tongue. Wait, no. That’s not the phrase. Silver-tongued, that’s what he is. Whatever. Keith shies away from that train of thought. He can’t think about Lance’s tongue. It’s already bad enough his mind is plagued by imaginations of Lance’s toned arms and his long, flexible legs. Regularly watching him stretch before training was torture. Once, he put his leg over his head until it was straight, doing so with ease, not flinching once. Then he leaned into the stretch, releasing a sigh that seeped into the most hidden corners of Keith’s mind.

Keith had no doubt in his head that Lance had simply lifted himself out of his wheelchair and into the other with enough grace to not even break a sweat.

“Shut up.” Keith hisses, turning red.

Lance laughs.

Keith chews on his lip. Maybe Regris did tell him. Maybe instead of saying ‘special bond’ he told Lance straight-up that Keith is in love with him. Maybe he said something like, ‘and if it isn’t obvious enough, his pheromones scream it whenever he’s near you.’ Maybe that’s why everyone they encounter seems to think they’re together. Ionne, Kendra, Crescioul, Sil, and now Regris. Is Keith really broadcasting his feelings to every Galra close enough to smell him? Some of the Blades were perceptive enough to badger him about things like overexertion or a missed meal. If they could smell that, could they smell love, too?

And if Regris told him, does Lance know now? Is that why he’s teasing him? Maybe, just like Regris’ crush, he thinks Keith’s feelings are cute too. Or worse, Lance thinks it’s amusing, and now he’s having a laugh at Keith’s expense. He thinks it’s fucking hysterical that the weird guy he met in the Garrison with no friends and the emotional maturity of a twelve year old is in love with him.

“Keith. Keith! You’re bleeding!” Lance rolls to a stop in front of him. “Geez, stop biting yourself.”

Keith tastes it then, the copper. He licks it away.

“Hold on,” Lance mutters, patting his pockets. “I have chapstick somewhere.”

“Don’t want any.” Keith says, still feeling like he wants to crawl into the nearest gutter. Not that there are any in this stupid rock. It probably doesn’t even rain.

“Aha!” Lance pulls out an obnoxiously bright tube from his pocket. “Here.”

“No.”

“What? It’s not gross to share chapstick, Mullet. Let me just…” Lance unscrews the top, holding it up and away from Limon’s curious hands. He swipes his thumb over the top of it. “There.”

“I’m fine.”

“This has healing properties!” Lance insists, peering at Keith’s mouth and making him squirm. “I know that cut hurts. Licking isn’t going to make it any better. Come here.”

He yanks on the front of Keith’s shirt, bringing him down to his level. Keith stares at him wide-eyed, but Lance swipes his thumb over Keith’s bottom lip before he can get away. He does it slowly, gently coating his lip in the buttery product.

“Yeah, your lips feel pretty chapped. You can have this one, I have loads.” Lance releases him. Then his eyes hush over Keith’s face critically. “You’re really red. Are you allergic to mango passionfruit?”

Keith runs.

This is more than anyone can handle.

Not even the strongest man in the world could stay after that.

Lance laughs a short, surprised sound that follows after Keith like a bird. “Wha– where are you going? Keith! Are you actually allergic? C’mon, Cowboy, slow down, let’s look for an epipen or something.”

That makes Keith stop short, and it’s not because of the accidental gentle command, softened by Lance’s chuckles.

Cowboy?

Hell no.

There are only so many stupid names he’s willing to put up with, and this isn’t one of them. He has to nip this in the bud before it becomes a permanent addition to Lance’s vocabulary.

He gathers enough determination to battle the red in his face and stomps back to Lance. He’s still grinning like Keith is the funniest thing in the world. At least now Keith can put his suspicions of Lance knowing his secret to bed. No way would Lance touch him like that if he knew.

“No.” He growls.

“No?”

“No to the cowboy bullshit.”

“Aw, it fits, though.”

“It really doesn’t. It’s stupid.” As long as they’re on this subject, he can avoid thinking of Lance’s fingers in Keith’s mouth, of the way Lance looked at him as he touched him so gently.

“Listen. You’re from Texas, you got the whole desert thing going for you, you’re wearing the boots–”

“These aren’t cowboy boots!”

“You’re wearing boots! You’ve got the accent sometimes–”

“The hell I do!”

“Your hair, your little toy horses, I’m honestly surprised I hadn’t thought of that before.”

“I’m never telling you anything again.”

Lance chuckles, starting to roll back towards the gardens. “This is an art form, Keith. Every nickname I’ve ever given is carefully thought out and considered. I’m like, the best at giving nicknames.”

What a weird thing to be proud of. Then again, he did come up with the whole Pigeon thing for Pidge. Keith likes that one. Still though, it doesn’t make up for all the stupid things he calls Keith.

“Keithy-cat?” Keith drags the horrible nickname through his teeth.

“That one’s more for Limon’s sake.” Lance explains, snorting. He’s so damn proud of himself. “You know, baby talk. It’s cute.”

Keith thinks back. The first time he said that it’d been in front of Limon. That’s not a good enough excuse, though.

“You should be grateful, actually.” Lance says. “I come up with all these cool names for you and what do you have for me? Nothing.”

“I do call you things.”

“Like what?”

“Dumbass. Idiot.”

Lance swipes at him but Keith dodges the strike, making Limon giggle. “You’re an asshole.”

“That’s another one.”

Lance huffs and pouts. “Come on! Think of one for me, please?”

Keith sighs. Does he actually want Keith to give him a nickname? Why? This is so stupid. Keith can just call him by his name. He studies Lance’s profile. He’s staring ahead, serious and waiting. Maybe this is important to him. And it’s true that he seems to put genuine thought behind these names, and not all of his nicknames make fun of Keith. ‘Samurai’ is kind of cool. Keith isn’t good at these things though. He’s not creative or funny, not like Lance is.

He says the first thing that comes to mind. “Legs?”

Lance blinks at him. “‘Legs?’”

Keith blushes. He blushes so easily nowadays. Maybe he has some sort of blood condition. He clears his throat. “You know. Because you’re the leg of Voltron. And because… your leg is injured.”

Those aren’t the real reasons. Keith allows himself to look over Lance’s legs indulgently. They’re so long. Much longer than Keith’s. Keith loves those legs.

“Those are terrible reasons!” Lance complains.

They bicker back and forth comfortably, and soon Lance is smiling and teasing him in a way that makes Keith’s heart quicken almost as much as the chapstick incident did. Just when he thinks he’s recovered from that, Lance pushes the yellow tube into his pants pocket, reminding him to apply it whenever his lips feel dry.

They reach the gardens, which are just endless rows of trays full of microgreens inside a temperature-controlled greenhouse.

Garden is putting it nicely.

Lance doesn’t seem too disappointed by the display, however. He even lifts one of the trays and lets Limon play with it.

The baby is fascinated with the delicate, green sprouts. He runs his little hands through the leafy greens slowly, then quickly, squealing and giggling until he makes himself hiccup in between laughs. Then he grabs a fistful and tries to put them in his mouth. Lance pulls them from his tightly coiled fist, replanting them with an ‘oops’ and a conspiratorial look towards Keith that makes him smile.

The scientists shoot them reprimanding glares, but Lance plays innocent. “Gentle hands, Cito. Gentle.” He pretends to scold the baby, wagging a finger in his face.

Keith has to look away to hide his smile. Even Limon knows Lance is bullshitting. The baby giggles bashfully and hides his face in Lance’s chest, thinking it’s a game, peeking out at him to laugh again. Silly.

Lance melts and tickles him, filling the greenhouse with more baby laughs. The scientists stop scowling, and Keith even sees some of them smile in their direction.

The baby has a talent for softening people.

Just like Lance.

☆

Hours pass like seconds, and eventually, Lance has enough of playing with grass. The air is crisp outside and Lance sighs, mourning the loss of the artificial sunlight. He leans back in the chair and looks up at Keith, smiling and unknowingly baring his neck.

Keith keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead.

He’s not sure what’s so amusing. Maybe Lance enjoys having Keith push him around like a prince even though he’s perfectly capable of getting around by himself.

Keith doesn’t mind.

Hunk and Pidge join them with updates on their progress. Pidge is wearing the common fashion. A long, tight top with a high neck and billowy pants that go to her knees, complete with a strappy pair of sandals. She’d look native if she was purple.

She boasts about how she’s almost done selling the council on the concept of a trial, and Hunk says they found the culprit’s family. Keith is much more interested in that.

He’s wearing his Paladin armor. He must have made quite a sight conducting interrogations with the Blades. He prattles on about how, if they would have kept stricter records of everyone living in the commune, it wouldn’t have taken them this long to find the culprit’s family. Keith asks him about the next steps. Do they have any more information about the culprit? Are they going to bring the family in for questioning?

A squeal interrupts him. It’s not Limon making that noise.

It’s a woman.

Keith swings around, hand on his knife.

She’s heading towards them, smiling and waving, and–

And topless. What the hell?

The girl screams again when she catches up to them. She only has eyes for Lance. “Blue Paladin! I am your biggest fan/admirer/supporter/devotee/lover!”

The translator fizzes out. Keith leaves his knife where it is for now. A quick scan tells him she’s unarmed. A couple more figures approach, all coming from the same dome-like structure in the distance. They're all shirtless. All definitely female. They're Galra women, and they're not fighters, based on their relatively unmarred skin and soft figures. But that doesn't mean they can't be a threat, especially in Lance's condition.

Hunk and Pidge don't seem to be very concerned about the potential threat.

Hunk averts his eyes. “Oh, boy.”

Pidge flushes and covers her eyes like they're in danger of being poked out, which is a real danger for Lance. Two girls pull his head into their chests in overenthusiastic hugs. Lance’s arms freeze, then settle on the wheels of his chair. He’s blushing slightly, his hair tousled where it tangles with purple chest hair.

“Hunk, did I die and go to heaven?” His voice comes out muffled.

The girls gasp and fawn at his words.

“That's all you, buddy.” Hunk says, strained.

The women surround Lance, maybe six or seven of them. They’re all varying shades of purple, with different hairstyles and body types. Some touch his hair, “It's brown!” they exclaim. Others poke at his injured leg and murmur and coo in sympathy. Others still crowd around Limoncito and pinch his cheeks and ears. Limon fights them off valiantly, batting away their hands like he's fending off a swarm of bees.

“Blue Paladin! It was so amazing how you killed the Malki! Only our most skilled marksmen are able to kill the Malki, and only after intense practice and instruction!” One of them gushes.

“Yes, how were you able to see their vulnerable points?” Another one interjects.

“Um, well–”

“And it was so brave how you saved the Red Paladin!”

Some of them turn to Keith, as if seeing him for the first time. Their faces light up in excitement.

“You acted so honorably when that traitor struck down our Blue Paladin!” One of them says, taking tentative steps toward Keith.

“Yes, when you shot into the crowd, I thought my heart would burst!”

Another one nods and jumps up and down in excitement. “It was so romantic!”

They grip each other’s arms, lowering their voices. “Did you see how the red paladin quickly fell to his knees to render aid?”

“Oh, and when he took him in his arms!”

“Yes, I can never forget the moment he carried him away to safety, so tenderly, as if he held his whole world in his arms.”

Lance tears his eyes away from them and gapes at Keith. “You did what?”

Keith reddens.

The girls whisper excitedly, entirely audible. One skips forward to cling to Keith's arm, her large ears flat against her head with shyness.

Keith shakes his head and steps away.

These women are really pissing him off. Why are they shirtless? Why do they think it's acceptable to touch Lance like that? And why are they saying all that nonsense? ‘Our Blue Paladin?’ ‘Romantic?’ ‘His whole world?”

He glares.

The girl scurries back to Lance's side. Lance doesn't look at all uncomfortable. Instead, he looks delighted, but he still sends curious glances at Keith.

It makes anger buzz in Keith's fists.

Two of them approach Hunk and Pidge, gushing. “The Yellow Paladin is the strongest!” The other shakes her head. “But the green one is the inventor.”

They try to cling to Hunk's arms, but he shies away, hiding behind Pidge. One of them pounces on her, crooning and petting her hair. Pidge raises an eyebrow, squirming to free herself and look her in the eye. “Why are you shirtless?”

Finally asking the important questions.

The girl she addresses perks up, her ears pointing. She secures her arms more tightly around Pidge. “Oh, I forgot! We are supposed to recover the Blue Paladin and the kit for the latching ceremony. We were on our way to your place of residence when we spotted you here.”

“Me and the baby?” Lance frowns. “What kind of ceremony?”

“A latching ceremony. To find a match.” One of them explains, her tail curling around Lance's arm. “You did not know, Blue Paladin?”

Keith stops listening.

What the fuck?

Does she have no concept of personal space?

She’s tall. Strong. Colored a deep reddish purple that lightens around her chest. Keith's eyes zero in on her tail. It’s striped. Barbed. Coiled twice around Lance’s forearm. And it’s entirely too much. Disgustingly inappropriate. He stalks forward and clenches the handgrips on Lance's wheelchair. He waits a second, but that's not enough to dislodge her. He clicks his tongue at her sharply.

The rest of the girls lower their ears and their gazes, but this one narrows her eyes at him, challenging.

“You have no claim, hybrid.” She hisses.

She can't be serious.

Keith growls. He doesn't need a fucking claim.

“Chill.” Lance says, frowning at him. “They're harmless.”

Of course he's scolding him and not the crazy woman. Keith resists the urge to bare his teeth at Lance. Harmless? He can be so stupid sometimes. These girls could rip his throat out in seconds if they wanted to. He's probably too distracted by all the purple tits in his face to recognize the threat.

Lance touches the girl's arm, and her yellow, orange eyes light up in excitement. She doesn't move her tail.

“Hey, gorgeous. What did you say about a latching ceremony? What is that?” Lance insists.

The woman looks around at the others, exchanging nervous glances. “They did not tell him.”

“What?” Keith grunts, impatient.

She ignores Keith. She sighs, pressing the back of her hand tenderly against Lance's cheek. “We are holding a latching ceremony for your kit. This is so that he will find a suitable match to drink from.”

What does that even mean? She doesn't sound like she's asking for permission. And why are the women suddenly so solemn?

One of them strokes over Lance's leg in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture. Another's ears droop so low they almost touch her shoulders. None of this makes any sense to Keith, but Lance responds.

“You mean breast milk? We have the formula substitute, Palen Stro’.”

Oh. They want to find someone to donate breast milk. Gross. Why?

A girl grabs Lance's hand. “Just come with us, Paladin. The matrons will explain.”

Lance thinks about it for all of two seconds before he nods. “Okay, we'll go.”

Idiot. Is that all it takes to lower his defenses? A pair of tits?

What if it's a trap?

The one with the wandering tail frowns. “It is a private ceremony.”

“Awesome.” Pidge says, too quickly. “Hunk and I are out. Don't get murdered or imprisoned.”

So caring.

“Hold on,” Hunk says, peeking between his fingers. “Lance, are you sure this is a good idea? You're still injured; it could be dangerous.”

“This is about Limoncito,” Lance shakes his head. “I have to go. And these ladies will take care of me, right?”

He winks at them, and they gasp and giggle, falling over themselves to assure him they will. It's pathetic. Why is Lance encouraging this?

Hunk shakes his head. “Lance.”

Lance laughs as one of them hugs him again. He moves his head to the side so that she doesn't smother him with her chest. “Hey, angels. Are you going to murder or imprison us?”

They laugh and deny it.

Hunk rolls his eyes and leads Pidge away, throwing a ‘good luck’ over his shoulder. Keith watches them leave with a small sense of betrayal. When did this happen? It used to be Hunk meekly following after Lance while he went and got himself into trouble. Sometimes Pidge.

Now it's just Keith and Lance.

Something flutters in his chest. He stamps it down. It must be the betrayal not sitting right.

The rude girl turns her nose up at Keith. Her tail wraps higher around his arm and Keith burns with jealousy. “He is not invited.”

Yeah. Good luck with that.

“That's too bad.” Keith snaps. “He's not going by himself.”

The girls look at each other and start whispering. Keith rolls his eyes. They really like Lance. They’re absolutely infatuated. It's ridiculous and embarrassing and Keith can't blame them one bit.

He knows what it feels like to be the victim of Lance's smile, his sharp smirk, his sweet words. He knows their hearts probably burn every time his electric blue gaze settles on them. Looking at them like he can see right into their minds, easy and comfortable, like nothing in the world could scare him away.

He sneaks a furtive glance at Lance. He seems to like them too.

Ultimately, the women decide that whatever this ceremony is, it's too important to miss on account of Keith. They lead the way ahead.

Lance hangs back next to Keith, miraculously unsticking himself from their purple clutches. “Hey. Hey. Do Galra girls usually walk around shirtless?”

Idiot. “No. It's because of the ceremony.”

“Yeah, but like, culturally, is it–”

Keith huffs. What would he know of Galra culture? He’s the last person Lance should be asking. And is there even such a thing with how widespread the species is? Regris would argue there is.

He answers Lance without looking at him. “I don’t know. The Blades took their shirts off whenever they wanted. Training, or when we worked on ship maintenance, or just to relax. They usually didn't do that in front of visitors or foreigners, though.”

Lance nods thoughtfully and then grins. “Nice.”

Keith flicks his ear. Hard. “Pervert.”

“Ow! Keith!” Lance yelps and covers his ear. “I've been a perfect gentleman, you bastard!”

The girls jump and scatter at his dramatic outburst, looking at Keith suspiciously.

Limoncito jumps too, turning to look at Keith with wide eyes. “Kee?”

“Shut up.”

He addresses Lance, not the baby. Lance is still holding his ear, which to his credit, is looking pretty red in between his fingers. Maybe Keith flicked him too hard.

Lance scowls. “Don't act all morally superior. You sleep with aliens.”

“So?”

“And you know, there was that whole thing with Sil.”

Where is he going with this? Keith gives him a look between confused and irritated.

Lance blinks at him. “So don’t judge me! And, well, Sil kind of looks like a girl.”

“He does not.”

“I'm just saying! Maybe that stuff doesn't mean as much in space. All sorts of aliens can look like girls, or rather, they look like what our idea of what a girl is supposed to look like. Am I making any sense?”

“Shut up, Lance. You look like a girl.”

That actually shuts him up.

What’s Lance’s point? Maybe he’s just trying to defend himself by reminding Keith he's done much more than look. Which is a good point. Maybe Keith has been acting a little hypocritical. Why should he care that Lance is enjoying himself a little? He knows Lance is bisexual. He knows he prefers women, and these women are beautiful, even to Keith’s eyes. And half-naked. But then what was all that talk about Sil and girls?

Lance faces forward and lets himself be wheeled quietly. Keith looks down at him, confused. Did he hit a nerve? This isn't comfortable silence. It's stiff.

Discomfort crawls under Keith's skin. He needs to fix this, but he doesn't know how.

Maybe this is one of those situations where Lance was trying to say something without actually saying it. Maybe Lance was running circles around what he actually wanted to say. He tends to do that.

Keith hates subtext. It makes him feel stupid.

“You don't look like a girl.” Keith grunts finally.

There. An apology. Is that what he's upset about? Keith was just trying to get him to be quiet because the topic of conversation made him uncomfortable, he didn't actually mean it. He thought it was a pretty silly retort. He thought that would be obvious though, because, come on. Lance does not look anything like a girl.

“Shut up, Keith.”

Okay. He's mad. Keith shuts up.

Lance waits a couple seconds before he explodes, waving his free arm around. “I was just trying to have a conversation with you!”

“Sorry.”

“Shut up! So first, you give me shit about the makeup, and now you're saying I look like a girl?”

“Uh–”

“I was just curious! You go around saying you're only into these hyper masculine macho men–

“I do not!” Keith protests. He thinks about putting a hand over Lance’s mouth, but he's pretty sure he'd get bit. It could be worth it, though, he's talking bullshit. Keith never said any of that to him, and he definitely does not go around saying that to other people.

“-- which apparently, to you, doesn't include men who cry and take care of babies and wear a little bit of foundation–”

Uh oh. Keith is scrambling to catch up with what Lance is saying while simultaneously looking for a way out. Maybe he can get one of the girls to push his wheelchair? Then he could get some distance, at least.

“--and so what? Just because I struggle to put on weight does not mean I don't work out. I have muscle! I'm just as strong as the next guy–”

What is he even talking about now? The girls are starting to look back at them and giggle amongst themselves.

“-- and now you think I'm less of a man. Well, you know what? Fuck you. I'm very secure in my gender identity and expression, unlike you. If you have these rigid ideas of what it means to be a man, that makes you close-minded, Keith. And you need to work on that. Having a type is fine and all, but that doesn't mean that–”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Keith tries.

“--even Shiro said he's proud of me for looking after the baby! So if your perception of me is changed because of that, then you need to do some serious self-evaluation. All I was trying to figure out is, if you don't usually go for guys that look like Sil, then when it comes to aliens, how do you decide? Like, it's complicated enough on Earth but– oh, okay. Maybe I shouldn't have said he looks like a girl, I mean, comparatively kinda, but that's not what I meant. I meant that he doesn't fit into the type that you described, so I was wondering maybe if you're flexible about these things, or if there's a reason why you seem to have made an exception. I get it if that makes you uncomfortable, but I'm just trying to talk to you, man. I thought we were getting to a place where we could talk about these things. After the night we spent in that dungeon, I thought–”

“I need to pee.” Keith mumbles.

He makes his escape. He leaves Lance mid-sentence and ducks behind a random building.

Fuck.

He sucks. Keith sucks so bad. He settles his nerves and peeks around the corner. The girls are pushing him, overjoyed.

Keith likes it when Lance talks like that. He really does. It's like there's a river somewhere inside him letting loose, and it crashes against all the rocks and sprays everywhere. It's nice. Keith doesn't think he has a river. He thinks that if he tried to talk that fast and that long, his tongue would trip all over itself and he'd end up sounding like an idiot. Lance never trips up, he never stutters. His lips shape around his words so nicely, and his pronunciation is crisp and sharp, but soft on all the vowels.

It was just too much.

Keith doesn't want to talk about the nurse. He never talks about his… private matters. Shiro tried to address it once, but Keith put a stop to it quick. He's not ashamed or anything, he's an adult. It's just private. It's not anyone's business.

It's different with Lance.

It makes his body hot. It makes him squirm. It makes him feel like he wants to run and punch something.

The girls take Lance into a dome-shaped building, and Keith peels himself off the wall and follows. He has to protect Lance and Cito. He doesn't have time to focus on all these petty issues. He steels himself.

Inside, the building is packed with dirt. Actual dirt. There's fresh soil beneath their feet that almost smells like Earth's. There's a bunch of women huddled around, and they turn and look at him, hostile. There's aggression in the air, defensiveness, intent to hurt. Keith can feel his teeth extending in response, and his claws poke against his palms. They're outnumbered.

A tall woman stands in front of him. Keith narrows his eyes. It's her. Kendra. She's the commander from earlier who took them from the dungeon and led them to their potential deaths. She's shirtless, and her muscles ripple when she crosses her arms and looks down at Keith, a snarl curling her lip.

“You are not welcome here.”

It's not the first time Keith's heard that, and it's never stopped him before. “Either I stay, or I take Lance and the baby with me.”

She smirks. “I can make you leave.”

She's talking about the lax drug. Keith steps closer, snarling. “Try it.”

A smaller Galra woman wedges between them. “Kendra, perhaps he can stay. He is untamed.”

Keith's jaw sets. He hates that term. Hates that they can tell just by smelling him.

“He cares for the child.” A familiar girl says. She's the one who challenged Keith and called him a hybrid. Now she's standing up for him? Keith sizes her up.

Kendra looks at her too. “Does he, Trix?” She turns her gaze back at Keith. “He is not a carer. However, he is the carer’s One. We will allow him to stay. Remove your clothes.”

They think Lance is a carer. That would be funny if Lance hadn't just blown up about his gender identity or whatever. Actually, that makes it funnier. Keith chooses to keep this new information to himself.

Keith pulls his shirt off and finds Lance, following his scent. He smells stronger now that Keith is in his different body. He finishes transforming by the time he reaches Lance.

Lance smells like soap. He smells like mango and passionfruit. He smells injured. He smells like Lance and the lotion he likes to wear.

He's sitting on the ground, Limoncito between his legs. They're digging a hole together.

Keith sits next to him. Their bare shoulders brush against each other.

He likes that he can smell him.

“You're here.” Lance sounds surprised.

Keith sighs. He's disappointed Lance sounds surprised. Of course Keith is here.

He scans their surroundings, avoiding looking at the way Lance's silver chain glints in the low light against his dark skin. There are only two exits. Lance and Keith are reasonably close to one of them. All the people here are unarmed, but there's a lot of them. Thirty or forty. The aggression has mostly faded now that Kendra let him in, and maybe also because Keith looks Galra now.

“Look.” Lance holds his hand out to Keith, drawing his attention.

Keith looks. The candlelight clings to Lance like glitter.

“It's soil! There are even some plants growing in it. Look! See that green thing? It’s a little sprout. The seed pod is still attached. It even smells like Earth." He playfully jostles Limon in his lap. "¿Te gusta, Limoncito? Mira, bebe, es como la tierra de nuestro hogar.”

Do you like it? Look baby, it's like the soil of our home.

Limon grabs two fistfuls of dirt and brings them up to Lance with a silly grin. Lance smiles back, gentle and happy.

Keith gets the distinct feeling it’ll be a long time before Lance smiles like that again.

Chapter Text

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The words trickle in slowly.

“... sick… rejection… common… death…”

Lance doesn't understand.

Limoncito is flinging dirt around. Lance has one hand on the strap of his overalls, holding him tightly even as everything else falls away.

“...temporary solution… ceremony… sickness…”

What are these people saying to him?

“Blue Paladin.” A woman stands before him, older, with sad eyes. Her ear is missing a chunk. “Do you understand?”

No, he doesn't understand.

“Your kit, he has begun to reject the Palen Stro. Galra infants do not typically survive after the mother is killed. It is a testament to your devotion that he has lived as long as he has.”

No, no.

“...all hope is not lost, Paladin. We have held many successful latching ceremonies. All of us capable of producing are here to see if your kit will latch. What is his name?”

No, please. What is happening?

Keith shifts. He clears his throat. “His name is Limoncito. Little lemon.”

The woman smiles. “May we take him?”

Lance can't speak. He can't move. He can't nod. His eyes are fixed on the baby in his lap. He's grinning at Lance, showing off his four little teeth. He's eating dirt.

Keith nods for him.

She takes him.

It feels like loss.

Keith tries to touch him. His fingers tap Lance's arm, then they disappear. “Lance. They'll find someone.”

His hand returns. He's holding Lance just under the elbow.

Lance stares at that lavender hand. His words come. “No… No. He's not sick. He's not sick, Keith. We would have noticed.”

“We can smell the sickness.” The girl next to him says. They're all sitting in a circle. She's one of the girls who led them here, but there's no sign of the earlier playfulness. She's serious now, strong. “It clings to him. Can you not smell it?”

Lance thinks about his dream, Keith frowning and nosing at Limoncito's belly, asking him why he smelled like that. It's a savage realization and it tears into him.

Keith looks struck. “That… I didn’t realize.”

No, he couldn't have. He's not familiar with the sickness and its smell. Still, a terrible anger fills Lance that he has to talk down. Even if Keith did know, identifying it last night, or the morning of the day before, wouldn't have made a difference.

Something else. His unusual bowel movement. But–

“He just had a bottle this morning. He finished it. How could he be rejecting it? That doesn't make any sense.” He's distantly aware he's speaking too loudly.

“His body is rejecting it.” The girl explains quietly. Her name comes to him as an afterthought, Trix. “He will no longer receive the necessary nutrients from the Palen Stro.”

“His body rejects it?” Lance asks, trembling.

“Yes. If a match is not found, the formula will soon harm him, and he will not drink it.”

A buzzing races up his legs and into his fingertips. It feels like needles.

Keith cuts in, leaning in front of Lance to talk to Trix. “But she said you can help him. Someone here can give him milk, right? And he'll be okay?”

“That is the hope, Paladin. We will care for him as long as it takes. In time, the hope is that he will accept the milk. There are carers among us who can produce, with kits of their own, they will start the ceremony. The rest of us will drink tea to hasten our production.”

“Wait.” Lance croaks. “We have healing technology. Altean technology. Allura is bringing our healing pod. We can scan him and find out exactly what's wrong and then we can put him in the pod–”

“This sickness cannot be healed.” Someone says.

Lance turns to see who spoke.

It’s her.

Anger returns like lightning.

“You. How long have you known?” He stands and lunges, not sure what his endgame is, but pain races so fast up his leg he's sure he just snapped it in half.

Keith catches him before he can fall, but for once he's not a comfort. Lance elbows him to get him away. Keith doesn't even flinch, he just sits him down and holds him there until Lance stops struggling.

Oltha meets his glare levelly. “I smelled the sickness once I bathed him, the day you were detained. That is why we are here today.” She hesitates. “I am… sorry. I am sorry, Paladin.”

Lance deflates. He covers his face. She's sorry.

Keith releases him. Lance thinks about turning and hitting him.

He’s breathing too fast. He can't take a full breath.

Limoncito is being passed to a second woman. She holds him to her chest, but he turns his head and complains when she tries to feed him. She tries several more times, she even takes some of her milk with her fingers and rubs them over Limoncito's pursed lips. He howls and throws his head back. She passes him to another woman.

Lance shakes so hard he's going to come apart. “Just force him! What are you doing?”

The lady holding him tucks him against her chest and rocks him. She's older. Her body is scarred and she's missing a breast. She holds him gently. “He cannot be forced, Paladin. If he is hungry, he will feed.”

“No, that's– that's ridiculous. Babies refuse to eat all the time! And he's used to drinking from a bottle, maybe he forgot!” Lance is desperate. Is he yelling? There are too many yellow eyes staring at him. Pitying him. Analyzing him.

“His body will know if the milk is right.” The woman says gently.

That's not good enough.

Lance throws himself forward, swinging his bad leg around. If they won't do it, he'll do it. He's going to force Limoncito to drink.

Several women protest.

Keith grabs him around the waist.

The woman holds up a hand and everyone goes quiet. Lance stills.

She readjusts her hold. Her hand fixes itself on the back of Limoncito's head securely. Lance can see the indents her grip makes on his skin, on his soft cheeks. He tries to turn his head away, but he can't. He screams, loud and furious. She leads her breast into his mouth with her other hand, and Limoncito kicks and arches his back to get away. He claws at her, his tiny fingernails drawing angry lines on her chest. His screams stop as his mouth becomes full of flesh. He bites her savagely and bloody milk leaks through the seal of his mouth.

Lance flinches.

The woman's expression never changes. She's made of stone. She doesn’t move until Limoncito makes a gurgling noise and then chokes. Then she releases him.

He turns his head and vomits, milk and blood spewing from his tiny mouth like an open wound.

Everything inside of Lance shrivels.

He thinks he makes a sound. A cry. He turns away and tries to put his knees under him and the pain gets so bad it mixes with the nausea already stirring in his throat. He ignores it and makes to stand, but then Keith is lifting him and sitting him in his chair. He's trying to talk to him but Lance can’t hear over his shrinking lungs and the screaming in his head. It's all coming apart. He's coming apart. Keith tries to follow him but Lance bangs his fist so hard against Keith's sternum that the other boy stumbles back. He thinks he yells something at him, an order, telling him to stay, but he's not sure he didn't just scream.

He wheels himself out, wishing he could rise out of it and slam the chair against the floor until it crumples. He's breathing too fast. Sharp and loud. His hands are shaking too much and his fingers get caught in the wheels. The frantic movements make his bruised ribs constrict and Lance suffocates.

He's suffocating.

He's dying.

It isn't any easier to breathe outside, but at least the eyes are gone and at least he can't hear his baby screaming and shrieking and howling at the top of his lungs and at least Keith isn't touching him like he's some gentle thing that's going to break.

Lance rides the panic attack by himself like he always has. He presses his forehead against the rough wall of the building and breathes so hard he chokes and gags and cries.

He can't breathe.

☆

Keith waits for as long as he can. Ten minutes. Then he goes after Lance.

The command to stay rocketed through him so fast and so hard, he'd frozen. It was obvious to everyone else what just happened, and they looked at him with pity.

It took a while for the haze to leave his mind and for him to remember why he ever wanted to leave in the first place. That command was stronger than any other he'd been subjected to thus far.

Keith broke through after five minutes, and then he used his own brain to stay another five.

Why did Lance want Keith to stay? So he wouldn't see Lance in that state?

He follows Lance's scent outside.

It's awful. Acidic like sulfur.

He's on the side of the building, his face streaked with tears. He's not making those horrible, injured noises anymore, but his chest is still rising and falling rapidly.

Keith tenses, his mouth dry. He's never seen Lance like this.

Lance sees him and his face twists in anger. It's an expression that's never been directed at Keith before. It scares him. Then Lance curls his fingers around a dusty moon rock and hurls it at Keith.

It doesn't land but Keith still flinches and stares.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Lance shouts. He flings another one.

“Lance–” Keith raises his hands, placating. He doesn't know what to do. He wants to fix this. He wants to make that hurt, panicked look on Lance's face go away and that terrible smell disappear.

Lance throws another one and this one lands. Pelting his thigh like a BB gun pellet. “I fucking told you to stay! Don't you get it? If I can't be in there with him, you have to be there! Why don't you understand? Pinche pendejo de mierda! Culero imbecil! –”

Keith understands.

It clicks in his brain and settles. If Lance can't be there, then Keith has to be there.

The baby comes first.

Keith ducks back inside and sits down. His heart beats fast. Lance's raw screaming echoes in his ears. That scared him more than any charging enemy.

Is Lance going to be okay?

Limoncito sobs as he's comforted. Many hands stroke through his hair to try to soothe him. They clean the vomit from his fur. He would feel safer with Lance, but Lance can't be here. Limoncito is surrounded by strangers. Except–

Except for Keith.

Keith reaches for him.

Limoncito twists and holds out his little hands with a sad sob.

Okay.

Keith gathers him up to his chest like he saw the women do, like he'd seen Lance do so many times. Limoncito cries into his skin and Keith rocks him instinctively.

“Estás bien.” He whispers.

You're okay.

The others take the opportunity to take a break. Trix passes him the forgotten diaper bag wordlessly. Keith unbuttons Limoncito's red overalls without moving him too much. It's speckled in blood and sick.

He leads Limoncito's tiny fists out of his sleeves and rolls the clothes down his body. The baby protests quietly but lets him do it.

Keith chooses a soft, blue shirt that goes down to his knees. It's one that Lance handpicked. He can tell because there's little fish creatures embroidered all over it. He checks his diaper then he hugs him again.

Limoncito sleeps.

He's so small.

He might die.

Trix makes a soft chittering noise. “Paladin.”

“Keith.”

“Keith,” She assents. “He will need to stay with us until he latches, for as much time as possible. His body needs to constantly smell us to increase his chances.”

Keith nods. “We'll stay.”

After some time, Oltha approaches.

“My milk is here. I can take him now.”

Keith hesitates, then hands him over awkwardly. She takes him and walks away.

Trix leans toward him again. “She has spent the most time with him. It is more likely that they will match.”

She only spent a day with him at most.

“What does that mean, exactly? Will he have to stay with her?” Keith murmurs. As soon as the words leave him, he knows the answer. Of course. She would be the only one who can feed him.

Saving his life means leaving him.

Trix keeps talking, unaware of Keith's late realization. “... Oltha responded to the Blade's call for refuge because her own kit is dead. She was killed by the Empire.”

Keith purses his lips. Why is she telling him this?

“The baby is Lance's.” He says it maybe a bit callously.

She frowns. “Why?”

Why?

He thinks back to that night when they slept on Keith's mattress. Keith was a little buzzed, the alcohol made him warm and fluttery. Lance settled in next to him, too close and too naked. He'd wanted to talk. He said he missed his mom, that Limoncito made him think of his mom.

Keith remembers feeling nervous at first. Lance was moving around too much, their skin brushing together. He turned towards Keith at one point, and Keith panicked, feeling his heat and his legs behind Keith's. But thankfully, he kept moving. He doesn't know what he would've done if Lance had stayed spooning him. Keith smacked him reflexively after one bony hip bone jabbed into his butt, and he felt Lance's flat stomach beneath his palm.

It made Lance laugh that Keith smacked him.

Then he settled down and spoken to Keith in that low voice, like he was telling him a secret. And he did.

He said Limoncito was his.

He doesn't care that the baby is Galra; he doesn't care that he doesn't look anything like Lance.

He's Lance's.

Keith answers Trix.

“Because he loves him.”

She quiets but Keith knows it's not over.

Lance won't hesitate to do what's right for Limoncito. If staying here would save his life, Lance would do it in a heartbeat.

Lance comes back after an hour. He lowers himself shakily out of his chair and sits next to Keith. Keith knows it's not weakness making his arms tremble like that. He smells him discreetly. The acidic smell is mostly gone, but there’s another scent tangling with his natural scent. It’s the sickly-sweet smell of his pain medicine.

Keith doesn't know what to say.

Someone brings them food, and now Keith doesn't have to say anything. Lance eats mechanically.

He looks exhausted. His eyes are swollen, and his skin is gray.

Keith examines him out of the corner of his eye. Was that a panic attack? He wants to know more about Lance's anxiety, but he's pretty sure Lance wouldn't want him asking, especially after how bad Keith fumbled it in the dungeon. He ticked Lance off so much that he smacked Keith a little, and Lance isn't really the hitting type. He makes a note to research it once he gets access to his data pad.

And now Lance is mad at him again.

He remembers the way Lance looked at him. Like he hated him. His usually soft, bright eyes had sharpened like ice and his pretty lips twisted.

Something squeezes in Keith's chest. Does Lance hate him now? Does he blame Keith?

Maybe he thinks Keith should've been able to smell it on Limoncito. Or maybe he's mad because Keith went after him and left his baby alone.

But he missed when he threw that first rock at him, and then he pelted him with pebbles. So maybe he doesn't hate Keith.

Oltha passes the baby to another woman, her ears down in disappointment. The others murmur and look at each other. Lance doesn't notice, his head is down and he's still eating sluggishly, but Keith notices. Their bodies tense, and some of the easy chatter dissipates. They thought Oltha would be the match.

Trix stands and makes to leave but Keith grabs her wrist. She avoids his gaze. He stands and follows her a couple feet away, too far for Lance to hear.

“What's going on?”

Her ears pin back and a faint acidic smell releases from her. “I am going to inform the Blades. It is not looking promising, Keith. If his body was receptive, he would have found a match by now.”

Keith swallows hard. “What's the next step?”

“The Blades will communicate with their contacts in search of more able carers. They will come here. That is the hope.”

She doesn't look very hopeful.

That could take weeks. The only reason why Voltron made it to this remote place so quickly was because the Blades escorted them themselves. They can't afford to do that for every willing carer they find. It would be dangerous. It would compromise this safe haven for Galra POWs. And who could say for sure that enough willing and able carers would make the long and dangerous journey? Most of them probably have their own families to care for. No. That's not good enough.

Keith shakes his head at Trix. “I'll inform them. Stay here. Take care of Lance, make sure he doesn't put any weight on his leg.”

Her ears twitch. “You would let me care for your One?”

Seriously? Keith rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue, chastising. She has the decency to look embarrassed. “I will care for him, Keith.”

“Thank you.” Keith goes back to Lance, kneeling and whispering. “Lance. Lance."

He doesn't respond.

A flash of fear shoots through him.

Keith puts his hand on Lance's shoulder. He does it to wake him up but also to stabilize himself. He stares at the nape of Lance's neck. “Hey. Lance. Lance? I'm going to find Hunk and Pidge. I'll be back in a few. Are you... are you okay?”

Lance shrugs him off.

Keith pushes down the sting. They don't have time for this.

He yanks his shirt back over his head and leaves. They need to move. Lance will either pull himself together enough to be useful, or he won't.

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Hi guys, I'm back.
Part 2 is up now!! With 2 chapters uploaded at the same time 🤩

And I am Sorry for the unannounced hiatus. Life happened and I lost all inspiration + writer's block and I could NOT find a beta lol but I'm back !
This baby must be saved.

Thank you to all readers I am so happy u are interested in this fic, and ty to my commentors too, I love love reading feedback and ily <3

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