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The morning of Shiro and Adam's party celebrating their love, Lance stood in front of their bedroom mirror, adjusting the waistband of his dress pants for the third time. The fabric pulled just slightly tighter than usual—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for Lance to feel like the universe was personally mocking him. He sucked in a breath, held it, then exhaled sharply, willing the damn thing to magically loosen. No such luck.
Keith leaned against the doorframe, already dressed in his Blade formalwear, arms crossed. The sleek, fitted black uniform made him look unfairly good—sharp edges, effortless cool, the kind of effortless that made Lance want to both kiss him and strangle him.
"You okay?" Keith asked, voice dry as a desert planet.
Lance shot him a glare through the reflection. "No, I'm not okay. We're about to spend an entire evening with everyone we know, and I can't even have a goddamn drink to take the edge off."
Keith pushed off the door and stepped closer, hands settling on Lance's hips. His fingers pressed lightly against the fabric, and Lance could feel him resisting the urge to comment on the snug fit. "So don't drink."
Lance groaned, tilting his head back like a dramatic Victorian widow. "The hosts are altean, Keith. There's gonna be toasts. Speeches. Romelle is probably gonna force some weird alien champagne down my throat and then ask why I'm not drunk yet." He mimed her high-pitched interrogation. "Lance! You're not even slurring! Are you sick? Should we call a healer?"
Keith's frown deepened. "So... what? We just tell everyone?"
"No!" Lance whirled around, nearly knocking Keith's hands away. "This is Shiro and Adam's night. We're not stealing their spotlight." He chewed his lip, then muttered, "But if I turn down drinks, people are gonna get suspicious."
Keith's eyes narrowed. Then, slowly—like a predator realizing it could weaponize its own recklessness—a smirk tugged at his lips. "I'll drink yours."
Lance blinked. "What?"
"I'll take your drinks. Every time someone hands you one, I'll 'steal' it. No one questions me being a lightweight."
Lance stared at him, mouth slightly open. "You're gonna drink double the alcohol all night?"
Keith shrugged, the picture of nonchalant self-destruction. "I've survived worse."
Lance opened his mouth—then closed it. "...This is either genius or the worst idea you've ever had."
Keith leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Probably both."
Lance groaned again, this time with the full weight of a man who knew he was doomed. "I can already see the headlines. Paladin Found Drunk in Courtyard Fountain. Shiro Disappointed but Not Surprised."
Keith smirked. "Worth it."
Lance sighed, defeated. "You're a menace."
"You love it."
"Unfortunately."
And with that, they were off—toward an evening of romance, celebration, and Keith inevitably face-down in a plate of Altean hors d'oeuvres by midnight but we’ll get to that later.
The grand hall of New Altea's palace glittered under floating chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of Altean flowers and Earth wine. Shiro and Adam stood near the entrance, greeting guests with matching grins—Shiro in a crisp black suit, Adam in deep navy, both looking unfairly good for two men who had once burned dinner so badly it set off a Garrison smoke alarm.
Lance and Keith stepped inside, and the room erupted in cheers.
"Took you long enough," Pidge drawled from a nearby table, pushing up her glasses with one hand while the other scrolled through a holopad. "We were about to send out a search party."
"Blame Keith," Lance said, waving a hand. "Took him an hour to decide if he wanted to wear his knife holster."
Keith shot him a glare. "It's formal wear. There's no protocol for concealed weapons."
"You're ridiculous," Adam said, stepping forward to clap Keith on the shoulder. His smile was warm, but his gaze lingered just a second too long on Lance's empty hands. "Glad you both made it."
Shiro's eyes crinkled as he pulled Lance into a brief hug. "You clean up nice," he murmured. Then, quieter: "You okay?"
Lance's laugh was a little too sharp. "Never better."
Before Shiro could press, Veronica swooped in, her dress shimmering like starlight. "There's my favorite brother!" She thrust a glass of something pink and fizzy into Lance's hands. "Drink. Celebrate. Stop looking like you're at a funeral."
Lance's fingers tightened around the glass. "I'm good, actually—"
Keith snatched it from him and downed it in one go.
Veronica blinked. "That was... aggressive."
"Thirsty," Keith deadpanned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Hunk appeared behind them, pulling both Lance and Keith into a crushing hug. "You guys look amazing! Lance, is that a new suit?"
Lance's smile was tight. "Yep. Just got it tailored."
Hunk frowned slightly but didn't push. "Well, you're rocking it. Keith, you too—wait, why do you have two drinks?"
Keith glanced at the glass in his left hand, then the one in his right. "Efficiency."
Pidge snorted. "That's not what that word means."
Allura glided over then, her gown flowing like liquid silver. "I'm glad you're here," she said, touching Lance's arm lightly. "It wouldn't be the same without you."
Lance's throat worked. "Wouldn't miss it."
Adam watched the exchange, his brow furrowing slightly, but Shiro nudged him with an elbow. "Come on," Shiro said, nodding toward the dance floor. "They're fine."
Adam hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
As they walked away, Keith leaned in close to Lance. "You're being weird."
"I'm not being weird," Lance hissed.
"You're sweating through your suit."
"It's hot in here!"
Keith rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Instead, he flagged down a passing server and grabbed another drink—his third, or maybe fourth. Lance wasn't counting.
Hunk sidled up next to them, lowering his voice. "You know, if you're not feeling great, we can dip early. Just say the word."
Lance shook his head. "Nah, man. I'm good. Promise."
Hunk didn't look convinced, but he let it go.
Across the room, Shiro and Adam swayed to the music, laughing about something private. Lance's chest ached.
Keith knocked back another drink. "Stop staring."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Keith sighed. "Look, if you want to leave, we leave. But if you stay, at least try to act like you're not plotting a murder."
Lance exhaled sharply. "Fine. But you're on drink duty."
Keith smirked. "Already am."
And just like that, the night rolled on—full of laughter, dancing, and Keith quietly intercepting every glass that came Lance's way.
No one questioned it.
Not yet.
**
The party had reached that golden hour where the music blurred into laughter, the lights softened, and the wine flowed a little too freely. Lance had managed to avoid alcohol all night, sticking to sparkling water with a twist of lime—though Keith's increasingly flushed face and loose-limbed swagger made it clear he was compensating for both of them.
They drifted toward a cluster of familiar faces—Veronica, Acxa, James, and Kinkade—gathered near a towering ice sculpture that dripped slow, glittering rivulets onto the floor. Veronica leaned into Acxa's side, their fingers intertwined, her usual sharp edges softened by something warm and unguarded.
"About damn time," Lance said, nodding at their joined hands with a grin. "You two finally make it official?"
Veronica rolled her eyes but didn't let go. "Oh please, like you didn't already know."
Acxa smirked. "He's been placing bets on it for months."
"I had money on June," Kinkade admitted, swirling his drink.
James, already tipsy, snorted. "You all are predictable. Meanwhile—" He gestured sloppily between Lance and Keith. "What's your excuse?"
The air tightened.
Keith's grip on his glass—his fifth? Sixth?—stiffened. "Excuse for what?"
James shrugged, but there was a needle in his tone. "You two are practically glued together. When's your big announcement? Marriage? Babies?" He laughed, but it landed wrong. "Or are you just gonna keep playing house without the paperwork?"
A beat of silence.
Veronica's smile froze. Acxa's gaze flicked to Lance, sharp and assessing.
Keith's voice was low, rough with alcohol and warning. "Watch it."
Lance forced a laugh, clapping James on the back too hard. "Wow, someone's wasted. You're lucky Keith's too drunk to punch you." He glared at Keith in warning.
"I wouldn't put it past him." Acxa declared earning a laugh from the rest.
James blinked, the haze in his eyes clearing slightly. "Shit, man, I didn't mean—"
"Yeah, you did," Keith muttered, but he didn't escalate. Just stepped closer to Lance, a silent barrier, wrapping a hand around his waist as Lance blew some air in Keith’s ear soothing him a bit from the drunkenness.
Kinkade cleared his throat. "Alright, moving on."
The conversation stuttered back to life, but the tension lingered like a scent.
Meanwhile a little gremlin was watching them from a far.
Pidge had been watching them all night.
It wasn't obvious at first—just little things. The way Keith kept materializing at Lance's side every time someone offered him a drink, downing it before Lance could even lift the glass to his lips. The way Lance, usually the life of the party, had barely touched the Altean hors d'oeuvres, his fingers drumming restlessly against his thighs instead. And then there was the conversation with the MFE pilots—James's drunken jab, Keith's look, the way Lance had gone stiff before forcing a laugh.
Interesting.
Pidge waited until the crowd thinned near the dessert table, where the glow of the floating chandeliers cast long shadows. Then she struck.
"So," she said, leaning against the table with a deceptively casual smirk. "You two having fun?"
Lance nearly dropped his glass of sparkling water. "Uh. Yeah. Great party."
Keith, who was swaying slightly on his feet, blinked at Pidge like she'd just spoken in code. "What do you want?"
Pidge adjusted their glasses, feigning innocence. "Just making conversation. You know, since someone"—she pointed at Lance—"hasn't had a single drink all night, and someone else"—she jabbed a finger at Keith—"has been playing bodyguard like it's his damn job."
Lance's grip tightened on his glass. "I'm just not in the mood."
"Bullshit," Pidge said cheerfully. "You're always in the mood for a cocktail. Especially the fancy Altean ones that look like they're full of glitter."
Keith glowered. "Drop it, Pidge."
"Make me." Pidge crossed her arms, tilting her head. "You know, I was reading up on Galra physiology last week. Did you know their protective instincts go into overdrive when their mate is in a 'state of vulnerability'?" She air-quoted the last part, watching Lance's face carefully. "Usually happens when they're injured, or sick, or—"
Lance's breath hitched.
Pidge's eyes widened. "Oh my god."
Keith groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Pidge—"
"You're pregnant."
Lance lunged forward, clamping a hand over Pidge's mouth. "Shut. Up."
Pidge wriggled free, grinning like she'd just hacked the universe's best-kept secret. "I knew it! That's why you've been so moody! And why Keith's been hovering like a paranoid ex-bodyguard!"
Keith's jaw tightened. "Pidge. Please. Not tonight."
Pidge mimed zipping her lips. "Fine. But you owe me."
Lance pointed at her, his voice low and deadly. "If you breathe a word—"
"Wouldn't dream of it," Pidge said sweetly—but her eyes sparkled with the thrill of discovery.
Keith didn't trust that smile for a second.
**
The grand hall of New Altea's palace was alive with the hum of laughter and the rhythmic clinking of crystal against gold-rimmed plates. Floating chandeliers bathed the room in a warm, honeyed glow, their light catching the edges of half-empty whiskey bottles and the delicate swirls of Altean wine in overfilled glasses. The scent of roasted meats and spiced desserts lingered in the air, mingling with the faint, floral perfume of the gardens just beyond the open balcony doors.
At the head table, Shiro stood tall in his crisp black suit, the fabric straining slightly over his shoulders—proof that even war heroes couldn't escape the Garrison's mandatory gym regimen. Beside him, Adam lounged with the easy confidence of a man who had long since accepted that his life was a series of increasingly ridiculous events. He swirled his wine lazily, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, as if he already knew whatever came next would be worth the price of admission.
Allura, resplendent in a gown that shimmered like liquid moonlight, tapped her knife against her glass once, twice—the sound ringing clear as a bell through the chatter. The room quieted instantly.
"Before we continue," she announced, her voice carrying effortlessly, "I believe our best man has a few words to share."
She gestured to Keith, who was currently slumped in his chair like a brooding shadow, staring into his drink as if it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries. Or, more likely, as if he were calculating how many more shots it would take to forget this night entirely.
Lance elbowed him hard enough to bruise. "Keith. Keith. You're up."
Keith blinked slowly, like a disoriented cat waking from a sunbeam nap, then pushed himself to his feet with the careful precision of a man who knew he was one wrong step away from eating carpet. He swayed slightly as he made his way to the front, clutching his glass like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.
"So," he began, voice rough as gravel. "Shiro." He paused, squinting at him like he was trying to bring him into focus. "You're... old."
The room erupted. Shiro buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Adam wheezed into his wine, nearly choking on it.
Keith, undeterred by the reaction—or perhaps too drunk to notice—plowed on. "But you're also... good. Like, really good. At leading. And not dying. Permanently. Which is impressive, because—" He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "—space."
Lance groaned, sliding so low in his seat he was practically under the table. "Oh my god. This is a nightmare."
"And Adam," Keith continued, pointing at him with his glass, sloshing amber liquid dangerously close to the rim. "You're... also good. For Shiro. Which is good. Because Shiro needs that. And also because you didn't kill him again when he returned to Earth out of the blue with purple aliens chasing us ."
Adam raised his glass in salute, grinning. "A daily struggle."
Keith nodded solemnly, then took a long, unsteady swig of his drink. "Anyway. Love you both. Don't die again." He raised his glass higher, nearly smacking himself in the face with it. "To Shiro and Adam."
The room echoed the toast, laughter and cheers ringing out as Keith stumbled back to his seat. Lance caught him by the elbow just before he missed the chair entirely, yanking him down with a muttered, "That was painful."
Keith shrugged, slumping into the cushions. "Got the job done."
Shiro stood then, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes as he took Keith's place at the front. "Thank you, Keith. For that... heartfelt speech." He shook his head, still grinning. "And thank all of you for being here tonight. It means everything to us." His gaze swept the room, warm and sincere. "Now, before we get back to celebrating, there's one more thing I want to say."
He turned to Keith, expression softening. "Keith, I'm so proud of you. The humanitarian relief organization, moving the Blade HQ to Earth—you've come so far. And you and Lance—"
Keith's head snapped up. Lance froze, his grip tightening around his glass of sparkling water.
Oh no.
"—you've both grown so much both of you, I remember Allura and I’s headaches trying to get you two to get along," Shiro continued, oblivious. "So given these recent news, it’s incredible to see—"
"Pidge!" Keith hissed, bolting up from his seat so fast he nearly toppled over turning back towards the gremlin’s seat. "You told them Lance was pregnant?!"
The room went dead silent.
Every head turned. Every glass stilled. Even the floating chandeliers seemed to pause mid-drift, as if the universe itself had taken a sharp inhale.
“I didn’t say anything, numbskull.” Pidge adjusted her glasses as she stood up grabbing the champagne from Keith’s hand and downed it.
Keith glances at Lance and receives that icy glare he fears more than a dull knife, he continues and turns fully towards Shiro with an awkward smile.
”You weren’t—“
Shiro's mouth hung open. "I—I was talking about the new Blade HQ being on Earth..."
Adam cackled, doubling over against the table, his laughter echoing like gunfire in the stunned quiet.
Lance smacked Keith hard in the back of the head. "You idiot!"
Veronica, halfway through sipping her drink, choked. "Wait, what?!"
Pidge threw their hands up. "I told you they'd figure it out!"
Hunk's eyes widened, his fork clattering onto his plate. "Oh my god. That's why you've been weird about drinks!"
Romelle gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "Lance! You're with child?!"
Allura's hands flew to her mouth. "This is wonderful!"
Coran, ever the voice of reason, stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "You know, Altean pregnancies are quite different from human ones. For starters, the gestation period is—"
"NO," Lance and Keith said in unison.
Shiro, still processing, blinked slowly. "So... you're not opening a Blade daycare?"
Keith groaned, dropping his head onto the table with a loud thunk.
Lance buried his face in his hands. "We're never living this down."
Adam, still laughing, raised his glass high. "To Keith and Lance. May your kid inherit none of your collective impulse control."
The room erupted—into cheers, into laughter, into a very loud bet from Pidge about how long it would take for Keith to panic-buy a lifetime supply of baby knives.
Keith didn't even argue. He just reached for the nearest bottle.
Lance sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah. That's fair."