“Pass me the — thing.”
“The thing.”
“Yes. The one.”
Hunk’s amusement is evident. “Here’s the thing about capital-T Things, Pidge Podge.”
She makes a face. Ugh, not him too. The annoying nicknames Lance comes up with always seem to end up in other people’s vocabularies. It’s the worst. (They don’t even make sense, either. Her name comes from Pascha, her Hebrew name, because she was tiny even when she was a baby. And Matt is ridiculous. But Lance’s names come from nowhere!)
(…She supposes she’ll allow it, though. Occasionally. Because she’s the best ever, basically, and endlessly benevolent.)
“Things in concept are referential,” Hunk continues, snickering to himself as he dodged her blind kick. “Ergo, you need to reference them. Specifically. Outside of your own brain.”
She makes a noise of frustration, tilting her head in the direction of the scrap pile on Hunk’s work table. “The thing! Shiny! With the— blegh!” She is Focused right now, alright. There are Processes happening in her brain. Words are secondary.
“I’m just going to ignore you now.”
“No! The thing! The thing that looks like a dreidel!”
“There we go,” he says emphatically. She scowls at him. He grins brightly. She holds her glare for a whopping three seconds, which is frankly record-breaking, so. Point to her. “That’s a referential Thing.”
He scoops up the piece and tosses it at her. She catches it without looking (which is wicked cool and something she will subtly mention next time she watches Allura drop something) and sets it on the table top beside her, finishing up a tricky solder. Leaning back to admire her handiwork, which is, indeed, quite handy, her gaze keeps getting pulled to the little part.
“You know, it really does look like a dreidel.” She picks it up by the stem, flicking the little acorn-shaped object and watching it spin. It works like one, too.
Hunk hums. After a few moments, curious at the air newly lacking the sounds of her tinkering, he looks over at her. He purses his lips thoughtfully.
“…What day is it on Earth, do you think?”
Pidge shrugs. “We left in late May. Been a few months, at least.”
“Lance has a watch.”
“Course he does. ‘Cause he’s a big ol’ nerd geek loser.”
Hunk snorts. “Indeed.”
At the same time, without either of them having to say a word, they scramble to their feet, abandoning their projects and rushing out the workroom door.
“Pool?” Hunk asks.
“Nah, training room. He was in the pool this morning.”
Neither of them is particularly fast, but after months of Shiro’s training they can handle their own. They don’t, sprint, per se, because that would be embarrassing and Lance would be all dorky and pleased about it (can’t have that), but they…hustle. Hustle would be the right word. There’s some hastiness about, some purpose to their step.
As they run past the kitchen and finally turn down the corridor to get to the training room, a door opens on the left and someone walks out. Hunk grabs the back of Pidge’s sweater (totally not Keith’s grey hoodie that she stole) to keep her from crashing straight into them.
“Hey, Lance,” Hunk says, smiling brightly. “We were just looking for you!”
Lance, predictably, gets all dorky and pleased about it.
“Well, Lancey-Lance is at your service,” he preens, brushing fake dust off his shoulders. “Of course I am happy to offer my services to such —”
“Why’d you come outta Keith’s room?” Pidge interrupts, squinting.
She’s pretty sure that’s Keith’s room, anyway. The door on the left has a dent on it from when Lance tripped and brained himself on it in their first week of space.
Curiously — oh so curiously — Lance turns a violent shade of red and cringes with his whole entire body.
“Whaaat,” he says, voice cracking so many times she actually winces in reflective sympathy. He laughs nervously. “That’s not — I’m not — Keith isn’t —”
He opens his mouth, then closes it, then coughs, then doesn’t bother. Pidge can actually feel the heat pouring off of him, which is so humiliating that she almost decides to be merciful.
“Is Keith also in there?” she says instead, because fuck that.
Lance looks at the floor like he’s considering swan diving onto it. “What did you guys need me for again?” he asks, loudly.
Hunk, too soft from years of close proximity to Lance, takes pity. “We need your watch, dude. What day is it on Earth?”
Lance’s dark eyes go a bit sad, like they always do when someone mentions the E-word. But it’s gone before Pidge can so much as register it, really, and then he’s glancing down at his dork ass bright blue Moana watch and saying, “One twenty-six on December 7th.”
Pidge cheers. Hunk grins.
“Clear your schedule!” Pidge shouts, pumping her fists. “Hanukkah starts in a few hours!”
———
“An…oil…feast?”
“Yeah!” Pidge says enthusiastically. Allura leans forward, intrigued — she loves stories from Earth. Anything from Earth fascinates her, really. “Thousands of years ago, Jews — my people culturally and religiously — had just freed themselves from the cruel rule of a kingdom that resided over them. They wanted to purify the Temple — that’s where practicing Jews go to pray — so they were burning holy oil. But there was only one bottle of sacred oil, which was upsetting, since that would only burn for one night. But miraculously, the oil kept burning for eight nights!”
Allura gasps. “But how?”
Pidge shrugs. “Religious Jews believe it was a miracle from God, who is our holy deity. Whether or not you’re religious though, Hanukkah is celebrated at the end of every year to commemorate Jewish resilience and hope. The oil is our physical way of celebrating, ‘cause it burned for eight days exactly — as long as it takes to make more oil.”
“And so we get to celebrate by eating delicious fried food,” Lance adds, fist-pumping. He grins at Pidge’s raised eyebrows. “My sister-in-law is Jewish, so my neice and nephew are too. We celebrate Hanukkah every year and it rocks.”
Pidge can feel her smile lighting up her body. There are bigger celebrations, and more religiously important ones, but Hanukkah is so much fun. She hasn’t celebrated in too long — it came and went last year before she even noticed, too wrapped up in finding her brother. And the year before that, her and Mom couldn’t…not without Dad and Matt. They couldn’t celebrate with just the two of them, they spent most evenings in their own rooms.
Shiro’s steady hand comes to rest on her shoulder, squeezing gently. She glances up to find him smiling sadly at her, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
“We’ll light a candle for each of them,” he murmurs into her hair. “Colleen, too.”
“Is that what’s done?” Coran inquires softly. “Candles lit, in remembrance?”
Pidge hums, leaning back into Shiro. He holds steady, hand staying fast on her shoulder. Keith flashes her one of his quick smiles, small and comforting.
“Yeah. Eight candles, in something called a menorah. One for each night, one for each intention.” She meets Coran’s eyes first, then Allura’s, her own expression determined. “We’ll light a candle for Altea, too.”
“I would like that,” whispers Allura, swallowing.
“I can make the menorah,” Hunk offers, “if you and Lance want to help. Lance has a good eye for design.”
Pidge takes a couple more moments in Shiro’s embrace, soaking up some of his strength. No one interrupts her. Once she feels like she can stand straight again, like her family is tucked neatly where they usually are in the centre of her heart rather than spilling out all over the place, she stands, patting Shiro’s hand as it falls away, and steps towards her friends.
“Yes, let’s do. We’ll need a few things, actually, to get ready. Keith, you think you can paint the right symbols on the dreidel if I describe them to you?”
He nods. “Yep. I’ll draw ‘em out first, it shouldn’t take long. I think I’ve seen them before, anyway.”
“Cool. Allura, Coran, you wanna put up some decorations? Lance can help you out.”
All three enthusiastically agree, rushing off to make do.
“Shiro —” She falters. “Uh, dude, maybe steer clear of the kitchen. Wanna help with the menorah since Lance is on decorations? Then Hunk’ll have more time to cook.”
Shiro pouts, as he always does when he’s teased about his cursed kitchen tendencies, but the twitch of his smile gives him away.
“I guess,” he laments. “I’m sure I could fry latkes without burning the castle down.”
Keith, Pidge, and Hunk shudder in unison.
“Yeah, right,” Keith says. “You remember when you set a pot of water on fire, Hazard Boy? Because I do.”
———
For people who have no idea what they’re doing, the decorations end up looking really nice.
Everything does, actually. By the time Lance’s watch hits six — the time they have all collectively decided will be sundown based on absolutely nothing — everything is prepped and ready to go. Keith got the characters down after a couple tries, and the dreidel looks like any other one Pidge has used before. Lance had, from what Pidge picked up from Allura’s grumbling, channeled his inner festivity dictator to ensure all decorations were as lovely as possible with their limited materials. Of course the menorah Hunk and Pidge created looks beautifully intricate, one of the more gorgeous things Pidge has ever seen even with all the wonky mismatched candles.
“Okay,” Hunk says, clapping his hands together. “If you guys want to set up the table, Lance and I will be finished plating the food shortly. I dunno about you guys, but I’ve been smelling fried food for a couple hours now, and I need to eat.”
“Please,” Pidge groans, because she’s been smelling it too and boy is Hunk ever a head chef.
Everyone rushes to get the table set as quickly as possible. Pidge makes sure to put Lance’s favourite cup (that he has a hissy fit if anyone else so much as looks at, even though it is practically identical to ever other cup except one tiny chip one the bottom that he loves for some reason) next to the chair closest to the door, where Keith always sits, because she has not forgotten the Earlier Incident. If all goes well then something embarrassing will happen for her to witness, which is all she can ask for, really.
“Can someone who is not Allura come help me bring food over?” Hunk calls from the kitchen as Pidge places the last fork. “No offense, Princess, but I watched you and Lance walk into the same door this morning and I’d rather our hard work not end up splatted and inedible on the floor.”
“Offense taken,” says Allura darkly, and Lance’ whining echoes all the way to where they’re standing.
Keith meets Pidge’s eye and snickers.
“I got it, Hunk,” he calls, jogging over to them.
“Absolutely not!” Lance screeches. “There is no way I will allow Mullet to be entrusted with something I am not allowed to —”
He cuts himself off with a loud shriek. Whether Keith finally pinched him quiet or Lance is just shrieking for drama’s sake Pidge will never know, but moments later the red paladin is striding out of the kitchen, heaping bowl in one hand, batting Lance away with the other.
“If you drop that I’ll kill you both,” Hunk promises, setting the heaping plate he’s holding down on the table.
Thankfully, nothing gets dropped (although does it ever come close). Everyone is accounted for and seated and nothing has gone to waste, and Pidge’s stomach is growling.
“Got a little bit of everything,” Hunk says. “Classic latkes, kugel, and sufganiyot. And you mentioned the zippoli and arancini your Nonna used to make, Pidge, so I made some of that too. And Lance made lots of masitas and plátanos.”
“Hope that’s okay,” Lance says, face kind of scrunched. “I know it’s not traditional, but we had it on Hanukkah, and I thought —”
Pidge grins at him. “Looks great, man.”
Everyone takes turns passing food around and loading up their plate. Pidge takes four zippoli. She regrets nothing. She has had none in several years and this looks perfect.
Before anyone starts, all eyes turn to Pidge, so she squeezes her eyes shut and remembers her mother’s blessing: “Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam shehakol niyah bidvaro.” She opens her eyes again. “Dig in, everybody.”
No one needs to be told twice. For a while the castle is even shockingly silent, everyone too busy shoving their faces. Keith chokes on latke. Shiro laughs at him until the red on his face is from more than a lack of oxygen.
“I love human food,” gushes Allura, inhaling more plátanos. “You guys got to eat like this every day?”
“Unless you lived with someone who regular fucks up ramen noodles,” Keith says pointedly, dodging Shiro’s under-the-table-kick.
“I think Numbers Two and Three might just be talented in the kitchen,” Coran responds. Both Hunk and Lance beam at the praise.
After dinner — and lordy it does not take long to polish it off — they clear the plates away, tidying up the table, as Pidge sets out the menorah. She carefully sets out the candles they have gathered, arranging and re-arranging the order. When she’s satisfied, she picks up the smallest candle, thin green stripes running up its sides, and places it in the space at the far right. She picks up the shamash — choosing the thickest and tallest one — and accepts the lighter Keith offers her. Once it is flaming, she holds it outwards, and begins to softly recite the blessings she memorized so long ago:
“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim laavoteinu v’imoteinu bayamim hahaeim baz’man hazeh. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higiyanu laz'man hazeh.”
She says the words slowly, carefully, allowing herself to feel the shape of them on her tongue. They are familiar. They are heavy. They get caught in her throat, tangled, and stay there until tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, softening the way out. Her voice shakes, but she feels her own strength spreading through her like the heat of the shamesh candle.
“Make it home to me, Matt,” she whispers, as she lights the first candle.
———
“Okay, there is no fucking way.”
Pidge cackles at Keith’s indignant protest, accepting Lance’s sharp high-five and dragging in the entire pot of tokens again.
The two of them are absolutely fucking killing it. Their token piles are high. Keith has had to begrudgingly ask Lance for a loan no less than six times. Everyone else is dangerously low, except for Coran, who’s doing alright.
Pidge thinks this is righteous. As the two youngest, she and Lance should be winning by birthright, basically.
“Suck it, Kogane,” she says gleefully. She flicks a token at him. “Take some charity.”
Keith scowls at her, but takes the token because he is too broke not to. It is greatly amusing.
Ha! Loser.
The game shouldn’t last as long as it does, but somehow it keeps going for hours. Pidge suspects Shiro has several dozen tokens up his sleeve and is cheating. Allura may also be using alchemy to make more tokens appear. Either way, Pidge and Lance’s hordes are steadily increasing, and the menorah has long since been blown out, and the food has settled in everyone’s stomach, and Pidge’s head keeps drooping.
“Think it’s just you and me, Pidge-Podge,” Lance says softly. Someone tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s not sure who. Her eyes might be closed. “What say you we call it a tie, huh?”
“There’s no tie in dreidel,” she argues. “We gotta finish.”
“I’m thinking we play again tomorrow,” Coran suggests. “I’m sure when you’re fully awake you can destroy Number Four much more efficiently.”
“Hey,” says Number Four in question, indignantly.
Pidge manages a smile. Keith sticks his tongue out back at her, and the next thing she knows there are arms around her waist and she’s airborne. She buries her face in a strong shoulder and pretends, secretly, it’s her father, even though she knows it’s not.
“Say goodnight, dork,” whispers Shiro. He pauses, adjusting slightly. “Oof.”
“You’re getting old,” says Keith gleefully.
“Respect your elders,” hisses Lance, accompanied by a swift punch to Keith’s shoulder.
“Ow!” Keith complains, but interestingly he only pouts at Lance instead of maiming him. “It’s Shiro! He’s not even an elder, he’s six! You —”
“Goodnight, Pidge,” say Hunk and Allura, loudly.
Pidge smiles. Her voice is half-buried in Shiro’s shirt. “Night.”
She doesn’t remember the walk to her room, but she feels it when she’s laid down, when blankets are fluffed over her and a kiss is pressed to her forehead.
“Sleep well, Katie,” whispers a voice, and the cool metal of the fingers brushing her hair are soothing. “Love you, kiddo. Happy Hanukkah.”
She falls asleep the the click of her door closing and a warmth burning hot in her heart.
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“—Lance isn’t even paying attention!”
Lance looks up from his phone, noticing Pidge whining to Coran for the first time.
“I’m paying attention,” he lies.
Pidge ignores him. “It’s not fair! He should forfeit his movie vote! He’s not even gonna watch, anyway.” She turns to Lance, glaring. “He’s gonna be too busy texting Keith and making ga-ga eyes at his phone.”
“I will not!” he says, rapidly trying and failing to delete the ‘wish you were here, Dropout’ text he just sent. “I don’t — I wasn’t even texting Keith! I haven’t talked to him in days!”
Not a single person is fooled. Even Coran, who can regularly be counted upon to be on Lance’s side, is raising an eyebrow.
“Honest!” Lance insists.
“Ugh,” Pidge complains, glaring at him before flopping back on the couch. “I still think your vote shouldn’t count.”
Regardless of her petulance, Lance does get a vote, thank you very much. Unfortunately it comes with an abundance of teasing and wiggling eyebrows from the rest of the team, but whatever. At least his point was made, and he doesn’t have to watch whatever nerd documentary Pidge was gunning for.
To his credit, he does actually try to pay attention to the movie. It seems mildly interesting, at least, some kind of Altean classic, and usually he’d be able to at least appreciate the costumes. He really does try.
Fifteen minutes in, his phone buzzes slightly.
Absolutely not, he tells himself. Do not Pavlov yourself to his ringtone, because that would be humiliating. You can go two hours without talking to him. You’re basically a grown-up, for fuck’s sake. You barely even like him mostly. Plus, if Hunk reads over your shoulder and sees the messages you’re sending to him you will never recover.
Nodding resolutely to himself, he shoves his phone deeper in his pocket and returns his attention to the movie. There’s some kind of conflict happening, maybe between the two romantic leads?
Whatever. Lance is paying attention. The movie is just…unclear.
The second time the phone rings, reasoning with himself is much harder. After all, Shiro isn’t even trying to pretend he’s not falling asleep into his popcorn — he’s not paying attention. And Hunk is intently braiding Allura’s hair, so he’s not paying attention either. The point of family movie night is to spend a few hours in each other’s presence outside of training or missions or meals, so it totally counts even if Lance is on his phone, right?
He has to physically sit on his hands to keep himself from checking his messages. Pidge will needle you about it for eternity, he reminds himself, increasingly desperate.
The third time it buzzes, he gives up. His hands fly to his phone so fast he cringes at himself.
How embarrassing.
Fully aware his ears are bright red, he clicks on the notification, opening his and Keith’s communication line.
mullet-head:
lance? you there?
mullet-head:
did you fall asleep during movie night
mullet-head:
are you pulling an old man shiro
Lance smiles to himself, glancing over at the snoring leader of Voltron, drooling on Coran’s shoulder. Keith never misses a chance to clown on his brother, even if Shiro can’t even see it.
loverboy:
i did not fall asleep u butthead
loverboy:
i’m not shiro
loverboy:
i’m not six i don’t need naps
Keith doesn’t respond for a second, and Lance pictures him with his head thrown back, eyes squinted shut and mouth open wide in the startled way he laughs when he unintentionally finds Lance funny. It makes something warm and simultaneously bitter churn in his belly, thinking of how many lightyears away he is from that brighter-than-the-sun laughter.
mullet-head:
stop making me laugh i’m going to get caught
mullet-head:
i’m on some boring patrol i’m not supposed to be on my phone
Lance narrows his eyes in alarm. If that dumbass is texting him instead of paying attention on a mission, he swears —
loverboy:
patrol where??
loverboy:
please don’t tell me ur dicking around on ur phone on a GALRA BASE
mullet-head:
no no no it’s some supply centre
mullet-head:
look
The texting bubble spins for a moment, loading, then a video comes through. Lance glances around the room surreptitiously, but no one is paying any attention to him. Pidge is chatting quietly with Allura, Coran is totally wrapped up in the film, Shiro’s still sleeping, and Hunk has moved to Allura’s other side to braid the hair on that half of her head. Still, he turns the volume as low as he can, angling the phone away from the others.
The video footage is shaky at first, eventually settling on Keith’s face. He looks good — well fed, healthy.
Handsome.
Embarrassed, Lance pauses the video, taking a moment to observe Keith’s face. It’s stupid and gay and sentimental, but — Lance has been looking for a reason to ask Keith to send him a picture, a video, hell, a voice message. Something to confirm, aside from texts, that he’s alive and well, something for Lance to hold on to, a glimpse of the face he’s missed so dearly (not that he’ll admit it). He’s been too embarrassed to ask, but wanting to feel like he’s in the same room as Keith again.
“I thought the Arizona desert was boring,” video Keith says, exasperated. “But at least it has cool lizards. This place has nothing but rocks, sand, and more rocks. Look.”
The video flips around, showing off Keith’s view. He slowly moves the camera to the side, presumably so Lance can see just how boring the rocks and sand and more rocks is.
Lance squints.
Hang on a second.
Is that flurexonomite?
He rewinds the video slightly, pausing it when he sees it again. He brings the phone close to his face, looking as closely as he can, and lets out a delighted little laugh when he sees it.
It is! It’s flurexonomite!
loverboy:
GET ME THAT ROCK
loverboy:
PLEASE
He screenshots the frame with the rock in it, circling it and sending it back.
loverboy:
THIS ONE
mullet-head:
are you serious
mullet-head:
i send you a video of this boring ass desert that i’m stuck in
mullet-head:
and you focus
mullet-head:
on a rock
mullet-head:
you massive nerd
Lance pouts, even though Keith can’t see it and feel properly guilty. That’s not fair. He’s not a nerd. Rocks are just cool! And he hasn’t been able to find flurexonomite, possibly the coolest of all space rocks that Coran has ever told him about, anywhere!
loverboy:
PLEASE JUST GET ME THE ROCK I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER
mullet-head:
i cannot believe what i am reading with my own two eyeballs
mullet-head:
you
mullet-head:
who calls hunk and pidge a nerd every single day for any reason
Lance can’t help his defensive scoff.
“Everything okay, buddy?” Hunk asks, beyond amused. Lance shoves his phone in his pocket, or tries to, but he’s flustered, so somehow in his panic the phone goes flying out of his hand and onto the floor, face-up, messages clearly displayed.
Lance has never moved so quickly in his life.
He scrambles to the floor faster than he can even register he’s doing it, rolling right off the couch and throwing himself at the device. Unfortunately, Pidge reaches it first, scooping it up with a cackle and tossing it to Hunk.
“Read it out loud!”
“No!” Lance screeches, lunging after the device. Hunk is quick, though, standing on top of the cushions and holding the phone far out of his reach.
“‘Wish you were here, Dropout —’” he starts, gleeful.
“Stop! Shut up! That was a typo!” He attempts to climb Hunk to no avail; the man simply holding him away with one big arm. He’s not even struggling.
Lance knows how embarrassing some of those messages are. He cannot let them see the light of day. The time has come for drastic measure.
Somehow anticipating Lance’s impending violence, Hunk tosses the phone to Allura, who catches it easily and runs to the other couch.
“‘Saw someone dressed in all black on our last diplomatic mission and thought of your emo ass,’” Allura recites.
Lance screams, collapsing to the floor. He won’t be able to wrestle his phone away from her. She could kill him with a toothpick, probably.
He is doomed.
Allura clicks a few buttons and then laughs particularly evilly, making something ice cold shoots through Lance’s veins.
She hasn’t found his notes app, has she?
He can’t risk it. If anyone finds out what he’s written on there — oh, God, there are angsty song lyrics. About Keith. He is going to die. He is going to melt into a puddle of humiliated goo. This cannot happen.
With an ear-splitting war cry, he jumps to his feet, sprinting at her at tops speeds and tackling her to the ground. Before she can react, he yanks the phone from her hand and scrambles away at the speed of light. He dashes out of the common room before anyone can stop him, speeding to his room and locking the door behind him. He walks over to his bed and flops onto it, screaming into his pillow as loudly as he can, face the colour of a red star going supernova and just as hot.
“Every part of being alive is a prison,” he laments to no one. He vows to wallow in his own self-pity for all of eternity.
His phone buzzes.
He gets up to check it so fast he honestly has to take a moment to consider if being this gay is truly worth it.
mullet-head:
video.attachment
He brightens. Two videos in one day?!
Being this gay is worth it, apparently!
“You are truly the biggest nerd I know,” video Keith tells him solemnly. His indigo eyes are bright in amusement — soft, even. He takes two steps and then bends down — Lance keeps his eyes firmly on his friend’s face, he does, he does — and picks up the brown, dusty rock.
Lance heart skips a beat when he realizes it’s the exact right rock, the first time. Keith must have looked very carefully at the photo to get the right rock, for all his teasing. The rock is as tiny as a pinky nail, and it doesn’t exactly stand out.
God, Lance loves him so fucking much.
Video Keith slips the rock into his pocket. “You’re lucky you have me, you goober.”
The familiar banter makes Lance smile wider. It took he and Keith a long time and a lot of understanding to come to the point where they are now, the familiarity, the comfort he knows Keith must feel around him to let his guard down so blatantly, to be so transparently teasing and playful.
It makes his heart hurt, a little. He wishes there wasn’t a screen and a bajillion miles between them.
———
The worst part about the Blades, Keith thinks, is that there’s absolutely zero in between. He’s either bored out of his mind, polishing his sword while patrolling some random supply station, or he’s running for his life, barely making it out of an exploding Galra warship in time to keep all his limbs. There are no middle moments, no time for him to be anything but praying for death to at least put him out of his mind-numbing misery or praying to make it out of a situation alive. No family meals, no strange space mall supply runs, no training with Altean superhumans.
He misses his family.
But he knows he can’t go back. At least not permanently. He made this decision for a reason, and that reason is more important to him than a little bit of boredom or some measly mortal peril.
(Lance is more important to him than a little bit of boredom or some measly mortal peril.)
He sighs as he stares at the bunk above him, tracing the shadows of the bed for the zillionth time. He’s not tired at all, but there’s fuck else for him to do in between now and his next mission. He’s already trained all day today, and there’s only so much he can do with a sword before he wants to put it through his own head.
He misses training with a partner.
He shifts around, looking for his phone. It’s late, and he can’t text Lance — the dumbass is in a healing pod right now because he pulled a Keith and tried to fight a nine foot tall Galran commander with his own two hands to cover for someone — but maybe he can send him a couple messages, anyway. Just for when he wakes up.
It’s not like he has anything better to do.
He leans over as far as he feasibly can in his bunk, trying to reach his uniform. He manages to hook his finger around the sleeve, pulling it closer until he can reach his pocket. He thinks he left his phone in the right one, if he can just pinch the corner —
His hand runs over something small and rough, and he stills.
He pulls out a rock, and for a minute he’s confused — he just washed this thing and he’s been on base for three days, how the hell did a rock get in there — then it hits him.
He smiles. This is Lance’s dorky rock.
He leans back onto the mattress, holding the rock out in front of him. It sparkles slightly in the low light of the barracks, it’s many minerals catching the glow of the Balmeran crystals. It looks like a tiny little jewel in his hands, like a sparkling piece of amber.
Like Lance’s eyes.
Immediately he’s embarrassed with himself for thinking it. It’s so — it’s such a fucking gooey thing to think, to compare this sparking crystal to the deep brown of his teammate’s eyes. It’s not even the right brown, anyway. This rock is on the lighter side — Lance eyes aren’t as ambery orange. In the right shadowy lighting, they’re more of a black, so endlessly dark that you could lose yourself in them, that you could be swallowed right up in the look.
Not always, though. Keith lifts the rock up a little higher, holding it right in front of one of the crystals, and squints, letting his eyesight go blurry.
Once, when they were on a planet startlingly like Earth, Keith and Lance snuck off from a gala and ran to the beach to watch the sunset. Lance has smiled so wide, then, squishing his whole face, and when the golden rays of the settling sun had hit his eyes, they melted into a honeyed amber the exact same shade of the crystal. Keith remembers his mouth going dry, his mind going completely blank. He’d been so starstruck by the sight that he hadn’t even dared to breathe.
Lance had thrown sand at him for staring, and cackled as Keith cussed him out.
Keith pulls his blanket up to his chin, smiling. He closes his eyes, rhythmically rubbing the roughened crystal.
He falls asleep faster than he ever has before.
———
The castle is buzzing with excitement.
Most of its resident are too excited even for words. Breakfast is a mess, everyone bouncing in their seats, grinning so wide they can barely eat. Pidge inhales her food so fast she chokes. Hunk sporks himself in the nose, not paying attention.
It’s visiting day.
In less than two vargas, Keith is going to land a pod in the hangar, here to stay for two full days. One of those days will be a mission, sure, but after that they’ll have several hours to just hang out with their friend for a while, catch up, remember how much they miss him. It’s exhilarating.
They all gather in the hangar when he messages to say he’s close, practically vibrating in place. None of them speak, too pumped for words. They all watch the doors with wide eyes, reading to sprint the moment they open and Keith lands safely.
Only, one of them is too impatient to wait that long.
“Keith!” Lance cries, sprinting forward when the pod is a foot from the ground. Before the pod even lands, the hatch is thrown open, and Keith comes tumbling out, half falling to the floor.
“Lance!”
They crash into each other so hard it’s a miracle they manage to stay standing, embracing so tightly it has to be painful.
“You know, I was once married,” Coran remarks. “I went on a two-decaphoebe exploratory mission in that time. When I returned, I was not embraced that tightly.”
“That’s because you didn’t have an intensely homoerotic rivalry and then a weird half-friendship half-romantic relationship you refuse to acknowledge as such that racketed up your sexual tension to levels that cannot be recorded,” Shiro explains.
Four pairs of eyes blink at him.
“Nobody is as gay as they are,” he simplifies.
“Well, gay or not, I’ve lost patience. Lance does not get to hog all the Keith time, not on my watch.” Hunk marches towards the couple (couple of besties) and lifts them both off the ground in a hug that looks to have rearranged their spinal cords. “Keith! Buddy! We missed you!”
The rest of the team rushes in soon after, hugging and holding and generally just piling Keith with all the love they’ve pent up in his absence. Keith is bright red by the end of it, but visibly pleased, obviously flattered.
“I missed y’all too,” he says. “Seriously. Blades aren’t the same.”
With a herculean amount of strength, they manage to pull away to give Keith some space, heading towards the briefing room to prepare for their mission. They have a fleet to destroy, after all, and an Empire to cripple.
And, of course, the faster they complete their mission, the more time they can spend together with no obligations looming over their heads.
They debrief quickly, making sure not to miss any important information but determined not to dilly dally. They split up to suit up, then run off to their respective hangars, ready and rearing to go. Keith lingers for a second next to Lance.
“Good luck, Sharpshooter.”
Lance grins. “I don’t need it, Samurai. I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Wrong ass to be kicking, dontcha think?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Keith, you’re with me,” Shiro reminds him, when neither fool looks to be focusing on the impending mission, gently knocking his brother’s shoulders.
Keith nods. “Yeah, coming.” He jogs away from Lance, flashing him one last smile. As he turns to corner, he pulls out the crystal from his pocket, gently pressing it to his lips before slipping it back where he got it.
“What’s that?” Shiro asks, gesturing to the pocket.
Keith looks shifty, like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Uh, just a good luck charm.”
“Since when do you believe in luck?”
Keith shrugs. “Since I started feeling lucky, I guess.”
Far behind them, stopped to tie his bootlace, Lance stares at where the brothers disappeared into the Black Lion’s hangar, wide-eyed.
He recognises that rock.
———
Several hours later, six paladins dock back on the castle, exhausted but satisfied.
“Man, I missed having a full team. That mission was way less horrible than usual,” Pidge says.
“Indeed,” Allura agrees tiredly.
“Almost like we had a good luck charm,” Lance whispers to himself, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
Shiro smiles at them all. “You did great, team. This was by far the most successful mission we’ve had in months.” He turns his smile to Keith in particular, who grins right back. “We missed you, buddy.”
“Missed you too,” Keith murmurs.
“We’ll have plenty of time to catch up tomorrow,” Coran says. “Right now we are all exhausted. Off to bed, my dears.”
They all comply without protest, stumbling out of the bridge and down the halls to their rooms. Keith and Lance walk together. It makes Lance smile, remembering when they used to walk each other to bed, everyone else long asleep, stupid tired after a late night of planning. He doesn’t miss the stress, but he does miss leading with Keith, more than he’d like to admit.
“Hey, wait,” Keith says as they approach their bedroom doors, hand on Lance bicep to stop him.
“What’s up?”
“I, uh, have something for you.” He digs around in his pockets, looking panicked for a moment when he can’t find whatever it is he’s looking for, then visibly relieved when his fist encloses around it. He holds it out to Lance, who accepts it without question. Onto Lance’s palm he drops a sparking brown crystal.
“The flurexonomite,” Lance says, grinning.
Keith rocks back on his heels. “Yeah. I’ve been keeping it safe, you nerd.”
Lance looks up at him softly, unable to summon any playful exasperation at the tease. “Thank you, Keith.”
Keith smiles softly at him. “‘Course.” He puts his hand on his lockpad, opening the sliding door. “Night, Bluebell.”
“Goodnight, Willie Nelson.”
———
The next day is as crowded and energy-filled as expected. To avoid fights over Keith-time, the paladins had made a schedule: most of the day will be spent all together, but each person gets one designated hour of one-on-one time to do as they please. Keith gets dragged from person to person, blushing every time someone grumbles about not having enough time, from sparring with Shiro, swimming with Lance, and painting his nails with Allura.
He cries four separate times. It’s nice to remember how loved he truly is.
As days tend to do, however, it eventually comes to an end. Supper is a somewhat bittersweet affair, everyone knowing that once it’s over, Keith has to head back to his pod, and they won’t see him again for weeks, even months.
They try to make the most of it.
Hunk and Lance cook up something to honour the occasion, Pidge at the kitchen door with Lance’s gun to prevent Shiro, Coran, and Keith himself from so much as looking at the food so they don’t fuck it up somehow. Allura serves her solemn duty as taste-tester, ensuring all food is fit for a royal feast.
It’s amazingly thoughtful, even though Pidge is way too trigger happy. Keith cries again halfway through supper, and half the table joins him.
By the time the team walks him to his pod, they’re all pretty cried out, and determined to put on a happy face. They all hug Keith for way too long and with way too much force, each making him swear to call and text frequently, and to not do stupid things or get himself killed. Keith promises to do one of those things.
Eventually they all, with very knowing and smug looks, wave goodbye and head out, leaving Lance and Keith alone. Both pointedly pretend that they’re not embarrassed about it.
“I have something for you,” Lance says, when Shiro finally exits.
Keith glances at his gigantic care package of collective gifts from the rest of the team, raising an amused eyebrow. “Will I have space for it? The barracks at the Blade are small as shit, you know.”
Lance huffs a laugh, nervous smile pulling at his lips. “It’s, uh, pretty small. Promise.”
He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, then grabs something out of his pocket, holding his fist out to Keith. In his outstretched palm, a mirror of the night before, he drops a silver chain, attached onto a small —
A small, brown stone.
The flurexonomite.
“Good luck charm,” Lance explains quietly. He hesitates for a moment, then powers on. “And a piece of me to carry with you. If you want it.”
For a moment Keith gapes at the precious thing in his palm, the chain Lance must have made by hand sometime when Keith was hanging out with the rest of the team today. It’s simple, just the chain and the rock, but to Keith it’s more valuable than all the universe’ riches put together. To him it’s everything. To him it’s a message.
It is, without even a sliver of a doubt, a manifestation of Lance’s feelings for him. Of his feelings for Lance, too, having picked up the stone at all.
Keith decides to hell with the waiting. To hell with the war, with the consequences, with the long-distance. He grabs Lance’s face in his hands and kisses him as hard and fast as he has been wanting to for longer than he’s willing to admit.
“I fucking love you so much,” he mutters against soft, ful lips. He feels Lance’s smile.
“Yeah no shit, stupid. I gathered that when you kissed the rick I begged you to pick up for me before a mission, like it was a picture of your sweetheart in World War Two.”
Keith huffs, but can’t resist kissing him again. “Are you physically incapable of saying I love you back like a normal person, you dickhead?”
Lance laughs loudly enough to disrupt the kiss. “Yes.” A beat. “I love you too, mulletbrain. If that wasn’t abundantly clear.”
Keith smiles, kissing him one last time before pulling away. “It was.”
He lets Lance clasp the necklace around his neck, relishing in the touch of Lance’s cold fingers on his skin, committing the feeling to memory.
“I’ll miss you,” he says from the pilot seat. “I’ll call you.”
“If you don’t, I’ll fly Red to the Blades and kick your ass,” Lance informs him.
Keith feels like his heart is going to burst. “I don’t doubt it.”
When he finally takes off, castle shrinking to a dot behind him, the weight of his good luck charm around his neck makes leaving feel like less of a goodbye.
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