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kmomof4 · 4 years ago

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Chosen, Protected, & Saved Ch. 3

We made it!!! It’s the final chapter of Chosen, Protected, & Saved for the @captainswanmoviemarathon!!! Thank you all for the trust you placed in me after last weeks cliffhanger. Everything gets tied up in this chapter, happy ending ahoy, and I hope y'all enjoy it!!! Thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me!! I’d love to know what you think!!

All the love and hugs to @profdanglaisstuff and @hollyethecurious for their beta services, brainstorming sessions, and encouragement!! Thank you so much, ladies!!! This fic wouldn't be here without either of you!!! *MWAH* 😘

Summary: A little boy with the Heart of the Truest Believer. Demonic forces will stop at nothing to possess it. It’s up to Killian Jones, PI to find him and save him before it’s too late.

Rating: T

Words: 4253 of 18.4K

Tags: Inspired by The Golden Child, Kidnapping, Magic, Minor Character Death, Temporary Major Character Death, True Loves Kiss

ao3 fic link ch link Prologue on Tumblr Ch1 on Tumblr Ch2 on Tumblr

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @branlovestowrite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz @captainswanmoviemarathon @jonirobinson64 @itsfabianadocarmo

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Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 3

Killian finally came to a stop in front of a warehouse near Boston harbor in the early hours of the morning. Even traveling down state roads and the interstate in the middle of the night, he lost count of the number of frenzied honks he heard as Bubo flew only about fifteen feet above the road and about that same distance in front of him. It made it wonderfully convenient to not have to worry about losing him.

Now that he was here, he scanned the building in front of him, taking note of the surroundings. The large, imposing structure reminded him of the slasher flicks he used to watch as a teenager. The kind of places that the audience groaned or shouted at the hero to not go in. A chill tried to work its way down his spine. He put a firm lid on it reminding himself that he had to find Henry and bring him home. Going in with no foreknowledge of this particular building or backup, it was important for him to identify potential hiding places, entrances and exits, security cameras and the like. It was times like these that he thanked God for the experience he gained as a beat cop then detective with the Boston PD before he left the force and struck out on his own as a PI. That background would surely be useful in getting to Henry.

Not seeing anything that stood out, and making a mental note of where Bubo had flown up to the building and disappeared, he checked that his piece was ready to rock in case of trouble and got out of his car. Securing the Glock in the shoulder holster he wore, he crouched in the shadow of the vehicle before he ran the fifteen or so feet to the side of the structure. Turning toward the lone door, he could feel the dark magic covering it. He could almost see the magic, even in the darkness, a slightly shimmering cascade that he hesitated to touch. Pushing back his exhaustion and gathering his courage, he reached out to touch the door and was amazed when his hand passed right through the magical barrier. The dark magic chilled him to the bone, but he turned the knob and found it unlocked. He figured the Dark One must not be too concerned about anyone getting past his magic.

As he opened the door, something oddly familiar awoke just under his skin. A humming that was strangely comforting. He remembered feeling something like it in the split second before his magic saved Emma underneath the cathedral the night before. Could it be my magic? Closing the door behind him, he took care to stay in the shadows. The main space of the warehouse was completely empty, but he didn’t want to risk being seen by any cameras that might be hidden by the shadows near the top of the building. He stayed by the wall and made his way around to where the offices appeared to be on the other side. As he got closer, the humming became a full fledged vibration. A rustle from up above drew his attention as Bubo flew down. He held his arm out like he’d seen raptor trainers do and Bubo landed neatly on his offered limb. He wasn’t prepared for the sharp talons though, as they pierced the leather of his jacket. It was all he could do to limit the scream that wanted to emerge to a loud pain-filled hiss. His magic started to crackle at the ends of his fingers as he continued stealthily toward the offices. Bubo was not thrilled with the magic sparking so close to where he sat, so he took off again.

Killian finally came to the first office, but as he peered in through the open door, he saw nothing of interest. As he moved toward the second, lightning started to spark from his hands. Killian inhaled sharply as he saw that the door was closed and the sheen of more magic caught his eye. Henry was obviously being held inside. The disquiet he felt in his spirit only intensified as he got closer to the door. For someone who was so desperate to keep him away from Henry and this case, there was a disconcerting lack of trouble actually getting to the boy. Killian pulled his gun out. He wasn’t sure it’d be terribly effective against the Dark One, if he also happened to be in the office, but it certainly helped him feel better. Not quite so vulnerable. He may have his own magic, but he didn’t have the first idea of how to use it, especially not in a situation like this.

He looked in the window of the door to the office. On the other side of the room, he could see a small boy asleep on the floor, covered by nothing but his own clothing. Killian’s heart nearly broke before an anger he had never known completely overtook him. He held his left hand up to the door, and a surge of blue magic completely obliterated the magical shield and destroyed the door as well. The jarring racket was enough of a shock without the startled cry both from Henry and the other boy in the room. Killian hadn’t noticed the teenaged guard asleep on the plush sofa behind the desk when he looked through the window. Another surge of rage filled him at the mistreatment Henry had suffered at the hands of the Dark One and his teenaged cohorts. Before he could even think, another surge of magic pulsed from his open left hand toward the youth. He still held the Glock in his right, but in a corner of his mind, he was glad it was magic going off and not the gun. The teen was thrown back on the sofa and was completely frozen, rendered impotent in thwarting their escape.

Killian replaced the gun in his holster and approached Henry as Bubo flew in. “Bubo!” Henry cried. Bubo landed on the floor before him and turned his head to look at Killian. Henry looked up at the man standing in the doorway. Something about him seemed familiar, though he couldn’t tell what.

“Henry?” Killian asked. Henry nodded. “I’m Killian and I’m here to take you home. Will you come with me?”

Henry nodded and stood up. “I know,” he said.

Killian tilted his head, puzzled. “You know?”

“Yeah. Bubo told me.” He held his wrist out. “Can you take this off, please? It stops me from using my magic. I can’t remove it, but someone else can.”

“Sure,” Killian replied. He reached under the black cuff on the boy’s wrist and pulled it off. He held his hand out and Henry took it as they walked toward the door. Before they got there, however, a chill came over Killian that meant only one thing. He stopped and looked down at the little boy whose eyes shone with absolute trust as he looked back at him.

“We’ve got to get out of here quick, Henry,” Killian said. “He’s coming,” he looked back at the door, “if he’s not here already.”

At that moment, a purple cloud of smoke enveloped him and Henry and the next moment, they were back at Regina’s.

“Regina!” Henry cried, running into her outstretched arms.

“Henry!” she exclaimed, “I’m so glad you’re safe!” She held him close and Killian’s eyes filled with tears at the sight.

Regina looked up at him and mouthed a silent “thank you” as she continued rocking the boy back and forth. She released him and held him away from her as she quickly scanned him for any signs of injury.

Henry’s eyes sparkled with happiness as he turned back to Killian. “Killian saved me.”

A watery smile split Regina’s face. “I know,” she exclaimed, “I was watching him. And you were right, Killian,” she continued, looking up at him. “The Dark One was there. He was just outside the office. I didn’t want to risk a confrontation with him, so I just brought you back myself.” She turned her eyes back upon Henry. “Henry,” she said, softly, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

Killian suddenly remembered the events from earlier in the night and it was all he could do to remain on his feet instead of collapsing to his knees in despair. He’d been so focused on finding and getting Henry, that Emma’s death had been pushed to the back of his mind. Now it came back to the forefront and all he wanted to do was curl into a ball until his complete and utter heartbreak eased enough for him to go on. His jaw clenched and his eyes filled with fresh tears as Regina took Henry’s hand in her own and led him from the room.

They climbed the stairs to the bedroom he and Emma had shared the night before. She was laid out on the bed looking so peaceful he could almost believe she simply slept. Henry stared at his mother.

“Mama?” he said, in a trembling voice. He took a step toward her.

“The Dark One came last night to get the dagger, Henry. Before Killian came for you,” Regina whispered. “He and your mama fought hard, but the Dark One killed her before I could intervene. I’m so sorry, Henry.” Regina choked back a sob as Henry moved toward his mother. “But, there is a way to save her.”

Killian’s head turned sharply towards Regina. “What?”

“Killian,” she began, wiping away her own tears, “there is no doubt in my mind that you share a bond with Emma. A bond that I’ve never actually seen before, although I’ve heard tales...” She took a deep breath. “When you got back here last night, you were both so tired that there was no time to talk about what happened when you went after the dagger. But I could see the remnants of the magic you used while you were gone surrounding you. And as I said when we were talking about your magic, it would have only come to the surface in a moment of extreme emotional upheaval. Whether that was fear, love, joy, or sadness. Can you tell me what happened to trigger it?”

Killian’s agitation increased at her question. Why was she asking him this? What did his magic have to do with anything? Especially when there was a possibility that Emma could be saved. They were wasting time!

Regina’s eyes bored into his as she made a placating motion with her hand. “I know this seems random. But please believe me when I say, it truly isn’t. My question has everything to do with saving Emma.”

Killian swallowed hard and looked down at Henry’s face. The little boy nodded at him, encouraging him to trust Regina and answer the question.

“We were underneath the cathedral, but hadn’t made it yet to the chamber of the dagger under Stonehenge,” he whispered, haltingly. “A teenager… kind of gangly, blonde headed, thin as a scarecrow, came at us with a sword.” He shook his head as the details came back to him. “Some kind of black, thick substance coated the tip. I would have guessed it was tar. But why would someone put tar on a sword?” He shook his head again, cutting off his rambling. “Anyway, he was coming for her and I threw my arm out to try and push her back out of his way. I remember feeling a tingling just before my magic shot out and sent him flying across the chamber.” He bowed his head in shame. “His head cracked against a column.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve never been responsible for the death of someone that young.”

“You’re sure he was dead?” Regina asked, her heart hurting for him.

“When it happened, we couldn’t stop. We had to keep going. But when we came back and he still hadn’t moved, I checked his pulse.” His eyes looked haunted, but his story confirmed her earlier thoughts. The manifestation of his magic at that time and under those circumstances told her that their bond was indeed True Love.

“You can save Emma, Killian,” she asserted.

Killian’s eyes widened. If the situation wasn’t so serious, she would almost laugh.

“How?”

“You saw how the Dark One removed Emma’s heart and crushed it.” He nodded. “Magic users can remove hearts. I can remove yours, split it, and put one half inside each of your chests. You have True Love for her, and that True Love should bring her back.”

“True Love,” Killian breathed, completely overwhelmed. He never knew that such a thing existed. But it would certainly explain the connection he felt with her and how and why he fell in love with her so quickly. Not to mention the way he felt about Henry, a little boy that he had met literally minutes ago. He shook his head again. He didn’t even have to think. “Do it,” he demanded.

Regina held her hand up and tilted her head to the side in warning. “There are risks that you should know about.”

“I don’t care about any risks,” he assured her, vehemently. “If it will save Emma, it’s worth it.” He looked down at the woman he loved on the bed. “She is worth everything,” he whispered.

The sun was rising and the bedroom was flooded with the morning light. Henry raised his hand to Killian’s heart. His palm glowed a vibrant gold color. A soothing warmth filled him. “You’ll save my mama, Killian.”

Killian nodded. “I will indeed, lad.” He looked at Regina again. “Do it.”

Regina placed her hand on his chest. She stared into his eyes, deadly serious before she pushed her hand into his chest cavity. The pain stole Killian’s breath, but he looked over at Emma on the bed and endured it as he felt Regina’s fingers close around his heart and pull it out. He caught his breath and beheld the glowing heart now in the palm of Regina’s hand. He looked back at Emma on the bed, and while he could still feel his love for her, it was muted. Regina looked back up at him.

“When your heart is no longer inside your body, all your emotions will be dulled. They’ll be restored as soon as it’s back where it belongs.”

Killian nodded. “This is going to hurt. Are you ready?” Regina asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied.

Regina placed her other hand over his heart and twisted. A pain far worse than being shot burst through him and his knees buckled. He landed on all fours on the floor and looked back up. Both of Regina’s hands now held a piece of his heart. She knelt before him and placed her right hand at his chest again. She pushed into his empty chest cavity and he took a deep cleansing breath as the agony subsided.

“Can’t say as that’s something I’d ever want to repeat, love,” he quipped.

Regina let out a small laugh. “I should hope not.” She rose with him and turned to Emma on the bed.

She moved quickly and pushed her other hand into Emma’s chest. Everyone held their breath as they waited. When about twenty seconds had passed with no movement from Emma, Regina’s brow furrowed and panic started to rear its ugly head in his mind. Henry turned to Regina.

“What’s wrong? Why isn’t she waking up?”

At that moment, the bone chilling cold of the same dark magic that he had encountered just a short time ago came over Killian. He turned wide, alarmed eyes at Regina who stared at him with equal apprehension.

“He’s here,” they stated, together.

Regina waved her hand and the dagger appeared in her hand. She handed it to Killian.

“This is the only thing that can destroy him.” Regina’s eyes were wide with dread as she gave him last minute instructions. “As the Chosen One, it falls to you. As long as you hold it, you are master of the dagger. He can’t summon it to himself. Don’t lose your grip on it, whatever you do!”

Killian nodded. Regina continued as they all ran downstairs. “You may be untrained in magic, Killian, but your love for Emma has made you powerful. Use it! Magic is emotion. Keep your love for Emma at the front of your mind, and you can defeat him. Stay inside, Henry,” Regina said, turning to the boy. Henry nodded and he and Regina ran onto the back lawn where the Dark One waited for them.

“Ahhh,” he gloated, “You’ve brought me my dagger! How considerate of you!” He waved his hand and they were both frozen in place. Terror filled him as the demon strolled toward him. When he was so close that he could smell the fire and brimstone emanating from him, he felt the same sensation that he had just experienced at Regina’s hand.

The Dark One stood before him with his half a heart glowing in his hand.

“Interesting,” the demon cooed. “Only half a heart. Where is the other half?” he asked, speculatively, “Could it possibly be in the chest of your Twue Wuv?” he singsonged. He looked back at Killian and cackled. “But where is she? She’s not here, is she?” He got right in Killian’s face with such a face of gloating triumph that Killian felt sick. “No True Love’s Kiss, then? Awww, and that’s the only thing that can save her, isn’t it? Since it’s your heart, only your True Love’s Kiss will do.” Killian’s eyes grew wide as the beast’s statement registered in his panic. “But if I crush your heart,” he squeezed slightly, the pain overwhelming Killian, stealing his breath, “you can’t very well share True Love’s Kiss with her, can you?”

Rage filled Killian and if he could have spit in the creature’s face, he would have. But at least he knew why Emma hadn’t come back when Regina placed his heart in her chest. The kiss, his kiss, was needed to bring her back to him.

“Fortunately for you,” the Dark One continued, “I can’t crush your heart as long as you hold my dagger. But I can hold your heart. For as long as necessary. I can leave you right here, frozen, until your death returns my dagger to me. But, I don’t want to wait that long.” He shrugged, in studied casualness. “So how about a trade? I give you back your heart so you can save your lady love, and you give me my dagger. The Dark One never breaks a deal, so you have nothing to fear and boy is obviously well protected, for now.” He sneered in Regina’s direction. “Do we have a deal?”

Killian’s brain worked furiously. It was an impossible choice. By releasing the dagger, the chances of being able to destroy him shrunk exponentially, plus, he was giving the monster exactly what he wanted, bringing him one step closer to being able to harm Henry. A very large step. But, he would be able to save Emma and surely, between the three of them, they could protect Henry. If he refused, the Dark One would simply hold his heart until his death returned the dagger to the demon and Emma would remain as she was, forever.

He cut his eyes toward Regina, her own eyes wide with realization. He tried to convey how sorry he was in his gaze before he turned his eyes back on the demon in front of him.

“I’m going to partially lift the freezing spell I’ve got on you now and you can give me your answer.”

Killian’s mouth and hand holding the dagger were suddenly free.

“Fine,” he gritted out. “You have a deal. My heart for your dagger.” He opened his hand and the dagger fell to the ground. The Dark One giggled and picked the dagger up from the ground. He looked back at Killian.

“A pleasure doing business with you, dearie,” he chortled as he all but punched his heart back into his chest. As soon as he had done so, he was enveloped in a cloud of grey smoke and disappeared.

The enchantment holding them frozen disappeared with him. Killian collapsed to the ground and Henry ran out of the house toward them.

“True Love’s Kiss, Killian,” he cried. “When you give Mama True Love’s Kiss, you’ll save her!” Regina ran over to him as he struggled back to his feet.

“Aye, lad,” he replied, somewhat out of breath from his ordeal, “Let’s go give it a try.”

At that moment, the Dark One again appeared in the yard, this time just behind Henry. He had not gone far and was simply waiting for Henry to leave the house so that he could strike. Regina screamed as Killian jumped in between the Dark One and Henry and tackled the demon. Regina grabbed Henry and ran for the safety of the house.

They crashed to the ground and the Dark One lost his grip on the dagger. As they rolled, each trying to gain the upper hand, Killian remembered what Regina had told him on the way down. That his love for Emma made him powerful and that if he kept his love for her at the front of his mind, he could defeat the monster.

Killian closed his eyes and let the love he had for Emma fill him completely. He pictured the dagger in his hand and the same moment, felt the instrument in his grip. His fist curled around it and he pulled the hilt toward his chest, the blade tilted slightly upward. The Dark One was on top of him now, their faces so close together that Killian could see the madness in his enemy’s eyes and then the grimace that crossed his lips as he felt the dagger pierce flesh.

The demon went limp on top of him. Killian pushed the dead weight off only to find the dagger buried in the Dark One’s chest. A dark swirling cloud poured out of the wound and coalesced around the dagger. After a few moments, the cloud, the dagger, and the Dark One, his unseeing eyes staring toward the rising sun, seemed to fold in on themselves, until with a pop, they were gone.

Killian got back to his feet and looked to where Regina and Henry had made it inside the house. He ran toward them as Henry barreled out the back door toward him. He caught him in his arms and spun him around, laughing at the little boy’s exuberance.

“You killed him,” Henry shouted.

“I did, indeed, my boy,” he said. “You’re safe now. He can’t ever hurt you again.”

“Thank God for that,” Regina agreed, hugging them both.

Killian held them both in his arms for a few moments, relishing the fact that they were all alive and safe. All except one. He looked back at Henry as he set him on the ground. “Let’s go save your Mama, shall we Henry?”

“Yeah!” Henry shouted, taking off for the house again. Killian and Regina followed him into the house and up to the bedroom where Emma still lay.

Killian entered the room after Regina and Henry. The morning light completely filled the room now and Emma seemed to be surrounded by a gold shroud spun from pure light. He had never beheld anything so breathtakingly beautiful. Everything faded from the periphery as he moved toward her. His heart raced in his chest and his breathing hitched as he beheld her. His True Love. He knelt beside the bed and took one of her hands in his own. His thumb rubbed over her knuckles as he leaned over her and pressed his lips to her own. It took only a moment before a rainbow burst fell over them and Emma took a breath and opened her eyes.

“Killian,” she breathed. Killian’s face split in the biggest smile he’d ever worn.

“Swan,” he exclaimed, gathering her in his arms, tears of joy filling his eyes.

She hugged him back just as fiercely before they were interrupted by Henry’s enthusiastic “Mama!” before he launched himself toward her from where Regina had held him near the door.

“Henry!” She caught him up in her arms, hugging him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re safe! I was so worried!”

“I know, Mama,” he exclaimed, “Killian saved me! And he saved you, too!” Emma looked back at him, pure love shining out of her eyes. He scratched behind his ear until he finally looked back at her. “He’s your True Love, Mama! He saved you with True Love’s Kiss! That means he’s gonna stay here with us!” Henry spoke a mile a minute in his unbridled enthusiasm. “Right, Killian?” Henry turned back toward him, expectantly.

“With your mother’s permission, lad, I’d like that very much.”

Emma beamed as she held out her hand for Killian to take. “I think we can handle that.”

Killian grinned widely as he took her proffered hand and bent over to kiss her again.

It didn’t take long for Killian to move his PI practice to Storybrooke where he courted Emma properly, much to the sheriff’s dismay. A year later, Killian and Emma were married, and a year after that, Henry had a baby sister to show off.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End

~*~*~

Thank you all for all your love for me and this fic!!! I’d love to know what you thought!!!

#csmm20 #chosen protected & saved #krystal writes #art by krystal #inspired by the golden child

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lvnce-mcclain · 6 years ago

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bonded (in your arms)

Chapter Summary:

“I—we. The team, we’re always going to be here for you, Keith. If you let us.”

Lance isn’t sure if it’s just him being hopeful or not but he thinks there’s a little regret there, too. “I know.”

Chapter: 8/?

Word Count: 7.7k

Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Read it on AO3

God y'all I can't even begin to describe how grateful I am to @dumbassenergy like. Froggy has been the heart and soul of this chapter and she is such an amazing beta. Just watch me grovel at her feet for how great she is, seriously. She's the reason I've had the motivation to finish this fic at all, and so really this chapter and the rest of the series is just. Dedicated to her okay??? If you like this fic, thank her for keeping me going on it. Love you, frogs <3

And oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my God

I'm so, I'm so, I'm so tired of fighting

Let go, give in, let go and give up

- john legend, surefire

The hangar is quiet. The silence stretches between Hunk and Lance, but the sound of the door sliding shut reverberates in Lance’s head—over and over—a taunting loop playing over the sound of Keith’s anger. Lance can feel his feet go numb from where he’s fallen to his knees. The cold pinpricks crawling up his calves at least provide some sensation, where everything else seems to have been deadened.

Lance doesn’t know how long Hunk lets him stay there, immobile and in a state of complete disbelief. Lance idly thinks way too much time has passed from the way Hunk starts to shift restlessly—the soft shifting of Hunk’s weight from foot to foot, hands rubbing on the fabric of his pants, all too loud in the void of the hangar.

“Come on, man, let’s get you to bed.” Hunk’s voice is soft, but it still jars Lance. His tears have long since dried up; violent sobs turned to dry heaves then finally to nothing at all. It leaves his throat aching and his eyes feeling too tight in his skull. He thinks maybe if he waits here long enough, when he does finally walk out the door, he might be able to walk back in time too.

Hunk gives him a moment—and when Lance can’t gather an answer in his chest and make it leave his mouth, Hunk pulls him up with one arm against his side and hefts Lance to his feet. The pinpricks drift down his calves towards his feet, making it hurt to stand, but Lance follows Hunk’s lead to the dorms anyway.

The hallway seems louder than the hangar. Their steps echo on the metal floor, pressing back in on Lance’s ears; it starts to get to be too much right as they near the dorms. The knotted ball in his chest starts to untangle at the thought of being able to crawl under his covers and hide from the world, giving him the only motivation he can muster to put one foot in front of the other. His mind is focused solely on getting out of the hallway. He feels too vulnerable; the space is too open, anyone could run into them—Keith could—he makes himself stop. The thought of Keith throbs like an ache in his chest and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the heat pooling behind them again.

There’s a wound in the middle of Lance’s chest, the edges raw and gaping and every drifting thought about Keith causes a fresh tear. The pain is nearly tangible, causing a falter in Lance’s step that makes him pull on Hunk’s hold.

“Hey, dude, we’re almost there, don’t worry—”

“Hey, there you are guys, Allura was—” The sound of Pidge’s voice causes Lance to avert his eyes, something ugly boiling in his stomach at the thought of someone else seeing him like this. “What the hell? I thought no one was hurt? Is he okay? What happened?” There’s a panic rising in their voice. The realization that he must look like absolute shit comes to Lance somewhere deep down. It causes the same boiling feeling from earlier to roll up his ribs and into his throat, and makes more of that wet heat burn behind his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as fingers tremble.

“Shh, Pidge. It’s okay. He’s okay.” He isn’t. Lance is aware enough to know he isn’t okay, despite the fact that the only thing keeping him from feeling completely numb is the nasty heat running under his skin, threatening to boil him alive. “It’s… It’s Keith, Pidge. I think they’re—” Hunk cuts himself off and Lance can feel how he shifts his weight, feels the brush of Hunk’s neck against his hair as he looks down at him. Lance can feel the rumble of, “I think they’re through, Pidge,” even if Hunk tries to whisper it and the reality of it hits Lance again, a cage around his lungs and a sick weight in his stomach.

“Oh shit.” Lance hears Pidge shuffle from one foot to the other, and Hunk must share a look with them because the next thing they’re saying is much softer. “Okay, uh. I’ll go tell Allura that uh—you’ll brief her in the morning, okay, Lance?” Lance nods. The movement dislodges the tears that had been fighting their way out. He wipes at his face roughly, his hands still shaking. Hearing someone else realize it, someone else bring it to life, is just enough to bring back feeling to Lance’s deadened nerves.

“It’s okay, buddy. It’s going to be okay.” Hunk is telling him, shuffling them further down the hall. He finally gets Lance into a bed and Lance can’t even tell if it’s his own or not. All he cares about is the fact that there’s a blanket, he can bury himself under it, and maybe, just maybe, no one will be able to find him under it. “Do you want me to stay here tonight, bud? I want to, but I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Lance finally looks up and nods, unable to meet Hunk’s eyes. Hunk doesn’t seem to mind though, because he’s immediately kicking off his shoes and letting Lance hide his face in his shoulder. “Thanks, Hunk.” The words scratch his throat and Lance has to cough to clear them out.

Hunk’s arm winds around his shoulder, pulling him in just a little too tight, but Lance doesn’t say anything. “Bud, you don’t need to thank me, seriously.”

Lance wants to argue, wants to express how he does need to thank him, wants to tell him how he can't be alone right now, and having Hunk here means the world to him—but he doesn't have the emotional energy to put his feelings into words right now. Instead, he just squeezes Hunk back, burying his face in the soft fabric of his shirt, and closes his eyes against how much he longs for the feel of Keith’s heartbeat beneath his palm right now.

Lance isn’t sure how much he actually sleeps and how much he’s just laying there, but at some point during the night, he hears the door slide open through a half-lucid dream. For a second his heart stops. Through the fog of exhaustion, for just that second, he thinks Keith has come back and is so sorry, and is going to tell him how this all was a mistake and—but then there’s a dip in the mattress and Lance can feel the small body of Pidge outlined against his back as they carefully slide in behind him. His teeth and heart clench against the disappointment that rolls over him—he’s stupid, he’s so, so stupid for letting even an inch of hope crawl in. He knows Keith better than to let himself think he’d take back a decision like that.

Pidge doesn’t wrap an arm around him or get too close, but Lance can feel where they’ve reached behind them to lay a hand on his arm as they curl up beside him. Lance squeezes his eyes tighter against the fresh tears. He starts to shake against all his efforts to hold all of it inside himself, and Pidge’s grip tightens on his arm. They don’t move until Lance does, as if they don’t want to scare him off, but as soon as Lance shuffles himself away from Hunk’s snoring form, Pidge is flipping over and propping themselves up on one elbow.

Lance can’t see their expression in the dark, but he can hear the uneasy apprehension in their voice. “I don’t know what to say to make you feel better, Lance.” The desperate edge to their voice breaks a little more of something inside Lance, the pieces adding to the growing mound in the pit of his stomach. The thought that he's the cause of that hopeless tone in his friend's voice just feels too heavy to bear in his chest. He can't be that, not on top of all of the other things going on right now.

Lance breathes in a shuddering breath. He knows Pidge doesn’t do other people’s emotions very well, but the fact they’re here right now, andtrying, means so much to Lance, and he can’t let them think they’re not enough for him. Sure, what’s enough for him right now would be Keith beside him like he was just a few weeks prior, but that doesn’t mean his friends mean any less to him. Even though he’s hurting more than he thinks he ever has, he can’t let them hurt for him. He can’t—because if he does, he doesn’t think he’d be able to pull himself back up under the weight of that guilt that is already churning low in his belly, underneath the weight of all those pieces.

“You don’t have to say anything, Pidgeling,” Lance breathes out, because actual words feel too rough against his raw throat.

Pidge shakes their head, hair falling in front of their eyes without their glasses as a barrier. “No, I know, I just. I wish there was a way I could fix this for you.”

“This isn’t something for you to fix,” Lance tells them firmly, finding a little strength in that small resolve. He can tell they’re about to counter and he’s too tired to argue, so he flips himself onto his back and pulls them with him. He ruffles their hair when they reluctantly settle in under his arm. Hunk twitches and lets out a loud snore at the movement, and both Lance and Pidge hold a breath—when Hunk doesn’t wake up, they both relax. Lance allows himself a small smile at the snort Pidge lets out, even if the lifting of his lips feels heavy and wrong. It feels a little bit more normal though, with someone to be better for.

He clears his throat, trying to dislodge the emotion still stuck there. “Seriously, though. I’ll be okay. I just—” Lance swallows, trying to make a promise to himself with his words, as much as he’s promising Pidge. “I need some time. To you know, process this. I won’t let it stop me though. I was a paladin before all this, and I’ll be a paladin after.”

Lance can feel Pidge watching him for a long moment, before they sigh and roughly let their head fall back down against the crook of Lance’s shoulder. They blow a piece of hair out of their face and it floats up to tickle Lance’s nose. “Fine. One week. You get one week to… To do whatever it is you need to do to process. And then you’ll be okay?” Lance knows the uncertainty in their voice is supposed to be hidden, so he ignores it.

He feigns confidence he doesn’t feel when he says, “I bet you it’ll only be five days, dude.”

Pidge huffs out a laugh that feels a little bit more normal before yawning, “You’re on.”

Lance sighs and settles back in, knowing he probably won’t be able to fall back asleep. Five days; he gives himself five days. Not to get over it, but to build himself back up to enough of a functioning person that will be able to fool everyone. And maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll fool himself too.

By the time Lance figures it’s acceptable to be awake, he manages to wiggle his way to the end of the bed and slips out from between Pidge and Hunk. He sits at the edge of the bed for a minute, listening to Hunk’s soft snoring and the shuffling Pidge does to take up the space he just left unoccupied. The day already feels like too much. He stares at his hands where they’re hanging between his knees and tries to will himself to stand, but there’s some kind of disconnect between his brain and his legs; there is an overwhelming pressure building from his neck down his spine at the thought of facing the day after everything that settled into reality yesterday.

How can this actually be real? He watches his thumb rub back and forth over his palm and barely feels it... but the feeling is there, so he knows this isn’t some residual nightmare that just won’t end. That honestly kind of makes it worse, knowing the hollow pit in his chest actually belongs there, and it isn’t going to get filled when he wakes back up. This isn’t some sort of anxiety-fueled hallucination; this is real. The knowledge clogs Lance’s lungs with a heavy weight that blocks his throat. Rapid little intakes of air start to come more frequently than actual breath. Lance is starting to panic again—his chest feels like it’s winding in on itself—there’s shifting behind him, barely heard over the rush in his ears—

And then there’s a heavy hand on his shoulder, grabbing him and reeling him back in.

“Breath, Lance,” Hunk tells him gently. Lance gulps in air. His lungs burn from the effort. He realizes he’s trembling; small tremors run through his hands as he watches them shake. He knows it shouldn’t be calming but he focuses on that feeling, that action, and forces his breathing to normalize.

“Thanks, Hunk.” Lance’s voice is more gravel than actual words. He tries to clear his throat as quietly as possible, tossing a look back at Pidge to make sure he didn’t wake them up too. Thanking Hunk is the only thing he seems to be doing these days. And it still isn’t enough to express the gratitude he feels, even when everything else is fuzzy at the edges. It’s a feeling he isn’t afraid to focus on because he knows it won’t hurt—it’s one step closer to normal. He grabs at it greedily as his breath settles back into his lungs.

“Of course, man. I thought I told you not to thank me, though.” Hunk’s huff of laughter is hesitant. Lance can’t let him feel like he needs to tiptoe around him, so he manages a small grin in response. Hunk’s shoulders seem to ease a little and Lance counts it as a win. “Do you want some breakfast?”

And this is normal, this feels like it should be normal, so Lance says yes. He moves quietly through his room, getting dressed beside Hunk, before they both head toward the kitchen. The halls don’t feel as loud during the day, and a small feeling of relief washes over Lance. He doesn’t think he can deal with feeling overwhelmed like that again so soon, which is why he averts his eyes as they walk past Keith’s door. He can’t help the way his heart starts hammering in his chest as they pass it, but he can save himself from looking at it.

There’s no one else in the kitchen—thank God—so it gives Lance some time to prepare himself to face the others today. By now he’s sure Allura at least was able to piece together something happened. Between the way Keith was acting last night, and the fact Pidge had to tell her Lance wouldn’t be coming to a briefing, the thought is enough to mortify him.

Hunk starts to chop some pink fruit and Lance’s fingers drum a beat to match the sounds of the knife as he sits at the counter. He’s focusing a little too hard on the humiliation starting to roll in his stomach and it’s making him nauseous. He can’t let Allura think this is going to come between him and the mission; he feels so petty, getting so torn up so easily when there are people literally risking their lives in a war he’s supposed to be giving his entire attention to.

“Earth to Lance, hey—”

Hunk’s hand in front of his face makes him jump, flailing a little when he starts to tip back in his chair. He catches the edge of the counter to steady himself, looking up at Hunk sharply. “Dude.”

“Hey, sorry man, but to be fair I had been talking for like, at least three minutes and you were totally zoned out on me. You okay there?”

Lance shrugs with one shoulder, “I guess.”

Hunk snorts, his eye roll probably being felt all the way back to Earth. “You want to talk about it?”

Lance lowers his eyes at that, knowing they’d give away too much. It’s always hardest to hide things from Hunk, and he knows it. “Nothing to talk about, really. You were there last night.”

Lance hears Hunk pause his whipping of some cream. Lance hopes maybe if he doesn’t say anything else, Hunk will let it drop—but he knows he’s not that lucky.

“Yeah, I was there,” Hunk says slowly, resuming his whisking, “but I was hoping maybe you’d want to talk some of it out? You know... with me, maybe?”

Lance knocks his foot against the side of the counter and doesn’t answer.

“Because, you know, I know you guys had said something was going on between you two but since… Well, you know, since Shiro—” Hunk stops himself and Lance hears him swallow. “You haven’t really talked to me about it, so I wasn’t sure—well, I wanted you guys to be able to figure it out yourselves, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Lance’s answer is soft; the air around him swallows up the words and leaves room for more, but he’s not sure how much he can say right now.

“Right. But after last night, after—how you reacted, I guess, I just—I didn’t realize how serious things had gotten between you two.” Hunk’s voice trails off and Lance supposes this is where he’s supposed to elaborate. Where he’s supposed to explain the mess that grew between him and Keith these last couple of months, the tangle of emotions and dependence, and he’s supposed to somehow make sense of it all.

When it comes down to it, the only residue left behind is hurt; so really, what did it all matter in the first place?

“It wasn’t,” Lance tells him, the words burning like a lie in his throat, “It wasn’t serious between us after all, I guess.”

Every time they enter a new section of the universe, the first thing Keith does is slip out and take Red to search. Lance doesn’t know if he thinks they all don’t notice or if he just doesn’t care what they think; honestly, Lance leans toward the latter and the thought stings. There was a time he was pretty sure his opinion actually meant something to Keith. He has to remind himself it was real, the feelings he had were—are— real and so were Keith’s, because otherwise he starts to lose himself in a spiral of self-disappointment. He can’t afford to let himself go like that again.

He gave himself the five days; five days to get better—to get okay. He makes himself hold onto that promise to Pidge, giving himself purpose for moving forward every day. He can’t let himself bring the team down just because he lost the most important relationship he’s had since well. Since ever, but so what? He’s Lance. He tells himself that actually means something and makes himself keep going.

He won’t let this bring him—bring the team, the universe—down. In the end, nothing else matters, right? Really, he shouldn’t have tried to distract himself from the mission in the first place, especially not with Keith. He knew better from the start than to think he’d ever actually get to keep something as fragile as what they had, for as long as he did. They all had more important priorities and he put something trivial in front of them. Which is exactly what they all thought of him anyway, right? Loverboy Lance, getting caught up in some whirlwind romance.

He has to prove he’s more than the pain he gave himself.

“Okay, team, we’re going to try something a little different today. I know we’re all exhausted,” Coran’s voice cuts through Lance’s thoughts, as booming as the entrance he makes into the lounge with the door slamming behind him. “But! There is always time for a little jaunt around our mind palaces, eh?”

Hunk rolls his head across the back of the couch towards Lance—eyes wide, he makes a face that shows how much he wants to go on a jaunt—and Lance shoves his shoulder a little as he stands, joints popping. “Sure, Coran my man, what do you have in mind?” Lance throws a pair of finger guns towards Coran which earns him a hoot. He tries to feel the lazy grin he gives back, but the tug on his lips mainly feels like a weight too heavy to hold.

“Atta boy, Number Three! Come, I’ll explain once we’re all in the training room.” Coran doesn’t give them time to ask anything else—slamming through the door as loudly as he came in— leaving Lance and Hunk both blinking after him.

“Well, I guess we should go see what all that is about.”

Lance nods and offers a hand to help Hunk up, trying to look more enthusiastic than he feels. They make a more leisurely path towards the training room together, Lance shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks to keep from fidgeting. If Coran was this worked up, it means this is probably a team exercise—as in, the whole team. He’s had his five days, but he hasn’t had much else, and Lance’s heart trembles at the thought of having to work with Keith.

Hunk—practical angel that he is, damn it—seems to sense the shift in Lance’s mood. “Hey man, are you gonna be okay?”

Lance raises one eyebrow, choosing the dumb approach. “I know I’m not the sharpest cookie in the toybox, Hunk, buddy, but I think I can handle Coran’s mind fortress or whatever.”

Hunk rolls his eyes and bumps his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“ ‘Fraid I don’t, bud. C’mon, we should hurry before they’ve assigned all the extra hard training exercises,” Lance tells him with no room for argument, pulling his arm and leading them resolutely toward the training room.

When the doors open, Lance has to swallow his breath because Keith is already there—of course he is, because where else would he be? He’s only ever in the training room or in Red anymore, not that Lance keeps track of him. Keith is leaning against a far wall, jacket slung off to a corner, and Lance can’t tell if he’s actually lost in thought or if he’s staring at the ground to avoid seeing who’s coming through the door. Lance would bet ten weeks of chores it’s the latter, and it breaks his heart; Keith had always been a little more isolated, but he had started including himself just a little more until recently. Lance liked to think—for a few dumb seconds—that it had been him who brought that out in Keith, but whatever.

Lance and Hunk gravitate towards where Pidge is slumped over on the ground next to Coran, propping themselves up on their knee as Coran excitedly explains the technology of the helmet in his hand. Lance purposefully doesn’t turn to watch when he hears Keith walk over to join them; he does, however, take a breath, waits three seconds, and turns to give him a smile across from Hunk. Keith is staring straight ahead though, and Lance buries the sting in his chest with the rest of the loose pieces of his heart.

“Paladins, we want to try a team building exercise,” Allura tells them all when Coran gets lost in his explanation and needs an elbow to the side.

“Oh, yes! We want to help bring you all together with a little exercise in understanding each other.”

Pidge groans. “This isn’t another mind meld exercise, is it?”

Coran laughs, wagging a finger. “Not quite, Number Five!”

If Lance didn’t know better, he’d think that Allura was resolutely not looking at him when she says, “No, Pidge, this exercise is more about communication with each other.”

“Right! So, what you’ll be doing is—” and Lance mostly tunes out the instructions, catching the drift about something regarding a puzzle and trying to solve it with their eyes closed and only one person—who gets to see the finished product—giving instructions. Simple, standard, and a nightmare when Coran asks Lance to try giving the directions first.

“Okay, uh, Pidge—yeah that piece right under your hand, put that with Hunk’s—no, to your right. Awesome! Okay, Keith, you uh.” Lance swallows, watching as Keith’s hand hesitates.

Hunk, a little too brightly, shoves a piece in the air. “What about this one, Lance? This piece feels like it’s important.”

Lance sighs and tries to not let the relief be heard in his voice. “Yeah, buddy, that sure is a good one. I think it goes in the corner? Can you feel your way up—yep, there you go.”

“Lance,” Keith says his name quietly after a few more turns of Pidge and Hunk passing pieces back and forth. Lance’s heart stutters at the sound, and for a second he thinks he misheard it. “Where does this piece go?”

Lance can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips as he drums them against his thigh. “Um—” Lance’s mind goes blank, the sound of Keith saying his name so softly vibrating in his ears.

“Lance?” There’s something else in Keith’s voice. Lance thinks he can see it buried somewhere deep in his guarded face—half hidden by the handkerchief Coran insisted they each wear over their eyes—but then it’s gone as Keith shifts his face down toward the floor, as if he could feel Lance’s gaze.

“To your right. Um. A little down. Yeah.”

Lance watches Keith’s fingers too closely as he presses the piece into place. “Thanks.”

There’s a little less tension between the four of them then, as Lance realizes Hunk and Pidge had both stopped feeling around for pieces during the interaction. Something was broken, a gate was left open, and Lance breathes a little easier. They’re able to get the puzzle done pretty quickly after that, Lance only hesitating a fraction when he needs Keith to move a piece, and it’s okay. This is okay.

“Great work, Paladins! So good to see you all working together.” Allura claps when they finish, the blindfolds discarded. “With everything that’s happened lately, I know it’s hard to remember you are a team but with better communication, everyone will be sure to benefit.” Lance can tell how much she’s trying to lift everyone’s spirits, knows that the weight of Shiro’s absence has been a heavy burden on her shoulders.

So he pushes a smile out, one that would have been easier before, and says, “Pssh, Princess, we rock this communication thing so hard the Balmera would be jealous.” When she actually laughs, Lance’s smile turns a little softer around the edges.

“What’s the actual point to this?” Keith interrupts and Lance’s smile falters; the sudden change in tone is palpable, the shift of Keith’s voice cutting through the tentatively proud atmosphere.

“Number Four, the Princess just said—”

“No, I know what she said. But what’s the point? Why are we wasting time here, anyway?” Keith asks, tone rising from disinterest to hostile in less time than it takes Lance’s heart rate to catch up with the situation.

“Keith, communication is important between team members.” Allura’s voice is gentle but the look on her face is turning harder with each agitated fidget coming from Keith.

“Which would be great, if we were all here to actually communicate.” Keith throws out and Lance sees the way Allura stifles a flinch, her gaze steely.

There’s a decisive set to Allura’s shoulders when she says, “You can’t keep using Shiro to try to hurt the team, Keith.”

Lance can’t stop his intake of breath in time, but neither can Pidge or Hunk. They all three watch, breath stuck in the crackling air between Keith and Allura, before Lance can’t take it and takes a step forward.

“Keith—”

“Don’t,” Keith bites out and Lance flinches. Allura’s eyes twitch toward him but never fully leave Keith’s bristling form. Keith doesn’t look at him, and Lance isn’t sure if it hurts or not anymore. “I’m done here.”

“I think you are,” Allura agrees. “I think we all are. Good work today, Paladins. I think you all should get some rest.” Keith doesn’t wait for her to finish before he’s out the door, and Lance can’t help but watch him leave.

After that, it’s hard to be around Keith and the team, but Lance manages. Not well, really, but he doesn’t think the team notices too much, so it counts. It has to count.

It gets harder the first time they have to run a mission as just the four of them, though. Well, the four of them and Kolivan’s men. Lance thinks a little bitterly how not fair it is, that even having a handful worth of Blade members on their team does nothing to fill the hole that just one person left. Shiro’s absence still feels like a wound in all of their sides, and for Lance that wound ripped open wide enough to swallow his heart, too. He thinks, in a weak moment, how nice it must be to have that effect on people because he’s pretty certain he wouldn’t leave a chasm nearly this big, if at all, were he to ever leave the team.

As soon as the thought passes through his mind, though, he regrets it. He feels like shit for even thinking it, and pulls at Blue’s controls a little too roughly and gets a growl in his head as a response.

“Sorry, girl. It’s not your fault, I know.” There was a warm buzz of reassurance fleeting through his mind that he thinks is supposed to tell him it’s not his fault, either, for feeling the way he does but he can’t help but ignore it. He can’t stop himself from feeling like he’ll never be that important to anyone because look at what happened with Keith—the one person Lance was so sure would always want him, who left him with only a second’s thought.

He makes Blue push on with a bruising force and she tries to calm him with a purr that buzzes over his skin, but he can’t let himself have that kind of comfort right now or he’d give into the fragility that’s aching in his bones.

That ache doesn’t stop but it does get easier to ignore when Lance has to put on a show for all the locals who gather around their group after the Galra are run off into the atmosphere. It’s always easier when he has someone besides himself to pretend for; he never can hold up the facade very long when the only audience he has is staring at him in the mirror.

When that audience starts chanting for Voltron, though, Lance can feel his resolve crumble a little more.

He can also feel the tension begin to over-boil inside Keith, the look on his face slipping from where Lance watches him across the crowd. His eyes are still trained to find Keith, always looking for him, and he sees the moment when it all gets to be too much; Lance takes a step automatically to follow when Keith finally turns on his heel and silently goes back to Red. He stops himself, though, one arm wrapped around his belly as if that would be enough to keep his heart from falling down and out of it. He only gets a second to let himself slip before he remembers where he is and he plasters a grin on his face before whirling to meet the crowd.

Lance feels himself flinch against Keith’s outburst in front of all the leaders of the coalition; truthfully, he’s surprised Keith has kept his composure as much as he had these last couple of weeks. Lance was expecting something much worse, much sooner, but that thought only reminds him that he’s not there beside Keith anymore to have more than just a guess as to what’s going on inside his head.

With a faltering grin, Lance cracks a joke he doesn’t feel—something about how the Red lion always picks the fiery ones, and the leaders all give uneasy smiles at the attempt to lighten the mood. It takes more reassurance and grace from Allura to salvage the dinner than anyone else could ever hope to pull off, and Lance’s foot is tapping in antsy impatience by the time the group are satisfied and heading to their guest quarters on the Castle for the night.

As soon as the leaders are seen off, Lance is up and heading toward the hangar. He can feel Blue leading him there, a soft pull trying to lead him to where she thinks he will find the thing that will calm him down. He doesn’t have the heart to reach back out to her otherwise she may feel the heavy despair in his heart at the thought that even his lion knows all he wants is to be by Keith’s side again.

He knows the rest of the team is following behind him and he’s grateful, because he doesn’t really know what he’s going to do when he reaches his destination. He knows Keith hasn’t wanted to talk to him—let alone seek comfort from him—since that night. But Lance can’t stop himself from following the urge to be there for him, not when it pulls like a string in his chest leading him to where he’s supposed to be. That bone deep ache is insistent now, thrumming through each of his limbs and begging him to stop, but he knows there’s nothing that would stop him from going to Keith. Nothing ever has.

When they all reach the hangar and see Keith motionless, staring at Black like he has all the answers to every question that has kept them all up at night, they all stop and watch. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance can see as, one by one, the team turns toward him to go to Keith—and he’s moving before anyone can even say anything.

He has to force a casual tone and knows he’s standing a little too close, a little too soon, but everything in him is coming back to life at finally being close to Keith again. His heart breaks into a few more pieces because it’s not in the way he wants. There’s something between them, Lance can feel it, and there’s nothing he can do to touch it again.

“Hey, man.”

There’s a twitch of fingers against Lance’s and he holds his breath, only to let it out on a sharp exhale when Keith suddenly folds his arms across his chest.

“I know—” Lance catches himself and winces, their last argument ricocheting between his ears. “I uh. We—we can tell you’re hurting. We miss Shiro too, Keith. We all miss him. Finding someone to fly Black, it doesn’t mean we miss him any less. Or that we’ll stop looking for him. We’ll—I’ll never stop looking for him, Keith.”

Keith’s gaze hesitantly shifts over to Lance, something vulnerable hidden behind his bangs. That small, hesitant opening gives Lance the strength to let his next words tumble out, barely wanting to catch them as they fall. “I—we. The team, we’re always going to be here for you, Keith. If you let us.” That look in Keith’s eye turns a little sharper, a little more acute and Lance can’t stop staring, his heartbeat thrumming in his veins.

Lance isn’t sure if it’s just him being hopeful or not but he thinks there’s a little regret there, too. “I know,” Keith says, the words barely more than a movement of lips, but Lance finds himself following the shape of them as his breath stills in his chest.

The moment is gone in a second, though, before Keith is looking back up at the looming presence of Black in front of them.

Lance is about to turn around and just forget about it when Keith mumbles out a quiet, powerful, “Thank you, Lance.”

Lance’s ribs constrict his lungs as he forces himself to meet Keith’s eyes—and after a moment that leaves him breathless and aching, he nods and heads back toward the others. When he passes them, he can’t meet the look of pity in their eyes.

It’s later that night and Lance can’t sleep; not that it’s anything new, really. He has barely slept since that first night Keith left his room in a rush, and there’s really been nothing else since then to make his nights come easier. He always finds himself drifting around the ship and he knows it’s pathetic, because half of him hopes he would run into Keith again and it would be like a redo. A restart to the shitty end game he got.

The other half dreads it because he knows better than to trust that other, hopeful half of himself ever again.

The one rule he gives himself on these little trips, though, is that he can’t ever find himself near the command room again. He can’t bring himself to face that room because he feels like the memories of it would suffocate him as soon as he walked in. But tonight he decides to break it, in hopes that maybe it really would steal all his breath away, and he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this ever again.

He drags his fingers across one of the chairs, eyes lingering on the ground and lost in thought when he hears someone else enter behind him. Immediately, his spine stiffens and his eyes fly wide because shit, if this really is Keith he’s not ready okay, he hasn’t had time to prepare himself to pretend to be okay. He has to have a solid five minutes minimum to make himself ready to face the guy, Universe, so really next time be more considerate, okay—

“Lance?”

Allura’s soft question causes Lance’s shoulders to sag in relief, his heart rate dropping out of overdrive. Lance swings himself around, plastering a smile on because he can do this, he can pretend for Allura, no problem. You got off easy this time, Universe.

“Fancy meeting you here, Princess,” Lance winces when his tone is just shy of right, but he rolls with it.

Allura stares at him for a moment, hesitating in the doorway, before tapping her fingers against the door in a decidedly not-Allura moment of uncertainty. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Lance fakes a yawn, stretching, “Well you know, Princess, I would love that, but really I was just about to hit the hay myself—”

“I was really hoping we could talk, Lance.” Her tone makes Lance’s arms drop, because he knows that tone. Goodbye uncertainty, hello royal authority. “About Keith, I mean.” As if there was anything else she would track him down for in the middle of the night after the dinner they just had.

Lance slumps, shuffling over to the edge of the room, right in front of the wide expanse of space he kind of wishes would swallow him up right about now. There’s a pit in his stomach as he hears Allura’s light footsteps follow behind him. She stops at his side and he resolutely does not start the conversation. If she wants to drag it out of him, fine, but he’s not going to make it easy on her.

Too much time passes, and Lance looks anywhere but over at Allura; he doesn't think he can take the look of pity in her eyes. There's too much in there. He’s never been one to be able to face something he doesn’t want to think about reflected in someone else’s eyes. His resolve lasts for about five more seconds before he’s sighing, “Look, Allura, I’m okay. I really am.”

“Lance, I’d appreciate if you didn’t lie to your princess, you know.” Allura lets out on a sigh as she settles down next to him on the floor of the command room. The way she sits looks slightly wrong, all bad angles, but if she’s uncomfortable it doesn’t show on her face. No, that same soft look she’s been giving him for the last few weeks is still there. It’s like she thinks he’s going to break, and honestly—it’s insulting. Lance can keep all of his broken emotions bottled up with the best of ‘em, thanks.

“I’m not—” He starts but the look she gives him has him redirecting, “—not really lying. I’m mostly okay.”

“Mostly okay isn’t what you deserve, Lance.”

Lance laughs a little because he can’t stop thinking about how before, he would have killed for Allura to be telling him how he deserves better, sitting alone curled up in an empty command room; before Keith, before his dumb, soft looks, before his quiet moments and barely-there vulnerability. Instead, all he can think about is how this is how everything started for him and Keith, really. This room was their beginning, and Lance’s heart aches under the weight of all the memories hanging in the air.

“I know, Princess. Don’t worry, though; I’m not going to let this affect my performance as a paladin, I promise.”

Lance praises himself for not jumping at the gentle hand she places on his shoulder; even the smallest touch lately seems to make him feel too overwhelmed, and he’s not proud of that. “I’m not worried about you as my paladin, Lance. I’m just worried about you as my friend.” If it’s possible, that look on her face turns even softer, and Lance can’t deny that look for long before he’s meeting her eyes with his own half-hearted smile.

He turns his head to look back out at the expanse of space in front of them before he lets that smile drop. He tosses his next words back and forth—each of them a weight in his chest he knows he should let go of, but he can’t let someone else drown with him. “I know, and that means so much to me. I just don’t know what to tell you; I really will be okay. I’ll get over this. I should have known better, anyway.” The last part is barely above his breath, mostly said to berate himself one more time because honestly, he probably deserves the reminder. He doesn’t think he’d survive letting himself forget again.

Allura definitely catches his intentions; he can see the way the edges of her features lose some of that softness. She stays quiet, though, and just sits beside him for a while. He can feel the warmth of her next to his shoulder, and even though it’s not exactly a comfortable silence, he appreciates the support she’s trying to show him. It means something, even if he can’t let her in far enough to know just how much.

Lance thinks he sees a shooting star and is about to point it out just to say something else—to steer the conversation away from his feelings—but then Allura is clearing her throat and shifting a little awkwardly. “I may be way off base here in what I’m about to say, since you insist you are alright, but I have seen the way you look when you don’t think anyone is watching anymore, Lance. I just want to help you. So, will you just listen?” There’s a long beat with her just looking him steadfastly in the eyes before Lance realizes she’s actually asking.

Silently, he nods.

“I don’t know exactly what you and Keith had. I know it was important to you though; to both of you. You both had been… So much more at peace recently and whether or not it’s because of each other, I cannot say, but I do know it’s been different since, well.” Allura clears her throat again, clearly uncomfortable, but Lance appreciates the way she soldiers on.

“Everything has an end, whether you expect it or not. It’s how you handle that end that defines the experience you had overall, I think. Something can still hurt and you can still be angry; you’re allowed to hurt and be angry at Keith, Lance. You’re allowed to be bitter. You’re allowed to wish it didn’t end. But you do still have to grow from it. You have to face it and take it in and know that it may not stop hurting for a very, very long time—but that doesn’t mean you can’t still move on from it.”

Allura doesn’t look like she’s fully completely talking about him and Keith anymore but Lance doesn’t point it out. He knows that letting go while still letting something hurt is a lesson she had to learn by herself, and his heart breaks even more knowing she’s trying to share that lesson with him for something he knows isn’t as harsh as the teacher she had to learn from. Overwhelmed, Lance lurches forward and wraps his arms around her shoulders, burying his face in her neck and letting himself have one shaky breath before steadying himself out.

It’s only a second of hesitation before she’s wrapping her arms around him too. It’s a gentle pressure at his back that is still very nearly too much, but he ignores the feeling because he has to do this. He has to push past this. “Thank you, Princess.”

Her soft dismissal of the appreciation does nothing to push it down in Lance’s chest. It’s this, he thinks, that will make her a great ruler and why he loves her; why he will continue to follow her. She is a soldier, royalty, a diplomat—but she is also so kind in the moments Lance knows mean the most, and that’s what makes her a leader. She lets herself be soft and lets herself feel, and it makes her no less valuable. He thinks maybe, just maybe, he can use that to lead himself out of this, too.

#klance #klance fic #laith #laith fic #klance fic rec #my fic #bonded (in your arms)#i think next ch will be the last #then comes part 2 #which is actually almost finished lmao #do i have a word of ch9 written???#nope #but i have 7k of the first part #of part 2 done lol #bonded series

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