Chapter Text
Not that Lance is keeping count, but he’s sort of getting sick of being fired at by Galra sentries that are programmed to kill on sight. Voltron's been tasked with destroying another one of these sentry factories that seem to be littered around this section of this particular galaxy, but the catch this time is that it's a smaller facility; it's not planet or moon sized, and therefore they can't just fly with the lions, weapons blazing, and take the place down from the inside like last time. Nope, this is going to require finessing the operation, and that's where Lance comes in.
This is the perfect chance for Lance to prove he's a valuable member of the team, with valuable skills. He's going to walk right in there and line up his shot like the sharp shooter he tells everyone he is. He's going to take out the main turbine thing in the center of this sentry factory and then he's going to get the hell out without dying. (Preferably without anyone dying; it’s a little difficult to form Voltron if part of Team Awesome is mortally wounded.)
“Lance, do you have eyes on Keith?” Shiro sounds a little stressed as his voice filters across the comm channel from his lion. “Hunk, I’ve got a pile of drones on my six, can you – “
“I got it, Shiro.” Hunk, on the other hand, sounds he’s got everything under control. Lance can hear background babble from Allura, talking with Pidge; okay, maybe there’s a bit of shouting going on, and is that shots being fired – ?
“Lance?!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Lance risks a quick glance out over the cavernous room. It’s so vast that the space fades into purple shadow above where the support pillars soar toward the ceiling. The factory has three floors and this is the top-most level, and right across the way, in the only three feet of available cover, blocking it like a freaking A-Hole, is the man of the moment and star of Lance's occasional gay fantasies, Keith Kogane. "Yeah, I got eyes on him," Lance deadpans. "He's in my spot."
"Shut your quiznak and get over here." Keith gestures rapidly with his hand at Lance, but Lance can't parse him at all because Keith is head to toe in that Blade of Marmora gear, and he can't see his face from behind the mask and hood. Social clues are out then – oh wait, he thinks, this is Keith. What sort of social clues was I expecting?
"Can you ta -- e shot?" Shiro's cutting out now; maybe there's interference from the fire-fight they're engaging in outside the facility? "Lance? If y --n't take the shot, we need to – " There's a fizz of feedback that makes Lance wince, and across the way he can see Keith do the same. Then there's… nothing.
"Shiro?" Lance tilts his head, a subconscious gesture. Like that's gonna do anything. Keith is staring at him from across the way, ducking to the side as a particularly violent shot clips the wall he's leaning behind. "Shiro? Come in. Keith, do you read Shiro? Anyone?"
"No." Keith appears to take a breath to collect himself. "Lance, get your tight ass over here and take the shot. We're on our own and we need to do this before we all get killed."
Lance grins, gripping his Bayard rifle. "Tight ass? Baby, why didn't you say so? I got – "
There's a sudden blur of purple neon light, and Lance feels the heat from the blast as it grazes past his collarbone. The concussive impact against the wall next to him knocks off his helmet, the blast just grazing his arm and shoulder, and pushes him on his ass in an untidy heap.
Holy.
Fucking.
Hell.
That was far too close.
Lance is conscious. Okay, so that's a good thing. Yes. He pulls himself upright. He can see Keith across the way, on his haunches, ready to launch himself through the crossfire and over to Lance. He manages to wave his hand: an emphatic 'no' gesture at Keith.
He takes a second to catalogue things. No comm: right, no helmet, no comm. No idea what the fuck is going on either in the factory or outside in space. Ringing in his ears. A little dizzy; not good. Okay, the dizziness is clearing. Shoulder; possibly bleeding, hurts like a son of a bitch. Worry about that later. Head, apparently bleeding, but that could be just a cut, hard to tell right now.
He pushes upright, staggers to his feet, blinks a couple of times, and yes, the dizziness is passing so that's good. He summons the bayard, looks both ways (because getting hit with one of those blaster shots, not a top ten on the list any more, no way), and launches himself across the open space, dodging like it's Iverson on his heels and he's about to get expelled from the Academy.
He gets about a foot away, and Keith lunges forward, grabbing his wrist and reeling him in. Keith falls backward against the wall, and Lance lands almost on top of him. Lance is pressed against Keith, back to Keith's front, and he glances over his shoulder. Keith's removed his mask and hood, and is saying something, but Lance has no idea what it is; his hearing is gone for the moment, sounds are fuzzy at best.
"I can't hear you," Lance says. He feels stupid, like maybe he's overtalking? Is he making stupid faces because he can't actually hear what he's saying? Is he talking out loud at all?
Keith rolls his eyes and the familiar gesture soothes a little of Lance's panic. If Keith's doing something like rolling his eyes, it means things can't be that bad, right?
Keith's suddenly reeling him in by the (damaged) neck of his paladin armour, then switches his grip to Lance's waist, holding him tightly as another violent explosion rocks the platform nearby. Lance risks a peek to the side; he's still got a job to do, and he's gotta get with the program, fast.
He crouches down, Keith moving with him, both of them getting behind as much cover as they can. He can feel Keith's breath against the edge of his suit, along his neck, feels the way it hitches a little and his arm tightens around Lance's waist, steadying him. Keith's saying something; he can't make it out, ears still buzzing from the concussive shot earlier. Whatever Keith is saying makes him sound like he's underwater, the sounds not realizing into actual words that Lance can understand. He feels Keith tap him on his hip, and that's something Lance wasn't expecting; a fizzle of heat down his spine, his body taking a sudden interest in Keith's gesture, despite the pain in his shoulder and the potential head injury. Maybe it's because of the head injury, because Lance sure as hell doesn't have a thing – isn't going to have a thing – for Keith Kogane, outside of maybe the occasional late night jerk off material when he's stressed. Keith's his rival and –
Keith shakes him again, enough for Lance to man up and turn to the side enough to lock eyes with him. The world has gone silent suddenly, the ringing noise fading away. Despite the flaming explosions, the ricochet of blaster shots around them, the falling debris – Lance can hear none of that, but he is focused on Keith's mouth enough that he can just make out the quick nod, the lick of his lips, and the mouthed "I got you," emphasized enough for Lance's addled brain to understand. He nods back, grips the Bayard and feels it morph into the rifle. Locks it against his shoulder. Lets Keith lean them carefully to the side, supporting Lance's weight against him, steadying him to take the shot.
Because despite Lance being slightly shot up, and maybe concussed, and definitely bleeding, and unable to hear dick shit, Keith still believes that Lance can take the shot.
Keith believes in Lance.
Keith is a stupid idiot, ‘cause Lance doesn't trust himself, really, and isn't even sure he's gonna pull this off, but hey, positivity is a thing and yes, he's definitely concussed, holy shit. So Lance leans, trusting Keith has his skinny ass supported and, without blinking, lines up the rifle, takes a split-second to parse all the details, and
Takes
The
Fucking
Shot.
There's an explosion. It's a big one: Keith's arm is like a steel vice as he pulls Lance in behind cover and curls over them both, hands over his head as debris rains down around them. The ground shakes like a mofo, but the world is still silent to Lance's ears, and that is a trip in itself. When Keith uncurls he is shouting; Lance can see a thin line of blood over his cheekbone, probably from flying debris, but he seems mostly unhurt. Lance goes with the flow, goes with Keith hauling his sorry ass back toward the doorway where Lance originally came in. Except now there's not really a corridor; there's a wide open gash in the side of the facility, open to space, with the entirety of that vast vacuum of nothing that Lance is fully aware that space actually is. They are dead men still standing.
They are dead men until there's a red lion hovering there, suddenly, right in front of them. And next to Red, there's the Blue Lion. He grins, despite the nagging aches and pain, and the blood, and the fact he can't hear anything and the fact that the entire space factory behind them is collapsing into a shower of explosions and debris and…
Keith grabs his arm, jerks him forward with a toss, and they are falling. Free falling, floating, towards the open mouth of the Red Lion, Blue roaring defiance at the facility burning behind them. Lance crumples as soon as Keith hauls them inside Red: Keith runs for the cockpit, keen to get to the fire fight and get the escape under way. Lance lays there, inside Red's mouth for a moment, and then drags himself to his feet. He totters his way up the ramp, very aware that things aren't going to go well for him if Keith decides to fire the mouth laser thingy, and gets himself inside and into the cockpit. Keith's already hauling back on the levers, turning Red around, and Lance glances over, out the window, where he can see Blue, keeping pace beside them. He can feel the psychic tug at the back of his mind; a sort of mental prod to check in on him, and then Lance's body decides it's really had enough, thanks very much.
So that's how Lance McClain ends day 245 in space: crumpled on the floor next to the Red Lion's pilot's chair, watching the stars swirl outside the window as he fades out of consciousness.
He does not faint, because fainting is for losers.
He's merely taking a timeout from consciousness.
Close calls aside, Lance feels marginally better now that he's out of the healing pod and he's got a couple of days between today and what he's affectionately dubbed as The Mission from Hell. He's managed a nice hot shower, he's exfoliated, and now he's carefully applying a little moisturizer, because the vacuum of space really dries out the skin. Since they've been in space he's taken to moisturizing nightly, because god knows what that is going to do to his skin long term and Lance has an image to uphold. He leans forward, running his fingers over his hairline on the left side of his temple. He can just make it out; a thin scar, about two inches long. A nice souvenir from the facility Keith just tossed his ass out of. If he ruffles his bangs a little and goes for the 'messy but hot' look, it won't even be visible.
The pod has cured most of his aches and pains, the bruises and cuts are gone, but his body still holds the mental afterimage of the fight: it knows it should be injured, and even if it no long physically is, his mind can't let go of that yet. So Lance aches like a son of a bitch; his head and shoulder still hurts and he wants to sleep for a week.
What he needs is a nice mug of warm milk. And what do you know? He can have one because, despite everything else the damn universe has thrown at them recently, they have a cow. With actual milk. Ha!
Lance pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, pushes his feet into his lion slippers, and wanders off down the corridor toward the kitchen.
They've upgraded room assignments recently, mainly because Pidge had discovered a whole section of the castle set up specifically to receive diplomats, and there are suites of rooms. Suites. Of. Rooms. Just lying empty and unused. Hell to the yeah and empty no longer. No more bedroom the size of an Ikea crate. No more walking down the corridor to the communal showers. No more listening to Hunk snore on the other side of the wall and Pidge trying to kill minions in Killbot Phantasm two doors down at three am in the morning.
Allura doesn't seem to mind that the Paladins have started to spread themselves out in the castle. They've been here for months now; no use pretending that they aren't here to stay, to pretend that this is temporary. They've all finally bonded as a team, they can form Voltron at will. Sure, there was some adjustment when Keith decided to step down and go full time with the Blade, but they've come out of it okay, Lance thinks. He misses Blue like crazy, but now he's got a nice little red ride instead that has a magma beam and a plasma cannon just for shits and giggles, not to mention a jaw blade and a tail laser.
Lance makes it to the kitchen, heats up some milk, and then decides to head to the lounge to see if anyone is around, although that's questionable because it's about...actually, he has no idea what time it is because Altean time concepts are complicated. The only indicator that it must still be very early is that the castle lights are a dim blue, signifying that the night cycle is still on.
When Lance walks into the lounge, Pidge is already there. "Oh hey, was just gonna come looking for you," she says, stifling a yawn. "Kolivan just showed up with Keith and they're calling a general meeting in the main conference room."
That sounds serious, Lance thinks. But hey, on the other hand, Keith. A perfect opportunity to get a couple of verbal hits in in person. "Cool. Can I bring my milk?"
Pidge eyeballs Lance's mug and then fixes him with a steely eyed expression. "I don't know, can you?" she says sarcastically.
By the time they reach the conference room Allura is there, chatting with the ever intimidating Kolivan, current leader of the Blade of Marmora. Shiro stands next to them, arms crossed and looking like he got even less sleep than normal (which is saying something) and just to one side is Keith, hovering like he's not sure which group he should align himself with. Hunk rolls in last, sleep shirt crinkled and his usual chirpy attitude less than present. Yep, Team Awesome are looking… way less than awesome.
Lance slides himself in next to Hunk and pats him on the shoulder. "Buddy, I feel you," Lance says sympathetically. "I want to go back to bed."
"I want to go home," Hunk sighs. "Any idea what's going on?"
"Not a damn clue."
Kolivan breaks off his conversation with Allura and clears his throat. This apparently is a universal sign for everyone to shut up and sit down, Lance notes, watching as the Princess slides gracefully into the chair at the head of the table. Kolivan sits to her right, and Shiro close to the rest of the Paladins. Keith finally plonks his ass down somewhere in the middle.
"Well, if it isn’t my favourite Babe of Marmora," Lance needles in a stage whisper.
"Shut the fuck up, sharpshooter," Keith retorts. There's no real heat to the insults, it's just how they both roll these days. "I saved your ass a few days ago, remember. You owe me."
"You threw me out of the side of a ship and into space! I owe you nothing."
This time Allura clears her throat, a lot more delicately than Kolivan, but it still quietens every one down. "Thank you all for arriving promptly despite the early hour," she begins. "Kolivan is here because he has approached me with a matter of grave urgency that he feels the Paladins would be suited to help with. I would ask you all to hear him out before making any decisions, either individually or as a team."
Okay, so that sounds ominous. Lance raises an eyebrow and glances at Pidge and Hunk, who both shrug back. Keith just looks stoic; alarmingly blank-faced, like he knows what is coming next, and that has Lance's hackles rising instinctually.
Kolivan nods to Allura, and then stands up, apparently preferring to pace the room while he speaks. "I am here to formally request assistance from the Paladins of Voltron," he begins, facing the room and making eye contact with each of them. "As you know, the Blade work to gain information that will be useful in taking down the Galra Empire from within." Another loaded pause, as if Kolivan is mentally sorting through what he can share and what he chooses not to. "A couple of movements ago, we sent a Blade operative down to the planet Falos, with the intent to gather information. We believe Falos to be important; it was one of the first planets conquered by the fledgling Galra Empire shortly after its founding, approximately ten-thousand Deca-Phoebs ago. Unfortunately," Kolivan continues, - and there it is, thinks Lance, the 'unfortunately' part where everything goes down the chute – "Unfortunately, we have been unable to obtain the information we require to complete our objective."
"Too dangerous?" Shiro asks. It's a reasonable assumption.
"No, it would appear that the information we are looking for is not accessible either remotely or via hacking the government mainframe. We have tried."
"Doesn't sound like you're doing it right," Pidge deadpans. "Everything is accessible in some form or other in the digital world."
"And what if is not digitally stored but, we suspect, might only be held on paper. I believe this has been done as a protective measure." Kolivan's words are dropped carefully into the room, but are no less profound than if Kolivan had shouted them.
"That – that is utter genius," Pidge blurts out, leaning forward. "What the hell are they hiding?"
Hunk lets out a breath, leaning back in his chair. "Ten points to the Galra Empire for coming up with that idea. Wow."
Kolivan returns to his chair, sitting down and steepling his fingers together in a rather human gesture. He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "We must move forward. We wish to request your assistance on Falos, Paladins of Voltron."
"What is it that you are requesting exactly, Kolivan?" Allura asks. "I will not risk valuable team members. If we cannot form Voltron, all our plans will be for naught and the universe will be, once again, unprotected."
Lance takes a moment to watch Keith while the higher ups duke it out. Keith is looking straight ahead, cheekbones slightly flushed. Lance watches him bite his lip, worry at it. His body language is stiff, contained, quite unlike his normal laid back attitude. It takes Lance a moment to realize that for some reason, Keith is invested heavily in the outcome of this meeting. It takes a few seconds but Keith must feel Lance staring at him. Lance expects Keith to turn and scowl, or make a biting comment, instead he flushes guiltily, eyes going wide for a moment as he catches Lance's gaze.
It suddenly hits Lance – a bit like a freight train, granted – that Keith is blushing. At Lance.
Holy crap. This is new.
It's then that Lance catches the tail end of Kolivan's statement, belatedly tuning back in to the conversation.
"We thought that sending Lance down to the planet with Keith as his bonded alpha mate would be a good plan. The Falosians are very – "
"Wait, what?" Lance blurts out. "Back up a second, I seem to have missed some of this." Lance's heart rate feels like it just accelerated to warp speed; no wonder Keith was blushing like a twelve year old school girl just now.
Pidge snorts. "Yeah, Lance, if you weren't staring at your boyfriend you might have caught the important bits of the conversation. Like you and Keith, sitting in a tree, S – U – C – K – I --"
"Pidge!" Shiro barks. "Let's tone it down a little. Lance has a right to be surprised by this information, and Kolivan owes him an explanation for his reasoning. Yes?" Shiro turns to Kolivan, raising an eyebrow.
To be honest, Lance is glad to see Shiro exhibiting his Alpha status, looking out for the pack. He doesn't pull the Pack Alpha card often, but when he does, it's something to watch. And admire. Keith, as secondary alpha, merely sits there like a stone, silently supporting the pack dynamic without adding to the conversation.
"I was not staring. Keith was acting weird, that's all! And anyway, when did we decide it was okay to start outing everyone's secondary gender to strangers? No offence, Kolivan," Lance adds.
"Guys, let's move on." Shiro's got his dad voice on now, and even Lance can admit it's effective as hell. It quietens the room down, anyway. "Kolivan, please give us your thoughts on the infiltration plan, should we agree to proceed."
Kolivan looks stony faced, a bit like he cannot wait to get the hell out of the room and is trying not to show it. "As I was saying, simple infiltration won't work. Blade missions usually require simply getting in, getting the required information, and getting out. I believe that we need to finesse this a little more than usual; it would be in everyone's interests to put a team undercover for a short period of time, maybe a couple of movements, and see what we can dig up."
"That would sound like a reasonable goal," Allura agrees. "If you can prove that the end goal would be worth the disruption to Team Voltron."
Kolivan nods. "All Blade – except for Keith – look like Galra. We will not be able to blend in, since the people of Falos mostly govern themselves under Galra rule. Apart from the Governor, who is Galra, and his staff, everyone on planet is native." Kolivan pauses to let this sink in. "The Falosians are remarkably similar in appearance to your average human, enough that it would be easy for a small team of two to blend in. They also exhibit secondary genders much as humans do, however their customs are a little less… forgiving, shall we say, than yours appear to be. If you chose to take the mission, you will have to abide by these customs if we are to succeed."
"That sounds dangerous and still very vague," Hunk says. "What exactly are you implying?"
"Ah, all omegas are bite-bonded," Keith says softly, glancing quickly at Lance and then away, embarrassment written clearly across his face, along with a heavy blush.
For a second Lance is rendered speechless, partly because during the briefing Keith has been so quiet he almost forgot he was present. It takes a hot minute for Keith's words to sink in.
"What?! That's… that's barbaric," Lance cries. "Most humans haven't done that for centuries!" He places a hand over the nape of his neck, hiding the scent gland at the base. It's purely instinctual behavior, and sends a shiver down his spine that's not wholly unpleasant, although he's not going to look at that reaction too closely for the time being.
"Welp, I think I'm done here," Hunk declares, pushing his bulk up from the table. "I'm going to make some warm milk. Anyone want one? Lance, you want another?"
"I'll have one." Shiro perks up a little, especially when Keith nods hesitantly as well.
"I'll come help," Pidge says with a chirpy wave. "I can read a room and this secondary gender shit is about to get awkward, oh my god. Good luck, loverboy. Us betas will be in the kitchen, employing avoidance tactics." She actually has the gall to make finger guns at Lance as she backs out of the room.
"Wait! Pidge, come back, don't leave me with these vultures." Lance sighs, watching as Pidge and Hunk leave, the door sliding shut behind them with a smooth whooshing sound.
When he turns back, everyone in the room is watching him. "Um, guys?" Lance asks hesitatingly. "As much as I love the attention, this is really weird. Please explain why the hell you can't send Shiro down there with Keith? Regardless of secondary gender, they work well together under stress. Alphas have to work together in the best interest of the pack. Our pack." It's a tough admission for Lance to make, but Keith and Shiro do make a good team. They always have done.
"I'm far too recognizable," Shiro says. The comment is directed at Lance as an explanation, but he's addressing the entire room. "Most of the important people in the Galra Empire have seen me fight as the Champion at one time or another. And the arm sort of gives it away." Shiro smirks and wiggles his fingers on his prosthesis.
"Point taken," Lance admits.
"I can do this." Keith glances up from the table. His voice is quiet, a little gravelly, but the tone of it is what catches Lance's attention. His voice is low, a little private, as if he's trying his hardest to put Lance at ease but to also make him understand. "I can protect you, Lance, while we are down there. I mean, not that you need protecting or anything, but if you did, I could – can – do it." Keith is struggling, oh my god, and Lance has half a mind to let him continue, because if this wasn't such serious shit this would be hilarious.
Lance bites his lip and looks away. Keith's expression is embarrassed, but open, like he wants Lance to understand.
"We need you, Lance. We can't do this without you."
Now, that's an admission he's likely to never get out of Keith again.
Lance knows at this point that he's fucked. Supremely. It's not like he can say no. Well, he can, but then he's letting down half the universe at the very least.
"Okay, so what's the deadline on this?" he says eventually. "How soon do we go?"
"As soon as possible. Within the next couple of days, ideally," Kolivan adds. "The Falosians have their annual spring festival and we can use that to our advantage; they'll be distracted with the celebrations."
Lance bites his lips, gives himself a quick second to center himself and then nods. "Okay, I'm in."
Keith's face breaks out into – holy shit, is that a smile? Yep, he's smiling. Shiro looks a little relieved and Kolivan actually looks like he might be smiling too, if Galra actually do. Lance isn't sure. Anyway.
Looks like shit is about to get really real, and Lance is going to be right in the thick of it.