Chapter Text
Part I: Alternate Universe
Warmth.
It winds past flower-stalks, through the grass, digging its tendrils deep into the soil beneath his feet. It curls up around him too, filling the air between his heel and sandal with every step he takes. Snaking around bare calves and tingling right up through his spine, rustling his hair.
Perched on his head is the second most ridiculous thing Leandro Alejandro Nicholas Cortez Espinoza has ever been given. (The first, of course, being his ridiculous name—bestowed upon him at birth, and by pure stroke of luck resulting in a much more manageable acronym.) This item comes as something physical, however, in the form of a wide-brimmed floppy sunhat, holes in the thatchwork spewing shadows across Lance’s face.
He lifts the shears to clip back another flower–for they’ve overgrown their intended size and are spilling out onto the plantains–sweat rolling down the bridge of his nose. Juniberries are beautiful early summer, all pinks and delicate yellows. It’s easy to forget their meaning when Lance lets his eyes simply skim over the jovial colours. No, this is not a breathing grave for those lost in the war. For the one member of Voltron who never quite saw it through to the end.
It is simply what it appears to be—a thriving flower field in the middle of his family’s farm, boasting the best-selling florals for miles around. They fetch a handsome price too. (Lance would know. He journeys down to the farmers market every other Sunday to barter them off to the public.)
The end of the war had not been kind to any of them. One lost, five scattered, left to pick up and pull closed the pieces of their souls they once shared with one another. To draw lines in the sand spreading between their mindscapes and build walls, sufficient in not only keeping others out but keeping their own emotions at bay too. Four measly Earth years onward, and jagged edges are beginning to smooth over, eroded only by time and practiced patience.
Lance, for one, spent the first couple years stagnant. Tethered indefinitely to the ground, too afraid to venture out in the realms of space once more, lest he be forced to re-match the horrors no teenager should ever face. There was a guilt that came with that decision too, because he was now leaving the fate of the universe in the hands of another, leaving them instead to face the trauma he did. It ate away at him and rendered him immobile. Curled up on his bathroom floor more often than not, whispering prayers that begged to know why he wasn’t the one who could’ve gone instead.
His breaking point was reached when Keith invited him out to his apartment. On New Altea. Where he’d be staying for a few months while the Blades pulled their shit together for long enough to transfer into humanitarian branches alongside all the cool samurai ninja missions. It took Lance three weeks to work himself up to going and another two to realise that his fears were for naught. Not one negative occurrence trampled on his otherwise happy space trip.
After that, came balance. Lance took Juniberries home, a silent promise to himself that every summer he’d come back to tend for them. To watch over Allura’s soul, just for a while. Just to know she was safe, and so that she knew she was loved. Even if it wasn’t the frilly romance Lance tried so hard for it to be.
Setting down his shears, Lance flexes his arms above his head, stretching out his back and neck. Caring for the farm is laborious work but he enjoys it nonetheless. Even more so now that he’s going to be away for the next year or so.
The warmth surrounding him dies down a little as he exits through the gate keeping the flowers enclosed. (Purely so Kalternecker and the other cows wouldn’t eat them.) It tugs a smile across his face. The gentle heat was always a reminder Allura was there. It was her adoration for every little thing the universe has become since her departure.
“Lance! Uncle Lance!” Excited giggles punctuate the air, tiny feet thumping across the grass from the winding pebbled path leading to the Espinoza’s backyard. “You’re here!”
Nadia is sprinting full pelt towards him, arms outstretched while a bright grin splits across her face. Ducking down to meet her eight-year-old height, Lance intercepts her hug, standing up to spin her around and round.
He sets her down with a fondness that is etched into his smile. “I am! Got back just this morning actually. Did your papa not tell you?” He takes her hand and looks around for his missing nephew.
Nadia shakes her head. Subtly, she points to the excavated rocks a few metres from the path. Overplaying the dramatics, he tiptoes over, bouncing behind and screaming loudly.
Silvio jumps about a foot in the air, eyes comically large. He scrambles and falls back, flat on his butt.
“Lance!” he wails, pout forming. “You ruined the surprise!”
“Oh, you can never surprise me. I’m unsurprisable. It’s all the years of wisdom I have on you,” Lance shrugs nonchalantly, waving his hand in the air. Silvio clambers upright, arms winding around Lance’s waist.
It’s undoubtedly cute, and Lance bends over to rub his back. Leaving Earth is still hard—but the security of coming back to this makes it easier. Knowing that there’s people back here, waiting for his return. This time knowing they can reach Lance with just an intergalactic call.
Speaking of, if his niece and nephew are here, he should probably get moving towards the house. The sun is dipping in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Juniberries. In the natural light, they’re gorgeous.
“La-ance stop just standing there. Our mama said we had to be back as soon as we got you!” Nadia whines, taking initiative and dragging Lance down the path. The pebbles crunch under his feet. Only one gets stuck in his shoe this time and Lance counts it as a personal win.
Indoors is ever-similar to the warmth in the Juniberry field. It’s not physical so much as a feeling, hitting Lance hard in the chest as his oldest brother wraps him in a one-armed embrace, scruffing up his hair. The familial warmth seeps lower down to his belly when more people come to say hello, all family members he hasn’t had the chance to see since his arrival on Earth this morning.
“Where’s Keith?” Rachel presses all too knowingly as she helps bring the dishes outside. “Please don’t tell me he thinks he needs to sleep in his ship again.”
Lance snorts, grabbing a jugful of mango juice in one hand, and a tall beaker of orange in the other. “Nah. He’s got some fancy diplomatic meeting to attend to, then he’s dropping by his moms’. Should be here by the end of next week though, if he doesn’t get called away before then.”
“Surprised you didn’t offer to stay with him.” She opens the flyscreen so they can enter the backyard.
Even though the sun is sitting lower in the sky, the air is still pleasant. “And miss seeing all of you again? No way. I’ll get enough of him over the next few months.” The jugs in his hands are placed on the table.
“Oh yeah, what’s happening with that anyway?" Rachel’s face, so achingly similar to Lance’s, pinches together. “Blowing up remaining Empire supporters?”
Her shocked reaction draws a bubbling laugh out of Lance. “Where’d you hear that from? We’re scraping abandoned Empire ships pre-dating the war for data about why and how the Empire came to be, in order to integrate it into new teaching systems to younger generations so we can prevent the universe from ever facing a threat that large again.”
Most of his family are pouring out of the backdoor now, each and eerie one excited for the Espinoza’s monthly family get-together, often including (at least) five people who are not, in fact, Espinoza’s in the slightest.
Rachel groans, pulling out a chair. “Ugh. Don’t go all nerd on me now. I’d’ve rather you told me you were blowing people to smithereens.”
“Awh, well, I’m gone for what, nearly a whole year? I’m sure I’ll get some action in,” Lance takes his own seat in between his clamouring niece and nephew. “Speaking of, I need someone to take care of the Juniberries while I’m gone. Can’t lose them sales,” he tacks onto the end, hoping that bolting it on to the end of his pre-existing topic masks the crack in his voice. Going away into space for an almost-year leaves Lance more than a little worried for his Juniberries.
“Oh, mijo, we take perfect care of them when you’re not here. Summer isn’t the only time they grow, you know,” he’s mama levels him with a stare over the table, catching in on the last dregs of Lance’s words. “They will be taken care of.”
She reaches across to pull his hands into hers, clasping firmly. It settles something in Lance’s heart. Breezes warm air all through his body.
“Is Lance worried about his stupid flowers again?” Marco looks up from where he’s stuffing rice into his mouth like it’s his last day on Earth. It falls from his mouth to his plate.
Lance’s papa slaps him with the back of the dishcloth he was holding. “I saw you trimming the flowers back last spring. Don’t give your brother cheek.”
The warmth crackles, peeking through Marco’s open mouth.
“I’ll help Lance!” Silvio pulls his sleeve. “I’ll tie them up all pretty like you do when you give them to abuela!”
Nadia tugs on his other side, too proclaiming her love for the flowers, and for Allura. The freedom of which she speaks her name stirs something in Lance. Something soft. He’s happy. Happy that the new generation can see Allura as a symbol for good, and peace. That they will remain unburdened by the hardships of war.
The wind lightens. Food spread across the table in a tasteful spread seems to glow brighter, shining in a myriad of colours just as jubilant as the flowers.
More family members, from grandparents to aunties, even to their family dog barking loudly—all pitch in their help. There’s a promise to plant more fields, have them blooming by the time Lance comes back. Even more far-fetched plans to export the seeds, give them to continents all around the Earth. So everyone can have their taste of sunshine. A fleeting pass of that soothing warmth.
Fingers hooking around his glass of mango juice, Lance’s dregs of guilt drain from him. He has the people he can lean on to take care of the things he cares about while he’s off chasing the same dream he’s had since he was eleven years old—do cool shit in space. His passion lies up in the stars, his bounds of endless curiosity never fulfilled, always leaving room for more.
Lance isn’t stagnant. He’s got warm, golden lay lines connecting him to each and every person here, calling him home when he needs it most. But he knows now, feels it in the same part of his soul he felt the other Voltron pilots—he’s free.
The glass comes to his lips. Brilliant spores of Juniberry pollen flow through the field, and Lance’s love works in an orbit, reaching and stretching all the way around his most loved ones, whether right here or off in the depths of space. Even where reality is no more, and nothing transcends but warmth, Lance’s love moves.