(½)
Verisimilitude
At first, after the final battle, it had seemed like everything had fallen into place. Like finally, after decapheobs of squirming and pushing together puzzle pieces, they fit. They've done their due diligence, they paid the ultimate sacrifice of a family member, a lover, a friend, and the realities were all put back in their proper place.
Voltron, the lions, had disbanded their essence, sinking back into the ether. Joining their creator and daughter. And really… that was kind of like a stamp of finality had been etched onto his being. Voltron wasn't needed, true; who needs the strongest weapon in the universe when there is universal peace?
But..
Somehow, it felt as though the thing that connected them the most, had suddenly vanished. And Keith knows that's not true. He knows. But, he couldn't help feeling that way. Sure, they have the mind-melding technology, but that was nowhere near close to the synergy he feels when they formed Voltron, or even sitting in the cockpit of Red or Black.
The biggest purpose of his life— could he say of all their lives?— had been completed. It nearly felt like the ground had been taken from beneath his feet. Of course, he didn't want to live in war and turmoil, constantly battling. But it also wasn't like he gave forethought to what he was going to do post-war. Does one even have the time to wonder what they are to do during times of war and turmoil? Doesn't one just focus on living and surviving another quintant?
Pidge and their family had started to build the next generation of Legendary Defenders in succession. It was fitting, really. Neither knew if and when another uprising would happen. When he thinks about it, having the next generation of Legendary Defenders is a lot like having car insurance. You barely use it, but you still go through the lengths to have it just in case anything happens. The technological advances they have made have dramatically changed the face of the universe. Combing Altean technology with that of her and her family's intellect had made travel around the universe a relatively peaceful and quick thing.
Hunk, of course, created his own culinary empire. Keith always had a feeling that was what he was going to do after the war. It seemed like both Hunk and Pidge always knew what purpose they would go back to. Hunk was always cooking them something in his spare time, somehow able to turn unusable gunk into something pleasant tasting. He has had many head-butting societies calmed to talk out their differences in an agreeable manner with his food, and of course, the small lesson that without the neighboring planets working together, he would have never been able to make the food. As Hunk always said, people are more agreeable when they're full.
"Honestly, I think that's because when they're sufficiently stuffed, it kind of makes them go into hibernation mode and people typically don't have defences up when they feel safe and sleepy."
Keith couldn't agree more. Lance had always been more pleasant to him after a good meal, especially if it was Hunk's meal.
The thing that amazed Keith the most was that Shiro had actually left the Atlas altogether. Shiro had always been that person Keith looked up to. He was like a brother to him, really. Shiro had never given up on him and he'd managed to break through his course exterior. So he honestly thought that Shiro would be as lost as himself when everything settled. But it seems he didn't know Shiro as well as he thought he did. And he was kind of glad for that, because why would anyone (aka him), sit abroad the Atlas and search for meaning after war when one could go find the love of their life and actually have a life? Damien was an amazing guy, and he was blessed to have Shiro in his life. They're great together, both level-headed. Keith was glad he and the other paladins were the best men and woman at his wedding.
Lance had settled into a relatively peaceful life. And by relatively he means entirely. Back on earth with his family, surrounding himself with things that he loved and spreading Allura's message and story. He grew entire juniberry fields in remembrance of her. He's made a plethora of things out of them, too, over the decapheobs. He remembers the tea that he'd been given. Now, Keith wasn't that big a tea person, opting for the caffeine-kicking coffee whenever he wanted it, but it surprised him to know that juniberries were naturally sweet, as Lance explained, and thus didn't need any kind of sweetener that could otherwise distort the flavor. It was fruity, kind of, something along the lines of pomegranate and strawberry, both each and neither at the same time. He'd fermented it before, too, creating a gentle low-alcoholic brew for Pidge's twenty first birthday when they came together to celebrate Allura's life.
Of course, he didn't make enough of it for any of them to be plastered, and at least it didn't taste as nasty as nunvill. Even decapheobs later, in Keith's adulthood, he couldn't stand the taste of it. Although Coran was right, it made an amazing hair tonic. Which, of course, Lance had repurposed with juniberries to create a face toner. He doesn't tell Lance this, but he uses it every morning. Lance was right (something he'll probably never say to his face), it did wonders to his skin.
Keith, himself, was a bit lost following the speech he gave at the Kral Zera. Not that it was obvious, but he felt as if he were stumbling through life. And even though he was asked to become the Galran representative to the Galactic Coalition, he didn't feel as though that was his purpose. He just… sure, he might've made a half-decent leader of Voltron, but he was backed by his team, his family, for all intents and purposes. If he was the representative, he wouldn't be working with them, having their support. He would have Krolia and Kolivan, yes, but, that's different. It is.
With the lion's quintessence sinking back into the ether, the connected consciousness of all existence, he felt as though he was being abandoned, though he knows that's not true. But, in a way… it doesn't matter, really. Keith would have to just get used to piloting without the whisper of a conscious brushing against his mind. It just.. he feels lonely without it. All those decapheobs, the battle, the turmoil he's ever felt, helped along only with the help of a soundless voice.
So, really, when he started to turn the Blade of Marmora into a humanitarian relief organization, he was really only trying to continue along the same line. He was with the Blades in between being Black Paladin anyway. He knew the people (somewhat, although with the massacre of the Blades by Macidus, most of the Blades were now new), and with the start of its new mission, Axca, Ezor, and Zethrid had graciously agreed to come on board. Keith's hypothesis was that Axca had said she wanted to come along, and Ezor was her best friend, and so, of course Ezor came, and thus pulled Zethrid along since Zethrid would follow Ezor to the ends of the earth if she could. They have an easy camaraderie, he thinks. All half-breed Galra freaks doing the gracious and humble works of the world, repaying society for all the atrocities their kind has wrought through the millennia.
But it wasn't Voltron, you know? They weren't the other paladins. It was a completely different dynamic. They haven't fought together. Against each other, maybe...
Anyway. Keith spent way too much time thinking about the what was. But maybe that was because of the things that happened, following. It had been obvious to see the marks left by Allura in their final moment together. The light blue complementing nicely to his tan skin. What had not been obvious, however, was something that Keith was only starting to see now, a decapheobs later.
Even if it weren't for the turmoil and lost-ness he felt, he would still have noticed it. Galra have obnoxiously long life expectancies, after all.
It started with Pidge. As the decapheobs crept up on all of them, Pidge sprouted in height, as she was still in the growing phase during the war. Technological and medical advances have made it so that the human race lives far longer than it ever had, as it typically does. But nevertheless, there is still a lot about the human mind and body that they have yet to understand. So when Pidge's memory started to get fuzzy thirty decapheobs later, they all thought that it was the typical age-related forgetfulness. They teased her just enough before cheering her up.
It started with something innocuous, like forgetting to reply to a message or call. As even if she took weeks to respond, she typically did. However, when she never responded and then picked up the next call, she couldn't think of the time that she ever read the message to begin with. And when it moved to her forgetting scheduled times to hang out with the team, they all became worried.
Pidge most of all.
Alzheimer's was cured right after the Third World War, after all. Or, so they thought. The cases of people with the disease was so few and far in between that people forget the disease still exists.
After grueling tests and nights spent stressing over waiting on extensive lab results, scratching up her arms to try and contain the anxiety that she could possible forget her team— her family, after taking all tests known to man and alien kind, and even after getting checked through the med-pods on Altea, they still were no closer to an answer.
Pushing away the inevitable, Pidge threw herself into her work. She spent countless nights, when she wasn't being a lab rat herself, holed up in her study to further technology into something like never before before her time was up. It was probably terrible to say that this was what brought the team together for longer than a few quintants at a time. They had nearly put all their lives on hold to help Pidge in this difficult time. They had helped her around her lab while she threw herself into her work. Reminded her when she already said an idea, or if she wanted to start a new experiment that she had already done.
Facing her own challenges and feeling of failure at forgetting such important and self-diagnosed ineptitude, she would often lash out. Her outbursts were to be expected, who wouldn't feel that way? And the more time that passed, the more options she'd tried, the more mounds of tests she'd undergone, the worst her outbursts got.
A decapheob later, Keith couldn't help but notice the twitch on her hand and wrist. Pidge didn't even notice it. And when she did… it was not pretty. The worst thing was, was that her health deteriorated quite quickly after that. The new medicinal advances slowed it down— just barely. The surgeries, the medications. It devastated them all. Pidge's parents had already passed from the natural cause of old age a few decapheobs prior, and so it was just her and Matt and the Voltron team. Pidge never married or had children, biological or adopted, and only ever had Chip, her AI. Pheobs later the shaking in her hands had gotten so bad she could barely hold a pencil, and even then, had difficulty writing just one word.
And all Keith could do is watch on, completely useless because he wasn't smart like the others, not in the same way. He didn't know a thing about technology, and he wasn't a doctor. Hunk could at least provide her with sustenance that could help her. He watched on, barely noticing how Hunk's hair slowly started to grey over the decapheobs. It started with just a few strands, at first, pulled back by his headband as the disease took Pidge's ability to conduct experiments. On himself, he only saw worry lines at his eyes and brow, but beyond that his hair didn't grey and his reflexes didn't suffer.
It was only at Pidge's funeral, after coming to a heart-rending decision to follow Pidge's medical direction for a physician-assisted suicide when she was finally lucid and in the moment enough to ask and sign for one, that Keith finally noticed that… besides the same worry lines across Lance's face, the bags under his eyes from little to no sleep, Lance looked nearly the same as he did thirty decapheobs ago.
It was a startling observation.
And it seemed like he was the only one to have noticed it, by then.
Keith didn't bother addressing it anytime soon. He thought, maybe, it was just a trick of his imagination. Like the rest of the others during this time, he didn't sleep. And when he did, they were fitful and restless at best. And around Pidge's casket, Hunk and Lance clutching at each other and desperately weeping, it certainly wasn't the time to voice such an oblivious observation. Shiro stood with Damien, somber and quiet, wiping off the falling tears only when they seemed to get in the way of his view of his friend.
And there Keith stood, between the married couple and the former leg of Voltron and his right hand man. Matt had been a disaster, as had Coran, who was seeing the beginnings of grey hair after decapheobs of being alive. Alteans had obnoxiously long life expectancies, too. Krolia and Kolivan had come, as well, putting aside their representative duties to support Keith and pay respects to a fallen defender. They've kept in touch, and although Keith had never been one to divulge in his feelings, Krolia always knew what was up.
Keith now knew why the humans of old said these diseases not only claimed the lives of its victims, but also the lives of their families. Not because they, too, had the disease, but because like a disease, the disorder steals away the life of them; in time given to the victim to provide support, in money spent on medications. Peacefulness, stripped in a matter of ticks, dobashes, vargas, quintants, sliconion movements, pheobs, decapheobs, centapheobs, right to the bone like someone had just taken a cleaver to the skin. Layer by layer, it burns off the happiness and normality of their life and replaces it with this: never-ending anxiety, inability to be autonomous in all the ways a human yearns to be.
Keith felt a hand on his shoulder and he glances up from the peacefulness of her face, surrounded by juniberries and lilies and gladioli, all white save for the juniberries. It was Lance, wiping away tears before pulling Keith in for a hug and suddenly Keith felt overwhelmed with all the emotions he never let himself ponder on and he took the embrace for what it was supposed to be: comfort. He gripped Lance tight to himself, grabbing onto fist-fulls of Lance's coat jacket, and he lets himself cry. He wasn't much of an emotions person, ask anybody. But when he felt, when he finally expressed, his body wouldn't let him do it normally. It was a tsunami, coming and destroying everything in its wake. It might've started silent, a hitch of breath, before the avalanche came.
Keith felt himself be hugged by another person, and then another, until he couldn't tell who was around him and who wasn't. All he knew, was that Lance was there. Lance had reached out first. And he was grateful.
It took another few movements spent in mourning before they had been gently nudged to go back to their lives by the demand of their services. As great as their apprentices were, they wanted them, their leaders.
It wasn't all bad, though. After the first few quintants spent crying until they could physically cry no more, they held a great feast in her honor back on Altea. A plaque was placed along the border of Allura's statue commending her contribution to today's life. It was filled with love, and life, and tears, of course. Remembering all the Voltron antics they were up to. The silly time she and Lance fished for GAC in a fountain at the intergalactic mall so they could buy a game console. That time when she and Hunk pranked Shiro by blowing up a color-powdered balloon in his face that had him stained for weeks. All the times she was still too short to reach the top shelf in the kitchen.
It was all blanketed over with a somber tone afterwards. The loss of life a heavy thing to deal with, no matter who or where or what and no matter which universe. In a sense, her death had been more jarring and debilitating than Allura's sacrifice ever was. Seeing a loved one's declining health is on a whole new level. For all the paladins knew and thought of, Allura's sacrifice had actually been pleasant for her in the moment. It's easier to come to terms with something when you haven't seen the grueling end.
Not that Keith didn't think about her death and how painful it could have potentially been. Having to contort Honerva's vessel into a life-giving force. How her own life and essence could have been stripped molecule by molecule from her. But he pushes those thoughts away. Allura walked into the light. She joined her father and the paladins of old. She joined the legends. How could looking like she had walked into heaven ever make him want to think about how painful physically, spiritually, and mentally it could have been? She may be gone but there was no body to mourn.
Following the next few decapheobs, their lives got a little easier to live.
It was… It feels wrong and abysmal to say that her death had actually lightened their mental and emotional capacities. But it was scary how the psyche gets used to ideas. Hunk went back to his culinary empire, Shiro went back to his quiet and lovely life with Damien, and Lance went back to his farm where only a few of his family members still remained. And Keith? Keith, of course, went back to managing the Blade of Marmora. And he wonders, briefly, once the relief effort is no longer needed, if he was going to feel the same never-ending disquietude that he felt when the lions sunk back into the void of space. His obnoxiously long life expectancy may let him live long enough to see it and it causes a feeling great desolation that he would be the only one alive from his old team.
To go through that, alone, he didn't think he would make it.
But of course, as is typical of Keith, he shoved that thought way into the back of his mind and whenever it reared its ugly head, he beat it down with a metaphorical metal bat and threw himself into his work.
They had only started seeing each other marginally more often than before Pidge's untimely death. Instead of a few times a decapheob, it was quarterly, like clockwork, interspersed with a message of how are you doing? Healthy? Sleeping better? I'm worried. Ya know, same ol' same ol'. Hey, it's about time we get together, wouldn't you say? And thus began their marginally more frequent visits, each worried that something like what happened to Pidge would happen to them. They had planned for something like that, they had braced themselves for another one of their team falling prey to a degenerative disease that they hardly thought about what else could happen.
That was why Shiro's death hit them like Honerva's syncline-accolade hybrid.
They steeled themselves against the wrong thing.
Shiro and Damien had been on their long overdue third honeymoon on a supposedly peaceful planet. Enjoying the beaches of Pluutari when there had been an attack on the multitudes of tourist there. A faction of a self-anointed anti-Galra movement, despite the advancements made for equality. The reports states that Damien died in the blast, but Shiro had survived it, survived the drive to the hospital in excruciating pain, lived through the arduous surgery, only to die at the hands of a mole that injected a small, innocuous little air bubble into his veins.
When he had learned of this, Keith had seen red.
Much like at the beginning, when his emotions clouded his judgement. When his loneliness took the form of anger and bitterness and pure, unadulterated denial of his jealousy at those who had what he had lost or never had to begin with.
Keith tracked them down in a few short pheobs, decimated their "stronghold." They were just lucky that Lance had been able to get to Keith before he thrust his blade through the fucker's eye socket— the leader they call Khurnal. The others around him were inconsequential. They were gruntment, sycophants, sucking-up fucking doormats for the leader's gain. He had ordered and provided the opportunity. He got together the ingredients needed to make the bomb, and thus the deranged so-called leader deserved all of Keith's unbridled fury. The others might've died in his wake, slashing through them with a single-mindedness he had only felt in battle, pushing them harder than necessary to incapacitate them. Bodies littered the base of the group, barely fifty people all together. And Khurnal was sitting on the floor, cowering back against the wall with the tip of Keith's blade nearly touching the sclera of his eye, he dare not even blink for fear of cutting his lids.
Lance stood half in front of him, pushing his shoulder back enough that even with Keith's extended reach, that was as far as the blade would go.
"Don't do it, Keith.. It's not worth it." Lance said, voice gravely with the depth of emotions and Keith had been too high on his rage that Lance would even think of trying to stop him, that he completely didn't even realize that Lance actually did.
Even though Keith held a relatively slim physique, Keith was always physically stronger. Galra genes and all that. Lance, as buff as he was, didn't stand a chance in pure strength. But there he was, keeping Keith from physically moving.
"That fucker killed Shiro!" Keith screams, one more time trying to push himself forward if only to take out his eye. And again, Lance keeps him put. He pushes Keith gently backwards, at little increments at a time, until the edge of Keith's blade was no longer threatening to pierce the alien's eyeball and he fainted with a sigh of a relieved breath. "Lance!" Keith screamed, trying to push once more but Lance kept him still, opting instead to wrap his arms around Keith and keep him in a bone-crushing hug. It forced all the air out from Keith's lungs and before Keith knew it, he drops his blade and clings to Lance like a lifeline.
Keith drops his blade in favor of gripping Lance's jacket, anything his hands could grip to pull him tighter against him. It clatters to the ground and reverts back to the small dagger, now laying useless in a sea of hurting bodies. So caught up in his own despair that he didn't see Hunk peeking into the room, a team of new cadet-defenders shuffling in to subdue any terrorists that weren't already passed out and take them away, carefully avoiding the duo in the room that clung to each other like their lives depended on it.
Keith doesn't think he would have regretted taking a life. Not that fucker's, anyway. But he guessed this is just what made Lance, Lance. And now he sees how perfect Lance was to spread Allura's message of life and love and serenity. How precious even just one life is, no matter how atrocious the person it belonged to was. Keith's quick hunting skills of the terrorist group, however, had a positive effect on the rest of the small growing factions. Rumors spread like wildfire and they dismantled themselves pretty quickly, each and every one placing importance on self-preservation first.
Shiro's body was cremated and the ashes held in an urn, decorative but useless, as Keith didn't bother to store his ashes above a fireplace or someplace equally stupid. No, Keith decided to instill Lance and Hunk's help to obtain a funeral that Shiro would want. Shiro might never had outwardly expressed it, but he loved the sea like he loved the stars. He loved the sun and the moon in equal measure. And for one thing, Keith was sure, Shiro absolutely adored Hawai'i.
So at sunset a week movement, after they had all cried all the tears they had to give, Keith, Hunk, Lance, and even Coran set out on the surfboards into the ocean off the shore of Poipu Beach. Keith held the urn tight, moving at a glacial space to where the others have already formed a circle. Lance to his right, Hunk to his left, and Coran across from him, for once not looking jolly and cheerful, trying to find the silver lining in the situation and for that Keith was grateful. He felt as pulled taut as a bow string, ready to snap again.
Hunk grabs his hand and Keith follows, grabbing Lance's until their small circle is complete. He felt as if this was an out-of-body experience. As Hunk starts to chant, his voice melodic despite his aging years, Keith feels his eyes well up with tears and overflow. They drop soundlessly into the sea and Keith takes his hand from Hunk to start spilling the ashes into the sea until not a piece of ash is left, spreading them through the water. Keith only wished he had Damien's ashes, as well, to spread them together into the ocean. To let them both rest in peace.
Here, in the middle of night and day, between the sun and stars, was were Shiro belonged. Dusk was where he belonged he thought as he bit his lip harshly to keep the sobs from sounding, adding his own lei and flower petals to float atop the water. Juniberries.
Juniberies seem to be a growing constant in his life.
They spent the night on the beach, Hunk cooking them barbeque in between singing and intermittently playing the ukulele. They had a bonfire going, the beach empty except for them and a few others that joined following the funeral. Krolia and Kolivan, Axca, Ezor, and Zethrid, Matt and Shay. Shiro's existence has had many an impact on people's lives, but those who he had impacted the most during the service are nearly all dead, save for the few on the beach. No relatives, no children. Keith sat on the heavy log in front of the fire, Lance to his side, attempting to sing along with the lyrics he found on his phone and butchering all the pronunciation. Coran had finally started to perk up, noticing how the singing turned upbeat.
Keith smiles, just barely, leaning into Lance's side for comfort. He felt like he needed it like he needed air. He didn't know how touch-starved he was until now. How desperate for a friend, and yeah, he could blame it on the situation. On the fact his brother is dead. The one constant, stable thing he's had in his life in the beginning. But quietly and to himself, he can admit he had wanted it his entire life and just never knew how to ask for it. Lance puts an arm around his shoulder, pressing Keith into his side in a show of camaraderie.
It was then that Keith notes, with trepidation, that Lance had yet to see a growing grey hair. Whereas Hunk, he thinks as he looks to the Samoan who piled food upon food onto plates, had a full head of it. His face showing signs of aging; wrinkles at his eyes and cheeks. His body moving less and less with the agility Keith had gotten used to seeing on him. Hunk was still upbeat and expressive, but the movements were stilted by old age when he cooks. Enthusiasm could only get you so far when old age starts to creep up on you. Even Coran, now, started showing the same signs. Not as quickly or as advanced as Hunk, but nevertheless. Saying things like my back's not what it used to be and I feel like a snorgle's blartsha.
And yet again, Keith does not bring it up.
Following the funeral, Keith couldn't just go back and throw himself into work, the relief effort, no matter how hard he tried. He was lost, in a completely different way, and without the support of the last two remaining paladins, he sunk a little deeper into melancholy. With only three of them left, their visits gained frequency. Whereas before it was a little more than quarterly, it was now every pheob. It was hard to know when the last of them would fall, and they didn't want to miss another chance to spend time with each other.
The close proximity, however, alerted Lance of the very obvious way Shiro's death had taken a toll on Keith's health. Already sleepless and stressed, his appetite dropped and the darkness of the bags under his eyes increased. And that was when Lance decided to kidnap Keith to his farm. He said it would be good for him, to get away from the stress, especially now that small groups of people have been dissenting. Keith agreed, although he put up a front that he was reluctant. Can't have people think he's a Mess™, now can he?
It was… nice, to be so close to him and Hunk at any one point in time. Hunk came over at least once a movement, as his vision starts to worsen and movements start to slow. He still cooks, but it's hard. Keith's heart clenches for him. Keith didn't know how he would have survived not being able to move around like he used to, like he still can. But maybe it would have been different it he were a human with a human life-span of 150 years instead of the gajillion he has left in him. Maybe he would have slowed down, smelled the juniberries, settled down with someone nice and enjoyed his senility.
But he wasn't human, and he didn't seem to be going senile anytime soon.
Life blends the decapheobs into something indiscernible. He heard, once, that the reason why childhood went by fast was because at eight years old, you are living one eighth of your life. But one eighth is nothing compared to when you're twenty, where you have now lived one twentieth of your life. And the older you get, the smaller that pheob is compared to the life you have lived. One pheob passing does not weigh the same as you get older.
Hunk had been devastated by Shay's passing, the decapheobs prior to his 141st birthday. They had buried her in the Balmera, encased in live crystals that eat away at her body, returning her back to where she came from. It took him a few pheobs, and it was easy to see the cloud of heaviness over Hunk's heart and mind, but after a full decapheob, he started to look at the world differently. The speed at which he moved might've suffered, but his vitality did not. He began smiling more, making more jokes. At this point, he had moved in with Lance and Keith at Lance's home on earth. And though Keith felt a lot more upbeat this time around when Hunk was fooling around with them like they were once teenagers, he still declined coming back to the Blade of Marmora when Axca asked. At this point, it would be unclear when he would finally, if ever, come back to the Blade. With Hunk's life ending, it will just be him and Lance left. Coran, too, perhaps, if he wasn't also in decline. And if Lance would feel anything like what Keith felt when he lost Shiro, he would 100% need to stick around. Not just to return the favor, but to show Lance that he was still here, with him, and he wasn't going to go off by himself and brood in a dark corner of the known universe somewhere.
It was only after they cooked for him (pasta slightly oversalted, cookies for dessert that were a tad too sweet), that Lance finally addressed what Keith had noticed since Pidge's funeral. He sat alone in the darkness of the living room in the dead of the night. Hunk had long since gone to bed and Keith often had trouble sleeping at night, his body far too used to the idea of being up when the stars are.
It had startled him, at first. Lance had always went to bed between 2300 and 0100 vargas, and typically awakens just after the sun rose to greet the earth. So, yeah, Keith jumped a little too high and jerked a little too hard when he saw Lance sitting in the dark while he was trying to get a glass of water. He wasn't watching anything, wasn't reading, wasn't asleep. Lance stared straight dead ahead, a look Keith can't describe etched into his matured face. Keith furrows his brow, daring to step just a bit closer from the hallway to be in his peripheral vision.
"... Lance..?" He dares to speak, voice just above a whisper even though he doubts Hunk would wake up no matter how loud he talked. Lance doesn't say anything for the longest time, sitting back straight in the middle of the couch, hands resting on his knees. His lips purse and then his eyes slide to Keith. It takes him another moment before he speaks.
"... I'm not aging." He says, quietly, as if the realization just dawned on him. And, really, it probably did. Keith didn't bother to snark how could you not notice that? Lance was probably asking that of himself already. Keith grit his teeth, unsurely responding, "Yeah.." Keith takes a step closer, gauging the welcomeness of his presence.
"How?" Lance breathes, voice stretched just a bit too thin to not be on the verge of a breakdown. Keith comes closer until he's settled on the couch next to him. "How did I not notice..?" How did I not notice I stayed the same while all my friends around me started to die? "I—" Lance takes another breath and Keith takes his hand, threading his own fingers through Lance's and giving them a squeeze. Lance squeezed back with such intensity Keith was amazed Lance didn't break his hand. It was definitely not human strength.
Confusion laid like a thick blanket on his mind and body, crushing his lungs in the process as the finality of what would happen sinks in.
Lance was going to watch his best friend die.
And there was nothing he nor Keith could do about it. Nor Coran, or Krolia, Kolivan, or Blade of Marmora's chain of command.
The first hiccup was quiet, and Keith held Lance's hand tighter, feeling his own chest squeeze at the prospect of both watching Hunk die and watching Lance go through that. The second was louder and it broke the silence like a hot knife through butter. Lance leaned his head against Keith's shoulder, sinking into his body like life was being drained from him. Lance had always kept Keith up, like a pillar of strength. And even during times of grieving he would still emit energy of hope and life. The more he sobbed, the louder it got, and the more he turned into Keith for comfort. Keith let go in order to hug Lance to him, crushed in their embrace.
The collar of his shirt started to soak and Keith cups the back of his head, an attempt at providing comfort. How can one organ squeeze so much by itself? So, Keith let himself cry. Because he's reminded of Pidge, and Shiro, and Allura, of the lions and how nothing they do would ever undo the past. Could never rewrite the pain they went through with the falling of their family. Lets himself cry because, maybe, just maybe, when Hunk does pass, he would have already cried all the tears he had to give. Lets himself cry for the unknown future ahead. Lets himself cry for Lance, going through what only he should have gone through.
They stay on the couch, wrapped in each other's comforting embrace, hearts broken in twain and praying for the life of them to be able to at least combine their hearts and souls to be able to bear the weight of the world together, lessen the burden and stress. Their tears dried up come morning and they spent another varga just lying there before getting up with sore bones and muscles to wash up their faces and put on a smile for Hunk, cooking him mounds of bacon and sausage and french toast and all other breakfast food he could ever love.
They didn't really talk about it, Hunk's life coming to an end. But Hunk had hinted on what he wanted to happen, and that was why they were taking a trip to the Balmera, because they didn't know how long he had, but it certainly wasn't much, and they wanted Hunk to live out the last quintants of his life the way he wants.
They bunked up somewhere deep in the tunnels, surrounded by their Balmeran friends. The beds were made for humans, of course, they weren't going to let an elderly man like Hunk sleep on the ground-like beds they have. They were perfect for Balmerans, not so for humans. It was a few pheobs later, watching Hunk get steadily weaker, but no less cheerful, that they were down to the final vargas. They put on a brave face for him, eyes rimmed red from crying the night prior and lying that it was because of the little sleep they got from making preparations.
Hunk's passing was the gentlest of all their dearly departed friends.
Laying in bed surrounded by people he loved. Reclined back and speech starting to slow and slur, gentle smile on his lips. His eyes dropping occasionally, like he forgot he was to stay awake. Keith leaned into Lance's side, arm around his waist while Lance kept one in solidarity around his shoulders.
It was like Hunk had fallen asleep, save for the snoring and occasional murmur of sleep-talking he used to do. He let out one last breath of air, and Keith could have sworn that he saw his spirit be released into the ether, to meet up with their team in heaven, or the center of the universe, or wherever they believed they would all end up together.
Keith might've cried enough for a lifetime, but still tears fell for his comrade in arms, his friend, his brother and family. But he was glad that, at the very least, the universe allowed them one peaceful death among them. He needed that. At least one. Who knows how Keith would have reacted if Hunk was taken from them abruptly with a terrorist attack or from a biological disease.
They spent the many quintants following in a wake for Hunk. They brought his body to the heart of the Balmera where they lay him down to be encased in the Balmera's live crystals. It was very beautiful. The colors ranged from reds and blues to his signatures yellows. An aurora of colors, sparkling and glistening around the cave of the heart. They could hear the call of other Balmeras that had congregated to celebrate his life and great contribution. It was like a song of the sea, of whales of the earth. A final swan song to see Hunk to the afterlife.
Not many pheobs later, Coran, too, passed. It seems that when the way Alteans age, they stay youthful into old age, before deteriorating rapidly.
One by one, the people at the table by Allura's statue counted down, until there was only two. The others memorialized in their plaques that joined Allura's statue. It felt lonely, that they started with such a big family and how it tapered off. How they seemed to be gone within a blink of an eye. The table was too big for only two people, so they got rid of it. And every pheob, they lay down a thick blanket and have a simple meal. Lance was a good cook, but he wasn't Hunk. Besides, simple is better, Keith decides. It reminds him that he has Lance left, and Lance has him.
Keith doesn't go back to the Blade of Marmora, and he doesn't intend to.
The quintant he awoke to a bad dream, was the quintant he saw Lance sitting still on the couch again, staring into a mirror with a perturbed looked on his face. It wasn't the typical look he takes as he looks at his face in the mirror, nor was it narcissistic in nature. Keith waits to be noticed, but the silence drags on.
Then, finally, "...I'm not aging." He says, quieter than before, less alarmed like the dawning of realization, and echoing of a sober acceptance.
"Yeah…" Keith replies, because he doesn't know what else to say. What could he say? Keith takes his seat beside him, looking into the mirror, big enough to have them both in the reflection.
Both had matured, worry lines at their eyes and brow, dark bags under their eyes. Lance's jaw had squared just a little, as he takes after his mother. The Altean marks now bring a sense of foreboding of an unknown future, Keith thinks. Or maybe they would have if Lance had noticed earlier. If he had the forethought and knowledge Keith had that the mark didn't seem to be just for show. He might've reacted worse to the deaths of their friends, knowing he would have to live through the deaths of each one of them.
Keith takes the handheld mirror from Lance's hand gently and placed it face-down on the coffee table, tired of looking at their incipient immortality. Lance heaves a breath, eyes looking at the back of the mirror. Keith threads his fingers through Lance's, squeezing gently and leaning back against the plush couch. Lance follows suit, if only because the energy seemed to have been drained from him and Keith had tugged on his arm and he fell back, pressed side-to-side. Keith leans his head against Lance's shoulder and he feels Lance's head lean on top of his. Briefly, Keith is glad he had washed his hair earlier that night. And he could admit now that if he needed to choose his primary love language, it was physical touch and he was sure it was Lance's as well. These implicit touches, the hugs, a pat on the back, had grown drastically frequent in number the more they had lost and Keith sinks into them, glad he had at least one person with him, going through what he was going through… Even at the expense of Lance's prolonged suffering.
They'll figure this out, in time.
Together.
