A/N: So, this started as a way for me to explore Lance's insecurities and sadness without any of his jokes or swagger to cushion the blow, something that I thought would be an interesting challenge. And it WAS. Man, was this hard to write! But still, it was fun.

Anyway, this starts pre-series, continues through the series, then finishes in post-Blackout, possible-season-three land.

The first time they met was a cold and rainy Tuesday, and Lance hadn't had time to brush his teeth. He'd overslept. He ran into his very first class with half his jacket on and his boots unlaced, and the boy at the desk nearest to the door, a boy with dark hair and clear, focused eyes, muttered that he shouldn't have come at all if he wasn't going to take it seriously.

Lance was fourteen, and the scratchy cotton of his jacket was rubbing uncomfortably against his burning neck. The rain pounded mercilessly against the window as he took his seat at the only available desk in the back of the classroom.

The second time they met was several months later. A party was going on that evening, Lance was well aware of it, and he was also well aware of the fact that he hadn't been invited.

"We'll do a movie night," Hunk said to him softly, his face warm and kind, but Lance only felt a deep, swirling emptiness. He glared back up at his friend.

"I heard that asshole from first period is going," he spat.

Hunk only frowned.

"You know the one. Mullet, thinks he's better than everyone?" Lance ran his fingers over the bulletin board on the wall next to him. "Always does everything so completely perfect?"

There was a pause. Hunk blinked. "Keith?"

Lance gave a short nod. "Yeah. Him. I overheard Stacy saying she was gonna ask him to go with her."

"So why do you care?"

"I don't." Lance pressed his lips together. "I mean, it's just, why does he get to go? He barely even talks to anyone. All he does is glare and work. At least I make an effort."

Hunk's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and Lance glanced behind himself just in time to see Keith turn and rush around the corner.

The small glimpse of his face Lance had seen was ruddy and quivering, a win on Lance's part, yet somehow the emptiness only grew.

The third time they met marked the passing of many seasons. The new year had started, and with it came a special guest instructor, the renowned Takashi Shirogane.

He stood upright at the front of the room beside Iverson, his posture militaristic, but his expression gentle and open. He surveyed the class, making eye contact with each student, and Lance's heartbeat increased exponentially as the smart, steady gaze locked onto him.

For that second, Lance was filled to the very brim of his being with absolute joy.

"You're all here because you're the best of the best," Mr. Shirogane said, his voice commanding and controlled. "You've earned this, each and every one of you. You're our future. And our future?" He smiled, then, and his eyes twinkled. "Well, our future's looking pretty bright, in my opinion."

Lance leaned forward and clutched the edge of his desk. His heartbeat had passed the threshold of 'excited' and had crossed thoroughly into 'drum solo of his favorite rock song'.

"Shiro," Iverson interrupted, turning towards Mr. Shirogane with a look of endearment that melted his hard features into something more human-like, "would you care to see a combat demonstration before you go?"

Shiro paused. Lance held his breath.

"Yes, I suppose so."

Before he could stop himself, Lance's hand had shot up in the air. "Sir! Sir! Permission to demonstrate, sir!"

Iverson's eyes flashed dangerously, the fatherly affection gracing his face wiped clean in an instant. "Lance, sit down!" he boomed. Lance's eyes went wide. "Mind your manners, child, you're in the presence of a superior!"

"It's really quite all right," Shiro said quietly, casting a worried glance in Lance's direction, but Iverson, flushed and disgruntled, waved him off.

"There's a much better candidate for a demonstration, anyway," he replied. He walked to the right, all the way to the right, and clapped a hand on another student's shoulder.

"This, here, is Keith Kogane. He's the best of his class, a real hard worker-"

Lance felt something pulse slowly behind his eyes, a building pressure. He put his head in his arms and breathed in deep.

The fourth time they met occurred on a lazy Sunday in April, a perfect, golden day, where Lance woke up early and stretched happily in his bed, and the sun filtered through the curtains and lit up his whole room with its beautiful, warm rays. There were endless possibilities, and it seemed for a moment that the pit of emptiness had been temporarily filled with the promise of everything.

Lance refused to waste any time. He dressed quickly and jogged up the stairs to the roof, where the bright blue morning sky blinded him in the best kind of way. He withdrew his practice ray gun from his belt and several empty cans of orange soda from the inside pockets of his jacket, then stationed himself on the far end of the roof and placed the cans a few feet away. He aimed and shot at one several times as a warm up, then moved it 5 yards east of him to get the real practice in.

The gun was smooth and sleek in his hands. His fingers wrapped around it easily, unlike when he had first received it the year before. He was clumsy then, small and fragile, and the gun had seemed heavy and impossible to maneuver. But he had grown since.

He aimed again and pulled the trigger, three more times, five more times. He reloaded.

"You're pretty handy with that thing."

Lance jolted, his hands bouncing and causing the shot to go awry. He turned and instantly felt his mood go sour. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice strained.

Keith crossed his arms in front of his chest self consciously. "Um, your name's Lance, right?" At Lance's hesitant nod, he shrugged. "Same reason as you, I guess? I wanted to get in some practice with my sword."

"Sword?"

"Iverson suggested I use one during class."

"Oh." Lance blinked, noticing the object in question hanging from the loop of Keith's belt. He had forgotten that Keith was in a different class than him now. The new term had brought all sorts of developments, for some people more than others. He'd heard rumors, though, of Keith's proficiency with close-range combat, even if he wasn't there to see it in person.

He forced himself to walk forward, retrieve the cans. "Okay, um, well, I was just finishing up, anyway. You can-"

"Wait." Keith jogged over and took hold of Lance's arm. Lance looked back at him, alarmed. "Can, can you help me shoot?"

Keith's voice was clear, direct, even though his words made Lance's head swim. Help Keith? What in the world would Keith need help with? And from Lance, of all people? Lance furrowed his brow. "I - what?"

There was a pause. Keith cleared his throat and released his grip on Lance's sleeve. "I'm not very good at long range combat. Shitty aim."

Lance opened his mouth, then closed it. "Okay," he heard himself say.

Keith perked up. "Okay? You'll help me?"

"I said 'okay', didn't I?"

"Yeah, I just, I wasn't expecting you to."

Lance huffed out a breath. "Well…well, whatever." He handed over his gun, then repositioned the cans on the ground. "Knock yourself out."

Keith stared at the gun in his hands for a moment, then slowly raised it, closing one eye to see his target better, but he had let go of -

Lance waved his arms frantically. "No, no, you should use two hands when you're first starting, otherwise you'll have a harder time stabilizing the gun."

Keith frowned, then went to clutch his right hand with his left hand.

"Oh, my God." Lance stalked forward and grabbed Keith's left hand, positioning it carefully on the other side of the gun. The sun had risen considerably since he had come up from his room, and he was beginning to sweat under his jacket. "There. Now you can shoot."

"Positive?"

"Yeah, just do it already."

Keith laughed quietly. It took Lance by surprise, foreign and strange coming from such a stoic person. But then, Lance had been hearing odd stories, people talking in hushed whispers about how Iverson's star student had been acting different lately, more hot tempered. Something about the Kerberos mission.

It tugged at Lance's mind. Enough that he couldn't ignore it. "Hey," he said suddenly. Keith glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, does…did Iverson really tell you to practice today?"

The hands holding the gun tensed slightly. "Why do you ask?" Keith replied, his tone carefully light.

Lance narrowed his eyes. It wasn't his place to push; he and Keith barely knew each other. But at the same time, he couldn't let a fellow student hurt himself.

Even if that student thought Lance wasn't worthy enough to be there.

He took a small breath, casting aside the shame in order to get his point across. "Listen, I don't really know what's going on with you, but, like, most people would kill to be in your position, you know?" He huffed out a dry laugh. "Top of the class, fighter pilot. So…don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Keith lowered his arms. He turned to stare at Lance. "You don't know me," he said slowly. His eyes glinted, a lightning-quick flash of danger. "You don't know anything about me."

It would have been easy to back off, Lance thought. But something in him told him not to, told him that this was important. "I know I don't." He tilted his chin up and looked at Keith squarely. "But I do know that nothing good can come from acting out. Trust me. If you have any problems, anything on your mind, you can always talk to someone about it, and they'll listen. They'll help."

There was stillness in the air between them. The hot rays beat down; beads of sweat formed along Lance's hairline. He could faintly hear birds chirping, lost somewhere in the expanse of blue above.

A complicated look appeared on Keith's face. He frowned and stared out vacantly into the cloudless sky. "It's not what you think," he said, his voice soft and hesitant. Clear gray eyes shifted, searching for something in the distance. "There are…things, here, secret things. Places, ideas, even people that they don't want you to know about."

Lance drew his brows together. It wasn't the answer he was expecting, but something in Keith's tone, the pauses he took between words, made fear seize Lance's chest. He waited silently for Keith to continue.

"I'm trying to get to the bottom of it." Keith looked away from the horizon, his gaze snapping on Lance like a switch. "The disappearances, the hush-ups. Something big is about to happen. I can feel it."

An involuntary tremor rocked Lance's frame. The surety of Keith's statement seemed to shift the wind around them, blowing it gently through his hair. Lance didn't know what to think. His eyes focused absently on the space between Keith's collar and his neck.

"Anyway, it's not really your problem." Keith seemed to come out of his reverie, his attention turning to the gun in his hands. "I promised myself I wouldn't get anyone else involved. So, keep this between us, yeah?"

But isn't it dangerous? What if you get hurt?

"Um, yeah," Lance heard himself say.

A small smile ghosted over Keith's lips. "Good," he replied. A moment passed, in which he seemed to consider something, and then he swung the gun up resolutely and fired it. The small rays blasted through the can's remains.

"Guess you taught me well." Keith passed the gun back to Lance, who took it with shaking fingers. "See you around."

As Keith clambered back down the stairs, his sword practice seemingly forgotten, it dawned on Lance that this was the first real conversation they had ever had.

The fifth time they met didn't exist, because Keith was expelled two months later.

Iverson had come to tell Lance that he was to take Keith's place in the program, transfer over. He was the best fighter pilot of the cargo pilots, Iverson said, and anyway, it's not like there would ever be a lack of cargo pilots, so really, he would be an idiot not to jump at the chance.

Lance pressed his fingers into the soft purple fabric of his chair and looked out the large window next to him.

"It's a wonderful opportunity," Iverson finished, his tone gruff and awkward. He glanced down at Lance, and it seemed his expression was fixed into a permanent frown. "Well? What's your answer?"

The day was stormy. A gray mist settled over the courtyard.

But not clear gray. Not gray that pierced your eyes and saw through all your -

"Why was Keith expelled?" Lance asked, still staring out the window.

Iverson started, his muscles tensing through his uniform. "It's of no importance."

Lance nodded slowly. He thought of Keith at his desk on that first day of classes, his glare and his sharp tongue, and he thought of Keith's arms, bare in his black T-shirt, holding the ray gun steady. He thought of the danger that had pervaded his mind on that day.

"I'll do it," Lance said.

Iverson nodded, a quick jerk of the head, and pulled thick forms out of a briefcase he had lain on his desk. He set them in front of Lance.

Lance paused, pen poised above the paper.

Was it worth it, Keith?

He signed his name.

The sixth time they met gave him no moment to think, to stop, to wonder, to consider. The sixth time they met startled Lance, shocked him, flipped his world inside out and rocketed him into space with nothing to guide him.

The sixth time they met, Keith didn't remember who he was.

It shouldn't have meant anything. It didn't mean anything, not really. There were a million things happening at once, and his few seconds with Keith were just a blip on the radar. Keith wasn't important enough to Lance that he would care at all.

No, that was a lie. Keith was important. When you stare at someone with cold gray eyes and then vanish into the mist without a trace, you take on just a bit of importance in that person's mind.

"Hey, you -"

"What?"

Lance swallowed and looked down at the control panel in front of him. Keith clutched the doorframe of the blue lion; everyone else had already exited. "Did you, did you seriously not remember me?"

"I had a lot on my plate, man," Keith scoffed. The sound scraped Lance's skin.

"…Yeah."

Keith watched him for a moment. Lance stared forward. He had a lot on his plate, too. Just as much as Keith. Probably more than Keith.

He sighed deeply. Maybe, if he concentrated, he could expunge his mind of all troubles and cares by balling them up and blowing them into dust, and then their weight would be be gone forever, and he'd be light.

Maybe.

They met constantly, after that. Arguing, shouting, occasionally sharing small, coincidental glances; a tense alliance that never quite crossed the border into friendship, nor travelled back into complete rivalry.

It was odd.

What was even odder were the rare moments when the corners of Keith's lips would quirk up at some joke Lance made, and Lance would feel like a God, like he could move mountains or turn water into wine or get Keith to smile one more time -

But then Keith would snort and roll his eyes, and Lance would argue with him over who was going to rescue the prisoner or where they should station themselves to attack or whether the sky on a planet was purple or pink, and the moment would reverse and collapse in on itself, and it would be as if nothing happened.

Lance couldn't help himself. The words rushed out of him, poured into the world as if they were water from a container. It didn't matter whether they were good words, bad words, they would come all the same. It had always been like that, and it was even worse when he was emotionally agitated.

But they did meet again, a meeting like back in the Garrison. Their seventh meeting.

Keith's arms flashed once more in Lance's mind, lean and muscular, and this time he could put a physical sensation to the sight. They wrapped around his body securely, as if he were weightless.

Weightless.

Sounds faded in and out, a whisper in one ear, crossing through his mind and warbling out the other ear as a strong voice telling him to stay awake.

Lance tried to, at least. He blinked as the bleary walls of the castle focused in his vision, and then he gave up. Sleep was so much better, anyway. Warmth was so much better, anyway.

Keith was very warm.

"So, what, you seriously didn't remember our bonding moment?"

"I had a lot on my plate, man."

"…"

"…Never mind."

"No, I…sorry. I'm sorry. About that."

"It's cool."

"I mean, really, like. I'm sorry. Actually. I'm saying that."

"I know you're saying that. I'm saying, it's cool."

"O-okay. Um, you're sure?"

"Dude. It's fine. It was just a dumb joke, I was just making a -"

"Oh, yeah. Okay. Yeah. Got it."

"Okay. Good."

"Yeah."

The eighth time they met was after a battle, a victory, and a loss. It was a long day, a tiring day. It was even more tiring when there was no one there to encourage them, to tell them to buck up, cadets. To smile and clap them on the back and say, "We'll do better next time."

"Lance, you were out of formation on that punch," Keith mumbled. He ripped off his helmet. His face was flushed and sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead.

"It's Red." Lance stalked past him and threw his bayard on the couch. "The controls are super wonky on her."

Keith narrowed his eyes. "No, they aren't. I know for a fact they aren't."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, Keith," Lance sighed. "It's hard, okay?"

"What's hard about it?"

"I don't know."

Keith grit his teeth. "Well, you have to tell me SOMETHING, Lance, because it messed up our teamwork today."

Lance pulled off his chest plate and said nothing.

"Allura can pilot Blue just fine, I can pilot Black, so it's not the Red Lion. It's you."

Lance stared at him. He really was very, very tired. "Or maybe it's you. For once, maybe it's actually you, Keith."

Keith's demeanor changed, a string through the top of his head yanking on his spine and pulling him upright, as if he were a puppet. "I gave you my orders. You didn't follow them. It's as simple as that."

Something snapped in Lance. "Actually, Keith, I did follow your shitty orders, down to the last word, but you know what? I shouldn't have to follow them. You're not our leader."

He hadn't meant to say it; it was one of those times when the words poured out, regardless of their content.

He really hadn't meant to say it at all.

Keith's eyes widened. His posture went rigid, and he bit down hard on his lower lip.

Lance sucked in a breath and regretted every single time he had ever opened his mouth. He could hear the others talking in the hall outside, far away and in a reality entirely separate from his own.

Keith's jaw worked like he was about to say something. After a second, however, he only gave a weird shake of his head and spun around to leave the room.

The emptiness swirled through Lance's soul, and their eighth meeting was over.

Lance straightened his spine along the firm edge of his mattress and stared up at the ceiling.

Back home, all the way home, his room had a huge, open window that let in sunlight all day long. The ceiling would turn golden from the rays outside, and they would reflect onto Lance, and he would stretch out like a cat, lazy and happy.

There was no sunlight in space. The only windows were in the hallways of the castle, and although the stars were beautiful, they shone a darker illumination than the sun.

The ceiling was a grim, bleak smattering of gray and black mixed together. Lance gazed at it and imagined it was a vast sea, and that a giant monster lurked within. He himself was a voyager; he had journeyed forth to accomplish his dream of discovering some reclusive island, of learning about a culture and experience entirely separate from his own, of being accepted and loved by a community, but this monster had trapped him, and he couldn't escape. The monster took him in its clutches and dragged him down, down, deep into the black abyss, and he couldn't breathe, and he couldn't see or think or -

"Hey, uh, Lance?"

Lance snapped out of his fantasy. The ceiling was just a ceiling. "What," he called hoarsely.

Footsteps. Someone had entered the room. "Hey."

"Hey, Keith." Lance looked at the wall beside him, a dull cream. He traced his finger over a hairline crack that slithered alongside the bed.

A shadow fell along the crack, but Lance's eyes stayed put, although he could hear a throat clearing. "Hey," Keith said again.

"What do you want?"

Keith was silent. Lance scratched his nail along the crack.

"Well?"

"I need to apologize," Keith said, his words rushed and collapsing into each other. "I was out of line before, I know I was, and, and I'm really sorry."

Lance nodded.

A moment passed.

"Do you need something else?" he asked, gazing up at Keith blankly.

Keith frowned. "I don't…I mean, do you, like, accept my apology? You want me to do anything else?"

"Not really." Lance shrugged. "It's fine. I mean…it doesn't really mean anything, you know?"

"What? I mean it, of course I mean it," Keith said emphatically. "I'm sorry, it was completely my fault, and I mean that, Lance."

Lance nodded again. "I know you do. I just mean that in the grand scheme of things…it really doesn't make a difference."

He expected Keith to argue, fight back, but instead the bed dipped next to him, and Keith was looking at him with a very soft, very confused expression. "What are you talking about?"

Lance pressed his lips together and considered saying nothing, considered smiling and waving it off like he always did, like he'd done for the last three years, but…

What would that change?

He took a breath and turned his eyes to Keith. "I'm talking about how even if you apologize, even if you apologize a hundred times, a thousand times, it doesn't change the fact that I'm the first person to blame if something goes wrong," he said. Now that he was voicing his thoughts, the words wouldn't stop coming. He felt pressure building in his chest, his heart beating against his ribcage like fists pounding on a door. "I'm the one who's chosen last, the first person to be scolded, left behind, and I'm talking about how you're the first person to be praised, congratulated, chosen. Defended."

A long few seconds passed in complete silence. Keith stared at him, thunderstruck.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. And then his face twisted at his word choice.

Lance frowned.

"No, I -" Keith shook his head. "I, you know that none of us ever meant to, to make you feel -"

"I know," Lance said.

"And I, I, this doesn't, um, absolve me of anything, but I knew I messed up, I knew it, and I know I'm no good at this, not like Shiro was, I can't command, and I can't comfort you or -" Keith clenched and unclenched his fists. His jaw worked, but no sound came out.

Lance sat up straighter. This wasn't what he expected. He wasn't even sure what he expected, as he'd never planned to actually talk about any of this stuff, but - Keith was shuddering, and that definitely was bad.

"There were all these expectations, and you failed them," Lance finished.

"I failed him." Keith looked back at Lance. "I failed you."

It made sense, Lance supposed. Keith was humiliated, Keith felt like a failure, and he'd lashed out - an experience Lance was certainly well acquainted with. He pressed his palms into the mattress. "Okay. That's nice, I guess."

Keith shook his head. "But it doesn't make up for anything. I - things are gonna change, okay? I promise." He grabbed Lance's shoulders. "You'll be my second in command. You've always had a more level head than me, and you're just smarter in general -"

"I, I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity, I - what?"

A huge wave had knocked into Lance's chest and toppled him over. The world was spinning too fast and in the wrong direction. It was very dizzying. Lance focused on Keith's hands, gripping him hard enough to bruise. "You don't need to do this," he said softly.

Keith stared at him with a questioning look.

"You don't need to do this," Lance repeated, louder this time. He shook himself from Keith's grasp and stumbled away from the bed. "It's not about that stuff."

"Then what is it about?" Keith's eyes were the widest Lance had ever seen them. "You have to actually tell me how you feel, Lance, I'm not a goddamn psychic, okay?"

Lance threw his hands in the air helplessly. "I don't know! God, I just - I don't need to be second in command, or help you more, or - I just need to be taken seriously as a person!"

His back hit the wall. He let his head fall into his hands and took three deep, stuttering breaths. He worried that if he stopped firmly pressing the pads of his fingers into his skull, reality would crash and burn around him.

It was quiet for a few moments.

"Do you want me to leave?" Keith asked hoarsely.

Lance squeezed his eyes shut so tight that stars blinked in the darkness behind his eyelids. He shook his head.

The air was still. He heard shuffling, then suddenly felt Keith ghost fingers over his back.

"I know you hate me, but, but I just really want to make things right," Keith said.

"I don't hate you." Lance sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, then turned to look at Keith grimly. "That's the problem."

Keith drew his eyebrows together. "Well…" His face slackened. He licked his lips. "Well, for what it's worth, I always liked you."

Lance turned his head and stared at him.

"I mean, not at first. At first, I didn't really care about anyone except Shiro. But then, I saw how hard you worked and stuff, and how good you were at shooting, and how, how funny you were, and…uh, yeah." He cleared his throat. "You're pretty cool, you know?"

Lance blinked. It seemed as if reality really had broken. The world was a dream, and he had the strangest urge to laugh.

He gave in to that urge.

Keith looked panicked for a moment, but Lance shook his head, and then the corner of Keith's lips quirked into a crooked, confused smile.

It was funny. The whole situation was suddenly funny. Who knew why? Lance definitely didn't. But he was cackling, doubled over, and he felt momentarily distracted from the fact that his room was dark and there was no sunlight on the ship.

"Uh, you good?" Keith asked hesitantly once Lance had quieted somewhat.

Lance let out a few more chuckles, then shrugged and wiped his hands over his face. "Yeah. Thanks for that," he added, which probably didn't make sense to Keith, but. Whatever.

"I can stay here, if you want." Keith shuffled his feet awkwardly. "We don't even have to talk or anything. Just, like, sit, or read, or whatever."

Lance shook his head. "No, it's cool. We should get some rest, y'know? Long day. Loooong day."

Keith nodded quickly. "Yeah. But, um, for what it's worth, I think I understand now," he said, his gaze lowering. "That was all I wanted, really, just to understand, and to know how to, to fix it." He swallowed and hurried to the door. "Um, goodnight."

"'Night."

There was a pause. Lance turned from his bed to see Keith still staring at him from the doorway. He raised an eyebrow. "Need something else?"

Keith shook his head. "Uh, no, sorry. Just-" He frowned, his eyes searching. "Just…I'll fix it."

Lance squinted.

Keith gave another nod, then left. Lance stared up at the ceiling.

It really was just a ceiling.

Keith's sword swung in an arc through the air and clashed with Lotor's. The metals slid together with a horrifying shink, smoke and debris clinging heavily to the atmosphere.

Gloved hands gripped the weapon with all their might, muscles straining, and Lance thought vacantly of Keith's arms that day on the Garrison rooftop.

He clutched his gun to his chest and watched.

Their heads were impossibly close. Sweat poured down Keith's exposed face. His lips twisted in a concentrated grimace. Pushed to his limit, throwing everything he had into his sword.

The struggle continued, each second more unbearably tense than the last, before Lotor finally won out. With one swift flick of his wrist, Keith's bayard was knocked from his grasp and flung along the dry, cracked surface of the planet.

The world seem to tilt and sway back and forth. The skies were black and stormful.

A dark smile spread slowly over Lotor's thin lips. Silence stretched out in the space between them, broken only by Keith's ragged breaths. He froze in place, looking at the armed Galra in front of him with wide, electrified eyes.

Lance stared.

It was unlike Keith to show any hesitance, no matter what challenges he was facing. He always charged forward, consequences be damned.

He wasn't charging forward now. He was trembling. He was scared.

"K-Keith?" Lance called out.

Keith shook his head. Lotor lifted his blade, his face like a demonic mask, and Lance suddenly understood.

It was one thing to put yourself in danger by facing down an enemy; it was quite another to have the weight of the universe's expectations crumbling you to the ground, holding you down, dragging you to the depths of that murky, dark ocean.

They'd been separated from the others. The responsibility was on them, couldn't be passed to anybody else. Fix it, Keith had said. I'll fix it.

I don't need you to fix it. I'll fix it myself.

Lance's eyes glazed over. The ocean could be dark, yes, and monsters lurked within, ready to seize upon the swirling pit of emptiness that resided in all of them; but it could also be bright, could hold the promise of laughter, and the monsters couldn't win if you simply cut them down.

His heart thumped. He'd cut the monster down. Cut him down, and relieve the burden. Keith's burden.

His own burden.

Lotor's sword edged over Keith's delicate neck. Droplets of blood trickled down, the red a stark contrast against his pale skin. Lotor gazed at him with feigned pity, his eyes cold and fathomless.

"Hey, you quiznak!"

Lotor looked over instinctively. Lance flashed him a wild grin, his heart ringing in his ears.

He hoisted his gun up and shot directly into Lotor's face.

Several things happened at once. First, Lotor let out an ear-splitting howl, his hands dropping the sword to cradle his damaged eyes. Then Lance and Keith were glancing at each other, a split second decision made between them - Lance shot Lotor's kneecaps, bringing him to the ground, Keith snatched up Lotor's forgotten blade, and then -

They had him.

With one swift, direct slice to the abdomen, Lotor was huddled on the dirt, and then Lance was shooting him, over and over, and his body went still.

Just like that. It was done. Breathing heavy, Lance glanced wildly at the landscape and saw that the air was still clogged with debris, that the dust plains hadn't shifted. The planet was the same. The universe was the same.

Yet something had happened, and something had changed.

He looked at the crumpled form on the ground. They had defeated the enemy. That was what had changed. That was what happened.

But it was more. It was -

Keith was staring at him. "You did it," he murmured.

Lance instinctively shook his head. "No, it, we did it, it was, if you hadn't cut him down, it was a team eff-"

"Lance." Keith's eyes bore a hole straight through to Lance's heart. He stepped forward and carefully grasped Lance's face in his hands. "You did it."

The roar of the ocean and the ringing bell on his bicycle back home.

"I did it?"

"You did it. You saved everyone."

Warm hugs and the happy shrieks of neighborhood children.

They were on the ground somehow. They were clutching at each other, and his head was swimming, light as a feather and filled with something indescribable.

"You saved me."

Their faces were so close. Keith's and Lotor's faces had been just as close only a few minutes ago. Lance reached his hand up and thumbed away a smear of blood left on Keith's cheek. "I saved you?"

Gray eyes crinkled with laughter. "You did, you….you DID."

"I did." Lance felt himself giggle. He really was lightheaded. "I did."

His hand was still on Keith's cheek.

Keith reached up and traced his fingers over that hand. Lance's dizziness increased, and then there wasn't any more space between them.

Strong arms curled securely around Lance's torso, holding him tight, so tight against Keith's chest, and he knew he was taller (it was a fact he had taunted Keith with for months), but somehow, someway, he felt small. Keith pressed a gentle, feathery kiss to his lips, and Lance felt so, so small.

But...but I did something so, so BIG, he thought, as Keith trailed more hesitant kisses over his nose and cheeks. That was really me. Lance. I did that. I did that.

His breath stuttered. I did that.

I did that.

He realized suddenly he was smiling.

Keith trailed his hand up and down Lance's arm, and the pit of emptiness shined softly with golden light, like a lantern in the dark. Its warmth nestled in Lance's heart, and the planet's moon cast its glow over everything in sight.

A/N: Talk to me on Tumblr roguekeith!