This takes place several months after "Battle."
Although I started this with a short scene in mind, it simply developed as the characters decided they had more to tell and reveal.
Please enjoy, and feel free to ask questions. The characters may even choose to answer!
All original characters are mine, the ones from the show belong to the show.
Any resemblance to anyone living or dead may or may not be intentional depending on if you like the resemblance or not.
Any mistakes are mine, because I did not seek a beta reader.
-Kristina
Aftermath
Hunk pressed the doorbell outside the door to the solar.
"Yes?" asked a tired voice from inside.
"Can we talk for a few minutes?" Hunk replied, uncertain of the answer.
After a long minute the door opened. The occupant of the room stood in front of the large windows basking in the afternoon sunlight, eyes closed, right hand massaging the left.
Hands in pockets, Hunk ambled into the room moving to stand next to his friend looking out over the view. The two men stood in silence, each to their own thoughts. After a time, the larger man gave himself a shake and turned to look at the leader of the Voltron Force, declared Hero, new King of Arus, but most important, his friend. In the last few months, he had watched his friend struggle to reconnect to the world and find his place in it. Hunk knew, better than the other members of the force, what Keith had sacrificed to remain with them.
The King's physical struggles matched his mental ones, even though he tried to put up a good front. The yellow pilot studied his face and really looked at the physical changes. He never saw the new King without a sweater or wearing warm clothing. The weight lost, first to the Agappon then the parasite returned very slowly. In the meantime, Keith felt the cold more acutely.
Although Hunk knew the new King worked out daily, he could lift only a fraction of his previous limit. Keith had tried to return to the team's daily routine, but ceased when it became clear he could not physically keep up with the rest. He had turned Cady's martial arts training over to Lance for the time being, because he struggled to perform even the most basic of moves. Dr. Gorma had clearly stated it would take months before he would clear Keith for even the lightest duty because of the slow recovery.
By outward appearance, Keith took each set back in stride, but Hunk wondered how much he reeled inwardly. Hunk found the captain, always an introspective man, quieter, more comfortable with silence and making no effort to fill it, regardless of the other person's discomfort. He seldom joined the team, neither old nor new, in the evenings. Slowly, the captain drew further into himself and away from the outside world.
Pinching lips together, the dark haired man suddenly clutched at his upper left arm tight with his right hand. Several deep breaths through the nose later, the hand relaxed, and Keith's body slumped slightly. Without a word, he stepped backwards to a chair placed in front of the windows and sat down heavily without any grace. His head flopped back, eyes closing and breaths coming harshly as his right hand massaged the muscle between the shoulder and elbow.
Hunk stood watching for a minute or two before walking to grab one of the other chairs in the room and pulling in to face the side of his friend's chair. "Let me."
Opening his eyes, Keith turned his head, blinking as though he forgotten Hunk had joined him in the room. With a brief nod, he let his right hand fall to his lap and closed his eyes once more. Placing his hands on either side of the emaciated arm, the yellow pilot began to gently massage the spasming muscle. He could feel the jumps underneath his hands. Starting near the shoulder, Hunk gently squeezed the muscle and then pressed his thumbs outward. Releasing the arm, he moved down an inch and repeated the motion. Within moments, his hands established a rhythm; squeeze, thumbs, release, and move, both up and down the arm to the hands and back. As he started the journey a second time, he felt a miniscule relaxing of the muscle and a corresponding sigh from the captain. By the time he worked back to the shoulder, Keith's shoulders had relaxed from a tense position and the muscles ceased their spasms.
With a final pat, Hunk released the arm and sat back in his own chair. He finally noticed a small table on the other side of Keith's chair. A quick stretch confirmed the presence of an untouched plate of food and several glasses of various liquids. He also saw the tell-tale sign of medicinal patches waiting for application.
"So, Commander," began Hunk, emphasizing the new rank. "Any reason you have decided on idiocy as the watchword of the day?"
"Because intrusive busybody was already taken?"
"Aw, I am crushed," Hunk replied sarcastically. "Devastated, even."
A small chuckle escaped the dark haired man, "Not you. Just about every one else today, though."
"Ah, that explains the locked door, then."
Keith finally opened his eyes and turned his head toward his friend. "I do understand that people mean well, and want to help, but the constant hovering is driving me completely insane! Do people not realize I am completely cognizant of the damage done to this body and how shitty it appears most of the time? Yes, I look like a walking advertisement for the effects of any number of diseases and conditions. Yes, I tire easily and yes, I have these fucking spasms multiple times every day." Abruptly, he ceased speaking and pinched his lips together before laying his head back on the chair and closing his eyes releasing a long breath.
"Forgive me my friend; I should not take my frustrations out on one of the few people who still treats me mostly normally."
Shrugging off the words, Hunk leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and lacing his hands behind his head, not responding, and thinking through his reply in his head. "Well, Cap, I see your point. I guess it is like being in a conversation with someone who contradicts everything you say regardless of the facts. Only the conversation does not end and you do not have a polite rejoinder which does not hurt someone or cause them to feel insulted or affronted because you rejected their sympathy."
"Interesting comparison."
"Well, from my perspective, YOU know how much you have improved in these last months, but the outward appearance does not necessarily match in the inward progress. And, as you said, you really do look like you could keel over at any second. People just do not want to see anything further happen to you and most of these Arusians want to see your 'Happily Ever After.'"
The new Hero snorted and opened his eyes to look at his friend, "I guess I am a reverse Cinderella. A Cinderfella perhaps?"
Exchanging a wry glance, the two both chuckled at the comparison.
"Cinderfella. You realize I can never let you live this one down?"
The other man sighed, "Would bribery work?"
"Nope. This one's a doozy."
"Name your price," Keith grumbled.
"Any restrictions?"
"Just stay away from talking about how I am feeling, what I have eaten today, and we will call it good."
Hunk nodded. "Two things then. One: put the knights-be-damned patch on your arm."
A startled look met his pronouncement.
Hunk only raised his eyebrow and nodded toward the patch.
With a laugh at his signature look, the Commander pushed up his left sleeve and then reached with his good had to place a patch ready for application on his outside left arm halfway between the elbow and shoulder. The Yellow Pilot winced inwardly to see how far the patch wrapped around his friend's arm. Perhaps wearing bulky clothing had less to do with feeling cold than Keith pretended.
After placing the patch, the commander reached over to place a napkin over his legs and then pick up one of the stuffed rolls on the plate and take a small, neat bite. He looked over at Hunk and waved at the plate, "More than I can eat in one sitting."
Pondering only a minute, Hunk moved his chair to the other side and picked up one of the rolls. The two sat in companionable silence, appreciating the landscape outside the windows, both ignoring the harsh scars carved through the land by both friendly and enemy machines and weapons. Agriculture came first and every hand worked to clear those lands first. Even though Arus' population had put aside and stored enough food for the devastation wrought by one of the sons of Doom, the sooner production began the better for everyone. Fresh food sustained the spirit better than preserved, and restoring the land helped repair some of the damage done by the latest, but certainly not last, invasion.
Hunk thought back over the last months of recovery and watched as tracts of land would appear to change overnight as though elves worked in secret to repair and reseed the land. "Rather than the Elves and the Shoemaker," he mused, "we have Elven Farmers." He could just picture the diminutive folk, stripping off their fancy clothes, and working with supernatural speed to remove wreckage from the ground, and prepare it for planting. Like cartoons of old, they would move at lightening speed while giggling and laughing at their version of play.
Letting out a sigh, the commander turned toward his friend. "I can guess your second request."
The yellow pilot looked closely at his fingernails and rubbed at a grease spot. "Oh?" He replied neutrally.
"The conversation I have ducked for the last several months."
"And which conversation would that be?"
"The one where you ask about the sentience of the lions."
No reply greeted the statement for several minutes.
"And would this conversation end in about two minutes when you deftly change the subject, remember a convenient meeting, or Cady comes running in the door with something she just has to do with her Dad right that second?"
Letting out a chuckle, the raven-haired man closed his eyes once more, basking in the rays of the late afternoon sun. "A little obvious, I have been then?"
"If by little you mean the ocean holds a little bit of water."
"Hmmmm."
"That is not an answer."
"No it is not. However, in all honesty, I am not up to this conversation right now. The damn medicine is beginning to kick in."
"And?"
Keith smiled at the tone of voice. It sounded just like a scolding school teacher, or father.
"And it a few more minutes, I will barely be able to focus much less give you the answers in a cohesive fashion."
Concerned laced Hunk's voice. "I do not remember those patches affecting you so deeply."
"They did not until Gorma changed the formula. He is determined I will not push myself beyond a rigid and specific program and to that end, I must rest. In order to ensure I do, he added a sedative to a random amount of patches. Not every patch contains it, but he will not tell me which ones have them and which do not."
"So of course, you being the brilliant commander and king simply refuse to put them on until bullied."
Keith turned and opened eyes which had begun to dilate. "That about sums it up. You feel the same way Yoshi; no solider who has served as long as we can stand to feel impaired."
"True. Well, I will cut you slack THIS time. But the next time. . ." he let the threat hang in the air.
A floppy wave of a hand brushed off the brazen threat. "Uh, huh." A yawn prevented the next remark from emerging. "It wears off in 'bout three," Keith paused for another yawn and blinked hard, "hours."
Hunk did not have time to reply before Keith's head lolled back and his entire body relaxed into the chair. "Huh, Gorma is NOT kidding around with the sedative." Scratching his head, the yellow pilot reclined the chair so his friend would not awaken with a stiff neck. Looking around, he spotted an afghan on a foot stool and covered Keith with it. It disturbed Hunk to note Keith did not even twitch.
Taking the mostly empty plate, Tsuyoshi exited the room, dimming the lights as he left. He set an alarm to remind him to come back when Keith had woken and returned to the never ending repairs and reconstruction required in the aftermath of destruction.
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