In the Kitchen with a Knife
Author's notes: So this is a bit all over the place, and fairly uneven in tone where the romcom dialogue meets the realities of fighting an intergalactic war. Timeline is stretchy but mostly very early season four (with themes from seasons two and three). This chapter rated M for swearing, implied violence, and blood. All characters depicted are 18+.
One
Hunk dreamt of blood-soaked metal and plummeting to his death so often that he didn't really consider them nightmare material anymore. As his waking reality wasn't much different, it didn't seem to matter that the second he managed to fall asleep, everything he'd seen and done that day replayed in his mind. His dreams twisted and warped into situations that, while not unfamiliar, seemed a hundred times more hopeless.
Nothing helped. He'd long since used up the last of a soporific tea gifted to him by an herbalist from a newly liberated planet, and knocking himself out with pills was out of the question. Hunk faced two choices at the end of each day when the smoke cleared and he was finally allowed to head to his berth: go to sleep and wind up in a coppery-tasting nightmare from which his exhausted body would not let him wake, or lie in bed and think about everything that could possibly go wrong, ever.
Tonight, he'd chosen option two, fretting over the fragile state of the team. They were functioning, even winning battles, but not well or easily. Shiro was back, though not what he'd been before the Galra had sunk their claws into him again. Sure, he was flying with them, but shouting orders on the battlefield wasn't the same as the guidance he'd once offered. Back at the castle, he stood on the bridge and glared at the screens. He wasn't unapproachable, just preoccupied. Hunk couldn't blame him for his distance. He figured Shiro would eventually get out of his own head and come back to them. Yeah, he's probably worried that we're all gonna die horribly. At least that's a legitimate fear with a high probability of occurrence.
Hunk rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force his mind to stop. He wondered if Lance was still awake, but quickly discarded the idea of a visit. Lance would, of course, stay up and keep Hunk company. He wouldn't even have to ask; he could just show up at Lance's door and Lance would rally around and drink coffee and rummage through his collection of video games for the least nostalgic ones. Or if Hunk wanted to sleep Lance would stay up beside him and shake him awake when the nightmares started. The entire night. Without complaint. But that didn't mean it was fair to let him. It wasn't Lance's job to hold them all together, but he'd never shied away from the task. Hunk had watched Lance fight off his own heart-crushing anxiety to keep them functioning as a team, time and again. But he shouldn't have to – that's the point…
Pidge might still be awake – Hunk knew she didn't sleep much. She'd work for days at a time, following some twisty mathematical puzzle down a circuitous route until she got to the bottom of it, and then crash at her workstation until someone (Hunk) carried her to her bunk and tucked her in. Hunk got that; it was a lot like he'd been, back in the Garrison's engineering classes. He understood the appeal of taking a problem, or an electromagnetic propulsion engine system, and stripping it down until it made sense. Except that Pidge's main problem these days, besides fighting an intergalactic war, was her missing brother and father. While Pidge was happy to collaborate on projects involving the weapons systems or communications frequencies, she couldn't handle distractions when working on anything related to her family. And really, Hell hath no fury like Pidge interrupted at a crucial moment in her calculations. It wasn't worth the risk.
Honestly, if Pidge had met Keith in the Garrison, they would have stolen a spaceship and gone after the Kerberos mission on their own. Those two are more than obsessive… Although once Keith got Shiro back he just felt free to leave all of us… Hunk flipped his pillow over and stared at the ceiling. At least Pidge has a justifiable reason for her priorities. Keith just…
Keith doesn't have an excuse, Hunk decided. He chose a bunch of alien ninjas over his friends, and the lions. Who does that? At least in a giant space lion you've got some protection and STOP THINKING.
Hunk heaved a sigh and rolled over, further entwining himself in his blankets. The castle was as quiet as it ever was, the faint hum of the crystal drive permeating the walls. Of course, there wasn't much noise in the castle, even when everyone was awake. The Altean ship was huge, and they were so small, and few in number, their presence barely noticeable. And that was before you considered the vastness of space, the expanse of darkness and emptiness that stretched on forever and STOP IT NOW.
"That's it, I'm up, I'm awake, I give up," Hunk climbed out of his bunk and stretched. He threw a t-shirt and sweats on over his boxers and ambled out of his quarters, tying his hair back as he went. The kitchen was a fair distance from his room, because apparently Alteans loved walking everywhere, but Hunk had memorized the route on his first day and could probably get there in his sleep. If he ever did get to sleep, ever again. STOP.
The lights in the kitchen glowed dimly when Hunk entered, but they shouldn't have been on at all. While the rebel groups they worked with functioned around the clock, unbound by any planet's cycles, he and the other humans had struggled to adapt. Hunk thought of Main Shift and Off Shift as day and night, and hated the ship's harsh lighting as much as he missed sunshine. He waved the lights up to fifty percent, wondering if he should've brought his bayard. Of course, the kitchen is full of knives… and whoever's in here probably already has them all…
"Who's there?" He called softly, taking two quick steps to the side, heading for the knife drawer.
"Just me," came the rasped reply. "Those lights are a little bright, you want to turn them down again?"
"Keith?" Hunk asked, incredulous. He stepped further into the room, adjusting the lights and hoping that it really was Keith he was talking to. "What are you doing here?"
"You know, I drop by the castle when I'm nearby. I exchange info, and-"
"Sneak into the kitchen late at night like a space ninja?" Hunk interrupted. "Where are you, anyway? Do the Blades have cloaking on their uniforms now?"
"I'm over here," Keith waved, and this time Hunk saw him. Sitting hunched on the floor, hidden by the countertops and tables, water flask in hand. He leaned back against the wall, and when he tilted his head up at Hunk the movement didn't seem entirely natural.
"Are you okay?" Hunk headed over, unhooking a chair and pulling it up. "What are you doing down there?"
"Oh, I… was just waiting for the antidotes to kick in. It's been a bit of a long day."
"No shit," Hunk muttered. He glanced over Keith as best he could in the dim light. The Blade was in his uniform, a shadow amongst shadows, blending into the darkness around him. His skin was pale, eyes dark and glimmering. Hunk wanted to touch Keith's forehead to test for a fever, but he also wanted to not lose his hand, so he fought down the impulse and listened quietly. Keith's breathing was ragged and shallow, but he was breathing, so Hunk filed the situation as Not an Emergency Yet. Keith took another sip of water, the flask barely shaking in his hand, and didn't say anything else.
"So, uh, mission not go as planned?"
"No, it went as planned." Keith set down the flask and stretched out his legs, and Hunk saw him suppress a wince.
"You sure you don't want to go to a healing pod? I'll help you get there." Hunk kept his tone level. Keith had a bad habit of not letting anyone protect him, and while Hunk didn't understand it, he knew not to push.
"It's fine, Hunk. I was just here to drop off some intel and figured I'd grab a water-pack before I headed out. No need to spend the castle's resources. The antidotes are working."
"Fine is not what I'd call this, but whatever. Did you sit on the floor for fun, or is that just where you fell?"
Keith's silence answered that question.
"Who poisoned you?" Hunk couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. He heard it, and tamped it down.
"No one. It doesn't matter."
"Yeah, that doesn't sound like a lie at all." Hunk heaved himself to his feet and glared down at Keith. The Blade didn't look at him, and after a moment Hunk decided he wasn't about to waste a perfectly good glower on someone who wouldn't even deign to look. "So, are you just going to stay on the floor for a while? Is this your life now? Too good for a chair?"
Keith snorted a laugh and then flinched. Hunk offered a hand and pretended not to notice how warily it was accepted. He helped Keith up as gently as he could and settled him into the nearest chair. Keith immediately braced himself against the table, and Hunk pretended not to see that either. Keith had always reminded him of an animal that might break its own bones or chew its own flesh to get out of a trap, and Hunk, ever mindful of his bulk, did his best to make sure he didn't feel cornered. Well, that's some disturbing imagery right there, pal…
"Better keep talking so I know you're alive. What are you up for? Midnight snack? Breakfast? Some sort of medicinal charcoal? I betcha I could make that into a smoothie." Hunk could feel himself starting to babble, and forced himself to stop and take a breath.
"Sounds disgusting," Keith noted, and Hunk decided that that was better than nothing. Mindful of Keith's earlier request, he limited the light to a small lamp directly over the countertop. Hunk rummaged around and started pulling his collection of pans from the cupboards, having scavenged them from the various planets they'd rescued from the Galra. All his utensils, knives included, had been gifted, borrowed, or salvaged. While the previous inhabitants of the Altean ship might have been satisfied by food goo, Hunk held himself to higher standards.
"Breakfast tacos then? I've been craving Tex-Mex. We visited a planet in the Delta Quadrant two weeks ago that made the closest thing to an enchilada that I've had in months. And last week we went to another ocean planet, only this one didn't have mermaids, but it did have these hot sea-peppers that I traded for and now I'm growing in the greenhouses on deck 38 but most importantly, we can now make pico de gallo and that's gotta be a victory for the free world if anything is-"
"Hunk," Keith started, "are you okay?"
"I'm not the one who's been poisoned here, Keith. I get to ask the questions. Now, would you rather have fajitas or some sort of chicken-fried steak monstrosity? I know all of Texas is obsessed with barbeque but that's just not happening in space and-"
"I'll have whatever you're having," Keith said quietly. "But I can't stay long. Why are you wandering around at this hour?"
Hunk paused and turned towards Keith, his arms full of alien vegetables. "Couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd get up and make some food for the team. That usually calms me down enough so I can get an hour or two before I have to be on the bridge. Added bonus: home-cooked meals for everyone. You're missing out, not being here." Hunk neatly snapped the leaves off a bulbous yellow fruit and began to meticulously chop it into cubes.
"Are things… going okay then?" Keith toyed with the water flask. "I read all the reports. I mean, the ones I can get my hands on. The Blades don't like any one person to know too much." Keith paused, trailing off thoughtfully. "Anyway, Voltron's freeing planets from Galra rule at an unprecedented rate. But…"
"But, why am I freaking out all the time if things are going so well? It's 'cause they're not. Going well, I mean. The team is stressed to the max. And each victory takes us one step closer to Zarkon, but closer to Zarkon is not where anyone in their right mind wants to be. I guess, I mean, we all might be dead soon but at least we'll be together. But we're not all together because you left our team and Pidge keeps wandering off on her own missions and I'm just worried. About everyone. All the time. If you get what I'm saying." Hunk waved the knife in his hand for emphasis but stopped when he noticed that Keith's gaze followed attentively. "Sorry," he mumbled, turning back to his task.
"I'm not sure if you're inviting me to come back to Voltron so we can all die together, or telling me that I'm going to die alone, without any home-cooked meals."
"That is… Neither of those things is what I was trying to say." Hunk caught Keith's gaze before the other looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Are you trolling me? Geez, Galra-Keith's sense of humor is still pretty morbid." Hunk tossed a slice of alien fruit at Keith's face and pretended not to be impressed when it was blocked instantly.
"Don't call me that," Keith muttered, but he was fighting a smile. "You know, I always thought, of the two of you, that Lance was the more anxious one."
"Are you calling me neurotic?" Hunk protested, feeling called out. "Also, you haven't seen Lance lately, so maybe hold off on that evaluation."
Hunk scooped his collection of chopped alien plants into a casserole dish and started picking out spices. Nothing was an exact equivalent to flavours found on Earth, but he tried to choose ones that would taste familiar to Keith. He couldn't do anything about the weird color of the meal, but they'd all lived off military rations at the Garrison, and Altean food goo, so he didn't think Keith would complain too much. Hunk didn't measure anything out, preferring to rely on his intuition. He could feel Keith staring at him while he worked, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"Are you feeling better? You said the antidotes were working, but how will you know that they've worked correctly?"
"Well, I'm not dead," Keith drawled.
"That's comforting." Hunk rolled his eyes. He raised the lights to full brightness to read an ingredient label, and grinned when Keith hissed.
"What, is your ninja vision faulty in bright lights, or- what the fuck?! Keith, that's fucking blood." Hunk yelped, staring in horror at the blood where Keith had been sitting on the floor, the blood pooled under his chair, the blood smeared across the table where Keith rested. It blended into the dark paneling of the kitchen floor and was nearly invisible against Keith's uniform. He hadn't noticed it, but he should have, what was he good for if he wasn't looking out for his team, and now-
"It's fine, Hunk."
"It is most definitely not fine. What the hell, Keith? You should have said something. Were you just planning to bleed out all over my kitchen?" He took a few fast steps towards Keith, noticed that his friend's body language instantly went defensive, and managed to stop himself. And we're all going to have a chat about that later.
"It's nothing to worry about. Most of it's not even mine."
"Some of it is, though?" Hunk hoped Keith knew the threat in his voice wasn't meant for him. He forced himself to relax, step back, and make sure he wasn't blocking the exit. He showed his empty hands to Keith, palms out.
"A bit," Keith answered. He paused, and Hunk waited, and after a moment Keith proposed an explanation. Of sorts. That's gotta be the blood loss talking… "The poison was an anticoagulant, so that made things slightly more complicated, but really Hunk, it's okay." Keith's tone was a plea to leave it alone, but Hunk just couldn't.
He clenched his fists and counted to ten. Twice. Then he turned and placed the pan of food in the oven and set the timer. "Breakfast will be ready in 45 minutes. And while we're waiting, you're going to sit in a healing pod."
To Hunk's amazement, Keith didn't argue. Much. That was for the best, because even wounded, the Blade was a formidable opponent. If he'd put up any real resistance, Hunk doubted he would've been able to get Keith out of the kitchen without hurting them both. It wasn't a matter of size or strength: Hunk bet he had at least sixty pounds on Keith, and he knew he was stronger. But Keith put down Galra soldiers bigger than Hunk on a daily basis. At the Garrison, Keith had been a fighter pilot and combat specialist. Hunk had been an engineer.
While every cadet had a basic understanding of hand-to-hand fighting, Hunk had spent a lot of that time trying to not accidentally hurt his sparring partners. He'd trained in kajukenbo as a child, because he'd grown up in a neighbourhood where everyone was obsessed with it. He knew a bunch of limalama throws and holds, but he'd never wanted to fight anyone, or use what little he knew to harm another person. His long-suffering combat teachers tried their best, but Hunk had always been more interested in cooking and theoretical physics than martial arts. Unlike Keith, who always sparred against the instructors because none of the other cadets could touch him. There was no way to catch up with the level of training that Keith already had, even if he'd wanted to. Hunk fought to protect his friends, but Keith fought because it pleased him. And I don't think it's just a Galra thing either…
They left the kitchen slowly, Hunk at Keith's elbow, ready to grab him if he passed out. Keith grumbled about his breakfast being held hostage, but Hunk felt free to ignore him. Keith obviously didn't care that dying in Hunk's kitchen would have been deeply traumatic for Hunk. He shared these sentiments with Keith.
"I'm not dying," Keith countered, though he didn't seem to be getting enough air. He gestured erratically towards the room they'd just left. "And if I were, I sure as hell wouldn't be dying in a kitchen. Jeez."
"I dunno, Keith, given the amount of blood you left on the floor, and the chair, and the table, I'm really not sure how it is you're still alive."
"I told you, it wasn't all mine," Keith growled.
"Yes, which is mildly disturbing but beside the point. The mystery is how you're alive, not why someone else isn't. That one's pretty obvious."
"Also, none of your business."
"Oh, I agree, very much."
Keith responded with a dirty look, but didn't say anything else. Hunk figured he had to focus on staying upright, and kept close to his side. Five minutes into their hike to the level that stored the healing pods, Keith tripped over his own feet in a decidedly un-Keith-like manner, and yelped when Hunk caught his arm to stop his fall. Hunk decided to hell with it and picked him up, bridal-style.
"This is ridiculous," Keith slurred at him. "Put me down. I can walk."
"Yeah, you're not doing such a great job at that, buddy. Stop squirming. I'd try a fireman's carry but I don't know where you're wounded and I'm pretty sure you're not going to tell me. So, this is what's happening."
Keith snorted. "Kata guruma."
"What?"
"It's judo. Starts off like a fireman's carry, but then you throw your opponent on the ground. Or you can follow them down, like a Samoan drop."
"Thank you for elaborating all the ways I could hurt you while carrying you." Hunk knew his eyeroll was probably wasted on Keith, but he hoped his tone conveyed his sarcasm.
"Not all the ways," Keith muttered, "there's loads more."
"Yeah, I think you're delirious. We're almost to the pods."
"Whatever." Keith frowned up at Hunk's face. "Waste of resources. I'll be healed in a day or so."
"Sure, and how many missions will the Blades send you on before you recover?"
Keith shrugged. "Doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does," Hunk stated, "and it bothers me that you think it doesn't." Whoa there, Hunk, no more talking for you.
He held Keith gingerly, not wanting to jostle his wounds or provoke a violent reaction. Hunk didn't really believe Keith would hurt him, at least not on purpose, but Keith had the reflexes of someone living in a warzone. Add in poison and blood loss and whatever recent act of brutality Keith had participated in, and Hunk had a pretty good chance of getting accidentally stabbed. A little caution never hurt anyone.
Keith was quiet for the rest of the trip, but Hunk could feel him breathing raggedly against his chest. When they finally reached the healing pods, he set Keith down at the nearest horizontal one as gently as he could manage. The soft blue glow of the pod lit up the room. Keith sprawled at his feet, looking as though he hadn't slept in days. Those antidotes can't be working right…
"You need any help taking off your armor?" Hunk asked, hoping that his words had sounded more like an endeavour to help a comrade and less like an offer to strip them.
Keith raised an eyebrow. "Well, I can't seem to lift my arms at the moment, so… yeah?"
"You know, if you're dying, you could at least tell me, so I could scream for help, or something. I bet at least Shiro has first aid training." Hunk grumbled, looking Keith over, unsure where to start with the Blade's armor. He finally tugged off Keith's gloves and set them aside. Keith's hands were bruised, half-wrapped in cloth, the knuckles split and bloodied. The nails were bitten down to the quick. There were throwing knives tucked into the wrist guards.
"Blade training's pretty rough, huh?"
"It's more intense than at the Garrison, that's for sure." Keith replied, head lolling. His breathing seemed slightly more strained, and Hunk settled his palms on Keith's chest. The Galra armor was cool under his hands, a strangely smooth material that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
"I don't suppose there's a zipper?"
Keith rolled his eyes, or maybe they'd just gone unfocused. "Shoulders first."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just hard to find seams on ninja armor. You'd think a secret society that's existed for hundreds of years would have armor that, I dunno, protects you from getting stabbed. Or poisoned. Or hurt in any way."
"Well, I like it," Keith blurted woozily. Okay, this might actually be an emergency. Hunk decided that they were running out of time. He pulled off Keith's boots and unclipped his weapons belt, finding more knives than any one person really needed and an astonishing variety of small but heavy grenades.
"Your life is kind of frightening. Let's hope the ninja alloys don't interfere with the healing pod too much, 'cause you're going in now."
He lifted Keith carefully, realizing in a moment that his friend couldn't stand. He wrapped one arm around Keith's waist, holding him close, and winced when Keith gasped in pain. He tapped the codes into the Altean system, and the pod hummed into life, beginning to fill with oxygen-rich fluid.
Keith studied the pod with misgiving. "I hate these things. Feels like drowning."
"Better than dying, though." Hunk settled Keith into a sitting position, the healing gel rising to his waist and already tinged pink with blood. He kept a hold on the back of Keith's neck, preventing him from sliding under the surface. Keith was looking at him again, his expression more puzzled than wary.
"I hear it's easier if you exhale as you go under," Hunk suggested. He'd never been wounded enough to need one. He hadn't known that Keith had, either. Keith's jaw clenched, but he managed to nod once, and Hunk let go of him. The pod sealed shut with a hiss, liquid filling the tank completely. He watched as Keith took a deep breath of the fluid and went still, the pod's systems instantly working to anesthetize and sedate its inhabitant.
He stayed for longer than was necessary, making sure everything was working correctly, before heading back to the kitchen.
"So, is breakfast ready yet? I gotta get back."
Hunk jumped at the drawled question, scattering purple and magenta beans everywhere.
"The hell, Keith? What are you doing back here already? Did you reprogram the pod?" Hunk demanded, advancing on the Blade.
"What? No, guess I just heal fast."
"I'd say. Fifty minutes and you look… okay. Not poisoned and leaking blood, anyway."
"Thanks," Keith huffed a laugh. He seated himself at the table and looked at Hunk expectantly. Hunk remembered that attitude from the fighter pilots at the Garrison. Confidence bordering on arrogance, combined with a hefty amount of aggression. He supposed it was only natural that Keith was a bit like them. He had been, after all, at the top of the class. Hunk found it was just as annoying now as it had been then.
"What, you think you can just abandon this team and then walk back in here and demand to be fed?" Hunk's tone was less joking than he'd hoped. "Well, that-"
"Seems to be what's happening," Keith answered smoothly. "And, for one, you offered to make me breakfast as though it was your sworn and solemn duty, and for two, I did not abandon this team."
Hunk knew he'd touched a nerve and mentally debated whether to let it go. "I know," he answered finally. "We miss you, is all." Why on earth would you say that?! Stop it!
Keith stared at him in stunned silence for a full five seconds before dropping his gaze and looking away. Hunk noted that all his weapons had been meticulously replaced.
"What, you thought we didn't?" Hunk resisted the urge to just bail out of this conversation and instead started to set the table. Oh my god, just stop talking!
Keith rubbed the back of his neck and didn't say anything. Hunk could tell the Blade wanted to run for it, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say that might convince him otherwise. Instead, he handed him a plate of food.
"So, it's kind of a breakfast taco without the taco… or any of the other ingredients. It's more like, the spirit of a breakfast taco, baked with a vegetable medley, seasoned with a bunch of great flavors from the Epsilon Galaxy."
Keith eyed him dubiously.
"Don't look at me like that, I just cooked your damn breakfast."
"I wasn't looking at you like anything," Keith replied. "Were you going to give me a fork, or-?"
Something chimed, and Keith's gaze immediately dropped to his arm. Hunk saw the flicker of a communicator, built into the vambrace.
"I gotta go. I'll bring back your plate. Thanks, Hunk." Keith grabbed his food and ran for the door. He slipped into the hallway and immediately merged with the shadows there, heading for the hangar.
Hunk stared after him for a long moment, eyes bleary. He gripped the countertop he leaned against until his knuckles turned white.
Author's notes: Thanks for reading! I'm just writing this for fun, but I'd appreciate any comments or feedback (or beta reading offers). Timeline is stretchy: Shiro is back and Keith has left the team to train with the Blade of Marmora. Pidge hasn't found Matt yet. Zarkon is the big bad because I forgot Lotor was in season four. This might change. There isn't much plot (basically I want Hunk and Keith to go on adventures and figure out if they like each other) but I do have an idea of where I'm going with this. I'm trying to keep it lighter in tone (well, for me) and non-graphic, even though my brain is like, write a Flammen & citronen and Voltron crossover.