Hello all!

This is an idea I've had for a while, what can I say, I'm a sucker for reunion fics. This is meant to be the first in a series of similar stories which may or may not be related. We'll see. This was originally planned as a oneshot, but I got to the end of this chapter and said to myself, "Crap. if I don't split this up it'll be the longest oneshot in history. And this is such a perfect spot to end a chapter!" Anyways, please read/review/follow/favorite, all that good stuff, and let me know if I make any mistakes, any. (slight Klance, so… just be aware of that?)

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Voltron: Legendary Defender. (but the people who do are doing a beautiful job)

The Shadow in His Eyes

Chapter 1: First Contact

Lance took a deep breath as he gazed towards the small house nestled beside the ocean. It was baby blue and bordered with white, old and new and familiar at the same time. His chest ached for what he knew came with it, the delicious fragrance of his mamá's cooking and the simple warmth from the love of his family. His legs itched to sprint across the sand on which he stood, to launch himself to the front door and past, to greet his family whom he had missed so dearly for so long.

And yet, that same aching in his chest was a pressing weight, constricting his every breath. The same legs which itched to run home also burned to run far, far away.

Lance was afraid, so, so afraid. Afraid of what, he wasn't sure. Over the years he had become brave in the face of the impossible, learned courage in the face of death and all that jazz, but that was the obvious consequence of fighting on the frontlines of a war for years.

That was it, that's what he was scared of. The years.

Those years that had swept him far out of reach of his family, those years that had changed him so drastically, those years that may have alienated him from his family.

Lance hadn't realized he'd backed away a few steps until a firm hand clasped his shoulder. He didn't need to look to know who it was, and what they meant by it, or to picture the determined gleam in their eyes.

"What," Lance swallowed nervously, "what if they don't want me anymore? What if they don't recognize me? Dios mío, what if the little ones don't even know me?" The insecurities just spilled out of his mouth, one after another.

Lance's voice wavered, tears threatening to fall. "What if they don't even love m-"

"No. Stop," Keith sad firmly, turning Lance to face him and trapping him in his gaze. "You've waited all this time to see them, and this may be the only chance we have for a very long time. Take this chance. I've seen you homesick; you're miserable. And when you're miserable so is the team."

"Besides," Keith continued, "I have no idea how they couldn't love you. Let's go." He took Lance's hand and tugged him forward, practically dragging him until Lance got ahold of himself and started walking on his own.

Before Lance was ready, they were at the door. Waves of nostalgia hit him again and again, so overwhelming he thought he might drown.

The delicate blue brushstrokes atop the white paint were beginning to fade, but Lance could still make out the intricate, curling swirls of flowers and waves. His eldest sister, Veronica, had always been an artist. The old rocking chair was still on the front porch, if a bit more ramshackle than when he'd last seen it. Abuela never went a day without sitting there, watching the ocean.

As Lance raised his hand to the doorbell, he also caught sight of a few new things, things that gave him pause and stilled his hand, if only for a moment. New scuffs and scratches on the floorboards, a new welcome mat, missing pegs in the railing. Small things like that which could have told such big stories. Stories he wasn't there to share.

He rang the doorbell.

Voices called out and argued behind the door, and Lance could've sworn he was back at this house seven years ago, before the Garrison and space and everything.

"Ver, get the door!"

"I got it last time- you get it Marco!"

"Nuh-uh, what about Luis?"

"Mamá! The door!"

Footsteps pounded and then all of a sudden the door swung open, revealing a kindly looking old woman, with graying curly hair and tanned but wrinkling skin. Mamá.

"Hola, how can I help you…" her cheerful greeting died in her throat as her eyes widened in recognition. "Lance…" she whispered. "Oh Lance, my baby," she flung her arms around him and held him like he would disappear into smoke. "Is this real?" she sobbed, "Is this real? Is it really you hijo?"

Lance had been frozen in place, the sudden shock and elation of seeing his mother again rooting him to the spot, but he snapped himself out of it enough to respond, even if he couldn't keep his own tears at bay.

"Yeah… Yeah Mamá, it's me," his lips wobbled, and he buried his face in her hair. "I'm home, Mamá, I'm home."

The rest of the hugs and tearful reunions were amazing, heart wrenching, and a blur all at the same time. Everyone was home for the summer, so Lance blessed his luck that he wouldn't have to do anything like this two times in one day. If he'd had to, he probably would have broken down.

As it was, he'd been a bit of a mess, especially when he'd met his little niece and nephew, Luciana and Liam, Veronica's three-year-old twins. Lance may have cried a little (okay, a lot).

The family's initial reactions to Keith, however, reminded Lance that not everything would be perfect. Far from it, in fact. His family was oddly...cold, suspicious almost, when they regarded his presence. Lance even thought he caught Abuela whisper something about the sins of facial tattoos under her breath.

Lance had never even given a second thought to Keith's appearance and the Galra mark across his face. Lance had actually not thought at all about what his family would think of Keith. It sounded a bit terrible, but honestly he had just figured that they would have seen him as the awesome guy he was and leave it at that. Not… this.

"Sweetie, who's your," his mother paused, "friend?"

"Oh!" Lance turned and pulled a very reluctant Keith up beside him. "This is Keith, my…" he searched for the right words. A joke would do. "... partner in crime!"

"Boyfriend," Keith supplied with a slight twitch of the lips.

There was a slight, almost imperceptible change, but it passed so quickly Lance almost wrote it off as nonexistent. But he knew his family, and something was off, if only slightly.

"Wait, stupid hair, fighter pilot, rival, wash-out Keith? Is that the Keith we're talking about?" Veronica laughed, lightening the mood.

"Yup!" Lance chirped, glad to pretend there wasn't a building suspicion behind the eyes of some of his family.

And then, through the flurry of countless excited questions, the question that he'd been dreading was voiced, and Lance wished he could stuff it back down Uncle James's throat.

"Where were you?"

Lance stopped at that, he froze halfway through chatting with Luis, hands hovering in the air, where they had just been gesturing excitedly. He dropped them, a sudden weariness washing over him, as he thought about what to say. What could he say? It wasn't just that no excuse would but it, ever, but he actually couldn't tell them the truth. For their safety, and sanity too.

What, say they found a magical flying lion from an alien planet that whisked them away into the far reaches of the universe, into a galactic war in which they were leading the charge as defenders of the universe? His family would sooner send him to an asylum than believe him.

But what could he make up that would be believable? There was nothing he could say that would sound any better, nothing that could convey that he had actually not been able to reach them at all because he had been in space, and that if he had been even a system away he would have flown straight home.

So what could he say?

Nothing

"I can't tell you that," Lance looked away, choosing to focus instead on the floor. "I'm sorry."

A soft hand wiped a tear from his cheek, and he looked up once more. His mother smiled at him softly.

"It's alright, Lance, just tell us when you're ready. This has been a shock for all of us. Why don't both of you wash up and get some rest? It's late. We'll talk in the morning."

It was late, Lance realized with a start. It was pitch black outside, and the porchlight buzzed with moths and other bugs grasping for their last traces of light. He hadn't known what time it was when they landed. He actually hadn't even known what day it was, just a rough estimate of the time that had passed.

He happily agreed and retreated upstairs, followed by Keith, to collapse onto the guest bed that he knew the family always kept vacant. Lance tried not to think about the shadows he saw behind the eyes of his family members, but he knew that he would likely have to confront them about it tomorrow.

Or something.

After they knew that Lance and Keith had gone to sleep, the family convened in the living room. No one wanted to speak first, but they all knew they had the same things on their minds.

"Where do you think he was all this time?" Uncle James asked, breaking the tense silence.

"Somewhere that the Garrison couldn't find him, that's for sure," Marco wrung his hands. "What if he faked his death, or just plain ran away? Why would he do it?"

"The bigger question is why he wouldn't tell us," Abuela added, a dark tone in her voice suggesting that she had already thought of an answer to that particular question. "Makes you wonder just what he was doing for five years."

"No," Mamá covered her mouth.

"You're not saying…" Marco trailed off.

"You're saying he may have gotten into something criminal, like gangs or mobs or something worse?" Uncle James blurted.

"How could you accuse him of something like that? What could possibly make you think that about our Lance, Abuela?" Veronica demanded hotly.

"Look at the facts nieta," Abuela retorted, a bit of harshness edging her words. "Lance disappeared during a huge and hush-hush accident at the Galaxy Garrison, and was presumed dead not long after, along with two other cadets. Five years later he shows up at our doorstep with no warning, no reason, and no explanation as to where he's been. He never even contacted us! What was he involved in that was so bad that he couldn't even do that for all this time?"

"And," Abuela continued, "there are other things that I just do not like the look of."

"Like what?" Luis asked.

"That boy, Keith. He was booted from the Garrison for a reason. Maybe he dragged Lance into something bad. And did you see that ghastly tattoo on his face?" Abuela tapped her cane on the ground. "That boy is trouble," she stated firmly.

"I'm not so sure, Abuela, he was quiet but I think he seemed pretty alright," Marco offered reluctantly.

"Regardless," she rasped, "Lance has something about him that is different. He has the look that his abuelo had when he came home to me from war. If you don't believe me, watch him tomorrow, you'll see it too."

"See what, Abuela?" Luis ventured.

"The shadows in his eyes," Abuela said sadly. "That is not the Lance we knew."

I'm so sorry. This turned out to be so friggin angsty omg. No promises it's going to improve in the following chapter(s) but I shall try. Hope everyone liked this first chapter.

(Note: this fic is entirely self indulgent. I really mean it when I say this was written because I was getting sick of writing it exclusively in my head.)

Lots of love!

~TheFullmetalSociopath