When Keith was ten years old, his mother died.

His life up until that point had been normal. Or at least what Keith had considered normal.

It wasn't until he was older that he learned that being raised in a small house in the middle of nowhere with just your mother wasn't considered normal. At least to some people.

But when he was ten, the fact that it was just him and his mother had never bothered Keith at all. In fact, he recalled being rather happy to have her all to himself.

They made frequent trips into town for supplies and things. So it wasn't like Keith never came into contact with people outside of his mother. It was just that all those other people had existed outside of his own world.

Those people were just a part of the setting. They were real, certainly. But they weren't as real as him and his mother. Not even his teachers or the kids at school were as real as her.

He couldn't remember ever remarking on the fact that he didn't have a father. He was aware of it certainly. No child was ever actually unaware of something like that. But his mother never seemed to make a huge deal out of it, and so Keith never made a big deal out of it either.

What confused him though, was how other people seemed to make a big deal out of it.

It was never an obvious thing. They would always just ask rather invasive vague questions, or make suggestive remarks like, "My what a handsome boy. Takes after his father does he?"

Afterwards his mother would always make it a point to avoid talking to those very same people in the future.

Some people were a bit less subtle. But only when they thought he wasn't around to hear it.

Once they thought they had him reliably distracted by some job or activity they'd whisper with his mother. Which in hindsight was really rather stupid of them. Just because he sat at a coffee table and focused on putting a puzzle together didn't somehow turn his hearing off.

It wasn't always about his father, he knew that. But it was always partially related to him.

Because if they didn't ask about his father, they would always ask about the men in his mother's life.

"Oh that mechanic you saw last week is a nice enough man. Has a good steady job."

Or.

"I heard Stanley's back on the market. Broke up with his girlfriend last month."

Keith, on some level in his tiny child-like mind, resented this talk. Maybe because it always made his mother visibly uncomfortable, but more likely because any suggestion of sharing her with someone else felt wrong.

There existed certain unchangeable facts about Keith's reality. The sky was blue, the earth was round, his favorite color was red, and the only other person who really existed to the same degree as himself in the world was his mother.

That was probably why her death had hit him so hard.

Even now, Keith didn't like to think about the exact details of the accident. He'd been too young to fully understand what precisely had happened, but he didn't need to.

The only thing he needed to understand was that something had happened. His mother was hurt. And she was lying in a hospital bed surrounded by machinery and covered in white bandages.

And she wasn't moving. Not as much as she usually did anyway.

She hadn't been dead yet, but Keith had known it was coming.

It had something to do with the color of her skin, the way her chest seemed to heave more dramatically than it should have done, and the glassy far off look in her eyes.

And she wasn't moving.

One thing that had always been true about his mother was how alive she was. The only time she ever really sat still was when she was asleep, and even then there was the occasional tossing and turning. It didn't matter what she was doing, there always had to be some movement.

A tapping foot, a rearranging of the limbs, the slightest twinge of a finger.

Constant movement had defined her whole being.

And suddenly she just… wasn't anymore. It was like watching a light bulb dim and flicker before it went out. You knew it was going to happen, but for just a moment there existed a sense of uncertainty. A sort of pointless hope that the light wouldn't go out.

But when she spoke, her voice weak and distant, any hope he had was extinguished.

"Keith, your father…" she stopped, as though just those three words was the equivalent to running a mile. "I need to tell you… about him."

The tears finally came then. Quiet, but meaningful, tears.

Keith hadn't cried when he'd been taken out of class and told about the accident. He hadn't cried as he sat alone in the silent cold waiting room. He hadn't cried when a dower faced nurse came to get him because his mother "wanted to speak to him."

But he cried now.

Because his mother had never talked about his father. She mentioned him in passing when dealing with people. But she had never made him the main topic of discussion. Not with Keith. She'd never needed to.

The fact that she spoke of him now of all times could only mean she didn't think she'd get another chance.

"I wanted… to tell you when you were older…"

"Y-you still can." Keith had to fight to keep the quiver out of his voice. "You'll be better by then."

It was an unconvincing thing to say even to himself.

His mother knew that. He could see it in her eyes.

Keith's mother had never been a dishonest woman. In fact she was always rather painfully blunt. If something was going to hurt, she never pretended that it wouldn't. Not a splinter, not a doctor's shot, and not now.

It was one of the things he'd loved most about her.

She said nothing this time though. Likely knowing that doing so would cause what little control Keith had over himself to crumble and fall apart. If that happened now, she would never be able to say what needed to be said.

"I've told a lot of people... that your father died… When you were a baby…"

Keith could only nod. Fearful that he would break into sobs if he dared open his mouth.

"That… wasn't true."

Her breathing was becoming much more laborious even as she spoke. "Th-the truth…. The truth is… that your father is still alive."

Here she had to pause to once more catch her breath.

"H-he went away… when you were…. Were small…"

Keith would never forget the look in her eye's. For just a moment, for a fraction of a second, his mother's eyes had come alive again as she stared out the window into the night. Into the stars.

"Far… far… away…"

"Wh-where?" Keith asked, his voice finally giving way. "Where is he?!"

He hiccupped a sob.

"Why isn't here here?! Where did he go?! Why'd he leave?!"

It all came pouring out. Questions Keith didn't realize he had. Answers he didn't realize he desperately needed.

His mother's presence had always mitigated his father's absence. He had never asked about him because he had never needed him. Not with her around.

But now…

"In…" his mother's eyes closed as her voice dropped to a weak breath. "In the shed… a… box…"

… She was gone.

When grieving it probably would have seemed much more respectful to the memory of his mother for Keith to quietly mourn.

But he didn't do that. He couldn't do that.

The whole of his world was crashing around him, his very reality changing shape.

And so he cried. He screamed. Begged his mother to open her eyes and come back to him. Cursed both her and the world for leaving him alone. He had to be dragged out of the hospital room and sedated.

After waking up hours later on a hospital bed, draped in a starch white blanket, Keith somehow managed to convince himself that everything would be alright. That there'd be some light at the end of the tunnel, some chance for newfound happiness.

The future would correct his naive thinking.

Harshly.

Keith exhaled.

He hadn't thought about that day for a long time.

There hadn't been any point to. Things were the way they were. He couldn't change them.

Sitting in his lion, Keith leaned back and closed his eyes. Reconnaissance was boring. Necessary, but boring.

The castle ship could pick up any galran ships before they were visible, so the team usually didn't encounter the enemy when scouting a planet for supplies. As a result Keith's mind had wandered back to that day. It still tore him apart just thinking about it.

But years of loneliness and living alone had thickened his skin.

The memories of that day no longer filled his eyes with tears. Instead he used it to drive him forward.

His mother had always insisted that he'd do something great. And here he was. Saviour of the universe.

Of course she had likely not envisioned space aliens in Keith's future, but he could hardly expert her to. Still, wherever she was now he hoped she was proud of him. As long as that was true he could live his life with no regrets.

"Uhhh, guys?"

Lance's voice came over the comm.

Sighing irritably, Keith activated his mic. "What is it Lance? Another terrible pun?"

The blue paladin/former cargo pilot had made it a hobby to come up with the most groan inducing puns imaginable out of some misplaced sense of "lightening the mood."

"First off, my puns are fantastic. Secondly, Hunk and I have…" he paused for a moment. "I guess found something, but it's more like it found us."

"What're you talking about?"

Hunk took over.

"There's a uh, there's a galra down here."

Keith's eyes widened. "I'll be down there as soon as I can!"

"Keith wai-" Lance began, but was cut off by Keith shutting down his comm.

Gripping the thrusters, the red lion rose to life and shot straight for Hunk and Lance's location.