So. . . . this started life as a story UsagiRyu was writing. With her blessing and wholehearted cooperation, I sorta kidnapped it and expanded it. Neither of us own anything; enjoy!

Captain Lance McClain slipped into the quiet, darkened hospital room, lit only by monitoring equipment and the random flashes of fireworks from the celebration outside. Silently he took a seat beside the bed, taking its occupant's limp, unresponsive hand in his own. "Two years, Dorogoi," he said softly, reaching over to tuck back a strand of his husband's silky black hair. "Arus has been free two years today. You should see all that's been done; I know you'd be pleased, have so many more ideas yourself. If you'd just. . ." Lance's voice broke on the words, his hand slipping down to caress Keith's still face as he remembered how they got to this point. . .

It had been a brutal fight. Four of the five lions lay helpless, and it was small consolation that they had taken the Drule fleet with them. Lance could only watch, helpless and half blind with pain, as Black lurched back into the sky, little better off than his Pride mates. He KNEW Keith was hurt, had heard the suppressed pain in his lover and commander's last orders. But the stubborn bastard was dead set on ending Lotor once and for all, no matter the cost. As Lance sat cradling his broken arm, cursing softly as the bones ground together, pretending he couldn't see the white bone poking out of his boot, Black tore into Lotor's ship with claws and knife. Explosions rocked the evil fighter; to Lance's horror, Black didn't pull away fast enough and was caught in them as well. All he could hear was Keith's agonized scream as Black plummeted to the ground.

As Black crashed and Keith's scream fell abruptly silent, Lance forgot his own pain and injuries. He struggled from Red's cockpit and crawled across the ruined ground to where Black lay on his side, jaw hanging open. Slowly he eased inside, calling Keith's name, heart pounding as he got no answer. Then it stopped altogether at the sight of Keith slumped lifelessly over the controls, white uniform dyed scarlet and a jagged chunk of metal protruding obscenely from the side of his ruined helmet. Swearing in every language he knew, Lance pulled himself over to Keith and held him close. "Oh, Goddess, no, please..." he whispered over and over, rocking Keith until the med evac teams showed up and forced them apart.

"Hello, Lance." The soft voice, still thick with his brother's unmistakable accent even after five years away from Earth, jerked Lance out of his memories, and he turned to find Sven leaning against the doorframe. "Still keeping vigil, I see." He shook his head slowly. "How long are you going to keep this up, min bror? Never has he shown any sign of vaking, since de accident, don't you tink it is time you vent on vit your life?" The King of Pollux crossed to sit in the other chair, putting his hand on Keith's.

"Would you, if it were Romelle lying there? He IS my life, he WILL wake up, and I WILL NOT leave him." Lance retorted softly, his attention still on Keith. He refused to restart the old argument. "You here for the celebration?"

Sven sighed in surrender. "Ja, mostly, but I also vanted to see you and Keit. Romelle vill be by later; she is going over some diplomatic tings vit Allura." Sven massaged Keith's hand and flexed the fingers with a gentleness usually only seen by his wife and son. "Erik is vit us too; you vill not recognize him, he has grown so." A proud smile creased Sven's face.

Lance chuckled. "He still think he's a Viking like Pappa?"

"Ja, he does, und Romelle vants vords vit you about de axe you got him for his birthday."

Lance shrugged. "Someone had to do it. And I would have been blamed anyway, so. . ." he spread his hands, then dropped one to Keith's cheek, absently noting that Keith needed his monthly shave.

Sven snorted. "She vould not haf a problem if Erik had not decided dat our Castle needed defending from the Council of Elders. He smacked Senior Counselor Honden in de groin de oter day!"

Lance snickered. "Honden'll get over it. Or die mad. Not like a two year old did much damage with a FOAM AXE."

"Ja, he vill. Goot ting he adores Erik. All Erik had to do vas flash his big blue eyes at him and go 'Sowwy.' Honden melted."

"Prince Erik Holgersson, the universe's cutest Viking," Lance laughed. "Honden didn't stand a chance!"

"Right now he's the universe's naughtiest one." Romelle and Erik entered Keith's room. She perched on Sven's knee, Erik ran to Lance and crawled on his lap, digging through his jacket pockets until he found the candy Lance always kept there. "I'm always afraid he's going to grab your gun when he does that," Romelle worried. "He could hurt himself, or you!"

Lance shook his head, watching Erik happily eat his prize. "Won't happen, honey. We've had this discussion, remember? Sven and me made sure he knows not to touch, and even if he DOES. . . Pidge did his thing with all our guns. Nobody but us can fire them." Romelle still looked unhappy, but subsided.

A tug on his shirt refocused his attention on Erik. "Unca Lance, Unca Keif still sweep?" the boy asked, looking over at the motionless form in the bed.

Lance hugged him. "Yes, little man. Uncle Keith is still sleep. He had a big owie."

"Vhat did Erik do now, elske?" Sven was asking his wife.

Romelle scowled. "He hit Duke Tamyrn's son. Apparently the boy snatched Erik's Blue Lion away from him and Erik head butted him in the stomach. Duke Tamyrn is furious, and threatening an interplanetary incident."

"Over a fight between a two year old and a spoiled rotten five year old?" Lance was incredulous. "Yeah, I know the kid. Allura will shut Tamyrn down in a heartbeat, don't worry. I'm just impressed that Erik did damage."

Romelle put her hands on her hips. "You're not helping, Lance McClain. Honestly, you and Sven are as bad as he is!"

Unnoticed in the adult conversation, Erik was watching Keith solemnly. "Unca Keif, you sleeps long enough! I wakes you up, like I does Pappa!" Abruptly he launched himself from Lance's lap, diving into the center of Keith's bed—and Keith himself—before anyone could move.

Predictably, Romelle recovered first, snatching Erik up. "Erik!" Her lecture died on her lips as a low sound came from the bed.

"Keith?" Lance fell to his knees by the bed, peering into Keith's face. "Honey, I heard you. Open your eyes for me, please?" He was rewarded with another weak groan, and the barest flutter of his love's lashes.

"I'll get Gorma," Romelle said hurriedly, all but flying out of the room with Erik. Lance gave no sign he'd heard; he was lost in broken sobs of relief. Sven knelt stiffly beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on Keith's leg, silently supporting his brothers.

45 minutes later, Dr. Gorma faced the Voltron Force and Commander Holgersson in Captain Kogane's overcrowded room. "Well, the Captain's brain activity has increased markedly," he began, "and his response to stimuli has definitely escalated. I believe it is. . . .guardedly safe to say he is beginning to come out of the coma."

Lance couldn't have kept the joy and vindication out of his voice if he'd wanted to. "I KNEW he'd wake up eventually; I TOLD you damned people!" He leaned over and kissed Keith.

Gorma cleared his throat. "Yes, well. . . .I would recommend you not get TOO excited, Captain McClain. It could take weeks, even months, for Captain Kogane to fully regain consciousness. And even then. . . . he will most likely not be the person he was, and some degree of impairment is a certainty."

"I don't give a damn," Lance retorted stubbornly. "He'll be alive and here, and that's all that matters."

Sven gave him a look, but it was Pidge of all people who spoke up. "What sort of impairment, and how can we help him?"

"Impossible to answer either of those questions until the Captain wakes, Lieutenant Stoker." Gorma took his glasses off and polished them. "I just wanted to be certain you were all aware of the likelihood."

"Thanks, doc," Hunk said quietly, putting a big hand on Keith's shoulder and regarding him sadly. The doctor nodded and slipped out as the Force talked softly.

Three weeks had gone by. Keith continued to show small signs of improvement, and Lance continued to tend his needs as he always had. Bathing, shaving, catheter and IV maintenance . . . despite his hectic schedule, Lance refused to allow anyone else to take care of Keith's more intimate needs. Keith had always been an intensely private and modest person, and Lance was determined to help him keep as much of his dignity intact as possible.

Of course, Lance's duties as Captain of the Force and head of Arus' Defense Garrison didn't let up just because he was playing nurse to Keith. Pidge and Hunk helped as much as they could, as did Allura's new Consort, Davidan. The brutal truth, however, was that only he could do most of his duties. Which had him regularly up til midnight, out of bed well before dawn, and going nonstop all day long. Given a choice between something that needed doing and a meal, Lance chose the task almost every time; it kept his schedule semi-manageable and also helped mute the ache of the still-lost bond with Keith. As compensation, he was smoking worse than he ever had, lighting one from another when the stress was particularly overwhelming.

Allura had been watching Lance from a distance for days, and didn't like what she was seeing. He was pale and unshaven with dark circles under his eyes, and was short-tempered with Force and staff alike. Cook reported he ate maybe once every other day or so; the maid in charge of his and Keith's quarters confided that his bed went unslept in. Enough was enough, she decided, and headed off to beard the lion in his den. She found him in his office, lost in a haze of old coffee, stale cigarette smoke, and a mountain of paperwork. "Well, so my best friend DOES still live, I see," she observed lightly from the door, trying not to cough. "Although I'm not sure how long that will continue, if he keeps going as he is."

The bleary, half-focused gaze he lifted to her was shockingly un-Lancelike. "I'm busy, Allura. Do you need something?"

She came into the room, not answering his question just yet, and opened the balcony door to air the place out. "I've barely seen you lately," she said quietly. "Not even at dinner, and Cookie made prime rib just for you last night. You look exhausted worse than the bad old days; I think a good stiff breeze would put you on your butt right now."

Lance waved a dismissive hand. "I'm fine, Princess. Just that time of year when the workload gets heavier. You worry too much."

Allura watched him for a minute. "You're probably right, but. . . why don't you leave that for now, come have dinner with the team? We've missed you, and you know you could use the break."

He shook his head, attention already back on his datapad. "Thanks, but I've got way too much to get done. I'll get somebody to bring me a tray up later. If you don't need anything else, I really need to get back to work."

She sighed. "So much for hoping you'd see reason," she muttered, then cleared her throat, voice formal. "Captain Lance Kogane-McClain. By Our decree, you are hereby relieved of duty as Commander of the Voltron Force and of Our defense forces, effective immediately. You will be reinstated in seven days' time."

Lance looked up slowly, bewildered. "Say WHAT? Allura, you can't!"

"I can and have." She met his gaze firmly. "The team can handle the critical things; the rest can wait. Lance, you're confined to quarters for the next twelve hours." She paused. "That includes seeing and caring for Keith."

"WHAT?! You BITCH! How dare you!" Lance exploded out of his chair, fist cocked. Allura took a step back, eyes widening with fear. She could take a punch—Lance himself had taught her—but she'd never had anyone actually raise their hand to her in anger. "You have no right!" Lance hissed, advancing on her, then froze. "Wh-what am I doing?" He stared at his raised fist in horror. "Holy hells. . . Allura, I'm sorry. . .I-"

It took all of Allura's diplomatic training to keep her voice steady. "Now you see why I'm relieving you. I don't know what's going on with you, Lance, other than trying to kill yourself with overwork and lack of self-care, but I DO know your behavior lately is unacceptable and very much unlike you. It can NOT continue. I will not ALLOW it to continue."

The Red Lion pilot dropped into his chair, head hanging. "I. . .understand. Red's giving me an earful, too. He says. . .not that it's an excuse for anything, but. . .he says I'm compensating. Losing the bond with Keith hurt worse than anything; getting it back is hurting, too."

She came to his side of the desk, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I can't even imagine. . . but it won't help anything to end up in a bed next to Keith, Lance. Go, clean up and eat, rest. Sven's on his way from Pollux; he promised he'll take care of Keith." The Norwegian, she knew, was the only possible substitute Lance would accept for Keith.

Lance nodded wearily, running his hand over his face, then slowly stood. A brief hug and whispered thanks for Allura, and he was gone.