Keith looks at the scar again. He isn't one for insecurity. He certainly isn't the type to fret over his appearance, that is a Lance thing. But standing before the mirror with a fresh scar running from the top of his brow and down past his ear…
He finds that he is no longer as comfortable in his skin as he once was.
He knows that he should be proud of it. That he has earned it in a feat of heroism and bravery. That he got it in a successful attempt to keep the blade away from an unsuspecting Coran's throat. But he isn't. It's an ugly blemish. He wished that he could have evaded the blow alongside Coran.
But he didn't so it is there, an ugly raised line on otherwise familiar skin. Lance doesn't mean anything by it, he knows that Lance uses humor to cope, but the Lion King jokes weren't helping at all. He growls to himself, frustrated at the dip in self-esteem he has worked so hard to build back up. His hands curl over the countertop and his head falls spilling a cascade of black hair.
To make an awful time that much more so, the door opens. He turns, one-hundred percent ready to unleash a very harsh, "ever here of knocking!" Should it be Allura or Coran he'd spin it to, "I know you're not from Earth, but I'm sure Altaens know that it's rude to just barge in!" Instead he sees Acxa standing in the door frame, looking every bit as flustered as he was. She is wearing pajamas that are a size or two too big and house slippers, and holds a tooth brush in one hand. The words die on his tongue.
"Sorry, I didn't realize you were in here. Lotor always kept the door locked…" she tries to justify.
"It's fine." He mutters, he knows that it isn't her fault—she had a point, he should learn to lock the door—but he is still agitated that she has intruded on such a privet moment. It probably bled through in his tone because she sputters an apology again. So he sighs and tries again, "no really it's fine, I should have locked the door."
She is quiet for a moment, granted she is usually very quiet. He thinks that she is probably the timid sort. She always struck him as a bit of a follower, it is why he tries to keep his distance from her, he doesn't like followers. The only reason he doesn't hate her completely is because she had always had this behind-closed-doors rebellious streak. He supposed that when it came down to it, that's why she went her own way. Finally, she notes, "you seem upset."
"What gave you that clue?" The comment is out before he can stop it. It's a combination of his preconceptions of her and of poor timing. He wants to like her, he does. But she has flipped from one side to the next too many times for his taste.
"You don't like me." She notes again.
He hasn't exactly been kind to her since she joined them and no doubt, she has noticed. She's no fool. She isn't as naïve as Allura. "I…" He doesn't know how to reply. He doesn't hate her, he doesn't want to. "I not like you either." It's the best he can do.
"I'll leave you alone." She turns to the door.
He can't say what has compelled him to do so but he quickly says, "No, wait."
She turns her head and waits for him to speak. When he doesn't she asks, "is there something you want to talk about?" She tries to gauge his emotions. "What's wrong?"
He doesn't know why he confesses it to her of all people…aliens. Maybe it is because she asked. Perhaps it is simply that she just so happens to be there when it is on his mind. He points to his marred face, "as if I needed another reason to hate myself!"
Her eyebrows furrow and her lips part. "Why would you hate yourself?" She asks. With a slight, perhaps coy smile she adds, "you were always my favorite member of the team." She comes to sit down on the edge of the bathtub. He thinks briefly of suggesting to move this conversation out of the bathroom, but the bathroom—in theory—affords him the most privacy.
"I don't know. It's like sometimes I do and sometimes I don't. I was feeling pretty good about myself until I got this." He motions back to the scar.
She cocks her head. "You know, in the Galra Empire, scars are a beauty standard."
"Well, I'm not Galra!" He says out of habit. "I mean, I'm more human than Galra."
She laughs softly, "and I'm more Galra."
"Clearly." He is growing frustrated. He doesn't like that she is laughing at him. "Humans, they see this kind of thing and they stare. It doesn't look good. Not on me."
Again Acxa shoots him a confused look. He doesn't expect her to but she reaches out and runs her finger over the length of the battle scar, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine. She withdraws rather abruptly and apologizes for a third time. This time he's the one laughing, she is very bizarrely and unexpectedly apologetic. "Do the Galra not value personal space?"
"Not particularly." She admits.
He can't say why but he takes her hand and holds her finger to the scar again. When he lets go she lets her touch linger. For some reason it makes him feel better. "I think that it suits you." She speaks. "You're a fighter. All fighters have scars. The best fighters have scars." She slowly lowers her hand.
"Thanks." He replies. He really does want to believe her, but he was always pretty, bad boy Keith.
"It takes some getting used to. When you've looked a certain way for so long, I mean." She states. And he wonders if she is referring to the length of her hair.
"At least you can cut it." He can't help but roll his eyes.
She tilts her head again before catching on. "That's not what I meant, I kind of like it this way." She pauses as if thinking of whether or not she wants to carry on with whatever it was she had in mind. She stares at him for a short while and then pulls up her pajama top some. Keith can't help but stare the scars are very prominent. It isn't a single scar but rather a series of them, as though something has clawed at her, raking its claws over and over again. But it also looks as though she has been badly burned. The largest in the set is rather wide and spans from her belly button to a good distance up her rib cage.
"What happened?" He asked.
"The galaxy isn't exactly friendly." Acxa notes. "It happened on a mission Lotor sent me on, sort of like the Weblum. There's a creature somewhere out there, I don't even have a name for it, its claws are tipped with its own special kind of acid." He hovers his fingers above the scars. "The Galra don't value personal space remember."
He has the permission he needs. He likes to think of it as a comforting gesture to touch them. They are rough as though they hadn't had the chance to heal properly at all. He thinks that the appropriate next step would be to ask if it had hurt, but he knows the answer. He can feel the answer beneath his fingers.
"I didn't like them at first." She admits. "Zethrid kept telling me that she was jealous. But she's Zethrid, she doesn't put much thought into how she looks…"
"And you do?" Keith asked.
She shrugs, "I guess sometimes." She pauses and tucks her hair behind her ear. His fingers still linger on her belly, tracing the scar tissue. "Humans and the Galra are a little more similar than you might think." She looks down. "I think sometimes I lean more towards my less Galra half."
"Yeah, I can see that." He agrees. "So what, you'd be some kind of Aphrodite to your people?"
"A what?" The expression of puzzlement on her face is rich.
Keith chuckles, "she's a Goddess of beauty."
"Oh." Acxa replies. "Maybe not that far, but yes, the Galra would admire this." She motions to the scarring. "I try to."
"Does it work?"
"It does now." She nods. "I've grown to appreciate them. And you should appreciate yours. You earned yours very nobly."
He rubs the back of his head, "I guess I did." She looks at him with a soft sort of admiration, the kind he isn't sure that he earned. And maybe he should return the look, in her own rights she was a respectable woman. He sees her tug her shirt back down and fold her hands in her lap. A very subtle, timid woman, but respectable no less. He is glad that he didn't push her away, he finds that he likes her.
"Thanks." He smiles. "For talking with me, it helped."
"You're welcome." She replies. He wonders if it was hard for her to speak about her own struggles. "Good night, Keith."
"Yeah, good night." He hopes to talk to her again like that. He watches her make her way down the hall, stealing one last look at him. He looks back into the mirror where the scar still glares back at him. But now its stare isn't so harsh. Somehow it doesn't seem so ugly anymore.