Disclaimer: I do not own Voltron: Legendary Defender or the characters.
An Introduction and A Return
Allura did not sleep a wink the night before. She was too nervous, too excited, too full of eager anticipation.
Truthfully, it was the abject terror that kept her awake.
It was a day that had been months in the making, her chance to take control of the Voltron Foundation now that her family had successfully wrested the last fragments of it from Zarkon's hold. The NGO partnership between Altea Industries and Galra Corp was now exclusively an Altea non-profit venture, the reins of which sat in her hands.
She had to rebuild it, nearly from scratch, but that only heightened her excitement. The terror, too. The fear of failure would push her to succeed, she just wished that it would ease long enough for a full night's rest.
A fruit smoothie and a half hour on the treadmill got her energized, followed by a pot of fragrant coffee to keep her coherent as she showered, dressed, and prepared for work. She drank two cups while reviewing her new employees' files. Shiro swore that the team he put together would be successful, but she could not ignore the lead weight in her gut as she looked over their history. She reasoned that the lead weight could be the coffee filling an otherwise empty stomach, not the young, inexperienced team she would have to put her faith in.
She had a terrible feeling that this venture was going to give her a heart attack before she turned thirty. It was no wonder her father chose semi-retirement in the countryside after the last lawsuit was won. She had not even gotten the company up and running, and she already longed to be in Cambridgeshire with her parents. As much as she enjoyed her life in London, she sometimes missed the slower pace of the country and the days where she could run around the estate gardens, pretending she was a heroic princess, an elf dancing through the forests, an explorer searching for lost worlds and times, or, sometimes, even an astronaut fighting aliens.
Simpler times without the threat of migraines.
She still held on to the courage of those younger days. The monsters and curses were imaginary back then, but now they took very real shapes, albeit in the form of war and poverty and pollution. Whatever shape her adversary, she would take on the task of defeating it.
Her armor for battle was no longer ill-fitting relics or cardboard boxes. Black trousers, a simple black camisole, and a fitted white jacket with bright pink trim to match her pink suede ankle boots were better suited for a boardroom. She tied her long white hair into a bun, her fringe bangs held back by a gold headband with a little blue crystal. The headband might not perfectly coordinate, but it was her favorite one and she needed whatever luck or confidence it might provide.
The drive from Belgravia to Walworth was slowed by traffic and rain-slick roads, as well as a quick pop in to a coffee shop for a cappuccino with two extra shots of espresso she sorely needed. It only left her more frazzled for her meeting. She could not be late. She may be the boss, but it would make for a terrible first impression if she kept her new staff waiting.
When she pulled up to the industrial building her father purchased for the new Voltron headquarters, the guard on duty, Klaizap, rushed to open the gate and waved her in. She hurried around the building and pulled into her parking space beside Coran's car, a few steps from the rear entrance where Coran waited with an umbrella in hand.
"I am so sorry for my tardiness," she called to him as she climbed out of her car.
"No need to apologize, Princess," Coran said once he was beside her, umbrella held out to shield her from the steady morning drizzle. "Shiro's been keeping them preoccupied. I thought about giving them a tour, but I felt you'd want to be here for that."
"Yes, I would. Thank you, Coran." She sighed in relief once they were inside, ducking the scaffolding from the last stages of the remodel.
The outside of the building appeared like any other brick and glass factory in the district, but inside it had been turned into a state-of-the-art office space and research facility. White walls decorated with blue crystal encased lights that made the place look clean and fresh with a simple, calming aura. The offices were separated by light blue glass, giving them an open, airy feeling while providing each of her employees privacy to do their work. The laboratory was all white and grey metal, function being more important than aesthetics for the team members that would utilize the space. It was fitted with the latest Altea tech, some of which had not yet been released to the public.
"Oh, and I'm assuming that has been the extent of your breakfast this morning, young lady." Coran pointed at her coffee cup. She pouted at the mothering lecture in his tone, but he waved dismissively at it. "I brought pastries and bagels for the meeting. And…" He glanced around, then leaned in to whisper, "Those strawberry and blueberry tarts you love so much. Don't worry, I hid a couple away in your office just in case our new employees devoured them while waiting."
"You are the best, Coran," she said, linking her arm with his as she beamed at him. "I don't know what I would do without you."
"Starve to death, most like," he teased. "You cannot survive on caffeine alone, Princess."
"I don't," she huffed.
"Or take-out. Or energy bars."
"I…" she stammered for a defense. "I had a fruit smoothie this morning."
"Okay, then you cannot survive on a diet consisting of fruit goo and high energy brown water." He gave her hand a consoling pat. "I know you are under a lot of pressure with this venture, Princess. You have been balancing your duties with Altea Industries while preparing for the Foundation's relaunch, but that is when you must do more to take care of yourself."
"You've spoken to my father recently, haven't you?"
"He called last night after he finished speaking with you. He's just worried that you're pushing yourself too hard."
"Well, now that we are here, I will hopefully be able to focus exclusively on the Foundation and have more time, less stress…" Shouting from the meeting room broke into her reassurances. She traded a confused look with Coran, and then rushed down the hall to see what the commotion was all about.
"I'm just saying, Keith, I would totally be Han Solo," one man claimed as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the table. A sly grin curled up the corner of his lips. "You're just jealous that I was the coolest one in our class at the Academy."
She recognized him as Lance McClain, a young man who had a shaky start at Garrison Academy, but who showed promise as a pilot and leader. Friendly, sociable, a good heart though she could not quite see it with the arrogance conveyed in his smile. At twenty-six, he had long graduated from the Academy and entered into the Air Force, following in the footsteps of one his heroes – Takashi Shirogane, the very man who recommended him for the job. He had since retired from military life, the job offer with Voltron the primary reason for his turn into private sector work.
"This is the stupidest argument we've ever had," the man across from him said with a roll of his eyes and a scowl that only seemed to deepen when he looked at the other man. He swept a hand over his face, pushed messy black bangs back into his mullet. "As a pilot, you aren't even a Lando."
Keith Kogane. A Texan who lost his father when he was a boy and bounced from orphanages and foster homes until Shiro got him into the Garrison. He didn't last long there, but Shiro continued to mentor him and secured him private lessons in piloting. He went on to work for government contractors and mercenary organizations. At twenty-eight, he had made a name for himself as an expert pilot in the private-sector, suited for high-risk missions. He was a high-risk employee, though. Short-tempered, blunt, and impulsive – he did not work well in a team environment, but Shiro had faith in him, and she trusted Shiro's judgement.
"What!?" Lance hollered. His feet fell to the floor as he leaned forward to slam his hand onto the table. "Now I know you're just pulling things out of your ass. But alright, I'll humor you. You won't admit that I have Han's skills and his charm." He dropped his voice low and flashed a lopsided grin at the others sitting around the table with him. "Then tell me, o-wise-one, who would I be?"
Allura didn't think Keith's scowl could get any deeper, but she watched as his brows pinched together with a thoughtful glare. "The pilot that runs straight into a cruiser in the first five minutes of every Star Wars movie ever made."
Lance shot to his feet. "That is just…" He pointed and stammered in his anger. "I wasn't the one kicked out of the Academy in the first week," he shouted.
That got Keith out of his chair, leaning over the table with a snarl. He didn't get a chance to make a retort as Shiro leaped up beside him, placed a calming hand on his shoulder and held the other out to quell Lance's simmering temper.
"Woah, woah, you two. This is not the time or place for this," Shiro said, tone firm with command. "So, let's just sit down and eat while we wait…"
Allura spun around to face Coran, the terror returning to wreak havoc on her gut. "We are doomed, Coran. Doomed."
"Now, now, Princess," Coran hushed as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her away from the room. "Shiro personally vouched for everyone in there. You trust his judgement."
"I did," she said, barely able to keep her voice down as it cracked. "But… but…" She couldn't find the words in her panic and settled on waving her arms at the meeting room. "I cannot have this fail because of two men who cannot keep their egos in check."
"I am sure there is a perfectly logical explanation," he said, smoothing out the end of his thick ginger mustache.
"They were arguing about Star Wars characters, Coran."
"Well… yes, but also no. I believe they were arguing about what sort of pilot they are, and considering they are pilots, I imagine this is a very normal topic of conversation for them."
"Anakin! ANAKIN!" came from the boardroom. "Of course, you would say you're Anakin!"
"Lance, calm down," the only woman inside said, sounding utterly exhausted with the argument.
Katie Holt, also known as Pidge, was a prodigy in computer science and robotics. She started out as a hacker, but eventually followed her father and brother into the Academy, further honing her skills and knowledge. By twenty-five, she had completely restructured the United States military's whole network to protect it from hacks – except for her own, had completed two doctorates and was working on a master's in mechanical engineering for fun. She had been a simple choice when Shiro showed her the file, made even simpler when her father said that she had sat in on a seminar he presented at MIT once and had impressed him with her knowledge. She had only been sixteen at the time. Allura would have given her anything to sign her onto the Foundation, but Pidge was willing to work for them just because Shiro was the one to request it.
"I mean, I can see it," said the last remaining man in the room, finally speaking up.
Hunk Garrett, the twenty-seven year old was at the top of his class in mechanics at the Academy. He transferred to Stanford to complete his degree in mechanical engineering before returning to the military, focusing on the engineering corps and disaster relief. He volunteered every week at a soup kitchen as a chef, visited schools in low-income neighborhoods once a month to tutor the children in science and mathematics, and helped his family with numerous charity drives for their community. He came from a loving family that spread their love out to anyone who needed it. Shiro said Hunk was a man who would give the shirt off his back if there was someone who needed it more. He was the easiest choice for the Foundation out of all the candidates. She could provide him with the resources to make large scale change.
"Oh, yeah, sure. The unstable, over-emotional hot-head… I can see it, too. So, does that mean you're going to go all dark side on us, Keith?" Lance asked.
A loud groan came in answer.
"At least you didn't say you were Luke."
"Of course, I wouldn't be a Luke. Shiro's a Luke."
There was silence for a long moment, and then a quiet hum. "Huh, well, I can't disagree with you there. Shiro is definitely a Luke."
"Thank you, Keith. Lance," Shiro answered with genuine pride. "Now, are we done arguing?"
"I still don't know about Lance as Han," Pidge spoke up.
"What? He's the coolest! He even gets the princess! I am absolutely a Han."
"Ehhh, was he that cool?" Hunk asked. "I mean, sure, he acted all cool, but he kind of just… got by on luck. Maybe a little help from the force, but… ehhhh. I'm surprised he didn't die in the first movie. Or the second movie. Or the third. Don't know how he lived long enough to have a kid... and for the kid to kill him."
"He was pretty hopeless most of the time," Pidge added with a chuckle. "Total dweeb. But I guess that was part of his charm."
"Yeah, he had skills as a pilot, but he said a lot of dumb things while trying to sound all cool and suave. And he and Luke couldn't even rescue Leia properly. She did most of the work," said Hunk
"Hmm, I take it back. Lance would make an okay Han," said Pidge. "He says plenty of dumb stuff."
There was a loud guffaw. "Oh, like when he tried to hit on Jenny… No, Jamie… No… Jill? It started with a 'J'. What was her name again, Lance?"
"Hunk. Shut up."
"Coran," Allura said. "Doomed."
"Princess, give them a chance. They aren't arguing anymore, so let's go in and get them focused on business. I'm sure once they are put to work, they'll be model employees," Coran tried to reassure.
"But seriously, Keith? Anakin? Anakin? You really do think highly of yourself."
"Doomed, Coran. We are doomed."
The meeting room settled for five seconds when she entered.
And then Lance tried to flirt with her, the absolute last thing she desired to experience. Ever.
Coran took immediate offense for her, while she ignored them all in favor of an apple danish and slice of coffee cake. They both looked delicious, but her stomach flipped in contempt after all the coffee she drank. Coran might have had a point about squeezing in a proper breakfast. She could at least manage a simple bowl of porridge, or perhaps yogurt and granola.
"Lance," Shiro said as Coran's incomprehensible huffing and insults began to subside. "This is Allura Altea. Your boss."
Lance's mouth gaped in surprise and his gaze swung around to watch her quietly sit down at the head of the table. The other three broke out into boisterous laughter.
"He hit on our boss," Pidge squeaked through laughter, slapping Hunk's shoulder beside her. "I think that's something Han would do."
"Completely embarrass himself in front of a powerful woman his first day on the job? Yeah, that is a Han thing," Hunk agreed.
"Right, now that that argument is settled," Allura broke in, silencing their laughter with her sharp tone.
"You overheard?" Shiro whispered from her left.
"I did." She smiled kindly at him. "And thank you for stopping those two before they came to blows."
"I probably should have warned you that this group can be… a handful?"
"A warning might have been appreciated, yes." She forced herself to ignore her misgivings and the voice still screaming Doom! in the back of her mind. She was a business woman, the leader of an NGO that once was internationally renowned for its charity work. She had to remain poised and positive. Pretend this is tea with the queen, she told herself.
Allura straightened in her seat and carefully picked off a bite of her danish. "Right, onto business. I am sure you all are as excited as I am to get started and learn of your roles here at Voltron. To start, as Shiro said, I am Allura Altea, daughter of Alfor Altea, president and owner of Altea Industries, as well as our Foundation's sole financial patron. I know you are all familiar with him from your education and work at the Garrison Academy. He and I have the utmost respect for the school and the students they produce."
"Then why the hell is Keith here? He got kicked out," Lance said, thrusting a thumb at the man sitting across the table from him.
Allura forced a smile that made her cheeks ache. "Yes, we'll discuss all of your qualifications in a minute." She gestured to Coran, who stood at her right. "This is Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe. He has been number two at Altea Industries for longer than I've been alive, and we are fortunate to have him here now as my Chief of Operations. If there is anything you need for your work, he will be the man to see."
Lance raised his hand. "Yeah, does that include requesting a company car? Shiro has that black one. When do we get cool Range Rovers, too?"
Allura slumped forward with a long sigh. She would allow Coran to field that.
"Executives within Altea Industries receive company cars. New hires have their transportation costs subsidized. We'll get you all dedicated debit cards to use for travel expenses – the tube, buses, trains. You will not have to worry about travel expenses at all."
"Yeah, but… Shiro isn't an executive. Is he?" Lance cocked his head to the side.
"I gave him a promotion upon transferring his employment from Altea to Voltron," Allura explained. "Within the Foundation, he is the second Chief of Operations. Where Coran is responsible for tech, supplies, finances, and so on; Shiro is responsible for managing the staff." She gestured to the group before her. "He recommended all of you for your positions, and I trust that you all respect him well enough to follow his leadership. He is the one who will coordinate your projects, the one you all will answer to, besides myself, and the one you will share your grievances with. And I believe after the last few years, he has more than earned a new car and comfortable salary."
Shiro chuckled. "I would have been happy with just the fancy arm." He raised his right arm to show off the latest Altea tech she and her father designed for him. He grinned as he flexed the sleek white and silver fingers of the prosthetic. "But I'm grateful for the rest, too."
Three years earlier, Shiro's plane had been shot down on a routine supply mission for a joint U.S. – British operation. He had subsequently been found and captured by a despot beholden to Zarkon and spent over a year in an illegal prison facility, treated like a lab rat until he escaped and stumbled across an ally's encampment. He was brought to England for treatment, where her father took responsibility for his care, gave him a new prosthetic to replace the one Zarkon's people put together, and offered him a job overseeing Altea's security while he went through treatment for his PTSD.
Shiro had been presumed dead. He returned broken and sick, but alive, heralded as a hero for saving the two scientists that had been onboard his plane. He hated retiring from the Air Force, no matter the decoration that came with it, but even with all of Altea's technology, he still had a long way to go in recovering from his trauma. The stress on his body during his captivity had even begun to turn his hair white. By the final surgery to fit his new arm, there wasn't a trace of black hair left on his head. Offering him a job and proper care was the least her father felt he could do for the man.
"Okay, I can't argue that, Shiro earned all of it," Lance relented. For a moment, the feigned arrogance of his expression vanished into sincere appreciation and gratefulness. These people had looked up to Shiro, were friends to him once. They were happy to see him alive and thriving as well as he could after his experience. "But… Coran, what color's your car?"
Allura fell over with another groan, echoed by the others around him, save for Keith and Coran.
"Lance! Don't be a dick," Keith shouted. "This job isn't about a dumb car."
"I'm only curious," Lance yelled back. "Shiro's is awesome. Did you get a custom interior, too?"
"Oh, well, I did, actually," Coran answered, unperturbed by the off-subject line of inquiry. "Alfor designed it personally for me." He puffed his chest out and preened at the fact his best mate spoiled him. "White and chrome body, interior is all white leather, blue stitching. You should see the interface. Highest tech he could create for it. Ah, though I think Shiro and Allura have the same in theirs." He rubbed his chin in thought, then brushed it off as inconsequential. The whole conversation was inconsequential, but it seemed they were never recovering from it. "But, if you'd like, I'll take you out for a spin in mine later. She's a beaut."
"Will you let me drive?" Lance asked, sounding so much like a child with a new toy in front of him.
"Mm, no, but maybe we'll squeeze in some lessons another time. With a less expensive vehicle. I'd rather not unleash an unpracticed American on London's streets just yet. Certainly not in my car." Coran frowned when his answered made Lance visibly deflate. "Ah, but I'll take you all for a pint at lunch. My treat."
Lance grumbled in disappointment. A swift strike from the woman beside him got a half-hearted, "Sure, a pint sounds great," in response.
"Alright, can we get this meeting back on track?" Allura asked in the lull of conversation.
"Wait, one more question," Lance spoke up.
Allura sagged in her chair. "What is it?" She already regretted asking him that.
"What color is your car?"
"Lance!" all the Americans shouted.
Allura buried her head under her arms while Coran once more answered even though it was pointless to.
"Oh, hers is a gorgeous pearlescent blue. On a sunny day, when the light hits it just right, you can see a bit of pink and silver in the sky blue. So faint, you'd hardly notice it any other time. It's a stunning car. Cost Alfor a pretty penny, but only the best for his darling daughter." Coran puffed up again. "I helped design it with him, too. It's our finest work. Allura's the envy of the high society girls."
"Oh! I have another question!" Lance said, raising his hand high with a gleam in his eye. "When do we get to meet these high society girls?"
"Lance!" everyone shouted loud enough that she was certain all of Britain heard.
The Americans broke out into another chaotic and far too loud argument. Allura sunk down in her chair and rubbed at her temples. She was going to have a permanent headache if the meeting continued to derail any further.
"I think we may need a gavel to keep these meetings in order," she muttered to Coran.
"Don't be silly, Princess. You'd just shatter the table if we gave you one of those," he teased back.
"Wait! Did he just call you Princess?" Lance asked with a short guffaw. "Aw, that's cute."
"It's a nickname, Lance," Shiro responded, tone flat and unwilling to humor Lance on this. "Everyone at Altea calls her Princess."
"I'm not mocking her. I genuinely think it's cute," Lance argued before turning to her with the same aggravating smirk he gave her when she first walked in. He slicked back his short brown hair and wagged his eyebrows at her. "And since we've established I'm the Han here, I guess that makes you the princess."
She glared. "Right, I think now is a good time to discuss our zero-tolerance policy on sexual harassment."
Lance's smirk vanished, and he snapped straight in his chair. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm done now." He looked truly apologetic, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. He may as well be an impulsive teenager, but she would give him one shot to turn around that behavior.
"This will be your one and only warning, Lance," she said. He nodded vigorously in response. "Then can we please get this meeting back on topic?" Everyone nodded. "Good. Then, Coran, the dossiers, please."
As Coran handed out each individual file, Allura gestured for everyone to take more of the breakfast spread before them. Keith and Lance nearly destroyed the peace once more as they a fought over a cream cheese danish, but the meeting was saved when Pidge stole it while the men snarled at each other. Allura met the woman's twinkling, mischievous gaze as she took a large bite out of the pastry. She grinned shamelessly when the men groaned at the loss. Allura decided then that she very much liked the girl and couldn't be more grateful to have her there.
"Each of you will be responsible for your own division, with its own projects, but you all will collaborate and integrate your projects where you need to," she explained. "This is where Shiro's position is of vital importance. The Black division is tasked with overseeing each of the departments and coordinating all collaboration efforts. He will take your ideas, find the ideal method to implement them as a whole unit, and then lead the effort on the ground while the rest of you support him however you can.
"Hunk, you will be in charge of the Yellow division, which will focus on engineering projects that can be used to improve infrastructure around the world. But, most importantly, these projects will be aimed to rebuild and restructure areas crippled by warfare and extreme poverty. You'll be responsible with helping people return to a normal life through some of the most basic necessities. Outdated or destroyed water and sewage systems, transportation that utilizes the newest clean energy tech, updated roads to connect rural and urban areas, and so on. Your engineering background is vital to these projects, and your heart is critical in seeing that these efforts succeed in good faith. Your division is literally strengthening the foundation of a better, freer world for all."
"Cool," Hunk said as he flipped through his dossier. A simple response, but he appeared excited with his responsibilities.
"Pidge," Allura continued. "Your Green division is responsible for communications – improving internet, data, phone service. Governments and corporations can easily undermine the lives of civilians by hampering their means of communication and access to independent news and information, I want you to find a way to keep all people connected – to each other and to those that seek to control their lives. And, just as you did for the military, I want you to restructure security systems to hopefully hamper any malicious hacking efforts. And because this is related to modern infrastructure, you will likely be working closely with Hunk."
"Sweet," Pidge chirped. Hunk held his hand up to her for a quick high-five and the two shared a grin. They already had good rapport, they would make an amazing team.
"Lance…" Allura sighed as she watched Lance scrutinize his own dossier. "Your Blue division is more people oriented. As vital as communication and infrastructure systems are, what is most crucial for a person's well-being is knowing that there are others they can reach out to for help or friendship in times of need. You will be responsible for social-outreach programs."
"But… I'm a pilot. What do you a need a pilot for? Wouldn't a social worker or community organizer be better for this? Hunk would be a better fit, too. He has experience with those sorts of things," Lance pointed out.
"Yes, that may be the more obvious route, and I do encourage you to work with both Hunk and Pidge on your projects. Both for their individual experience, as well as the resources their divisions can provide." She smiled and gentled her tone at the doubt in his eyes. "But, the way Shiro described you assures me that you are a good fit for this role. He said you were kind and friendly, a person who can be relied on and trusted when it counted most, the type willing to risk, or even sacrifice, your own life to save another. Also, you are a talented pilot, and I do have use of those skills with my own venture."
"Your venture?"
"Yes, it was originally part of the Blue program when my father first began the foundation with his college mates. A medical program that sought to build and maintain independent, free and low-cost hospitals around the world. I've taken it on as my personal project, part of the new White Lion division whose sole task is medical and pharmaceutical research," she explained.
"Oh… Wow." Lance stared at her, eyes wide in awe. He shook away the amazement and glowered at her again. "I still don't follow where my piloting would be important."
"Flight-For-Life, Lance," she said, snickering when his wide-eyed, gaping expression returned. "Some of these hospitals will be treating people in remote areas. I want a pilot who is knowledgeable and experienced to help plan out ideal locations to provide the quickest, easiest flight patterns to save those that might not otherwise be reached. I also hope that you, alongside Shiro, can help train a new class of pilots for these hospitals, locals that might not otherwise be able to afford such opportunities. Your military backgrounds will be of importance in that regard, too. If any of these rescues are in high risk, violent regions, the pilots will need the knowledge and discipline you both gained through your training."
"Huh, that sounds pretty cool," Lance said, a glint of excitement appearing as he grinned at Shiro. "You really think it's a good fit for me?"
Shiro laughed. "I wouldn't have recommended you if I didn't, Lance. You have plenty of potential."
"I think you'll be able to do something great with this," Allura added. Lance leaned back in his chair at her compliment, the picture of arrogance and pride as he grinned. She rolled her eyes and moved on. "And lastly, Keith." She turned to the glowering man beside Shiro. He sat slumped and unhappy, almost making her fear that he would not remain with them for long. Shiro had warned her that he could be a handful, temperamental, but at his core he was a good person. He just needed a chance to prove it. "Your division will have the most independence of them all, but your role is vital to this foundation's success." Keith's brow rose but he showed no other signs of interest. She pushed on. "I need someone who is not afraid of taking risks and following his gut, someone creative, someone who may look at the world and our projects from a different perspective. You were expelled from the Academy, but you did not give up on your pilot training. You sought private training in both combat and piloting, you did it on your own…"
"I had Shiro's support," Keith interrupted.
Allura smiled reassuringly. "Yes, but you did not give up. You took a unique route, but you reentered the military as an informant after connecting with an independent, and technically illegal, mercenary group. While The Blades may be looked down upon by most governments, we cannot deny their effectiveness in undermining a number of unethical, unjust, and truly illegal operations funded by a certain corporation and under the protection of violent political regimes. All without shedding innocent civilian blood. It may subvert international guidelines and laws, but it has given more people a chance at regaining peace and freedom on their own, without massive military intervention by other countries. This organization will seek to give them the resources they need to do so successfully."
"And what exactly are my responsibilities here, besides telling you when your projects won't work?" Keith asked.
"Besides being a creative influence, I also need someone capable of gathering information on the regions I intend to aid. Many of them have been stuck in perpetual warfare, others are impoverished because of corrupt government officials. I need to know the ins and outs of these countries and people, without raising too many alarms among those that may not appreciate an NGO taking care of their people. It is complicated, sensitive work, but you are already familiar with many of these places, have contacts within that can help guide us. So, where you aided The Blades in dismantling regimes, I need your aid in repairing the damage those regimes did to their people."
Keith hummed as he stared intently at his dossier. She caught him flash a quick glance toward Shiro, who gave him a gentle smile and thumbs up. With that, he nodded and tossed the dossier aside. "Alright, I'm in."
She straightened and gave an excited clap. "Splendid. Then, let's all have a tour of the facilities and get to work." As she stood with the others, she looked over to Coran and whispered, "I forgot to ask earlier, do you have the report on the Puig Facility in Marrakesh ready?"
"Yes, everything is set for the bid. Puig's owner informed us that their contract to Galra is expired and there have been no attempts to renegotiate. Altea's legal team ironed out all the details of the offer. We should be able to sweep it out of Zarkon's hold without any retaliation from him," Coran assured.
"I will look over the file myself after I see everyone settled in to work, and then we can send our official proposal this afternoon. We cannot waste a second of the time we have. Zarkon has been quiet of late, but he will not remain so for long. We have to strike now."
"Of course, Princess. I'll have the file on your desk when you're done. Anything else you need?"
"Keith, do you ever smile?" she heard Lance ask out in the hall.
"Not when you're around," Keith answered.
"I could use an aspirin," she whispered to Coran.
"Wow, you really never grew out of the edgy asshole phase," Lance said with false wonder.
"Or a bottle of gin," she amended. "A large one."
Coran shook his head and gave her shoulder a consoling pat. "I'll see what I can rustle up for you, Princess."
Lotor glowered at the drizzling rain from the door of his jet. Called back to headquarters and greeted by such abysmal weather rather than the one who requested his return should not surprise him, yet still he was disappointed. He should know better after twenty-eight years of the same pattern.
He tied his long white hair back, flipped the hood of his dark blue hoodie up, shouldered his rucksack, and began his miserable descent. He was home, but for how long this time?
"How was your winter in Siberia, Mr. Daibazaal?" his assistant asked from the bottom of the stairs where she waited with an open umbrella.
"Cold," he answered with wry humor.
Acxa's lips quirked to give away her amusement. She did not laugh. In all the years he had known her, he was certain he had never heard her laugh. Or truly smile. Perhaps a soft one in a rare moment of pride, but it never lasted. Curious that she even showed a hint of humor to his jest. He had only been gone a few months, surely, she had not changed so much.
She had let her dark blue hair grow out while he was gone. Just a bit to be noticeable. The tidy bob she typically wore was looser, softer, and brushed past her chin. Her face appeared older, calmer.
Had he failed to notice that his father had left him to rot in the northern tundra for more than a single winter? It certainly felt as though years had passed.
"Perhaps I should have picked up something warmer," she suggested once he was at the bottom of the stairs, ducking beneath her umbrella. That barely-there smile returned as she held up a large strawberry frap.
He snatched the drink from her hand and immediately took a sip. He would have shut his eyes and moaned at the sweet, fruity taste if not for present company. He had sorely missed the simple pleasantries of life while in the arctic.
"Extra espresso?" he asked as they began to walk to the dark blue Audi Q7 waiting a few paces away.
"The barista gave me an odd look, but I watched her put all eight shots in," she answered, her tone still far too jovial to be anything but odd.
He stopped and scrutinized her. "You are… cheerful today. Why?"
She cleared her throat and schooled her expression, but a glimmer of excitement peaked through her stoic façade. Anyone else would not notice it. "I have good news."
"Do tell," he urged.
"The reason for your summons…" That smile twitched at her cheek again. "Your father is in hospital. Heart attack."
His eyes widen, brows shot up. "Ooooh, that is good news."
He shifted his ruck to pull out his phone. He would actually have reception again. The oil rig he was stationed on still operated on dial-up and couriers on snowmobiles. He attempted to bring it into the modern era, but his father denied the funds. Lotor knew it was entirely out of spite, and to keep him disconnected from the rest of the world.
"Fifth one. There are talks of a transplant this time," Acxa explained as he looked through all the recent news on his father and his company.
"Well, the stints obviously did not do anything useful," Lotor muttered, slowly approaching the SUV again. Though, it is likely all the blow he does to keep up with his deranged wife, he thought to himself.
"Boss," his driver Zethrid greeted as she held the car's rear door open for him. He glanced up from the article he was reading to return the greeting with a curt nod. The large, muscular woman wore a pink painted grin that stood out in sharp contrast to her dark complexion, but perfectly matched the streaks of pink in her purple hair. He cocked a brow at her eager expression. "How many times did you nearly die this time?"
Lotor snorted as he slid into the backseat. "Lucky thirteen," he answered. "Nearly impaled six times, had a brush with a wrench dropped from twenty feet above my head, one fool pulled a knife on me – he didn't even deny that it was on my father's orders." He hummed in thought. "Three fires, they locked me out of my quarters for a night, surely hoping I would die of exposure if not eaten by a bear, and just last week I was pushed into a frozen lake. For once I was grateful for global warming. The ice was thin enough to break through."
"And how many people died as a result of these attempts?" Zethrid asked as she and Acxa climbed into the front seats.
"Seven. I'm sure my father believes them to be collateral damage. Most died in the fires, anyway."
"The one who pulled a knife on you?"
"I will see that Throk enjoys the next ten years of his work contract at a refinery regularly targeted by terrorists."
"And the one who pushed you into the lake?"
"The idiot fell through while trying to get away. Never did find the body."
He hummed as he scanned the article on his father's latest failure. His holdings were becoming as weak as his body. He had finally lost all his rights to Voltron Foundation, incurred massive cost in yet another frivolous lawsuit because of it. Zarkon had banished him to Siberia because he had argued against the suit, informed his father that it was a waste of money and that he would be wiser to just let it go. But no, the bastard was as spiteful and petty as ever. He had the resources to sink Alfor with one lawsuit after another. Lotor knew that was his primary goal – destroy Altea Industries by bleeding Alfor's coffers dry. It had appeared to work at first. Voltron had to suspend all activities while battling the last three suits, but Galra's standing had weakened enough that accounts were being lost, contracts voided. Lotor would have a lot of work to salvage what he could. He should just let Galra die already, but the company still had its uses, barring he could be around to take advantage of them.
"Ezor is starting another pool," Zethrid commented as she pulled off the tarmac and aimed for the gates into the city. "I'm betting your next banishment will be to Venezuela."
"No, my father needs their oil too much to risk me fucking that up," Lotor commented. "The last thing he needs is to have social unrest quelled when it makes it so much easier to drain a country of its most valuable resources."
"Well, I still think it'll be South America," Zethrid said.
"The Amazon?" Acxa chimed in.
"Hmm, my father has always wished to decimate the rain forest, but it is not so high on his to-do list that he would care if I interfered," Lotor mused. "Enough deadly creatures there to see to my accidental demise. He might enjoy imagining a boa constrictor devouring me whole."
"I'm betting on that, then," Zethrid said.
Acxa's phone chimed with a message. She read it and held it over her shoulder for him to see it was from Narti. Acxa had been relaying the conversation to his other assistants in their absence.
"Ahh, she may be on to something there. There is something poetic about dropping me in the middle of the Outback with no supplies after failing to see me freeze to death in the arctic. Extreme heat, even deadlier creatures. Tell her to make that bet, and I will match her winnings."
"Yes, sir."
"Where are Ezor and Narti this afternoon?"
"Narti is overseeing the maid service at your flat. Ezor is waiting at Galra, trying to hear any whispers from your mother's office."
Lotor's gaze snapped up to glare at the back of Acxa's head. "That creature is not my mother."
Acxa flinched. "Yes, sorry, sir."
A tense silence fell over the car. Lotor ignored it as he browsed through the latest news. He was curious of Altea's current standings, but he did not have insider knowledge of their holdings. As best he could glean, Alfor had not suffered too greatly. His company was back on the up and up in the market and he continued his service in the House of Lords, but it appeared he was falling back in his responsibilities to Altea, choosing to work from his home outside of Cambridge rather than staying in the city.
An ache formed in his chest as he thought of that home. How long had it been since he had seen that estate? Twenty years? It had been too long, but the memories seemed as sharp and clear as if they were from the day before.
"Did you get into any fights in Siberia?" Zethrid asked suddenly, breaking into wistful memories and making him catch the smile that threatened to appear.
He cleared his throat and set his phone aside. "Only one."
"Bloke with the knife?"
Lotor chuckled as he took a sip of his drink. "Yes. I attempted to avoid it…"
"Booooo," Zethrid chided.
"You will be happy to know that he made the unwise choice of insulting my mother's ethnicity." Lotor's grin felt sharp and feral as he recalled the bitter, verbal jabs the moron lobbed at him. He was used to people calling him a half-breed, perhaps the kindest of slurs he had to endure from even his own father. But, while he loathed the woman she became, the memory of Honerva was sacrosanct in his mind. He would not abide hearing anyone disparage her ethnicity, telling him that he was weak for having her for a mother. They could insult him all they wished, they could tell him to go back to India, an especially heinous insult when his mother's family was from Bangladesh and ignored the fact he was born and raised in London while his mother was Manchester to her core. The woman who had once been a brilliant scientist, beloved by his father when they were both clean, and a dear friend to Alfor and Meleanor Altea – she was off limits. "I punched him in the gut hard enough to make him vomit blood and bile. Took barely any effort but silenced his vile mouth once and for all."
"That's why you're the best, Boss," Zethrid said.
He hummed and turned to stare out at the bleak, grey London skyline before him. He had not missed it, but a part of him had longed to be home, to be out of the desolate wastelands and slums his father sent him to. Perhaps they were a step up from the boarding schools and military academies he had to suffer throughout his formative years. At least he could pretend to be free while surviving those bloody banishments. But he had been sent away for so much of his life, could he really call London home? It was mostly a base of operations, an area he knew well enough to move comfortably in, but there was no warmth in the city for him.
He never dreamed of this place while he was away. Longed for it, yes. There was always a desperate tug in his chest every time he thought of England, an incessant need to return, to remain, to say that he was home. But when he closed his eyes for the briefest of respites, it was never the city he dreamed of, never the people.
A field of flowers. Moonlight hair. Childhood laughter. A princess he swore he would never forget, no matter how damaged his cursed life left him.
That was the closest feeling to home he ever had. That was the world he longed for. A fantasy of the past. A peaceful dream.
"Sir," Acxa called from the front.
He jolted from his unexpected nap, snapped his eyes open to see his assistant's phone held over her shoulder to him. He hummed, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and took her phone.
"What is this?" he asked as he skimmed through the messages between Acxa, Narti, and Ezor. He glowered at a picture Acxa sent of him sleeping, and the cooing response Ezor sent.
'Aww. Even the son of a blood-thirsty tyrant needs his sleep,' she wrote.
He rolled his eyes and focused on the rest of the conversation.
"Ezor overheard your m- Excuse me, the witch, speaking about Alfor," Acxa explained just as he found the texts she had wanted him to read again.
"Voltron Foundation…" He breathed out as he read the message and reread it to make sure he had not missed a thing. "Alfor gave it…" He felt breathless as he stared at one word, one name. "Allura," he whispered.
He fell back in his seat as shock and elation washed over him. His short laugh earned quizzical looks from the girls in the front, but he ignored them as his gaze returned to the heart of the city they drove through.
She was there. She was somewhere in that city. For the first time in over twenty years, they were in London at the same time, and she held the reins of the only venture that stood a chance at undermining his father's work.
Well, perhaps not the only venture, but the one who would garner the most attention. That suited him perfectly.
He laughed again.
"Acxa," he said, his tone firm with command as he handed her phone back. "Begin to look to for properties. We must capitalize on every second of time we have while I am home."
Home. He had a reason to call it home now. He had a reason to stay. He could not allow this opportunity to flounder.
"See that Narti gets the paperwork in order, I want to sign it by tomorrow. My father and the witch cannot suspect anything, cannot have a single reason to turn on me until we have secured all we need. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Acxa and Zethrid said in unison.
Excitement welled in his chest. Eager anticipation. He curled his fingers in, pricked his palms with nails just a tad too long, and bit the inside of his cheek to restrain the urge to celebrate this chance.
"There is much work to be done."
A/N: Ahaha, so, obviously jumping into a new fandom. I will someday get back to my other fics, but I just really, really needed to write for this pairing.
This fic is going to be mostly fluff, maybe some smut. I'll hint at other pairings, but besides Zethrid/Ezor and mentioning past Adashi, I won't write anything explicit for them. This is exclusively a Lotura fic, I don't want to distract from that with other pairings right now. And I still hate love triangles with a passion, so besides Lance being... Lance, that shit ain't gonna be happening.
