A Glass of Cheer Chapter 1, a voltron fanfic

Keith stared at the page before him, not seeing the words that danced across the page. He had picked the book up and started it his first night back, when the quiet of the castle had him so spooked he couldn't sleep. Before he'd disappeared into space, the book would have been done by now, considering how many late nights he'd had. Now … he was maybe half-way through, and that was being generous. He just couldn't concentrate, and the lack of focus had turned up elsewhere too. He'd botched the happy reunion that they were all supposed to have had; too many days on the run, too many set-backs and betrayals that had sapped his ability to trust and work with others.

Have I been away that long, he wondered bleakly, that I can't work with a team anymore? Is getting Black back worth it, if this is going to keep happening?

He kept going over the rescue attempt in his head, reviewing their search through Wade's booby-trapped base and the arguments with Lance that had almost botched the whole attempt. Each time he kicked himself for not seeing the actual plot, Wade's attempt to blow up the Castle of Lions and so cripple Voltron by destroying the command base and the power hook-up of the Black Lion. I should have planned for this¸ he chided himself, What was it that old Kostas used to say—always ask yourself what your enemy really wants before you think about what he will do? Yeah, sure, if you can get it right. Sighing, he tried to tell himself that everything had worked out, that he shouldn't be too worried about the fact that he couldn't think like Wade, that he should be happy about it. Allura and Coran had repeated themselves often enough; he could probably give their lecture to himself at this point. But, if he was being honest, that wasn't what was bothering him from the rescue.

Bloody hell, he thought savagely, snapping the book shut, is there any point to this? But then the anger was gone, replaced by a dull throb of heartache. Too much had happened on that long-ago day at Garrison, when he heard Black scream He's taking me!, when he had promised the great lion that he would find him as he squashed the wave of powerlessness that had threatened to overwhelm his resolve, and too much had happened since his return, with Wade and Lotor's attacks, with the cadets, with Lance's barely concealed anger, that he hadn't been able to recover from his own betrayal. And now it seemed that he would never be able to make good, to apologize to the team for changing the plan on them and making them think that he would do such a thing. He knew them well enough then to make them believe he'd done the unthinkable and left them; now, well, he hoped he'd be able to guess what they wanted for their birthdays.

"Hey Keith?" Hunk's voice broke into the still quiet of the room.

"Yeah?"

"The work on Black's going to take longer than we thought."

"Is it-"

"Don't worry," Hunk interjected, chuckling at the sudden change in his tone. "He'll be fine, just more detail work than I thought. Can't keep an eye on the cadets though, and I've got them for the evening. You want to give them it off?"

"Not really," Keith said slowly, "Allura said that the last time that happened the staff just about mutinied. I'd rather not add to our list of enemies."

"Fair enough. You want 'em?"

"No." Hunk laughed. "I've got enough paperwork to bury someone in, which I'm in the mood to do. Send them to Pidge; maybe he and Vince can teach the other two how to use the computer."

"Wishful thinking. Luck with the papers!"

The room fell silent again, and Keith looked over to his desk where that mound of paperwork waited, helpfully divided into two piles: the one from Captain Monmerce, the head of the castle security and the region captain of the Arusian forces, stacked neatly, and the one avoided by Lance, which looked like it had become an organic being over the years.

"Screw it," he breathed fiercely. Lance would be done with the simulator soon; if he still felt out of sorts then, maybe he could get some sense back by pounding some unfortunate simulation into oblivion. And then maybe he'd be able to control the paperwork organism which had eaten his desk. In the meantime, he was going to disappear for a while.

Lance groaned after turning off the holographic Lotor; it had been a good fight. He was still frustrated, but at least now it was more at himself than at Keith. Truth be told, he had still been angry at his friend for the way Keith had skipped out, all in an attempt to fool Wade into believing that he had betrayed the Voltron Force and Garrison. It had worked, but the anger that he had originally felt at Keith's 'betrayal' had lingered over the years. He had kept pushing it to the side; one of the few bonuses for working for Wade (alongside the glamorous status of being the youngest Flight Instructor at Garrison) had been the plethora of things Lance could more productively direct his anger against, and with less guilt attached.

Keith's return, however, had caused that old wound to reopen some (ok, a lot), and he had responded with snide comments and insubordination. Had it been before the whole mess with the Lions and Garrison, Keith would have been able to handle it, ignore his words and look at the real reason for Lance's anger. Now, well… now Lance admitted that his choice of response to his friend's return had probably caused a good deal of the problems they had been facing recently, especially on Coran's rescue.

I've never doubted Keith before, he thought, stretching, And I didn't doubt him then. So what kept me from listening? He snorted as the questions flew through his head. Sheer bloody-mindedness, that's what. I couldn't let him be heroic and right again.

His feet were moving on their own accord as his mind stewed over the issues he had been ignoring for too long. Truth be told, he had … issues with abandonment. His friends had been the one constant in his life for those short years at Garrison, and he had come to rely on them. Keith's sudden disappearance had disabused him of that security blanket, and he now found it hard to admit that he might still trust his old friend.

But still die so that he might live… Lance thought ruefully. God above I am messed up. It didn't help that the cadets were running rampant now, Larmina and Daniel having decided to become the ultimate partners in crime, with Vince as their (not always) unwilling sidekick. It was good for the tech wiz, sure, but it meant that Lance's nerves were starting to wear thin (and no, the three didn't remind him of anyone, thank you). He didn't know how Allura managed to keep her calm, and he sure as hell knew that Keith was getting close to the breaking point.

Money's on barracks cleaning before the end of the week, he bet himself, grinning a bit. Maybe latrine duty, if Keith's feeling poetic.

A stubbed toe suddenly broke him out of his reverie, and he found himself at the kitchen. He wasn't sure why—maybe because his mind was running between being annoyed at Keith and the cadets—but he suddenly stood at the beginning of a late night kitchen raid, back when he, Sven, and Keith had been cadets together and wanted (or were forced, in Keith's case) to take a break and unwind. As he came back to the present, his mind was made up; he still had a few hours to kill (and a couple of team members to badger into covering his shift). He just had to find Keith…

"Hmm…" he mused as he peered into the liquor cabinet. Keith always liked to hide out in high, hard to get to places. Wonder if they've opened that old tower fully yet… Deciding 'probably not,' Lance grabbed a couple bottles and turned around, to find…

"Please tell me those aren't both for you Lance," Allura sighed, raising an eyebrow.

"No, one's for my invisible friend," Lance rolled his eyes. "Of course they aren't; one's sake. Our noble leader's spirit of choice."

Allura bit her bottom lip, worried as she surmised his plan. "You're going to give him alcohol Lance? He's wound up enough as it is."

"Allura, look," Lance sighed, setting the bottles down. "He's past where he's ever gone. He doesn't know how to get back, and I'm the ass who pushed him further down that road when I should have been pulling him back."

"It's not your-"

"I know, I know," he cut her off. "But Keith always pulled me back when I was about to self-destruct, and it's about time that I got off my ass and did the same for him. He's damn well not going to ask for help, not when he thinks it's his fault. And that requires these, for both of our sakes."

She paused and then sighed, shoulders slumping some. "Good luck bringing him back then."

Lance watched her go before he headed out as well, stopping at the cupboard clearly marked 'STAY OUT! (Lance- that means YOU)' as he passed it. He would have sworn she was going to say something else, only to bite it back for the bland platitude to come forward. Dammit Keith, he thought suddenly, you're throwing a wrench in all of our lives. Why can't you just get your head out of your ass?

Lance lay out on the quad, ignoring his class and his aggravating class-mates. Garrison was great, if you looked past how aggravating it was. Stupid uniforms, curfews, and classes. But they didn't lock the doors behind you, like his ridiculously Catholic aunt did.

"McClain, right?" A voice broke him out of his doze, and he looked up to see an amused dark haired cadet standing in front of him who looked vaguely familiar. Wasn't he from…

"I'm in your military history class," the other cadet said, grinning wryly. "Papadopoulos sent me to escort you to his office." And then Lance made the face. This was the keener from the front row of that boring history class.

"How is it, that in a class of 300," he grumbled, "I'm the one who gets nailed for skipping? Surely I wasn't the only one missing."

"It wasn't for skipping," the cadet reached out a hand, and Lance sighed as he took it. "That pissy final year, Malinkov, wants you taken before the board. Something about picking a fight and then booby-trapping his room."

"Oh that," Lance shrugged. "What's Papos-face got on you to have you run his errands …?"

"Keith Kogane," he said, raising an eyebrow. "He was a friend of my father."

Lance made a face. Stupid family connections; it seemed that was the only way Garrison worked, and he hated it.

"Did you really fly that ship into the officer's mess?" Kogane asked after a few moments.

"Yeah," Lance smiled wistfully. "Jae Thompson bet me I couldn't."

Kogane raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, only to shut it pensively. "Where'd you learn to fly like that?"

Lance inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. No lecture from the keener; Kogane must not be as stuffy as he had thought.

"Dad used to run a convoy between Jupiter and Pluto before he took off. Mac was the pilot; he taught me." Kogane's face was a mix of being impressed and not. He grinned. "If I get out of this, I can teach ya."

"May take you up on that," Kogane grinned unexpectedly, and Lance grinned back. As they came up to Papadopoulos' office, they caught the tail end of the conversation between the admiral and Gerneral Dvorj.

"So there are no witnesses?"

"No, just Cadet Malinkov's word. Which, I might add, is stronger than Cadet McClain's, histories considered."

Lance winced as they presented themselves. Fucking history; it got him every time.

"Cadets," Dvorj nodded as he saw them. "Thank you, Cadet Kogane, you may leave now."

"I'd like to stay," he asked, to Lance's surprise, which was only compounded when, after a look at the other officer, Dvorj acquiesced.

After outlining the charges, the most serious being the fight—which Lace had to admit to, having picked it in the mess—Dvorj then asked about the room break-in. The best Lance could do would be to argue against the likelihood that he did it, and hope for leniency based on the lack of witnesses (he'd learned that after the first retaliatory room break-in), but Kogane beat him to it.

"Sorry sir, but Cadet McClain couldn't have broken-in that night. I was helping him study for our military history class."

Dvorj looked at Kogane in shock and then turned not to Lance, but to Papadopoulos. "Is this likely, Kostas?"

Papadopoulos, after giving Lance a long look, nodded. "McClain's missed a number of classes," he said in his heavy Greek accent. "I noted to him that he seriously consider improving his attendance and studying if he wished to pass; it seems that he has listened to the latter, if not the former. Kogane is a good student; one of the best."

Lance winced. "It was sunny," he mumbled weakly. "But yes, I'm trying to catch up on the classes I … missed. Kei- Cadet Kogane has agreed to help."

Dvorj looked at him suspiciously for a few awkward moments before nodding. "Report to General Wade tomorrow for mess duty," Dvorj ordered, in a I-don't-quite-believe-you tone, "You both are dismissed."

Saluting, they left.

"Thanks," Lance said when they were safely away. Keith shrugged, grinning conspiratorially.

"I want those flight lessons. I'm going to hit the library, study for that test. Care to join?" The question was sincere, but heavily ironic. Sighing, Lance laughed.

"Guess I better."

Keith watched a storm roll over the plain below, lightening forming sharp lace patterns across the sky. Sighing, he felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease out, flowing away in the cool air. Black was a steady presence in the back of his mind, enough to be reassuring without stifling. Keith felt that the only thing he did understand right now was the great lion, whose time away from Arus had been just as long and traumatic as his. Black had made his own adjustment, having barely tolerated Pidge and Hunk's administrations at first and only under Keith's watchful eyes, but the lion had adapted quicker than he had.

One of the perks of being mostly metal, Keith thought distractedly as the wind blew past him. For a moment he wondered what it would be like to just follow the wind, as the storm clouds did, moving at a ponderous or quick pace over the land, watching it all unfold below him. But as quickly as that thought had come up, the wind took it away. For better or worse, he knew that he'd always find his way back to where the paperwork and uniform called, to where he said he would be. Duty calls and all, and with that sobering thought, he sighed loudly and leaned forward. The lightening was letting up, and the storm with its show would be gone soon. One less thing to distract him from what was becoming an increasingly difficult reality.

"Mind if I join?" He turned to see Lance standing in the doorway, holding some chips and …

"Booze raid?" Keith asked, skeptical. Lance chuckled and joined him on the balcony.

"Only way we're getting through this," he grinned lopsidedly. "'Cause I'm too proud and you're too damn stubborn to do this the healthy way." When Keith remained silent, Lance looked him in the eyes, serious. "You remember when I almost took off for Pluto's Ring and you stood guard while you had Sven charm Ina into letting him take beer and pizza from the stores? You pulled me back and told me that I couldn't let Garrison beat me. If wouldn't have passed that year, let alone cadet school, if you hadn't rammed some sense into my skull."

Keith nodded. "Yeah; you threatened to punch me senseless when I wouldn't let you sneak off."

"Well, this is your Pluto. And you can stay sober if you want, but I'm not, and I'd rather if you didn't. You can be a prick when I'm drunk and you're not."

Lance watched him as he turned his gaze back over the plain, to where the lightening continued to shoot from the sky to the ground, in defiance of his prediction that it would soon be gone. He had missed this place so much, but now he seemed to not fit, to be just enough off kilter that he collided with everyone and everything instead of running alongside it all harmoniously, as he had used to. He kept wondering with it being this way, if Wade had won, and now Lotor too, simply because he could no longer fit with his team, because he had failed as a leader, failed to acknowledge and accept that things would change, that they would change; he had failed–

"I'm taking your silence as tacit consent," Lance broke into his jumbled thoughts, "so sit down and have a drink. I also," he held up the chips, "raided Hunk's Earth-food closet, so you better well appreciate it."

Keith laughed weakly, conceding. "Well, I'd hate to disappoint on your last night."

"Ah, I can handle Hunk," Lance shrugged, sitting himself against the tower wall. "I'll just blame it on Daniel. Now sit and let's get drunk and stop acting like those prisses at Garrison."

Lance watched Keith surreptitiously as he swallowed some whisky. The commander looked tired and lost as he contemplated the glass of sake in his hands before taking a drink.

Sighing, Keith leaned his head back to rest on the wall. "I think I needed this."

"Always happy to point out when you're being your insufferable self."

"The drink," Keith corrected drily. "And don't you have a shift coming up?"

Lance rolled his eyes at his friend. He's had that damned roster memorized from day one, I bet. Guess that explains why I haven't run into him in the sim or the gym; he's been using them while I've been stuck at that giant computer. "Yeah, I do. Hang on; hey Pidge?" he called into his Voltcom.

"Yeah?" the diminutive tech's voice crackled out.

"You mind covering my shift?"

Pidge sighed. "Lance, I have cadets to chaperone"— An indignant 'Hey!' from Daniel and Larmina cut through— "Why should I?"

"I'm bringing Keith back to the real world, and not guilt-trip central." He ducked the broken tile that Keith threw at him. "Also, I'm under the influence." Well, will be by the time my shift is supposed to start.

"You owe me." Pidge stated. "Keith too." Keith sighed, rolling his eyes in the 'how come I always get roped into your debts?' way of his (which, when he had first dubbed this form of Keith's eye rolling in cadet school as such, Keith had punched him and said he did no such thing).

"Take the cadets with you," Keith called out. "They could do with a night shift at the controls." A series of whines from the cadets came through, even a couple from Vince.

"Roger that," Pidge chuckled, and Lance cut the transmission.

"Now that that's settled," he gave Keith a serious look, "time to get down to the hard stuff."

Keith frowned at his drink and then sighed. "I suppose commenting on your penchant for puns isn't going to get me out of this, is it?"

"Nope. But I'll be nice and go first." He took a swig and grimaced as the liquid burned its way down his throat. He hadn't planned on doing it this way, but, well, he was used to flying by the seat of his pants. Anything to get Keith talking, to get them both back to where they had been, or as close as they could get, before the whole mess had started all those years ago.

"I'm sorry for having been such an ass," he stated and shook his head when Keith opened his mouth. "And if you say that it's your fault not mine, I will punch you. It's mine as much as yours." He took another sip of whisky. "I'm still pissed, you know, about how you skipped out. I get that you needed to fool Wade and that you couldn't have told any of us, but still … I felt like you betrayed us all."

"I did too," Keith said softly. "If it helps any."

Lance snorted. Why did everyone always say that? It never did, even when it was said out of genuine sympathy.

"That's the problem," he pointed out. "We're both spinning our wheels over this stupid thing. I mean, really, Keith—did you have to go on about honour so much in that sham letter? I almost punched Hawkins I was so pissed."

"I thought that when Wade got his hands on one of the letters, that was the best route for it to be believable," Keith admitted, sighing. He downed his drink. "For, well, you know. Captain's honour and all those old rules that they taught us to believe in." He paused, pensive. "That I did believe in, I guess… I actually meant it, too, what I wrote in the note to Garrison."

The old anger in Lance's chest let up some, and he downed his own drink and refilled the two glasses to give him a moment to order his thoughts. "Yeah, I guess that does make sense. I still don't like it though."

Keith snorted and laughed humourlessly. "I know. That's the other reason I put it all in there; I had to get you to blow, for Wade to trust you."

"I suppose I should be honoured you know me so well," Lance rolled his eyes. "Or annoyed that I'm so easy to figure out? Though," he grinned maliciously, "there was talk of an inquiry into the investigation of Voltron after that note of yours. Wade was actually nervous, though nothing came of it in the end, lucky bastard."

Keith shrugged. "That's good. Not that I expected it to do more than shake them up, maybe make them hope that I'd offed myself."

"Which, may I say, thank you for not doing. I don't want to even think about all the paperwork I'd be doing because of it."

"You mean the paperwork you'd be avoiding?" Keith looked exasperated, and he felt (just a little) guilty for leaving the mountain of paper on Keith's desk.

"To be fair," he said, "If you didn't want paperwork left for you, you should have assigned all paperwork duties to Monmerce. Or kept me in the loop."

"Not bitter at all, are we?"

It was halfway into their first year, at lunch, when the Norwegian cadet stormed into the mess, clearly furious over something. Keith turned to ask Lance if he knew the angry northerner—and if he was the cause—but Lance only shrugged.

"Eh, Ice-Man!" A voice called out, and the area around them quieted. Keith watched the cadet stiffen and turn to face the final year cadet who had called out to him. Everyone knew about Dimitri Malinkov, mainly to stay out of his way. He was a navigation student who thought he was the best Garrison had and, as his mother was a Commander stationed in the Cadet School, most felt it was easier not to contradict him. Keith had kept out of his way, mostly to avoid the headache. The fall-out from rescuing Lance had been more than enough for him, and it wasn't worth the bother to get him cited.

Part of success, old Kostas always said, comes from knowing when to attack and when to endure. That is why, he would nod sagely, Odysseus both dared and endured, which (apparently) was the same word in Greek. (He told Lance this once and was told in return that it was the craziest thing he'd ever heard.)

"You gonna cheat on any tests again?" Dimitri sneered. It was the strangest thing, though, because the sneer morphed into confusion and then into sheer terror. The tall cadet hadn't said a word, but just held Dimitri's gaze. And Dimitri didn't move, just sat there frozen for the moment or two of silence before the other cadet spoke.

"I'd ask you the same," the soft voice answered.

When he turned back to get his food, hushed whispers started up, until Dimitri, freed from whatever ice had hit him, stormed up to the other cadet, preparing for a fight.

"You got something to say to me, Holgorsson?"

"I think he accused you of cheating, Dimmi." Lance drawled suddenly, drawing the older cadet's anger. "Can't say I blame you. Must be difficult, living up to your Mom's sterling record." Keith, who had been preparing to shove his chair out of whatever brawl Lance was going to get in, watched as Dimitri stiffened, snarled a "this isn't over!" and stormed off. Chuckling, Lance began to eat again. Keith sighed and gave Lance a sharp look. He was lucky there were officers around to be witnesses.

"Did you catch that?" Lance asked suddenly. Keith looked at him.

"That you almost started another fight?"

"No," Lance waved that off. "I made a 'your mom' joke without being blatantly obvious. New achievement."

"Mind if I join?" Holgorsson stood before their table, ignoring the sideways looks the rest of the mess was giving him. Keith moved his books out of the way, grateful for the distraction.

"By all means," Lance grinned. "We poor, doomed Dimmi-targets should stick together."

"Don't include me in your number," Keith grumbled, shifting over to give Holgorsson room.

"Keith, you didn't just pass your entrance exam, you got a fucking perfect score." Lance rolled his eyes. "You've been a target longer than I've been, which is impressive. I'm Lance McClain, wonder boy is Keith Kogane. How'd you get on Dims' hate list, Holgorsson?"

"I beat him in the Nav's testing," the cadet sighed. "Repeatedly. Name's Sven."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "You're in the same class as him?"

"Yeah," Sven sighed, eyeing the "beef burger" suspiciously. "Pretty sure I did something wrong in some life to deserve having him as a classmate. What is this?"

"Garrison's newest and finest," Lance grinned. "Mystery meat on a bun." He took a bite of his own burger, clearly enjoying the pained look on Sven's face. Keith rolled his eyes; Lance would eat anything he'd found, even Garrison's dubious student cuisine. The old burgers had been vile; Keith was still deciding whether these new ones could be considered 'food' or just 'edible chemicals'.

"What was that trick you used?" he asked as Sven gave up on the burger and started on the fries, which were less suspicious.

"Eh?" Sven asked, caught off guard. Lance looked at him to.

"You didn't see?" he asked his friend, who rolled his eyes. "That's your specialty, brainiac."

He kicked Lance and turned back to Sven, who shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it. It just happens. Mom claims there's old shaman blood in her family, but who knows."

"Huh." They turned to Lance. "I never thought I'd be the normal one at a table."

Keith raised his eyebrows and was about to reply when Sven snorted. "This is coming from the idiot who flew a rusting, archaic jet plane on a dare?"

"He's normal, just suicidal," Keith clarified, trying not to laugh. Lance's most recent escapade had been the talk of the school and the shame of the upper level piloting instructors. And security; there were now triple the number of security personnel around anything that could be flown.

"Ah, right. Sorry, my English gets mixed up sometimes."

"The crazy accent didn't give that away at all," Lance commented blandly, and Sven gave him a hard look.

"I saw it this time!" Lance cried, "Oh wait, no. Still just you two, being weird."

They must have kicked Lance's chair at the same time, because the next thing Keith knew, Lance was on the floor, laughing his head off. They got a few looks from the instructors on duty, but as Lance was laughing and not punching, they went back to ignoring the general mass of students before them.

"I say we keep him," Lance grinned as he pulled his chair up. "If things keep going this way, you'll be way more fun with him around."

Keith wondered off-handedly if he should be counting glasses, to keep from drinking too much. Yet he didn't care at the moment whether or not he'd have a killer head in the morning; things didn't feel like they were running away from him at the moment, and that's all that mattered.

"Have you heard from Sven at all?" he asked Lance, who had just shoved a fistful of chips in his face.

"Nope," he answered around the chips, "No one's heard from him in years. He and Romelle had a falling out, a year or two ago, but we didn't hear about it from him. She and Allura were talking and apparently it came up." Lance rolled his eyes, and Keith got the feeling it didn't just 'come up.' "She said he'd been acting really weird, saying he needed to spend more time in the cold regions of Pollux and stuff like that. You get a chance to look him up?"

"No," Keith sighed, "I didn't dare contact anyone. Wade was letting Pollux be, since Sven wasn't on Earth when the Lions fritzed and a war hero, but I didn't want to take the chance that he'd unleash his dogs on them if I did. How long has it been?"

"Since we talked to him or since we actually saw him in person?"

"Either?"

"Too damn long." Lance's gloomy pronouncement sent his mind spirally down memory lane, to all the trouble he and Sven had pulled Lance out of and all the times Lance and Sven had reminded him of the world outside of Garrison.

"He kept us grounded," he sighed, and Lance nodded, knowing what he meant.

"He would have knocked our heads together on day one," Lance asserted, and he grinned.

"If you had survived that long, with just him being around. How many times did he threaten to upend the trash can on you?"

"You think I counted?" Lance laughed. "He did once, when you were off being tortured by your family that one summer."

"You wouldn't have lasted," Keith ribbed. "It's a delicate balance, dealing with you."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the pot, you're the kettle. Who's been moping insufferably since he got back?"

Keith made a face at his friend, who only grinned wider. "Not letting up Keith. Your turn to spill."

He sighed and, setting down his glass, rested his arms on his knees. The lightning storm had let up, but still he looked out, seeing the ghosts of the lightning race across the plain.

"Keith?"

He tipped his glass back, welcoming the burn of the alcohol over trying to explain the jumble of thoughts tormenting him.

"I don't know… Lance, no honestly," he sighed as Lance opened his mouth to protest, "I don't know how to explain it. Have you ever come home, only to find," he paused, gnawing on his lip, "like the home you remember exists only to interrupt the home you find?

"I can't get back, it's like I'm still trying to catch up to the present." He groaned, frustrated. "I can't even explain what's up; what use am I? The cadets are driving me mad, I've wanted to throw you into the damn volcano more times than I can count, and I've even contemplated throttling Hunk. I don't hear Pidge half the time; it's easier just to block him out. And every time Coran tells me it will all work out, to just give it time, I want to scream. I can't face Allura anymore; it's … well… ugh, I just don't know. The Arus I remember isn't here anymore. The worst part, though, is that, well… I can still see that old Arus that I left behind. There's two Aruses, and I'm somewhere in-between, and I can't get out. I don't know what's going on; I've never felt so damn helpless, and, well, you've seen the results. They're just fucking wonderful." He ran his hand through his hair, resisting the urge to pull it out. The dam on his frustration had broken, there was nothing he could do to stop the outpouring of words now.

"I keep thinking that they've won, since I've been gone for so long that I can't even lead this team anymore. Or because I just… changed too much out there and can't come back. That they've won, because I've failed."

He went silent, refusing to look at Lance. It had all come out, jumbled, and he couldn't bear suddenly to hear what Lance would say. To hear if his friend thought, as he did, that he had failed, failed the test given to him when the Wade took the Lions, when he accepted the challenge given to his service to Garrison and Arus.

"You didn't."

"What?" he asked, startled out of his plummeting thoughts.

"You didn't change too much, and you sure as hell haven't failed," Lance repeated. "I've been out there, Keith, remember? And there's no way I would've told you to go where you went, to contact those traders if I had thought you couldn't handle them and what the Ring could throw. You've changed, sure, but we all have, right? At least," he smiled ruefully, "I hope so. I'd hate to still be the me from last year, let alone five or ten years ago."

He just stared at Lance, waiting for his friend to drop the "but"; yet it never came. Gradually Lance's words processed in his head, and he smiled weakly.

"That's very deep for you."

"I have my moments," Lance grinned, and then rolled his eyes. "Also, Papa-whatshisface made me play backgammon with him once a week, since you weren't around to challenge him. If I didn't pick up some of his plethora of stale proverbs, I'd be thicker than Hunk before breakfast."

"And which one led to this masterful insight?"

"Some old Greek guy, talking about rivers and things flowing. Socrates? Hippocrates? One of them."

"Wasn't that Heraclitus?"

"Probably. Point is, I'm right about the important thing, you're wrong. Now give me your glass." He downed his own before continuing. "Clearly we both need more alcohol."

"I don't know though Lance," Keith sighed after a few moments. He played with his glass, watching the liquid rotate around, avoiding Lance's eyes.

Lance punched him in the arm, and Keith retaliated by hitting him in the gut.

"D'you spill?" Lance asked, grinning. Rolling his eyes, Keith help up his glass with its contents still intact.

"There."

"That's not proof of anything except my ability to not spill my drink," Keith sighed, irritated.

"Exactly. Look, Keith—You're still you. You've just grown up, changed with the times. And before you ask me how I know, I know because you're my friend."

Keith looked sceptical. Lance didn't blame him; in his place, he'd probably feel the same.

"Have you ever thought that maybe you're not the one who's fallen behind, that we have to catch up with you?"

"You don't honestly believe that," Keith said exasperated.

"Honestly? No fucking clue." He shrugged and took a drink. "But I do know that it feels like when Hawkins threw the five us together for the first time, when we were all trying to figure out where everyone stood. And you went off on your crazy leader spiel before it all evened out."

Keith glared at him, "I did no such thing."

"Oh man, did you ever. But that's history now, and we both know how I feel about history." He grinned wryly, and Keith even joined in some. History had been his worst class at Garrison, no question there.

"Look, we've got a new team, basically. Hunk, Pidge, and I've spent so much time pretending to be Wade's cronies that there are some days I wonder if I've actually become one. Plus the terrible trio."

Keith frowned, pensive. "Yeah, I suppose you're right," he conceded after a moment. "We don't have the time to figure each other out again though."

"No, we don't, so we do it on the fly. Just, maybe," Lance paused, eying his friend. "And if you call me a pot here, I will punch you somewhere a lot lower. Just let us in Keith. It's no good shutting us out, and this isn't going to happen otherwise."

"But I'm-"

"The commander, the leader, yeah yeah, you've got to be strong and all that. I get it." Lance topped off the glasses again; they were both drinking quickly, grasping onto the raft the alcohol provided, no matter how fickle that raft might be. "But that doesn't mean that you have to always be taking care of us. Let us watch out for you sometime; we're your team, not anyone else's. I know it means actually taking your own advice, but hey, it can't hurt."

Keith sighed. "Guess I can't do any worse than I already am."

"No." He laughed as Keith shoved him.

They fell quiet again, sipping their drinks as they watched the late dusk drop into night. Lance wondered if this was going to do any good; it certainly wasn't going the way he had planned. He was talking a lot more, for one thing, and for a second, Keith still looked lost. Ok, so maybe he wasn't the greatest at the emotional side of things, but surely he could do better than this, right?

Unless I'm just as lost, he thought suddenly and almost admitted that he was. But a pilot never admitted to being lost; that was the navigator's fault. And as Sven was off who-knows-where, well, there went that dilemma.

"Do you remember that summer, when we first started school?" Lance asked suddenly, smiling at the memory. Keith looked at him strangely before nodding.

"Yeah… it was horrible, until the last few weeks of the break, when the temperatures sky-rocketed."

"And all the girls came out in bikinis and shorts? You could see Shauna's tattoo then, peeking out on her back and down her belly…"

"You would remember that."

"And? But man… there's no summer like an Earth summer, not one like that one. Those few weeks were perfect, a summer like that old song that Layton would always have on in the garage." He whistled a few bars, and Keith grinned.

"Yeah, you're right there."

"That summer's coming again, I can feel it."

"So you're psychic now?" Keith laughed, eyebrows raised.

"Nah," he stretched out and looked up towards the stars that were just now coming out. "Just decided that it will."

Sven looked at the other two cadets while they waited for General Hawkins to admit them. He was also waiting for Keith and Lance, but as both had class first thing, they'd arrive right before the meeting was supposed to happen (and as it was the same class, Lance would be on time for once).

"Hey," the bigger cadet said suddenly. "Are you meeting Hawkins at 10 too?" When Sven nodded, he grinned. "Hunk Garret," he said, introducing himself.

"Sven Holgorsson. Nice to meet you Garret," he replied.

"Dude, Hunk is fine. You cool with Sven?"

"Sure..." he looked at Hunk, at little unsure at his forthrightness, before turning to the smaller cadet.

"Pidge,"he grinned. "We're in the engineering stream. You?"

"Nav," Sven replied shortly. What were they all doing here then? Garret … Hunk and Pidge were an odd looking pair, but the two were obviously friends. After the brief introductions, they had gone back to Pidge's tech screen and were now throwing out odd comments about specs, torq, and other engineering things that made his head spin. He looked back up to the ceiling. He was bored.

"Do you know why we're here?" Hunk asked after a while. Sven shrugged.

"Two others are still coming," he offered when Hunk looked disappointed at his lack of conversation. "One's a pilot, Lance McClain, and the other, Keith Kogane, is in weapons and tactics."

"Hey, not the McClain who …" Pidge paused, looking like he was trying to figure out how to phrase the next half.

"Who almost blew up half the school last month in a chemistry experiment? Yeah, same one." Hunk looked worried, Pidge pensive.

"How did he manage that?" he asked. "I mean, I reviewed the material for the experiment and the results, and that shouldn't have happened."

"Well," Sven replied slowly, hearing voices coming down the hall. "He's coming now, so you can ask him."

Pidge looked to be about ready to do just that when Hawkins' door opened, and they were ushered in.

Forty-five minutes later, the five of them departed, quiet and pensive, having agreed to partake in what the Garrison Council had deemed 'a fool's errand with a high chance of success', or, according to Hawkins' Garrison-speak translation, 'we need to help a minor ally but cannot do so officially'. Then, exactly out of ear shot of Hawkins office, Lance spun around to face them all, a slightly insane (for Lance; fully insane for normal people) grin on his face.

"This is going to be awesome! Guns! Real guns! And we're going to get to blow things up!"

They all stared at him. Hunk and Pidge looked worried again about being in the same vicinity as Lance (a fair worry), and Keith appeared to be restraining the urge to knock Lance's head against the wall.

After a moment of confused silence, Lance's face returned to normal. "Poor showing, Chief. There should have been some lecture there about proper conduct as befitting a representative of Garrison."

Keith pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "I am actually going to kill you one of these days you know."

"Sure you are. But then where will you find a pilot as talented as me?"

"I'll make do."

As they resumed their journey to the canteen, Sven looked over to Hunk and Pidge.

"Still willing to go on this apparent fool's errand?"

"Dude," Hunk grinned, "Did you see uniforms we'll have to wear? As an engineer, I wear yellow. Of course I'm going."

Sven looked confused, and Keith was about to say something when Lance cut in, grinning, "Oh man, TNG right? This is going to be awesome!"

Keith fell back as the other three commenced arguing over captains, plots, and 'awesome moments'. He exchanged a rueful look with Sven. "At least that's something in common."

"Yeah, suppose so. Though if this means I have to watch more Star Trek, I'm out."

Lance's ridiculous statement actually made sense. Keith wasn't sure which was worse, that it made sense or that it was made in the first place. Shaking his head, he grinned, acknowledging the ridiculousness of it.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

Laughing, Lance refilled his glass. "But I'm a damn persuasive one. More?"

"I'm not the one with the drinking problem," Keith retorted, holding out his glass.

"No, just the friend of one."

"Cheers," Keith laughed, tipping his glass against Lance's.

Sipping at the newly filled glass, he looked over the plains again. The clouds were letting up, the lightening long gone; he had missed it's departure.

"Do you remember that song you used to sing, whenever you felt homesick but wouldn't admit it?"

"If by homesick you mean for the convoy, yeah. Why?"

"It's funny," he said, smiling at the memory of the song. "I can only remember the last part, it would get stuck in my head, sometimes, when I was out there. I haven't even been to England, and I wasn't missing Japan, or Garrison."

"Arus?"

"Yeah." They both looked out at the plains, silent, until Lance started singing, just the last two verses.

Should we find Fortune's Favour
And be spared from the gale
We will live off honest labour
With our hearts as big as sails
But if I should die don't bury me
Or leave me to the sea
Send my bones back to my home
Where my spirit can be freeWe were far from the shores of England
Far from our children and wives
To play our hand in the Newfoundland
Where the wind cuts like a knife
We were far from the shores of England
Far from our native soil
To chase a wish and hunt the Fish
And on the rocks to toil
We were far from the shores of England

"That bit?"

"Yeap, that's it."

Lance paused and stared at him. "Of course you picked that verse to remember." He just grinned and shrugged.

"You're back now, you know."

"We all are." Nodding, Lance let him be.

"Mac used to sing it," he said after a while, pensive. "Said he learned it back when he was a kid in Newfoundland. Point isn't England," he continued, in a passable Newfoundlander accent (or what Keith assumed was one), "Though for the old ones it was. The point, lad, is home."

Keith laughed. "Guess that explains it then." He relaxed against the wall and watched the wind blow the stars into view as Lance rummaged for the last of the chips.

"So, you think you can face the world again?" Lance asked after a few minutes. Pausing to think, he nodded. Things had evened out somehow, the world seemed less off kilter. It may have been the alcohol, but it was close enough and good enough that right now, he'd take it. Hell, he'd take it and run.

"Yeah, guess so. Can't promise it'll be perfect, or that I won't yell at you, but you won't have to worry about me tipping your bed into the lake."

"That's reassuring," Lance commented dryly. "What about Allura?"

Keith went silent, heat rising to his cheeks, and Lance grinned. "That bad?"

"She's worried about you," Lance said softly, when he remained quiet. "At least talk to her."

"And I'm to take advice from you?" Keith asked sharply, wanting the subject to be changed. Lance winced.

"Yeah, cause I know what'll see her give up and turn away. Look, I know you're hung up on this duty and ethics thing—she's royalty, you're just an officer, sure—but can it really hurt to let her know you still know she exists as a human being and not just as the princess or as Blue's pilot?"

He sighed, leaning his head on his arms, trying to think through this new wrench that Lance had thrown at him. Well… maybe not a new one, but one (long) avoided. He and Allura had … talked, he supposed, before the whole mess with Wade and the Lions happened. Since his return, he'd been so tense that it had seemed better to just leave things where they had uneasily been left.

"Which would you rather hurt less, Keith, her or your sense of honourable decorum?"

"Fuck off," Keith whispered. "You know the answer."

"Then she should too."

Keith downed his drink. It was that or throttle Lance for forcing him to confront what he'd been avoiding.

Lance refilled the glass. They were both silent for a few moments, before he let go of what remained of his pride. Lance was right though; he was going to have to talk to Allura sometime or another, and it might as well be sooner than later, on his terms rather than hers. He could (somewhat) handle Lance's interventions; Allura's terrified him.

"You're getting better at this," he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "Sorry for being an ass." Lance shifted to face him and kicked him.

"Stop apologizing. You're allowed to be an ass. You have to deal with me."

Keith grinned weakly. "I don't think it works that way Lance."

His friend snorted. "And when have I ever followed the rules? You're rule breaker number one right now too, so I say whatever rule says you can't be an ass on occasion is stupid."

"I suppose it would be crazy for me to be an ass more than occasionally though," he conceded sarcastically.

"Protecting my turf," Lance grinned. "You're such a damn perfectionist, that I'd become asshole number two, and I rather like being first in something."

"Don't worry," Keith stretched as he replied. "You are definitely take that one. And I wouldn't worry about being a crony in disguise; you're too damn obstinate for Wade to make any ground on turning you."

"Dammit," Lance mock exclaimed. "Can I ever have the moral high ground on you?"

"Apparently not," he grinned.

Lance grinned back. "Seriously though, that's good to hear. I don't do well as a crony."

They stared out, silent, glasses half full, the bottles well broken in to.

"I thought this would be easier," Keith said softly. Lance looked over at him, taken off guard. "You go in, they tell you you'll be fine, you just need to work hard, be ready for the unexpected, but because you're well-trained, you can learn to expect the unexpected." Lance shrugged. Sure, he had thought that too, back when he was green and a cadet, a time that seemed a life-time ago now.

"The old lie just gets recycled, Keith. We knew this, just didn't want to 'fess up to it."

"It's not so much that, though I suppose it is. I mean …" Keith groaned, trying to find the words. "I mean, they never tell you about all the other things, about when you feel like your career, your whole life, dammit, even those of your team or of the civilians you're protecting, weighs on the decision you're about to make. Sure, you learn about all the moral dilemmas that Tzetzes, Schulß, and Royls had to deal with-"

"And the suicidal Kogane," he added helpfully. Keith shoved him.

"Can it, wise ass," he grinned wryly before continuing. "But all of these- you're never told that one day you may have to make them, that you may find yourself on your own against Garrison. How the hell are we supposed to handle this without drowning?" Lance shrugged. To be honest, he had never really thought about these things. He had always (or, ok, mostly always) followed Keith, especially once they were formed into the special squad and then became the Voltron Force. These questions had never bothered him, maybe because he had always trusted Keith to have a moral compass straighter than a die.

Keith looked miserable as he sat there, pondering his questions and the half empty glass.

"I don't know, Keith," he sighed. "Maybe they think that by the time we get to those decisions, we'll be able to make them? Though, if you want to be cynical about it, maybe they don't want us to make those decisions, or to be so unprepared that we end up making them in Garrison's favour. I certainly don't think they expected you to make the decision you did, nor," he laughed, "to express it in such a fashion."

Keith smiled. "No, I doubt that."

"But really, Keith, I wouldn't think too hard on it. I've been an ass, yes, but that doesn't mean I don't trust you to make the right decisions. We all do." He paused, thinking over Keith's words. "Besides, you're not on your own. We're all against Garrison with you, for better or worse. You and Black are the head of Voltron, remember? Where you guys go, the rest of us go. Cadets included." Keith smiled at the last bit and shook his head as he turned back to look at the plains.

"Maybe that's how these decisions get made," Keith whispered after a moment. "Blind leading the blind." Lance furrowed his brows. "Never mind," Keith sighed, cutting off any further conversation on the topic. "I'm just glad to be back, to be with the team again."

"We're happy to have you back too; the responsibility was about to crush me. How do you stand being serious for so long?"

"Come on," Keith grinned, standing as he downed the last of his drink. "I want to eat something before I call it a night. I'd rather not wake up with a splitting headache when I have morning training with the three terrors."

Lance laughed. "And food's going to prevent that headache?" He grabbed the alcohol bottles and handed Keith his now empty glass. As he began to descend the tower stairs, he turned back to Keith. "You looking forward to it?"

"After a night shift? Damn straight I am."

"Skills testing is most effective when conditions are not optimal."

"Precisely."

"Dammit," Hunk groaned. "Lance totally took my chips."

Pidge snorted as he rummaged through the pantry. "You put a sign on the door telling him not to. What did you expect?"

"That he'd listen for once?"

"Wrong pilot," came Keith's voice from the hallway. Hunk glared at Lance as the two came in, who smiled in his most charming fashion.

"You don't look dru-" Pidge stopped as Lance set the bottles down. "How are you walking?"

"Functioning alcoholic," Lance grinned. "Lots of practice."

"Understatement of the year," Hunk sighed, turning from his pantry. He ignored Lance sticking out his tongue. "Food Keith?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning against the counter. "I have to at least look not hung-over tomorrow."

Chuckling, Hunk pulled out a pot and filled it with water. "Noodles it is then."

Allura stretched as she entered the small kitchen set aside for the Voltron Force and the castle's staff, which was open at all hours to accommodate their less than regular schedules, the same one in which she had run into Lance the night before.

I hope that went well, she thought, Keith certainly … Her thoughts faded away as she saw Keith staring blankly at the coffee machine, waiting for the morning's elixir to finish brewing.

"Morning," she said tentatively. Keith looked over and smiled tiredly.

"Morning," he replied, the second half turning into a yawn. "Sorry."

She smiled. "Late night?"

"Yeah," he conceded, pouring a cup as the machine sputtered to a halt and holding up the carafe. "Want some?" As she held out a cup, he continued. "I figured I would be nice to the cadets and get some coffee before I terrorize them this morning."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it." Allura tasted the coffee and grimaced, reaching for the milk and sugar. "Keith, how do you drink this stuff?"

Keith shrugged as he poured another cup, his gone in a matter of moments. "Enough time spent drinking Garrison coffee, I suppose. It does guarantee me a pot though, whenever I make it."

"Fair enough."

They drank their coffee in a comfortable silence, until Keith refilled his cup one more time and turned to her.

"Allura …" he began, and she looked at him. "I'm sorry."

"Keith, you don't-"

"No, not for that. For what's happened since." He paused, sighing. She remained silent, restraining the urge to offer reassurances he would only push away and letting him take his time. Her gut tightened, demanding that she not rush this, nor hurry to soothe the hurt both of them had incurred. Because she couldn't, not now at least.

Keith continued, looking her in the eye. "I know I've been difficult since I got back, and that I've been avoiding you, but that promise I made, before the Lions fritzed? It's still good, and as soon as I've gotten over myself, I promise, we will talk."

She smiled and reached out to squeeze his hand. "Take your time," she said softly. "But I'm still holding you to that promise."

Smiling that smile that he had before the Lions' malfunction, Keith squeezed her hand back and then left. Allura watched him go, a weight off her shoulders she had stopped noticing. Sipping her coffee, she didn't care that it was more bitter sludge than hot drink.

Keith was back.

Officers of Garrison,

In light of recent events I must make an official complaint, and I request this be kept on record. As an officer of Garrison and commander of the Voltron Force, I ask you to honour this request and to take any action you feel necessary after reading this.

I will not repeat what I have already said in the inquiry, except this. Voltron is innocent, the Lions did not attack Earth willingly nor was there a glitch in their mechanics. Someone attacked them and interfered with their mechanics so as to force them to attack on 3 May. On my honour, I swear this to be true. I do not have proof as to whom, but once I do, rest assured it will not remain hidden.

At the moment of writing, the Black Lion is being taken from the Voltron Force. It is being removed from the authority of Arus, and with this Garrison denies the autonomy of its allies. If the Voltron Force is to be found responsible for this attack, the solution is not to remove one of the Lions and thus deny Arus any chance to defend itself should the 9th Kingdom seek revenge, or should another Kingdom seek revenge in the name of the 9th. The Lion has been stolen, and this is a stain on my honour as the commander of the Voltron Force and a stain on Garrison's and the Galactic Council. It saddens me that the virtues of loyalty and justice, that honour and truth are no longer valued among the new members of Garrison's leading council. I am a young officer, sirs, but I am an old fashioned one. I do not simply give lip service to the Galactic oath and the fact that so many of Garrison's new cadets and officers, not to speak of the officers I once looked up to, do so weighs upon me.

My honour and my service, to Garrison, the Galactic Council, and Arus, has been impugned. The Voltron Force has been dragged into a shameful position, and it rests on my head to right this. I ask indulgence of the Council, a chance to redeem my team and my honour by finding the responsible party. I ask this in the spirit of forgiveness, for by this point I will have left Earth. I beg your forgiveness, for I no longer have faith in the ability of Garrison's leaders to act in accordance with their oath of office and with the uniform that they wear, and as such I will act as my own uniform and honour demand. I hope that you understand and that I will be able to stand proudly before and beside you in the future.

With all respect,

Lieutenant-Commander Keith Kogane

Wade crumpled the print-out into a tight ball as he hit Kogane's name. He would have them, all of them, and he'd get his revenge on Kogane and McClain for making him into a fool.

A/N: Song is 'England' by Great Big Sea.

General disclaimer as to ownership.