Author's notes: Most of the plot got bumped to the next chapter, so this is more of an interlude. Going forward, this will probably only be updated regularly on AO3. I'll update here as I have time. This chapter rated M for swearing. All characters depicted are 18+.

Three

"Hey," the voice was quiet, a hand gently gripped his shoulder. "Hunk, I gotta leave. I'll miss my rendezvous if I stay any longer."

Hunk resisted the urge to pull the blanket over his head and opened his eyes, struggling to get them to focus. The room blurred in his vision, and for a moment his brain refused to accept that it was Keith's voice, and Keith, in his bunk. Keith sat next to him, completely relaxed, his back casually pressed up against Hunk's side as though this was something they did all the time. Um… nope. The room was softly lit and full of shadows. The computer interface near his bed showed that it was still off-shift hours, though very nearly morning.

Hunk wiped a hand over his face, trying to ignore the welter of emotions that arrived with consciousness. He stretched, and Keith immediately rearranged himself to give Hunk a bit of space, as though he hadn't realized that he'd been physically leaning on him. Keith didn't move that far away though – he simply shuffled forward an inch or two, placing his feet firmly on the floor, and sitting up so that his posture reflected the years of military training he'd had at the Garrison. Hunk could still feel the warmth of him, and wondered for a moment if he was actually delirious. Or maybe still dreaming?

Keith is in my room. Keith is in my bed… Well, on my bed. Hunk squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then looked again. Keith was still there, starting to look slightly concerned, as though Hunk was going to yell, or throw him out. He held a datapad in his hand, the screen glowing faintly, though his attention was entirely on Hunk. Hunk wasn't sure he could deal with that kind of scrutiny this morning, especially as his brain seemed unwilling to get in the game. Keith is in my bed because when he came looking for information, I happened to be thrashing around in a nightmare. Right. I was dying in my sleep, and Keith woke me up. Facts established. And then he offered to stay, and he did.

The idea that Keith had stayed the night, keeping watch over him, rattled around in his brain and tugged at his heart. Hunk was unexpectedly moved by the gesture, even though it contrasted jarringly with the reality of Keith's choices. Keith had left them, and seemed to have no intention of returning to them, and whatever Hunk was feeling right now couldn't change those facts. It almost made the reality of those choices more painful: knowing that Keith remained his friend, and that he cared, and that he'd still decided not to stay. Hunk took a deep breath and decided to pretend that he wasn't feeling anything, at all.

"Okay, I'm awake. Mostly." Hunk yawned, waving the lights up to a brighter setting and immediately regretting it. He blinked a few times and waited for his vision to adjust. Keith sat quietly on his bed, looking slightly relieved that Hunk had finally decided to speak. He was dressed tidily in soft dark clothing, a mix of grays and blacks, and Hunk figured it was probably some sort of ninja under-armor. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Keith wear any sort of civilian clothing, and he wasn't sure this counted. "You off-duty?" He asked, then shook his head and waved a hand at Keith, letting him know he didn't have to answer. "Maybe not as awake as I thought," he muttered.

Keith shrugged. "I'm never technically off-duty." He paused for a moment, thinking it over before deciding to elaborate. "But I am free to organize my own time depending on the mission specs." He gestured to the datapad.

"So Kolivan isn't going to yell at you for not getting back to the base or wherever last night?"

Keith shook his head. "No, he knows where I am. I'm not going to get punished or something, if that's what you mean."

"Well, kinda… I mean…" Hunk couldn't get his thoughts together. "I'm glad you stayed," he blurted, because it was the truth and because he'd apparently lost the filter between his brain and his mouth. He paused a moment to be horrified at his admission, then continued to ramble on nervously. Just stop talking, right now, just stop. "And I'm glad that you won't get in trouble with the Marmora. They seem like a pretty strict bunch. Like, fifty lashes at the post levels of strictness. I wouldn't have thought that you'd choose a group with more structure and rules, but that just shows what I know about you, right?" What is wrong with you? Stop talking!

"Hunk…"

"Sorry, that was a weird thing to say. It's just…" Hunk shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. "Do you need to leave right now?" He asked, hating that the words sounded so plaintive. The thought of Keith leaving again was making his chest hurt. Nope, no feeling things. It was already decided. "Why not stay a little longer? Everyone would like to see you." And if I say this often enough, maybe you will eventually believe it, or care that I say it, or… stop.

"I don't have that much time, maybe an hour to get to my pick-up point." Keith powered off the datapad and set it aside with a slight frown. He pulled on his gloves, and then leaned down to tighten the straps on his boots. Hunk wondered how many knives Keith had hidden on his person, either up his sleeves or in his boots, in addition to the Marmora blade he wore on his belt. Keith didn't seem like he was dressed for a fight, but that was probably just one more deception. Hunk forced himself to focus.

"Is that going to take you a whole hour?" He asked.

A slight hesitation. "…No. Like, half a varga. Maybe." Keith paused, looking like he was converting the units of time in his head. Hunk supposed Keith utilized alien measurement systems even more than the rest of them. Living in the castleship with Allura and Coran wasn't the same as the complete immersion in an alien culture that Keith would have, working with the Marmora. Keith had left behind anything familiar, anything that might have tied him to Earth. And here, this far out in space, the only thing tying us to Earth is each other, and Keith chose to… Stop it.

"So, you could've let me sleep a bit longer." Hunk decided feigned annoyance was the best way of hiding how much his own thoughts disturbed him. He yawned extravagantly and propped himself up with one arm to better see Keith's reaction.

Keith smiled at him, unexpectedly, the expression flickering across his face so quickly that Hunk wasn't sure he'd seen it at all. "Not if you're gonna have time to cook me breakfast."

Is Keith teasing me? I must be dreaming... or misreading this entire situation. Hunk studied Keith's face while he had the excuse, eventually deciding that Keith had found a sense of humour after all this time. Sitting beside him, Keith looked almost happy. Or, if not happy, Hunk amended, at least somewhat content. Honestly, it was hard to tell with Keith. Maybe, slightly less grim than usual would be a more apt description of his expression.

Hunk realized he was still gawking at the same time he realized how rare it was to see Keith looking like he was in a good mood, let alone pleased with life. It felt like his heart was being squeezed. Better look into that. And also, stop staring into his eyes. Jeez, you're going to freak him out.

"You know, just for that, nope. Can't cook a damn thing."

"This is tyranny."

"You bring it on yourself," Hunk said, surprising himself into laughing. Keith folded his arms and glared, but he seemed to be fighting a smile. "Lack of breakfast is an entirely self-inflicted condition, caused by a deficit in situational awareness that borders on the extreme," Hunk joked. Keith appeared to be looking for something to throw at him. Luckily, all the available pillows were currently mashed under Hunk's upper body. It seemed unlikely that Keith would consider them a possible projectile, anyway. It's not like Keith would know how to do anything normal, like have a pillow fight… Hunk stopped, suddenly extremely aware that he missed Keith so much it was almost unbearable. For a moment, he couldn't even breathe. Oh no.

"Hunk?" Keith tilted his head to the side, studying him. "Did your… brain crash or something?"

Say something normal. Say something. Say something. Hunk rallied. "Your fault, waking me up at an ungodly hour and expecting me to have," he waved a hand for emphasis, "conversations." Hunk willed his heart rate to slow, certain that Keith could hear the panic in his chest. Just be normal, for fuck's sake. Why would that even be a thing that you would worry about? No feeling feelings, remember?

"Why, because I set the banter standard so high?" Keith asked sarcastically, leaning back out of the way when Hunk half-heartedly tried to smack him. He watched Hunk attentively, making absolutely no effort to climb off his bed. Hunk felt grubby and self-conscious, still in his clothes that he'd slept in and sweated through. He pushed his blanket aside and mentally debated the merits of simply kicking Keith off his bed. Or trying to, at least. Might be easier said than done. But, a foot to the throat couldn't possibly be misinterpreted, so…

"So, did you just spend the evening staring broodingly at the walls?" Hunk asked, pleased that he sounded somewhat more like his usual self. Keith's clothing was unrumpled, but Hunk figured the dark colour hid wrinkles as well as bloodstains. The fabric definitely hadn't originated on Earth; it was probably woven by mutant spiders or something. Keith stretched his arms out in front of him, and Hunk heard the joints pop in his shoulders.

"I napped, a little. It's nice and quiet on the ship. Peaceful, even."

"After you said you'd keep watch?" Hunk managed to keep the accusation out of his voice. He would never have dared to try to go back to sleep on his own after a nightmare like that. He would've crawled out of bed and forced himself to stand in the kitchen with every light on. Of course, without Keith there to wake him, he likely would've been trapped in the dream till his shouts or flailing dragged him back into consciousness.

"I'm a light sleeper. I would've woken up if you'd stirred at all." Keith stated, and Hunk believed him. Even while living in the relative security of the castleship, Keith had never let his guard down. Even when they'd formed Voltron, those walls stayed up. The tension was always there, just beneath the surface, reflexes ready for the slightest signal. Red's personality had only amplified Keith's reactions, though the Black lion had managed to buffer them a bit. Hunk couldn't imagine that Keith was any less hair-trigger in his responses now, when he lived with the Marmora in a warzone.

"And did I? I don't remember. I actually feel pretty well rested though."

"Just once, you started muttering."

"And did you wake me up?"

"No, I didn't want to shake you again. I just talked for a bit, until you settled." Keith looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"About what?" Hunk pressed, intrigued despite himself. You're not supposed to care, right?

Keith rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. "I dunno. Pilot stuff." His mouth quirked a little with the confession. "I listed all possible trajectories and issues when landing a deep space cruiser on a planet with atmosphere… And how a pilot can accommodate shifting conditions or enemy fire or excess fuel or payload weight issues and-"

"How'd you know I'd gone back to sleep and just didn't die of boredom?" Hunk asked, fighting a smirk.

"All the snoring." Keith leaned out of range again.

"Well, maybe I subconsciously learned something about piloting then." Hunk hesitated. "Unless you were just, I dunno, reciting the script of Top Gun from memory. Honestly, I've seen pilots make combat decisions based on how closely the maneuvers matched scenes from that film."

"… I don't have it memorized. You're confusing me with Lance." Keith sat up a little straighter.

"Whatever, Mister My Favourite Old Movie is Probably Top Gun."

"Oh, it's definitely Top Gun," Keith admitted, as though he knew Hunk would make fun of him for it, and was entirely at peace with that.

Hunk snorted a laugh, relaxing a bit. "That is such a fighter pilot thing. All of you. All of you are obsessed with it. I just don't see the appeal. I mean, it's fun to watch once, but it was basically a military recruitment film. The only good acting was from whatshername, Ellen Ripley."

Keith winced. "You mean Kelly McGillis, who played Charlie. Ripley is the main character in Alien."

"Oh right…. See, obsessive. Typical."

"I'm not obsessed, that's common knowledge." Keith stopped abruptly, turning to look Hunk in the eye. "I'm telling Lance you mixed them up," he said lightly, as though the consequences of this act wouldn't haunt Hunk for months. Hunk could picture it now, not a moment's rest, Lance appearing out of nowhere with detailed presentations and lecture notes, seeing this honest mistake as a personal affront. He'd probably make Hunk watch it again, pausing every few minutes to provide commentary. It would be like the time he'd mixed up two of Lance and Pidge's favourite video games. The razzing would be endless.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I might even tell Pidge… Unless, well. I might be persuaded to keep that information to myself." Telling Pidge was a death threat, and Keith had to know that. Pidge probably carried a picture of Sigourney Weaver in her wallet.

"With breakfast, you asshole?"

Keith laughed. "Hey, I'm not the one who insulted a classic film. Or rather, two classic films."

"Neither of those films are classics, but I suppose they didn't let your class watch anything without explosions."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "Jeez, Hunk, how do you really feel about pilots? I had to pass the same math and physics entrance exams that you did."

"What, you mean you're not all aggressive, oversexed jocks who aren't happy unless you're flying so fast it should be considered a near death experience?" Hunk's words didn't come out as jokingly as he'd intended.

Keith huffed as though offended, although it seemed like he didn't know how to answer. "Sometimes other things make me happy." He glared at Hunk.

"Yeah, yeah, breakfast, I know." Hunk rolled his eyes, conceding defeat. "I'll cook you something, but only because you threatened to tell Pidge that I mixed up her favourite character, played by her favourite actress, with the flight instructor from Top Gun. And because I don't want to be murdered for my mistake in some elaborately mathematical and overly clever way, probably involving a power loader…" Hunk sighed, "in exchange for breakfast, I'll need your silence on this topic, forever."

"…Seems fair."

"Also, get off my bed."

"You know, when I see that, my first thought is that I don't want to put it in my mouth."

"Sounds like something a coward would say."

"No, Hunk, really. I think I just threw up a little."

"Well, I think you're being overly dramatic, and that's usually an accusation reserved solely for Lance, so-"

"So maybe there's a… vegetarian option this morning?" Keith asked hopefully, holding up something that looked like a zucchini.

"I can't believe we've been in space this long and you haven't tried one of these yet."

"Because it looks like an unholy cross between a leech and a lotus seed pod? I feel fear when I look at it. Or, I think that's what I'm feeling." Keith made a disgusted face and took a step back. "I might be sick."

"It's actually the closest thing to an intergalactic chicken egg that I've found so far, but I think it might actually be some sort of fungi. There just hasn't been time to figure out any sort of alien taxonomic equivalencies, and really, where would we start?" Hunk held up the offending item, and Keith winced and looked away.

"I'm sure Pidge has some ideas." Keith gestured to the doorway.

"Yes, Pidge does. Questions, too. Like, why are you awake at this hour?" Pidge wandered into the kitchen, dressed in a tank top and shorts, looking like she'd slept face down on a laptop. Her hair, always unruly, stuck out at gravity-defying angles. She had a series of equations, seemingly written in sharpie pen, scrawled over her left forearm. Ink smudged her chin.

"Hunk's trying to make me eat this," Keith blurted. "Save me."

Pidge did a doubletake then, taking off her glasses to wipe at her eyes. "Keith?" She asked, incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"He's complaining, mostly," Hunk interjected.

"Hopefully being fed breakfast soon." Keith answered, then staggered back a step as Pidge launched herself upward into his arms. He caught her in a bearhug and managed to rebalance them both before they crashed into Hunk.

"How come you don't greet me like that?" Hunk asked, taking a moment to admire his teammates' agility and hating how petulant he sounded.

"Because I see you every day?" Pidge answered, half-muffled by Keith's neck, at the same time that Keith mumbled, "Never an appropriate time?"

"Well anyway, now that you're here too, you can help. Keith's supposed to be chopping tubers, but mostly he's been whining about the menu."

"Have not," Keith protested.

"So," Hunk raised his voice for emphasis, "maybe help him finish that, and then get started grating those yellow roots over there."

Keith carried Pidge the three steps to the counter and waited while she disentangled herself and climbed out of his arms. She grinned up at him, completely delighted. Keith seemed perplexed by her reaction. Hunk resisted a sigh. Other people miss you too. Do you not see that, or do you not care?

"So, what is this, some sort of breakfast therapy club?" When that didn't get a response, Pidge turned to Keith. "I thought you only made the info drops during the off-shift. Something change?" she asked, selecting a knife from the nearest drawer and testing the edge with her thumb.

"No…" Keith paused, thinking over his words. "It just worked out this way this time. It won't be a habit, as far as I know." Keith slid half of the tubers towards Pidge and resumed working on his own set.

Hunk watched them for a moment, then turned his attention back to the soup stock he'd started. Part of him wanted to call the other paladins to the kitchen, get them to help cook something, then sit around together, just hanging out and enjoying each others' company. Just like old times, right? The idea nagged at him, half nostalgia and half blatant longing, building up until it hurt. Get a grip, Hunk. He sighed, trying to will the feeling away. There's no point in being sentimental. Those days are gone.

"What are you doing over there, Hunk? Besides staring gloomily into the soup? That, uh, doesn't give me high hopes about its flavour." Pidge peered quizzically in his direction, adjusting her glasses. Her voice pulled Hunk back to the present, and he found he was grateful for the distraction.

"He's just worried he might get murdered with a power loader some day," Keith offered, helpfully.

"Like in Alien?"

"Hey, it's a legitimate fear." Hunk glared over his shoulder at Keith.

"Was this… a discussion I missed earlier?" Pidge carefully sliced a tuber into exactly equal cubes.

"Yeah." Keith leaned against the counter-top, cleaning a knife with a scrap of cloth. He didn't appear to be helping to chop anything, at all.

"It's Keith's way of criticizing the menu." Hunk made sure Keith caught his pointed look. Pidge glanced back and forth between them.

"Okay, well, I'm obviously not awake enough to catch all the nuance that's being thrown around here," Pidge yawned. She abandoned her knife and started to search the cupboards. "Do we have anything caffeinated? Or you know, something with chemicals that will match with my neurotransmitter receptors and act like caffeine?"

"Does everyone hate sleep? Is that the issue here?" Hunk found a bottle of silvery leaves and tossed them to Pidge. "Three to a cup."

"Fantastic. And, speaking of sleeping, are you?" Pidge found three teacups and set them out with much more enthusiasm than Hunk felt was warranted.

"Am I what?" He stalled, noting that Keith was half-turned towards him, making no effort to pretend he wasn't listening intently.

"Sleeping. What I just said." Pidge emphasized each word. Hunk wished he had something to throw at her. He considered the soup spoon in his hand and decided it was unworthy as a projectile.

"Not really, I guess. You know how it is," Hunk said, pointedly. "Usually I can't fall asleep. And when I do manage to, I get nightmares." Hunk tried to keep resentment out of his voice. Pidge knew this already, and there was no need to make him say it aloud, in front of Keith. Of course, Keith has seen firsthand what my dreams are like.

"Still?" Pidge asked. "I thought they might have gotten better… But why can you sleep on the bridge then?"

"I have to sleep somewhere," Hunk shrugged. "And I feel better knowing you guys are around to wake me up if I need it."

"Maybe…" Keith began hesitantly, as though he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Maybe you should move in with Lance." Keith held up his hands to ward off their protests. "It sounds horrifying, I know, but if you need someone in the room with you…"

"Lance could sleep through a missile bombardment. And if he thought he had to look after me, he'd just stay awake all night. We'd still have a sleep-deprived paladin. It wouldn't solve anything."

"Did you try sleeping in Yellow? Probably not very comfortable, but we could find extra pillows and blankets for you." Pidge added another leaf to her teacup.

"Yeah, that didn't work either. I just don't know enough about how the lions interface with human consciousness, or how dreams work, or what triggers a defensive response in the lions. I mean, is it brainwave frequencies? I know Red came to rescue Keith when we were first meeting with the Marmora, but I don't know what provoked that action, or why Red didn't rescue him earlier…" Hunk trailed off, too uncomfortable to continue. He didn't want to tell them that in most of his nightmares, Yellow was present, but wounded or otherwise unable to help him. He didn't think he could handle their reaction to that particular piece of information.

"So…" Pidge prompted, expectantly.

"So, don't worry about it. It'll work out." Hunk didn't mean to snap, but he knew he sounded frustrated.

"That seems like the last thing you would say." Keith's tone was thoughtful. He examined the knife in his hand, and Hunk was glad that he wasn't looking at him.

"I mean, let me worry about it."

"That… sounds more Hunk-like." Pidge frowned, pouring the cups of tea with exaggerated care.

Hunk grimaced and turned his attention back to the stove. He didn't hear any footsteps, but a moment later Keith was standing at his elbow. Hunk steeled himself and met Keith's gaze directly.

"Well, I hate to miss out on breakfast, but as it appears to be hell-spawn-chicken egg soup, I've really got to get going." Keith lowered his voice a notch. "Thanks for your help."

Hunk didn't feel he could say, thanks for not letting me scream myself awake in front of Pidge, so he just nodded. Keith touched his arm lightly, then sauntered out the door without looking back. Hunk stared after him until, across the room, Pidge cleared her throat.

"Hunk?" She asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

Pidge didn't answer immediately. Instead she headed towards him, carrying the cups of tea. Hunk accepted one gratefully. Holding onto the cup gave him something to do. The third cup of tea remained untouched on the countertop and Hunk stared at it wistfully before catching himself.

"What?" He asked again.

Pidge stifled a yawn and took a sip of her tea, wincing at its temperature. "Do you see Keith often?"

"No, hardly ever. This is only the third time I've seen him, since he left Voltron."

"I knew he probably made the drops. I didn't think to wait up for him." Pidge sighed, looking into her teacup sadly. "I've been distracted, looking for Matt. Every lead just fizzles out." She gestured with her empty hand.

"It was only by chance that I met up with Keith the first time. It's not like he's knocking on our doors for a visit."

"Do you think he's okay? Blade of Marmora agents don't exactly seem to have a lengthy life expectancy. I mean, none of us are really safe but statistically, those odds aren't good." Pidge tapped one fingernail against her teacup, biting her lip.

"He doesn't seem to want to come back, so…" Hunk shrugged. He glanced at Pidge, wondering if he looked as dismayed as she did.

"I miss him," Pidge whispered.

"Yeah, me too."

Any feedback, comments, criticism, etc. is greatly appreciated. I love Pidge but have no idea how to write her. The plot (such as it is) returns next chapter.