Chapter Eleven: Oh look I'm not dead.
I don't own Voltron: Legendary Defender.
It wasn't every day that you discovered your little brother could bring about the downfall of your entire city, after all.
"What's your favorite color?"
Keith tilted his head, arms crossed behind his neck and body stretched lazily across the sand. "What?"
Lance pursed his lips, staring up at the constellations that were decorating the sky. "Your favorite color. I don't know it."
Keith pushed himself up on his elbows, wet sand sinking under his weight, and looked at Lance. "I'm pretty partial to royal blue. But why?"
"Mine's that orangey-red color that sunsets make."
Keith waited, but that seemed to be the end of Lance's statement, and he cocked an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?" he asked again.
Lance licked his lips nervously, eyes flickering down to Keith's nearly unblemished tail, marred only by his still healing scar and the remaining few stitches in the scales. His wrapping was gone and, aside from occasional twinges, unless Keith hit something he didn't feel any kind of pain. "You're leaving soon. Probably tonight," he pointed out.
Oh.
Something tightened in Keith's chest and he rolled back over, letting his fins flop against the water and sending a spray of mist into the air, reflected in the wavering moonlight. "Yeah," he admitted. "I…I was. Going to leave, I mean. I wasn't going to go without telling you, but I…"
He cut his words off, but they still hung in the air. I wasn't going to tell anyone else.
"Hunk and Pidge care about you," Lance muttered, crossing his arms over himself and digging his fingers into his skin. "You should at least say goodbye to them."
Keith swallowed. "I'm hoping to come back."
Lance bolted upright, staring down at Keith and watching him with a slightly slack jaw as he sat up, smoothing his hands down his scales. "Really?" he asked hopefully.
Keith snorted. "What, you think after spending almost two and a half weeks with you guys, after you saved my life, multiple times, I would just up and leave?" His voice lowered and he flicked a seashell that had rolled in with the tide. "No way."
Lance smiled, teeth lighting up in the night, and Keith couldn't help but laugh. "I am worried, though," he murmured. "That I won't make it all the way home. It's farther than I've been able to swim so far."
There was silence for a moment, and he could feel Lance studying him. "Wait here."
He stood and darted off before Keith could respond, legs carrying him across the beach and to the dock, where Keith saw him start untying the motorboat. He laughed softly, watching with glittering eyes as Lance hopped into the waist deep water and started pushing it over to him. He halted it in the rocking waves and let the anchor drop before skipping back to Keith and bowing low. "Your ride, my liege?"
Keith flicked his tail and sent a spray of water up at the dripping boy. "Loser."
Lance laughed and leaned down, slipping an arm easily under Keith's tail and another under his upper back, hoisting him up through the air and into his arms. Keith instinctively wrapped his hands around Lance's neck and then glanced up, freezing when their noses bumped.
They stared for a moment, Lance's calves buffered by the waves and their hair tosseled by the wind, gazing at each other, throats dry. Keith wanted to kiss him in that moment, kiss him so badly, but he could feel the way Lance was straining under him. "Might wanna um….get me into that boat…before you drop me," he managed.
Lance cracked a grin. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
He waded up to the boat and lowered Keith in gently, waiting for him to settle onto one of the seats before fully pulling away. He clambered in after him and hoisted the anchor into the bottom of the boat, gripping the oars and pulling them away from the shore, the only sound between the two of them the pulsing water against the wooden hull of the boat and Lance's slightly labored breathing. When they were far enough out, he started to pull them in, but Keith shot a hand out. Lance glanced up, curious, and Keith flushed in the darkness.
"I just…keep rowing. If it's not too much of a strain. I'd rather um…you know just…spend…."
He trailed off, feeling stupid, and Lance squeezed his hand tenderly. "Okay."
Lance took his time, letting the boat drift when he got tired before steering it back on course. Keith let his tail brush over Lance's ankles, occasionally pointing the surfer in the right direction, but for the most part they stayed silent. Lance only spoke when they got to deeper water, the lights of the town twinkling like the stars in the distance. "What's your favorite animal?"
Keith chuckled, but answered immediately. "Starfish. They're small, but they survive more than you could ever imagine."
Lance hummed thoughtfully. "Starfish are nice. I'm partial to dolphins myself."
"Why's that?" Keith asked, tail fin drifting lazily over Lance's calves. He smirked to himself as he watched goosebumps lift on the skin.
"They're free."
There was something wistful in Lance's voice, and Keith looked up to find that Lance had stopped rowing and was staring up at the stars, fingers drumming on the handles of the oars. Keith swallowed, leaning over and curling his hands over Lance's. The boy jolted, looking over at Keith. "What?"
"I-"
Floodlights burst through the night air, completely blinding them both, and there were hollers from behind them. The boat had crept up in a deadly silence, and at first the shouts from the crew sounded concerned, like they thought they were drifters at sea. Lance squinted hard, lifting a hand off one of the oars while Keith dragged his tail towards his body and hunkered down. "That looks like Coran's ship," he noted. Another squint, and then, "It is Coran's ship. What…?"
A shot rang out through the air, one that Keith didn't really register until suddenly blood was pouring down Lances arm. They both stared for a second, eyes, wide, and then Lance's legs gave out, forcing him to sit down hard on the bench. Keith scrambled towards him, tail stinging as he smacked it against the seats, and his fingers grazed over the wound. "It didn't go in," he breathed.
Lance grasped his hand, eyes frantic, and pushed Keith back. "Leave," he hissed. "They want you, not me. There's no way Coran is on that boat. Or if he is, he's not…he's not okay."
"What about you?"
Lance smiled weakly and held up his phone. "Already sent my emergency signal to Hunk and Pidge."
Their group chat was open, an emoji of a dolphin and a skull on screen, alongside it a red fish. He always had it at the ready, for a worst case scenario, and it only took a quick swipe of his screen and a tap of the send button to alert them. "They'll know something is wrong, triangulate my position from the phone, and-"
Another shot rang out and they both ducked, Lance's grip on Keith tightening. "Go," he pleaded. "I need to know you're safe."
"Lance, I-"
"Keith."
His voice was urgent, eyes welling with tears, and Keith nodded, numb. Lance took a breath, gritted his teeth, and all but lifted Keith and threw him over the side, the force of his throw rolling the boat over and plunging Lance into the icy cold water. The surfer gasped, face scrunching up with pain as he tried to tread with his injured arm, and Keith swam to him, grabbing his arms and pulling him in close.
"You need to leave," Lance choked. "I'll be fine."
"You're bleeding," Keith snapped. "I'm not-"
Lance shoved him away, hard, momentarily pushing himself underwater before he came back up, sputtering and angry. "Get out."
Keith pressed his lips together and vanished, tail flicking in the air and leaving Lance in an eerie silence broken only by the lapping waves against his overturned boat and the shouts of the men on board. He ducked behind the boat, fingers digging into the wood and his other hand pulling his phone from his pocket. Silently thanking Pidge for giving him his own waterproof case, he pressed on Hunk's name and hovered a thumb over the call button, ready to tell him that he needed medical help.
A shout of triumph from the boat drew his attention and Lance's heart simultaneously climbed into his throat and sank to the bottom of the ocean. They were lifting a net, one with a writhing, pissed off merman in it.
His thumb slammed down on the call button and he lifted the phone to his ear, never once taking his eyes off of Keith. Hunk answered almost instantly. "Lance? Where the hell are you? We just got to the cove when you sent your text."
"Off shore," he answered breathlessly, a little dizzy from the gunshot wound in his bicep. "Seven miles? Maybe?"
"What are you doing out there?" Pidge demanded in a shrill, anxiety ridden voice. Lance realized he was probably on speaker phone.
"Trying to help Keith home," he whispered, flinching as the men ripped Keith from the net, holding the struggling merman between them and gagging his mouth. "Went wrong. 'M shot. Keith is captured. I need your help. It's Coran's boat."
Dead silence for a moment, and then Pidge again, dangerously low. "He's not helping them. He's in trouble if that's his boat, Lance."
"What do you mean, you're shot?" Hunk demanded.
Lance gave a wry smile, eyes tracking Keith all the way across the deck until the men vanished below. "I mean, I got hit with a bullet. I'm getting on board. Track my phone. I'll call back when I'm on board."
He hung up before they could protest, shoving the phone into his swim trunks and paddling towards the boat. The crew seemed to have forgotten him in his excitement, which made it easy for him to find the ladder at the bow of the ship and clamber aboard without being seen, arm screeching any time he lifted it.
His first priority was not bleeding out. Lance had been on Coran's boat once or twice, for tours, so he knew there was a first aid kit on the upper deck. He stuck to the shadows, ducking around the cabin and sliding along to the head, locating the bright white and red box over the sink inside.
Using the hand towel provided inside, he managed to dry off his upper body enough that he could properly clean the injury. Keith had been right; the bullet hadn't gone in. He slapped some gauze over it to stop the bleeding and then wrapped an ace bandage around his upper arm firmly, unwilling to take pressure off of it for any longer than necessary.
He called Pidge and Hunk back while he was still in the head, waiting until they were done yelling to talk. "I got on," he said in hushed tones. "Odds are, Keith is gonna be locked up. Pidge, I'm gonna need you here. But I don't know how…they're not gonna leave Keith alone unless there's something else distracting them."
"Leave that to us," Hunk declared. "Focus on Keith."
"And Lance?"
"Yeah, Pidge?"
"Make sure my uncle isn't on board anywhere. If he is, he's in trouble. I just…."
She trailed off, and Lance took a deep breath. "I'll look for him first, Pidge. He can probably help me out if he is on board. Just get here, soon."
He hung up again, slipping the phone back into his trunks, and then tiptoed out of the bathroom, bare feet silent on the cooling wood of the ship. He shuffled to where he had last seen Keith, peeking around the corner and down into a dark stairwell, lit only at the bottom by a faint yellow glow. He could hear shouting, clanking, splashing, and he winced at every noise, imagining the worst. How was he supposed to help?
Coran.
Lance had a gut feeling that the man was on the ship. No way the crew would be allowed to take it out of the docks without him at the helm, which meant he was on board somewhere. He twisted in his spot, bouncing on his toes, and looked up towards the helm.
Gotcha.
He sprinted, the sound drowned out by the waves that splashed against the sides of the boat, and took the stairs up two at a time. The door to the helm had a window on it, and through it he could clearly see a man that wasn't Coran steering, a small smirk on his face. Lance swallowed and took a step back. The helm was small, a box really, and one single, hard swing in with the door, created to last for years, should…
The man hit the floor with a thud when the door hit his scalp, and Lance took a quick second to check and make sure he hadn't accidentally bashed his head in. Finding that he was fine, just unconscious, Lance turned to the closet in the back of the tiny room that held maps, compasses, excess navigational items that could be used if anything malfunctioned. He pulled it open with a flourish.
"It's about time," Coran grumbled around the gag in his mouth, looking up at Lance in relief. Lance pulled the gag away and went to work on the rope binding the man's wrists and ankles. "Don't tell me."
"They have Keith," he confirmed grimly. "Pidge and Hunk are on their way. Are you okay?"
Coran snorted, mustache jumping, and rubbed his aching wrists as Lance turned to his feet. "Depends on your definition of- what happened to your arm?"
Lance winced, keeping his face turned away from the man. Coran's frown deepened and he reached out, touching it gently. Lance hissed and pulled the injury away, and Coran's scowl became downright murderous. "Those bastards. You have a plan?"
"Not really," Lance admitted. "They're all down in the holding room right now, where they're keeping him. I need them out here, so I can get Keith out."
Coran nodded and pushed himself to his feet as Lance tugged away the last knot. "Gotcha. Then you hide somewhere, and I'll take care of most of those looney's."
"Be careful," Lance pleaded. "Pidge would kill me if-"
"I'm a tough old man," Coran said with a chuckle, reaching out and ruffling Lance's hair in a fatherly manner. "I'll be fine. You worry about your boyfriend."
Lance's face grew bright red in a matter of seconds. "He's n-not my boyfriend!" he protested.
Coran winked. "Yet."
The urgent tapping at Mariana's door was getting annoying, and after hissing "Go away, Lance!" for the third time, she finally pushed herself out of bed and stomped to the doorway, flinging it open with a glare and ready to snap at her brother.
It was Hunk who stood there, however, gaze urgent and feet shifting under him, and Mariana felt her heart plummet. "Is Lance-?"
"Lance is fine," Hunk promised with a soft whisper, his eyes taking in her t-shirt and shorts. He grabbed her gently by the elbow, careful not to grip too hard, and tugged her towards the stairs. "But we really need your help."
She didn't protest. She hadn't been able to figure out what was going on with him lately, and any answer she was going to get, she was going to get it now. He wasn't hurt, of course he wasn't; Hunk would have woken up the whole house and called an ambulance already if that was the case. But something was wrong, and she barely hesitated to shove her feet into the flip flops she had left by the front door, grabbing her house keys on a whim before sprinting out the door and after Hunk to the cove, where she was surprised to find Pidge waiting with a speedboat, one she had never seen before.
"You sure this is a good idea?" Pidge hissed as they climbed in, the question directed at Hunk.
Hunk glanced over at Mariana and she felt the urge to protest, ask why bringing her would be a bad idea, ask where the hell her brother was, but she kept quiet, not wanting them to have any reason to leave her behind. "We need the extra hands," Hunk said firmly. "Come on, you're the only one who can pick locks out of us."
Locks?
Pidge nodded and they were off, moving briskly through the night and Mariana wished she had thought a little more and grabbed a jacket because it was too damn cold. Hunk handed her a life vest as they moved, despite her being one of the best swimmers in town, and she put it on to appease him.
"What…exactly am I doing?" she found herself asking.
Hunk and Pidge glanced at one another. "We need a distraction," Pidge answered slowly. "And you are the only person we could think of who could help without…um…"
For once, Pidge seemed to be at a loss for what to say, so Hunk took over. "Basically, we're going to a boat. And we're going to capsize this boat, and Pidge and I are going up the back. We need you to pretend to be hurt around the front to draw attention away from us."
"Why?" she asked in bewilderment. "Is Lance in trouble on the boat or something?"
Pidge bit her lip, illuminated eerily by the lamplight, and shrugged. "Kind of? He's already there. Got on board without being seen, but he needs my help."
"Got on board?"
"Please, Mariana," Hunk pleaded. "I promise it'll make sense when we're done, but we need your help without question right now. This means a lot to Lance, and a lot to us."
Pidge cut the engine and handed Hunk an oar, flicking the lamp off and plunging them into darkness. Even the moon wasn't shining, and Mariana felt like she was going to be swallowed by the blackness of the ocean. "I…okay," she murmured finally.
"Thank you," Pidge breathed.
What the hell was she getting herself into?
