Chapter Twenty One:A Want To Be Cherished
Lance is Solnha, there is no doubt and he continues to learn more of his family and they of him. Time speeds steadily on, and an approaching battle looms closer, but with trust in the Solnha, Lance has nothing to fear.
System: Balter
Location: Wyle
It was earlier than expected that the Godolphin met up with Roamer's ship: Wearne. They had stumbled upon half a Galra fleet inbound for the Balter System on the sun-side of Wyle.
Space battles weren't Lance's favourite encounter with the Empire's legion – he preferred ambush missions and facing the Galra on equal footing on the ground. Sure, he didn't have the protection of Blue anymore, or heavy-duty armour that came with the title of Paladin, but there was more freedom when he could rely on his own two feet, the weapon in his hand and his family that charged alongside him. Needless to say, Lance was still a pretty good shot when it came to manning the Godolphin's rail guns beside Uilt'xen, and between the two of them, they managed to stave off many of the incoming Djalg before they could surround Eldar and his fighter jets. With half the squadron destroyed and the majority chased off, Lance and Uilt'xen challenged one another so see who could take out the remaining enemy ships. The game ended, sixteen, thirteen in Lance's favour.
However victory against the Galra and Uilt'xen alike wasn't the reason that Lance was in a particularly chipper mood as he dropped from the gunner seat of his designated rail gun. For the moment it would remain out of commission until it had cooled down – the deflector shields unable to return all Galra fire – but considering the lack of enemy activity in the immediate vicinity, he wasn't going to let himself worry about such things. The engines were a priority for now, leaving Lance to attend to the burns he had acquired from the handling overheated system.
Hot metal and skin wasn't a good combination, but there was a battle that needed winning. Besides, the wounds were barely hurting him, compared to all the pains he's been through since leaving Earth.
"Do you want to head over to the med bay? We can get Tho' to check those wounds out," the other rail gunner; Uilt'xen, suggested to him as she climbed down from the opposite side of the room through the access hatch leading up to the controls of the starboard rail guns – her defeat of shooting down the Djalg noticeably ignored.
"Nah, they're not too bad. In fact, they're barely skin deep," Lance said, flipping his hands this way and that to give them both a check, quite happy that, yeah he wasn't even lying. The heat damage was on the same level as a bad rub of flip-flop bands on soft feet. Healable within the day but a bitch if the skin split.
Only Lance's palms were red, and were bound to blister by the end of the day but that was an inevitability that could remedied with a salt bath and some salve. He still had some Eleiryian spare from what he'd give to Tho' for the medic to recreate in hopes of increasing his supply and bettering the healing solutions for all Solnha.
It was comforting for Lance to know he hadn't needed to use the salve as much as he expected when he originally stole it from Coran.
Instead of making an unnecessary trip that will make Tho'xemae worry as well his Arenphine, who would naturally be informed the little Human got hurt, Lance just tucked himself on a crate, lifting his legs to make it easier to strip off his foot wrappings, cutting a length of clean material to wrap over his palms, hoping to lessen the risk of the skin splitting.
Even if it did nothing to alleviate the pain for the moment, it would take Eldar just that little bit longer to notice Lance had burnt himself. Not deliberately of course, but he didn't want to worry his lover for something that he felt unimportant at this point in time.
"You know he'll notice anyway," Uilt'xen said, knowing exactly why Lance was attempting to conceal the slightly-red marks on his palm. Lance just shot her a toothy grin. "Yeah I know he will. But I want to go and greet Roamer and her crew before he whisks me away for healing. We've only talked through meetings and I kind of want to see her face to face. Eldar told me she's got two brains." Uilt'xen clicked her tongue. "So does a Pangol, but you didn't they were all that impressive when you found them lurking in amongst the garbage."
"A Pangol doesn't talk, Uilt'xen. If they did, and did something other than sleeping, eating and curling up in a ball, then maybe I'd take more notice of them."
Uilt'xen just clicked her tongue again, shaking her hands in quick succession, trying to free them of the self-produced bio-fluid that ran between the cracks of her exo-skeleton, grimacing at the sight of the low-viscosity oil smeared across her body, gained from working the rail guns for a full hour. No wonder they had overheated.
"C'mon," Lance called to her, shoving the crates and spare parts with his foot, once again wrapped tight, his hand wraps just as secure, no knots pressing on his sore and sensitive palms. "We can go hit the showers before we go and see Roamer. Leave it till after we eat to come back and clean up. By then the guns should be cool and we can probably wrangle some of the others to come help us." The two of them shared the same longing for cleanliness and had bonded over it quite quickly.
Uilt'xen may have been the same race as Tho'xemae, but they were as different as sugar and spice. Tho' was an intellectual who was more inclined to knowledge and fixing things, whereas Uilt'xen, took a much more physical approach. She took as much pride in her strength, if not more-so than her brethren, when she was breaking bones and egos, considerably more when she was smashing holes into the Galra ships that crossed her path.
Her story was much the same as Lance's; outcast, runaway, looking for a purpose and a chance to stand up to the Galra before they could raze her home world into nothing but rubble and memories.
And like Lance, Eldar had offered her a place as part of the crew. She had never looked back, never wanted to go back to her planet, never wanted to be part of a race that stood back and let the Galra enslave them for the sake of self-preservation. But that didn't mean she'd fight for their freedom, even if given up willingly.
The two kindred spirits were as close as siblings and could fight like such when they rubbed each other the wrong way. But they were family first of all, and disputes were never taken further than bickering, arguments laid to rest before they turned in for the night.
"So have you ever met a Hyaline before?" Lance asked, appearing beside her again, her exo-skeleton once more clean and oil free, the visible skin underneath once more glowing the faint orange bioluminescence of her race. "No. Nor am I particularly keen to. I told you, I'm only doing this because you were the one that hasn't shut up about her since Eldar told you she has two thinking boxes in her stomach."
Lance smiled a knowing smile, but he didn't press his luck. Uilt'xen gave as good as she got, and Lance wasn't going to give her anymore reason to bruise his arms up again. Even if Prime had specifically asked her not to.
The pair of them found the congregation of the Wearne crew mingled with the Godolphin's between the two of the ships after they docked on the planet of Wyle. A lot of the Godolphin crew were already knocking heads with Roamer's crew, discussing damage and looking to offer help where they could. The Wearne had taken considerable damage – not enough to permanently ground her but she was going to be out of action for at least three Dobosh while repairs were underway.
They were going to be cutting it close to the deadline of the attack on Genwar. And the Wearne had to be ready by then. It was crucial to have all fleet ships in on the fight, considering the size of their upcoming opponent.
The Hyaline, or Roamer, was stood to the side of the crew's gathering, not so much taking part in the discussion of her ship's repairs, but instead overlooking the proceedings as comrades were reunited. She was stood with Eldar, torn between talking with him and watching her crew; obvious in the constant fidgeting of her body and her eyes that her two brains were warring with one another.
Lance approached them slowly, listening out in case the conversation was private and he should wait for Eldar's introduction before jumping in rudely. But the subject of their vocalisation caught him unawares.
"And you were boasting so fervently," the Hyaline cooed, the heart shape of her pink head pulsing slightly. She looked more jellyfish than Brea, flattened tentacles of the same pink colour floated about her, as if she was underwater. Her body was very similarly human, no matter how much Lance looked, then realised she was friggin naked, and had to avert his eyes elsewhere. Her feet seemed the best bet, to see three more tentacles, the pads flattened like pancake feet. Or maybe they were the equivalent of hands. Or maybe she didn't have any hands and the pancake tentacles were all equivalent of feet.
"I was not boasting," Eldar was saying; his cheeks as pink as the Hyaline's pulse, the lie obvious even to Lance who couldn't even hear the fluttering of his heartbeat. "Hmm, if you say so," Roamer smiled. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to meet him. You told me I could, and we were going to, perhaps not as soon as now and definitely not under these circumstances, but your words still hold true and I was expecting to meet him. And now, here I am, only to find that you are hiding him."
Roamer spoke like a mother to Eldar, approval, pride and a warning all wrapped up in the same tone, her words light yet heavy all at the same time. "He is his own being Roamer. He is probably still inside the ship. You can meet him in the eating hall later."
"Or I could do so now," Roamer said, spotting the two onlookers that were not a part of the congregation of mingling crews. Although if the second being that stood watching her was the Human – Eldar's heart-mate she had heard so much about – it was hard to tell, because Lance was mostly covered under baggy, form-disguising clothes. His face too, hidden under a mask he had fashioned himself to wear in battle.
It hadn't felt right to go up against the Galra without his helmet, but unable to procure the same visor equipment, Lance had fashioned himself a protective mask, along with the help of Or' and Bumi; a hyperactive Trigamon who was currently in the winning for designing hard-to-beat gladiators and training courses to help improve the Godolphin crew's fighting abilities.
Eldar looked to who had caught Roamer's eyes, swelling with pride at the sight of his Arenphine who removed his armour once more, to face Roamer eye to eye. "Roamer, this is Lance. And this, is Roamer."
"Charmed I'm sure," the Hyaline said with a smile, pushing past Eldar, offering out one of her flattened pancake tentacles (pan-tacle? Tenta-cake? Whatever), one of her appendages to Lance. And Lance, accustomed to various greetings, pushed his hand against it, like some slow-motion high five. After a few seconds of palm to palm touching, the Hyaline leapt forward for a hug. She's naked, what is the deal with Aliens and being naked! was all Lance could think as she wrapped her pan-tacles around him.
"You're taller in person," she told him. "Compared to Eldar and Foci, I'll take that as a compliment." Which, it was, and his words were well met.
"I like him," Roamer declares, turning to Eldar. The furrow of his brow urges her to take her pan-tacles from where they've looped around Lance's body, but it's not to their closeness that takes his attention.
"You're injured," Eldar says, stepping closer, worry on his face as he took Lance' hands in his own, running a nose on the inside of his wrist before thumbing at his bottom lip. Lance rolled his eyes in amusement. Of course Eldar would notice straight away. But that just meant he cared.
"I'm fine Arenphine. The gun wasn't hit during battle but the cooling system of the main engine did. Ryul and Ygrainne diverted the power from the forward guns to the rear to stop the engines malfunctioning and worse, from blowing the entire ship up. I was only left with heat marks. A swim in Delphi's pool will calm them before night, do not fret."
The words offered comfort, but they didn't stop Eldar from worrying, nosing the skin lightly, but not touching, worried he'd bring pain. Instead he leant in, lips on the boy's brow. "At least you came to no real harm."
Lance shared the Pawther's sentiment, returning the kiss, ignoring the slight hush that had befallen the crowd. The crew of the Godolphin always remained in awe at the affection between Prime and one of their strongest warriors, taking comfort in the light inextinguishable by the Galra. And if their love gave everyone hope, then Lance wasn't one to curb his display of public affection. To a degree.
Roamer claimed Lance's entire afternoon, thanking him for finally talking sense to the Alliance, referring to his outburst during one particular conference. "At first, we were only scavengers with no planets. Now, we're actually helping others, instead of picking up strays and giving them somewhere to live. It's actually nicer to say goodbye to my crew when they're returning to their planet, after having freed it and its people from Galra control."
"And keeping the Galra from taking over the Planets again," Lance agreed.
The two of them, tucked away in Lance's quarters with food and soft seats, talking little of themselves, mainly focusing on upcoming missions and battle strategies that could be employed, having already worked well in past fights.
Sometimes the conversations would take abrupt turns, but Roamer said that was the fault of having two brains. Whilst they often worked together to think through two different sides of one argument, it was distracting if one lapsed into stand-by, or "Day-dream" as Lance called it. She would make a wonderful diplomat if she managed to keep both thought boxes focused on the same subject for long enough.
It didn't matter what the two talked about; the conversation always reverted back to the Galra. Lance quickly understood why she was the main brains behind the planning of missions and the entire structure of the Solnha, not just her own handful of ships.
Roamer was just so… focused. Every mission had a reason, not just the obvious end goal of freeing prisoners, disrupting Galra supply lines, pissing the Galra off as part of an elaborate distraction.
Fuel consumption and distance travel was all taken into consideration, the pattern of certain attacks by certain crews kept as random as possible to stop the Galra from focusing their armies in one location, or deliberately leaving a trail, only to fall back to a different, seemingly unnecessary outpost whilst the Galra were too busy defending a Planet that had been temporarily filled to the brim with soldiers, thinking the Solnha's next attack would be there.
Listening to her, Lance realised that her plans were cleverly thought out, meticulously pulled apart by herself and the crew to lessen casualties, not just for her family, but for Eldar, Iefyr, Fellfrir and Gereen's too. And if they all started to listen to her properly, to trust her without question and not deviate from her plans, then the Solnha would have a clear shot at not only putting a dent in the Galra Empire, but actually freeing up several systems and, maybe, just maybe, defeating Zarkon and his minions once and for all.
So it was nerve-racking to say the least, when Roamer told Lance she had big plans for him in the near-future.
System: Balter
Location: Wyle
Late evening deemed the mess-hall would be packed, considering Roamer's crew and his own were feasting for the third night in a row. The Wearne was almost flight-ready, and with another day of repairs, both ships would be heading out together for Uris, for the inevitable meeting of Solnha leaders to determine the fate of Genwar.
Not everyone was gathered of course; some crew still on watch and a handful of pirates on a supply run to Calarel where they hunted the free roaming herds of Numenera to feed the growing numbers that feasted with vigour each night they retired to the mess hall.
That was where they were no, amidst noise and laughter, celebrating to lessen the worry of the upcoming battle.
Lance grabbed the nearest mug; see-through and silver all at the same time. It was Kirkuk, potent and strong but the boy was growing a steady stomach to counter the Human's own repulsion to the sickly-sweet concoction. It was an acquired taste, but the only alternative to alcohol – (maize was something even rarer to procure other than caffeine, meaning Lance's attempts to make Moonshine was currently on hold) – Lance was determined to grow accustomed to drinking the stuff.
So, tipping his head back and breathing through his nose, Lance drowned his throat in the lumpy Unicorn-blood drink that everyone else was chugging.
There was a cheer echoing from the table and, shit, Lance coughed into his hand as the drink coated his throat like he was drinking glue, straight out the bottle. It tasted of pure sugar and an earthy blandness that settled on the back of his tongue, resembling something that Lance thought clouds might taste like.
Dart was thumping the table with his fist, his words slurred from where too much of the intoxicating drink had already taken his senses and warped them, making everything around him hilarious and hard to hold onto, in respects of his memory.
Lance felt his own vision swim slightly, readjust and fix itself at a different angle. A moment later he realised his head was resting against the table, the laughter of everyone around him adding to the banging as they thumped fists, banged cups on the table and in general filled the room with heavy cheer. Through the fuzziness Lance could make out detail, even without lifting his head back into an up position. Uilt'xen had snagged the cup from Lance's hand and downed the remainder, the words "lightweight" and "Texuks," thrown in customary jest.
Tho'xemae was jotting down words in that stupid little memory chip he kept stored on his wrist guard. But the funniest sight was Eldar, sitting at the head table, slouched oddly in his chair, face flushed, eyes wide as they fixed Lance with an undecipherable expression. Perhaps worry, perhaps amusement, but whatever it was, Lance couldn't help but laugh at the funny way his ears flickered repeatedly, like he was trying to swat flies with them.
Roamer was beside him, cheeks flushed, the pulse of her head slower than before in relation to her mood; calm and relaxed despite the boisterous crew just feet from her about to start a food fight. She was smiling at Eldar, speaking quickly with little gestures of her pan-tacles, her blushing pink eyes focused on the Pawther's face. Lance hadn't seen the Hyaline talk so quickly, even with the entire day that they had shared, discussing everything and anything the Hyaline's two brains could come up with.
The Human's eyes left Roamer to look at his Arenphine. Eldar's gaze was warm and friendly, even with the addlement of Kirkuk, his eyes softer than what he ever showed anyone except his family. It was a look that, although once reserved for only a few, was now being given to more with each passing day. Yet the way he looked to Roamer pulled spikes of something ugly into Lance's gut, despite the warm fluffy cloud of Kirkuk that flooded his senses.
Lance knew it was jealousy instantly; hating himself and the gnaw that pushed against his ribs like an obnoxious puppy that demanded attention. He tried to push it away, to pull his attention from his Arenphine back to the clamour of happiness that surrounded him, watching Uilt'xen challenge Kenmare into and arm wrestle to his side.
Just one more glance and a fervent chug of the nearest three cups to help settle the coil in his stomach.
But that was a mistake because now Lance was well and truly drunk. So drunk that he couldn't keep his mouth closed, propped up against Dart, his gaze periodically drifting back over to Eldar, where he was still currently drinking with Roamer and some of her crew that Lance didn't recognise. There were two Thorx and a spider-like creature, but Lance didn't care for them. His only eyes were on his Arenphine.
"God he's so hot, Dart. I mean, like seriously hot. Shit."
The Bo' Hunt followed his human-brother's gaze, squinting through the haze of his own heady Kirkuk mind-warp. He shook his head once, twice, peering again. "Who?"
"Eldar," Lance sighed dreamily, chin on palm now openly staring at his Arenphine as he drained the thick gloop of whatever he was drinking. Sweeter the syrup but addictive.
Lance sighed again, the spike of jealousy making a reappearance when Eldar laughed at something one of the Thorx said. It wasn't so much a spike anymore, just a thin cut of something sharp and small, noticeable underneath the haze of drunkenness.
"He's so good in bed too. Absolutely amazing."
Dart stared at his brother in surprise, the notion quickly trickling into amusement. Even through the Kirkuk haze, he knew that Lance's lip-loose state would allow him to procure juicy gossip for later. If not just material to tease his brother with.
The Bo' Hunt, although addled by the booze was still mindful enough to keep his wits about him, and his strong stomach for his own concoction meant he was able to drink anyway under the table.
Uilt'xen and the Thorx were fun to gamble against, especially in a game of Edegil: a drinking game with fists, and Dart had been hoping to challenge Lance to such an act. But getting gossip was a currency he could pay to Foci in return for favours.
He started out slow.
"Oh?" the Bo' Hunt asked, making sure his tone sounded indifferent. He leant in, a hand reaching to hold onto Lance's cup before the Human could hide behind it and continue to stare dreamily across the hall to where his Arenphine had thrown his head back, buckling in laughter by some joke or another.
"I mean, of course. Do you not see him," Lance gushed, tearing his eyes away, face crinkling into a smile as he waved a hand that was meant to be in Eldar's direction, but flailed wildly, nearly knocking into the Balmeran that sat on Lance's other side – one of Roamer's crewmates.
"God he's just…. Just so…. Yeah," Lance smiled, cheeks a flame when his stares took the notice of Prime, who had been sneaking glances at Lance all evening too, just catching the boy when he wasn't looking. Their cheeks the same shade of pink, eyes catching in the moment of falling in love even further.
The atmosphere was making Lance feel really relaxed. He leaned back and took in Eldar, leaning back in his own chair across the hall from him. He felt like he was really seeing Eldar again, admiring the way the light glinted off his adornments, noticing how his fur was ruffled in places and the lengths on his hair was in need of a trim. Or not, he looked good with a bit of character in his otherwise perfect cobalt coat.
His neck seemed thicker, his jaw line sharper, Lance wishing he was in the Pawther's lap so he could nose along his chin, scenting him, letting Eldar scent him back, until all that surrounded him was the cool, calm aroma of his heart-mate.
Before Lance could filter what he was thinking, he began to speak aloud.
"He's just perfect. Sometimes. Most of the time," he corrects, his lip-loose state throwing words out before his brain has a chance to pick through them and order them right. "Like, he can wake up and be all "hands", not that I mind, and he's like a furnace when we sleep, all cuddly like a Koala and I'm the tree, yet whenever I see him, I want to climb him like a tree." Lance flashed Dart a look like the Bo' Hunt should know what he is talking about.
"But he'd not just muscles and sex drive and hot kisses that make me feel like I'm drowning all the time. He's a giant teddy-bear, he's selfless and kind and hot and…."
Lance sighed again, turning back to his Arenphine. "I love him."
Dart didn't know if Eldar could hear Lance, but looking over he saw the faint tinge of a blush now bright red, the Pawther's ears flickering, his eyes darting every which way, although always coming back to the Human. Yeah, Eldar had heard Lance alright.
Dart broke the pairs shared moment with a loud snort, shoving Lance's Kirkuk at him, not at all bothered about ruining the moment. The two could get hot and heavy when they stumbled back to their quarters to sleep. But for now, the night was still young and Dart still wanted to drink.
It was then that Lance seemed to realise what he said, his face flushing a brighter shade of pink, but Dart put that down to drinking; knowing the boy's limited resistance to the drink wouldn't allow him to feel embarrassment yet. Or at all, if tonight was permanently clouded behind the drunken haze.
Conversations strayed to other subjects, others butting in to mingle with the Human, the early evening passing quickly into the beginnings of night as they remained on Wyle's surface. The suns had set long ago, and still many were high and buzzed from the celebrations.
When Lance began to drink his Kirkuk faster, Dart joined in, the two sharing a sudden knowing look. Lance's day-dreamy smile played into teasing, his cup slamming onto the table with a joyous cry of "Edegil!"
The word echoed up around them, the challenge echoing around the mess hall until Dart and Lance were in the centre of a crowd. It wasn't any of the usual faces to join, but Roamer's Thorx that had been sat with her, and an Angkor that sat cross-legged on his stool with a wide grin, his antenna bent, the feathered ears directed to Lance who handed the pirate his own cup. Instead of Kirkuk, Brea bought forth a concoction much like water, but glittering with red and green that shocked the system with spices, leaving eyes watering and ears steaming.
As challenger, Lance set the pace, learning quickly not to inhale or let the cup touch his lips, holding his breath as he poured the drug into his mouth, holding the motion of mid-swallow to open up the pathway and drain his cup before any of the others had lifted theirs to their lips.
It hit the back of Lance's throat like a hot fire iron and tore down his throat, burning through the coating of unicorn-blood, making him feel warm. His fingers felt like ice though.
The crowd cheered as Lance slammed his cup, rim to the table, allowing him a pass on the next round as Dart choked on the spice, the Thorx with the leopard coat coming in second, the Cyclops Thorx, Cersaelk, fourth after the Angkor. Lance sat out the second round, and the fourth after draining his cup first in the third. The leopard Thorx, by the name of Tanur, resigned after the fourth round, Dart unconscious by the sixth, and Cersaelk bowing out on the seventh.
Only Lance and Angkor remained, drinking on after the other, but now as only two remained; the true game of Edegil began. Opposite hands holding, when one downed the drink he was allowed to lay a fist into the other. Too into the game, Lance didn't notice the worry of Eldar who hovered at the edge of the ring, watching as the Angkor, of taller build and longer reach, brought a hefty blow into the crook of Lance's neck, in an attempt to wind him. The drug addled his aim, simply catching bone and muscle. That would be tender in the morning, but right now it was Lance's turn.
With another clink, drink and slam of glasses on the table, Lance had downed his sixth shot. The drink didn't burn as much as it did the first time, and already feeling a buzz from the Kirkuk, Lance couldn't differentiate his limit right about now. Or he wouldn't of, if he'd actually been able to hit the Angkor when he swung for him. Instead he aimed for the twin beside him, fist swinging through empty air with a giggle of laughter.
Their grip twisted, Lance tumbling forward, into the Angkor who fell with him to the floor as laughter welled up in the room. Two down, two losses. The Edegil ended in a draw.
System: Balter
Location: Wyle
Normally when Lance finds himself free time, he usually spends it nestled in the blankets of his and Eldar's bed, or sometimes searching for his sparring partners; the Draora or Uilt'xen and competing against one another in his impromptu training room as not to over burden the Trigamon with training bot repairs. Besides, with the brothers and other crew, they usually ended up gambling their own mission trophies on winners, losers and such, just to make the competition that much more entertaining. Sometimes Dart snuck in Kirkuk and things got hairy, but it was always fun.
After last night however, Lance was determined to leave it months before getting drunk again. He'd only just woken considering his hangover, greatly reduced with a vial of Eyre to lessen the ache, and annoyed at himself for wasting most of the day, Lance was heading to find the twins, (directed by Ryul who had sent the boisterous brothers away after too many questions and their ungraceful attempts to "assist" the Balmeran in his mechanical work), that instead he finds himself halting in a stairwell – not sure why – listening for the something that called his desire to investigate.
The empty room, stretching for several floors, remaining quiet and dim, just as it always is. Yet Lance just knows that something isn't quite as it should be. The room feels almost too still, too quiet.
The Human blinks up at the ceiling, past the shadow of upper floors and out of the wide awning window of Wyle's horizon, wondering if the idea of the not-quite-right was just his brain playing tricks on him; the after effects of constant fighting seeking monsters in shadows. It wouldn't be the first time the boy's paranoia invaded his senses, even in his waking hours.
"Anadón?" Lance called uncertainly, turning to look down the remaining steps, halting to listen for the familiar tap tap tapping of claw on tiled floor, the sweeping of feathered tail slinking against the ground as the shadow-creature stalked closer. But Anadón was nowhere to be seen. After all, he was dead.
Thinking that it was, indeed, just his own head space playing tricks on him, Lance continued onwards, ignoring the unshakeable feeling of another. Before he can take another step, he hears it: a heartbreaking whimper that breaks the still-silence of the stairwell. Lance hurried down the second level, turning quickly to the shadow under the stairs where a small Kit lay buried in their arms, shaking as they suppressed their cries into their fur. "Or'?"
Lance hurried to the small Galran child, dropping to his knees beside her, hands reaching out to cup both sides of Or's face. He winces slightly, taking notice of the light tremors that periodically pass through the young girl's body, the matted fur under her chin where the tears have flowed for a while, drying and tangling her fur together.
Her ears are turned away, flat to the sides of her head as she tries to block out everything around her.
"Or', hey I'm here, what's the matter?" Lance says, leaning in to hush gently, trying to pull Or' from whatever mind-spiral she's caught herself in. She's not visibly harmed, not in any way Lance can see, but he already has an inkling to what is distressing the kit.
Or' doesn't respond when Lance calls to her softly, and although he doesn't want to make things any worse, he decides on a different approach. "Or', you need to look at me," he says voice firm, still kind, but with an edge of an order. Or's ears flick at the tone, but she makes no move to reveal her face, still tucked behind folded arms. "Or', look at me," Lance says again, voice louder now. And this time she does.
Silver tears trace down her cheek, her usual yellow eyes red and puffy, her lips trembling and bleeding where she had bitten too hard to stop the sounds of her crying from escaping. Lance heart hurts to see her like that, the picture of his younger sisters and even Pidge filling his mind. Before he realises it, his arms are around her and he's pulling her into his lap, shushing quietly as she nuzzles into his chest, taking long sniffs that is more than just the way she draws back her tears.
"Sorry," Or' mumbles, sounding exhausted, but Lance won't have it. "Nope, not until you tell me why I find you crying here rather than helping up on the main deck to decipher the message logs." Or' squirms, but Lance is stronger than the kit, much so it feels like he's fighting a twelve year old to take part in a hug they don't really want. "Nope, you're going to tell me or I'll go get Prime and he can be all mean and huffy." Or' laughed then, weaker than what the Human wanted but he took what he was given.
Cold, uncomfortable stairwells weren't the best place for a heart to heart Lance decided and, gathering Or' more securely into his arms, he stood from where the two had tucked themselves, hiding the young girls face in the crook of his neck, making his way back up the stairs, heading to his quarters. It was still mid-afternoon, and Eldar; still innocent to the idea of a midday nap deemed the room empty, providing privacy as well as a comfortable bed to rest in.
Lance knew Or' wouldn't speak until she was settled, but blankets and cuddles weren't the only thing he could provide. He left Or' on the bed to gather together enough junk food (or Alien equivalent of junk food) and fizzy drinks for the pair of them to share, making his way back to the bed to find Or' making what he could only call a nest out of Lance's covers and pillows. The kit flushed a little when Lance hesitated, blinking at her. She made to straighten them out again.
"Don't you dare, that looks super comfy!" Lance scolded jokingly, crawling up on the bed, strategically placing his horde of food next to them, Or' nuzzling into his side after a moment of hesitation.
"So are you going to tell me what's got the water works going?" Lance pressed after a long moment of silence. Or' shook her head. "Then how about I guess and you just nod or shake your head." Again, Or' said nothing.
Lance nodded thoughtfully, holding out a plate of chip-alternatives between them. "Alright so my thought is that…" he paused for a moment. "Ah, I got it! It was a Weblum. It came and ate all your lunch!" Or' stifled a laugh, but shook her head. "No? Oh, alright then. Maybe it was… Ryul? He didn't accidentally push you in Delphi's pond again?"
Another shake of the head. "Hmm okay then."
Lance pretended to think, his arms unconsciously curling tighter around the child. "Was it one of the others? Something they said. Something about you being Galra?" Or' stiffened and Lance's heart plummeted. He himself had been alienated, even back on Earth, when a lonely boy from Cuba had applied and got accepted into the Garrison. Okay, so it was part of an outreach programme, meaning his parents didn't pay the god-awful fees of the boarding school, and the only reason he got picked was because it looked good for the Garrison's Media front. It was a very "Annie" world for him, without the happy ending of being accepted and finishing in a wonderful technicolour song and dance.
Or' had everything that much harder. She wasn't pitied by Eldar, she had been rescued when a raid mission would've left her as a corpse if the other Solnha had their own way. But the paternal instincts of someone who had already lost everything once, Eldar reached out and took Or' in. He was frowned upon for such acts, but Or's knowledge of the Galran language helped considerably, and that once, had been enough for her to stay. The others didn't thinks so anymore. But worse than that, Or' believed so too.
And she told Lance. Told him what they all thought of her, what she thought of herself, wondering if betraying the Galra to help Eldar was a black mark against her name, that she was doomed to betray her family again. "That's not true," Lance said, pulling her closer, but she stopped him with hands on his chest. "But it is. Even you did what you didn't want to. You couldn't fight it."
When Lance didn't understand what she was saying, Or' explained, head hung, keeping her eyes closed as not to see the pain she put upon the Human's face. "You left your family, not once, but twice. Are you not scared you will abandon them for a third time?"
"I didn't leave them out of choice," Lance explained, ignoring the spike of ice in his chest. "I left to save my blood-kin. I left to save my second family. I'm staying to save my forever-home." He looked down to the young Galran child, a hand curling into her fur, stroking behind her ears. "You're a part of my forever-home. Everyone here is your forever-home, if that's what you choose. And all those that tell you you're not good enough have no right, because they don't know you. They don't know how strong you are, how important you are to all of us." Or's eyes began to glisten, but Lance wasn't done.
"You aren't defined by what you are, who sired you, or the Planet you grew up on. You are defined by your actions, your words and your treatment of others. They say you're Galra, but what's so wrong with that? I know many Galra, and half Galra that are strong fighters against Zarkon, you being one of them." The kit's ear's flicked with interest. "There's Kolivan, he's Galra and he's the head of the Blade of Marmora; a group of spies, consisting of all races, including Galra and halves. Even the Red Paladin of Voltron, he's half-Galra, but you wouldn't know by looking at him. He looks human, but his temper isn't. Then there is Oolas, he saved Shiro – the Black Paladin – back before we were with Voltron. He saved him and helped him escape to Earth."
Lance told Or' of all the Galra he and the team had met: Thace, Ulaz and Sal the Cook from the Space Mall. He told her of the halves; Regris, Antok and many others who, just like her were against the Galra. "True, they may be fighting another battle, not just against the Empire, but one of acceptance. I fought that battle, and still have many to fight. But remember," he said, turning so that they were once more face to face, Or' giving the Human her undivided attention.
"We don't have to win every battle for acceptance, and not every battle is worth fighting. We already have allies, you already have allies in me and Eldar, and this whole crew! And sure, Zarkon has spread enough hate and prejudice that you'll never be accepted by everyone—" Lance said, thrusting a hand to the window, where Wyle's horizon shone in brilliant sunlight "—But look. The universe is huge. It holds as many enemies as it does friends. You won't be accepted by all, but you won't meet all of them either."
The child looked wistfully to the portal window, holding onto the words as Lance spoke. "Only listen to the words of those that you love and love you in return. They are the ones that matter. They are the ones that there are no battles to fight, because they understand. And if they don't, then you can educate them. If they truly matter, they won't care that you have purple fur and are short and tiny."
Or' batted him away with a laugh when he tickled her; the sound genuine once more.
Lance snuggled into her fur. "Don't care for the haters Or'. Their love isn't worth it."