The Terran ceremony, "exchanging of vows", is much less pressure and intimacy than the Galran ceremonies they completed the day prior.

The venue is small, two outdoor areas on opposite ends on a building. One housed the setup for the wedding, and the other the reception area. The latter has a roof over the it, with large, wooden pillars holding it up. Vines from the plants growing outside are weaved around the pillars.

Keith stands by Shiro, side-by-side.

Keith can't help the smile that stretches his cheeks as far as they go. He's eyeing the rose-gold ring that Shiro had put on his finger.

"You ready?" Shiro nudges him, knife poised to cut the cake.

"Oh no, I don't know how I'll handle this. Please, guide me through, oh, dear husband."

Shiro snorts.

Keith lays his hand on Shiro's and they slice it.

Why they cut the cake before being served dinner, he's not sure. But they do it, and find their seats. They're sat by Matt, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance. Keith tried complaining to Allura, who had arranged the seating, but she had said something about it being good to get to know the others. After the hectic week, Keith has little energy to argue.

Hunk is friendly enough, quick to ease the tension in Keith with humor.

Lance not so much.

"Hey, Mullet. How come Shiro didn't walk your little princess butt down the aisle?" He shovels cake into his mouth.

"I'm not a princess." Keith takes a sip of the sparkling cider, remise that he couldn't reach for the champagne.

"Could've fooled me. Long flowing locks? Check. Tiny? Super check. A royal pain in the-"

"Lance, please. This is Keith and I's big day. Why don't you go have some more of the cake?"

Lance huffs and storms off to the dessert table.

"What's his problem with me?"

"That's just Lance," Pidge chimes in, waving her fork that has a mini sausage stabbed on the prongs, "He's so dramatic. He'll rile anyone up that's willing to take bait. But, between you and me? He's just cheesed off 'cus you're an alien. Has it in his head that it somehow makes you special."

"Yeah, man. Lance, he's... Well, yeah. Pidge is kinda right. He's jealous of you. Also, like, maybe marrying his hero might have made him upset. He's afraid you'll take Shiro away from everyone. Uh, no offense, Shiro."

"None taken? I don't know what he's hoping to accomplish by picking fights with my husband."

"Right? But, go off I guess." Matt sweeps his hand dramatically back and forth.

They're tucked into their meals when a loud crash of plates and scraping of chairs sounds.

"S-sam?" Colleen cries out.

Keith whips himself around and out of his seat. Where the two had sat, along with Allura, Coran, a Galra named Zarkon, and an Altean named Honerva, the table is flipped on its side.

Allura sprints over to Keith's table, her heels discarded. She has a purse slung over his chest. She shimmies it to the front, and digs things out from it. She shoves something at each them.

Keith gets what looks to be an Earth lighter. Shiro is handed a plain, fold-out fan. Hunk is given a rock. Pidge gets a twig. Lance has a waterbottle.

"There's no time to explain, they're already here. Take these, they contain concentrated quintessence. Let the element speak to you. We need to grab Sam first, and put him in a cryopod."

"B-but, wait, what about me? Dad? Princess?" Matt is frantic as he searches the table for a discarded steak knife.

The sound of a charging particle gun cries above the commotion.

"I am sorry, but there's really no time now."

The others disperse from the table and rush their way toward Sam.

Keith is just on his feet when a hand falls heavy on his shoulder.

"Keith. You must be careful. You are untamed and stand to pose more damage than good." Her stare is unwielding. She's waiting for him to nod, so he does. Then she's rushing off somewhere away from the reception.

He wishes he had pockets.

"Keith! To your left!" Shiro calls out.

Whipping around, Keith sees one of his pack members unlock his blade. It's long and hooked at the end. And aimed right at him.

"Dyrner, what are you doing?" Keith pats around for his own blade on instinct, but it's back with his clothes in the dressing room.

"It's nothing personal, kit. I'm just ordered to bring you back."

"Ordered? You mean- You're with the Empire? But-"

"But what? I'm a Blade? What better place to serve the Emperor than as a spy infiltrated into the very same group that has poisoned his own ranks?"

His plan to keep Dryner talking until his had an actual plan was shot in the foot when the blade is swung at him.

Keith tucks low. The blow was aimed high, given their height difference, and the move yields the blade missing him by several feet. He glances quickly around the room, the crowd had cleared, leaving only Keith's table. He has an idea.

Keith shifts his weight hard from a vertical center to the left, then quickly snaps right. It's enough to gain him the momentum he needs to swing out his leg straight, the step into a bend. It puts him upright and with his back to the group.

The lighter seems to spark in his hands and the surprise of it makes him drop it. He wasn't going to use it anyways.

Dryner lunges again, this time Keith is prepared. He steps into the swing, bringing himself chest-to-chest with Dryner. The blade swipes at the empty air, knocking Dryner off balance. Keith draws back his knee and swings it upward. Dryner stumbles onto it, the blow knocking the wind from him, and Keith maneuvers out before the other falls.

It leaves Dryner dazed.

Perfect, Keith thinks, as he sprints off toward the changing rooms. He just needs to get his knife.

The roar behind him tells him that the blow hadn't knocked the galra out for long.

He weaves through the tables and slams the door to the banquet hall shut behind him. It won't distract for long, but it will buy him some time.

The thunk of what's likely the blade being struck against the wood reverberates through the building.

The dressing room is all the way down the hall.

Keith jerks the door open and dashes inside.

"Where did it go?" He searches around where he knew he left it, but the knife is nowhere to be seen. The footsteps echoing down the hall are getting louder.

If Dryner comes in before he's found the knife, he's in trouble.

"You're not going to find it, kit."

He freezes.

Dryner is at the door now. Keith can't go anywhere with him in the door way.

"He needs you alive, but there's nothing about not tossing you around first."

He raises the blade high enough to swing it down in an arc. Keith is calculating how to dodge it when the blade suddenly clatters to the floor.

"Kolivan!" He cries out, seeing the man behind Dryner, blade in hand.

Keith is fast to dive for the the discarded knife.

"Keith, leave him. We must go help the others."

Sam, as it turns out, was easy to apprehend.

Lance's water bottle is knocked on its side on the ground. The contents have expanded and weaved around Sam in ropes. Lance's hands hover steady, his face tight in concentration.

Hunk's crouched on the ground, hands flat against the tile. Beneath Sam's feet is the Earth, crushed through the concrete, and wrapped up to his calves like boots.

Pidge is in tears.

"Where's Shiro?" Keith is paniced, not seeing the man anywhere.

"Oh, Keith. Hey, man. He's at the perimeters. Whoever these people are, they brought reinforcements. He's keeping a wind barrier around us."

"Fuck. I'm going after him."

A hand on his shoulder stops him.

"Keith, we need you to stay here. We can't lose you."

That gets him to grit his teeth.

"Oh but Shiro is collateral damage?"

"No, kit. You do not understand. They are after you. Here is not the place to explain, but I need you to keep your emotions in check. Trust that your partner has this."

Keith would've have ran if not for the implication that running to him meant he didn't trust Shiro.

Things happen nearly in one moment.

Dryner shows up from the entrance to the hall. He throws his blade, which travels like a boomerang, on the path to Keith. Kolivan notices it and raises his own blade. Dryner's hooks around it and tossed it back toward him. Quicker than blinking, Dryner catches it and hurdles it directy at Kolivan.

It strikes him in the chest.

Keith sees the disposed lighter, inches from Dryner's heel.

He closes his eyes, letting the rage consume him. He feels it spark to life and hears the anguished scream. When he opens his eyes, Dryner is on fire. Keith concentrates and the flames grow bluer, hotter. He keeps working the intensity up until not even bone is left behind.

"Kolivan." He cries and drops to his knees where the man is crumpled on the floor.

Kolivan reaches his hands to Keith's face.

"Better I than you, my son."

The palms that hold his face envelope his whole head.

Keith knows that without taking stock of their size as they hold him. He knows because he's always found comfort in them. He was a troubled child, and Kolivan had come to learn that pressing on his head was a calming mechanism. It helped during outbursts.

"You knew, didn't you?" It takes a will to speak that uses every last measure of strength he has to give. "Everything. That we had spies- And they were after me. that's why we're here- Why you- we left the war. You knew we needed to be here. I don't know how- I-"

"Be still, kit. I know you would regret our final moments to be chasing questions that I cannot answer. Once more you must find yourself waiting. But that is... Not to trouble you now."

Keith leans down to bring their foreheads together.

"You've always been my dad. I- Thank you. For everything." Tears gather at his eyelids. Filled already to the brim, the drops make their way down lashes, until they meet soft, lavendar cheeks.

"I loved you as my own, ki- Keith. I... I regret that my time has run out so soon. I would have- If only I had- Keith.. Keith, my son. I love you."

"A-are you in pain?" He asks because he's delaying.

"I could not ask of y-"

"Are you?"

Kolivan coughs and it's gurgle of liquid, blood, Keith thinks.

The silence speaks the answer.

"I will carry your blade to the end of this."

He closes his eyes. There's no way he can watch the life leave Kolivan's body. Not the man who helped him when his mother left. Not the man who taught him how to fight, how to defend himself. Not the man who indulged him in seeking out his culture, no matter how far-flung the species that held it were. Keith could not watch Kolivan die, and so he closes his eyes.

His fingers take hold of the hilt, the hilt of Kolivan's own blade, shortened to its knife form, and protruding from his chest. Keith grasps hold of it.

He rips it out.

It had missed the heart by inches.

He thrusts it back in, this time proper.

Electricity tingles at his fingertips. Static noise buzzes through his skull. The burning of tears is only feeling to keep him in his body. There's gasping and choking. Until there isn't.

Keith draws his fingers along the glass of the display case. They leave prints along it. But the lights are off, and the sunset's rays don't reach far enough in. It's still clean. As long as the light doesn't touch the glass, it's clean. He glides fingers all the way to the end of it, and then traces the countertop.

Which leads him to the wraparound bar.

He can just about see the ghosts of Matt and Pidge, in the middle of a shoving match. He can hear the scraping of stool along the ground as one of them falls over.

He works his back to the case and around it.

The phantom scent of pumpkin spice and bitter coffee beans is stale in the air.

His work apron is folded neatly beneath the counter, on top of his notebook and the Learn Swedish book from his mom. Shiro's apron sits large beside the pile.

Opening the fridge, he takes out a carton of milk. Shakey hands trace over the surface of a variety of mugs, searching. The one he chooses is the one with rough paint. He pours himself a glass and gulps it down. It's thick in his throat.

His eyes draw instinctively to the courner where the Holts would always be. 5pm, and they shuffle through that door. The courner looks dreary, but the dying light of the sun gives it a few more minutes of view.

He puts the carton away.

The bell on the door rings.

"I wish I could grant you more time, Keith. But the longer we remain here, the longer the presence of the Empire does as well." He knows she's trying to be reassuring, but her voice is just too soft, words too right, too diplomatic. It's insincere.

He digs his book and notes from underneath the apron. For a moment he thinks about taking that too, but instead folds it neatly and stacks it on top of Shiro's.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Follow me, then. There's much to discuss."