Lance was salty about a lot of things. The consistency of the 'goo' Coran passed off as food. The fact that he'd had to forgo sleeping with headphones so that he could hear the alarms Allura kept setting off at random points in the night. The rule Shiro had put in place that said there wasn't to be any more contact with Earth for fear the Galra would catch on and make it a target. But out of all of the wacko things that existed in space to annoy him, nothing managed to get to him quite as much as Keith. Star of the Garrison Keith. Perfect Pilot Keith. Amazing fighter Keith. Every day they spent sat on Arus was a day Allura made them train until they dropped, and every day they trained was another chance for Keith to one up him.

Sure, he screwed up. They all did. But Lance had this nagging feeling that he only ever made a mistake because Lance himself distracted him with his bickering. Watching him fight the gladiator or pilot Red on his own with nothing in his way made it very clear that, just like before in the Garrison, Keith was better than him in every possible way. His only weaknesses were that he allowed Lance to distract him, and that he couldn't really work in a team unless that team was Shiro. Still, whenever the combat scores showed up at the end of the simulation, Keith was consistently on top right behind Shiro. And then, after training was all said and done and they finally got a chance to relax, he'd go right back to the training deck again.

It really pissed Lance off.

So he snarked about it. Made fun, as though being naturally talented was something to be ashamed of. Because really, Lance reasoned with himself, it was. He was taking up time and attention that could have been bestowed on those who worked their asses off to get to where they were, people who deserved it, instead of being wasted on hotheads who just happened to be good at it.

So at the end of a simulation, whenever Shiro stopped to give Keith a pat on the back and say, "Good work," Lance just had to chime in.

" 'Good work, Keith.'" He'd mimic with a roll of his eyes. "Well then why is he even here if he's so naturally gifted?"

To be fair, Shiro was trying not to play favorites. He gave everyone compliments after a run, and made sure to point out whenever Keith made a mistake. But Keith's were so few and far between, and so small and inconsequential. Shiro would scold Lance for not blocking a shot meant for Pidge, which would have killed her in the field, but with Keith it was nothing more than shifting his foot an inch to the left so that he wouldn't stumble when he got hit.

Usually Keith would snap something back about needing to be around to teach Lance a few things, which of course would just piss him off more, and he and Keith would go at it until Shiro called time out. In the evenings, when Keith excused himself to go back to the training deck, Lance usually couldn't resist mumbling something under his breath.

Something along the lines of, "Why, it's not like you need it."

With every passing day Lance could see Shiro losing patience with him, but he really couldn't help it. Every time he saw Keith's stupidly perfect score he was sucked back to the Garrison, Iverson reminding him that the only reason he was in fighter class was because Keith couldn't keep his temper in check. Every time he smirked after lopping a limb off the gladiator was a reminder that Lance wasn't good enough, and that no matter how hard he worked he would never be good enough. And if making fun of Keith made him feel better in the moment, then that's what he'd do.

Until one night, Shiro had apparently had enough.

It was going on ten at night according to the little Earth clock Pidge had put together, and they were all still in the lounge. Well, except Keith. As usual he was on the training deck. Shiro had just gotten up to say he was going to bed, and Lance had made a pointed remark about fetching Golden Boy from the training room lest he stay up all night. Shiro paused in the doorway and looked back at him.

"Actually," He said, and Lance's laughter cut off. "Come with me, Lance. I want to show you something."

Lance shrugged and stood to follow, trying to hide the sudden knot of anxiety in his gut. The knot only tightened when he realized where Shiro was leading him.

"Why are we going to the training deck?" He asked as Shiro opened the door to the observation room above.

"You'll see."

Lance couldn't help but scowl. "Look, I know Keith is a super awesome ninja or whatever. You don't have to rub it in."

Shiro's expression remained mild. "That's not what I'm trying to do."

They emerged into the observation room, and Lance's scowl only deepened when he glanced out the window onto the training deck. Keith was still there, as expected, circling a gladiator with his bayard at the ready. Even from this high up Lance could tell that his shirt was drenched in sweat. But Shiro wasn't even looking at the beginning fight, rather he was hitting a series of buttons and pulling up holoscreens from the dashboard.

"Come look at this." He said, just as Keith made his first swing. Lance stepped forward obediently and leveled his eyes at the screen. It was a sort of log it seemed, and Lance read the entry at the top of the list with barely disguised animosity.

Level Six Gladiator- Single Combatant Simulation

Combatant- Red Paladin

Attempt One- 86/100

5 dobashes 19 ticks.

"I'm still not getting it." He told Shiro gruffly, trying his damn hardest not to snap. Shiro was his superior officer, after all, and old habits die hard. Shiro shook his head, halfway exasperated and halfway fond. Whether that fondness was for Lance or for Keith he couldn't tell, and it only made his mood worse.

"Check the timestamp."

Pidge had also programmed these logs to read in Earth time it appeared, and Lance blinked a little at the time shown.

16:32.

That was barely two minutes after he'd left the dinner table.

"Scroll down and look at the other logs." Shiro said, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. Lance moved awkwardly to do so, very much aware of Shiro's eyes on him. In the background was Keith, still fighting the gladiator and filling the air with the sound of clashing steel.

Attempt Two- 89/100

5 dobashes 23 ticks.

Attempt Three- 88/100

5 dobashes 20 ticks.

And so on and so forth. Lance got bored after five or six entries and gave the screen an annoyed swipe, sending the list spinning to the last entry. At that moment Keith seemed to finish his attempt downstairs, and a notification appeared on the screen.

New Attempt Logged: Level Six Gladiator- Single Combatant Simulation

Combatant: Red Paladin

Attempt Forty-Nine- 99/100

4 dobashes 67 ticks.

22:48

Lance's jaw dropped. He wasn't quite sure which number he should be gawking at: the 99 out of 100, or the fact that Keith had ran the damn thing forty nine times in a row. His gaze flitted from the screen to the person on the deck below, who was apparently looking at a score readout of his own.

If it had been him, Lance would've called it a good day, patted himself on the back, and hit the showers. But Keith stood still, tilting his head at the score screen, before taking a few quick drinks from his water pouch and spinning back to the start position.

"Restart simulation." His voice came in clearly through the speakers, and Lance couldn't hide his shock as the gladiator reemerged. He watched, completely immersed, as Keith fought it for the fiftieth time, each step and swing carefully timed and calculated.

"Do you get it now?" Shiro asked, not unkindly, from behind him. Lance could only nod in response. Keith took down the gladiator again, and another new log appeared.

New Attempt Logged: Level Six Gladiator- Single Combatant Simulation

Combatant: Red Paladin

Attempt Fifty- 100/100

5 dobashes 13 ticks.

22:54

Downstairs, Keith indulged himself in a little cheer and fist pump before deactivating his bayard and finally leaving the training room. After five and a half hours straight of running the same simulation over and over and over.

"He is talented." Shiro said, carefully watching as Lance tried to process this new information. "But talent only gets you so far. You have to work for it, too."

The next day was supposed to be a free day, the first one Shiro had managed to convince Allura to give them. Lance had been fully planning to take advantage of this by doing absolutely nothing whatsoever, so he surprised everyone (including himself) when Keith said he was going to the training deck and Lance asked to tag along.

Everything in the room stopped. Even the mice paused in their scurry across the floor to stare at him, and Lance crossed his arms petulantly.

"What?" He said testily. "I'm not allowed on the training deck now?"

Everyone guiltily turned back to their activities, though he could've sworn he saw a pleased smirk on Shiro's face. Keith, for once, seemed flustered.

"Um, ok. I mean, if you want to."

"Sweet." Lance hoped his nonchalance would put Keith at ease, and eventually it worked. They were practically to the training deck by the time his shoulders lost their tension, but it still worked.

"Can we run a simulation together?" He asked, taking note of Keith's startled and guarded expression. "There are ones for short and long range teams, right?"

Keith nodded warily, and Lance realized with a sudden jolt what was wrong. Keith thought this was another trap, another prank, another way to make fun of him. He bit into the side of his lip. Heavy shame settled in his gut; he may have been annoyed and irritated by Keith, but he'd never meant to make the other boy think he was genuinely out to get him.

Before he could get caught up in his thoughts Keith was striding forward onto the combat area, deftly picking out options from the console that ran the simulations. He finished within seconds and hit a button before meeting Lance back in the center and drawing his bayard.

Level Two Gladiators, the female computer voice read out to them, Two Combatants; Long and Short Range.

Combatants: Red and Blue Paladins.

Attempt One

"Begin simulation." Keith called. The gladiators dropped, Lance pulled his bayard, and they were off.

On their first run they scored an 89. Afterwards, standing there panting with his hands on his knees, he expected Keith to rip into him and tell him exactly what he had done wrong and exactly why he was a terrible pick for a paladin. Instead, Keith just studied the computer display for a moment before speaking.

"Dodge to your right after you take down the first bot." He said in a surprisingly even tone. "Then I'll make sure I take out mine faster so that I can catch the one coming at you."

It took them thirty three attempts to make it to 100. After every attempt, Keith would explain what both of them had to fix, and then they'd run it again. They sank into a rhythm, and Lance was pleasantly surprised to find that they actually worked well together when he wasn't trying to get a rise out of Keith.

Afterwards, when they were sitting against the wall chugging down water like they'd been trekking endlessly through the desert, Lance finally found the courage to ask the question that had been bothering him this whole time.

"Did you do this sort of thing at the Garrison too?"

Keith paused for a long moment, hesitating as he tried to determine Lance's motivation for asking.

Man, I really need to be more careful with the teasing.

"Yeah." Keith answered eventually, slumping against the wall like he was too tired to try and figure Lance out anymore. "I'd wait till lights out then sneak down to the simulators to practice."

Lance cocked his head. "Didn't the simulators need an officers passcode?"

Keith shrugged and took another swig of his water. "I memorized Shiro's."

Lance couldn't help chuckling to himself. "Of course you did. And what about before the Garrison?"

"Not really. I didn't really care about school that much." Keith had gone still as he answered, and although he kept his voice light, Lance had definitely taken notice.

"Really? Then how'd you get into the Garrison to begin with?"

Keith let out a bitter little laugh and pushed his sweaty hair back from his face. "I studied for the entry test for, like, a year. The foster family I was with would only pay for me to take it once, and they'd only let me go if I got a full ride. So I studied my ass off and got in."

Lance is quiet for a few minutes after that. He'd had no idea Keith was a foster kid, or that he'd been working this hard from the beginning to get what he wanted. Underneath the long nursed resentment, Lance began to feel what was best described as a grudging respect for the Red Paladin. Sure he was still irritating and hot headed, and his mullet was still awful, but maybe he wasn't all bad.

Just maybe.

So Lance got to his feet and held out a hand to him.

"Let's run another one."