Author's Note: So hi . . . I know it's been a long time. Way longer than it should have been or than I'd intended. I started my new job, which is awesome, but it does carve into the writing time significantly. This chapter was written in fifteen-minute bursts over the last, what has it been, six weeks? Most of the time, I feel as disoriented as Lance does, trying to keep up with everything, trying to feel everything, but not quite getting it. I appreciate you and your patience.

We really are almost there. I know I keep promising that, but there are truly just a handful of scenes left. I think that most of them are ones you've been waiting for. (What have you been waiting for?)

Chapter Thirty-Two: Proxy

"So where are we going?" Lance finally asked Allura, seated in the front of her shiny blue Toyota Rav4 as she took them north on Lake Shore Drive. The sun seemed to be trying its best to break through the clouds, but mostly everything looked watered down, dismal, and dirty at this point of the winter. Lance could hardly believe that it wasn't even nine in the morning yet, could hardly believe that he'd just sent Keith off to Texas a little while ago, and that now he was going somewhere mysterious with Allura. He wondered if anything would ever seem real to him again or if he'd continue to live his life as though he'd wake up any second and it would still be January, back when he'd never really spoken to Keith or Allura, back when he hadn't signed on to be Dr. Delacroix's apprentice in the ER, before Hunk and Pidge had left for California.

Still, if this was a dream, it was monstrously convincing, detailed down to the jar-shaped Scentsy air freshener dangling from Allura's rearview mirror, the stack of audiobook CDs she had apologetically moved from the passenger seat, the other cars on the road. The cold.

Allura drove with the confidence of someone who had grown up here, who spent a decent amount of her time behind the wheel. She wasn't as timid as Hunk when driving on snowy or wet roads, but she also wasn't quite as smooth as Shiro. She drove with both hands, concentrating enough that Lance thought he might have to repeat his question about their destination. Not that it mattered all that much. Provided Lance wasn't home alone in his apartment, he didn't care where she wanted to take him. He'd asked just so it wouldn't be so quiet in the car.

"The place I always escape to when I can't bear another gray, winter day," Allura responded cryptically, surprisingly perking Lance's interest. Was there a place in Chicago that wasn't gray, smeared and battered with the almost archeological landmarks of ice that melted, got snowed on, and refroze over and over? A place to escape winter? And if so, could it also be used as an escape for other things?

As they drove, more and more banners appeared along the sides of the street, advertising the featured exhibits of the Field Museum, Adler Planetarium, and Shedd Aquarium. Three major attractions of the area all tucked neatly together with a shared parking garage. Allura pulled her Toyota into a space marked Reserved, reaching across Lance's lap to pull out a placard from her glove box that was shaped like a sea turtle, which affirmed that out of the three, the aquarium was where they were headed today. She really must come here a lot to have her own space and parking tag. Lance almost teased her about it, but remembered before he had formed his comment that he also had a place where he retreated from his life, a place he lived when he couldn't stand to be where he actually lived. It made him wonder about Allura, about why she might need some place like that.

He followed her, silent and curious, as she made quick, sharp decisions about which direction they should take from the parking spot. She led him into an elevator and across the street to the columned front of the aquarium, long crimson and purple banners swaying gently between the pillars at the top of the steps, each one printed with a different word. Under. Water. Beauty. Lance hadn't even known this place was here, but now that he was on the stairs, he desperately wanted to go in. It was full of life and color in there, movement, distraction. Warmth and water.

"Come on," Allura encouraged, taking his hand, though he didn't think he was hesitating. But maybe he had been. Maybe he'd slowed on the concrete, staring too long at the impressive entrance, at the banners, taking too long to process where he was and who he was with. Because nothing was real, and he felt so numb inside. Numb with a thin plastic wrapping of wonder around it that somehow made the numbness larger and more prominent. . . and the wonder extremely fragile.

They took five steps into the front entrance where Allura didn't even bother looking toward the ticket counter, and Lance realized at that instant that he knew nothing about Allura's life at all. He used to think he did, but now he remembered with embarrassment how he thought he knew what sort of girl she was from the books she'd bring to the center. From the few words they had exchanged during that hour on Wednesdays where their worlds had met. Ridiculous. And even now, though they'd been dating several weeks, he still didn't have much of a grasp. Because she always came to him, he realized. She met him in his space – the plasma center, the college campus, his apartment. He never went the other way. Looking around, he thought that perhaps that might not even be possible. She was more out of his league than he'd ever been teased for.

"Welcome back, Miss Lyons," an employee appeared suddenly at their side out of nowhere, greeting Allura by name with friendly familiarity and respect and unclipping a maroon velvet rope, beckoning her away from the entering crowds toward a partially disguised door marked primly with a Private Entrance sign. He gave Lance a half-bow as he noticed that Allura was holding his hand, including him effortlessly as Allura's guest. Lance had no idea how to respond to the gesture. "How can we make your visit exceptional today?"

Lance glanced behind him at the tide of people they moved away from. Other couples like Lance and Allura. Moms with small children. Groups of school-age kids wearing brightly colored Tshirts over their clothes. People waiting to purchase tickets, which apparently Lance was not going to do.

"I have it arranged with Maris," Allura responded to the employee as they walked further away from the main door, through the private entrance to a private room where Allura began hanging up her coat with familiar grace. And no wonder. Her actual name was engraved on the wall. Holy crow. "It's Lance's first time visiting, so we'll look around for a while and then go meet her."

"That's wonderful," came the answer as Allura took Lance's coat from him too. "Please let us know if there's anything else."

"Thanks, I will," Allura dismissed, obviously acclimated to this sort of treatment, taking Lance's arm and ushering him into the aquarium proper. "Don't look so shocked," she whispered at him, giggling a little as they left the worker's side.

"How am I not supposed to look shocked?" Lance whispered back. "You have your own coat hook!"

"It's nothing," Allura dismissed, studying her surroundings as she debated where to take him first. "Try to get used to it, please. I have a lot of places I'd like to show you where someone will definitely be taking our coats."

"What? Is it like this everywhere you go?" Lance asked her quietly, leaning into her, trying to focus on the pressure of her hand and shoulder. She pulled him into a dark exhibit, thick glass on all sides, flowing color all around them. Salt water fish. From the ocean. Lance's heart felt like it was shrinking, pulling away from the sides of his ribs. It had been so long since he'd seen anything like this, that reminded him so strongly of home. They were so beautiful. It was so warm here. Why couldn't he feel it the way he was supposed to feel it?

"Not everywhere," Allura replied, staring around her as if this were her first time at the aquarium too, borrowing Lance's wonder and seeming to enjoy it immensely. "Just the art museum, Orchestra Hall, Harris Theater, of course, and . . . oh, there's a few restaurants. I've had a Guardian membership here since I was twelve." She listed these impressive places as she slowly walked up to a large tank where a zebra shark languidly swam past, just a little over her head. Something in how she said Guardian membership clued Lance in that it was a step above an annual pass. Annual passes didn't get you your own coat hook, your own parking spot, your name on the wall. And those other places. They sounded so fancy. Lance had known that Allura's family was wealthy, but in a detached sort of way. It was different walking next to her and seeing first-hand what the word actually meant in the real world.

For today, though, it seemed Allura didn't mind behaving as though they were the same as all the other visitors. She brought Lance to her favorite exhibits, gauging him carefully and noticing when Lance wanted to spend any extra time in certain places. Lance wasn't sure if he was enjoying himself or not. If he liked the movement of the light on the floor from being reflected through water and glass. If he enjoyed the schools of brightly colored tropical fish, the mesmerizing tranquil movements of the jellyfish, the playfulness of the seals, the slimy feel of the back of a ray. The scent and softness of Allura on his arm. He wasn't sure. He felt split in half, like this was all too much glamor for him, like he was wasting it by not being enough in the moment, like part of his soul had followed Keith onto the plane.

Lance thought about Keith regularly, the pressing question of what he was doing now repeatedly resurfacing in Lance's mind, even as he purposefully pushed it aside. Keith was gone, and Lance was walking with Allura in this fantastic place. Keith was busy, probably being transported to the training facility. Being assigned a bunk. Having all his hair buzzed short.

Oh geeze, Keith's hair. The Air Force wouldn't allow him to wear it long. Lance winced when that occurred to him, trying to picture Keith without the raven-colored waves of hair that almost touched his shoulders, a grimace that didn't escape Allura, and she pulled him deeper into the aquarium where everything felt as though they were underground, walking through close caves. He barely paid any attention to the tanks they passed along the way until Allura pushed him onto a small bench seat near an enormous display and the large movement inside caught him by surprise.

"Hey," Lance exclaimed, waking up a little, twisting closer to the glass now that he was here, shaking Keith out of his cluttered brain as Allura bent down to hear him, watching him as intently as he watched the water and the shadows in it. "They have dolphins here?" He didn't know why that came out as a question. Obviously, there were dolphins here. They were swimming right in front of him.

"Thought you'd like that," Allura beamed, satisfied with herself. "They're not bottlenose dolphins," she noted, half apologetically, "but—"

"They're gorgeous," Lance emphasized, suddenly mesmerized. A pair swam closer, slowing as they passed the display glass as though they wanted to be admired.

"That's Makoa and Segu," Allura named them, pointing out their unique features. "Segu was born here, the first one. That's his mom, Piquet, over there. There are seven all together."

"You know their names?" Lance whispered in awe, not turning from watching the dolphins' grace. It was true; they weren't quite the same as the dolphins that fished and played in the waters of Varadero, these were their northern, cold-water cousins, but they were similar enough that Lance couldn't take his eyes off them.

"I've been coming here since I was twelve, remember? Now don't move; I have a surprise for you," Allura said, patting his shoulder as though he needed any more persuasion to stay glued to this spot, watching the ease of these animals as they navigated their environment. He calmed in their presence, resting his head against the glass, noticing how it changed the angle of the scene. He didn't ask where Allura was going; he hardly noticed that she left, barely registered what she'd said about a surprise. He just watched, transfixed, homesick and empty, but not wanting to turn away from the stream-lined, intelligent creatures in front of him. They were a memory, but not really. They represented something, but he didn't know what. It hurt to sit here, but he never wanted to leave. Because watching them swim held everything in a captive moment. They moved, but time didn't.

When Allura returned, she brought an employee with her. A woman with features similar to Hunk's, suggesting a Samoan or Tongan heritage. Lance wouldn't have even seen her, but she gasped so loud as she approached that it would have been impossible not to notice. It was the gasp that made Lance turn away from the water, away from one of the dolphins who had been hovering near him for a few minutes now. He thought it was Makoa again but didn't want to make guesses without Allura to confirm.

Allura had her phone out, held in front of her in the unmistakable posture of someone taking a picture. She smiled fondly at Lance, though he detected a hint of worry in it. Lance glanced over his shoulder, but the dolphin had moved on. Allura turned her screen toward the woman she'd brought with her, showing her the picture she'd just taken.

"I got it, Maris, look," Allura said, triumphant, her voice cool, asking to share in her marveling at whatever she had captured in her picture.

"Oh, you did! That's a great photo," Maris agreed, half-turning her attention from the phone to Lance. "Perfect timing."

Lance wondered if they were going to make him ask to see it, but Allura was on her way toward him now, phone outstretched. He accepted it, and immediately saw what had made Maris gasp.

In the photo, Lance sat close to the glass, hands on his knees, posture slighted hunched. He didn't look angry or like he wanted to leave, but there wasn't anything happy about the way he sat, the way he held his body. He looked exhausted, a boy defeated or resigned. He paused to force himself straighter, hoping that he hadn't been like this all day, though he suspected with sudden shame that he must have been. But Lance wasn't the amazing part of this picture. Allura had timed it just right so that it appeared the dolphin was tuned in to Lance, as though they were having a conversation, completely undaunted by the separation of the glass. It actually looked like he had placed one comforting flipper on Lance's shoulder.

"Wow," Lance breathed, trying to smile without breaking loose anything that might be caught in his throat, wishing his body and brain could make a decision on what emotion he was actually feeling, wishing it could only be one at a time. "That's so cool, Allura." He returned her phone as she tactfully ignored his less-than-enthusiastic tone.

"You two look like old friends," Allura insisted, returning the phone to the tiny purse backpack she wore. "Let's go see what you think of each other without the glass."

"What?" Lance checked, wondering if he'd zoned out and missed part of a conversation somewhere.

"My membership includes some interaction with the animals," Allura answered, though it cleared nothing up for Lance. "Come on," she invited, offering her hand to help Lance up. "Maris is taking us to meet them."

"Meet . . .meet them?" Lance repeated, feeling slow. Maris smiled indulgently as Allura made a tiny sound of pleased delight, knowing that she was giving Lance a rare opportunity, a precious gift that only she could give.

"Surprise," she cheered quietly, her eyes sparkling.

"You mean," he couldn't finish, but it didn't seem to matter. Maris seemed to understand what he was getting at.

"Let's get you both fitted with boots," Maris directed. "It's wet where we're going."

"Really?" Lance hated that this word slipped past him. Obviously she meant it. Obviously this was happening, but like everything else today, Lance struggled making it real. He'd woken up at Shiro's place this morning, let Keith walk away from him without giving voice to Pidge's all-caps confession, and suddenly this afternoon, he was with Allura getting a behind-the-scenes, hands-on introduction to a Pacific white-sided dolphin. To seven of them. And he couldn't wrap his head around it enough to enjoy it properly, no matter how hard he tried. The shift was too sharp; the gap between his life yesterday and his life right this second too wide.

Not that it wasn't awesome, even in the watered-down version that Lance's soul allowed him. Swimming regularly with the wild dolphins in Cuba had never brought Lance this close before. Not close enough to touch. Maris instructed them on how to behave, how to interact with the dolphins of Shedd Aquarium, drawing them to the very edge of the enclosure as the dolphins swam over curiously to inspect them. Lance gave them fish treats from a bucket, ran his hands over their smooth, rubbery sides, smiled in shock at Allura every time he saw her kneeling next to him, as he watched her move around the artificial rock cliff décor of the area. She'd obviously done this before, many times. As he forced himself to be present in this moment, this space, with these animals, he found himself settle into a fragile sort of peace. And then gratitude that his girlfriend had given it to him. She really was amazing.

He could have stayed there, hands in the cold water while each of the dolphins swam up to push at his palms, for the rest of the day, the rest of the season. He wanted it to be summer when he left this place, but Allura reminded him that she had an event she'd promised to attend that evening, and she needed time to get ready.

Lance poured gratitude off him as he shed his boots, thanking Maris repeatedly for her time, thanking Allura profusely for setting it up for him. Allura smiled with satisfaction, pleased that her attempt at cheering Lance up seemed to be working so well. Lance pinned his emotions to hers, willing himself to be in tandem with her, to match her attitude and whim. She'd more than earned it. When they reached the private room they'd started in, he chivalrously took down her coat, the perfectly white coat, and held it up for her to slip into, putting his arms around her as she settled back against his chest.

"Thank you, Allura," Lance told her again. "Today was fantastic."

"It doesn't have to be over," Allura hinted, though it was already fading. There'd been hardly any sense of time passing while they toured inside, away from all windows, covered in darkness, but apparently hours had gone by. The sun had weakened into its tired, late-afternoon dimness as Allura led Lance back onto the street toward her car.

"How so?" Lance asked, holding to Allura's elbow as they walked to prevent her slipping on any ice. He knew from experience that as the temperature went down with the sun anything that had melted during the day would be freezing over again. Twilight in the winter had many perils.

"Well," Allura began, slightly unsure of herself now, as though she were regretting that she'd brought it up. "I was thinking about the event tonight."

The elevator doors closed on them as they descended underground to where they'd left the Rav4. Allura turned shy. Lance turned doctor-protective. And concerned about what she may be hinting at.

"What about it?" Lance persuaded her, amazed at her behavior. She shrugged, looking at a corner on the floor.

"Well, it's not as amazing as meeting the dolphins, but I thought, if you didn't want to be on your own tonight, maybe, you could come with me?"

The elevator doors opened, and Allura stepped out leaving Lance standing alone, thinking about what she'd just said and not noticing that he was going to get left behind in an elevator. He scurried to her side again before the doors closed on him.

"I," he started, now unsure himself. He didn't even know what kind of event it was, but he was certain it was black tie. Or white tie? Was there a difference? Whatever – it was formal. Not something you could wear sneakers to. Not a place where he would be welcome. Because angels could come down to earth whenever they wanted, but it was quite a different miracle for a mortal to go up the other way.

"It's a silly, little celebration dinner at Everest," Allura continued, her voice slightly ruffled, though still quite cool. Nervous? Was she nervous? It was always so hard to tell with Allura; she had rock solid control of herself. Though her words seemed to speed up as she continued. "You could meet my parents."

She'd thought this through. This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment invitation. The whole day had been carefully planned. Keith might have called her to ask if she'd keep Lance company today, but she'd already been prepared before that. As though she'd been waiting for Keith to leave, waiting her turn.

"Allura," he began again, though he wasn't fast enough with his protest before she started again, and this time he could tell she was nervous because she fumbled her car keys, trying to unlock the doors for them. But what was making her nervous? Was she scared he'd say no? Or that he'd say yes?

"I just thought it would be good for you to meet them, my parents. I mean, we've been going out for five weeks, and this seemed a good opportunity now that –" the keys hit the ground, and Lance reached out to pause Allura before she could bend to retrieve them. She was tense. Why was this so hard for her? Was she worried about him meeting her parents? Worried about what he'd think of them, or what they'd think of him? Both? To be honest, he shared her concern. He was less worried and more terrified about meeting her parents. He probably was nothing like what they'd envisioned as a match for their poised and perfect girl. Still, if this was his life now, if this was something she wanted . . . he probably should go. Because it was her turn, and she'd undoubtedly earned it. But there was a problem. He stalled as he picked up the keys, unlocking the driver's side and opening the door for her himself. She made no move to get in, just stood staring at him with a hopeful, worried expression, waiting for his answer without finishing what she'd started to say.

"I . . .think you're right. I should meet your parents," Lance said, though he didn't sound very convincing to himself. It didn't matter, though. He wouldn't be meeting anyone tonight. Not at a celebration dinner, not even a silly, little one, though he was certain that Allura's definition would not come close to matching his own about what constituted little or silly. "But," he added quickly, stopping Allura's relieved smile before it had a chance to take over her features. "I don't think I can go with you tonight. I mean – I don't have a suit or anything."

"Don't worry; it's already taken care of," Allura told him, and now she really was smiling. Relieved. Pleased and playful again. Lance felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. What did she mean? Taken care of? She gestured toward the car. "Get in."

Not sure how much more he could take, Lance had no choice but to obey her. This time she took them to a nearby Hilton hotel, relinquishing her car keys to a valet and rushing Lance inside, mentioning something about being right on schedule. Lance didn't know why he was surprised, but it still took his breath away for a minute as he realized she already had a key card for a room. When had she done all this? Renting a hotel room, planning the aquarium trip?

Getting him a suit.

"Allura, how . . when did you do all this?" Lance sputtered as Allura playfully opened the door, revealing a pleasantly decorated room with one enormous bed and the table lamps turned low, casting warm light on a brand-new, navy, pin-stripe suit laying crisply draped over the bedspread. A tie the color of the ocean in moonlight sat in a box beside it, and a pair of shiny, black dress shoes had been set out on the floor.

"Do you like it?" Allura asked instead of answering his question, standing behind him, watching him study the disembodied suit on the bed. Lance kept his hands carefully clasped at the small of his back, afraid to touch anything. Because it was too much. His silence forced Allura to continue. "I hope you don't mind. I checked the uniforms in your closet to get your size. We'll of course get it tailored for you, but it should do for tonight."

Lance wasn't sure if he should be freaked out or impressed. But since the going moods of the day seemed to come in extreme pairs, he figured he could just continue with the theme and be both. Tailored. She'd actually said that. As if he'd expect something like that. As if he'd expected any of this. Unbelievable.

"What were you going to do if I hadn't said yes to coming?" Lance asked her, genuinely curious about the answer to that. She's put a lot of faith into his being able to come. What if he'd had to go to the ER? What if he'd just wanted to return to his apartment? This sort of work meant that she'd anticipated his agreement, which could mean a couple of things. Either she knew Lance better than he thought she did, better than he knew her, or she was just extremely used to getting her way.

Allura shrugged prettily, as though the thought of him not coming hadn't occurred to her. Except it must have. She'd been tense at the car about it. "I would have saved everything for the next time. You'd have to agree to come at some point," she said, thoughtlessly, carelessly. "There are two bathrooms," she went on, all business now. "We've got about an hour before we have to go."

Lance barely glimpsed a bit of dark blue fabric on the mirror as Allura disappeared into one of the bathrooms, leaving him alone with the suit on the bed. For some reason, it seemed sentient to him. Something that could take over his will if he put it on. He stared another moment at the closed door where Allura was doing whatever girls did to transform themselves for formal occasions. As if she could do anything to improve her appearance from the near-perfection she already was. And if he were going with her, he'd have to at least try to do this justice. Lance inhaled long and slow, wiping his hands up and down his jeans several times before gingerly slipping his palms beneath the expertly woven wool and lifting the whole suit as if it were a sleeping child.

Once inside the bathroom, Lance stood helplessly searching for a place to set the ensemble down again so he could change into it. While everything in the bathroom looked pristine, it just felt odd to lay out something so new and expensive on any of the surfaces here. Feeling ridiculous, Lance settled for draping it over the edge of the enormous, jetted tub. Looking around brought to light even more of Allura's prep work. She'd laid out an entire toiletry kit on the sink – razor, shaving cream, aftershave. There was soap and a tube of something that Lance guessed was meant to go in his hair. He exhaled longer than he'd inhaled. What was he doing? This was . . . so out of his league. But Allura would be waiting for him. He'd already said he'd do this for her. He started the water, waiting for it to heat up, thinking he'd just begin with the things he knew what to do with. The razor, the new toothbrush. One thing at a time.

He smiled bitterly at himself in the mirror, thinking how strange this all was, how he couldn't really believe it was happening. Thinking of how he and Keith were both doing new things, experiencing a new life. Separately. Lance checked himself in the mirror again. The bruise Keith had given him way back in January was long gone now – only a memory. And if Lance let it happen, even the memories would fade just like the bruise. He shook his head, reminding himself that Keith was gone and Allura was in the next room and it was like that because of choices he had made himself. Choices he was going to have to live with. He plugged the sink and picked up the razor.

Forty minutes later, Lance tried to sit still on the office chair in the hotel room. He sat on the very edge of it, not sure what to do with his hands, keeping his back straight and posture rigid. He didn't dare sit back; he didn't want to mess up any of the sharpness of what he was wearing.

When the opposite bathroom opened, he jumped up in relief. He needed something familiar, and right now Allura was all he had. Though as she daintily swished out into the main room, closing the door softly behind her, Lance froze with his mouth open, his hands dropping limp at his sides. Even she had changed to the point of being unrecognizable. Almost.

Allura saw him staring and tucked into herself shyly, a hand smoothing an invisible piece of hair back into place behind her ear. The dark blue fabric Lance had glimpsed earlier turned out to be velvet, with tiny beads sewn in constellations all throughout it. It clung to Allura down to her knees where it unexpectedly flared out in shining waves. There were no sleeves, just a couple more swaths of something that looked weightless, though it was somehow holding up the weight of the dress on Allura's shoulders. She'd tamed her long, wavy hair into a tight twist that must have been held in place by thousands of pins, but the only ones Lance could see were obviously ornamental – it looked as though she had sapphires fastened elegantly all over her head. She sparkled magnificently, though her dress, jewelry, and hair did not come close to the crystalline shine of her eyes as she stood there studying Lance, waiting for one of them to say something.

"Silly, little dinner, is it?" Lance whispered, breathless, his brain fogged with the incessant, insistent question of if this was actually happening. Any second now, he knew he was going to wake up in January.

"For them, it is," Allura assured him, and even her voice sounded different in this space. Like cool, flowing water. Rich and lovely as a brook. "For us, it's special." She started walking toward him, the dress undulating with her movements, making it appear as though she weren't really walking at all. Lance swallowed hard and jerked his fist up between them, brandishing the ocean-blue tie she'd bought him.

"I have no idea how to put this on," he confessed to her, abruptly, reminding her, whether consciously or not, that he was a stranger here. That he didn't really belong. She didn't seem to notice.

"Allow me," she offered, gently pulling it from his fingers and stepping close enough to drape it around his neck. With deft motions, she successfully knotted what turned out to be a bowtie. Lance hadn't even known that; he'd been going about it all wrong. "There, you're finished."

They left the lamps on low. Allura tucked her phone, key card, lipstick, and what looked like a tiny pillbox into an elegant wristlet bag made of the same material as her dress. Lance reached for her car keys that she'd left on the bedside table, but she shook her head at him.

"There is a chauffeur waiting for us," she informed him, pulling on a fluffy, white capelet to protect her bare arms from the cold. "My mother would rather I not try to drive in evening gowns."

"Ok," Lance said stupidly, pulling himself away from the keys. Away from the room and his familiar clothes that he'd left folded on the bathroom rug. He guessed they would return here after the dinner was over so he could get them back. Despite having more clothes on now than he did before, it felt like less. The suit was warm wool, but soft, with a silkiness he didn't think was possible. Instead of taking his hand, Allura looped her arm through his, forcing him to lift his elbow like he did in his ballroom dance classes. Formal. Stiff. Though it seemed he would not be leading this particular dance for quite some time.

Allura walked without hesitation through the front entrance and right up to a white limousine parked so close it was practically in the lobby. A middle-aged man with an impressive mustache opened the door for them, and Allura thanked him by name. Lance mostly just blinked, his limbs stiffening more and more at every extravagance. Chauffeurs. Limos. What next? No, wait, he didn't want to know what was next. He hadn't had enough time to process what there was already. He could barely look around the interior of the limo as he settled into the plush seat.

Instead, Lance looked at his hands, which were stiffly cupped over his knees. They weren't visibly shaking, but he felt shaky inside. On unsteady territory. An imposter. And one who was about to be found out and exposed for what he was any second now. What was he doing here? How could he introduce himself to Allura's parents when he didn't even know what sort of tie he'd been given? What should he say? What if he offended them? He was working himself up about it so much that when Allura brushed her fingers over the top of his hand, he jumped so high he almost hit his head on the limo's roof.

"Sorry," he burst out, though he didn't even know what he was apologizing for. Past, present, and future mistakes all in one. Allura carefully pulled his hand over to her lap, folding it between her soft palms.

"Lance, relax," she entreated him. "It really is just a dinner; there's no need to hyperventilate."

Words clamored up his throat to challenge her on that. Because really, it was so much more than dinner. And she had no idea. No clue as to how Lance had grown up. His house didn't even have consistent electricity. His family had to walk into town and pay by the minute to use a computer to send him an email. They lived off government rations and anything extra came from selling mangoes to tourists. And now Lance was in a limo wearing a suit worth more than he could make on the playa in nine months. He didn't think he would even be able to tell his family about tonight. It was too extravagant. It was so far from who he was that it was almost a betrayal.

"Allura," he said, the only word he was sure about, hoping it would open a communication link for all the other feelings he wasn't sure about. "This is . . . I just . . . I don't know."

She put a finger against his lips to stop him, forcing him to make eye contact with her. The crystal in her gaze was cracked through with disappointment, but Lance didn't know what to think about that.

"Could you please try and enjoy yourself?" She asked him, an innocent question that stung hard. She'd put so much work into making today a magical experience for him. It wasn't her fault that his emotions were torn up to the point where he couldn't recognize them right now. That he was struggling to really feel anything. It wasn't her fault that he couldn't reconcile what was happening to him in this moment with the rest of his life up to this point. He wasn't being fair to her. It was going to take getting used to, but he could speed things up by following her recommendation – he could try harder.

Lance delicately pulled his hand out of Allura's, raising it so he could brush his thumb across her cheekbone. She leaned into his palm readily. She is your choice, he reminded himself. And no one in the entire world could look at where you are right now and say you'd made a bad one. Don't ruin it.

"I am enjoying myself," he confirmed, to her and to himself. "This is all just so . . ." Oh, it was so. So overwhelming and humbling and practically incomprehensible. Lance felt like he was in a gender-flipped Cinderella story. Allura waited for him to finish his thought. "It's amazing," Lance said, honestly. "But it's nothing like my apartment." Or Varadero.

"I love your apartment," Allura told him, earnestly, almost too quickly. "It's so warm and comfortable there." Lance almost sighed, thinking of the couple of times that Allura had been at his apartment for longer than a few minutes. When she was there, it meant big things were happening, big parties, large events. It was normally full. But she hadn't seen it lately. Didn't know how much it had darkened. How quiet it was. How cold.

"I wanted to return the gesture," Allura continued as Lance lowered his hand again. She looked out the window as the limo pulled up to the entrance of another tall, rectangular, concrete building. Another hotel? "Show you what my life looks like."

Though Lance had no real idea what he was doing or what he was getting into, he did know enough to get out of the limo before Allura and hold his hand out to assist her exit. There was way too much fabric around her ankles, and he didn't want it to catch on her heeled shoes and trip her. The limo driver opened and closed the door for them, and Allura gave him a guess as to when he would need to pick them up. He bowed his head to her before leaving.

Allura took Lance's arm again, taking a deep breath for him and steering him toward a set of doors, seeing as Lance was completely bewildered as to where they actually were. He tried getting a sense from his surroundings, trying to map it out from his rounds in the ambulance, but in the end, he got his answer off a walkway next to the skyscraper with the words Chicago Stock Exchange on it.

"Stock exchange?" He mused aloud, letting Allura lead him through the doors into the warmth of the entryway. They served dinner at the stock exchange building? Maybe he didn't actually know what a stock exchange was.

"Yes," Allura confirmed that they were in the right spot, nodding to an employee at a security counter who apparently already knew her, and heading toward a large elevator that looked incredibly old, and yet somehow sophisticated. A well-preserved historical artifact that still served a purpose. The clicks of Allura's heels echoed in the lobby, contributing to the vastness of the space. "The restaurant is on the fortieth floor."

"Did you say . . .forty?" Lance choked as once again Allura moved forward without him, though she stepped onto the elevator this time. This old contraption, however elegant, was really going to carry them up forty floors? The doors closed on Lance, and he wouldn't have been at all surprised if they opened on the moon. Maybe this had been a bad idea. He fidgeted with the buttons on the cuffs of the suit, trying to rehearse what he should say to Allura's parents when he was introduced to them in a few minutes. He couldn't let this first impression be like his first meeting with Dr. Delacroix; he winced thinking about all the varied ways he could accidentally spill something on Allura's mother. Or say the wrong thing. Or just . . .

"Lance?" Allura said his name questioningly, watching him fussing with the unfamiliar parameters of his clothes. The necktie seemed to be knotted too tightly all of a sudden.

"Let me just apologize in advance for how I'm probably going to embarrass you tonight," Lance blurted out, watching the dial above the doors slowly but steadily climb to forty. "Dressing me up isn't going to hide it for long."

Allura's hands shot forward, frighteningly fast, and yet she put her palms on either side of his face quite gently, holding him still and focused. He could barely feel the edge of her fingernails against his skin.

"Lance, let me make something extremely clear. I am not in the least ashamed of you – your background, your manners. And I think I know you well enough by now to be sure that you won't embarrass either one of us. If you can relax and just be yourself. I didn't buy you a suit to hide who you are; I mostly did it so you wouldn't feel out of place." Lance opened his mouth, but she wasn't finished yet. "Because you should not feel out of place. You are in no way worth less than anyone you meet tonight. You know why they're here? To congratulate themselves on a successful fundraising year. It's a night where they get together and talk about all the good they accomplish in the world. And they can do that, they are doing good in the method they know best. But you – you stay up all night every month on that ambulance, you study more than anyone I've ever seen, work so hard. They give a lot, but you give everything to make the world better and you deserve to be here. I know you'd probably have an easier time walking onto the scene of a car accident than into this restaurant, and I respect that about you. I'm glad you came with me, but please - I promise I am not going to treat you any differently once we get off this elevator than I would in your apartment. And I hope you'll show me the same courtesy. Are we in agreement?"

Lance let his hands fall to his sides, chastised and encouraged all in one. Allura let go of his face, breathing hard after her short tirade. The elevator continued to climb as silence settled between them.

"Good speech," Lance credited her awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. She tucked that imaginary piece of hair behind her ear again, smiling at the floor. "I needed it, thanks." He took her hand softly in his own, showing her his answer, swallowing his nerves, waiting for the dial to hit forty and the doors to open. Until a thought suddenly struck him.

"What do you mean you 'mostly' got me a suit so I wouldn't feel out of place?" Lance asked, focusing on that one word. "Was there another reason?"

Allura's smile deepened, and Lance could see that Allura's smile was more of a protection than anything. She smiled when she was nervous. She smiled when she felt shy. He suspected she even smiled when she was furious. He wondered if he'd seen a genuine smile on her yet. Though as she turned her face toward him, eyes shining, he thought that maybe he had.

"I thought you'd look good in one," Allura stated, keeping her voice completely flat, practical, which made Lance smile. He smoothed his free hand down his side.

"And?" He pressed, teasing. "Do I?"

Allura rolled her eyes, shoving him gently with one shoulder. "Of course, you do," she said. "I have excellent taste."

He laughed, which felt so good, breaking up the tension in his chest, loosening the stiffness between his shoulders. His mirth proved contagious as Allura joined in, both of them laughing and happy and carefree for the last few seconds before the elevator pulled to a stop on the fortieth floor. The tiny ding quieted them both down in an instant. The doors opened as Lance offered Allura his arm in proper escort. He wasn't going to treat her differently, not really, but being on his best behavior wasn't really different. He was simply enhancing the respect he already showed her.

"You look wonderful," he whispered to her out of one side of his mouth as they stepped into the restaurant. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought to say that until just now; he'd been so caught up in other things. The pressure of her fingertips along his inner elbow deepened in non-verbal response, and that was the last Lance remembered before being overcome with the elegance of the room. He stared, keeping his jaw locked so he wouldn't gape open-mouthed at things, while one of the restaurant employees asked Allura for her wrap in a thick French accent. Thick, but authentic. This man either truly was French, or he could fake an accent just as well as Lance could.

Golden light flooded the dining floor, bouncing off several large sculptures. Regularly-spaced, white columns turned the area into a sort of grid, and made the ceiling seem lower, though it felt more intimate than crowded. Small parties of diners in formal attire sat at ease around the room, delicately holding wine glasses or smoothing napkins in their laps. Every table had a different bronze sculpture as a centerpiece, and each and every item in the place seemed to have been set in its location with meticulous planning and care.

"This way, Mademoiselle, Monsieur," the employee entreated, indicating with a gesture which way he wanted them to follow. "Your party is waiting for you."

Allura had to give Lance just a slight tug to get him moving forward. They were led through the tables, toward the opposite wall where an enormous silvery, white curtain separated this piece from the rest of the establishment. The host elaborately pulled a portion of it aside to allow them entrance. Lance had the distinct impression that he was about to fall down a rabbit hole. But a well-furnished, clean, and elegant one.

The greetings began almost immediately as the host dropped the curtain behind them, sealing them in with the other occupants of this private dining room. Instead of the long, banquet table Lance had expected, this room also was set with many circular tables where no more than six could be seated at a time. Though no one seemed to be seated, which meant that if they were late, they weren't that late. No, everyone was up, paused in their conversation by Lance and Allura's arrival, and it seemed to Lance as though everyone turned to stare at them at once, the room blooming with exclamations.

"Allura!"

"You made it!"

"We almost started without you."

"Oh, it's been so long, dear. Come give us a kiss."

There were other statements, but Lance couldn't really pick them all apart in the tumult their appearance had set off. Allura elegantly acknowledged all who spoke to her by nodding to them or clasping at hands as they stretched out to her on their way through. Lance mostly clung to her and tried not to make direct eye contact with anyone. He thought they'd likely make the rounds of the room at some point tonight, but no matter the country or culture, first priority was to introduce Lance to Allura's parents.

Lance spotted them almost immediately, mostly because Allura's mother looked exactly like her. Same white-blonde, thick, wavy hair, same skin, same crystalline eyes. Age was just beginning to touch her face, but in a pleasant way, the sorts of wrinkles that grace those who are kind and find pleasure in their days. She stood with her arms extended to receive them, taking a step forward, her pale pink, silky evening gown gracefully tracking her movement. Lance felt encouraged as she smiled at them.

Meanwhile, Allura's father stood at his wife's side – rigidly at attention, his blue eyes piercing and analytical. His hair wasn't white so much as silver gray, though it looked lighter because of the perfectly white suit he wore. Whiter perhaps than even Allura's peacoat. Lance wasn't sure, but it looked as though his bowtie matched the blue one Allura had bought for him. It made Mr. Lyons' eyes vibrant, but hard.

The conversational chatter started up again around them, but Lance became extremely conscious that the timbre had changed. He had the terrifying thought that everyone in this room was now talking about him. The new one. The stranger. They all surely knew Allura, had probably watched her grow up through various get-togethers such as this one, but he was novel. And obviously attached to the heir of the Lyons estate. He made sure to keep his head up, remembering what Allura had said. You deserve to be here. It's not like you weren't invited.

"Hello darling, did you have a good day?" Mrs. Lyons greeted her daughter, embracing her easily and gently kissing her cheek. "It's wonderful you could join us, Lance," she continued, extending her hand to him, gloved in satin the same color as her gown, in a gesture Lance only recognized from watching A Knight's Tale with Pidge. Fumbling only slightly, he slipped his fingers beneath hers and bent over her hand, kissing it with the gentlest pressure he could manage. He wasn't all that sure she'd enjoy this – his lips were sandpaper dry right now and caught momentarily in the satin. So it starts.

"Pleased to finally meet you," Lance managed, hoping he was telling the truth, wondering if he should be worried that she knew his name without ever seeing him in person. If it meant anything that she had expected him to be here tonight when it had taken him by surprise.

"Yes, we've been hoping Allura would bring you round one of these days. I understand you're studying to be a doctor," Mr. Lyons prompted, putting effort into sounding casually interested, though Lance felt bluntly and quickly judged. Maybe that's just what fathers did. Fathers with daughters. Fathers with extraordinarily bright, beautiful, and talented daughters.

"That's right," Lance confirmed, shaking hands with Allura's dad, hoping his grip was firm enough. It had been a long time since he'd worked in the mango orchards; he'd actually been focused on gentling his hands, on making his touch almost imperceptible to his donors. "I've got a long way to go, though."

"All good things to those who work for them," Mr. Lyons said, nodding appreciatively.

"But not tonight," Allura's mother cut in, resting one palm on her husband's chest. "To everything there is a season, and in that spirit, our table is right over there."

Mrs. Lyons somehow managed to turn both her body and her husband's without seeming to move at all. Lance felt some of the rigidness in his own muscles relax at the thought of sitting down. Standing in the middle of the room felt too exposed.

"Melenor, now, don't sit down before introducing us. We're all dying to meet Allura's friend."

Allura stepped closer to Lance, almost possessively taking his arm, and he tried not to shrink into her side. This was starting to feel uncomfortable again. He knew he'd be under scrutiny from Allura's parents – but all of her friends too? There were way more people here than he'd bargained for.

"Certainly, Charlotte," Allura's mother returned, well-practiced at this sort of thing, though Allura took it over.

"I'm pleased to introduce Lance McClain," she said, giving his arm a squeeze before continuing in a rather bold tone, almost a challenge. "You're likely to see more of him, as we've been dating for about five weeks now."

"He's studying to be a doctor at the university," Mrs. Lyons volunteered, as though she wanted that point very clearly understood. Lance watched Charlotte's smile pinch at the information, though he couldn't tell if she were pleased at the introduction or the gossip. He wondered if it would have made a difference if he'd been studying art history, or computer science. Would he be standing here right now if he were going for a Bachelor's in creative writing?

"McClain, you say?" Charlotte ventured, her eyes unfocusing for a moment as she ran through her mental database of anyone else with that name. "Are you one of Henry's boys?"

"No," Lance answered promptly, knowing for certain that there was no way he and this woman would have any sort of social connection outside of the girl he was already standing next to.

"Lance is an international student," Allura continued for him, which actually made it sound so much better than how he would have phrased it. He decided he should definitely let her continue to talk for him. No matter what she said in the elevator, he still didn't quite trust himself not to say something completely stupid.

"Oh how lovely," Charlotte replied, and now there were a few other women coming to join them, pulled in by Charlotte's brashness. "So where is it you come from?"

Lance looked to Allura, but she gave him the tiniest half-shrug, letting him know he'd have to answer this one on his own. Maybe she didn't know either? Hadn't he ever mentioned it to her before?

"C. .Cuba," Lance answered with only a very slight stutter. Keep it together, he warned himself. He decided to try again. "I'm from Cuba."

"You don't say? Isn't that interesting? Oh, and your English is just perfect; I'd never have guessed. Don't you think so too, Brenda?" Charlotte turned to one of her new companions. Lance noticed there were more of them now, not just ladies anymore, but a few of their husbands were closing in on the perimeter. He wanted to lean close to Allura, not liking everyone being so focused on him. Was it because he was her boyfriend? Or just because they'd grown so tired of the same old faces at these functions that they were ready to grab on to anyone new?

"Cuba, eh?" One of the gentlemen standing behind his wife chortled. "How are you liking the winter, then?"

"Oh," Lance began, trying to think of some way to explain his thoughts about cold without hurting anyone's feelings about it. "The snow can be pretty if you're watching it from inside."

"And that's the truth," the man burst out mirthfully, nodding his head at Lance, who felt as though he'd gained some sort of ally.

"How long have you been living in the states, young man?" Another woman questioned.

"What field of medicine do you plan to specialize in?" He heard the words, but now Lance wasn't sure on the direction. And they just kept coming. There were more voices, pushing and pulling on each other, the queries crowding in on Lance until he couldn't decipher one from the next. He tightened his hold on Allura, not sure which or what to answer first.

"Now, now!" Allura's father boomed out in a tone that made it quite clear where he ranked in the room. "We'll pass around the boy's CV and business cards after dinner. Please take your seats; I believe the staff is waiting for our drink orders."

Like the closing scene of a play, the characters of this party returned almost automatically to their original positions, though one or two did continue to stare at Lance as they went. Lance forced himself not to slump in relief, hiding it by finally escorting Allura to their table and pulling out her chair. The best part of that whole thing was it now didn't seem so daunting to be alone with Allura's parents. Lance's heartrate slowed from 'mortal danger' to 'I didn't study hard enough for this test, and I woke up fifteen minutes late.' Which, admittedly, wasn't much improvement, but still noticeable.

The table the Lyons had chosen pushed right against the large windows that covered the entire outer wall of the restaurant, and Lance had deliberately selected the seat closest to the window to protect Allura against any chill that might come off the glass. Though now that he was standing next to it, he found himself frozen, not by the cold but by the view. Before, the inside lighting had obscured the glass, turning it into a mirror more than a window, but now that he was standing right next to it, Lance could see out. See what it meant to be on the fortieth floor of the Chicago Stock Exchange.

Now he knew why they had named this restaurant Everest.

From this height, Chicago looked like it stretched on over the curvature of the Earth, its streets laced over the land in elaborate patterns, bejeweled by lights of every color and brightness. Directly across, there were other buildings as high as this one, though there weren't many with lights on this late on a Sunday evening. The true spectacle was the moving cars beneath them. Well, not directly beneath them; they were much too high to be able to see them, but the view provided an extremely wide variety and range of cars regardless. Red brake lights. Green traffic lights. Headlights of all sorts. Lance wished he could take a picture through this glass and have it come out anywhere close to the reality of what he was seeing. Though maybe it was for the best that no photo would do this justice. Lance still didn't know how or if he could ever tell his family about tonight. About the extravagance and the beauty.

Lance moved his head slightly to change the perspective and was hit with sudden vertigo. He knew there was no possible way that the building swayed, it was hard steel and concrete, rigid and steadfast, standing in this very spot since before he was born, but now that he could see how far from the ground he was, it made it feel as though it were moving. The glass window seemed entirely too fragile, so clean it was almost like it wasn't there at all, which was another extremely disorienting thought. He could hear the other people in the room, talking, laughing softly together, the atmosphere cheery, a happy buzz on the outskirts of his dizziness, as though they didn't notice how high they were. How close they were to disaster.

"Lance, dear, are you all right?" Mrs. Lyons' sweet voice broke through the paralysis the window had caused him. He turned away from it, blinking, just now noticing how tightly he gripped to the back of his chair. He hadn't even pulled it out yet; he'd been held captive by the height.

"What?" He said, though he didn't know why. He had heard the question. "Yes," he responded quickly without making her repeat what she'd just said. "Of course."

"Sit down," Allura invited, placing her steady hand over his. He registered out of the corner of his eye that Mr. Lyons was staring critically at him again. Not a good sign, but he hadn't expected to get through an entire obstacle course of people only to be struck dumb and motionless by a window.

"Didn't seem that high going up the elevator," Lance tried to laugh off the last few minutes, tried to not be so stiff as he found his chair and scooted it close, grounding himself as much as possible. He deliberately faced away from the window, breathing in deeply as the building held still again.

"Should we move to another table?" Mrs. Lyons suggested worriedly, all her presence dedicated to helping Lance be comfortable here.

"No, this one's great," Lance denied, trying to imperceptibly shake himself clear of the last couple seconds. "The view is perfect from this angle." Here he dedicatedly looked at Allura, satisfied that he'd made her smile. He heard Mrs. Lyons make an approving little coo, seated across the table from her daughter.

A waiter came, making suggestions on starters and wines. Mr. Lyons ordered for the table with brisk efficiency, and then the interrogation began.

It came, of course, in the guise of small talk, but Lance could feel it nonetheless. Allura's parents, understandably, wanted to know all about him. Lance answered best he could, begging for breaks as he inserted his own questions.

They asked about Allura's and his relationship, so he asked them how they'd met and fallen in love. They asked about his future plans, and he asked about Mr. Lyons' company. Mrs. Lyons asked a rather hesitant question about his name that brought the smoothness of the conversation to a halt.

"Forgive me," she started, sipping from her wine glass. Like everything else about their family, she preferred white. "But your name – I'm surprised."

Right, this question. Lance had heard it before, though usually it was thrown out there with much less tact. How can you be Latino with a name like that?

"It doesn't sound very Cuban, does it?" Lance responded, trying to sound good-natured about it. She relaxed slightly in her chair as he put her at ease about possibly offending him. "But really, Cuba is like America - a mix of immigrants from many countries. My family migrated from Scotland somewhere in the 1800s. It took us a century to lose the red hair and freckles, but we're still McClains. My other names are Cuban, though."

"Lance is Cuban?" Allura chimed next to him, and Lance rather wished that the seating were a bit different. He would have preferred Allura across from him where he could watch her reactions better, where she could let him know if he were doing something wrong. She was rather out of his field of vision where she was, though she had started communicating to him with finger pressure on his knee or hand since direct eye contact was awkward. It felt like having a conversation in braille with real words thrown in only here and there.

"I have six names," Lance told them, feeling Allura press in shock and question into his leg. "McClain is just the last one. If you combine the first letters of the other five, it spells out Lance, which is obviously more convenient to say. The only person who uses all six is my mother when I'm in trouble."

"Really?" Allura said, amazed, as Mrs. Lyons laughed lightly at the mention of Lance's mother. "So you all have nicknames," Allura muttered, low enough that Lance didn't know if he was meant to hear. Lance suddenly wished he hadn't revealed that little-known-detail about himself. It made it look strange that he'd been dating Allura for over a month and she didn't even really know his name. He didn't want to give all of them out now either. Fortunately, he was saved by a platter of extremely fancy French appetizers, and the conversation moved on as if nothing important had been uncovered in that moment.

They ate things that Lance had never heard of, prompted by Allura's excitement to share her favorites with him, and it was all extremely delicious. He felt Allura watching him from the side in fascination, and he knew she was enjoying this. She liked watching him experience these things for the first time. Their conversation shifted to less personal and more passionate things. Like Mrs. Lyons' dancing and charities. Like Mr. Lyons' apparent love of engineering that allowed Lance to talk about Hunk and all the robotics he'd tinkered with in the time they'd lived together. That topic actually made Mr. Lyons' eyes twinkle like his daughter's. They talked about books at length, and Mr. Lyons pulled out a miniature notebook and pen, writing out a list of titles he thought Lance would appreciate. Lance felt as though he were being handed an assignment when Allura's dad passed over the torn-out page. He called him sir when he thanked him for it.

Lance very pointedly did not look out the window again, though he could feel the chill from it on the back of his neck. He pulled his focus away, towards Allura's parents, towards the words that they were exchanging more than one hundred fifty feet above the ground. He continued to answer questions long past dessert. He shook hands with strangers who came to their table to say good-bye before they began to make their way home. And finally, Allura made a comment on the time and pressed against Lance's knee, a combination that indicated she was ready to go. Lance was more than willing to accommodate her.

He stood, perhaps too quickly, and helped her scoot her chair away from the table. She and her parents embraced again, and Lance noticed that her mother held onto her for a long time. Noticed that her father's handshake with him was exceptionally firm, and he locked eyes with Lance fiercely. There was a silent communication happening here, but he wasn't sure what it was. In fact, it didn't hit him until they'd returned to the hotel room and Allura surprised him yet again with a bag containing new pajamas and a fresh set of clothes for him to wear in the morning.

She meant for them to stay in this hotel room. Together. Alone.

"You were marvelous," Allura complimented him after handing over the clothes. He stood still, not sure what to do, watching her move around the room, setting her tiny bag on the end table beside the bed, lifting her hands to begin removing the sapphires from her hair. She moved casually, at ease in this room, completely in control.

"Allura," he paused her, concerned. "What's going on?" He brandished the bag with the clothes in it. "Aren't you dropping me off at my place?" Because he thought that she'd booked this room as a staging area, a place to get ready for her dinner so she wouldn't have to drive all the way out to Oak Brook and back. He thought that when the event was over, they'd come back here, change, and then part ways for the night. He'd see her again tomorrow after work; they'd get coffee like always. Allura let her arms drop, one palm cupped and full of her hair pins. She stared at him, deciphering his body language, taking her time with it before she spoke.

"It's close to ten, Lance," she said with practicality. "You know how my parents feel about me driving home in the dark. Besides, I thought you wouldn't want to be alone tonight."

There was nothing but logic in her words; she said them calmly. And Lance did know how her parents felt about driving, winter, and darkness. But how did they feel about sharing a hotel room with him? Lance had to swallow very hard before he could say anything, his eyes drawn to the bed dominating the center of the room. The single bed in the room. Had her parents known that this was the plan tonight? Is that why her mother hugged her so hard? Why her father had practically glared at Lance?

"Allura . . . do your parents know that –"

"I'm twenty years old, Lance," she said it rather fiercely. Like she had made this point to someone else before. "I don't need my parents' permission to stay the night with my boyfriend in a hotel room."

She might not need permission, but Lance thought he might need to take out a better life insurance policy or hire a bodyguard if Mr. Lyons even suspected that Lance had slept with his daughter.

Whoa, wait, hold on. He hadn't just thought that. Was that her goal, though? Is that what she'd brought him here for? Planned the whole day just so it would end up here? Lance blinked and suddenly Allura stood right in front of him, slipping her arms around his neck, her hair unbound and falling in waves around her face. He didn't mean to, but he tensed. She backed down immediately, looking hurt. Lance quickly grabbed her wrist, needing to talk this out, clarify exactly what the expectations were. Because tonight was suddenly much more serious than he'd thought, serious and delicate, and he didn't want to break something here that couldn't be fixed. Allura looked at him expectantly, waiting.

"Today was wonderful," he started, holding her tight. "And before you showed up this morning, I thought it was going to be one of the worst days of my life. But you saved it. Today was such an amazing surprise. The dolphins, the dinner, the – everything. Thanks so much for setting it all up. But I just –"

I just can't even talk about sharing that bed with you. Shit. Lance took a deep breath. Allura had her head tilted, focused on him, reading nuances in his body language, his tone, his hesitancy.

"I just feel like we've gone from five to five hundred in two and a half seconds," he tried to explain. "Last week, we could only manage to meet up for lunch twice, and today I learned you have a coat hook at the aquarium and a limo driver and your parents regularly take you to dinners at one hundred and sixty-five dollars a plate. I just . . it's a lot, ok, and surprises are awesome, but if we're going to . . if that's going to happen. . I just –I want to be ready for it. I don't want that to be a surprise. I want it to be something that we plan together. Ok?"

He paused, waiting for her reaction. To his amazement, Allura smiled at him, not the tight-lipped version he'd imagined for when she was angry. Her face was soft, though perhaps disappointed, and she went up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek.

"You're sweet," she told him, and he hoped that she meant it favorably. He couldn't tell if he'd hurt her feelings. It wasn't like he didn't want to. Hell, did he want to? He did, and he didn't. He just wasn't sure, and he hadn't been expecting it. He'd imagined it, plenty of times, but somehow he'd never dreamed up something like this. The warm, low lights. The smell of lavender. Allura Lyons. Holy crow, was he actually turning down Allura Lyons? Was he an idiot?

"I can call for a ride home for you," Allura offered, breaking into his mental storm.

"Wait," he said before he knew what he was offering. He tugged her closer, easing his hand onto her waist, the plush of the velvet beneath his fingertips. "It is late," he agreed. "And you're right; I don't want to be alone tonight."

I don't want to be alone ever.

Allura beamed, and suddenly they were separated as she released him, heading for her bathroom. "Get changed then," she told him, walking backwards.

Lance turned to do as he was told, rather weak-kneed now that the decision had been made that, at least in some capacity, they were going to both sleep in the same bed. What would Veronica have to say about that? Pidge? Hunk? He knew what his brothers would do if he were home and he could tell them about this. They'd jab him in the ribs, make those jeering noises. His mother on the other hand – but then again, Allura wasn't the only one who was old enough to make her own choices about things like this. And he wasn't doing anything wrong.

He still startled alarmingly when his phone rang halfway through changing out of his suit. He shook himself, with a stern reminder that he hadn't actually done anything to feel guilty about. And he knew for a fact that it wasn't his mother calling him. She had no idea what he was doing, and they'd talked already this morning. Wow – that seemed so long ago. How was it still Sunday? Late Sunday, but still only a day. His life had been so different this morning.

Picking up the phone, Lance inspected the number, expecting Pidge though it wasn't her ring tone. They checked in with each other every few days or so, and emailed almost every day. But it wasn't Pidge's number. Or Hunk's.

"Keith?" Lance answered questioningly, as though he'd somehow mistaken the contact information his phone had helpfully supplied him.

"Hey," came the reply, over a thousand miles away. It made Keith's voice sound different, or that could just have been the time that separated their last meeting with this phone call. Lance wasn't the only one who'd had a busy day.

"How are you?" Lance asked, plopping down cross-legged on the bathmat, wearing only the pajama pants. He held the phone tightly, eager. "What was your first day like?"

"We haven't really started yet," Keith told him. "Today was just getting here and getting ready. I've got a bunk and a locker now. Zero week starts in the morning."

"Did they cut your hair?" Lance hadn't meant to ask that question, didn't know why it really mattered to him.

"Oh," Keith half-laughed, and Lance knew that Keith was now self-consciously rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah. It feels weird to have it so short." Lance tried to imagine Keith with the practically shaved haircut of boot camp, but the only thing he could think of was that it would likely make Keith's eyes even larger. "The food is good, though."

"Huh," Lance exhaled, smiling, hearing again what Keith didn't say. He was in a secure place with a strict routine, with hot meals provided to him on a consistent basis. Though Lance had heard nightmare stories about boot camp, he thought it would be close to heaven for Keith. Good. He deserved it.

"What about you? You ate today, right?" Keith pressed him, making Lance remember the last time he said good-bye to his friends. How he'd run away to the ER for the entire day and only left because Keith and Shiro dragged him out the door.

"I did," Lance assured, and suddenly the reality of what was happening hit him. He was sitting in a hotel bathroom wearing new pajamas. Allura was similarly changing across the room. How was this his life now? "I think I ate duck."

"Duck?" Keith repeated.

"Uh, yeah. Allura took me to dinner today. I . . met her parents."

"Nice," Keith said.

"Yeah," Lance responded, not quite sure.

"I have to go," Keith explained, and Lance's heart sank. They hadn't had a chance to even talk. It was so good to hear Keith talk. "They only let you have one phone call to tell your family you arrived on base. After this, I won't be able to call again. You . . .you could write me, though. If you wanted to."

"Yes," Lance almost hissed. "What's the address?" He quickly switched the speaker so he could type it out as Keith gave it to him. Lackland Air Force Base. San Antonio, Texas. They'd said good-bye to each other only that morning and now Keith was twelve hundred miles away.

"Lance, you ok?" Well, he thought he had been until Keith asked. He held the phone away from him so he could clear his throat.

"Sure," he lied. Keith had used his only phone call to contact him. What did that even mean? Keith had wanted them to do this Air Force thing together. He wanted Lance to write him. That was good. Except it was horrible. "Good luck, you know, with everything."

"Yeah, you too."

"I'll write you."

"Thanks."

Lance squeezed his eyes shut, held the phone tighter, though he could still feel Keith slipping away. He'd taken two minutes to tear something open in Lance and now he was leaving again. But even so, Lance felt devastated learning that Keith wouldn't be able to call him in the morning, or next week, or next month. Even though it hurt, Lance didn't want it taken away.

"See you, Lobito," Lance said in parting, unable to tell Keith good-bye again.

"Take care, Lance."

Lance didn't bother hanging up. He made Keith do it. Made him be responsible for closing their communication for who knew how long. Then he sat there on the mat with the phone in his hand, not a stranger to the emptiness that came with a conversation that ended too soon, though this time it held a particular sharpness to it. Because unlike his family, Lance didn't even know when he'd talk to Keith again. And he knew from experience that written letters were nowhere near as good.

He sat there longer than he knew he should. In fact, it wasn't until Allura knocked on the bathroom door that he even tried to get up. She considered him curiously when he let her in, and he realized that he was still shirtless, still holding the phone.

"Keith called," he told her, wishing he didn't sound like that was the end of the world. "He's on base now."

Allura put her hand on his cheek, eyes shining sympathetically. She took the phone so he could finish dressing. She helped him hang the suit behind the door. Then she took his hand and led him toward the bed, tucking them both under the slippery sheets and nuzzling up close to him.

"I'm sorry," Lance apologized to her, knowing that his attitude wasn't acceptable. It wasn't fair to her. Not after all she'd done for him today.

"For what?" Allura said softly. "For missing your best friend?" She surprised him with a cool kiss on his neck, under his jawbone. "I'd be shocked if you didn't."

Lance turned from his back to adjust their positioning, hating how Allura didn't really understand. Hating how she was trying to make him feel better about it. He slid one arm underneath Allura so he could pull her closer to him. She responded by draping an arm across his chest, placing her palm on his shoulder, resting her head just beneath his. He breathed her in, waiting for it to be real. She'd turned off the lamps; there was nothing but cold winter light in the room now, reflecting off the white of her hair. He played with it, watching the glow shift in the dark.

You are an idiot, he told himself, because even as he held Allura close, lifting locks of her hair and watching as the strands fell slowly back when he turned his fingers, he still pictured Keith, rubbing the back of his neck where his hair used to be.

He had to figure this out; he couldn't exist in two places like this forever. At some point, he'd have to come into synch with what was real. It would just have to feel real eventually. Right?

"Lance," Allura's voice again, a sweet purring that he felt against his heart.

"Hmm," he hummed a response, studying the patches of light in the room, figuring out the new shapes of the furniture, determining what the shadowed lines were and what they meant.

"Tell me your names."

"You'll be asleep before I get to the end," Lance warned her.

"I can't think of a better way to fall asleep," Allura returned, and it hurt. Lance hugged her, as tight as he dared. She's here. You're here. He started reciting his names, a slow, rhythmic mantra that he meant more to ground himself than anything else. Remember your name. Remember who you are, and where you are. Remember why you came, what you wanted to do.

He brushed his fingertips through her hair. She asked him more soft questions. There began to be longer pauses between them, and somehow Lance fell asleep with Allura in his arms, a feat unthinkable to him back in January. And even after he woke up again in the morning, he stared at her without really seeing her. Because how could she really be there?

But she was. Stirring awake, snuggling close to him. He kissed her forehead just as another test. She was so beautiful. He brushed her hair away from her face. She smiled at him.

"Good morning, Princess," he whispered to her. She kissed him under his jaw again, and something inside him tried to wake up. He ran his hand down her arm, coming to rest against her hip. She's here. This is how it is now. It's good. It's gorgeous.

"I could get used to this," Allura whispered back at him, eyes sparkling. Crystal and pure.

"I think I could too." And he wanted to mean it.

Author's Note: Ok, friends, time to make a choice. How much of Lance's and Allura's relationship do you want to experience first hand? How much detail do you want? Because it is sweet and pure and they try so hard to get it right for each other. So hard.

On the other hand, this is still a Klance fic (I didn't forget), and it's not lost on me that our boys are twelve hundred miles apart right now. I've gone into so much detail thus far that it seems cheap to skip over Allura and Lance. But I know that it's not the reason most of you are here either. I'll give it some thought. I have plans.

I'll try to be consistent with the updates. It's not fair to keep you waiting so long for them, and I know that. But I don't want to lower my own expectations of what my writing should be. (I'll sleep less.)