I have seen birth. I have seen death.

Lived to see a lover's final breath.

Do you see my guilt? Should I feel fright?

Is the fire of hesitation burning bright?

And if you want to talk about it once again,

On you I depend. I'll cry on your shoulder.

You're a friend.

~James Blunt "Cry"

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Of Wolves and Mullets

Katie, Lance and Keith's destination, with no name except "Diner," was located several rights and lefts, and a ramp down through some of Rinconada's more mismatched sections. In one section, the crew quarters from a late 21st century battle cruiser, the USS Armstrong, had been turned into a hotel. Sheet metal, welded with various degrees of skill, stitched together galleys, docking bays, hallways, cockpits, and all other manner of ships' interiors into a maze of corridors. Most had names printed on metal plaques—Antigua, Kamea, Aloysha, Hainan, etc. Rinconada's residents didn't always agree with the official monikers and frequently made edits with spray paint.

Katie's nimble brain excelled at mapping, but the first time she had visited the station, she got lost. In time, she learned to navigate not by the corridor names, but by the various clan colors and sigils that covered the walls and ceilings. Geometric patterns of the Pueblo people of North America were followed by swirls, knotwork and ogham alphabets, then a section of the obstinately bland beige of a minimalist cult, and finally, a passage covered in fantastical alebrijes painted in vivid colors.

The diner was the ugly mating of several cargo bays and a galley. The walls and floor were painted in bright colors. The paint was always quite fresh. Katie figured this was because painting was easier than actually doing any kind of cleaning. Just paint over the dirt.

Seating was whatever the Hel the owner could scrounge up; cargo boxes, mismatched chairs and stools, even a few booths in the style of a 1950s Earth diner. At this hour, roughly midafternoon, there were only a dozen other beings in the place, an equal mix of humans and aliens.

The trio made for one such booth, Keith and Lance sitting on opposite sides. Katie made like a little satellite and surrendered to his gravitational pull, sliding in close to Lance. With surprising ease for a big canine, Kosmo tucked himself under the table, dropping his furry mass on Katie and Lance's feet as if to assert a claim.

Keith's mom, Krolia, insisted that Keith travel with a small entourage, a couple of enormous Galra whom Katie had taken to calling Bonnie and Clyde. Keith gave them a nod before sitting and they positioned themselves by the diner's door.

No menus were available because the diner's sole offerings consisted of Saturn pies, vesas and bubble tea. "I can't eat a whole pie," Katie said, stomach lurching queasily at the idea.

"Meds?" said Keith.

When she nodded, Lance said, "You want to eat some of mine? A few bites. You skipped breakfast and it's been what? More than 24 hours since you ate?"

Saturn pies, like beer and bubble tea, were at best described as comfort food. Which was code for food that comforted the section of your taste buds that was conspiring to kill the rest of your body with diabetes, high cholesterol and cirrhosis. Layers of protein with spicy Tai tomato sauce, cheese and Amaranth tortilla chips, dumped in a bowl, Saturn pies were a favorite fast food in the outer colonies.

When the food arrived, Lance handed Katie a spork—the utensil of choice for pie—and asked, "Uh, you know what the protein is, right?"

She nodded with slightly squinched-up nose. "I put together the program that runs the waste removal system for Rinconada's cricket farm." It made sense; not like there was room for large mammals out in the black, and lab-grown meat was expensive.

"I know it's an Earther bias, but I'll never totally get comfortable with eating bugs." He shrugged and started eating anyway. She nibbled her lip, battling a giggle. If Lance ever turned down food, she'd assume he'd been taken over by a body snatcher.

He pushed the bowl closer to her and though she had no appetite, she scooped up a chunk of pie and nibbled at it, concentrating on the crunchy chip and bite of the spice. The gooey protein matrix squicked her out, but in space, being picky about food equaled starving, so she had ways of coping with her food issues.

Keith meanwhile, took a long pull on his beer bottle and then tucked into the meal, looking utterly bored. Katie knew otherwise.

While this older version of Lance was still a cypher, she had up-to-date Keith data. Based on this, she knew his disinterest was directly proportional to how much he was actually paying attention. And his face was a masterpiece of ennui at the moment. She wondered what he made of her interactions with Lance and whether she should message him later and ask him. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she cursed her stupid, inner adolescent self.

Dear Keith. Do you think Lance likes me? I mean, really like likes me? Ugh!

She sipped her bubble tea and let herself sink into the habit of watching Lance on the sly. He took a swallow of beer and her eyes moved to the hollow at the base of his neck, then up to his jawline to the short scar, a pale slash on olive skin. Sitting this close, she could feel his heat even through the jacket and her nose took in the scent of freshly showered man. He'd obviously been true to his word, keeping a wary eye on the mysterious ship that had dogged their heels for hours. Exhaustion along with beard stubble gave him a weary but ruggedly handsome mien.

Everything about him was the same as she remembered, but different. Better.

Way better! Holy crow, he'd grown up and morphed from cute boy into scorching hot man. Her senses prickled and she found Keith watching her, a slight smirk on his face.

"You know," she said to Lance, hoping to distract Keith from whatever was going through his head, "you're in for a world of hurt."

Lance did the adorable, confused, eyebrow crooked-up thing.

"Yrta said she'd turn you inside out like an old sock if any harm came to me." She lifted her bandaged left arm. "Harm."

Keith snorted and Lance looked mildly disturbed. Pleased, Katie slid out of the booth. "I need to hit the head."

As soon as Pidge left the diner, Keith sent a nod in the direction of his escort, and the female Galra—what had Pidge called her: Bonnie?—turned to follow. "She won't like that, you know," said Lance.

Keith's shoulders rose in a sigh. He canted his torso sideways, gaze falling under the table. "Kosmo, you too. With Pidge." The dim space under the table briefly grew bright with blue sparks as the wolf teleported to Pidge. "Of the three of us, she least needs the protection. But she's down to one hand."

"You know about New Aleppo," said Lance.

Taking another slow drink, Keith swallowed, eyes thoughtful. "I wouldn't have survived that."

"Me neither."

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. Lance, finding that he was starving, as usual, scarfed down most of the pie, before realizing he should leave a few more bites for Pidge.

"It's a rite of passage," said Keith.

"What is?"

"If you're going to be Pidge's friend, especially a male friend, Yrta's going to threaten to turn you into footwear."

Lance grinned. "She threatened you?"

"She misread our relationship and told me, quote: 'I'll skin you and use your half breed hide to make an ugly pair of boots."

Lance winced. "Ouch!"

"On that note," Keith said, looking back in the direction Pidge had gone. "I love you like a brother, but—"

"Ah, you love me more than that," cut in Lance with a wink, knowing where this was going but finding it odd coming from Keith of all people.

"No, I don't." Keith said. "You're not my type. Too skinny. Is there anyone or anything in the universe you won't flirt with?"

"Nope." Pausing for effect, Lance looked around the room, his gaze settling on a nearby chair. He leered at the chair. "How you doin', chair? Nice set of legs you got there."

Keith shook his head with fond irritation. "You're such an asshole."

"Yes. Yes I am."

"Which is why," Keith began, expression turning grim again, "if you break Pidge's heart, I'll beat you to a pulp and feed what's left to Kosmo."

Several responses flitted through Lance's head, most sarcastic, some self-deprecating, along with feigned, bewildered denial, but he settled on: "Pidge is a grown woman. I don't think she'd appreciate the protective, big brother act."

Keith opened his mouth, started to speak and then clenched his jaw. The ghost of the broody boy flashed across his demeanor, and his shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. After a moment, he said, "You're right. I hate it that you're right."

"I am?" Lance looked around the diner. "Did anybody get that on camera?"

"Yeah. She's not a kid anymore. But if you're still…you, then she deserves better."

"I don't know who I am."

"Neither do I," said Keith. "Not anymore."

"I know one thing," Lance began, the confession falling with surprising ease from his lips, "I'm half out of my mind in love with her."

Keith drank his beer and processed this for a moment. "You ever meet her ex-husband?"

"Once. Briefly. At a groundwater hydrology symposium. I didn't realize who he was until days later. I think he recognized me but pretended otherwise." He shrugged. "He seemed…arrogant, but not cute arrogant like you or me."

"He's a dick." Keith glanced in the direction Pidge had gone and leaned forward. "Pidge has become the strongest and fiercest of us."

"Don't forget, smartest."

"She always was that," Keith agreed. "But she still doesn't know much about people." His attention followed a trio of women, all dressed in the matching brown uniforms of a freighter crew, as they left the diner. Lance took another bite, waiting, sensing his old buddy had more to say on the matter.

"Of all of us," said Keith, "Pidge seemed the most resilient. We were buried in self-doubt and PTSD, but she carried on blithely." Lance nodded, but Keith shook his head, negating his own statement. "She ran away from home at fourteen, took on a false identity. A year later, at fifteen, she was a soldier, fighting, killing people. At fifteen."

"We were only a couple years older," noted Lance.

"And look what it did to us," replied Keith. "You and Shiro, in particular." He gave Lance a look that said he was well aware of his War and Peace-long saga of fuck-ups. "At our age, two years is nothing. We're all the relatively the same age now, even Shiro. But back then, those two years were huge, like a generation gap. We were young. She was a child."

"That child saved all our collective bacon more than a few times," observed Lance.

"That's a Hel of a lot to put on a kid, especially one who was pretty sheltered before all that went down." Keith met Lance's gaze, and Lance saw dull anger simmering in his eyes. "She's just as screwed-up as the rest of us. And Eric, her ex, took advantage of that, tore her down."

Lance shook his head in disbelief. "Pidge would never put up with that." But a snippet of a conversation replayed in his head. "I'm not beautiful. I'm…adequate." He took in the hard lines of Keith's face and suddenly his lingering jealousy melted away in the shared heat of their anger toward Pidge's ex.

"Eric was subtle." Keith's voice was practically a growl. "Little cuts here and there, played off as jokes. He tried to turn her into someone else. He played on her insecurities."

Lance shook his head. "Pidge? Insecure? You got her mixed up with me."

Exasperation plain in his eyes, Keith leaned back in his chair. "What I'm saying is this: Don't force me to choose between you or her. I'll choose her."

"Good choice," said Lance, and he meant it.

Pidge and Kosmo returned a minute later, the wolf clearly taking his job as bodyguard seriously, glowering at anyone who came within a few feet of her.

"What have you two been talking about?" asked Pidge as she sat down. "Me? Tell me it's me." Mirth sparkled in her brown eyes and Lance felt like a teenage boy, heart doing summersaults because the prettiest girl in the room just smiled at him.

"You?" He scoffed. "No. We were discussing my favorite subject—Me."

"You?" Pidge snorted. "What's there to discuss? Your hobbies are video games and flirting with girls."

"Wrong. According to Keith, I flirt with everything."

"It's true," said Keith. "While you were gone, he hit on that chair."

"Well," drawled Pidge, "of course he did. It's got great legs."

Keith looked pained. "You know you're starting to sound like him?"

"Just so long as she doesn't start to look like me," said Lance, "because that would be weird."

Pidge obviously tried to look annoyed, but gave up, hand over her face, giggling.

"And now…she's giggling." Keith blew out a slow sigh and turned his focus on Lance. "What the Hel happened to you two? How did Pidge get hurt?"

Pidge, still snorting quiet guffaws, gestured for Lance to tell the story. Lance nodded and told Keith about the distress signal and what occurred after.

Keith's face went slack as he processed their story. Then he said, "I can't believe—"

"—we walked straight into a trap?" Lance snorted. "Have you met us?"

"I can't believe," Keith tried again, "that you, rather than Pidge, got out of there unscathed."

Lance nodded conceding the point. "Good thing I've got more lives than a cat."

Pidge turned to Keith. "You know what's really odd? The sentry bots had terrible aim."

"With all due respect," said Lance, "they had great aim. They used me like I was their favorite target at the shooting range." His own words triggered a memory that his conscious brain almost grabbed before it skittered away.

At that, Keith and Pidge exchanged a look. "Any idea who would want you dead?" asked Keith.

Lance shrugged. He truly had no idea. "Everybody likes me."

Pidge rolled her eyes, but Keith nodded. "You don't have any real enemies, do you?"

"Except the 'Allura Lives' cult. Do they count? As enemies? I mean, they'd do a happy salsa dance if I died. They think that will bring back Allura and she'll protect Altea from the scary fuzzy wuzzies or whatever."

"Joking aside," Keith said bitterly, "'scary fuzzy wuzzies' means my people. The Galra."

"And a segment of your people," said Pidge, "the Xiphoid fuzzy wuzzies, think they deserve to rule the universe. So much for peace." She rubbed her temples. "I'm starting to get why you 'hate people.'"

Lance considered all the times he could have been an easy target in the past. Soren, his former teammate and Allura cultist, had ample opportunities to sink a knife in his back, front, side or any other configuration of murder. "For all their talk of bloody sacrifice, the resurrection cult has never made any obvious effort to kill me."

"That's probably because," Keith said, "we put word out that there'd be dire consequences if they did."

Pidge's face contorted in a confused scowl. "Who's 'we?'"

"Me, Shiro and Hunk. Your brother, Matt."

"And you didn't let me on the vengeance-shall-be-mine ride?" Pidge vibrated with outrage.

Lance held his hand, palm down, a few inches over Pidge's head. "You have to be this tall to take that ride." He got an elbow to the ribs, but…worth it.

"We thought you were…." Keith considered his next words. "Angry at him for leaving us."

"I was angry." She glared at Lance and elbowed him again. "I still am. But if someone hurts one of us, they hurt us all."

Lance smiled broadly at her. "Aw, I'm getting gooey inside like chocolate brownies fresh out of the oven."

Keith's face lengthened in weary irritation. Gesturing with his eyes at Lance, he said to Pidge, "This, in a tiny ship for almost a week? How is it he's still alive?"

Pidge's pretty face shifted into a wry smile. "He's kind of growing on me."

"Like a noxious weed," Lance supplied.

"The kind with pretty flowers," said Pidge.

"Speaking of weeds," Lance said, "could be, we're dealing with Xiphoid."

"Xiphoid?" Keith looked confused. "Why?"

"Both Honerva's and Allura's cults are splinter cells of Xiphoid. And…a few years back, a friend with contacts in Xiphoid told me there was talk of targeting all the Paladins. Especially if the political winds weren't in their favor."

"Friend? Who?" Keith asked.

"Name's Jake Sandoval. A merc."

Keith's dark indigo eyes widened. "Sandoval's no merc. He's a spy. Part of Krolia's network. Possibly a double agent."

"He's a spy?"

Pidge snorted, pointing at Lance's face. "There it is! Same dopey look as when I told you I was a girl."

"He never said he was spy!" protested Lance.

"I'm pretty sure that's how spying works, Lance." Pidge was now laughing her ass off. Which, fortunately, was infectious.

Shaking with laughter, Lance slumped back in the seat, eyes to the ceiling. "From now on I demand that everybody wear labels. 'Spy.' 'Girl.' 'Flying castle.'" After a beat, he peered under the table. "Is Kosmo actually…a toy poodle?" The table vibrated with the deep base of Kosmo's indignant response.

Keith, also laughing, composed himself, and took a long drink of his beer. "So why are you telling us this now? I know you needed space, but didn't this strike you as worth at least a quick message?"

Chastened, Lance turned his attention to Galra graffiti—"Vrepit Sa!"—scratched on the table. "That night, when Jake told me, I was blazing like a forest fire. My liver still hasn't forgiven me. I only just remembered."

"Blazing or high on Zero?" asked Pidge.

"Blazed. Zero and I hadn't met yet."

A string of Galra words, probably curses erupted from Keith's mouth. "You really do need adult supervision, don't you?"

"That's what she's for." Lance gestured at Pidge.

"I don't think I'm qualified to be a Lance nanny. Keith, maybe that fits your skill set better?"

"I'd rather fight ten Robeasts with a toothpick," drawled Keith. "Pidge, why don't you give me a copy of the code. Another backup, if you were. Matt's on Osiris station, isn't he? I can run it to him. When Lance gets back to Earth, he can get a copy to your dad."

"Good idea," said Pidge. "Veronica's on Europa, which is closer. We can run a copy to her after we get the bots delivered and the incubators repaired."

In his head, Lance sort of cringed at "get a copy to your dad." It had a "Meet the parents vibe." Lance had really liked Colleen Holt. She had treated him like he'd had a brain in his head. But he'd gotten the distinct impression that Sam Holt thought he was just another skirt-chasing flyboy. Which, back then, wasn't an inaccurate assessment.

At his side, Pidge was happily uploading the code thingy to Keith's datapen, her face beautiful as she did what she did best. Meet Dad? Sure. For you, I'd meet and French kiss the devil himself.

When he looked up, he saw Keith also watching her, his expression soft with fond admiration. Huh. Interesting.

Seeing as how Pidge probably wasn't going to eat more, and he was hungry enough to eat…an entire Kaltenecker, he scraped up the last bits of Saturn pie. He was contemplating the etiquette of licking the bowl clean when Keith spoke.

"You two on your own for another day…" Keith's face was doing the blank slate thing, which probably meant he was solving the problems of the universe.

Lance said, "Huh?"

Pidge was still messing with the upload. "What about us?"

"I've got business back on Daibazaal. That's why I met you here, instead of Titan. I could arrange an armed escort before I leave. It will take about a day, though."

"We'll be fine," said Pidge handing back Keith's datapen.

"That isn't fine." Keith indicated her hand.

"It was a clumsy accident. Tell him, Lance."

"Uh," said Lance.

"Lance agrees with me," said Keith.

"Really?" Pidge eyed Lance who shot Keith a wide-eyed "What the Hel?" look. Under the table, Kosmo's body began to vibrate against Lance's legs with a warning growl.

Lance weighed the choices. Agree with Keith and get beat by Pidge. Agree with Pidge and get devoured by a cosmic wolf. "Nope. I'm tapping out of this discussion."

Pidge glowered at him. "Keith, the feast of St. Elmo is about two quintants away. Traffic will be heavier. Too busy for anyone to try and hit us. Besides, we're in Athena."

"She's got you there," said Lance. "Athena looks like a pampered Eloi's toy, but in combat, she flies like a starfighter. Nimble with big guns." He used the spork to pantomime a ship flying. "Pew, pew, pew!"

"And how do you know that?" Keith's eyes narrowed.

"We might have had a little adventure earlier in the trip," said Pidge. "Or two."

"Teeny ones," added Lance.

"Tell me about these adventures." Keith tone indicated he wasn't asking.

Pidge arched her brows at his tone, but nevertheless recounted their encounters with the pirates and then the mysterious Shrike.

"Fuck," said Keith. "And I thought it was hard keeping you two alive when you were separate."

"Keep us alive?" Pidge's ferocious independence flared in her eyes. She glared at Keith with razor-sharp indignation and Lance pitied him. "What's that mean?"

He broke eye contact but didn't back down. "Hunk, Shiro and I, we all live in the public eye. Or we have security details." He tilted his head toward the two Galra waiting by the door. "You flit around the universe, often alone. We try to keep an eye on you, but it's not easy."

"Yeah, Pidge. Shame on you. Worrying Keith," quipped Lance.

"Leave her alone, 'Drunk and Disorderly,'" snarled Keith.

"Drunk and Disorderly," said Lance, "and wearing nuthin' but a kilt." Pidge choked on a giggle and when he caught her eyes, they both dissolved into laughter.

"And not in jail because you're a Paladin." Keith included Pidge in that statement and she squirmed in her seat. He blasted Lance with vintage grumpy Keith. "You regularly drop so far into the black, you'll be a pile of wisecracking bones before we get word you're in trouble. You're both a pain in my ass."

Lance leaned his elbows on the table and rubbed his tired eyes. He was bone tired, but also, Keith's concern, the effort that his friends had expended to keep him alive when he didn't deserve it…. It was overwhelming. "I appreciate it. Pidge does too. But she's right. We'll be okay."

Keith studied Lance for a moment, expression undecipherable. Determination plain in his tone, he spoke, "Somebody is trying to kill Lance, Pidge. I know, I know. You don't need protection. But he does."

"Hey," muttered Lance. "Not helpless." I see what you're doing there, Keith. It won't work.

Pidge's huge brown eyes, fixed on him and bright with guilt, said otherwise. "We weren't supposed to get away with that code," she said. "It was bait."

"We're the mouse that got away with the whole block of cheese," said Lance.

"Right." A slight smile, hopeful, creased Keith's mouth. "They were trying to lure you far into the ship, then overwhelm you with the Aural-bomb and sec bots."

"They underestimated us," said Lance, with not a little pride. "Hic sunt palatini." He and Pidge exchanged a happy fist bump.

"They did," Keith agreed. "But if the Shrike was their first crack at you, and the Ox, their second, try three might be successful."

"And now they have a better idea of our capabilities," Pidge said, her eyes full of calculations. Lance's gaze swung back and forth between her and Keith. He met Keith's eyes with a tiny smile and thought, Well played, my friend.

Sensing victory, Keith leaned forward, focus on Pidge. "Look, I have a little leeway on my timeline. I'll be your wingman on the way to Titan. I can take Titan's wormhole to Daibazaal."

Pidge mulled this over. Lance scraped hungrily at the remains of the Saturn pie, staying out of the conversation. He did agree with Keith, especially since the target on his ass could get Pidge killed. And they were both exhausted, in a bad place, mentally, to take on another dog fight alone. Keith, he noted with a mote of envy, had figured Pidge out over the years and was doing a damn fine job of circumventing her worst impulses.

"Okay," Pidge relented.

Lance, deciding the conversation's course needed correction, said, "You flying that Galra starfighter in the docks?" Keith nodded. "Hey, do you remember the time…?"

Conventional wisdom among the Paladins and others who knew Katie was that she, so absorbed with science and technology, paid no attention to people.

They couldn't be more wrong.

When she looked at a machine, when her eyes swept over code, every bit of syntax, every component became an elucidation of deeper meaning. In short, she read technology as effortlessly as she might read a kid's picture book.

People? Not so much.

Aware that people like Lance, Shiro and Hunk could read other people as easily as she read technology—the term for this, she learned was emotional intelligence—Katie worked hard to compensate for her illiteracy. The study of human interactions, facial expression and the nuances of tone, was her second most ardent pursuit.

Of course, staring at someone as though they were a fascinating insect, doesn't go over well. So, her study was usually clandestine, cloaked in indifference.

"You and that quiznaking, haunted cryo pod," said Keith. The topic being the time Lance managed to get himself locked in a pod that he was cleaning. "You went on about that for days."

"Weeks," added Pidge.

"I was traumatized," said Lance. "Not enough therapy in the universe to get me past that horror."

"I think you were more traumatized by five minutes, perfectly healthy, in the pod than by all the times you almost died," observed Keith.

Lance laughed. "I'm always 'almost dying.' I list it on my resume under 'Skills.'"

"The bigger question," said Keith, "is why did the pod need cleaning in the first place? What did you do in that thing that required so much cleaning?"

"Healing. I was healing from 'almost dying.'"

"Riiight," drawled Keith.

"Ew!" said Katie with a snicker, catching Keith's drift.

Katie's dissection of human interactions continued even in this moment, watching two old friends reconnect. In this situation, she could enjoy being more open about her observations, which made the strangeness of their interactions more apparent.

Not strange. Different. Flirty and funny were persistent characteristics of Lance, then and now. So, what had changed, why did her carefully curated database of Lance-isms from long ago not quite fit?

Because, he now wore humor and flirtatious charm like a comfortable T-shirt. It's just who he is; he's not trying so hard; not desperate for attention.

Katie's Keith database had been updated substantially over the years. She knew that despite his popular boy, good looks, he struggled with peopling as much as she did. That his standoffish, emo mien was a thin veneer he applied when confused or overwhelmed. Or when just working a situation out.

Like Lance, though, this Keith was comfortable in his skin, too busy adulting to expend much computational energy on fitting in or related angst. They were different but somehow still fit together well. Like me and Lance.

A halo of happiness surrounded her heart as she watched them. Her head was starting to get muzzy again, exhaustion, anesthetics, all the last days' excitement sapping her strength. Nonetheless, she felt absurdly joyful. Surrendering to exhaustion and the drive to touch him, she leaned against Lance, head on his shoulder. What would it be like, if this was forever? If Lance stuck around and their days were often spent in the company of friends?

The conversation moved on from Lance's pod angst to Hunk's cooking prowess. Lance smiled fondly. "Hunk in a kitchen, masterchefing up a culinary wonder, is happier than an ice worm in a snow cone."

Katie chuckled and then shoved up her glasses, rubbing her eyes. Feeling a prickling sense of awareness, she found Lance and Keith watching her.

"Somebody needs to get back to her ship and rest," said Lance.

"Somebody needs to stop talking about me like I'm not here or somebody's gonna bleed," grumbled Katie.

Keith snorted a laugh. "Even one-handed she could still kick your ass, Lance."

"I know." He rubbed his damaged hand, a small close-mouthed smile on his face. Her exhaustion was mirrored on his face.

Finger pointed at himself, he said, "I need to get back to Athena and rest. Better?" He addressed the last word to Katie.

"Un poco."

A while later, they stood at the dock, before Athena's hatch. Kosmo was still sticking tight to her and Lance, playing furry bodyguard. Keith's actual bodyguards stood a respectful distance away.

Lance and Keith were discussing the MFE's new long-range scanning and signaling capabilities which made use of micro-wormholes to overcome the enormous distances of space. Thanks to Sam Holt, Keith's starfighter also had this capability. This was topic she'd normally dive into like a pool on a hot summer day, but staying upright, like a bipedal primate was growing more challenging.

She considered her next move, then put aside her usual overthinking. Thinking was hard anyway. Awkwardly, she wrapped her left arm around Lance's waist and tucked herself against his side. Lance, without pausing his description of a flight maneuver, immediately dropped his arm over her shoulders.

When the conversation slowed, Keith said, "I need to do some pre-flight checks. Clear out of this place in two vargas?"

"Sure." Lance held out his arm to Keith. "Come here. Group hug."

Keith sort of rolled his eyes, but closed the distance and hugged them both. At their feet, Kosmo circled, panting happily. Katie's heart swelled in happiness, her found family once broken, now coming back together.

Keith stepped back and turned to go, then paused. "Hey, Lance."

"Yeah?"

Keith looked down at his feet and then with an impish grin said, "I say…Vol," he did a funny imitation of Lance right down to the hip swivel and arm motions, "and you say?"

In an equally cute impersonation of Keith, right down to the confused expression, Lance responded "Uhh, Vol-tron?"

"You're both dorks," said Pidge.

Keith grinned. "See you in the black, friends."

Thanks for reading this far!