Author's Note: Who wants an extra long chapter? (hopefully the answer is all of you.) There's a lot I had to stick into this one; I hope it flows as well as it's supposed to. Lance is in a strange transition place, with his health, with his physical location, with his feelings. It's all good, but it's delicate writing for sure.

I'll do my absolute best not to keep you waiting for the rest of this. I had every intention of finishing it up by September. (I mean, I guess that could be any time in September, huh? I could still finish in September.) I also have to knit a sock every five days until April, but that's nothing you have to worry about. Let's see what Lance is up to – get him out of Chicago (it rains too much.)

Chapter Forty-Five: Reunion

Lance zipped the suitcase shut with what he hoped was a sense of conclusion. "There," he said out loud for good measure, because this was the last time he was going to close it. The absolute last. He'd been fussing with the contents for the last two hours for no reason other than he felt too fidgety to leave it alone. "I'm ready," Lance reiterated to Sam, who lay stretched out on the bed between the suitcase and Lance's pillow. He blinked slowly at Lance, unconvinced.

Lance sighed, already drumming his fingers against the top of the case, wishing it was just his upcoming flight that was making him feel so on edge. But the truth was it had been like this for days, ever since Angelique returned to the ER and Keith went incognito. There was so much action going on all around Lance; it was killing him not to be part of it. It started with Angelique going to work without him. Then Allura said she had volunteered to organize the schedules of what seemed to be every single voting booth location in New York state, which was keeping her extremely busy until after the first week of November. Hunk and Pidge were making tighter and tighter circles around their symposium plans, and Keith was probably doing something secretive and badass for the military that might end up as a 'based on a true story' action movie someday. And the exclusion from all of that nagged at Lance as badly as the never-ending itch of his disappearing stitches. It was driving him crazy.

Especially the part where he couldn't do much about it. He was trapped in his too-slowly recovering body and mandated rest circumstances. Lance had reached the point where his spirit begged to be doing something, going somewhere, but his energy levels simply could not keep up to his enthusiasm yet. He tried, but everything he wanted to do wore him out way before he'd finished doing it. Just yesterday he'd been forced to call Fritz to come pick him up. He'd left the house to allow Fritz and Angelique some time to themselves, knowing his fraying nerves were getting on everyone else's. He thought he'd gone in the same direction as when he walked with Greg, but he must have gone farther. He didn't get lost, but he did get excessively tired. And if he were being honest with himself, afraid. The rising wind, his draining energy, and the setting sun freaked him out as he remembered the last time he'd been outside after dark, all alone. In the end, Lance wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion or the fear that made him pull out his phone. Wasn't sure if it really took an excessive amount of time before the squad car arrived or if it just seemed that way. Fritz came to get him without the slightest hint of judgment, though Lance seethed in the passenger seat of the patrol car, furious at his body's inability to keep up with his intent and for his own emotional weakness. It wasn't going to be like this forever, was it? Because he'd have to be out after dark sometimes. Had to get back to work eventually.

"Cut yourself some slack," Fritz advised as they drove back to the house, monitoring Lance's frustration with frequent side glances. "Last week, you could barely make it down the stairs." Lance huddled close to the heating vent in the car, the chill of his walk still clinging tight to his legs through his jeans. "You of all people ought to know that it takes a while to come back from what you went through."

Lance fought the urge to growl. He did know; he'd recited these paragraphs and protocols for years. Abdominal surgeries came with stages of recovery where normalcy was introduced in increments. If he wrote down his own timeline, he'd see he was absolutely perfect, recovering right on track. Ten days on paper was nothing. Ten days pacing purposelessly through a house while everyone he loved was out and doing important things with their lives was intolerable. And he was feeling well enough now to notice how bored he was getting and how long he still had left before he could consider himself one hundred percent healed. Six weeks to three months. That's what all the textbook data said. He knew his age and previous health history would put him on the shorter end of that spectrum, but still – it was wearing on his patience. He felt helpless and useless, constantly freezing and so endlessly frustrated by all the things he couldn't do yet.

The upcoming visit to California didn't really help either. Lance was almost too excited to go, an elation so strong that it felt close to panic. This was a trip that he'd never imagined he'd be able to make happen. It would be warm there; Hunk said it was still pushing into the high eighties every day despite being so deep into autumn. Lance still had trouble believing he was really going to go. There would be sunshine. Hunk's bread. And the closer Lance's departure became the more it seemed as though it would never happen, like that physics paradox where you could cut something in half infinitely. The time would never pass, or something would come up that meant the trip would be canceled. Lance wasn't sure what that might be, but he worried about it, checking the weather obsessively to see if any of the storms swirling around Lake Michigan were bad enough to ground planes. He checked his own temperature, monitored his health to ensure that nothing physical could keep him trapped in his room. And he checked the time, then checked it again. The minutes crawling slower and slower, especially the long, dark hours of the night, especially after Keith stopped calling.

Which meant that the morning of the flight pulled at Lance like a weighted dream. Three hours might as well have been three weeks. Three years! He did everything he could think of that morning. Brewed coffee, fed the cat, polished the kitchen, nervously watched the weather. He dressed in the sweater he'd finished knitting the day before, the one he'd started in Stony Island two lifetimes ago – a dusky blue raglan with what was supposed to be a distractingly complicated cable pattern up the front, back, and sleeves of the thing – something inspired by the Celtic book of Durrow. They were complicated, but not near distracting enough, even when Lance had spontaneously decided to mirror the cables on the sleeves. He'd tidied his room since he had no idea how long he would be gone. Maybe a week. Maybe until Christmas. He didn't even have a return flight as far as he knew. Not that it mattered; he was in some sort of stasis anyway where time did its own thing. Nothing would make much sense until Lance could return to proper classes and work in January, start the next part of his life.

Trying to pass some more minutes, Lance sat on his bed near Sam and pulled out his phone. He decided it would be better to ignore the newest text from Pidge. She'd sent him the packing list about four times already this morning, and he was absolutely certain that there was nothing he'd forgotten. It would be better for his mental state if he just left it alone, at least for right now. Pidge's nerves were just feeding his, and he was not going to open the suitcase and check it again. At least Hunk's text was encouraging, promising Lance an awesome dinner when he arrived. Lance knew better than to expect anything from Allura, but he sent her a message of encouragement. While he was typing, he was pleasantly surprised to see a new message come in from Keith.

It wasn't much, just a few words wishing Lance a safe flight, but it filled Lance with warmth to see that whatever Keith was doing, wherever he was, he was still cognizant of the workings of Lance's life. Knew what day it was and what Lance would be doing in it. And it wasn't the first time. The communication had been semi-consistent. Unlike before where Keith stopped answering his phone, Keith hadn't dropped off the map completely. He'd considerately warned Lance that he wouldn't be able to speak with him, let him know when he would be back, and he was making the time to text Lance periodically. Mostly, he texted at night to say that he was safe, for which Lance was incredibly grateful since he had plenty of dark thoughts revolving around what Keith could possibly be doing until Monday and how dangerous it might be. Keith asked Lance if he was doing ok. Asked him questions about what he was most looking forward to when he reunited with Hunk and Pidge. It was almost as though they were having a very drawn-out conversation, via text, with hours between exchanges. It felt almost hopeful. Lance was beginning to believe that things might actually work out. That he could just be long-distance friends with Keith indefinitely. For the moment, and who knew how long that moment would last, he and Keith seemed to be balanced in a good place. And even though it wasn't anywhere near what Lance wanted most when it came to Keith, it was certainly better than nothing, better than it had been. He could live with this. Settle for this. So long as Keith stayed in his life, so long as Lance could continue to call him without desperate reason, that would be enough. A lifestyle he could maintain.

At least, that's what he continued to tell himself. There was still that sting of longing when it came to Keith, that sense of sad loss. Lance told himself that it was getting easier to deal with. That he could look at that picture of himself with Keith on the couch, his arm over Keith's shoulder, both of them smiling. He could look at it without pain or resentment. He forced it to be true, pushing through it the same as how he was trying so hard not to scratch at the healing incisions. He hoped both discomforts would subside at the same rate.

His phone rang. Pidge calling him since he hadn't responded yet. He shook his head, wondering which one of them was more amped up about this trip. Compared to her, Lance seemed almost zen.

"Hey Pidge," he greeted her, giving Sam some last-minute fur smoothing before they were separated.

"Why are you still at home?" Pidge asked sharply. "You should have been out of the house and on your way to the airport three minutes ago!"

Lance almost asked her how she knew where he was, but remembered at the last second that his phone was still on her family plan and of course she had the GPS tracking turned on after almost losing him two weeks ago. She probably had his entire course mapped out on her laptop, watching every step of it.

"Just making sure I have everything, Pidge," Lance replied, his voice much calmer than he felt, mostly for the pleasure of teasing her. "Thought I'd do one final run through. Too bad you couldn't have sent me a packing list or something. Do you think I'll need a swimsuit?"

"I bet you think you're hilarious," Pidge shot back at him. "Mock my lists all you want, but you should probably wait until after you pack your phone charger that I know for a fact is still plugged in by your bed and not in your suitcase."

Lance started laughing at her, but his own memories brought him up short. She was right. He hadn't packed that yet, despite reminding himself repeatedly not to forget it. He carefully rolled off the bed to retrieve the charger, sheepish and grateful that she had decided to call. He really would have left without it. How did she possibly . . . Never mind. It was Pidge. Probably best if he didn't know. He hurriedly stuffed the cord into the top of the suitcase. Then at the last second, without really knowing why, he threw in Keith's birthday copy of La Vida es Sueño as well.

"You would have forgotten it, huh?" Pidge asked slyly, and Lance could hear the Cheshire cat grin on her face.

"I thought you knew for a fact?" Lance bantered as Fritz appeared in his doorway. Looks like it really was time to go. Finally.

"Oh I do," Pidge responded glibly. "I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Why am I suddenly reconsidering coming to see you?"

"If you don't move it, you'll be late, and you won't be able to come see me. Now get going and call me when you're in your seat on the plane."

"On my way," Lance verbally saluted, tucking the phone into his back pocket to free up his hands for the suitcase.

"I got that," Fritz stopped him before he picked it up, fully entering the room now that Lance was no longer on the phone. Lance started to protest but was interrupted before he could.

"Don't you dare," Angelique reminded him as she joined Fritz out of nowhere. "I'm sure that weighs more than the fifteen pounds you're allowed to lift. Have someone help you with it at the airport too. Don't pick it up yourself."

"Doña," Lance began, more than tired of restrictions like these. It wasn't like he was going to be carrying it for miles. He doubted that one smooth lift from the floor to the overhead compartment was going to break open any healing blood vessels at this point.

"You forgot a word," Angelique lectured, voice and face both stern. Her instructor face. Lance had missed seeing it. She even had her arms folded for emphasis. "Let's try this again. You're going to have someone else put up and take down that suitcase for you, correct?"

"Sí, Doña," Lance gave in, figuring that she probably would block the door unless he did. And even though he was frustrated at the prospect of asking a stranger to pick up his suitcase, he couldn't deny that it felt nice to have her watching out for him. It felt good to know how much she cared, that she was taking care of him the best she could.

"Good," she praised, the same way as if he'd given her the correct treatment plan for accidental poisoning. Fritz read the exchange as permission to haul the suitcase off Lance's bed and start with it down the stairs to the waiting car. He exited into the hallway just as the rain started slapping against Lance's bedroom window. Lance glanced toward it, noticing the intensity of the storm with dismay. He'd hoped to be in a pressurized cabin before this started. Now he could only hope it wouldn't mess with him too much.

When he turned back, Angelique stood much closer to him, her tiger eyes sharply focused as though she were trying to watch him all the way through the future until he came back home. Equal parts maternal and mentorship. A stare that no longer made Lance shake in his shoes now that he could see the protectiveness in it.

"Is the storm going to bother you?" She asked him, though Lance knew that wasn't the question she'd meant to ask. A question that needed some warmups before she could get to it. "You have your migraine medication, don't you?"

"I have it," Lance assured her. "But so far so good." He knew he'd need it before too long, but for right now, he could pretend that there had never been anything wrong with him. Which was good because he knew he couldn't lie about that sort of thing to his doctor; she'd see through it in an instant and looked as though all she needed was the tiniest excuse to keep him here. She laid the back of her hand against Lance's forehead, gauging his temperature, shaking her head.

"Still too cold," she told him, even though he was wearing what should have been a furnace of a wool sweater. Even though Angelique and Fritz kept the heat in the house much higher than they would have if he weren't living there with them. Even though he'd been pulled out of the rain weeks ago.

"California will thaw me out," Lance promised, really hoping that was true. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be warm. Even when he'd burritoed himself in the heating blanket, there was a chill inside him that couldn't be touched, that shivered over his skin and shuddered up his spine. He'd meant to joke with her, so he was surprised to see the gold of her eyes suddenly shining with tears. Lance tilted his head at her, recognizing that they were brimming with abandonment. "Doña, you know I'm coming back, right?"

She blinked, nodding her head slightly, and Lance remembered his mother performing the same gesture. He'd promised he'd be coming back to her too. Something sharp slit into Lance's throat, causing him to again step forward to hug Angelique. She had yet to stop him from doing this, so he figured one more time probably wouldn't get him in trouble.

"I'll be back," Lance said again, as though they both needed convincing that he would be true to his word about this.

"I should hope so," she admonished, letting him go, something left unsaid between them. Something Lance didn't think he could ask about.

"Are you two coming?" Fritz's voice broke the moment. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not use the siren to get us there on time."

Lance and Angelique smiled at each other, new promise fresh and clear between them.

"After you," Lance nodded to Angelique. Then he gave Sam one last pat, telling him that he could have the bed all to himself until Lance returned, and he followed Angelique down to the car.

Their talk on the way to the airport remained trivial. Fritz speculated on what Lance should do while he was there, Lance asked a couple times if they were sure they didn't want him to bring anything back for them, and Angelique gave him gentle reminders on what he was and wasn't allowed to do health wise while he was gone as if he didn't already know and hadn't heard it a hundred times already. Neither Lance nor Angelique returned to whatever they'd brushed against in Lance's room, though Lance made her one more promise when the time came for him to leave the car and head into the airport.

"I'll see you later," he told them both, looking at Angelique as Fritz gave him a tight hug and clap on the back in parting. "January at the latest."

"Call when you get there," Angelique instructed, and Lance nodded in acknowledgement. He planned on checking in often, now that he'd seen what damage his absence could do. They said their good-byes, and then Lance was dragging the suitcase behind him into the airport, remembering the last time he'd been inside. He looked over to the place where he'd said good-bye to Keith, the last time he'd seen him in person. It distracted him momentarily from what he was supposed to be doing. He wondered where Keith was, what he could possibly be up to. Wondered if there would be a text later tonight to let Lance know Keith was ok. Wondered if Keith would really call tomorrow like he promised. Monday. He'd be safe by then. The world as right as it could be.

Lance's head grew cloudy as he rather disorientedly passed through security and located his departure gate, and he took some Excedrin in hopes that this was as bad as it was going to get. It wasn't raining in California. Hunk had promised him nothing but sunshine for the foreseeable future. Lance just had to get there. He texted updates to his friends, all of them, that he was just waiting to board, then he stared out the window, staring at the rain and resting, unwilling to admit how worn out he was simply from traveling through the relatively small Midway airport with one carry on suitcase on wheels.

The seats in the gate waiting area filled up with strangers who's only thing in common happened to be that they were all flying to Burbank at the same time. Men in suits. Young families. An older couple who looked as though they were on their way south for the winter. No one Lance knew and no one who knew Lance. It made him feel detached. Misplaced like the afghan on the back of the couch. He knew if he paid much more attention to the feeling, it would turn into something close to fear, so he did his best to put it to the side.

There was no need to feel afraid right now. He should be nothing but excited! He was leaving Chicago, traveling to the other side of the continent, a side of the country he had never seen before. He'd be with Pidge and Hunk by dinner. And yet, he still had this nervous apprehension. A pile of what ifs. What if something went wrong? It had been so long. He hadn't seen them in years; what if they were all different now? He knew that Hunk and Pidge had grown closer in the time they'd been away. Hell, they bought a house together. What if Lance was walking into a situation similar to how he felt in the way between Angelique and Fritz? A third wheel. Except worse because it was Hunk and Pidge? What if it could never be the same? What if he had a migraine by the time he got there and couldn't even enjoy the meeting? It was stupid, and he knew it, but he was as powerless to stop the thoughts splashing around in his head as he was to stop the rain outside.

By the time Lance stepped onto the plane, he wished he had easier access to his Excedrin. His head didn't hurt; nothing really hurt, but at the same time everything did. A rather vague sort of ache that ghosted through his limbs, concentrating just enough to notice above his left eye and beneath his navel, reaching around to the base of his spine. The weight of weariness hanging off his wrists and heart. The perpetual drag of minutes.

The elderly couple turned out to be Lance's seatmates, so when the time came when Lance should have been asking someone for help to lift his suitcase, not only could he not follow through on his promise, but he found himself assisting the couple with their things as well, picking up three suitcases when he wasn't supposed to even do his own. Lance didn't think it would be a big deal, but the strain of it was noticeable, a slip not in the newly healed skin but somewhere deep in his abdomen. Lance dropped into his spot as soon as possible, leaving his seatbelt intentionally loose so he could press his hand against the new scar near his hip, pushing it as though it would seal a wound he knew wasn't even there. He probably shouldn't have done that, but the feeling subsided quickly.

Four hours, he told himself. Well, four and a half. All of it in the air, requiring no movement from him. The hard part of this trip was over; it was all a matter of time now. Or maybe time was the hard part. He slumped against the side of the plane, wishing there was even a hint of sunshine out there. Four hours. A third of an ER shift. No time at all.

He'd brought some knitting with him to help pass that time, a new sock he'd cast on just that morning, but now that he was sitting here, eyes half closed and his body limp in the seat, somewhere on the brink of pain without actually being in pain, the pressure of the cabin doing strange things to his senses, he knew he wasn't going to move to retrieve it. His best option was to sit as still as possible, keep as close to the curved side of the plane as possible. Stasis. Meditation. Nothing changed if nothing moved. Just this last thing between him and his friends. Closer to them every second. Nothing to it. No need to worry.

The couple settled in next to Lance with plenty of huff and bother, making decisions on who would do better in the middle seat. The wife ended up taking it. She had wider hips than her husband, but he definitely had longer legs. Lance didn't think he cared either way who sat next to him until it became clear in the way that the woman introduced herself that she intended to talk to Lance all the way there. Before they had even started moving, she had told him her name, which was Glade, her husband's name, which was Gerry, the names of her five children, and eleven grandchildren, plus the one due in December where the mother, who wasn't her daughter she made it very clear to point out, had decided not to find out the gender so that was all an exciting mystery, wasn't it? She then offered Lance a peppermint to suck on during takeoff to help pressurize his ears. He was too out of it not to take it from her, though he wasn't sure encouraging her into thinking they were friends was something he wanted to do. The mint was nice, and Lance was glad he had it in the end, but he found it difficult to pay attention to what Glade was saying. His head was too full of doubt and unease, the storm and longing.

It wasn't too long into the flight where Gerry prodded his wife, gently indicating to her that Lance looked more interested in resting than participating in a one-way conversation. Glade pursed her lips, as though ready to argue, but instead she apologized curtly for talking too much and sat still with a determined expression on her face, as though vowing to herself that she would not bother Lance again for the rest of the trip. Gerry gave Lance a nod, as though he'd just done him the biggest favor ever, and Lance let his head rest awkwardly against the back of his seat, his eyes closing by themselves, his hand pressed tight against that spot on his abdomen that almost but didn't really hurt.

Nothing's torn, he told himself fiercely. The suitcases weren't that heavy. It wasn't that long of a walk to the gate. There's nothing to worry about. Hunk and Pidge are waiting. Keith will be back tomorrow. The flight won't last forever. Everything's fine. It's fine.

Glade failed in her determination not to talk to Lance again. It started innocently with her tapping his arm to get his attention when the flight attendants came through offering tiny bags of pretzels and drinks. Lance almost didn't get anything but decided at the last minute on a ginger ale with no ice. The flight attendant opened the can, looked about ready to pour half into a plastic cup, but then after a pause where she studied his face, she just handed Lance the entire thing. She gave him two packs of pretzels too, confusing him.

It seemed that was all Glade needed to re-engage. Gerry had fallen asleep, so he wasn't about to rescue Lance again. She showed him pictures of their home in Belvidere, which Lance vaguely remembered from the day Fritz had driven them to the apple orchard. He murmured that he remembered passing by the water tower, and hearing that Lance had actually been to her hometown brightened Glade up even more. She told him all about her upbringing, how she'd worked for ages at a Quaker Oats factory in Rockford, along with two of her sons, and did Lance know that they also made dog food in addition to oatmeal, well at least they did until they sold the brand to Heinz in 1995. . . .

Lance glazed over after a while. He didn't mean to be rude, but he had to zone out or scream. He wanted to stretch his legs, wanted to be on the ground again, be grounded again. How much longer did they have left? How much longer could he take it? Every time he thought about his upcoming reunion, his heart would pound almost too hard, and he'd have to back off the anticipation because it was electrocuting him in the tiny seat, squished against the side by Glade and her thousands of stories of Nowheresville, Illinois, and the meat packing plant that Gerry used to own, and how Glade was simply befuddled how all her children had scattered to all corners of the US instead of settling down across the street so she wouldn't have to fly across the country to see them. Lance tried not to fidget, wondering if the pent-up waiting might actually kill him. He couldn't believe being in a plane was Keith's favorite thing to do. Except, being the pilot of a fighter jet had to be a huge step up from this.

By the time the plane finally touched the ground, Lance had his teeth clenched and his arms wrapped tight around his stomach to keep himself from . . .well, he didn't know what he was trying to keep himself from doing, but he knew it would be dramatic, embarrassing, and wouldn't help him at all. He leaned his head against the seat in front of him and prayed that everything would just speed up a little bit. The ginger ale had chilled him to the bone despite how he'd taken it without ice, and he knew he was shivering like someone suffering withdrawal. His head still didn't hurt, but he almost wished it did, because then at least he could get it over with, and even though he'd done nothing but sit still for the past four and a half hours, he felt as weary as he used to when he ran all-night shifts with the ambulance. Keeping all his muscles tensed wasn't helping.

Since he had the window seat, Glade and Gerry recruited a different passenger to assist in getting their luggage down from the overhead compartment, one of the young men traveling with a group. He brought down their pieces, then took one look at Lance and silently grabbed his suitcase down for him too, making Lance wonder how bad he appeared to have strangers taking pity on him like this. He offered his thanks, and then said it one more time when the teenager who'd taken down his suitcase motioned for him to go ahead of him out of the plane.

Breaking himself into motion again after sitting so long was hard, especially since Lance had put so much effort into being as still as he remembered Shiro sitting in the courtroom. Lance's legs and back were stiff, and his rib complained about Lance standing straight again, but somewhere between his seat and the flight attendant wishing him well as he stepped dazedly through the door, it hit him that he was in California. He'd arrived at the Burbank airport, and somewhere in the building, the same building he was walking into, somewhere here were Hunk and Pidge, waiting for him. He'd made it to the end, all that stood between him and his friends was the distance from here to the baggage claim where they told him they'd meet him.

The thought sped him up, albeit clumsily. He was here! They were here. He just had to find them. Surely, he'd recognize them. They couldn't have changed that much. He kept one hand tight around the handle of the suitcase as he dragged it behind him. The other hand he used to press against his ribs, which weren't so keen on his attempt at speed, causing him to slouch protectively into his torso as he crashed through the Burbank airport, scanning the arrows on the signs above him that pointed the way to Hunk and Pidge.

Lance had been told that the Burbank airport was tiny compared to LAX, but Lance was panting before he went by the security checkpoint, his vision blurring the crowds of other travelers all around him, the logo of the Starbucks, the little newspaper stand kiosk that sold neck pillows, chocolates, and Tshirts with the Hollywood sign on them. The light changed as he neared the outer walls of the airport where there were more windows and natural sun. He must be getting close – yes, there were carousels up ahead, he could see cars moving past outside. Just a few more feet to all those windows full of golden sunshine. Lance felt compelled to speed up so he could feel the warmth of that light.

"Lance! Hey!"

Lance stopped short, looking around, wild and panting. That had been his name, right? Someone said his name? There was so much light here; he couldn't really see anything. He tried blinking, finally noticing hands waving at him. Hunk, standing two carousels over, smiling at him while Pidge jumped up and down to get Lance's attention.

"We're over here!"

Lance heard himself make a strange exhale, then made a break in the direction of the waving hands, his spirit drenched in relief. Finally. Finally! Except his suitcase wasn't equipped to shift as swiftly as he was, and the wheels snagged, ripping the handle from his grip and clattering the whole thing to the floor. Lance paused, turning back to pick it up even though his thoughts were already across the room. But as soon as he stopped moving, all the adrenaline shrieking through his system dropped rather suddenly, and his shaking knees couldn't hold him up anymore without the benefit of momentum. He ended up on the floor next to his suitcase, struggling to get his fingers around the handle and stand up at the same time, frustrated that something like this could happen when his friends were right there!

Hunk and Pidge made it over to him faster than he could get his coordination together enough to get up. And when he noticed their shadows falling over him, heard them talking above his head, he gave up even trying, allowing himself to practically melt on the floor.

"What happened, man; you good?"

"Did you trip?"

Lance abandoned the suitcase so he could look up at them, noticing immediately that Pidge was bending over him, quite close. She'd let her hair grow out a bit, almost all the way to her shoulders. Her glasses were different, as was the style of her clothing. It looked like she no longer found it necessary to hide her entire body shape in huge, oversized hoodies. But she was undeniably still Pidge. Lance lifted himself on his knees so he could throw his arms around her waist, resting his cheek against her stomach, pulling her in close. He felt like someone grabbing on to a life raft in the middle of the ocean. Home. She smelled like home.

"Pidge," Lance practically whimpered into her shirt as she brought her hands down to wrap around his shoulders. "Katie-bird." He waited for her to scold him about staying on the floor, but she didn't. Instead, he felt her rest her head on top of his.

"You idiot," she whispered, and when Lance smiled, he felt wet against the corners of his mouth. He hadn't noticed when he started crying. "It's about time."

Not to be left out, Hunk reached into their tangle to lift Lance off the floor and then half crush him with affection. Lance felt months' worth of tension leave his body as he relaxed against Hunk's chest, allowing his friend to support at least half his weight.

"Glad you made it," Hunk told him, voice emotional enough that Lance didn't trust himself to answer. All he could do was nod, closing his eyes contentedly. He heard Pidge retrieving his suitcase handle, taking custody of his luggage.

"It's so good to see you," Lance finally managed, taking a shaky step away from Hunk so he could look at him properly. California suited him amazingly well. His dark hair had sun streaks in it, and he had muscled up from all the weekends he'd spent surfing. His eyes were the same. His smile too. He allowed Lance to move away, but he reached out immediately to ruffle his hair. "You guys look fantastic," Lance told them.

"You don't," Pidge returned bluntly. "You ok?"

"Yeah," Lance affirmed, not feeling much of anything but exhausted relief to be reunited. Definitely nothing hurt. At least, not enough to worry about. Pidge tilted her head at him skeptically.

"Then why are you standing like that?" She demanded, which forced Lance to check himself over. Like what? "And what's going on here?" She reached out to pull Lance's hand away from where he'd automatically placed it around his ribs, but the second she touched his skin, she startled. Hunk looked between them, trying to keep up on the interaction, sensing the change.

"Holy human popsicle!" Pidge yelped, letting go of and then grabbing onto both of Lance's hands. She cupped them in hers and actually brought them to her mouth to blow her warm breath over his fists as though she needed to save him from frostbite. "Lance, your hands are freezing! Did they have the air turned up all the way in the plane or something?"

"It was pretty cold," Lance admitted, not wanting to get into how he was just always cold now. But that was quickly coming to an end. Had to be. All he had to do was step out of this climate-controlled building and into the California sunshine. It was already reaching for him.

"All right, come on," Pidge instructed, giving him a little tug forward. "We need to warm you up." She let him go so she could take over his suitcase again, but Hunk quickly took her place at Lance's side as if they'd choreographed their exit strategy.

"Let's get you home," Hunk said quietly, but the short sentence almost buckled Lance again. He wanted to go back to that, the home they'd shared. Wanted it so badly. He started to follow Pidge, taking only a couple rather shaky steps after her before Hunk took Lance's arm and casually draped it over his shoulders while simultaneously reaching behind Lance's waist and threading his thumb through Lance's belt loop to support his walking. Lance thought about protesting, all of this wasn't technically necessary, he'd just traversed most of the airport on his own after all, but he'd missed Hunk too much to ask him to let go. Hell, he'd missed physical contact in general, so he was not about to say anything to stop it. Instead, he found himself leaning into his old roommate, their stretched trust fusing together again.

"Thanks, Hunk," he whispered, expressing gratitude for more than one thing. Pidge checked over her shoulder to see if they were coming; Lance watched her bite her lip before quickly turning away again. He couldn't imagine what they looked like. He couldn't imagine what thoughts were running through Pidge's analytical brain to see them this way.

"No problem," Hunk acknowledged mildly, ushering Lance towards the doors, the light and warmth of the street outside. "But, um, dude, you're kind of shivering? That can't be good. Are you really that cold?"

"Cold, excited, I don't know. It's not a big deal. I'm here now."

"Yeah," Hunk agreed, voice tinged with happiness again. "Yeah, you are."

Hunk led Lance outside where the temperature changed so quickly Lance gasped, then had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Ninety degrees felt different here without the presence of Lake Michigan, and the abrupt shift from exiting the airport shocked Lance's system so much that he started trembling harder than before. Hunk tightened his hold on him while Pidge flat on stared, raising an eyebrow.

"Geeze, Lance," she said, her tone almost disgusted, a cover for her concern. "You look like a Chihuahua."

"Pidge," Hunk warned, and she looked away guiltily, biting her lip again. Lance didn't like that, didn't want her to think she had to be careful about how she talked around him. She'd never been careful before, and it was something he loved about her.

"It's the sweater, isn't it?" Lance said to comfort and deflect her, using his free hand to pull the hem of it forward a little, as though he wanted to inspect it, playing with Pidge to show he wasn't offended. Hunk looked at him like he was crazy, and Pidge didn't pick up the joke the way he'd intended.

"Yeah," she drawled, shaking her head. "It's the sweater." Lance thought she'd move on, but instead she sobered unexpectedly. "But seriously-"

"I'm fine," Lance assured her, then looked at Hunk to make sure he could see that Lance wasn't lying. It felt like a betrayal to see the skepticism on Hunk's face.

"Ok," Pidge reluctantly accepted. "But-"

"Come on, Kate," Lance begged, a little desperate to just return to normal. He'd waited all day for something to be normal. Days, weeks, years, it seemed. Pidge ruffled slightly at Lance's use of her real name, her mouth opening to address it, which was regrettable. Lance didn't want to fight with her less than ten minutes into the visit. Especially not about something stupid like his appearance and whether or not it should be connected to his ability to function. He just wanted to be with her. Get in Hunk's car and have them show him what their lives looked like here.

"Lance, we're just –"

Yeah, he knew what they were doing, and why they were monitoring him, and Angelique and Fritz had done it too, and he was just so sick of it. Flustered that this was not starting as well as he'd hoped, Lance lifted his chin, pulling his attention away. If he didn't hear what Pidge was about to say, maybe he'd feel no need to react to it. The tactic worked better than he thought it would. As soon as he pulled his gaze off Pidge, his attention was immediately diverted, and he paused on the sidewalk in front of the multi-level airport parking structure. Hunk jerked to a stop at his side, not expecting the change in pace, but Lance couldn't help it. He was suddenly and completely transfixed by something he'd just noticed.

"Lance?" Hunk said near his ear just as Lance was pulling himself away from him so he could stand and walk freely on his own. He had to get closer to what he'd seen or else he didn't know if he could believe it.

"It's a palm tree," Lance said, almost reverently, unashamedly geeking out over something so simple. But he hadn't seen one for years, not since he'd left Cuba. "Guys, it's a palm tree!" He walked over to it, reaching out to put his hands on the rather sharp, sclerified exterior of the trunk, turning his face so he could see all the way to the gently swaying top. Now this – this was exactly how he remembered. He remembered the feel of the tree, the sound of the fronds above him. This hadn't changed. Now that he was focused, he noticed that this was not the only palm tree – they were planted every dozen feet or so down the sidewalk for as far as he could see. And if Lance followed the line, past the roads and cluttered businesses surrounding the airport, not even that far away really, he could see the dark mounds of what Keith said were the San Gabriels.

"Keith, look," Lance whispered as he stared, amazed. The entirety of Illinois had been pressed smooth by a glacier; the highest point in the whole state was just barely a thousand feet above sea level. There were peaks in the distance now that had actual snow on them. "Your mountains." The ones you told me about. They're right over there, and I'm here. I'm in California – like you were before. Except, not now. We missed each other. Never in the same spot at the same time anymore. Lance took a deep breath, trying to compartmentalize all that was going on. The scenery, his health, his friends, and that ever-present wish that he could see Keith again. It didn't take him long to shuffle through all of it, filing it away into the appropriate boxes for later, but even so, Lance knew he'd taken long enough to make himself look a little unhinged. He turned back to Hunk and Pidge, giving them an apologetic half-smile as he started walking back to them.

"That's a palm tree," he told them, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to point at it, as if they didn't already know. They looked at each other, an entire conversation passing between them. Lance understood some of it. They were debating how they were going to proceed from here, if they were going to allow Lance to not answer the questions that Pidge wanted to ask him. It was obvious that Pidge still thought he was hiding something, which was fair, but at least Hunk's little shrug to her suggested that he was ready to let that happen. That Lance seemed fine enough for them to go with his attempt at distraction, at least for now. Pidge rotated one of her shoulders back, turning away from Hunk in apparent submission, which was a surprise to Lance. He didn't think he'd ever seen Hunk win against Pidge.

Hunk gestured for Lance to rejoin them. "Bro, if that's all it takes to get you excited, I can't wait to show you the yard."

"Oh, like you didn't hug a palm tree the minute you got here, too," Pidge reminded him, folding her arms, but smiling fondly. She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "He pulled the car over so fast I think he put us up on two wheels just so he could hop out and stare at it for, what was it? Fifteen minutes? I think you cried. Said a prayer or something?"

"It'd been a while," Hunk huffed defensively, giving Lance a look of understanding. They'd left their islands, Lance and Hunk. Pidge might get it someday. If there was something that could trigger that particular homesick gene for her – maybe a cornfield would do it after a few more years away. Except Pidge had never been as attached to her homelife as Hunk and Lance had been. She'd always wanted to leave and never look back.

"Hopeless," Pidge muttered without any real bite, but then something seemed to strike her with urgency. "Hunk, we gotta go. It's after four."

"Oh!" Hunk seized up, caught in Pidge's sudden haste. "Right. Come on, Lance; car's this way."

"What's going on?" Lance asked innocently, glad to be the one asking the questions now. He still felt exhaustion tugging at his ankles when he walked, but it was easy to ignore at the moment. Things were coming back together. Even the way they walked to the car now had the familiar rhythm to it. Pidge scurried ahead with Lance's suitcase while Hunk kept a steadier pace next to Lance.

"We've got to pick up Hunk's suit at the tux place," Pidge answered over her shoulder, hurrying even though Lance knew for a fact that Hunk would have the keys in his pockets so Pidge would just have to wait by the car even though she got there first. "They had to do some final alterations, but we have to get there to pick everything up tonight before they close at five."

"Is it far?" Lance asked, used to the congestion of Chicago. Everything you could ever need seemed to be within a six-mile radius of his apartment, but that didn't always mean it was easily accessible.

"About thirty minutes," Pidge estimated. "Good thing it's Sunday." She slowed a fraction, glancing back at Lance. "You remembered your suit, right?"

"Swimsuit, formal suit, bowtie – trust me, I have everything," Lance returned as they clustered around Hunk's old Civic. Lance had a momentary pang that Hunk still drove the same car, but he tried to shake it off quickly. This was going to be a long trip if he kept letting every little detail overwhelm him like this.

"It's a black tie, right?" Pidge confirmed, opening her door. Checking to make sure they wouldn't have to get Lance anything from the tux place, putting tics in her mental prep list for the symposium tomorrow. "You brought a black tie?"

"Pidge, you know black tie doesn't actually mean that the tie has to be . . ." Lance trailed off as he noticed Pidge blinking incoherently at him and Hunk standing with his head tilted, halfway into the driver's seat, waiting for him to finish. It was funny. The Lance they left had just as much experience with black tie events as they did – which was none. But they'd left him with Allura, the queen of etiquette. "Yes," Lance assured for simplicity. They needed to get going. "Black tie." He'd actually brought the ocean-blue one, the first one Allura had ever given him, but he could explain later when they weren't pressed for time. Satisfied, Pidge ducked into the back seat, leaving the front open for Lance's longer frame.

Much to Lance's delight, after leaving the airport, Hunk's route seemed to be leading toward the mountains rather than away from them. At first Lance asked a million questions about the area and the mountains. The tallest one was Mt. Baldy, but Hunk and Pidge had never cared to explore it. They lived closer to Mt. Wilson, which apparently had not one but two observatories at the summit. Plus a little space museum and a café with unpredictable hours of operation.

Lance relaxed into the familiar seat, subdued into silence by tired comfort. Hunk had the same old playlist going as he drove, pointing out certain things to Lance as they went. Like the Hollywood sign near yet another observatory at Griffith Park, the LA skyline almost completely obscured by haze, and the Colorado Street Bridge near Pasadena. Lance tried to remember all the tour guide trivia Hunk was giving him. It was interesting, but he just . . . it was just nice to exist in this space. The rumble of the car and Hunk's voice with Pidge's frequent descant additions. Since they were headed east, the sun sank behind them, giving the car a cozy, darkening atmosphere.

"This is so nice," Lance murmured quietly, earning him a friendly pat on his shoulder from Hunk.

"After tomorrow it'll be even better," Hunk promised, though Lance wasn't sure how that could be possible. Then he realized that Hunk meant things would be better after the symposium was over.

He waited in the car with Pidge while Hunk ran into Friar Tux. They'd made it with only ten minutes to spare. Their parking spot on Baldwin Ave seemed to lead directly to Mt. Wilson, and Lance stared up the road at it as they waited, growing increasingly fascinated by the impressive shadow it cast across the area.

"There's really a café up there?" Lance heard himself ask, unable to see anything except clumps of trees on the cliff face and a cluster of what looked like radio towers at the very top, barely discernable with the sun going down. Pidge weaseled around in the backseat so she could lean forward, closer to him, following his eyes.

"Yep. They have pretty decent cherry pie," she answered with the casualness of someone for whom the novelty of eating cherry pie on top of a mountain had worn off a long time ago.

"How do you get to it?" Lance wondered, because looking at it from here, it seemed daunting to even try. Or maybe that was the setting sun making it look bigger than it actually was.

"There's a few ways," Pidge said, sounding like she was getting bored and wanted to talk about something else. But the mountain refused to be ignored, commanding the landscape and Lance's attention. He felt inexplicably drawn to it. "The trails to the summit are popular with hikers. If you go straight up this road until it ends, it'll take you to the start of a couple."

"You ever do it?" Lance didn't know why he even asked that; he knew the answer already.

"Are you kidding?" Pidge huffed. "That's at least a fourteen-mile roundtrip. Eighteen if you go the way . . . . Anyway, Hunk did it once and then limped around for a week. Swore he'd never do it again."

"I want to go," Lance expressed without thinking. But the mountain was calling him. Pidge laughed, somewhat uneasily.

"Lance, you sweet, misguided moron, you could barely make it out of the airport."

Lance readied his response to that. He didn't mean he'd like to start hiking right this second. But at some point, maybe even before he went back to Chicago, he knew he wanted to get to the summit of the mountain. See what was up there. He didn't care so much about having pie, but he wanted to discover what was drawing him about it. Hunk returned to the car, cradling his plastic-covered rented suit in both arms, and interrupted the conversation.

"All set," Hunk announced, triumphantly, draping the bag in the backseat. "Now we can head over to Din Tai Fung's."

Lance expected Hunk to get back into the car, but instead Pidge started getting out of it.

"Come on, Lance," she beckoned. "It's close enough to walk."

"But we could drive, too," Hunk offered, eager to accommodate. Lance did his best to hurry out of his seat and onto the sidewalk before they decided a walk was too much for him. Though he ended up standing up a little fast, which forced him into clinging onto the car door until his vision cleared. He hadn't been expecting that, but it seemed Hunk might have because he was right on top of Lance, grabbing onto his arm to support him.

"I'm good," Lance defended himself before anyone could say anything. "Just stood up too fast." To prove his point, he let go of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. "Let's go."

"Yeah, we better get you some food," Hunk agreed, allowing Lance to walk, but Lance noticed how Hunk guarded his steps. He noticed, but he tried to ignore it.

Lance was surprised that they were going to a restaurant for dinner; for some reason, he thought that they'd go straight to Hunk and Pidge's place after they picked him up. That they'd be eating something Hunk made, or even something that they all cooked together. But then Pidge explained their reasoning. First, this place was very close to Friar Tux. Second, there were only two of these restaurants in the entire United States and the other was in Washington. Third, it would be a crime to have Lance this close and not initiate him into the bliss that was the pork soup dumpling and finally, the last time they'd been here, they'd had a table right next to Ashton Kutcher. Also, Pidge added as an afterthought, no one had really been cooking much of anything at their house the last couple days before the symposium, and they were tragically out of groceries at the moment. Something they were going to fix – after tomorrow.

They didn't see any celebrities that night, but Lance had to admit the food was awesome, worth the forty-five-minute wait to get in the door, and the company couldn't have been better. Sitting at the table inside the increasingly crowded restaurant wasn't quite the same as sitting at their table back home, but it wasn't too far off from normal. They were able to talk, look at each other. Lance found himself reaching over to touch Pidge's hand or Hunk's shoulder, just reassuring himself that he really was there with them. That he'd finally arrived. It was full on night when they left, full and happy, but even though it was so dark he could barely make it out, Lance turned his attention immediately back to Mt. Wilson. Something was up there.

"Hunk, you really hiked to the top of that?" Lance asked, abruptly changing the subject from the discussion of restaurants and the sheer variety of them that were available within walking distance of this very spot.

"Top of what?" Hunk asked, caught off guard, but then he saw where Lance was looking. "Oh, yeah, K. . . um, they finally talked me into it. Completely overrated; that was the longest day of my life. And I lost my third favorite water bottle."

"Who talked you into it?" Lance continued as they made their way back to the car, wondering what Hunk had been about to say before he'd changed his mind. Lance was glad that it wasn't too far of a walk because speaking of having the longest day of your life, Lance was starting to feel like this was his. He could barely comprehend that he'd been two time zones away that morning. Couldn't comprehend it, but he could definitely feel it.

"Um, just a couple of friends," Hunk said, a little too carefully, which heightened Lance's curiosity. What kind of friends would Hunk have who would try to get him to do something like that? Last Lance knew, all of Hunk's friends would be much more interested in taking something apart than going outside. And why did he say it like that? "The view was nice and all, but if I'm going up there, I'm driving from now on."

"You can drive?" Lance blurted, catching hold of that. Though he should have known. It would have been impossible to stock a café if you had to hike supplies that far up. "Can we go?"

"Uh, sure," Hunk agreed, and Pidge hissed in disapproval, a noise she made when someone had said too much or said something wrong. It seemed out of place with their discussion. "But not tonight," Hunk amended, glancing at her.

"Oh," Lance vocalized even though he already knew that.

"Symposium will be over tomorrow, buddy," Hunk comforted, unlocking the passenger door for him. "Then we can do cooler stuff. It's a long, windy road, but if you want to go up there, we'll take you."

"I would really like that," Lance said, more than slightly disappointed that they weren't going now. He knew it wasn't practical. Hunk and Pidge had to be up early in the morning. It was dark; it wasn't like they could see much of anything anyway. Lance was so tired he almost fell into the car, and yet. . . . there was something about it. He wanted to go now.

He leaned his head against the seat, staring out as Hunk pulled away from the curb, starting to chat again about some of the things they were passing. The horse track where Seabiscuit raced. A mall. Lance realized that they were backtracking, headed west again. Hunk debated taking Lance by Caltech quickly on the way home, but decided against it as he caught a glance of Lance draped against his seat like a pile of laundry. They'd do more sightseeing another time when Lance was rested enough to appreciate it.

As they drove, Pidge's phone started blowing up with texts and calls, all about the prep work for tomorrow. Time getting close enough that the last-minute issues were being fired at her in earnest. Lance listened to her guiding her support crew, a pack of grad students, in snippets of dialogue. "No, I said thirty easels. Yes. By eight in the morning; I put tape down on the sidewalk to mark where they go. And don't forget the thumb tacks!"

"That's confirmed; the official head count is two hundred thirty-seven. You turned in the updated dietary restriction list to Kim, right? Ok; the plan is to start at noon."

"No, I don't think that will work – the bus is already full. Well, I'm sorry, but registration has been open for the last two months, you know, and it's not like I can charter a second bus for one person. Look, just . . .tell them to show up at Scripps. If there's a seat, they can take it. If not, tell them they'll just have to follow along behind. There's not a whole lot else I can do with fourteen hours' notice."

Lance half smiled as he let all that flow over him, partially dozing in his seat, wondering how Pidge was liking being the center of the universe for this thing. She always said she wanted to run the world, but Lance bet that she'd wanted the whole obeyed without a moment's hesitation part more than the bit where she was responsible for getting over a hundred people transported from San Diego before nine in the morning. There was a lull after the bus call, and Lance thought that Pidge might be able to catch her breath for a second, but the phone rang one more time. This call seemed different, though. Pidge didn't seem to know who was calling her. He tilted his head backward a little so he could hear better. Especially when he caught Pidge saying his name. "Hello? Yes, this is Katie Holt, who am I speaking . . Who? Oh. Oh! I'm sorry; yes, Lance is right here. Did you want to talk to him? Ok. Hang on."

Pidge shook his shoulder even though she already had his full attention. "It's Dr. Delacroix," she warned him as she passed over her phone. Lance felt a small jerk of shame. He was supposed to call her a long time ago. He'd completely forgotten.

"Hi, Doña," Lance began sheepishly, not even bothering to wonder how Angelique had Pidge's number. Knowing it probably had to do with the day he went missing; he thought everyone had been calling everyone else that night.

"Lance, what happened?" Angelique asked, her voice rushed and rather small across the miles. "I've been calling you for hours."

"I'm sorry," Lance apologized, wincing at his own carelessness. "I don't think I ever took my phone off airplane mode."

"For heaven's sake," Angelique snapped, her words cutting to the side in such a way that Lance didn't think he was supposed to hear them. The sigh afterwards was completely audible. "But you're ok? You're there and everything's fine?"

"Yes," Lance assured her. "Everything went according to plan. We just had dinner and we're on our way home." It hit him then how she was calling from a place two hours ahead of him, how much later it was for her. How long it must have felt. "I really am sorry."

"Then please switch your phone back on," Angelique requested, her words brittle.

"I will. I am!" Lance promised, digging with difficulty into his back pocket for his phone. He wondered what else he might have missed having it turned off. Phone calls from his boss, obviously. Maybe an update from Keith. "I'm doing it now."

"Thank you. I'd really like to be able to reach you while you're away."

"I understand," Lance agreed, which was really just one more form of apology. Angelique exhaled in a tired sort of way, but it seemed she was ready to forgive him.

She asked a couple more questions about the weather and if Lance had warmed up any. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he was still wearing his sweater and had no intention of taking it off anytime soon despite what the temperature gauge in the car was telling him. Fritz got on the line for a couple seconds, but even with his additions, the call didn't last very long. It ended with Lance promising, again, that he would keep in better contact and wishing them a good time now that they could just enjoy each other's company without him. He then passed the phone back to Pidge so she could call the bus company, and he checked his own screen for what he'd missed while his phone had been disabled.

A text from Allura, a couple missed calls from Pidge after he'd landed, probably so she could figure out where he was in the airport and give him verbal direction to get to them. Several missed calls from Angelique. Nothing from Keith, but it was still a little early yet for Keith, even taking into consideration the time difference.

The shock and guilt of the phone call used up the very last of Lance's energy, to the point that he staggered more than walked from the car to Hunk's front door when they finally pulled up, and he leaned listlessly against his roommate while he shifted his keys to let them all in. Lance apologized more than once for his exhaustion, but his friends were taking it in stride.

"We probably shouldn't have dragged you all over like that," Hunk commented, opening the door. "It's been a really long day for you."

Lance was led into the house, a one-level, three-bed, two-bath place. The front door opened into the living room with a hallway opposite the door leading to the bedrooms. You could enter the kitchen from another open doorway on the right before the hall started. Pidge had hung a poster of Einstein riding a bicycle, along with some select pictures of dwarf stars and other images captured from space – the attempt they had made at being mature homeowners with some sort of decorative theme going on. But the true aesthetic of the place was the characteristic half assembled electronics, disintegrating cardboard boxes loaded with wires, gears, and whatnots, and an entire station set up in a corner of the living room dedicated to a radio of some kind. Or maybe it was several radios – Lance could never really tell. There seemed to be too much equipment over there for just one. Headphones, mics, antennae everywhere, a logbook, dials, cords, blinking red and green lights, and a little machine that Lance thought could be meant for transmitting Morse code. And permeating the entire house was, of course, the scent of yeast – of freshly baked bread. It was perfect. So perfect that Lance felt all the muscles in his body threatening to collapse, letting go of apprehensions he hadn't been aware he'd been holding.

"Home, sweet home," Hunk said, watching Lance studying the place, his face hopeful that Lance would approve.

"It's wonderful," Lance whispered, sinking almost involuntarily onto the couch. He closed his eyes, taking in the deepest breath of the richly scented air, tipping his face unconsciously toward the kitchen. He heard Hunk chuckle.

"I, um, made some bread this morning while we waited for you," Hunk began. "Did you –"

"I absolutely do," Lance answered before the question had finished. He knew they'd just had dinner, but it was his heart that was craving Hunk's bread more than his stomach. His soul was so hungry, he could probably eat the entire loaf of it. Hunk smiled and ducked into the kitchen while Pidge went to the radio corner and started tweaking wires, waking up a laptop that Lance hadn't even noticed was sitting there since it was half buried in transmitters.

"Can I do anything?" Lance offered, even though he could hear the slur in his words as he said it. He was so tired he could barely see straight. Pidge turned with the laptop so she could face him, her eyebrow raised in fond amusement at his suggestion.

"Existing is plenty," she told him. "I'm just doing some adjustments on the slides for tomorrow."

"Bet you'll be glad when this is all over," Lance guessed, and Pidge sighed in agreement.

"It was more work than I was led to believe. Still, it'll make a nice plot point on our CV."

"And we're starting at nine tomorrow?" Lance confirmed. "Am I supposed to wear the suit?"

His question paused Pidge in her scanning. She blinked up at him over the laptop as though just realizing that she'd forgotten something.

"Oh, um, we weren't . . . we didn't think you'd want to come to the actual symposium," she said carefully, her words cracking into Lance's chest.

"Of course I do," Lance pushed. "I came here to see you guys; why wouldn't I want to go with you?"

"It'll just be so boring for you," Pidge maintained, distressing Lance a little. Boring compared to what? Sitting here in their house, awkwardly waiting for them to return? No thanks. Lance didn't fly across the country to be left behind.

"Are you crazy?" Lance retorted, starting to feel his eyes sting. But it hurt, surprisingly much, to have her say that. Nothing they did tomorrow could possibly be boring to him. He just wanted to be near them, the entire day, no matter what they were doing. This felt like a brush off.

"Tell you what," Hunk said, appearing out of nowhere with a chunk of bread spread thick with cinnamon honey butter. He passed the bread to Lance, who suddenly didn't want to eat it anymore but took it anyway as Hunk sat down next to him on the couch. "Why don't we talk about it tomorrow? See how you feel in the morning, all right?"

"I'm pretty sure I'll still want to stay with you guys," Lance said, resolute.

"Ok, then," Hunk accepted, looking pointedly at Pidge. "It's no big deal if you want to come with us." Lance felt like something important was going on here, but he was too tired to figure it out. He scrubbed his free hand across his eyes, amazed that he could get this worked up about potentially being left out. Except it wasn't just being left behind for the symposium. It was knowing how many other things he'd been left out of. Like when Keith took Hunk up the mountain, however long ago that was. Lance was certain it had been Keith who talked Hunk into it. Maybe Shiro too. Gone and then sworn everyone to secrecy about it. Don't tell Lance. He pulled the sleeves further down on his sweater, unexpectedly chilled.

"You can decide tomorrow," Pidge finally agreed, which Lance had to accept even though it was still getting to him how they weren't trusting his answer. He didn't need to decide tomorrow; he was sure about it now. There was nothing he could think of that he could possibly want to do tomorrow other than be with them. "But you won't need the suit until the dinner. Which is mandatory," she finished up, as though Lance would make a huge fuss about going to the symposium and then want to cop out of a fancy dinner. But then . . . the Lance from three years ago might have been uneasy enough to do just that.

"Wouldn't miss it," Lance assured her, and she gave him a look that said she had doubts about that, but she'd accept that he at least thought he was telling her the truth. She went back to her slides while Hunk continued to watch Lance, making him self-conscious and all too aware that he was holding a slice of bread that he'd asked for, that he'd been excited to eat two minutes ago, and that now he was going to have to force himself to choke down so as not to hurt Hunk's feelings.

This was so weird, and Lance didn't know what to do about it. One minute they'd be fine, the way they used to be as if no time had passed. Then something would come up, some secret that they were keeping from Lance, or something that Lance would say that they didn't believe, and that three-year-gulf in the relationship would pull open wide again, like a child playing with a zipper, ripping it open and then sealing it shut in unpredictable speeds and measures.

"Tomorrow will be better," Hunk promised again, and Lance had to smile. Hunk had probably been telling himself that for the past three months as he dealt with scenario after setback after problem. He'd probably had more than his fair share of handling Pidge's meltdowns too. Lance suddenly felt guilty about his tantrum, miniature and weak though it had been.

"Here's to tomorrow, then," Lance toasted, lifting the slice of bread and finally taking a bite, allowing the sweet and intense taste of nostalgia to fill his mouth. He felt his shoulders slump as he chewed. "This is so good," he told Hunk, surprised that the tears were back, and this time Lance was unable to scrub them away before they fell. But the bread. The radio. The past and the present twisting around each other into a new and only partially recognizable future. It hurt, in the most bittersweet way possible.

"Yeah, that's the starter I had in Chicago," Hunk explained, politely ignoring Lance's emotional struggle. "Kept it going all the way out here, so now it's got yeast spores in it from both places, and they're all mixed in. Gives the bread a specific and unique flavor that will just keep developing over time."

"So am I eating a baked good or a science experiment?" Lance asked, cooperating to help Hunk shift the mood. Make it lighter. Warmer.

"I mean, it's food chemistry, so that sort of makes it both," Hunk tossed out easily, as if there was no reason in the world his science and his hobby couldn't exist in the same sphere without any sort of barriers or obstacles.

"Heh, yeah, I guess," Lance accepted, taking another bite. He checked his phone again too, starting to wonder where Keith was. It was past the time he normally checked in. Lance hadn't heard from him since this morning. He wouldn't disappear the night before he was supposed to be back, right? Or maybe that's why he was suddenly gone, because he'd made Lance a promise and now he didn't think he could keep it. But no . . . the last time they'd talked, Keith sounded like he really meant to stay in connection. So what happened? What was keeping Keith from letting Lance know he was safe? Was he safe?

"What's up, Lance?" Hunk broke into his thoughts, noticing everything about Lance's posture and expressions.

"It's . . probably nothing," Lance said, trying to convince himself. "It's just, I haven't heard from Keith yet. He said he'd be back tomorrow, and he's been texting me every night to let me know he's safe, but tonight there's nothing."

Hunk and Pidge exchanged glances, then Pidge quickly turned her face away, examining the blinking lights of her radios.

"He probably forgot," Pidge shrugged it off. "Or maybe he's still working and will check in later than usual."

"He could be out of cell range," Hunk mused, which caused Pidge to make that hissing noise again and Hunk to shake his head at her. He softened when he turned back to Lance. "I'm sure he's fine," Hunk reassured. "I mean, he's Keith, right?"

"That's exactly why I'm worried," Lance muttered, remembering all the intense situations Keith had a knack for getting himself into. What if he was out of cell range and needed help? How would they even get to him? "Do you know where he is?" Lance asked, hopefully. "Keith said that you did."

"He did?" Hunk repeated, suddenly nervous, looking everywhere except at Lance. "Why would he say . . I mean, why would I know?"

"When he said that he couldn't call me for a couple days, he said that you knew about it," Lance recited. This seemed to calm Hunk down a little.

"Yeah, he said he'd be gone until Monday and asked me to be on call for you if you needed anything."

"Oh," Lance wilted, disappointed, no closer to getting any information. "I thought he told you where he was." His voice grew bitter and victimized. "I know he tells you more than he tells me."

The last sentence caused Pidge to roll her eyes so dramatically that Lance actually heard it from across the room. "Oh my God, you two," she expressed, frustrated, which put Lance on the defensive. And he was too tired for nuance.

"What?" He demanded. "I know he's asked you to keep secrets from me. Leaving me out of the loop for where he is and all the times he's been over here to visit you. I bet it was him and Shiro who dragged Hunk up the mountain, but no one ever tells me any-"

"You started it," Pidge shoved at him, and he curled up on the couch as though she'd actually hit him.

"Started what?" He asked, not wanting to be angry, not now, but everything was coming up and he couldn't push it aside to deal with it more appropriately, or at least slower.

"The secrets," Pidge accused. "They all started with you. And if you're going to be offended about it, then I strongly recommend you set the example and start telling the truth. Especially to Keith because this soap opera got old a long time ago."

"Pidge," Hunk broke in gently, as though he wanted to remind her where she was and who she was talking to. Lance knew he shouldn't be too affected by what she was saying; she was completely stressed out, had been for a long time now, and he also knew that this was how she expressed worry – by lashing out. But even though he knew all those things, everything just seemed ridiculously personal right now.

"I'm going to give you until dinner tomorrow," Pidge continued dangerously, ignoring Hunk. "To tell Keith the truth about how you feel about him."

"Wait a second," Lance backed up. "I don't even know if I can find him by dinner tomorrow." Then something even darker hit him. "What do you mean, you'll give me? What happens if I don't?"

"Either you tell him," Pidge went on, cold and calculating and relentless. "Or I will."

"Pidge," Hunk pleaded again.

"It sounds like we're all tired of secrets," Pidge shot over to him, eyes never leaving Lance's face.

"What if I can't find him?" Lance pleaded, knowing that she absolutely would follow through on this threat. "What if I call and he doesn't answer? He's done it before – gone off the grid for months. Won't accept my calls."

"You said he'd be back on Monday," Pidge dismissed his concerns, causing something ominous and overwhelming to claw at Lance's chest.

"I can't," Lance denied. "Don't you get why I can't?" He felt himself shrink. "What if he never talks to me again?"

He felt Pidge's hands on either side of his face, surprising him. He hadn't seen her move from her corner. She tipped his eyes up to hers as she stood over him, face somber and her hazel eyes shockingly bright.

"That's not why you're not telling him," Pidge informed him, bluntly. "You're not afraid of him rejecting you; that's stupid, and you know better. You're rejecting yourself, all right?"

Somewhere in this message, the room grew softer, the charged conversation dying down. Lance felt Hunk's arm around him, noticed how close his friends had come to be near him. Realized he was still crying.

"Lance, I'm not doing this to be mean," Pidge told him, and he knew that was true, but he was still so uncertain about what she was asking him to do. He knew he'd been so close to opening up to Keith before, but somehow, he just had never been able to bring himself to do it. He didn't like that she was putting a time limit on it, especially didn't like the ultimatum she was giving him. "But whatever block you've got in your brain about why this won't work has absolutely nothing to do with your feelings or his. It's something else – something that came from an outside source that keeps telling you that it isn't right and shouldn't happen. And it's all a lie. Can you trust me on this?"

"I don't know," Lance managed, feeling disconnected from his body. Like the hand on his leg wasn't his and he wouldn't be able to move it even if he tried.

"Well that's . . better than a no, I guess," Pidge sighed. Lance checked her expression, seeking out any sort of impression that she was backing down. There was pity there, and exasperation, and also just the sort of conviction that meant she felt strongly about every word. Lance's only hope now of keeping his feelings a secret would be if Keith disappeared again until this whole thing died down, until Lance returned to Chicago.

Lance jumped when Pidge kissed him lightly on the forehead. "I think you should probably get some rest," she told him, and Hunk took the cue to stand up and offer Lance a hand. "Just think about it, ok?" She called after him as Hunk led the way down the hallway to the guest room.

"Hunk," Lance beseeched as his friend ushered him into the room he'd be sleeping in. "Hunk, talk her out of this. It's crazy."

Hunk settled Lance's suitcase near the bedside table, his huge brown puppy dog eyes apologetic, but not in the correct way. "Sorry, Lance; but I think she's right."

"Damn it, Hunk, why can't you guys just leave it alone?"

"Probably because it's not working," Hunk admitted, so matter-of-factly that Lance sat down on the bed. Hunk took advantage of Lance's silence to pull another blanket from the closet and handed it to him. "Here," he offered. "I didn't think you'd need more than the sheet, but the way you're all huddled up in that sweater, I guess I was wrong."

"Hunk, I can't tell Keith. Not before tomorrow night. We just . . . we've got a good thing going right now. For the first time, and I don't want to ruin it."

"Well," Hunk shrugged. "What if nothing gets ruined? What if your good thing turns into an awesome thing?"

"Or what if I chase him off forever?" Lance demanded, upset that no one could see that this was a possible outcome.

"Honestly? I don't think that's going to happen, but even if it did – I think you'd be better off. You're stuck, Lance. In a lie you've been telling yourself for years – maybe your whole life. Just think about what Pidge said, all right?"

"I can't do it, Hunk," Lance protested again.

"Wait until tomorrow," Hunk said, presenting Lance yet again with this particular mantra. "Tomorrow things will be better."

Author's Note: We're in my territory now! I grew up in Illinois, but way outside of Chicago (had a boyfriend who lived in Belvidere, though). Then I moved to California. I don't live there anymore, but I still work at Caltech. I put a lot of stuff in this one from my life. As in – my dad used to work for Quaker Oats making dog food. He also had a meat packing plant. (his name wasn't Gerry). Din Tai Fung is a real place, and Ashton Kutcher was indeed there the last time I went (ages ago).

And Mt. Wilson – that's my mountain. I've done that hike so many times; it's my favorite. I knew from the beginning of this story that I was be dragging Lance over to California, specifically so he could end his story on the summit.

End? Yeah, end. Now that Pidge has taken confession matters into her own hands, there's less than a twenty-four hour window for our boy to find Keith and confess himself. Any thoughts on where our pilot is and why he's not checking in?