Author's Note: Happy holidays, everyone, and again, sorry for the wait. It's surprisingly hard for me to write . . .happiness? After all that drama, it feels weird. And I'm not going to promise that there won't be drama in this chapter. It's my default setting or something.
But then again, relationships aren't the easiest things in the world. Even when they're sincere.
Chapter Forty-Nine: Summit
Lance would have thought that after more than three years of waiting for his next too-short opportunity to speak with Keith that he could handle however many minutes it would take to prepare and travel to the summit of Mt. Wilson with ease. After so much time and uncertainty, how much patience would he need now that Keith had kissed him? Surely none at all. How hard could it be to separate into their respective rooms to change out of their formal wear? What were a few more minutes after the torture he'd already successfully endured? Yet as the list of things that needed attention before they could leave continued to grow, Lance found himself coming to pieces in his desire to leave. Up past the lights of the city, past anything that could possibly interrupt them. Past every bad dream and every uncertain memory. With new possibilities open and now finally in sight, Lance groaned under the strain of taking their time to prepare for it responsibly.
First, they had to change. Then pack. Since they were headed to a location that did not have reliable cell reception, phone calls had to be made. Keith called Shiro, and this time Lance had permission to listen to the conversation. Keith quickly went over the new whiplashed change in his plans, which forced him to recount the events at the Athenaeum and also, vaguely and shyly, the events in Dabney Gardens. He grinned as he gave the details, lowering his head sheepishly as Shiro offered his congratulations with only a hint of smugness. Like he'd known that the only natural conclusion of Lance and Keith was to end up together and he might have told Keith that more than once. Lance wanted to ask about that, but he had his own phone call to make. He hadn't checked in yet with Dr. Delacroix, and he knew if he didn't, he might end up on a missing persons list by morning.
Their conversation wasn't awkward, but it was emotionally charged. Angelique began by wondering what Lance's day had been filled with that would cause Lance to call her so late. The wariness progressed to worry that he could be hiding something from her, which Lance supposed he deserved, and then to a short interrogation of whether or not Lance were taking care of himself to her satisfaction. Lance answered all her questions with as much patience as he could muster, and it wasn't very long before Angelique could hear the difference in Lance's voice, the lightness of the tone. She speculated that California really was doing him good, though it was a cure that seemed to cause her a pang of distress. Like she thought Lance would enjoy himself so much that he wouldn't return. Lance hurried to assure her, though he had to think twice about it. What was he going to do when the time came to return to Chicago? Where was Keith going to go, and when? He had to shove the thought aside; it was too early in the relationship to start worrying about what could end it.
While they talked, Keith paused in his prep to lean against Lance's bedroom doorway, arms folded, taking his turn to enjoy watching Lance explain that Keith had surprised him, in just about every way possible, and there had been an abrupt and significant change in their relationship. Keith wore the soft, affectionate smile that had been on his face this morning while watching Lance speak to the Scripps bus driver. Then he squeezed his arms tighter across his chest, shaking his head in amusement when Lance had to start over in his narrative because Fritz wanted to hear too. Lance didn't go too deep into the details – the shadows, his sleeve cuff. But he did give them enough to understand. And ask questions.
"Lance," Angelique interrupted him, voice on the cold side despite the happiness Lance had just handed her. He didn't understand it. What was there left to worry about now? "Slow down. You're saying that you and Keith are together now? You're a couple?"
"Yes," Lance exhaled, lifting his head to smile at Keith in the doorway. He was back in black jeans again, along with an army green T-shirt and the black fingerless gloves. A couple. Officially. The rush of joy that came with that thought swelled Lance's chest to the point of pain.
"I . . . well," Angelique didn't seem to know what to do with this information. The last time Lance had spoken to her, Lance hadn't even known that Keith was coming. Didn't know he'd ever see him again. So this would seem extremely sudden. Still. She was the one who had mistaken Keith for Lance's boyfriend the first time she'd ever seen them together, so what was the hesitation about?
"Good for you, son," Fritz said in the background. "It's about time." Lance would have smiled if he'd felt the support from both of them. He wanted Angelique to say something positive. Something that indicated her approval of Lance's relationship with Keith. He knew it shouldn't matter, that he didn't need her permission or approval. But he still wanted it.
"Doña?" Lance questioned, and Keith tilted his head, leaning forward as though he thought he might have to protect Lance from something, sensing the change.
"Is he there with you? Keith?" Angelique asked. "May I talk to him?"
"Uh, yeah," Lance agreed, though he couldn't imagine what Angelique would have to say to Keith. "Sure."
Lance gestured for Keith to come closer. "She wants to talk to you," Lance informed Keith, who looked surprised and uncomfortable at the idea. Still, he squared his shoulders and did not hesitate to take the phone from Lance's hand.
"Yes, ma'am," Keith responded, holding the phone tight to his ear to listen carefully to whatever Angelique wanted to say. While she talked, Keith reached out to Lance, grabbing him around the shoulders and pulling him tight against his side. Lance folded against him, cinching his arms around Keith's waist. Even this close, he couldn't hear anything Angelique said, though he sensed that it was disturbing Keith, who used his free hand to rub Lance's arm up and down with increased speed and pressure. Lance knew it was hard to get a word in when Angelique was giving a lecture, and the last time Angelique had spoken to Keith he had hardly been able to speak at all, but Keith managed a few phrases that allowed Lance to guess the main topic of conversation.
"No, ma'am," Keith interjected firmly but respectfully. "I understand, but it's not like that. . . .I would never . . .of course . . . yes, very sure. . . no . . . .I swear." And just when Lance thought he'd have to intervene on Keith's behalf, Angelique seemed to accept that Keith was being honest. That his intentions with Lance were true, and his dedication was unbreakable. Keith eased up on Lance's arm, holding him gently now around the shoulders, almost leaning on Lance as though the conversation had exhausted him. "That's right," Keith agreed to the phone, letting out a tense breath. He relaxed, almost smiling. "Yes, sir," he said, making it sound like some sort of agreement or promise. "Thank you, sir. Ma'am."
Lance thought Keith would return the phone so he could have his own turn for some strict instruction from his boss, but Keith ended the call before handing it back to him.
"She told me to take care of you," Keith summarized, though Lance knew that wasn't a tenth of what Angelique had said. "No, actually, she threatened me to take care of you; I feel like I just got put on probation."
"She's always been intense," Lance excused her, not wanting to explain to Keith why Angelique would feel so possessive of Lance's feelings. Why she was so defensive about no one hurting him if she could help it. He was just trying to figure out exactly what to say that would justify Angelique and soothe Keith that it had nothing to do with him when Lance felt Keith shake and realized it was in silent laughter. Lance pulled back slightly so he could look at his face. Keith had his eyes closed, one hand to his forehead.
"I can't believe she married that policeman," Keith revealed what was so amusing, and Lance huffed in agreement. To Keith that would seem so unreal. He barely knew Fritz or Angelique. Even though he was the reason they'd met.
"They owe you a lot. They're perfect for each other," Lance explained, seeing them moving seamlessly in the kitchen, holding hands in the car, sharing silent looks when they thought Lance couldn't see. His words brought Keith up short, and he turned toward Lance, cupping the side of his face and staring at him. Lance felt something tingling and pleasant lapping along his bloodstream.
"They really care about you," Keith said, and for the first time Lance could read his eyes. So do I. He melted into Keith's hand, then moaned appreciatively when Keith paused for another deep kiss. Lance's arms traveled along Keith's waist, tracing lines forward to his hips, forgetting why he'd bothered getting dressed when what he really wanted was . . . He swallowed, eyes closed, beginning to tug Keith sideways by his belt loops toward the bed. Keith tensed in sudden resistance.
"Wait," Keith said, breathing heavily, pulling away from Lance with difficulty, disentangling Lance's hands from under his T-shirt. He laughed again at Lance's expression, patting him on the shoulder. "Wait," he repeated, like he was talking to himself. Lance puffed out a disappointed breath, and Keith smiled at him in understanding. "I only asked for forty minutes," he reminded Lance, who almost didn't care anymore when Hunk and Pidge got home. It wasn't like they didn't already know what Keith's and Lance's plans for the night were. It wasn't like they wouldn't respect that. Well, Hunk would respect that. Pidge would . . . try?
"Ugh," Lance groaned, knowing Keith was right. Tonight would be special, sacred almost. The night they would look back on. He knew there was no need to rush it; that if he looked at it from a distance, he did want to take his time. He did want to make sure that they would be alone, just the two of them with no chance of an interruption. It's just . . . he'd already waited so long. Keith kissed him again, a quick brush against his lips, a miniature firework.
"Come on," Keith encouraged, who obviously had more endurance for this than Lance did. "The sooner we get on the road. . ."
Lance didn't need any other motivation. He hurriedly threw on his sweater and then went to snatch up the few belongings he meant to bring with him for the night when a sudden thought made him pause, thinking of the road. The mountain road. Keith had borrowed Hunk's car to take Lance to the beach and later to the Athenaeum, but Hunk would likely need it himself if he were going to drive Pidge up to join them sometime tomorrow. Which meant the only other form of transportation available to them was Keith's motorcycle. Was that the plan?
"Keith," Lance pondered out loud, turning to see Keith stop in the doorway on his way to pick up his own stuff, holding on to the doorframe and leaning back, turned toward Lance. "How are we getting up there? Are we taking the motorcycle?"
Keith's eyebrow shot up, as if he hadn't considered doing that, but now that Lance had brought it up, he was giving it serious deliberation.
"That's not a good idea," Keith said with practicality. And also an equal dose of how he might be easily persuaded to abandon it. "Have you even been on a bike before?"
"Marco had one for a while," Lance said, remembering the battered yellow Suzuki. He'd taken Lance on a few rides where Lance clung to his brother with all his strength, hoping that a sudden shift or bump wouldn't toss him right off the back of it. Keith's Shadow looked much safer and reliable; it even had a seat for a second passenger. Plus Lance was willing to bet that Keith was a much better driver than Marco.
Keith looked torn, like he really did want to take Lance on his bike, give him that experience. But they both knew why they shouldn't. It was dark. From what Hunk and Keith had already told him, the road to the summit was twisted and long. Even if Lance had ridden a motorcycle before, he'd never gone more than a few minutes. Lance knew it wasn't the safest way to travel; he'd seen firsthand exactly what can happen to a motorcyclist should there be any kind of accident. He knew it wasn't a good idea.
He wanted to do it anyway.
"We really shouldn't," Keith responded, though he didn't sound convinced. In fact, right after he said it, he started muttering about how Hunk had an extra helmet in the hall closet that would probably work. Keith had his arms folded again, looking worried, as though he were waiting to get in trouble for doing something that they hadn't even made the decision they were going to do. Except Keith's face told Lance that he'd already decided.
"Hunk will need his car to come up tomorrow," Lance pointed out, giving one final push of logic, and Keith flashed him an unconvincing glare. "I doubt Sunny's going to drive them that far."
"You sure you want to take the bike?" Keith asked, genuinely curious.
"No," Lance answered. "I want you to take me on the bike." The nuance was subtle, but it made all the difference to Lance. He would never make this decision. Never consider for one second climbing onto a motorcycle to ride up a steep, winding road in the dark. But this was different. This was Keith, and he trusted Keith. Trusted that he'd get them up there safely. Trusted him with his life.
"Lance, I don't know," Keith hesitated. Lance heard Keith's doubt, how even if Lance did trust him, Keith wasn't sure he could trust himself. He looked down, at his gloved hands, then back at Lance. "You're already tired, and –"
"Please?" Lance wasn't planning on begging, but it slipped past him before he could help it. Wouldn't Dr. Bolton be surprised to hear that Lance was asking for something, just because he wanted it. Though Greg might have advised him to pick a more appropriate time or thing. But hey, what the hell? It seemed all Lance's dreams were going to come true today. Why not be bold about it?
Keith sagged, and Lance knew he'd submitted in that second. Lance felt the corners of his mouth just beginning to lift in triumph when Keith darted over to him, rapidly slipping one arm around Lance's neck, bringing them close. Lance had forgotten Keith could move so quickly. It almost took his breath away.
"Going to have to build up some resistance to that," Keith muttered, and Lance felt a quiver of pleasure trickle down his backbone. "Damn." Lance allowed himself to grin, even as he cautioned himself to use this newfound power over Keith sparingly for fairness' sake.
"All right," Keith said, switching gears now that he'd given in. "This is just going to take more time, you know. Everything will have to fit in my backpack, and you're wearing my leathers."
"Ok," Lance agreed, not having much idea what he was agreeing to. But he didn't care. Keith shook his head at him, knowing that Lance didn't understand what he'd just signed up for. Somehow, even though Lance was still excited, it was easier to handle the additional preparations. Keith had Lance bring his small pile of belongings into the other room to secure them into Keith's pack. Then he had Lance put on Keith's riding gear over the clothes he was already wearing, a black leather jacket and long pants, both slashed in places with reflective silver. They successfully found the extra helmet.
"Hunk put radios in them," Keith explained, showing Lance how to turn the mechanism on and off and where the volume controls were. "So we'll be able to talk to each other on the way."
Lance admired Hunk's work on the tiny helmet radio, knowing that he should no longer be astonished by how clever his friend was, and yet, every time, he found he had new reason to be impressed. Then he noticed that Keith was still in his T-shirt and jeans and felt suddenly guilty that he'd stolen his riding gear.
"What are you going to wear?" Lance asked. "Won't you get cold?"
"It's still eighty-five degrees outside," Keith pointed out. "And I'm not borderline hypothermic."
Lance nodded, conceding, feeling more than slightly self-conscious that he needed so much to keep him protected from the wind and road. He'd thought for certain that the heat of California would have brought his body temperature back up to an acceptable level by now.
"But I do have this," Keith added, and Lance lifted his eyes in time to see Keith pull a maroon sweatshirt out of his bag. He put it on, and the University of Chicago name and crest spread across his chest. Lance felt something tug on his throat.
"Is . . is that my hoodie?" Lance asked, because he'd been separated from it for so long now that he couldn't be sure. The cuffs were slightly frayed, and it was obvious that it had been through the laundry many times. Some of the lettering on the front had chipped away in places. Keith tucked his hands carefully into the front pocket, bowing his head, looking exactly like he had when he would stand near the hallway or perch on the armrest of Lance's couch in those fragile days of his recovery.
"Yeah," Keith admitted with guilty affection. "Probably about time I gave it back to you."
"No," Lance cut him off. "I wanted you to have it."
Keith shrugged his shoulders forward, like he was hugging the fabric. "It used to smell like you," he remembered. "Then I pretended it still did for the longest time."
Lance stepped close, running his fingertips lightly down what had been the familiar sleeves before tucking his hands gently into the pocket, resting them on top of Keith's gloves, enjoying the freedom of being able to touch him again whenever he liked. He inhaled deeply, remembering the nights after Keith was gone when he had pushed his nose hard into his pillow, trying to find any hint of Keith left on it. The scent that was all over his hoodie now.
"I can fix that for you," Lance offered, and Keith smiled, leaning forward to touch foreheads with him, both of them just breathing the other in, filled with their own memories. "It looks better on you, though."
Keith laughed, a bit of smoke in the sound, and stepped backward from Lance to make some last-minute adjustments on their gear. "Acxa hated when I wore it," he noted dryly. Then he paused, flashing an apologetic glance at Lance. "But then again, she hated everything about you."
"She doesn't know me," Lance shot back, more surprised than defensive. When he'd spoken to her, that one time on the phone, she'd acted as though Keith had never mentioned Lance's name in her presence. How could she know enough about him to hate him? But then again, what little information had it taken for him to hate her?
"Enough to be jealous of you, I guess," Keith explained, guiltily again. "I didn't understand what was going on, but she must have been able to see. Pretty obvious now that I think about it. I mean, I . . talked about you all the time, wore your hoodie, sent you things sometimes. It really bothered her that she couldn't compete with you."
"I thought you said you were never together?" Lance asked, wanting to clarify, though he wasn't sure why.
"We weren't," Keith assured, putting on his backpack and picking up Lance's helmet. "She hated that too."
"How is she?" Lance asked, more from a sense of medical and social obligation than anything else. Keith shrugged again.
"She's still recovering in Germany," he gave the update. "Last I heard she never wanted to talk to me again." He said it casually, but Lance could tell the rejection still stung.
They may have never dated, but they had been partners. They had achieved some level of trust. She had been Keith's wingman, and for a time she had stood at his side, supported him. Taken his phone so no one disturbed him while he slept. She'd done her best. Lance had to give that to her and respect what had been between them. He took the helmet from Keith and put a hand on his arm.
"Whether she talks to you again or not, you know you did everything you could for her," Lance emphasized. "Whatever she feels about it isn't your fault. She's alive because of you." There are two medals in a black flocked box because of you. You didn't do anything wrong.
Keith let out a little gasp, shrugging for all the world like he was a magician trying to vanish under a cloak he wasn't even wearing, his shoulder jerking up and his head bowing down low and away. Still not convinced.
"Sorry," Keith apologized, suddenly unable to look at Lance. "I don't even know why I brought her up. I didn't mean to ruin -"
"Shh," Lance hushed him, knowing that their forty minutes was likely almost up, and Hunk and Pidge could be home any second. But this felt too important not to smooth over before they went out into the night. Keith's uncertainty weighed too much to take with them. "You can talk about Acxa whenever you want, Keith. Talk about her. Talk about everything. I want to hear it all."
Keith glanced up at the assurance and invitation, eyes full of hesitant devotion. Lance saw that despite his military training, his valor, his strength, he was still vulnerable in the same places that he'd always been. Frightened of messing up. Terrified of being left behind. Even now, the confession between them too new to be trusted completely, especially since it had been preceded with so much doubt and secret. But Lance didn't mind proving his commitment. Often and repeatedly for as long as it might take. Now that he'd given himself permission to feel what he had always felt.
"You're something else," Keith whispered, and Lance grinned. He liked it when Keith called him that. It meant he'd touched something in him that didn't always understand but did submit and accept that Lance was speaking truth.
Ready to get going, Lance pushed his head into the snug-fitting helmet, struggling with the chin strap enough that Keith reached in to assist him with the buckle clasp that he couldn't see. The helmet was heavy, making every turn of his head a dedicated effort, a strain on neck muscles that Lance didn't know he had. Keith smacked a gentle palm against the top of the protective plastic when he'd finished, an automatic gesture he'd obviously done many times before. Then it seemed that everything was finally in order to leave the house, heading out to the driveway where Keith's motorcycle was parked right where Lance had first seen it this morning. Just this morning. What a difference a single day could make – in most places in Lance's life. The day he'd met Keith. The birthday when they'd called the space station. The moment Lance punched Spencer. The seconds of connection, hands on hearts.
You ever feel like you're living the moments where everything you were used to is going to be changed forever? The question came from a snow-covered morning in January, a coffee-scented memory. Do you think you can notice things like that when they're happening, or do you think that's something you can only tell after the fact?
Every moment changes something, Lance had answered that question then, still too innocent to really know what he was talking about. Most of them are so small and insignificant that you don't notice, but every so often, choices make big enough changes that you can feel it – you know you're making an altering decision. One that will mean you will never go back to where you were before.
"Last chance to change your mind," Keith offered, pulling the latch strap tight on a saddlebag secured just behind the seat Lance would take on the bike, his backpack tucked inside so neither of them had to wear it. "You sure you want to do this?"
"Absolutely," Lance answered, his voice muffled by the padding in the helmet. Keith pulled the motorcycle around, away from the garage door so there would be room for him to get on it. Lance waited until Keith was in place and the engine had roared to life before stepping up to it. Keith had pulled the foot pegs out for him. He put a hand on Keith's shoulder and one foot on the closest peg, jumping onto the bike the same way he'd seen Allura mount a horse, trying to keep his weight as centered as possible. Keith kept the bike steady as Lance settled into the seat, surprised at how comfortable it was, how secure compared to the Suzuki he'd ridden before.
"You good?" Keith checked, his head turned backward but his voice coming through the helmet radio, clear and perfect.
"Where do I hold on?" Lance asked, noting the lack of really anything resembling a handhold. He spoke louder than he really needed to, forgetting that the microphone was right next to his mouth, and it wasn't necessary to compete with the noise of the engine.
"Wherever you want," Keith responded, though it wasn't a real answer. The bulk of the helmets prevented Lance from getting as close to Keith as he wanted; he couldn't put his arms around his waist like he had with Marco. He settled for clinging to the hoodie at Keith's hips, knowing that a hold that flimsy wouldn't do much if he really needed it, but it was better than no contact at all.
"Here we go," Keith warned him before he lifted his foot and shifted a gear. "Just let the bike move under you. There's a lot of curves on this road."
"Got it," Lance replied, though it came out as sort of a gasp as Keith turned the bike down that long hill and they began to speed up. Keith laughed.
The first part of the journey took them through Altadena, past a turn off for the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, Hahamongna Watershed Park, and a clock tower at a Catholic high school. At each red light, Keith would reach back, patting or rubbing Lance's knee or thigh, a gesture that was as much endearing as it was exciting.
"How far is it to the summit?" Lance asked, wondering if this really was the easiest way to get there. For the moment, they were headed west, away from the mountain. It seemed counterintuitive, but then again, Lance had no idea how to get there. Apparently, since they weren't hiking, this was the most direct route.
"About forty-five minutes, a little less than twenty-five miles," Keith estimated. "Are you doing ok?"
"Yeah," Lance assured. As suspected, the Honda was a much better bike for a passenger than the Suzuki. However, there was a certain strain to Lance's core muscles every time they braked, accelerated, or turned. Not enough to ask to turn around or anything. Mostly Lance had asked because he wanted to already be there.
"Let me know if you need me to stop," Keith emphasized, and Lance pressed his fists into Keith's hips in agreement.
Keith made a final right turn onto the Angeles Crest Highway and suddenly all the city lights winked out at once. They had officially left the city behind them.
The dark rushed in to cover them, leaving only the small headlight to show where they were going. The road started ascending, curving back onto itself and away from civilization. A few turns in and there was no hint that they were anywhere near a single house, much less one of the most populated areas in the United States. It reminded Lance of home, in a surprisingly unsettling way, and he tightened his hold on the hoodie.
Keith didn't say much for this part of the drive, and Lance also kept quiet, thinking that Keith needed all his concentration. He kept a mostly steady speed, despite the frequent hairpin corners they came across, and Lance found himself more than a little impressed. Not only was Keith a better driver than Marco, Keith was a better driver than anyone Lance knew. He couldn't imagine what these skills looked like when transferred to the sky. They had the road mostly to themselves, though every once in a while a car coming down from the opposite direction would appear out of nowhere. Keith would always spur the bike well out of the way as they passed these vehicles, apologizing to Lance for the abrupt change in direction and then explaining that it should never be taken for granted that a car coming around a corner would be in its lane, especially in the dark and especially when they figured they were alone on the road. Lance murmured understanding, though he was increasingly appreciative that Keith was the one handling the bike and that he was such an excellent pilot.
Mostly the scenery consisted of piles of rocks and then the sides of the foothills as they continued going up, but there were some things to break up the monotony of the darkness. Signs indicating turn offs to Dark Canyon, a place called the Pines, Switzer Falls, Colby Canyon. Keith checked in with Lance as they passed the overlooks at Angeles Crest and Cedar to make sure he didn't want to stop for a minute. Each time, Lance told Keith to keep going.
It wasn't that he didn't want to stop, it was more that he didn't want to prolong the journey. At first, riding the motorcycle, holding on to Keith, had been exciting. The night air warm and dry. The lights of the city interesting and pleasant. But up here, going past turn after corner, all of them looking exactly the same because there was only the same wedge of headlight to illuminate the identical edges of the road. Now that they were so far into the isolation of the night highway, it was starting to take its toll. Lance's muscles were aching, his abdomen, his ribs. There was a line of tension in his calves. And through it all he didn't dare shift, knowing that moving his weight could throw Keith off, and he didn't want to cause an accident. So he kept still, even though he was freezing and increasingly sore. It couldn't be much farther.
"Hang in there," Keith encouraged him, as though sensing his discomfort. "You're doing great."
They turned right at a fork at Red Box, past a sign for San Gabriel Peak and the Eaton Saddle Trailhead. The road climbed and climbed to the point that Lance forced one stiff hand off Keith's shirt so he could curl it around his abs. And just when he thought he wouldn't be able to handle one more minute, when he thought he'd have to ask Keith to stop, even though there didn't seem to be any safe spaces to do so, the narrow road suddenly leveled out and the cliff sides broke away, leaving the path in front of them overwhelmingly open. Lance gasped at the change and accidentally knocked helmets with Keith as he unintentionally slumped forward.
After another few minutes and past several enormous broadcasting towers, Keith pulled over to what looked like a parking lot, or at least a long, broad, clear space that could be one. There wasn't a single car. He cut the engine, plunging them both into the pure darkness of the wilderness. Lance's body tingled and twinged with the aftereffects of the running motor as it vibrated out of his system. Keith tossed one leg quickly over his seat and in almost the same motion threw out the kickstand.
Lance struggled off the bike much more clumsily, almost catching his foot as he dragged it over to join his other one. Small sparkling lights in the distance attracted his attention, and he unconsciously started moving towards them, though he didn't get very far. He wasn't used to riding, especially not that long, and the fact that he hadn't fully recovered in the first place all combined into an unsteadiness he was unprepared for. He managed two shaky steps, not in any consistent direction, before his knees buckled on him, dropping him ungracefully in the dirt beside the motorcycle, close enough to it that he could feel the heat coming off the exhaust. It felt good to the point that he wanted to shift closer to it, hold out his hands and relax in the warmth before trying to get up. Any position, even hands and knees on the ground, came as a relief.
"Lance," Keith called his name in alarm, his voice still coming through the helmet radio, sounding strange without the background of the roaring engine.
"Yeah," Lance replied past the ringing dizziness in his ears. It felt like he was still moving. He lifted a heavy hand in what he hoped was a calming wave of assurance. Apparently it didn't translate very well because all of a sudden Keith was skidding to his own knees in front of him, reaching up under Lance's chin to roughly tug at the helmet strap. Lance closed his eyes and reached out to Keith, trying to ground himself as everything spun in a confusing rush of noise from Keith pulling off the helmet. Lance swayed a second once it was tugged free, orienting himself to the fact that he was no longer in motion, willing everything to hold still, blinking. Keith snatched off his own helmet so he could be face to face with Lance again, one of his gloved hands reaching around and palming the back of Lance's neck.
"You ok?" Keith asked, several times, the words coming faster after each repetition. "Lance?"
"Yeah," Lance responded again, and Keith sort of growled at him.
"You sure? Why didn't you tell me you needed a break?"
"Didn't want to take the time," Lance explained, allowing his muscles to unclench. He tried to see past Keith's anxious face, but there wasn't much he could make out. The shadow of a building near them, the skeletal structures of the radio towers. The winking lights in the distance. "Is this it?" He tried to keep his teeth from chattering around the question. It was much colder up here than it had been in the city.
"We're close," Keith promised, gesturing vaguely to his right. "It's just over there. Two more minutes maybe."
Lance tilted his head, confused. Keith hadn't stopped two minutes before their destination to give Lance a break, had he?
"I wanted to show you something," Keith went on. "Think you can stand up?"
Lance began reconnecting his consciousness to his limbs, ready to prove himself capable. Keith pushed himself to his feet in one smooth motion, holding an arm out for Lance, who took a second to just stare at him in wonderment, impressed that he could move so well after the ride. Lance felt as stiff as a corpse.
"I can't believe you drove over thirteen hundred miles on that," Lance acknowledged, a new appreciation for what Keith had done coming to him. Thirteen hundred miles. Lance couldn't stand up after barely twenty-five. Keith's smile was the only thing Lance could see in the dim moonlight.
"Not all in one shot," Keith allowed, still offering his arm. "And I had to build up to it." Lance took hold of his wrist, and Keith hauled him off the ground as easily as if he were picking up his backpack, only a slight twist to his mouth indicating any kind of exertion. He didn't let go even after Lance was on his feet, keeping close and tight in case Lance buckled again, asking him if he was still dizzy. Lance didn't mind.
"What did you want to show me?" He asked, genuinely interested. It wasn't like there was much to see up here, especially not in the dark. Keith smiled, an eagerness in it, and began walking Lance towards the lights. They'd only taken a few steps before a large, flat rock came into view, a man-placed obstacle to block the end of the parking lot so no cars accidentally drove off the edge of the mountain. Keith leaped onto it with his wild, characteristic grace, leaning down again to assist Lance up. Lance wasn't sure he wanted to be any higher than he already was, but Keith was with him, so there couldn't be any danger in it. For the second time, he allowed himself to be pulled, though this time he noticed a wince and made the decision not to let Keith do it again.
Keith eased himself around Lance as though he'd rehearsed how this would look in his mind before they got here, standing at his side, but slightly behind, his arm around Lance's waist for support. With his free hand, he gestured out, and Lance lifted his head from where he was concentrating on his balance to look.
The lights he'd seen came from the cities they'd left behind, twenty-five miles of road and thousands of feet in elevation. They glittered and shifted, brighter in places, scattered in others. Bright yellows and rich golds, blue-white and red. Millions of them stretching on and on. Farther than Lance had ever seen, even from the windows of Everest. Wilder. Fierce and free. It almost made it hard to breathe.
"That's Arcadia," Keith pointed out, his chin over Lance's shoulder. "That patch there is the Santa Anita Racetrack with the Westfield Mall right next to it. And . . and over there is where we were at Caltech, and that's the Rose Bowl."
Lance tried to follow along, identifying the landmarks as Keith named them, but it all blurred together very quickly. All those cities – Altadena, Pasadena, Arcadia, Duarte – all running together with no clear separation from one street to the next. Millions of lives going about their business down there, so far down there. Somewhere in all those lights glowed the one above Hunk and Pidge's front door. The beckoning, elegant glow of the Athenaeum. The tiny lamplight in Dabney Gardens. Lance found that yes, he was still dizzy.
Keith shifted so he could wrap both arms around Lance from behind, pulling him in close.
"It's so beautiful," Lance whispered, overwhelmed in several ways. All those lights. All those lives. And him standing here on top of it all. Just him and Keith.
"I spent a lot of time here last night," Keith confessed, his words warm near Lance's ear. "Thinking about you. Wondering if it would be a good idea to come down. If I could handle seeing you again."
"What were you going to do? Ride thirteen hundred miles and then just turn around?" Lance asked, teasing though there was a chill in it because he knew that Keith would have done it. If he'd allowed his fear to get the better of him, if he hadn't trusted Lance enough. He could have easily run away again. Hunk said it himself – they weren't sure if Keith would be there or not. It had been a surprise for all of them that he'd come down from the mountain, that he'd followed Lance to the garden. Lance reached up to hold onto Keith's arm, remind himself with one more point of contact that Keith was behind him. "I'm so glad you didn't," Lance whispered, and Keith squeezed him gently.
"Me too," he whispered back.
"What made you come?" Lance asked, wondering what the tipping point had been, what had changed from the days when Keith wouldn't answer phone calls to the moment he'd packed a bag to drive across the country. Keith shifted his hand carefully from Lance's waist to his ribcage, a comforting warmth against Lance's mostly healed wound.
"You said you needed me."
"I do," Lance emphasized, staring down at the increasingly blurry lights. "I always have."
"I finally let myself believe it."
Lance leaned backward into Keith, who accommodated him willingly. He didn't know what to say, all he felt was a deep sense of gratitude. Like he'd been given a gift, a precious, unique gift. He really hoped he was worthy of it. He looked down, a strange wave of vertigo hitting him as the height registered for the first time. It suddenly seemed a very good plan to sit down.
"Hey, what?" Keith asked as Lance sank carefully cross-legged on the rock. Keith came with him, kneeling next to him, not letting him go. "Are you feeling ok? Dizzy? Was it the bike? Or -"
"It's high," Lance interrupted, transfixed on the lights, on Keith's hands. And when he said it, he knew he was talking about more than one thing. Two different kinds of balance.
"High?" Keith repeated, sounding unbalanced too, like he didn't understand. He lifted on his knees, stretching past Lance as if to check his vantage point. He leaned so far that it freaked Lance out.
"Don't," he begged, grabbing handfuls of Keith's shirt in order to pull him backward. It was too dark to tell the true incline of what was on the other side of the rock where they were sitting, but judging from the lights, it didn't seem safe to get too close to that edge.
"Ok," Keith soothed, retreating. "It's ok." He continued until he'd pushed himself off the rock completely, safely on the parking lot side. "Let's go," he invited, holding out his arm to assist Lance down. "You look cold."
Lance put his hands on Keith's arm and did his best not to put his entire weight onto it as he hopped down from the rock, but it didn't work very well. Keith caught him, easing the jolt from hitting the ground, and Lance couldn't decipher any strain or discomfort on his face this time, so he let it go. Keith lifted his arm around Lance's shoulders to escort him through the dark back to the motorcycle, familiar enough with the terrain of the area that he needed no light.
"Just a couple more minutes," Keith reminded Lance, who paused next to the bike. "The top shack is just over there."
Lance nodded and put his helmet back on. The motorcycle sounded even louder up here than it had in the driveway, tearing apart the night with light and noise. It wasn't too bad to settle back into the seat after the rest, though Lance had suspicions that he'd probably be sore in very specific places come morning because of it. Keith jumped back on like it was nothing. To him, that was probably true.
Keith took him down what was unmistakably a hiking trail that led from the parking lot. They passed the Cosmic Café, closed and boarded up for the night or possibly the season, surrounded by empty picnic tables. There were trees, towering and strong, but not too thick. When the trail opened again it was to make space for the observatories, hulking white structures topped with massive domes. Keith barely slowed down for them, just steered the motorcycle right through to his destination, a modest utility-like building huddled near the side of one of the observatories. He positioned the bike between them and shut it down again. Two minutes, just like he'd said.
"What is this place?" Lance asked, checking it out as he disentangled himself from the bike, more prepared to keep his balance this time.
"They call it the top shack," Keith answered, watching Lance carefully as he removed the backpack from the saddlebag. "Students use it sometimes when they are doing an overnight or multiple day data collection. But this time of year, it's pretty much abandoned."
Keith handed Lance a flashlight and then led him around to the entrance, asking him to position the beam so he could unlock the door. Lance didn't even ask how Keith had gotten a key to this place, knowing already it was something Hunk or Pidge had given him. Lance just wondered how often Keith stayed up here. He seemed to be quite at home.
Lance wasn't sure what he was expecting when Keith said he was taking him up the mountain. Probably something more like camping. He hadn't anticipated a place with no cell reception to be equipped with electricity, but three naked bulbs flashed on immediately when Keith flipped a switch near the door, revealing the all-too familiar set up of scientists. A rough-hewn wooden table sat on sawhorses under a grimy window, covered in equipment. An old computer, keyboard and mouse, and several of what had to be Hunk's homemade radios. Graph paper notebooks, rulers, discarded pencils and sharpies, and empty red plastic cups littered the table too. And while there was plenty of dust, it didn't have the layers of abandonment that Lance had expected. It may be the off season, but this place seemed to be used at least semi-frequently.
Besides the table, there were a few mis-matched chairs, some folding, some from a dining set. There was a smaller collapsible card table and a brownish-orange couch that looked like it had been fashionable several decades ago but seemed to fit right in with the disorganized wonderment.
"There's kind of a bathroom through there," Keith gestured to a curtained partition across the space from the long table. Lance could barely glimpse what might have been a sink through a gap in it. "You can drink the water, but let it run for a little bit before you do."
While Lance stood still, taking in the details, Keith hovered around, checking things, turning on a well-hidden space heater near the table, his attitude almost nervous. It didn't take long before Lance turned all his attention to Keith, not knowing whether he should feel amused or concerned about his attitude. Mostly Lance felt tired, but he didn't want to rest yet. Didn't know if he could trust things to stay just like this if he fell asleep and broke whatever spell had started on that bench in Dabney.
"Well, it's not the Ritz," Keith noted, almost apologetically, finally running out of things to do and coming to a stop, rather awkwardly, near the radios. His stance touched something in Lance that started a small flood of longing. Damn, the boy was beautiful. "But this is about as private as we can get."
"It's perfect," Lance rushed to assure Keith. He'd attended a dinner with Allura at the Ritz-Carlton, had seen the elegance of the rooms. He'd also slept on a mattress on the floor in a pile with his brothers. By now, he'd learned that the trappings of places weren't consequential – it was the people with him in any location that made it nice or noteworthy. Keith could have taken him anywhere, and it wouldn't have made much difference to Lance. So long as Keith was with him.
Some tension left Keith's shoulders. Some, but not all.
"You can sit down," Keith encouraged, nodding to the couch. "It's clean."
"Did you sleep here last night?" Lance asked, taking the few steps over to the couch so he could sit as directed. Because Keith moved like he lived here.
"Yeah," Keith answered, but then backtracked as though he'd thought better of it. "Sort of." He braced himself on the table, leaning down to open a miniature fridge underneath it that Lance hadn't noticed until now. "Do you want something to drink? There's not a ton of selection, but -"
"Keith," Lance called, and Keith froze right where he was before closing the fridge again and standing slowly, leaning against the edge of the table and folding his arms. "Come here?"
Lance didn't understand why, but Keith was definitely nervous. He wanted to fix that, quickly, because there was so much he wanted to talk about with Keith. So much he wanted to do that required a certain calm, a measure of trust. He held out his hand, which Keith took gingerly as he sat facing him on the couch, each with their backs against opposite sides.
"What's going on with you?" Lance asked him directly. What had changed between the guest room in Altadena and here? "Why are you acting so nervous?" Like you don't know me. "In case you missed it, we survived the drive."
"I don't know," Keith answered, not acknowledging Lance's attempt at a joke, and Lance thought he understood, at least a little. He felt it too. He'd wanted this for so long, felt he couldn't have it for so long. Now that he'd learned it was possible, that it had been all too easy to obtain, it felt delicate. And since it had been so yearned for, he didn't want to do anything to break it. Because it had been many of Lance's unconscious actions and decisions that had made it so hard for them in the first place. "It's stupid."
"It's not stupid," Lance corrected quickly, not wanting Keith to ever talk about himself like that. "You're scared," Lance gave him the word for the emotion he was feeling.
"I'm scared," Keith agreed, quietly.
Lance felt himself soften at the confession, knowing what it took for Keith to say something like that, even as an echo. And what did that mean? Keith piloted a fighter jet, practically raced that motorcycle up here without a second thought, leaned without hesitation over dark, dangerous heights, tore into burning cockpits. How could he do all that and then be frightened of this? This soft and lovely thing that they held in each other's hands. And yet.
"It scares me too," Lance admitted, and Keith lifted his head, eyes large and worried, making Lance wonder if they were talking about the same thing. "Scared I'll do something that will ruin everything."
"You couldn't," Keith stammered, as though he really believed it. As though Lance hadn't done it already. Many times. "There's nothing you could ever . . . I'm the one –" he cut off, biting his lip, pulling his hands together in his lap. Lance saw himself standing in a courtyard, trying to explain why he wasn't the greatest choice of boyfriends in the world. Why he'd be difficult to date. And that was probably true for both of them, but it didn't matter. Because once Lance made choices, he didn't easily change his mind about them. And for this choice in particular, it had been made a long time ago.
"I know who you are, Keith," Lance told him, confidently. On this point, he was more than certain. "I want to be with you."
Keith tilted his head, like he believed that Lance was telling the truth but somehow didn't understand what he was saying. Keith lifted his hand to gently brush his fingertips against Lance's cheek, the first place Keith had ever touched him, though it had been violent. "I want to be with you too," Keith whispered, as though giving a voice to something he wanted might be forbidden.
Lance scooted forward on the couch. He touched his lips against Keith's, a request and invitation, and felt Keith submit to it. Keith's eyes closed as he reached out to hold Lance, maneuvering him closer, his fingers curling around the hem of Lance's sweater while his other hand rested carefully against his face. Kissing him, a deep, meaningful discussion without words.
It's ok that you're scared, Lance told him. I understand. Go ahead and be scared, just don't leave. Stay so I can prove to you that there's no reason to be frightened of this. No reason to run. Stay until you aren't scared anymore. Stay so you don't have to be scared anymore.
Keith covered Lance in heat, breathing it into him. Lance put his hands against Keith's chest, tracing the lettering of the hoodie under his fingers until Keith pulled back just long enough to remove both of his shirts before leaning into Lance again. He gently began to lay Lance back on the couch, something that Lance very much wanted, but Lance's abs and ribs protested the movement with such intensity that he stiffened and whimpered without meaning to.
Keith flew off him in a second, and Lance swore in his head. They'd just been talking about this – how he was going to unintentionally ruin something. Lance shivered, missing Keith's warmth.
"Keith," Lance panted, reaching for him. Come back. "It's ok."
But Keith had already retreated to the table, shaking his head.
"No," he protested. "Lance – we. . . I can't."
"Can't?" Lance repeated, now feeling very cold. What did that mean? Couldn't what? And why? Keith rubbed his hands roughly over his face, grimacing. It occurred to Lance that maybe he was pushing Keith too fast on this. Just because Lance had wanted it for so long didn't mean that Keith felt the same way. In fact, it had been Keith who had paused them each time Lance had started getting too physical. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe he really was that scared. "It's ok if you don't want to."
"No, God, Lance, that's not . . . you have no idea how much I want to."
"In that case . . ." Lance said, trailing off. Keith didn't move, though Lance could see desire in his eyes, even from this distance. Whatever was holding him back, it must be a big deal to him.
"Lance," Keith began, then paused, fighting with himself on what to say or how to say it correctly. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Lobito," Lance started, wanting to dismiss his concern, but Keith didn't let him get very far.
"Don't," Keith stopped him. "You can't tell me that I won't, because I just did, and don't tell me that it's not that bad because I've been watching you all day, Lance, and I know it's probably worse than what I'm seeing because you . . ." he paused for a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. Lance felt himself shrinking too. "You always try to hide it when you're hurting."
Lance stayed quiet; there wasn't a whole lot he could say to defend himself here. Keith had a point. And even though Lance was getting better at communicating things like this, it didn't erase what people expected from him. What he'd conditioned them to expect.
"I'd better call Pidge," Keith said, changing the subject to let Lance process what he'd said, the entire top shack cooling off. "Let her know we made it."
"Ok," Lance agreed, seeing the logic in that, letting Keith out of the conversation. Keith nodded, seemingly relieved that Lance was being so understanding. Keith flipped a switch on one of the radios, powering it on, while Lance looked around the room, disappointed, thinking. He looked down at the couch, realizing that it probably wouldn't have been all that comfortable to continue anyway. Had Keith slept here last night? Really?
"KK6EJK, are you monitoring?" Keith spoke into the radio com, putting the question out into nowhere with the expectation that it would somehow make a connection with the equipment on Pidge's desk when a cell phone couldn't. Lance had missed Keith speaking his own call sign.
"This is KK6EJK," Pidge's voice hissed through the speaker, so quickly that Lance knew she'd only said it because it was the legal requirement to do so. She didn't waste any time afterward. "I can't believe you idiots took the bike!"
"And lived to tell about it," Keith cut her off coolly, unaffected by her tone, which was understandable, she was twenty-five miles down the mountain. But they were going to be reunited tomorrow, and it wasn't like Pidge was going to conveniently forget about this. "We're just checking in to let you know we made it safely."
"How's Lance?"
This question did give Keith pause for consideration. He leaned against the table again, turning to look at Lance, his face a study in worry, guilt, and affection. Lance smiled at him. He was fine. Really. Couldn't they let him be fine?
"He's tired," Keith finally decided on the answer. "Kind of a big day." Somehow, Keith's tone packed so much information into just those few words. The beach, the symposium, the dinner.
"Let him get some rest," Pidge commanded, and Lance watched Keith's muscles tighten, watched the skin around his scar twitch. It brought Lance from the couch, coming to stand close to Keith by the table. Keith held his free arm out, allowing Lance to cuddle into his side for both their comfort. Apparently, snuggling was acceptable. Keith still had his shirt off, allowing Lance to notice the other new scars on his torso. The tears and slits and the tiny reddish pinpricks of all the stitches he'd received after the plane wreck. Lance's incisions were so small in comparison, though they ran deeper.
"We're going to bed now," Keith responded, and Lance thought he'd made it sound purposefully ambiguous just to infuriate Pidge a little.
"Be gentle," Pidge cautioned one more time, and Lance heard Keith's jaw click as he clenched it.
"We're good, Pidge," Lance called over, hoping that the microphone was sensitive enough to pick him up. "Thanks for hooking us up with this place."
"Sure," Pidge said, her voice slightly warmer talking to Lance. "Should be cozy up there for you."
"We'll see you tomorrow," Lance said, as a promise and a farewell. "Say good-night to Hunk if he isn't right there with you."
"I'm here," Hunk called out good-naturedly. "Glad you guys made it. Everything's ok up there? Is it warm enough?"
"Yeah," Lance said quickly. "It's amazing up here."
"Good," Hunk replied. "We'll keep the system running all night, so if you need anything you can call. Keith, the list of frequencies should still be right there. Sierra Madre uses channel thirty-eight if you need to page them."
"Thanks," Keith said absently while Lance looked over the table for the list Hunk was talking about. If it was there, he couldn't see it, but he couldn't imagine why it would be necessary.
"We're ok, Hunk," Lance reassured.
"I know," Hunk replied, and Lance felt Keith finally relax.
"KK6EJK standing by," Pidge ended. Keith signed off right behind her and then shut down the radio.
"Who's Sierra Madre?" Lance asked, trying to find something to say, some way to ease into what he actually wanted to talk about. What he sensed Keith wanted to talk about. Because that conversation, and the one before it, had been awkward. There should be nothing awkward between them anymore. The corners of Keith's mouth lifted slightly.
"Sierra Madre Search and Rescue," Keith answered, then darkened again. "What the hell do they all think I'm going to do to you?" He muttered.
"They've been on the overprotective side lately," Lance said, a bitterness to his own voice. Pidge. Angelique.
"I get that," Keith said, "What I don't get is why they think they have to protect you from me."
"They don't," Lance jumped in, even though he'd just listened to it for himself. "I think it's more-" he paused, not knowing how to put what he was thinking into words. "It's more of the same," he finished, though he knew that wouldn't make much sense.
"Lance?" Keith asked, checking on him. Lance wanted to hide his face against Keith, who still had his arm around him. It felt so safe. Safe enough to speak.
"I always pretend everything's fine when it's not," Lance quoted Allura, his voice soft enough he didn't know if Keith could hear him. "That's what Allura told me once. And it's true. That's what I do. And you all know it; I don't hide it very well – so why wouldn't they be overprotective?"
"Lance, none of this is your fault; you can stop," Keith offered, pushing him gently into one of the chairs. "It's been a long day; you're tired. Just . . I'm going to pull out the bed, ok?"
Keith left his side to busy himself with the couch. He started pulling the cushions off it, revealing a fold-out mattress. Lance noticed it already had bedding on it. Maybe Keith really had slept here last night. Lance watched Keith move, watched him adjust the blanket and pull a couple of pillows out of a chest in a corner. He watched his hands and his face, then sighed and decided to open something between them as best he could. Maybe it would work, but even if it didn't, he thought it would be better than where they were now.
"Keith," he called.
"Yeah?" Keith asked, turning his full attention to him.
"I want to be honest with you," Lance said, hoping Keith could hear how much he meant it. I want to be honest with myself. Keith smiled, but he looked rather worried. Lance couldn't blame him, that had come out rather ominously.
"I'd appreciate that," Keith responded, keeping his voice neutral.
"I don't do it on purpose," Lance defended. Keith paused with the bed, blinking at him. "The . . the hiding. The pretending everything's fine. Most of the time, I really believe that it's not that bad. That I can just push through whatever it is without bothering anyone. I don't think it's worth wasting anyone else's time. I don't want anyone to have to take care of me."
"You realize that's exactly what I want to do, right?" Keith inserted, and Lance smiled. "And you're not a waste of time. Never."
"I appreciate that," Lance acknowledged. "And . . . coming from you, it's different. It's . . . nice. I don't mind when it's you."
"Good," Keith said, though he still sounded a little confused.
"I want to tell you things," Lance admitted. "Tell you everything. I want to, but I can't promise that I won't go back to what I've always known. It has nothing to do with you, how I feel about you, how much I trust you. It's all on me. Sometimes I can't tell when I'm doing it. I don't know how long it'll take, but believe me that I am working on it."
Keith unlaced his boots, kicking them off so he could sit cross-legged on the bed, keeping quiet as he went over Lance's words, considering them carefully. With one gloved hand, he reached out to pat the space in front of him, inviting Lance to come sit with him. Lance didn't need to be told twice, settling himself eagerly with Keith on the mattress.
"I believe you," Keith accepted, and Lance smiled in relief. At least, for a few seconds before Keith continued. "But let's try it out. What have you been hiding?"
"Kind of already told you the biggest secrets," Lance quipped, then shook his head at himself. He'd literally just said he was trying not to do that. But then again, this was probably the most ingrained of all his conditioned responses, and humor had always been his best defense. "Wait, I know that's not what you're asking."
"I'm talking about physically," Keith clarified patiently. "How are you doing? How did I hurt you?"
"It's not bad," Lance prefaced, and Keith's mouth twisted. "My ribs," Lance amended quickly. "They were bruised, and that's a slow healing thing. They don't hurt all the time, but unexpected pressure or certain movements can be pretty sharp." He paused to pull off his sweater and the long-sleeved T-shirt he wore underneath. He winced slightly as he sat up straighter in order to show Keith the incision scars, going into a little more detail about what they meant and what they'd done to him. The dizziness. The way he got tired so quickly. The near-constant chills. He was as specific as possible in hopes that Keith would feel safe enough to reciprocate when he was finished, open up about what Lance had already noticed. He showed Keith where he was most sensitive at the moment, and where it was ok to touch. He shuddered when Keith leaned forward, lightly tracing the scars, running his fingers along Lance's ribs, still too prominent.
"So if we were to," Keith broke off, but Lance knew what he was asking, and he was glad that Keith was still considering it. "Would it hurt you?"
"I don't think so," Lance promised, beginning to hope. "Not seriously enough to worry about."
"Ok," Keith accepted, watching Lance softly. "Thank you. For telling me. It wasn't too hard, was it?"
Lance opened his mouth, but then paused. There was something he wanted to ask Keith, and now seemed to be the right time. They were on topic, sort of. There was a chance that Keith would see it as a way to deflect, and Lance didn't want to jeopardize any progress they'd made by pushing him. But Keith had already seen the question on Lance's face.
"What is it?" Keith invited.
"I," Lance wondered how he should word this. Keith waited, calm. "No, it wasn't hard. Not anymore . . . with you."
"But?" Keith prompted, sensing that Lance wasn't finished yet.
"But I think it's your turn now," Lance suggested gently.
"My turn?" Keith asked, confused again. Maybe guarded. "For what?"
Lance sighed; he'd wanted Keith to volunteer this information on his own, especially after Lance had just shown him that it was all right. But maybe he couldn't unless Lance asked first. Keith said he'd been watching Lance all day. Just like Lance had been watching Keith. And they'd both noticed.
"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," Lance began, giving Keith space so he wouldn't feel trapped. "But I was hoping you'd let me know what's wrong with your hands."
Keith immediately drew them back, which was almost comical. It wasn't as though he could hide the black gloves against his naked chest. He looked up at Lance, his expression tight, and Lance nodded. Apparently, it was a lot easier to demand a report from Lance than to give one on himself. But he'd always been like that. Similar to Lance in so many ways.
"You don't have to," Lance reminded him, almost regretting that he'd brought it up. "But I don't want to hurt you either."
Keith looked conflicted, knowing that it wasn't fair for him to make Lance answer to his wounds while he was hiding his. But for all that Lance had a hard time with this, Keith was even worse. Keith slowly lowered his hands to his lap, his jaw working without making a sound, as though he were trying to answer and couldn't manage it. Instead of talking, he started undoing the straps of the gloves, struggling with it to the point that Lance decided to step in.
"Keith, can I?"
Keith nodded much faster than Lance expected, transferring his hands from his lap to Lance's. Then he closed his eyes, bowing his head, as though waiting for it all to be over.
Lance had a guess about Keith's gloves and what they meant. When he'd first seen them this morning, he'd thought that they were riding gloves that Keith hadn't removed yet. But when he never took them off. When he made it a point not to get wet. When he winced.
"They are compression gloves," Lance confirmed out loud. He should have known. In fact, he had known. The cockpit had been on fire. Keith had torn into it to get Acxa out. And burned his hands.
Lance removed the snug-fitting gloves carefully, not sure what sort of damage they were hiding. He was relieved to see the healing skin. No signs of grafts. But the scars. The scars on the backs of Keith's hands were hot to the touch, raised, and a deep purplish red. Hypertrophic burn scars.
"Do they hurt?" Lance asked quietly, inspecting the palms, which weren't nearly as affected. There was some slight puckering of the skin around the pad of his right thumb, but that was all.
"Sometimes," Keith replied, biting off the word like he wanted to get it out as quickly as possible. "Mostly they're stiff." He sounded disgusted. And suddenly Lance understood. Keith hadn't been hiding this from Lance; it was something he couldn't bear to look at himself. Even talking about it was causing a reaction for him. Lance could feel Keith's hands start to tremble in his own.
But Lance wasn't finished with them yet. Hypertrophic scars, especially new ones like these, needed treatment. In time, months or even years from now, they would flatten out and lose most of the disturbing color. But to make sure that they didn't steal any of Keith's dexterity, the hands needed to be stretched and moisturized, several times a day. Surely, Keith had been told this. Certainly, Keith was doing this? Though it probably bothered him – triggering memories every time he looked at them. He still wasn't, Lance noticed. Keith had his eyes closed, his head turned away.
"What do you put on them?" Lance asked, wondering if this was something he would be allowed to do. "Did you bring it with you?"
"Yeah," Keith said, beginning to withdraw so he could get up, but Lance held him still.
"No, let me," Lance offered quietly. "If that's all right?"
"Yes," Keith answered, sounding emotional about it. Lance gently placed Keith's hands on the blanket so he could find the backpack. He dug around for a minute before locating the tube of moisturizer. He noted the brand with approval. It was exactly what he would have recommended.
For a second, he thought of warming the gel with his fingers before putting it on Keith's skin, but then remembered how hot the scars had felt and applied it directly, allowing the coolness of it to soothe the damaged area. He saw Keith's eyebrows twitch together in concentration, but he didn't move anything else. Lance began carefully smoothing the moisturizer into the skin, first one hand and then the other, monitoring Keith the entire time, relieved that he seemed to be relaxed.
Once he was satisfied that he didn't need any more gel for the time being, Lance began to stretch the hand. Pulling on individual fingers, twisting the wrist. Keith groaned, leaning forward.
"Doing ok?" Lance checked him.
"Yeah," Keith said. "It . . it feels good when you do it."
"Then I'll do it from now on," Lance promised, and Keith looked like he might cry.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Keith whispered, but Lance didn't know what he meant. Keith sounded so sad. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you this time."
"What makes you think you aren't?" Lance said, continuing his administrations to Keith's hands. Keith had been nothing but attentive to Lance all day. Making him coffee, getting him food. Checking on him over and over. Holding him up when he lost his balance. "Why can't we take care of each other at the same time?"
"Ok," Keith agreed, breaking down a little bit more. How long had he been holding this back? Trying to be strong for Lance. They really were the same. Keith's hand twitched in Lance's, and Lance cocked his head to the side, redoing the movement that had caused it.
"Keith, did anyone talk to you about nerve damage?"
That was the question that really did break Keith. He choked, bowing his head so low that it almost touched the bed, his hands and shoulders shaking. Apparently the answer was yes. But how bad? Lance tried to think, remembering Keith catching car keys, pouring coffee, driving – fumbling with the carnation. Lance's eye flashed to the red bracelet on his wrist. Had making it really been therapy? Or an assessment?
"They aren't going to let me fly again," Keith finally managed, and Lance sucked in a quick breath. Part of him was grateful for this news. If Keith wasn't flying, he was less likely to be in danger. But Lance knew what flying meant to him. He wasn't sure what to say, so he opted for nothing. Instead he kissed Keith's hands and then replaced the gloves, knowing that they should be worn twenty-three out of every twenty-four hours to be effective, and also knowing that Keith would want the scars hidden before he'd open his eyes.
Still silent, Lance tugged on Keith, pulling him down on the bed, covering them with the blanket, the plan for the night completely changed. Lance just wanted to hold him, be close to him. Feel his heat and his heart. Feel his life next to him. Keith murmured something that could have been an apology, but Lance just shook his head, allowing Keith to cling to him, head resting in the hollow of Lance's shoulder. For a second, Lance thought about turning off the lights, but didn't want to move, didn't want to disturb the position.
"I'm here," Lance whispered, hoping it would give any kind of comfort. "It'll all work out," he went on, though he didn't know how. The important thing was they were together. They could work through anything together. Look at all they'd already gone through. Lance felt Keith gently kiss his chest, near the incision site. "It's going to be ok."
He didn't know he'd fallen asleep until he woke up with a start. It was dark; the lights turned off, and when Lance registered that difference from when he'd gone to sleep, he immediately turned toward where Keith was supposed to be sleeping at his side. Except he wasn't. Lance jerked upright, frantically scanning around as though he could see anything. He ended up clenching his teeth around a moan, holding onto his ribs and cursing himself for never remembering to not move like that.
"Lance," Keith's voice came out of the dark, thankfully not very far away. He was still here. He hadn't disappeared. Lance blinked, trying to see, and eventually Keith's silhouette did come into focus, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. You ok?"
"Moved too fast," Lance explained, sitting up more slowly. "What about you? Why are you awake?"
Keith gave a short, bitter laugh. "I don't sleep much," he said, and Lance could guess why. He felt an overwhelming gush of pity clog up his throat, but he didn't think Keith would want to hear any of it. Keith laughed again. "God, you deserve better. I'm a fucking wreck."
Now Lance was all the way awake. He reached out for Keith, just touching his fingertips to his back. "Just so you know," he said, inwardly praying he'd say the right thing. "I said pretty much the exact same thing to Hunk this morning. Or . . yesterday . . . what time is it?"
Keith turned to look at him, his eyes barely visible. Lance couldn't read his face. Could Keith see anything? "Lance . . . being with me . . it'll be like this. Worse than this. I . . have nightmares; I talk in my sleep."
"I know," Lance said, his voice surprisingly casual for the weight of Keith's words. But it was true. The first night he'd ever spent with Keith had been like that. And the next. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle. "You've done that since I met you." Lance pushed himself up on his knees, scooting in behind Keith so he could put his arms around him. Keith was hot, as usual, and tense. Lance kissed his shoulder blade. "It's not a deal breaker for me."
Keith put a hand over Lance's at his chest. "It's not fair for you."
"Trust me, the pros far outweigh the cons," Lance emphasized. Let me accept you, Keith. Stop pushing at this, testing this. After all we've been through, there is nothing that would make me leave. "I still choose you, Keith. No matter what. Now, what happened? Did you have a nightmare?" Let's get a protocol in place for nights like this, since we both know we're going to have them. Keith shuddered, answering Lance's question without speaking.
"I don't think I can . . ."
"I understand," Lance assured. "You don't have to tell me." They paused for a few minutes, not moving or speaking. Just being with each other until Lance thought he'd go a little deeper. "Do you remember the night I came home from the plasma center covered in blood?"
"Yes," Keith said.
"And the days after my ambulance shifts?"
"I . . yes."
"When I was too tired to function and completely useless?"
"Lance."
"Because it still happens," Lance explained. "I'll be starting work and school again in January. It'll be better. . . . for lots of reasons, but there are going to be days when I come home and won't be able to say a word to you. I won't be able to do anything except shake. It was something I hid from Allura. From Hunk and Pidge too."
"You better not," Keith threatened, and Lance smiled in the dark, content with how this conversation was going, despite the topic.
"The point is, you and me? We've both got things we're dealing with. Heavy issues we're carrying. I want to help you with yours. And you make mine easier to handle just because you're here with me. There is no one else I would rather be with. No one I trust more. I love you, Keith. All of you. Exactly the way you are. And the only thing I want from you is to stay. Stay with me through everything."
"That's what you want?" Keith asked.
"More than anything."
Keith turned, wrapping Lance up in his arms. "That's what I want too."
Lance laid down, and Keith came with him, kissing him in the hollow of his throat, his jawline, his lips. "I need you, corazón," he whispered.
"I'm here," Lance promised right before Keith kissed him again. Keith stroked his face, his chest, his hands gently hesitant in places until Lance guided them, pressing them closer. It no longer felt dark in the room. Or cold. Keith's fingers tugged at the waistband of Lance's scrubs, and he lifted his hips to assist.
"This is ok?" Keith checked, heat near his ear.
"Yes," Lance agreed, his voice just a breath. "More than ok." This is exactly what I've always wanted, even when I didn't think I deserved to want it.
"Tell me if you need me to stop."
But that wasn't necessary. Not the first time. Or the second. Dawn was just graying out the corners of the room by the time they finally finished, lying once again tight in each other's arms, contentedly exhausted. Lance was half asleep, but he kicked his leg out from under the blanket, causing Keith to stir.
"All right?" he asked, sleepily.
"It's hot," Lance murmured.
Author's Note: Oh my goodness, these broken boys; I love them so much. I could probably keep writing them forever, but . . . really . . .How far do we want to go? Like – do you even want anymore? Is this the end? I'm not sure. An epilogue I think will do it. Ten years from this night. Fifteen? What do you want to see?
I think we should have a Christmas party at Allura's parents' place. Yes?
