Trigger Warning: More flashbacks of narcissistic abuse in this chapter.

CHAPTER TEN

The next morning, I awoke an hour before my alarm usually went off. I showered slowly, taking the time to shave and do a good job of getting clean. Then, I brushed my hair and moisturized as usual, feeling strangely calm.

I was already packed and had set out clothes already, too. A gray ribbed tank top–one that wasn't sweat-stained yet–and a pair of light blue jean shorts hung over the end of the bed, and I slipped them on with a pair of crew socks and my white sneakers.

As I sat on the edge of the bed, chowing down on a granola bar, I wondered if I should change–into pants, maybe. After all, I'd already learned about cacti the hard way at the barbecue. But, I also fully intended to show Keith how deep I could tan, and in the end, I decided against it.

It was 5:00 when I grabbed my duffel and went to meet him on the tarmac. The sun was rising, and a layer of dampness coated the asphalt. At first, I didn't see him, but after walking a while, I found him on the far side, next to an open gate, his ancient hoverbike sitting cold on the other side.

"Hey," I said.

He looked up, and his eyes widened, a smile blooming across his face as he pulled on a pair of black fingerless gloves. I smiled, too, and mine was just as big. My first date. My first date with Keith.

"Hey, Rí," he replied and reached out for my duffel bag.

I shook my head.

"I'll put it on my back," I said, pointing to the open compartments on the back of his bike with my eyes. They were already nearly overflowing with food and bottles of water. "It's pretty tight in there."

Keith grasped my hand instead, and my eyes flew open as he pulled me in and gave me a bit of a squeeze as if I was one of his male friends. It wasn't hard, and it was brief, but my heart started to race as I caught a whiff of the warm skin of his neck.

When he pulled back, my cheeks were scorching, and I lifted my shoulders toward my ears, rolling my lips. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out but a weird croak; my entire body resonated with some unheard tone, and he chuckled, but not in a mean way. It was amused and knowing, and my stomach flip-flopped.

"Hey," I finally managed to protest, but my voice was soft, and he didn't hear me.

He'd turned back to the bike, closing the compartments. I watched silently as he tied a small bundle to the back, its strap tightening over them. I was already so overwhelmed; how was I going to cope with being on that bike with him, right up against his back? With his scent in my nose and his warmth under my hands?

Keith swung his leg over the seat, planted his feet on the dusty ground, and motioned for me. I started forward hesitantly, stumbling a little as I swung my own leg over. Once I was on, my feet tucked into the bike, I didn't know what to do. My hands hovered over his shoulders, then sank to his waist, then rose to his shoulders again before sinking back down.

Oh, god. How the fuck was I going to do this? A date? I'd never been on a date before. I'd never even seen a date. I had no clue what was expected of me, and I could feel myself freezing up and starting to panic at the same time. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad.

"Where?" I asked dumbly.

Keith's fingers found mine and gently pulled my arms around his waist. I paused, then curled my fingers into his shirt. But what was I supposed to do with my head? Was I supposed to lean in? Stay sitting up? Which would help him drive easier? If I were closer, he could lean and just take me with him, right?

I leaned forward and pressed my cheek against his shoulder, my entire body tense. What if I was doing the wrong thing? What if this was too much, too fast? We hadn't even gone anywhere yet.

"Is this okay?"

My voice sounded small, almost childlike. It trembled, and I felt the prick of tears in my eyes. I blinked them away, and as I did, Keith raised his hand off the handlebar and ruffled my hair, messing up my bangs.

"Relax," he said. "you'll be fine."

Then, he started the engine.

The wind was loud on the back of the bike, and it rattled. As we left the Garrison, going deeper into the desert, I kept my eyes closed. It was a long time before I calmed down enough to open them and peek over Keith's shoulder. But when I did, my eyebrows rose.

Rocky hills had fallen away to flat, dusty ground, and buttes and rocky canyons rose around us. The buttes were bigger up close than I'd thought they'd be, and I gaped at one as we passed, feeling the cool inside its shadow keenly in the growing heat.

The wind roared in our ears, making it too noisy to hold up a conversation. Sometimes, Keith called out to me, pointing his finger at something or another while I stared from behind him, my cheek pasted to his sweaty shoulder.

"That's a javelina," he said, pointing to a bristly, boar-like creature that ran for its life as we approached. "They'll eat pretty much anything."

"That's a saguaro–the cactus, there. They're huge, but they grow really slow."

"That was a flash flood. See the mess of sticks and junk it left?"

"Oh," He said finally, staring at a ragged hole in the side of a canyon we'd just entered. "That's one of the lion caves."

He lowered his hand to the handlebars and veered the bike off the path we'd been following, turning a wide U back toward the cave he'd pointed out. Bringing us to a slow stop next to a boulder, he stared at the opening for a moment before turning off the engine, leaving it tick-tick-ticking as it started to cool.

"This is it?" I asked. "That cave you mentioned that night on the rooftop?"

"It isn't the only one," Keith said, getting off and helping me to my wobbly feet. "Before the war, there was a whole network of them out here."

He started toward the entrance, and I followed behind with a quirked eyebrow, lunging into my steps in an attempt to return blood flow in my legs. Ahead of me, Keith put one hand on the rock around the cave's opening, peering in. Then, he stepped inside.

I followed him. The air inside the cave was refreshingly cool, and I could feel the layer of sweat coating my forehead. Underneath my sneakers was moist dirt, but when I scuffed my foot, there was rock directly beneath it. It was like the nature version of a basement carpet.

Keith turned and pinned me with his gaze as I followed him deeper into the cave. In the low light, his eyes were black.

"Can I ask you something?" Keith said. "Like what you asked me in the gym?"

Blinking twice, I turned to look at him, but he looked away, rubbing his neck. He looked nervous, and I didn't know why, so I offered him what I hoped was a comforting smile.

"Shoot," I said, mimicking his response from then.

Despite his sudden seriousness, a smile curled his lips. But then, too quickly, it melted away. What was on his mind? I looked down as I flipped through my memories, trying to remember everything he'd said about this place, but all I could remember was that there were carvings of lions.

"You don't remember Voltron?" He asked, and I looked up. "Or us? Y'know–" He tipped his head, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed. "Hunk, Lance, Pidge, and me."

I blinked twice. I did remember Voltron; during the war, after Earth had been liberated from Galra control, they'd taken me to a field hospital to get checked out.

There, there'd been a broadcast on the dinky little TV. The new admiral and commander of the Atlas had been talking, and there'd been a big robot–the Voltron–standing over it all. But, before he'd finished his speech, the nurse had called me. I'd never gotten to see the rest because they'd been so worried by what I said they'd sectioned me.

"Who's Pidge?"

"Katie," He said. "Careful, there's a big hole here."

We stopped at the edge of it, looking down into a darkness that made the inside of the cave seem like it was just a little dim. It led elsewhere but was too steep to climb down without equipment. Notch-like carvings in the wall reflected some of the light from the entrance, and Keith watched as I reached out, running my fingers over the blocky shapes of a lion. They made it look almost robotic.

"I–" I swallowed. "–I remember the Voltron, but I never knew much about it to begin with." I pulled back my hand, rubbing the dust between my fingertips. "The Galra blew up 343 during the battle, and though I managed to save the mobile unit, I'd still gotten roughed up a few times since. I thought my parents were dead, and then I found out they just hadn't contacted me. All that, with the Voltron and the broadcasts–they felt so far away."

I shook my head.

"I was already struggling to keep it all straight and keep one foot in front of the other. So, I wasn't really paying attention. Whatever you guys had to do with that Voltron thing… I don't know, I'm sorry. It sounds important."

Keith stepped forward, reaching out to touch the carvings over my shoulder. I watched as his fingers touched the face of the lion. It was… almost loving. Not just a touch, but a caress.

"We piloted them–" he said, pulling back and looking at me. His eyes no longer held any hint of worry, and I exhaled in relief. "–The lions. And, down there–" He pointed to the hole, and I turned to look. "–is where we found the Blue Lion, before the war. It was wrapped in a force field, but it let us in and took us to Arus. Then, we found Allura and Coran, and she made us paladins."

"Paladins?" I asked, turning back to him with a smile on my lips. "Like, full on sword and board holy warrior, on a crusade to stomp out evil in all its nefarious forms?"

Keith bit his lip, and I smiled even wider.

"Kind of?" He said.

"Well, Paladin," I said, lowering my voice and holding his gaze. "Are you going to whisk me away, take me somewhere far away from here?"

"Maybe," Keith said, staring into my eyes. I felt my heart begin to race, but then, the shy smile he'd been wearing disappeared. "But only if you want me to."

I stared at him, completely silent. He could've just been trying to be considerate, but the lines that appeared around his eyes told me he wasn't. They were the same lines I'd seen when he told me he wasn't the one married to Shiro, and they screamed. I bit my lip so hard it hurt. I hated when he made that face.

Quickly, before I could doubt myself, I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tight. Keith stiffened, his chest expanding as he sucked in a breath. But then, I felt him exhale.

Slowly, as if still unsure, he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed back.

After a while, we left the lion cave without much in the way of words and got back on the bike. When we shot out of the canyon into the wastes beyond, the sun's heat hit me like a battering ram. As we roared through the desolate, monotonous landscape, sweat beaded on my skin, leaving every inch of my slick and sticky.

If Keith noticed, he didn't say anything. His back was just as damp, and as he weaved the bike around rocky outcroppings and beard-like clusters of cacti, I could feel him, solid against my chest. Another person. Another human being.

I frowned into his shoulder, bouncing my leg against the bike. But, even as I yearned to get off and stretch my legs, I knew it wasn't just that. Touching him felt good, and good things didn't last. I couldn't keep good things; they were always, eventually, taken away.

"About what I promised you," my teacher said, prompting me to look up.

We were alone in the classroom, the playful screams of the other 2nd graders filtering in through the windows. In front of me, on my desk, was my math homework. I was inside at lunch because I hadn't done it; it'd been too hard.

She'd told me to ask my father for help, and I'd tried, but when I didn't get what to do with the carried number right away, he'd yelled, and I'd cried, and by the time I calmed down, it was ten o'clock, and I had a headache.

When I told her I'd had a headache, halting and skipping over the rest, she just stared at me as if I'd just told her the dog my parents wouldn't get me had scarfed down my homework with a side of french fries. No one ever believed me.

"What?" I said, voice quiet with apprehension.

What was she going to do now?

"I'm not doing that anymore," She said, and I hung my head, tears stinging my eyes. "You haven't been good. You don't do your homework; you don't deserve it."

The image shifted, and I felt myself breathe in, feeling something solid against my chest but unaware of what was happening around me.

"Why do other kids get an allowance, and I don't?" I asked.

Winding up, I kicked the edge of the dishwasher, and my mother turned away from the sink and whipped my arm with the towel. My eyes flew wide, and I took a stunned step back. It stung like a bee, and I held the pink mark it left behind.

Tears filled my eyes, but she didn't care. She looked at me with a flat, resentful expression–she hated me. Everyone hated me, even my own parents. Nobody else's parents hated them, but mine did. I sobbed, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Because you don't deserve one," She said. "You're too old to be acting like this–"

"Hey," a voice said, right in my face.

I blinked twice and squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in a breath. My head was spinning, but I could feel that we were no longer moving. What happened?

"Rí?" Keith asked.

I opened my eyes. He was sitting sideways on the bike, looking back at me. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes dug into me, questioning me. How long had I just been sitting here?

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head in an attempt to clear the cotton from inside it. Before I could stop myself, my mouth opened again. "There was too much noise and not enough going on; I started to remember things."

Keith stood up and unstrapped the bag on the back of the bike, lowering it down onto the ground. As it landed, it kicked up a puff of dust. I looked around; we were on the top of a hill, the desert stretching out all around us.

"From the war?" he asked, looking at me from the corner of his eye as he opened one of the back compartments and pulled out two water bottles.

I looked down at my legs, still nestled into the bike's sides, then got up. My legs were wobbly from the bike's vibrations, and I stretched, raising my hands above my head.

But it wasn't just being stiff. There were a thousand places that question could lead, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to tell Keith about my parents yet. After all, we'd only known each other for a few weeks. This was our first date, and I was messing it up by having flashbacks. We were supposed to be gazing into each other's eyes or something.

Not to mention that if I started info dumping about my family, not only would I never be able to stop, but he'd know I was damaged. That I was broken. Would he still say he likes me back if he knew I had carnivorous skeletons tearing chunks out of me every time I even tried to go close to the closet? Wouldn't he be afraid of getting close, too?

"From before?" I said, offering him a forced smile. "I don't know. Where are we, K? It's pretty."

I turned back to the hill, with its deep blue sky and rusty, scrub-covered hills. Before me, in the center of a relatively flat area, was an old ring of rocks. Atop them sat an old beer bottle, its label faded and its glass covered in water stains.

Keith walked up beside me and offered me a water bottle. I took it without looking at him, trying to ignore how his fingers lingered on mine. Unscrewing the cap, I took a swig. The water was warm, but as I drank it down, the cotton-like fuzziness in my head started to dissolve away. All too soon, the lovely liquid was gone.

After a while, I felt Keith's elbow. First tentatively, then deeper, pressing into my side. I bumped him back, and he leaned in, so his jaw nearly touched my temple, pointing a finger.

"That's… Dad's shack," he said. "It's small; you can't really see it from here."

I stared at the dark smudge he was pointing to, scared to breathe. In the sun, the heat of his body was scorching, but I didn't care. My chest ached, my fingers twitching against the water bottle, and tears stung my eyes. I hurried to blink them away, every muscle in my body tensing as I resisted the urge to lean away from him. I wanted this. I wanted this.

"It must've been great," I said. "All the way out here, all this land and all these places to explore. No neighborly disputes. No passive-aggressive 'smile, you're on camera!' signs. No muffled rap music in the middle of the night."

Keith turned, eyeing me with one brow raised.

"Rap music?"

"Yeah," I said, motioning with my hands. "Like, when you're laying in bed, and someone drives past, but they've got their stereo going so loud that you can hear it through their closed windows. Oh, and they happen to be a dingus."

"Oh," he said, his lip twitching.

I smiled in response, and the twitch turned into a smile of his own.

"Yeah, no rap music," he said.

Together, Keith and I unpacked and set up a tent. While he started unpacking the other supplies, I grabbed the shovel off the side of his bike and dug the fire pit deeper.

"What're you doing?" He asked as he passed.

"If we're going to camp," I said, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. "I don't want to cook on a portacue."

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. Once I'd gotten the pit deep enough that it could gather more than a few coals, I skipped over to him and scooped up a few bundles, trailing after him as I kicked my feet out in front of me.

"Quack," I joked.

He smiled, but he also looked back, an eyebrow raised.

"You don't have to help."

I raised my brows, one corner of my mouth pulling up.

"Wha–t?" I said. "This ain't a free ride."

"It's y'ain't," he snapped back, a wicked grin on his face, and I burst out laughing.

My voice echoed, probably disturbing every animal without a thousand-mile radius, but I couldn't stop. We set our loads down, and I crouched in the dust, overcome by my own amusement.

"As in 'you are not?'" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, giving me another thin-lipped grin as he plopped down next to me, kicking up dirt with his heels. "If you're gonna camp, speak like a local."

He was looking at me, his eyes wide and bright, and I felt my chest fill up. It was tight in there, and I forced myself to breathe in because otherwise, I wouldn't have.

Closing my eyes, I exhaled. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this way–middle school, maybe? After a certain point, this feeling had just meant danger. Inevitable hurt and humiliation. But, it felt good to like someone again. Really, really good.

"I wouldn't mind speaking like you," I said, then headed back for another load, leaving him blinking after me.

It was only mid-afternoon when we found ourselves with nothing more to do. Between the limitations of Keith's hoverbike's storage and us competing to see who could do more, we'd unpacked and set everything up in no time at all.

Unzipping the tent, I collapsed inside the cool shade, my clothes damp and my skin wet. I breathed breath after breath of tent-scented air, only opening my eyes when Keith crawled in after me, zipping the entrance behind him.

"Oof," he said, sinking down beside me on the sleeping bags and rolling onto his back.

"This is so good," I said, closing my eyes again.

Beneath the sleeping bags and foam pads was hard, stony ground, but in that moment, it felt as comfortable as a feather bed.

"Just wait til the sun starts going down."

"Yeah?"

"The heat's not so bad," Keith said, sighing. "And the sky gets pretty."

In my mind's eye, I saw him from behind, from where I'd come upon him on the rooftop weeks ago. Was that what he'd been doing up there? Watching the sky?

"You want to watch the sunset?" I asked.

Keith glanced at me, then turned over to his side, so he was facing me, his legging-clad knees against my stomach.

"My line," he replied.

"That's not what I meant," I said, watching his hair leak over his neck and pool atop the sleeping bag. "That night, on the rooftop. You were up there watching the sunset, right?"

He looked at me for a moment that seemed to last forever, then frowned and turned onto his back again, reaching up toward the tent's roof with one hand.

"Not really," He said. "That day was a lot."

I exhaled, sinking deeper into the sleeping bag. A lot could mean anything, but should I ask? Did he want me to ask? Or would I be bringing up something he didn't want to talk about, like when he'd asked me if I was having flashbacks about the war?

"A lot?" I asked anyway.

Keith lowered his hand, covering his eyes with his forearm. Then he sighed and turned over again, his eyes flickering. Searching. As if he was trying to figure out what to say, or maybe whether he could say it. Whether I wanted to hear it.

Slowly, I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. When I let go, he rested his cheek atop it, trapping it beneath his head, and closed his eyes, those horrible lines appearing around them again. They aged him by ten years, making him look a lot older than he must be.

"Have you–" Keith paused, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "–ever had a scar you didn't want to get rid of? Even though it hurts like hell?"

I frowned. The answer was no, but my response wasn't important. Keith wasn't asking for advice or for my help. Sometimes, we just needed to say something, to put it into words. It wasn't always about relating or about fixing things. Most of the time, it wasn't. Did Keith need relating? Did he need fixing? Well, nobody needed fixing, right?

I wet my lips, softening my voice.

"The scar on your face? The one you got revised?"

"Yeah," he said.

Again, there was silence. Keith's chest rose slowly, then fell just as slowly. He seemed like he was almost in a trance. I waited, and eventually, his brow relaxed. Sighing, he opened his mouth to speak again.

"It would've been fine," Keith said, his voice a murmur. "If he'd wanted me back. I wouldn't have cared that he scarred up my face."

Shiro? Shiro had been the one who…? My eyes widened, my brow tense, and I waited for him to continue. But he didn't. He just breathed, eyes closed, his cheek resting in my palm.

"Keith?" I whispered.

But he didn't even stir.