The Friend of My Friend Is My Enemy – Part Two
Chapter Summary: Some members of the Blade of Marmora hassle Lance. It goes too far.


New morning, new day. Lance was still feeling lousy, but it was with a leveler head that he went about his business, convinced that if he could just avoid the Blades until they left, things would go back to normal with only a smidgen of existential crisis left over for him to deal with. He didn't go to breakfast, not wanting to answer anyone's questions about the rather spectacular bruise he was sporting from the gladiator bot. He could just hear the commentary now: "What happened, Lance? Walk into a wall trying to catch your reflection in the door paneling?"

It wouldn't be mean spirited. When Pidge giggled and Hunk snorted behind a cough and Shiro blinked hard to hide his mirth, they wouldn't be trying to hurt his feelings. However, Lance's sense of inadequacy hadn't yet faded to the point where he could handle being laughed at, even by his friends. Maybe especially by his friends. And he didn't want to see Keith shake his head again.

So Lance did what he did best to kill time: Chores.

The Castle Ship wasn't really a castle, but it was huge, and there were plenty of quiet, isolated places. Most of these were functional: cooling units, engines, food manufacture. Also laundry units, which was where Lance was heading, hauling a crate in his arms. He was just coming out of a smooth curve when he ran headlong into someone. "Ooph." he said, even as he was already forming the words to apologize. "Sorry, I –"

"It's the Blue Paladin."

Lance's chin snapped up, confronted with familiar furred faces. Why the heck were these guys down here? They were wearing their training clothes, so maybe they'd been doing stamina exercise? He'd seen the Blades doing laps before, but this was the first time he'd run into them. Of course Jaque was there, and the three other young Blades. That should have made him feel better, but the apprehensive look in Catz's eyes didn't exactly fill him with confidence.

"Fancy meeting you here." Lance made an effort to keep his voice light, even though instinct was whispering for him to get the hell out of there. These were Kolivan's handpicked soldiers, prodigies like Keith. Even in a fair fight, like yesterday, he would lose. But he didn't really have anything to fear, right? These were friends. Well, friends of friends anyway.

Jaque jostled his crate. "Laundry detail? A bit menial, isn't it?"

Lance's face heated up. "Everyone works here. Everyone does their part."

He expected a retort, but Jaque surprised him. Instead, there was a spark of interest in his eye. "Did I just hear a growl from you? That's encouraging. After all, even the half-breed knows when to bare his teeth."

Hearing Keith referred to as a half-breed sent fury shooting through Lance, but he wasn't going to be baited. He tried to take a step back, only to find the other Blades were hemming him in. "Jaque," Catz spoke. His eyes darted up and down the hall.

Jaque looked keyed up, excited. "He's supposed to be a warrior, isn't he? But just look at how soft." He jabbed Lance in the belly. It hurt, especially with the sharpness of Galran fingernails. "These humans are all weak, but at least their leaders are fighters. This one needs to be taught, and if his comrades won't do it, then maybe we should."

"The paladins won't like it," Catz said. "This isn't how they operate."

"Are you worried your new allies will be upset with you? What are you, a recruit? Show some nerve. We'll be doing them a favor."

If Lance knew one thing for certain, it was that he didn't want to be on the receiving end of any of Jaque's favors. In a snap decision, he dropped the crate and made a break for it. Unfortunately, someone grabbed the back of his shirt. Lance jerked and twisted, kicking out with his legs, but the Blades just lifted him off the ground. "It's like holding a cub," one remarked in amusement.

"Strength isn't everything," Catz murmured. He was staying on the edge of the proceedings, but he didn't stop them.

Jaque didn't say anything. Instead, he regarded Lance thoughtfully. "I was starting to worry that even your sense of self-preservation was defunct, but you will fight back if the stakes are high enough, won't you?" He gestured to the others. "I have an idea."

He led them into the laundry unit, revealing a room with a large industrial processing unit and several smaller ones for personal use. They were all set into the wall, appearing as small, transparent portholes.

"During a simulation earlier this week," Jaque said, "you paladins were required to make use of the ductwork to reach an optimal position. I noticed you didn't enjoy it very much."

With a creeping sense of dread, Lance recalled exactly which simulation Jaque was talking about, and sweat broke out down his back. He shook his head. "No."

Jaque went on. "I gather you aren't particularly fond of enclosed spaces. Hardly a vulnerability befitting a soldier. What will you do when called upon to perform in the heat of battle?"

He would deal with it. He always dealt with it. Lance looked at his tormentor. Jaque didn't know where this fear really stemmed from. He didn't know that Lance dreamed about the freezing embrace of the cryopod, reliving the horror of those few seconds while he stared, voiceless and helpless, through the transparent veil at Coran's averted back. He certainly didn't know about the air lock. No one could be that cruel, right?

Jaque depressed a button on the wall, and one of the smaller tubes ejected. It was long and narrow, like a coffin, and when loaded, it would be sucked back into the wall…

That was when Lance really began to fight. He thought he'd given his all before, but now he knew his true limit, bucking and shouting and scratching. One of the Galra lost their grip, and he dropped to the floor. He managed to get in a kick that connected with a satisfying crunch, but his resistance was hopeless. They pressed him down, forced him to submit.

His captor, the one Keith had called Thread, was almost laughing. There was blood on his face. "He's got some strength in those legs of his." He pinched Lance's side where his shirt had ridden up. "Though would you look at him. So hairless and scrawny! It's a wonder humans make it into adulthood."

"The Black Paladin is definitely larger, though still small for a proper soldier. Do you think they'll all end up like that, even the hybrid?"

"Keith might be a half-breed, but he has Galra blood," Jaque said. "I'd wager he'll be impressive once he hits his stride. As for this one, it's time to see if humans, too, can be awakened."

"Jaque, don't," Catz tried once more to protest.

"I'm treating him like a comrade," Jaque snapped. "Isn't that what we're supposed to do, accept these people as our own? Besides, Keith deserves a pack mate that won't crumple when it really matters." He looked down at Lance. "Isn't that right?"

Lance could feel panic bubbling up to the surface, rising and gathering like sea foam, with occasional pops of terror and adrenaline. Beneath the hands of his so-called comrades, he was beginning to shake. He gasped when they lifted him bodily, manhandling him until he was trapped just above the opening of the tube. It was transparent, and he could see the floor through it, but once he was inside, it would be dark. He started hyperventilating, and before he could stop himself, a few words squeezed out. "Jaque, please –"

The young Galra looked at him impassively, like he was watching this happen from a place of objectivity. He didn't look angry. There was no malice. "Whether you believe this or not," he said, "I really am trying to help you."

Then they thrust him inside.

He heard the mechanical sound of the system activating, felt swift and sudden movement as the tube was drawn back into the wall. No, no, no. There was a hiss as the seal engaged, and then there was only Black. It smothered him, pressing against him on all sides. He was half-curled, his arm jammed beneath him. It was too tight to do more than squirm a few inches. No room for his legs, no room for his arms, no room for his chest to expand… He could feel the cool surface of the tube against his cheek and let out a cry.

"Help, help, help," he didn't know if he whispered or wailed, but he already knew it wouldn't matter. He would remain trapped until Jaque decided to let him out or he lost consciousness from lack of oxygen. How much could this tiny space have?

Raw with emotion, Lance didn't hear the new sound at first. It was a harsh noise, like air released under pressure. Or a water valve opening. He knew it a mere second before the liquid rushed up to meet his lips, filling his mouth before he could close it. He had a moment for pure, electric terror to go straight through his vital parts, short-circuiting his brain, but he did not pass out – for better or for worse he did not pass out. Because in that vital second, he was aware enough to draw in one single, desperate breath of air through his nose, but he was also completely, totally, horribly awake when the water fully enveloped him and the system began its wash cycle.

The water gyrated with incredible force, put in motion by the power of Altean technology. He'd been sure he could not move one inch, but now he found that with the lubrication of the soapy mixture, he could move. There was, in fact, plenty of space for his body to be violently jerked and twisted. It was like being pummeled, strangled, and compressed all at once, and he closed his eyes, unable to stop the silent scream that was choked from him in a violent expulsion of bubbles.

The realization that he wasn't going to make it trickled through the hysteria. He had swallowed too much water and could already feel his brain shutting down. He was the Blue Paladin of Voltron, Guardian Spirit of the Ocean, and he was going to die by drowning.

And then – light.

Someone seized him by the back of the neck, and then he was sitting up in the sloshing tube, rivulets streaming from his hair and face and chin. The person who had hold of him pounded his back, but Lance was a newborn. He could feel his limbs, knew they were there; however, they seemed capable of only jerky, boneless movement. His vision cleared slowly, more slowly than his hearing, which came back with a jolt, as though one of his jarring coughs had gotten it loose.

"By the forefathers, Jaque – this goes too far. You might have killed him! What explanation would you have given then? What justification?"

"Catz," Lance murmured the name, but no one was listening to him. He was vaguely aware he was half submerged in the tubing, and he shuddered, sloshing as he tried to get out, but he was still being held. He felt the bite of nails going straight through his clothes.

"You're a fool, a stupid fool," Catz voice was saying. "He's a paladin."

"What of it?" Jaque demanded, and his words somehow made it through the sickening fog around Lance's head so that he heard them loud and clear, even though they weren't directed at him. "Did you hear the story of how they came to be paladins? They're infants, carried off a planet so backward they haven't even made it out of their solar system yet. But this isn't a crèche or a game. This war against Zarkon is everything. Our father and grandfathers and great-grandfathers were killed for the opportunity on which we're now capitalizing, and if anyone can't handle that responsibility, we could very well die without ever realizing our destiny. Is that what you want? For us? For him?"

Catz's jaw clenched. He didn't answer.

Jaque ruffled Lance's soaking hair. His hand felt hard and unkind, though his words were even. "A paladin. Probably wet himself like a child. Come on. We're going to be late for roll call."

The support holding him withdrew, and Lance almost collapsed. Only his absolute desire not to sink back into the murky water allowed him to stop his decent. His rasping breaths were so violent it took him a moment to realize his attackers were gone. Eventually, though, sensory input returned. He could smell disinfectant, could feel the cloying taste of it in his mouth. He could hear the lapping water against his thighs. He was alone in this sterile room, trembling so hard he could feel his teeth rattle.

Very slowly, he drew his arms around himself. He hugged tight, trying to hold his body together. Then he bent over and let a sob rattle out of him. Because why not? It wasn't like anyone was going to hear him.


Lance was shaking as he walked down the hall. Correction: He was still shaking. Whether it was from shock or from the cold he didn't know. His clothes were wet, though he was no longer actively dripping, and the air from the ship's environmental control left him deeply chilled. He hardly paid attention to where his feet were taking him. To a hot shower, or to his soft, warm pajamas. Or to Hunk. His throat tightened, congested sinuses closing off completely as he thought of his friend.

But, no. Hunk was probably with Matt and Pidge. Was he welcome there?

But Lance needed someone, and his subconscious must have known that because he ended up in one of the residential passages. He might have run into anyone. Shiro, passing by on his way to the bridge. Allura and Coran, deep in conversation. Even Kolivan. Instead, it was an altogether different person who came around the corner, scowling at the floor as though deep in thought.

Keith.

When the former Red Paladin noticed him, a play of emotions passed over his face. Surprise. Reluctance. Then he pursed his lips and stepped forward. "Lance," he began. "Look, about what happened yesterday. I want to apologize –"

He stopped talking when Lance's condition registered. Lance didn't know what he looked like. His senses were still fogged with the smell of detergent, his eyes burning and red-rimmed. Standing there with his arms close to his body, he didn't feel human, and he suspected that from an outside viewpoint he was a complete wreck.

Keith grabbed him by the arms. "What happened? You're soaking wet."

Trembling lips parted, but instead of finding words, Lance crumpled. Shuffling closer, he bowed his head until it rested on Keith's shoulder and gripped his shirt in tight fists. Whatever mechanism allowed him to control his mind and body was offline. The only thing that registered was that someone else was there, someone safe, and all he wanted to do was hold on until the dizzying vertigo went away.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Keith went still. However, rather than spurn the contact, so out of place between them, he reached around with both wiry arms and gripped tightly. "Hey," he kept saying, like he didn't know what other word to use. "Hey."

Eventually, Lance pulled himself together. One hand remained fisted in Keith's shirt for a single extra moment, then he forced himself to uncurl his fingers, one at a time. A shuddering breath later, and he was able to murmur a hoarse, "Thanks."

He tried to slouch in the direction of his bunk, but Keith slammed his palm into the wall, blocking his path. "The hell you just get to walk away after that," he said, but while his voice was strident and harsh, his wide-eyed expression told another story. "What's going on, Lance? Did the Castle attack you again? An enemy?"

Lance stared. What was he supposed to say? 'Your new buddies think I'm unequipped to be the Red Paladin – hey, just like you and Shiro! – and they were trying to make me a better soldier by drowning me in a laundry tube.' Heck, no. His throat worked around a tight ball of distress even thinking of it. He'd sooner tell Allura's mice the truth about where their tasty cheese came from.

Kaltenecker, he thought. That's where he should have gone.

"Lance!" Keith shook him out of his reverie. "You're really freaking me out, spacing like this. Talk to me. Do I need to get Coran?"

There was a crackling sound when he breathed, which meant he could have water in his lungs. Other than that, though, all his injuries were old. There would be no proof, making it his word against theirs. And Lance knew exactly where that would go. Weariness seeped in, and he gave a shove that probably had as much strength in it as a Arusian child. "I'm going to my room. If anyone wants me, no."

"I can't just let you walk off. You look like death, Lance."

"I'm not dead." And he wasn't. How crazy was that? There'd been moments he was sure… He throat closed again, and he tilted back his head, feeling like air was coming to him through a straw.

A hand gripped his chin, and Keith demanded, "Where did this nasty bruise come from. You didn't have it yesterday."

"Solo training," Lance said honestly. Because he was being honest.

Keith's eyebrows shoved down. "Shiro told us to stop doing that."

"He told you to stop doing that," Lance clarified. "I have sucky hand-to-hand skills. Remember?"

That provoked a different reaction. Keith's face fell, and he took a breath. "About that. Look, even before we ran into each other, I was trying to find you. I'm sorry I gave you a hard time yesterday, okay? It's been a bit…confusing, going back and forth between Voltron and the Blades. They have a really different philosophy. When I'm there, there's this strong pack-bond, but you have to prove yourself. Like wolves, you know. But they're not all jerks like Jaque."

A snort tore its way out of Lance, despite everything.

Keith didn't give up trying to make his point. "Seriously. They throw their weight around, but it doesn't mean anything. I bear my teeth, they leave me alone. Easy. But I shouldn't have gotten angry with you for doing things your way. That wasn't fair."

Lance was tired, too tired for this. His blankets were a siren call, his quiet, solitary berth a cloister where he could hide his face and just breathe. Which is why he said, "Okay, Keith."

But Keith was not Shiro. He didn't operate like Shiro, didn't react like Shiro, and instead of letting Lance off the hook, Keith got angry. "Dammit, Lance! Don't tell me it's okay when it isn't!"

Keith's outburst ignited the fire in Lance's own belly, and before he could stop himself, his most sulfuric thoughts came tumbling out. "And what exactly do you want me to say, Keith? I'm sorry I'm not like the Blades. I'm sorry I'm not like you. Sorry my stupid bayard only turns into a gun, and sorry I can't read Shiro's mind or do calculus in my head or," he gagged, "stand tight places. Despite what everyone seems to think, I'm doing the best I can, alright?"

There was a beat of silence, and then, with the same bewilderment he'd had during their last heart-to-heart, Keith asked, "What are you talking about?"

A crazy laugh sprang from Lance's lips. "You really are the worst conversationalist in the universe, you know? If you had an action figure, no one would buy it because all of your stock phrases suck."

Keith had a fix on him now, though, and like a sullen hound, he wouldn't let go. He repeated his foray from earlier, this time with deadly earnestness. "Lance, tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened," Lance said.

Keith growled, low in his throat. "Tell me. What. Happened."

Lance didn't know what exactly made him give in. Maybe it was the worry he saw, lurking behind Keith's eyes, or maybe it was just that exhaustion had weakened his walls too much to keep storing up a secret about something he could barely believe happened, even now. One way or another, he heard himself say, "Jaque and his buddies were hassling me." The explanation came easier than expected, as though he stood at one remove, listening to someone else talk with his voice. "He noticed I didn't like ductwork. Stuffed me in one of the laundry units." A shudder went through him. "Scared me."

"He put you in one of the laundry units?" Keith demanded. "Those tiny ones downstairs?" The full reality seemed to strike him all at one time, because rage filled every inch of him. "While there was water in it?"

Lance's hands were back around his arms, squeezing. "Yes."

Keith's voice was so tight it was hard to understand him. "That bastard," he hissed. "I'm going to kill him."

"Please, don't. What's that going to prove, anyway?"

"That I won't let him get away with trying to drown my friend."

As eye-roll inducing as Keith's penchant for solving every issue with violence was, Lance was still warmed by the outburst. Everything seemed softer, more manageable. It made him able to say, "That's really nice and all, Keith, but to be totally honest with you, I'd rather you help me get into the shower without falling over. I think the water has done something to my inner ear."

He had to wait while Keith buffered. "A shower," he finally said.

Lance sighed. "I'm cold."

That was all it took. Keith gave a decided nod and stepped to the side. "Fine. Warm water, warm clothes, and then I am calling Coran. And Shiro."

"Cool, cool," Lance said. He was floating, kind of. All he'd heard was the part about warm water. The rest, he was sure, Keith could handle. He held out his hand. "Just let me lean on your arm."

Ten minutes later, Lance was standing under a stream of water, while his friend, Keith, hovered somewhere outside, waiting for him to finish. For that reason alone, he reluctantly got out and struggled into his warmest, softest pajamas. He had no idea what time it was or if he had anything else he was supposed to be doing, but he didn't care. He was going to sleep until everything made sense again.

Face buried up to his ears in a pillow, Lance barely heard Keith's voice when he spoke. "Lance?"

It seemed like too much effort to turn over, but Lance managed to crack an eye. "Hm?"

Keith cleared his throat. "I really am sorry. That I didn't say anything yesterday. I got tunnel vision."

Lance closed his eyes again. "I'm over it."

Keith had the most skeptical eyebrows of anyone Lance had ever met. He must have decided to humor him, though, because he huffed out a sigh. "Okay."

A chuckle escaped the pillow as Lance muttered, "Worse action figure in the world."

"Oh, yeah?" Keith countered. "Well, I doubt mine could be worse than Loverboy Lance."

"Ugh. Don't remind me," Lance said, thinking with chagrin about their stint as celebrities in the form of the Voltron Showcase. It had been fun at first, but in the end, it had been more traumatizing that anything.

"I'm kind of glad I missed it," Keith admitted.

That was what he said, but there was an underlying tone, one Lance didn't mistake. He cracked open an eye one more time. "We did miss you," he said.

Keith coughed. "Yeah."

After that, the room sunk into comfortable silence. Lance didn't know it, but the following day, everything was going to come out in the metaphorical wash. Jaque and his cohorts would be forced to explain their actions to a coldly infuriated Kolivan, who would prove that discipline was one more way in which the Blades excelled. Team Voltron would also talk, taking the opportunity to problem-solve the cracks that had formed, and Hunk would hug him so hard that Lance would barely feel the phantom pressure of cold wash water against his clammy skin. But for tonight, this was enough. Lance drifted off to the sound of Keith stoking a whetstone up and down his knife, and fell asleep so weightless that he didn't even dream.


Author's Note: DONE. The journey on this one, guys. Ugh. I actually wrote the scene where Jaque and the other Blades shove Lance in the laundry unit for a longer story, but last fall's season premiere took the wind out of my sails on that one, and I chose not to pursue it. However, I found that scene too powerful to let go, and I've been looking for a way to use it ever since. Can't wait to hear what you thought!