Sorry for the delay - I was absolutely worn out after work yesterday (I work part-time at a library/activity centre, and we had a huge event where over 80 kids and adults came - so much fun, but exhausting too!). So I figured I'd practice some healthy habits and actually rest :)

So this chapter pretty much changed completely between my first draft and the final - a lot of the dialogue was placeholder til I got towards the ending. Don't think anyone needs more than half a page with small talk about sunsets, lol!

Anyway, enough rambling, I'll let you read :)


Chapter 6

Saturday, 4.21 PM

This was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

The thought circled through Keith's mind over and over as Lance drove them to Hunk's place, chattering about potential dinner options, the friend who had decided to drop by and how "Pidge's gonna be so mad they missed her!" ... and that was the whole thing, wasn't it? They all knew each other and he would be the intruder.

Honestly, the bed bugs were becoming more and more appealing. At least the only conversation he'd need to have with them would be trying to beat them out of the mattress.

This was a bad idea. He already knew it. So why had he agreed?

He glanced over at Lance, currently singing along to some crappy music on the radio. Back to his goofy, loud, annoying self. But… before had been different.

The look in his eyes as he blocked him from the window. The outburst afterwards on the boardwalk. The crack of emotion in his voice.

'I don't need another voice telling me I'm doing the detective thing wrong, okay?'

Because maybe… maybe Keith had judged too fast.

Because while goofy and loud and annoying were definitely part of Lance's personality, it was maybe also a facade.

Before he knew it they were standing outside Hunk's apartment again, Lance yelling greetings before the door had opened properly.

"Hey, why didn't you tell me you were back in town?" he said, moving to embrace the person standing next to Hunk – tall, elegantly dressed and wavy, white-blonde hair in sharp contrast to her brown skin. No doubt the friend Lance had been going on about.

"Well, I was planning to surprise you," she said with a strikingly British accent, "but someone let it slip."

"I just got so excited, okay?" Hunk said, grinning too. "Also, hi, Keith! Heard you got put up at the Krellian?"

Keith shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing himself to step into the hallway. "Hi. And, uh, yeah."

"That sucks, dude. Well, you can stay here as long as you like. Mi casa es su casa and all that."

"Oh yeah, this is my case partner, Keith," Lance began before Keith could even begin to put together a thank you, "Keith, this is Allura. Great actress, greater friend and the greatest smokeshow. You might recognize her from a blockbuster or two… or fifteen."

"Not really," Keith went to say, but decided against it. The fact that he could count the movies he'd seen the past few years on one hand wasn't something he wanted to share with a complete stranger, let alone a movie star.

Allura only rolled her eyes goodnaturedly at Lance, before holding out a hand. "Nice to meet you. New to the department, I suppose?"

"No. U.S. Marshal. Our, um," he glanced at Lance, "our cases overlapped."

"Yeah, we're not supposed to discuss open cases, but I'll say this," Lance lowered his voice dramatically, "it's a big one."

Allura pursed her lips, studying them both. "Must be."

A second's pause, then Hunk motioned forward. "Well, come in! I haven't started with dinner yet, but I got some coffee brewin' – you drink coffee, Keith?"

"No."

"Okay, tea? Juice? Water?"

"I don't want anything." Keith cringed silently at the clunky way the words came out, but Hunk didn't seem fazed.

"Alright then," he said, grinning easily. "Lance?"

"You know what I always order at Cafetería del Hunk."

"Yeah. I do." He looped an arm across Lance's shoulders. "And you know another thing I know?"

"What?"

"You need a shower, man. I have no idea what you have in your hair, but I'm pretty sure it ain't glitter."

"Aw man, don't tell me I've got glass everywhere too." Brushing a hand along his head, Lance studied it with a pout. "Yup. That's glass. As if wood chips weren't enough."

Keith barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They had stood next to a shattering window, what had Lance expected?

"Do I want to know what you've been up to?" Allura asked, crossing her arms.

Lance grinned. "What can I say? I put both my hair and life on the line to save the day."

This time Keith did roll his eyes.

"You wanna clean up too, Keith?" Hunk asked. "'Cause if ya do, you should go first or this one'll take all the hot water."

As Lance clutched his chest with mock offense, Keith thought about it. It probably wouldn't hurt – he hadn't showered since he left Texas after all. Plus, he'd get a few minutes to himself to just… land.

"Okay."

:::

4.46 PM

He was standing in the bathroom half-dressed, staring at his not-so-fresh shirt and socks when someone knocked on the bathroom door.

"Hey, Keith!" came Lance's voice. "Open up!"

Keith glared at the door. "What?"

"Not like that, you weirdo. Hunk got into a fret about how you had nothing to change into, so he convinced me to let you borrow some of my stuff. It's all probably too long for you, but whatever. Open up a crack and I'll toss it in."

"I'm not wearing your clothes, Lance."

"Why not?"

Because this night was already awkward enough. And wearing someone else's clothes, something that felt unfamiliar and vulnerable, something that most likely still smelt like them…

Pulling the black T-shirt over his head and socks on, Keith scooped up the rest of his stuff. He had survived worse than unfresh clothes; another day didn't matter.

Even if he wished he'd been in the headspace to pack something more than a half-filled backpack (currently at the precinct because he forgot about it) before he left Texas.

"Okay then, fine," Lance said as Keith opened the door, giving him a judgmental once-over, "just trying to be nice, but whatever. Dios, por qué tienes que hacer todo tan difícil…"

He was still muttering to himself in Spanish as the bathroom door closed behind him and Keith barely held in a sigh. Was there a competition for people who made a big deal out of anything and everything? Because Lance would be at the top of the running.

As he pulled his shoes on and headed out into the hall, Hunk waving at him at the kitchen island caught his eye.

"Hey, so I know you said you didn't want anything," Hunk said as Keith came to a stop, "but I made too much smoothie – hard to judge in those blender things, y'know? So… if you want it, you got it."

Keith glanced towards the guest room door, just a few feet away, then back to Hunk who was now enjoying his own smoothie… which looked pretty good, he had to admit.

"What flavor?"

The corner of Hunk's lips quirked up as he took another sip through the straw. "Blueberry. And some cocoa. To add a little extra somethin'. Not a bad combo, if I say so myself."

Once again Keith sent a look towards the guest room. Then he walked into the kitchen, taking the already prepped glass from Hunk.

"... Thanks."

A quiet moment went by, both of them leaning on the kitchen counter and drinking, because damn, that was some smoothie. The sweet of the blueberries, the slight sourness of the yogurt with the cocoa to round it all out… just damn.

"Hey, those look nasty. What happened?"

Keith blinked, following Hunk's gaze to his elbows. To the cuts and scrapes, scabs still soft and deep red. Still raw.

Tar splitting skin.

Smoke burning in his lungs.

And Haggar taking her time, enjoying it as–

Keith folded his arms down, covering a wince as the counter top rubbed against the tender skin. "Work." The word came out quiet, hoarse, and he cleared his throat. "It'll heal." His eyes flickered around the room, noticing for the first time the notebook and pen next to Hunk. The words hard to read from this angle, but ordered like a list of some kind. "What're you writing?"

"Oh, that." Hunk pulled the notebook closer, a bashful smile on his lips. "Just a bit o' daydreaming. Some recipes and stuff. I've always loved the idea of having my own restaurant some day," he added quickly. That seemed to be his thing: cluing people in without needing to be asked outright. "Not really realistic so it's been on the back-burner for a while, but, well," the pages rustled as he flipped through them, "I met this woman tonight and… she made me remember what I loved about it."

"What's that?" Keith found himself asking.

Hunk huffed a quiet laugh. "Kinda hard to explain, but like… I have Samoan roots, right? Born and bred here, but my grandparents grew up there. And at my own restaurant, I can put some of that in my recipes. I can put in more of me, of who and what I love and make it into something new. Something someone else might love as much as I do. I don't know. Does that make sense?"

Maybe if he had been closer to his own heritage, Keith would've felt the same. Felt the same longing for something he didn't really know, but still connected to. But could he understand it?

He nodded. "Sure."

"But enough rambling 'bout me. How about you? Where in Texas you from?"

"Near Odessa." He ran a thumb through the condensation on the glass. "My mom's from Korea though."

Hunk perked up. "Really? That's cool. You ever been there with her?"

"No. She's not in the picture. Neither's my dad," he added at Hunk's non-verbal question – and why was he telling Hunk all this? "He died when I was six."

Lips pausing halfway to the straw, Hunk's face shifted into a look Keith was all too familiar with. "Sorry to hear that." He paused. "But how…?"

"Foster care."

"Right," Hunk said, nodding to himself. He sent a glance Keith's way. "I've heard so many stories about the foster system. For you…?"

"Mostly bad." And he left it at that.

"But some good?"

He thought of Shiro. Who charged into his life at sixteen and derailed it in the best way possible.

Who had seen him in a way he thought no one ever would again.

He squeezed the glass. "Yeah."

A soft smile on his lips, Hunk opened his mouth to say something more, but cut himself off at the sound of a sliding door.

"Sorry about that," closing the door again to the balcony, Allura crossed the living room – dodging the six-chair dining table in the process – to join them at the island. "My agent had questions about some of the paperwork for tomorrow. We're starting off filming some scenes in the cockpit," she added with a spark of excitement, "so we'll see if the preparations paid off."

"I can't believe you got to fly a plane as part of your job." Hunk shook his head with a grin, reaching for the kitchen bench behind him. "Here. Hope it hasn't gotten cold."

Allura took the coffee mug from him, giving it a quick stir. "Thanks, Hunk. But well, it's mostly been simulations–"

"Still, that's–"

Plane.

The rest of their conversation drifted out of focus, drowned out by the realization dousing Keith like cold water. By the memory of the message Lance had pestered him about a few hours ago.

He hadn't responded. He hadn't told Adam he'd made it off the plane.

Shit.

Normally it wouldn't have mattered. Normally him being bad at answering would be part of a running joke. Hell, normally Shiro's boyfriend wouldn't have texted him at all.

But things weren't normal. And he knew, knew Shiro's grandmother – 'Obaasan,' her warm voice chided him, 'You know you can call me Obaasan too, dear' – would be asking about his well-being, worrying in that all-encompassing way she did and–

They didn't deserve him making things harder than they already were.

"–ey, you alright over there?"

Hunk's voice was light, but carried enough concern to push Keith over the edge. "Fine," he said, pulling back from the counter top, jacket in hand. "I'm going to the guest room."

Hunk blinked. "Oh, okay. Go ahead. I mean, you guys have probably been flat out all day, so."

The last thing Keith saw was Allura's frown, and it followed him like a physical presence as he headed down the hall. Shutting the door behind him was a relief, and he leaned back against it, closing his eyes.

He should've gone to the Krellian.

No. That wasn't it. What he should be doing was looking for Haggar.

'To get justice you need to take me alive. Don't you?'

Keith pushed to his feet, pacing across the bedroom. Trying to do something, anything, to relieve the frustration, the anxiety building inside him. Because she'd been right there, and he'd let her get away again and–

'Deep breaths,' he heard Shiro say, as if he was right there beside him. 'Patience yields focus. Remember?'

He took a breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Forced his pacing into a slower walk.

He remembered. Of course he did.

:::

Five years ago

Keith lowered the gun, glaring at the practice target and the nearby hole in the wall. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true." Shiro pushed the safety glasses away from his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Well, unless you count the district office coffee machine. Hitting it's the only way to get something from it."

Normally that would've been enough to put him in a better mood. At least a little. Now all Keith could muster was a sigh as he stepped away from the shooting range and slumped down on one of the benches. The air conditioner above him sent tendrils of pleasantly cold air down his neck and the back of his shirt, but he couldn't find it in himself to enjoy it. Why couldn't he hit the target? He should be able to do it in his sleep!

Shiro's steps echoed in the empty training hall as he came over and sat beside him. "You know, I get the feeling this isn't about your shooting." He paused. "Are you thinking about your Marshal application?"

Curse Shiro's people reading skills. Closing his eyes, Keith leaned back against the wall. "I'm already at a disadvantage on the medical side," he finally said. "I can't give them another reason to say no."

"Keith." Shiro laid a firm hand on his shoulder. "You don't need to compensate for who you are."

"I know, but…"

"But nothing. If they fail you on your medical test just because you happen to be trans and on testosterone, you know they'll damn well will be hearing from me."

Despite himself, Keith couldn't help but smile. "And people say I'm hot-headed."

A huff of a laugh escaped Shiro's lips before he became serious again. "You're amazing, Keith, and we the Marshals would be lucky to have you. But no matter how it goes, I'm proud of you, alright?" He smiled. "Despite all the white hairs you've given me over the years."

Keith glanced up at the tuft of white sticking out under the safety glasses on Shiro's head, a sharp contrast to the rest of his dark hair. It shouldn't work, but now felt like such a Shiro thing Keith couldn't picture him without it. Still, he said, "Don't blame me for your bad hair dye choices."

"Hey, I had to do something to cover my premature aging." Squeezing his shoulder once more, Shiro stood up. "Either way, the application is out of your hands. All you can do now is be patient. But you know what you can do something about?"

"What?"

"That target."

Letting out an amused huff, Keith followed him back over to the shooting range. Put the glasses back on. Closed his hands around the gun once more.

"Take a breath," came Shiro's steady voice from behind him. "That's it. Clear your mind. Focus on the moment. It's just you and the target, and you're in no rush.

"Some things you just have to let take their time…"

:::

4.58 PM

Keith pulled in another lungful of air, throat tight.

The crime scene hadn't been analyzed yet. Captain Holt still had a lot of stuff to sort out after today's mess. There was nothing he could do right now. Nothing except wait.

But waiting also meant a bigger chance of Haggar getting away. A bigger chance their leads would grow cold. A bigger chance he'd end up going home with nothing. To nothing.

Running a hand across his face, Keith slumped back down on the bed. His fingers felt leaden, distant as he pulled out his phone. Adam's message stared back at him.

'I'm fine,' he wrote. 'Landed last night.'

He hesitated.

'I'll get her. I promise.'

Before he let himself think about it he hit Send, discarding the phone beside him with a soft thump.

He didn't know how long he laid there, staring up at the cream-colored ceiling. All he knew was that it was almost a relief when Lance knocked on the door sometime later.

… Wait. Keith sat up. Lance didn't knock. At least he didn't last time. So who…?

"Keith, can I come in?"

Allura? What did she want?

He nodded, before realizing how stupid that was when she couldn't see him. "Okay?" he said instead, the question mark slipping in by itself.

As Allura came inside she closed the door to a fraction, but didn't come in any further. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe; not frowning like she had when he left the kitchen, but face fixed in a similar serious way that made Keith wish he wasn't sitting down.

Lance had called her pretty before, but maybe pretty intimidating was more accurate.

He didn't let the feeling show however, schooling his face into something carefully neutral.

"Alright, I'm going to get right to it," Allura said. "Who are you?"

Keith frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know you're working a case with Lance," the A in his name almost said like an O, making it sound like he was a noble knight or something, "and that he and Hunk offered to let you stay here because of the appalling hotel you had been assigned. And I may not be in Los Angeles as often as I'd like, but my friends are my family. I know the people in their lives." She crossed her arms. "I've never seen you or heard them talk about you before. So who are you?"

"What is this, an interrogation?"

Okay, that came out way harsher than he'd meant to and by the way she cocked her head to the side, she thought so too. He pulled in a breath, trying to figure out how to string together his thoughts, somehow, into words.

"Look," he began after a quiet moment, "whatever you're thinking about me, you're wrong. I'm with the Texas Marshals. My case overlapped with Lance's. The second it's over, I'm leaving." He met her gaze. "I'm not here to make friends."

"Sometimes intent doesn't matter."

Keith didn't respond. He'd seen expressions like hers before; the quiet suspicion that showed she'd already made her mind up about him. Whatever he said wouldn't change it.

Maybe she saw the stalemate too, as she eventually let out a breath.

"I'm not trying to be discourteous towards you. It's simply…" A flicker of something – worry? – crossed her face. "Lance has developed a tendency lately to be drawn to people who are bad for him. All I'm saying is you better not be one of them."

And of course that was the moment a familiar voice came from the hallway.

"So I just got a text from Pidge – still no match on that ticket thing and no address. Not even any hotels. At this point, I'm seriously thinking she's hiding out in the sewers or so–" Lance cut himself short in the doorway, the last piece of a sandwich in hand and a towel turban swaying dangerously on his head as he looked from Keith to Allura and back again. "Okay, what's happening here?"

Arms still crossed, Allura shrugged. Her acting prowess in full display, every trace of the previous conversation wiped from her face. "Oh, you know, just telling Keith about how you and I first met."

"You were?" Keith asked dryly, but he was drowned out by Lance's gasp.

"I– No– You said you'd take it to the grave!"

"Did I?" The smile broke through on Allura's face. "Do not worry," she assured. "Your impeccable image is still intact."

"Ugh, Alluraa." Keith only just managed to save his phone before Lance face-planted onto the bed, making the mattress bounce. Thankfully he'd eaten the last of the sandwich already. "Warn a guy next time before you give him a heart attack. And before you ask," without looking up, he thrust a finger in Keith's direction, "I was sixteen–"

"You mean nineteen," Allura said.

"–had a part time job as a mailman, a stupid schoolboy crush and a tendency to bicycle past a certain house too many times. But that's all you're getting!"

"I wasn't gonna ask," Keith muttered, moving over on the bed to get Lance's hand out of his face. Then he remembered. "You were talking about an update from Pidge."

"Oh. Right." Lance stopped. "I mean, it wasn't much of an update, but…"

Allura nodded in understanding. "I'll give you a minute."

"Thanks."

As she went to leave the room however, she paused in the doorway. "I know I wasn't supposed to overhear, but," she glanced back at them over her shoulder, "have you checked camping grounds?"

"Camping grounds?" Lance asked, sounding just as confused as Keith felt.

"Yeah. It sounded like you were looking for someone, but with no success finding an address or booked hotel room. Take it from someone who's traveled a lot: a caravan or a camping ground would be a cheap and under-the-radar way to visit." She sent Lance a smile. "And a little cleaner than the sewers."

For a second all Keith could do was stare.

A caravan. A campground. Less security, less background checking, less chance of garnering unwanted interest. Why hadn't they thought of that?

Of course. Of course.

He twisted around to Lance, whose mouth was still hanging open. "Call Pidge. Now."

And with no objections, no remarks, not even any usual quips, Lance did.

Leg starting to bounce of its own accord, Keith listened as Lance relayed Allura's suggestion ("Pidge says hi, Allura!"). Fought the urge to yank the phone from him and… he didn't know what, exactly. Tell them to search faster, maybe?

In the corner of his eye, he could see Allura watching Lance just as intently.

Lance leaned forward. "Are you sure? Like, 100 percent sure?" The mumble of Pidge's voice on the other end. Then Lance looked up. "Allura, I freaking love you."

"We got a match?" Keith asked.

"Hell yeah we did. Matt's sending the address n– Whoa, Keith!"

Keith didn't let go of his wrist however, ignoring Lance's protests as he barreled into the hallway, stopping only to dodge a baffled Hunk – who had come to see where everyone had disappeared to, no doubt – and throw the front door open.

"Urgent case stuff sorry about dinner Hunk, savemesomeforlater!" Lance yelled as they hurried down the corridor.

:::

5.51 PM

The shadows had started to grow longer by the time they made it to the caravan park.

Keith stopped in front of the gateway, looking up at the faded sign on the metal arch. The faint outline of a palm tree logo, just like the ticket piece.

His pulse picked up. This was the place.

"Okay," Lance said, coming up next to him. He had finally taken that stupid towel turban off. "Got a message from the Captain; backup's on the way here. Order is to watch and wait until they arrive. Which, considering how it went for us last time, isn't a bad idea."

Wait? Keith let out a breath. No way. He was done waiting.

"Hey, what are you– Keith! Hey! Don't walk through that gate!"

Keith walked through the gate. Not slowing down as he heard Lance swear and follow him. Barely noticing the cold wind threading through his hair and open jacket.

Haggar had gotten away too many times. He refused to let it happen again.