Chapter 15

Sunday, 7.46 PM

Keith watched Haggar with numb detachment. Watched the grenade in her hands. The grenade that, hinging on the insanity of her whims, could kill them all in a few seconds.

He knew he should feel terrified, or at the very least something. Anything. But his brain seemed to have trouble responding, still caught on his near asphyxiation and all the aches making themselves known throughout his battered body to even begin to know how to react to this. All he knew was: Allura wasn't trained for situations like this. Lance didn't have a chance of handling a gun in his condition.

No matter how he was (not) feeling, he had to do something.

And so when Haggar's attention was drawn to Lotor's shocked, "What the hell are you doing?!" Keith dove forward and snatched up Lance's gun from the floor.

"Put the grenade down." His voice was hoarse, unsteady, but his aim was not.

"Yeah, let's all calm down here, alright?" Lance raised one hand placatingly, though his face betrayed he felt anything but calm. "Nothing's gonna get better by blowing us all up, including yourself. And your son. Think about him, yeah?"

Haggar smiled, dragging all the hopes of her being reasonable with it. "I am."

"You're out of your mind," Lotor said as if it had just dawned on him, his broken nose slurring the words. "You're completely out of your mind."

A beat passed where Haggar only watched them, that awful smile still in place. "I can set it off," she said, "before you pull that trigger."

Keith knew. Knew one wrong move could mean the end for all of them. Knew he couldn't rely on the instincts, dampened but there, screaming at him to attack.

'Patience yields focus. Remember?'

Like a whisper in his ear, quiet and assuring. A phantom hand on his shoulder.

Keith took a breath.

"Did you care?"

Haggar's grip tightened around the bomb. "About what?"

"About Shiro. About… k-killing him. Did it even matter to you?"

"Oh, Marshal. You already know the answer." Haggar took a step to the side. And another. Keith followed, kept his aim firm. "It wasn't personal."

They had turned 90 degrees now, gathered closer in the cramped space. Way too close to avoid a grenade blast even if he tried. Through the glass emergency door behind her dusk was painting the open sky in light blues and oranges, like a burning sea against the silhouetted Los Angeles buildings far below.

"I needed my freedom," Haggar said. "He was in the way."

Another memory, more recent, of a warm desert night. Of sitting on the back of Shiro's truck, staring up at a sky of orange and red.

'Killing someone… how do you know it's the right call?'

A pause. Then Shiro's solemn eyes. 'You don't. I don't think you ever do. But… sometimes it's a choice we have to make. When there's other people on the line. When there's no other option left.

'When the consequences of not doing it are far worse.'

"But," and Haggar's lips curled into a snarl, "it's personal now."

A hand on his shoulder, but this one wasn't imagined. It was warm and firm and grounding. To the present. To what he had to do.

"Over and over you've tried to destroy everything–"

Keith's gaze flickered to Haggar. Back to the sky behind her.

To the emergency door handle, reflecting the fading light.

"–but I won't let you. I won't let you take what's mine."

Lance's grip tightened, and Keith heard him yell his name as Haggar finally yanked the pin out, smile full of mania and hate and victory–

Keith pulled the trigger.

The sound was sharp, deafening in the small space and Haggar flinched, involuntarily taking a step back. The shock registered a second later when she remained standing.

"You," and her laugh came out a high-pitched cackle, "missed. Four feet and you missed."

Keith cocked his head to the side, a feeling finally cutting through the numb exhaustion coating his senses: he hated Haggar. He hated this woman so much. "Did I?"

A loud metallic creak made Haggar's grin slip, her attention pulled towards the emergency door.

The door with its locking mechanism blown to pieces.

Her mouth opening in a scream was the last thing Keith saw before the door flew open and the vacuum sucked her out into the void. The air roared around them, tore at Keith's clothes and he tumbled forward too, terrifyingly weightless–

Lance grabbed the back of his jacket, held him back from following Haggar. Haggar, now only a blur of movement among the clouds… until the grenade in her hand exploded.

Keith's vision filled with fire as he slammed into the cabin floor.

The pressure equalized. The wind stopped.

And Keith's head went quiet.

Still.

Because.

It.

Was.

Over.

And the world came crashing back in – engines roaring, Lotor screaming, emergency alarms blaring and there was pressure on him, something holding him down and–

"Okay, that hurt." Lance rolled off him, face several shades paler as he cradled his injured arm, sleeve now soaked in red. "Couldn't have warned m-me before you decided to… to let physics do its job?"

Keith lifted himself up on one elbow. Then the other. Felt every ache on his back, his ribs, his throat. Every burn, every bruise he had gotten following Haggar's trail. His eyes found Lotor staring out the broken door, his face a study of mixed emotions but one standing out with horrible familiarity.

"I'm sorry," he said, not sure if he meant it for Lance or Lotor. Maybe both.

Lance shook his head. "Don't be. We'd be screwed without your crazy plan. Just," he fought down a grimace, "a warning would've been nice."

It wasn't even that funny, yet somehow a huff escaped Keith's lips.

Because it was over.

It was over.

Above the sound of the turbines, now louder, closer, came a sudden voice from the cockpit. "Lance? Keith? Are you alright?"

Allura. In all the chaos, he had forgotten about her; something he'd likely feel guilty about later. For now, all he could manage was to pull himself to his knees (careful to not put too much weight on the hurt one) and sling Lance's uninjured arm across his shoulders. He didn't know who was supporting who the most, only they soon stood up. Side by side.

Allura's shoulders sunk as they staggered into the cockpit. "I heard the explosion. I thought…"

"Wasn't us." Lance shot her a tired smile. "But we're missing a door. Is that a problem?"

Allura turned to the pilot, whose wounded side her hands were firmly pressed against. "Romelle?"

"We're not high enough for… oxygen shortage." The pilot – Romelle – grimaced through a new wave of pain. Pain Keith (and Haggar) had caused. Another thing he'd feel guilty about once his emotions kicked back in. "S-should be okay."

"She got the plane turned around," Allura explained. "I feel terrible for leaving you out there, but we thought if we could just get back down before Haggar and Lotor realized it…"

Back-up. Not a bad idea at all, Keith had to admit.

"The gunfire damaged most of the… the controls. Yoke still works." Romelle's gaze flickered towards them, her blonde hair sticking against her forehead and hands white-knuckled around the yoke. "I think I can take us down… manual… ly…"

"Romelle? Romelle!"

Even as Allura shook her shoulders, startled her back into consciousness, Keith knew. Knew she'd lost too much blood. Knew, watching the terror in her bleary eyes as she tried to keep them steady, she wouldn't be able to land the plane.

Her only chance would be medical help on the ground. Their only chance was to figure out how to land the plane themselves.

And there was only one of them who might know how.

"Allura," he said, stomach rising as the plane shuddered. "You have to take the controls."

She met his gaze, realization and fear battling in her eyes. "But I've only flown in a real plane twice, only landed in simulations–"

"Keith's right," Lance cut in. "You're the only shot we have at getting down alive. You can do this."

A beat passed. Two. Then Allura's jaw clenched. "Strap in."

As Lance and Keith helped Romelle, now barely lucid, out of the seat Allura took her place, face grim but determined as she picked up the headset.

"Radio tower 1-14, this is Jet 312. L.A.P.D. have retaken control over it, but automatic controls are down. Clear the closest runway, we're coming in for an emergency landing." A shaky breath. "I think I know how to land, but I'm not a qualified pilot. Guidance would be appreciated."

Finally managing to get Romelle into the co-pilot seat, Keith fumbled around for the seat belt when he noticed Lance freeze beside him.

"Lance," he called, because they didn't have time for this–

Lance didn't respond. Only thrust the end of the seat belt into Keith's hand and bolted out into the cabin.

Shit. What was he doing?

Keith scrambled to click the buckle into place and followed… stopping short as he saw Lance, just out of reach from Lotor and jaw working.

"If you want to survive this," he said, voice surprisingly even, "you'll let me fix your seat belt."

Lotor didn't look up, crusted blood cracking as his lips curved into a joyless smile. "Or let me guess. You'll throw me out of the plane too."

"Dunno if you missed it, but she had a literal grenade. She would've killed us all."

Even if that fact didn't change that Keith had killed Lotor's mother. Killed someone in his family.

Keith swallowed.

Just like Haggar had done to him.

Lotor finally looked up at Lance. Eyes red. Tired. "I know."

Another tremble, big enough to send a flash of pain exploding from his bad knee, and Keith got moving, voice tight as he told Lance to "Come on!"

Lance glanced at Lotor one last time, then stepped into action. The belt barely clicked into place before he turned, throwing himself into the seat next to Keith and strapping in with trembling hands and shit they should have tied Lance's arm with something because losing all that blood couldn't be good for him either and–

And just in time. The plane took a sharp dive, the broken emergency door sending the air howling through the back of the cabin, the entire aircraft body rattling violently enough to drown out the warning sirens and the sound of the oxygen masks dropping from the roof compartments.

Keith leaned forward. Stomach lurching at the drop. Seat belt straining against his hips. Saw Lance bring his uninjured arm up to protect his head, the city through the window behind him reducing to a blur of colors. Brought his hands up against his own head.

Braced for the end.

And it came.

The thunk of tires against ground. The jolt felt through every muscle, every bone. The whole plane careening, metal screeching as it rocked, swerved… and stopped.

Allura did it.

She fucking did it.

Keith sat back up. Watched the blue and red of the emergency vehicles speeding towards them from every side of the airport. Saw the relieved laugh escape Lance's lips. Seeing, but not seeing at once.

He had kept his promise.

Shiro.

Shiro, it's over.

:::

Monday

Of all the places Lance had expected to meet Captain Holt, it wasn't in Hunk's living room. And of all times, definitely not unannounced on a late Monday afternoon.

"Captain!" For a moment he could only sit there on the couch, blinking stupidly, before his body caught up to speed and he rose to greet him.

"Detective. Pidge told me I'd find you and Marshal Kogane here," he shook Lance's outstretched hand, "and Hunk let me in. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Lance looked up as Hunk passed by the doorway, signaling he would head outside for a bit. Gratefully, Lance nodded back. "Not at all."

In fact, he was more than happy to be disturbed from the spiral of thoughts that had occupied his mind for the past twenty minutes.

"How's your arm?"

"All things considered," Lance glanced down at the sling holding his left arm in place with a shrug, "pretty good. Some stitches, no strenuous use and weeks of rehab to look forward to, but they cleared me from the hospital this morning so they can't be too worried. I'll be back to work before you know it."

A spark of humor appeared in Captain Holt's eyes. "Back to doing paperwork, you mean. I won't have you doing any field work until you've fully recovered."

Lance smiled a little too but let out a sigh for show. "Yes, sir."

The sound of a door opening and a moment later Keith appeared, his limp better but still noticeable. He had left for the guest room some time ago to rest, but by the dimness in his eyes there hadn't been much of it. Well, at least that made two of them.

"Good, you're here too," Captain Holt said, walking over to greet Keith as well. "Why don't we sit down?"

Soon the three of them were seated at the dining table, Holt on one side, Keith and Lance on the other in a way that felt highly reminiscent of the last time they got called into Holt's office. Except this time without facing bitter disappointment.

"Lotor's case is still being processed," Captain Holt began, cutting right to the chase. "The court hearing will be held sometime next week, but if it's proven he was involved in Haggar's murders and murder attempts, it's likely he'll be going in for a long time." He looked at them both. "You'll be hearing from the court sometime in the next few days to give your testimonies – in your case remotely, Marshal – and the L.A.P.D. will take care of sending over your written reports once you've finished them."

Keith nodded, Lance reluctantly following suit. The post-case procedures had always been his least favorite part of police work. Necessary, but not particularly exciting.

To be fair though, they'd had enough excitement this weekend to last him for a good while.

"The press is already on the case, of course." Captain Holt sent them a wry smile. "Maybe you've seen the headlines."

"Yeah," Lance said, glancing at Keith. "Movie set shootout, hijacked planes… but weirdly Lotor's double life seems to be the hottest topic. Guess there's more to gossip about there."

"Indeed. Either way, we'll be issuing an official statement in the next day or two. But it's nothing you need to worry about."

"What about the pilot? Romelle." Keith's voice was rough from disuse and, Lance remembered with a shiver, the near-crushed windpipe Allura had told him about afterwards. Dios had it been a close call on that plane. For both of them.

"And Acxa," Lance added, flexing his right hand. He had scrubbed it off yesterday, yet the phantom feel of blood – both hers and his own – lingered. "Is she…?"

"Last I heard, they had both woken up," Captain Holt said, and Lance's shoulders sank with relief, "but they're likely to stay in the hospital for a while." He turned to Lance. "On the bright side, you'll have company at desk duty when Officer Acxa comes back."

An amused huff escaped Lance's lips. "Fair enough."

A beat of silence passed, everyone in their own thoughts.

"I'm proud of you." Captain Holt clasped his hands in front of him, face somber and sincere once more. "I had my doubts and you had your missteps, but you handled the situation yesterday with expertise and proved once and for all you do make a good team."

Lance released a breath, some of that anxiety always twisting inside him going with it. "Thank you, Captain."

Keith also seemed a little lighter as he said his own "Thank you" in reply.

The distant sound of the front door opening came, and Captain Holt rose to his feet. "Well. I should stop monopolizing your time," a warm smile spread across his face as a mingle of voices came from the hallway, "because I have a feeling there's a few others who want to see you. Rest up. You've earned it."

The voices grew closer, clearer enough that Lance knew exactly who they belonged to. He grinned. Seemed like Hunk hadn't just left to give them privacy after all. "What are you doing here?" he asked, rising to his feet too and crossing the room.

"What does it look like?" Pidge huffed, dumping a grocery bag full of something onto the kitchen counter. Captain Holt squeezed their shoulder as he passed by. "We're celebrating."

Keith came up beside him, eyes flickering over the now lively kitchen full of people. "Celebrating what?"

"My birthday," Matt said as he handed his bag over to Hunk and Lance choked back a laugh.

"Really?"

Pidge rolled their eyes. "No. He's just being an idiot."

"We solved the case," Coran said, taking pity on Keith's confusion. "And you, Lance and Allura are completely or mostly in one piece–"

"Not to mention Allura taking that plane down like a fucking badass," Pidge added.

"–so I'd say that's plenty of reason to celebrate."

"And Hunk told us you're leaving for Texas tonight, Keith." Allura came into the kitchen too, carrying yet another bag. How much – and what – had they brought with them? "It only felt right to see you off properly."

Lance looked between them all, the pieces finally clicking into place. "You mean…?"

"Yup." Hunk grinned back at him as he began pulling one box after another of Chinese food from the closest bag – a mirror image of last year, the day before Lance flew out to visit his family. "Take-out buffet."

As Hunk explained what they had to Keith and Pidge ordered the others around in setting everything up, Lance hung back, watching. Thinking of his family in Cuba. The friends he had right here.

How close he'd come yesterday to lose it all.

'Who cares what other people think? It's your damn life.'

Keith had been right then. Doing things just because he was expected to… it didn't make sense. It wouldn't make him happy. But neither would living in limbo.

And looking at everyone here, what had seemed so uncertain before had never felt clearer.

The others were helping themselves to the food when Lance rested a hand on Hunk's arm. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure. There's drinks in the fridge," he pointed it out as he followed Lance, "and plates in the cupboard over there–"

"We know." Pidge waved a hand in their direction. "Shoo."

The others' voices and the clatter of porcelain became a backdrop of sound as they headed over to the hallway – far enough away to have a private conversation, but close enough to still feel connected to them.

"I should've asked if Captain Holt wanted something too," Hunk said with a frown towards the front door. "Feel kinda bad I didn't."

And wasn't that Hunk? Always thinking of others. Always wanting the best for everyone. And here Lance was, about to ask for more than he had a right to.

'Says who?' Keith's words from last night butted in once more. 'Not Hunk, since you haven't talked to him about it.'

Lance swallowed. "He said he didn't want to impose. But hey, if there's leftovers I'm sure Matt or Pidge could swing by and give them to him."

Hunk looked comforted by that. "Yeah."

A pause. Lance went to run his hand through his hair before he remembered the sling, settling for shoving his other hand in his pocket.

He still felt sure – knew what he wanted. But as usual, that didn't make it easier to put into words.

"Hey," he said again. "So. I've been thinking. About, you know, living here. The apartment. And…" He took a breath. "What if I didn't move back?"

Hunk stared at him. "What?"

"I know me staying here was supposed to be temporary and if you want me to go I absolutely will–"

"No! No, I didn't mean it like that, man. I just…" Hunk pressed his lips together, eyes betraying the way his mind was churning. "I thought you wanted to move back?"

Lance glanced back towards the kitchen. Only Allura and Coran were still there, talking quietly as they filled their plates. "I thought I did. Well," he amended, "I thought I… should?" He ran a hand across his face with a wince. "Dios, it sounds so pathetic out loud."

"It doesn't," Hunk said, but that was what nice people said even when they agreed.

He needed to get to the point.

"What I'm trying to say is: over there, in the apartment, I feel so… so far away. From all of you. And even if most of my family's back in Cuba now," he sent Hunk a small smile, "I wanna keep the family I have here close, you know?"

With the way Hunk's eyes softened, Lance knew he had caught the implication. "So what do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I still think I'd like my own place. Someplace closer, where I can barge in and annoy you every day if I want."

Hunk's lips curved up. "Who says I wouldn't be the one crashing yours?"

"Fair point. But until I find that place, is it alright if– I mean, would you–" He breathed in through his nose. Spit it out, McClain. "Can you put up with me for a bit longer?"

A beat of silence. Then Hunk shook his head, pulling him in for a hug. "As if you have to ask."

Lance laughed, but in truth his eyes were prickling, the relief ensnaring his vocal cords. He ignored it however, right along with the way his arm twinged from being squashed between them, and hugged him back. "Te quiero, hermano," he mumbled into Hunk's neck.

Hunk brought one of his hands up to his shoulder, the response warm, sure and familiar. "Love you too."

They stayed there for a moment longer. Then Lance pulled back, clearing his throat. "Come on," he said, "before the food you worked so hard to prepare gets cold."

Hunk huffed, a grin growing. "Yeah, right. Picking up take-out's hard work, man."

In the living room, everyone had ignored the dining table in favor of cramming themselves together on the couch – except for Keith, who had pulled over one of the chairs. He was quiet, but seemed content enough to split his attention between his plate and Pidge's dramatic storytelling.

Lance glanced up, smiling a thanks at Hunk as he handed him a plate over the counter.

Everything wasn't fixed. He still had a lot to figure out. But this was a start. And maybe…

Maybe he could begin to forgive himself for choosing to stay in America.

:::

The shadows were creeping in and Hunk, cheeks flushed but smiling, was in the middle of telling them all about his meeting with Shay at the gala when Keith felt his phone vibrate. Distractedly, he pulled it out… and froze.

"I-I'll be back," he heard himself say before he dumped his plate on the table and headed for the balcony.

The talking and laughing fading into background noise as he closed the glass door behind him, eyes focused on his phone screen. On the message notification received less than a minute ago.

Adam.

The apartment wall was cold as he leaned back against it. Stared out into the night. Already streetlights and window lights were coming on, reflecting against the sky slowly leaching of color. Fading to dark blues and blacks.

Not giving himself any more time to hesitate, Keith opened the message.

'Our office got the report this morning.

'Takashi would've been so proud of you. But mostly just glad you're safe. So am I.

'I'll be there to pick you up at the airport tonight. If you feel up to it, we could stop by the Shiroganes on the way back? Obaasan would love to see you.'

There was more – something about arrival time – but it blurred out of focus. Keith rested his head against the brickwork, blinking to try and clear his vision. Failing because the thought of Shiro's grandmother, with her head held proudly but her heart so big, alone now at her coffee table and how her only response when Shiro first brought Keith twelve years ago had been to bring out another plate and how Shiro was so much taller than her, yet when she ran her hand fondly along his cheek she seemed strong enough to carry them both and–

Shiro was gone.

He was actually gone.

The glass door slid open and Keith ran a quick hand across his face, a flood of keep it together, keep it together, keep it together racing through his mind because he couldn't lose it here on Hunk's balcony, not with everyone just inside and they were supposed to be celebrating–

"Ahh," Coran said, stirring his drink absentmindedly as he took a deep breath. "Something about the night air, isn't it?"

"Oh yes," Matt closed the door behind them, "nothing's more refreshing than the smell of pollution. Already been roped into another case?"

Only then did Keith realize he was still holding his phone. He tucked it back into his pocket. "No," and he hoped they would put the thickness in his voice down to his sore throat, "just a friend."

"I see." Coran didn't seem fooled, but didn't press. "We came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

"Yeah. I promised to drive the old man home," Matt said, ignoring the look Coran sent him at being called old, "and I'm guessing we won't have time to see you again before you head out."

Head out. Back to Texas. Back home.

But Adam and Obaasan were Shiro's family first. Not his. And without him there, without him tying them all together…

Keith shoved his hands into his pockets, shoving the thoughts of Adam and Shiro's grandmother and everything further down with it. Just a little longer. He just had to keep it together a little longer. "Oh."

"You'll have to thank the Marshals for letting us borrow you for a bit. You really livened up the place." Pidge's laugh echoed through the glass and Matt sent a fond look towards the lounge room. That same look still there as he turned back to Keith. "Pidge would never tell you this, but they've felt a lot more… present since you got here. Lance too." A crooked grin, followed by a clap on the arm. "Try not to crash with this plane, yeah?"

Despite himself, Keith felt a small smile cross his face in return. "I'll try."

A moment passed, no one seeming to know how to wrap things up. Then after a glance at Coran, Matt said, "I'll bring the car around, okay?"

Coran nodded and, with a wave goodbye, Matt went back inside.

Keith shifted, thumb worrying against his knuckles inside his pocket. What did Coran want? Because there was something, he could tell.

But Coran didn't look at him, his eyes on the people on the other side of the balcony door and mind faraway.

"I used to be close with Allura's father," he finally said. "He was a good man, but with bad health. And when he passed… I worried about her." He met Keith's gaze. "I worried she'd drown."

Keith pressed his lips together.

Because of course Coran knew. Maybe he had known since the very first time he asked Keith about the report. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to connect the pieces.

"But she's strong. Stronger than she knows, maybe." Coran's eyes were soft, his smile sad but kind. Understanding. "And she has good people around her who would let her lean on them if she wants. Even if those people aren't in the same city."

Keith looked away, jaw working. Fighting to hold on, to keep in the emotion clawing up his stomach, his chest, his throat. He blinked once. Twice.

"Thank you for keeping her safe." A hand rested on his shoulder, in a way that felt so familiar it hurt. "Take care of yourself, Keith."

Not trusting himself to speak, Keith only nodded. Hoped Coran understood the I'll try and Goodbye and Thank you behind it.

Another soft smile. Another squeeze of his shoulder. And Coran was gone, the ice in his drink clinking quietly and the door closing behind him with a muted thud.

Keith didn't know how long he stood there, silently watching the spot where Coran had been. Only that after a while he had to sit down.

He pulled one of the rackety metal chairs over, knee flaring as he sunk down on it, hands coming up to clasp the back of his head. Tried to pull in a steadying breath. It faltered half-way.

'I worried she'd drown.'

Digging his fingers into his hair, Keith squeezed his eyes shut. What was wrong with him? He had known for over a week. Known Shiro… Shiro was dead. Why was it hitting him now? Why did it all suddenly feel so… so real?

Another attempt at breathing. Another hitch. Doing nothing to settle the growing ache in his stomach. The ache louder than all the physical ones he had scraped together, screaming to be released… but he couldn't. Wouldn't. Because…

Because if he let go, maybe he couldn't stop.

A now recognizable sliding sound reached his ears. Followed by an even more recognizable voice.

"So this is where you're hiding, huh?"

Keith heard Lance drag the remaining chair over, slumping down next to him with a sigh. He let his arms fall, but didn't look up.

"I talked to Hunk by the way," Lance spoke into the silence. "He was cool with it. Just like you said. Still lots to figure out, but…" He paused, leg starting to bounce. Another breath. "Yeah, I guess I shouldn't think too much about what next."

Keith shouldn't either. Yet it seemed to be all he could think about. What now? What now?

"Wanna go for a drive?"

There was a restlessness in Lance's eyes when Keith looked up, but also something else. Something sincere. Something vulnerable.

Keith swallowed. Gaze falling on Lance's sling. "You sure?"

A huff left Lance's lips. "You know I still have another fully functional arm, right?" As if to demonstrate Lance stood up, holding out said arm towards him. "And I'm an expert at driving with my knees. Ask Pidge."

If his heart wasn't so heavy he would have laughed – because he was sure Pidge would tell him the exact opposite. But for now, he let himself be pulled to his feet.

:::

They didn't talk during the drive. In fact, Keith didn't even ask where they were going, only leaned his head against the window, eyes on the streets flashing by but mind clearly somewhere else. It suited Lance fine, though – despite his previous confidence driving with one arm was hard, especially to switch gears. It kept his mind occupied though, distracted from everything but the task at hand.

All in all, he felt quite proud of himself when he finally put the car into park. "There. Behold."

And Keith did, a frown crossing his face as his gaze flickered between the billowing palm trees, crashing waves and setting sun. "The beach?"

"Yeah." The corner of Lance's mouth pulled up as he looked out too, something inside him settling. "Couldn't let you leave without seeing Venice Beach at its best, right? Come on."

During the sunny days, you usually couldn't see the sand for all the people. People running, playing, relaxing; the smell of fast food and sun lotion in the air; the sound of talking, laughing, music of all kinds competing with each other… and Lance loved it. But there was something special about the beach at night, when most people had gone home and the previously concealed smell of salt and lapping sound of waves asserted itself. Like a secret version of the beach everyone knew.

They weren't the only ones out for a late-night visit. An older couple, hand in hand, were walking in the distance, watching their little dog play in the shallows. And further down near the volleyball court, a group of teenagers had gathered around a bonfire.

"We used to have those at the beach in Varadero," he said, nodding towards the teenagers as he sat down in the sand. "The last summer night before school started again. Being the runt of the McClain gang, I was never allowed to stay too late, but I– You alright there?"

Keith had gone to sit down next to him, without bending his bad knee, and ended up thunking into the sand. "Fine," was however all he said as he brushed his hands off.

Lance shook his head, focusing back on the ocean. On the yellows and oranges the sun speckled across its surface.

"Tell me more. About your family."

He glanced over, but Keith's gaze was fixed on the sunset too.

And so Lance did. He finished telling him about the bonfire nights and how he always managed to convince them to let him stay just a little longer, 'solo una media más, por favor mamá.' Then he told him about his mom. How when she laughed, she laughed with her entire body. How when she was angry, he swore she literally fumed. About Veronica, always the smartest of them all. How he would ask her every question under the sun because she always had an answer. About his brother Luis, the oldest but somehow the most childish too, and the best pranking buddy a seven-year-old could ask for.

He didn't know when he made the transition from that pocket of happiness he remembered as his first years to more serious things. When the nostalgia got a melancholy tint. Maybe that was just his default setting today. Mixed feelings all around.

"You know," he found himself saying, "I didn't tell you the whole truth yesterday. About why I stayed in L.A." He looked down, drawing swirly patterns in the sand. "I moved here when I was ten. At this point I've pretty much lived double of my life here than in Cuba. And… It shows.

"I forget sayings. I forget the ways we used to do things. Half my dreams at night are in English now. And when I went back last year… this guy in town asked me if I was from Mexico."

A laugh left his lips. Quiet. Subdued.

"Maybe he was just bad at geography, but," his breath shook slightly as he inhaled, "I know my accent isn't as strong as it used to be. That I'm not as… as Cuban as I used to be. And sure, Los Angeles has its own mile-long list of issues, but Varadero…" He swiped at his eyes, because great, here came the waterworks. "It still feels like home, but not like I belong there, you know? Not anymore. Not completely.

"I don't know if I feel like I belong here either. Maybe I don't. Or maybe part of me belongs in both places," another watery half-laugh, "and I just have to find peace with feeling incomplete all the time." He thought back to the hallway. To his conversation with Hunk. "But I'm trying. To find peace with it, I mean. I really am."

A pause.

"... I'm sorry. I was supposed to tell you all the good stuff and here I go dumping this on you. Feel free to ignore the past five minutes."

He glanced over then, prepared to receive a good-natured eye roll, some sarcastic remark… and stopped short.

Because Keith was crying. Lips thinned into a line, forcing down any sound, gaze still set on the sea, but unmistakable. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he knew but didn't care. But just like that time in Captain Holt's office, Lance felt jarred to his very core.

Keith must have noticed him staring as he bent his head lower, hands coming up to run slow, tired motions across his face. Swallowing, Lance looked away, tried to give him some space.

A shifting sound. A heavy breath, like Keith had been holding it in. Then, "After dad died, I've never gone back to my old house. I just… didn't want to see it without him there."

Didn't want to taint the happy memories with loss.

Lance turned back. Watched as Keith pulled his good leg up close. Rested his chin against it.

"When I get back, everything's gonna be the same it's always been. Except it won't, because Shiro won't be there. And I don't–" His voice cracked and he paused. Visibly trying to gather himself. Giving up. "I miss him," he whispered. "I miss him so much."

For once, Lance didn't have anything to say. Didn't have a joke on hand. No urge to lighten the mood. Instead he simply reached out. Sand scraping his palm as he took Keith's hand in his.

Keith sighed. And squeezed back.

The sun was only a sliver over the horizon now, the bright colors slowly transforming into the night's black and dark blue. The old couple and their dog had disappeared from view, but the teenagers were still going strong, the sound of their laughter drifting across the empty sand.

Lance let out a breath, feeling both heavier and lighter at once. Because in different ways, they were both longing for something permanently lost.

And strangely enough… That was a comforting thought.

:::

The police must have worked quickly, as things seemed to be back to normal again at the airport. No tape, no police vehicles. Only a warning sign for the road reparations needed to fix the craters from Haggar's rocket launcher.

All in all… like nothing had happened.

Keith stopped outside the terminal doors. Hand tightening around one of the backpack straps. The backpack carrying the few belongings he had thought to bring before setting off on his revenge quest across the country.

Because that was what it had been, hadn't it? At least to start with.

He closed his eyes. Taking a slow breath through his nose. Then he turned around and faced Lance, Pidge, Hunk and Allura, standing side by side on the pavement. Lance's car ran quietly behind them in the ten-minute parking lot.

"Well, um." He cleared his throat. "See you, I suppose. And thanks." He wasn't sure for what exactly. Something. Everything.

A few quiet responses, a few awkward nods, and Keith figured that would be it… when Pidge stepped forward.

They stopped in front of him, eyes thoughtful but resolute as they said, "Okay, here's your warning."

"What–" was all he got out before he remembered. "Oh. Right. Okay."

And that was all Pidge needed to close the final distance, Keith barely having time to set his backpack on the ground before they wrapped their arms around his middle.

"If you get a bunch of cat videos from an unknown number during the week," they said as they let go, "it might be me."

Before he had a chance to respond Pidge had already slunk back, Hunk taking their place. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. His hug, hands pressing comfortingly into Keith's back, said it all.

A gentle squeeze of his arm as a final goodbye, and then there was Allura, hesitating for a moment before following her friends' cue.

"Where in Texas did you say you lived?" she asked.

"Odessa."

Her lips curved up slightly as she pulled away. "Good to know."

And, finally, Lance.

"You know," he said, "despite everything… It was nice to have a partner in crime for a change."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean against crime?"

"Eh. Doesn't sound as good."

"Sure. But yeah… Me too." A small smile grew in return. "Even if you made the worst ramen I've ever had."

A surprised laugh escaped Lance, transforming his expression into a genuine grin. "Yeah," he rubbed the back of his neck, "it was pretty terrible, wasn't it?" He paused, expression sobering to something closer to how he had looked on the beach. Then he shook his head, muttering a quiet "Ah, what the hell" before reaching out. Keith met his embrace halfway.

Lance was taller than Hunk, more limbs and less steadying presence. But there was a gentleness in his hand against Keith's shoulder blades, in how he avoided jostling his own arm. A quiet acknowledgment of all they had been through.

Keith released a long breath.

"Well." Lance moved back, shoving his good hand in his pocket. "Safe travels and all that."

Reluctantly, Keith picked up his bag. Slung it across his shoulders once more, the burns on his back stinging at the motion. An ironic mirror to his emotions. "Thanks."

He took one last look at the people in front of him, giving himself a final chance to steel himself for the journey… and everything he knew waited after it.

Then he entered the terminal.


This story, but this chapter in particular, I wrote thinking of my grandfathers. One who saw me grow up and find myself; one half the world away, but who still was me at every step. I love and miss you both.

(And I have you both to thank - and blame - for my love of crime fiction and terrible puns)

Thank you so much to all of you who have read this far - it truly means so much. See you next Sunday for the final chapter! (Heart)