I can't believe we're at the end. That just feels like an insane thought after how much time I've spent thinking about and writing and editing this. It feels fitting though, posting this last chapter from the other side of the world, visiting family I haven't seen for years but that feel as close to another home as I'll come.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading this far. Hopefully I'll see you around with another story at some point. But for now, take care and hope you enjoy the epilogue :)


Epilogue

Two months later

It was supposed to be Lance's night off when his phone rang.

"Whoever it is," Pidge said on the other side of Hunk's dining room table, not looking up from their poker cards, "tell them to call back later when I've claimed my victory."

Hunk raised an eyebrow, though his tone was amused as he answered, "We're not even playing for money, Pidge."

"I know. Doesn't make it any less rewarding to kick your asses."

Meanwhile Lance fished out his phone, internally sighing as he saw it was a number not saved in his contacts. Which meant it was either an overly chirpy phone salesman, or work calling. Again.

But they wouldn't call unless it was an emergency.

"I'll be back," he said and stood up, ignoring Pidge's disappointed mutterings as he raised the phone to his ear, the standard "Hi, the name's Lance McClain" out of his mouth before he had made it to the kitchen.

"Hi," and Lance stumbled to a halt because he knew that voice, "it's Keith."

"Keith," Lance echoed, his brain going stupidly slow because this was not what he had expected at all and after their Weekend of Haggar Hell was over… he honestly hadn't thought he'd hear from Keith again. And as the weeks passed, grown unsure about reaching out himself. "Wow. Hi. Long time, man. How you doing?"

"Fine," came the automatic response. He sounded tired though. "Are you busy?"

Lance glanced back towards the living room, but he already knew what his response would be. "No, no, it's fine. Hang on, lemme just…"

A few steps and he was in his bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"There," he said, zigzagging between the boxes littering his floor to fall back on his bed. "So, um. Suppose you've seen the results from Lotor's final hearing?"

"Yeah." A pause. "I've been thinking about it a lot actually. You?"

Lance pressed his lips together. "A little. I kinda feel bad for him, you know? Sure, he was an accomplice in everything Haggar did here which makes his jail sentence absolutely fair, but…"

Maybe things could have turned out differently if Lotor had gotten a true fresh start. If Haggar hadn't come back into his life. Or if he had made other choices when she did.

"Anyway," Lance shifted his grip on the phone, "haven't had the time to sit down and properly read through all the details – which is ironic since I've had nothing but desk duty up until a week ago. Guess there's been a lot of other stuff going on lately, but… yeah. I'll get around to it."

Keith hummed in response, clearly in thought, and for a moment the conversation came to halt. Then, "Other stuff?"

"Oh, right, yeah." Sitting up, Lance let his eyes fall back on his cluttered surroundings. "So I just finished clearing out the apartment a few days ago. Well," he flexed the fingers of his left arm, "not just me. I don't need a sling anymore, but I'm still not allowed to lift heavy things. Which according to Hunk includes curtains."

Something close to a laugh came from the other end, and Lance smiled. "So now you're actually living with Hunk?"

"I guess so?" Lance bit his lip, trying to remember how much Keith knew. "For now, anyway. I… I've been doing a lot of thinking. About what I want."

Talked about it too, especially with Veronica since she came back to L.A. a month ago: long conversations into the night, lots of memories, some tears. But something she'd said a few weeks ago had stuck with him the most.

'You're allowed to build your own home, Lance. And even if you decide to build it here, it doesn't mean you're somehow betraying mamá or papá, or Cuba. It doesn't mean you lose what we had growing up.

'And between you and me,' she had leaned forward, a gleam of humor in her eye, 'one of the perks of belonging to two cultures is that you can pick the best of both, right?'

Maybe his younger self had had the right idea all along. Because even though no person could hold all the answers, Veronica sure seemed to have a lot of them.

Or maybe she was just good at putting things in ways he understood.

Either way, "I'm staying here until my arm and everything's back to normal," he said. "Then… I'm gonna start looking at places in the neighborhood. But I'm trying not to think about it too much yet. One thing at a time and all that." He smiled wryly. "You know, healthy habits."

Silence.

"Keith? You still there?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Then, "That's great, Lance. I mean it."

Smoothing out some of the wrinkles on the bed sheets, Lance's smile softened. A while back 'great' hadn't even felt on the table, but now… he was starting to believe it could be.

"But okay, as much as I like talking about me, I'm curious. Any particular reason you decided to pick up the ol' phone? Or did you just miss my angelic voice?"

Another snort. "If all angels sound like you, I'm booking a ticket to hell."

"Ouch," Lance said, but he grinned. A part of him had missed those deadpan remarks.

"But no, I…" Keith took a breath. "I don't know. Mostly Allura, I suppose. She stopped by yesterday."

"... What?"

:::

Keith completely understood Lance's reaction, because he had felt the same when he first got her straight-to-the-point message a week ago.

'Hello, Keith. What are your plans on Thursday afternoon?'

'Nothing important,' he had written, because it was true. All he did after work since getting the okay from the physical therapist was put on some music and run – street up and street down, district by district – until he physically couldn't anymore.

Definitely not one of those healthy habits Lance had talked about.

'Good,' had been Allura's reply. 'I'll be at your door at 5 PM.'

And she had.

"So she just showed up? In Odessa?" Lance asked. "'Cause last I heard she was heading to Atlanta to do some reshoots."

"Yeah. She took a detour."

Keith shifted on the couch, gaze flickering around the small space that made up his living room. Cleaning up for Allura's arrival had left it looking neater than it had in a long time: jackets back in the dark-wood wardrobe near the hall, the few books he had sorted on the shelf near the window, the case files and notes that had covered the square coffee table returned to the district office or shoved into a box on the wardrobe's top shelf.

Neater. Emptier.

"Huh," Lance said, clearly still processing. "So what did you get up to, then?"

Pressing his lips together, Keith played with a loose thread on the knee of his jeans. "Not much. We talked about L.A.. The past two months." He pulled harder. The thread snapped. "Grief."

"... Oh."

It hadn't been intentional. They had been talking about something completely different. But the last day in L.A. had been playing over and over in his mind – Coran's hand on his shoulder, Lance and the beach, the hugs at the airport – and before he knew it, he was saying it.

'Before I came to L.A… I lost someone.'

Allura had listened. Asked when needed. Shared a little of her own story.

And in the end looked him right in the eye and said, 'You need a change.'

Keith knew. Had known for a while now he would keep spiraling if something – if he – didn't break the cycle.

So had Adam when Keith called him a few hours ago.

'For me, being here,' he had said, 'staying and keeping up with everything… It helps. I don't know, but ISomehow it makes me still feel close to him.' A quiet sigh. 'Doesn't mean it's the same for you. That we have to deal with missing him in the same way.

'If you want to know what I think, I think your friend's right. You need to live, Keith. And right now, right here, you're not.'

Keith rolled the thin black thread between his fingers, swallowing. "I've been thinking of transferring. To another district."

A pause.

"Wow. Okay. That's a big deal, man. You got a place in mind?"

His hand shook a little and Keith pulled in a quiet breath through his nose. That was the thing: he did. Only he didn't know if he was naive thinking it. If he was deluding himself into thinking those three days had been more than they were.

If he had been so desperate to find something to hold on to, he had clung to something nonexistent.

But when Allura visited… maybe it hadn't all been in his head. Maybe he had, despite everything, made a connection. Made, if not friends, at least something close to it.

'Come on, man. I thought we bonded.'

And if he were honest with himself, that was the reason he had called. Because no matter the outcome, he had to know for sure.

Keith closed his eyes. And took the leap.

"I've been thinking about L.A."

A second passed. Two.

"You're not joking, are you?"

Opening his eyes, Keith frowned. "Why would I be joking?"

"I don't know! I just– You keep throwing curveballs at me and," a muffled sigh came from the other end, "dios, estás intentando darme un infarto…"

"So… you would be okay with it?"

"Yeah, of course I'm okay with it! More than okay. I mean, it'd be a lot of work for you to go through with it but…" Lance trailed off. "Hey, Pidge and Hunk are just outside in the living room. Would you be alright bringing them in on this? 'Cause I think we could use their brains."

Keith went to nod before he remembered Lance couldn't see him. "Yeah," he added, relief coating his senses in more ways than one. "That'd be great."

Because beyond talking to Adam, calling and seeing how Lance felt about it… Keith hadn't thought further. Hadn't let himself think further.

"Cool," Lance said. "Hang on a minute."

A shuffling sound, followed by a door opening.

"Hey, guys," Lance's yell sounded distant, as if he had lowered the phone from his ear, "there's someone here who wants to ask your advice about moving to L.A."

In the background Hunk asked something, and even not able to make out the words Keith heard the confusion loud and clear. A small smile crossed his lips. Of course Lance would make a show out of it.

"Keith," now he was back close again, and Keith could picture his smirk, "I'm putting you on speaker phone now, alright?"

Hunk and Pidge's voices exploded into clarity.

"–eith! How you been, man?"

"Wait. Back the fuck up. You're moving here?"

Some time of summarizing everything later (except the grief part. He wasn't ready to share that, especially not over the phone), Pidge and Hunk were up to speed. And by the sound of it, one hundred percent onboard.

"Okay, so here's the plan," Pidge said after a quiet moment of thinking, a drumming sound in the background like they – or one of the others – were tapping their fingers against a table. "You talk to the L.A. Chief Deputy first. So you're actually sure you can transfer – or at least start a probationary period – before you pitch it to your Chief."

Keith nodded to himself, running a hand through his hair. That made sense as a first step. He would have to look up the L.A. Marshals' office number. Email was out of the question – he'd never get everything he wanted to say out in writing.

Even though he didn't particularly love the idea of a phone call either.

Pidge wasn't done however. "What are you doing this weekend?"

"Before: nothing," he said dryly. "Now I'm preparing, I suppose."

"So you wouldn't be opposed to hauling your ass up to L.A., prepping with us for a bit and talking to the Chief Deputy yourself on Monday? I'm sure we could fit in talking to my– Captain Holt too. He'd back your application."

A beat passed.

"Pidge, that's insane," Lance said.

"Ballsy," Pidge corrected, "but sure as hell would make an impression."

Hunk made a thoughtful hum. "But Texas to L.A… that's no small field trip, man."

"So?" A huff came through the speaker. "There's always last-minute plane tickets floating around. He could be here tonight if he wants."

Tonight. The word sent a thrill through him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

It could work. If he told Adam, and he covered for Keith until he had figured things out with the L.A. Chief Deputy, and then Keith called in from their office…

"But what if there are no seats left?" came Hunk's voice.

"Then I'll hack him a seat."

"Pidge, you work in law enforcement. I shouldn't have to remind you that's illegal."

"God, you're both so–"

"I'll do it," Keith interrupted. Heart thrumming in his chest, but not from fear. "I'll come tonight."

A laugh. "Really?" Lance asked.

"Really."

Chaos broke out on the other end, voice mixing together so quickly Keith had trouble keeping up.

"Holy shit. You're actually coming."

"But are there even any seats left?"

"Hold on, I'll check."

"Oh, that'll be great! Shay's coming over tonight too–"

"–a plane in four hours with several seats left."

"–she'll be happy to see you again."

"Dios, I just realized: my apartment. I was gonna put it on the market, but who says I couldn't just rent it to you? It'd save both of us a lot of hassle and–"

"–should be enough time, right? But it's not the cheapest."

"We could split it? We all want him to come anyway."

"–can talk about that during the weekend, alright?"

"Keith? You still there?"

Keith leaned back, emotions in whiplash as he blinked towards the roof. "Yeah." He cleared his throat, voice stronger the second time. "Yeah, I'm still here." He paused. "It's fine. I'll pay for the flight. But thank you."

A fresh start. Seeing people who looked forward to seeing him too. Forcing himself out of the rut he had been in for weeks.

He couldn't think of anything more worth spending his money on.

"Hey, we help each other, alright?" Lance's voice was soft, betraying the honesty behind the lighthearted words. "And I gotta get some competition around here. Being the best sleuth around gets old."

Despite himself, Keith let out a small laugh. "Guess I'd better come then. If you're the best around, L.A.'s really in trouble."

"Never mind. Pidge, can you hack him a seat next to a screaming baby?"

"Keith, I've texted you the flight details now," Pidge said, ignoring Lance, "but don't book anything right away."

"Why not?"

"'Cause before you called, me and these two losers were in the middle of a poker game. It's only fair the winner gets to choose your seat number."

Another amused huff escaped him. "Sure."

A round of goodbyes. And then they were gone, the quiet hum of his ceiling fan his only company once more.

Letting out a long breath, Keith dropped the phone beside him on the couch, hands coming up to rest in his hair. He didn't know how much time passed as he sat there. Thinking. Processing. Only when he stood up, he felt less overwhelmed. Had a sense of purpose.

The wardrobe next to the living room doorway didn't have much in it; a few boxes on the top shelf, most of the coat hangers empty. Enough to hold the things closest to his heart.

The hanger scratched softly against the rack as he pushed his red leather jacket aside, eyes drawn to the one hanging next to it. Black, cut in a bomber style. White detailing along the shoulders and sleeves. Its material water-resistant, yet thin: perfect for the sudden showers the Texas fall could bring.

Swallowing, Keith let his fingers skim against the sleeve of Shiro's jacket. Remembering all the times he had seen him wear it. Remembering coming home from that fateful day and seeing it slung over one of his kitchen chairs, forgotten from Shiro's visit the afternoon before.

He had thrown it in here, hidden from sight, and hadn't looked at it since.

The fabric was cool against his skin as he slipped it over his shoulders, the sleeves a little too long. But the scent of him was still there. Faint, but there.

Keith wrapped the jacket closer around himself, taking a deep breath in. Letting himself pretend for a moment the arms around him weren't his own.

He was leaving. Maybe soon for good. But maybe that didn't have to mean leaving Shiro behind. Maybe he could let himself move on, find a new sense of belonging without dreading to forget.

He had done it once with dad. Alone.

This time, if he made the choice… he wouldn't have to be. And maybe that would make all the difference.

On the couch his phone buzzed, and he went and picked it up.

'Hunk won,' Lance's text read. 'When you book, get seat 16H. Or if that one's taken, he says any seat with the letter H. Or a C, cause we'll SEE you soon.

'(Yes, he knows how terrible that pun is. Me and Pidge told him five times.)

'I'll pick you up at the airport later!'

A smile spread across his face. Something hopeful and warm stirring in his chest.

Well. Guess he should start packing then.

As he left for his bedroom, he kept Shiro's jacket on.