For a few seconds, no one spoke. No one moved. The room was eerily silent, save for the crackle of fire in the hearth and the patter of rain against the windows and the rhythmic clicking of the clock on the mantle. They served as the only indicators that time had not, in fact, stood still altogether—but for the four men struck speechless at the tangible proof of the authenticity of an urban legend, it may very well have.
Shiro was the first to be roused from shock, stirring beside Keith with a deep inhale. "They can't find this."
He said it matter-of-factly, and (though they once might have) none of them questioned his sanity or the validity of his statement. Nor did they question the existence of a fable, the evening's harrowing events too fresh and real to leave any room for doubt.
This was what the Benbow had burned for. This was what Thace had died for.
Treasure Planet.
As Keith protectively cradled the glowing sphere in his palms, Adam finally broke himself from his reverie. He ran a hand through his unkempt head of hair, causing it to stick up in every direction.
Under different circumstances, Keith might have found it funny.
Across from him, Adam leaned heavily into Shiro's side, nodding in agreement with his husband. "No, indeed." His voice was ragged and strained with emotion. "This is—no one can know."
"It can't stay here," Shiro decided, shifting to wrap his arms around his husband. "If they come looking for it… "
"So we give it to the Garrison, they can—"
"No." The conviction in his father's voice had Keith whirling around to find its source, and from the corner of his eye, he noticed Adam and Shiro following suit. At some point, his dad had moved to collapse into a desk chair and now sat with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "Under no circumstances can that happen," he asserted, never once looking up.
Confused, Keith caught his cousin's eye, and the two of them exchanged a look before Shiro took a tentative step forward. "Uh, Uncle O—"
"It's out of the question, Shiro," Keith's father snapped; and when he finally looked up, the tired circles around his eyes seemed deeper and darker than ever. He winced apologetically when Shiro recoiled at his tone. "Look, kid, it's—I know you trust the Garrison, but this ain't just a collection of sparkly rocks we're talking about here. Raw quintessence, Shiro. You've seen what that stuff can do in the wrong hands. You really want the Garrison to get their hands on all that? Not to mention—"
"The weapon," Keith breathed. All eyes in the room turned to him, and he swallowed. "The stories all say Zarkon was building something before he disappeared, right?"
His father nodded, and to Keith's left, Adam spluttered. "Well, yes, but—I mean, Owen, you don't really think—"
"I do." Owen Kogane rose to his full height, casting long shadows around the room. "We already know the Galra are after this, which means this is the real deal. We could spend all night parsing through the myths and trying to distinguish fact from fiction but in truth, we can't know." He took a deep breath, lost in thought as he reached out to caress the holographic outline of Eden-4. His finger took on a blue hue as it passed through the image. "We can't rule anything out."
After a short, tense silence, Shiro shuffled uncomfortably. "He's got a point. That much raw quintessence—"
Adam waved a hand, adjusting the position of his glasses atop his nose. "Very well; but if not the Garrison, then—"
"We have to hide it." It came to Keith like a whisper at the back of his mind, a tickle of an idea that had barely formed before he was blurting it into existence. "Somewhere Zarkon's cronies will never find it." As if he'd done it a hundred times, Keith twisted both ends of the sphere, and it clicked back into its original form, the holographic map around them disappearing. When he looked back up, the room was no longer awash in blue, and his family was staring at him with wide eyes.
To his surprise, his father was watching him as if he were waiting for him to place the last piece of an intricate puzzle. Keith clutched the orb—map, he told himself, you're holding a fucking map—to his chest, cold clarity hitting him as he realized exactly what the last puzzle piece was.
"We have to take it there." The words left him with assertion and certainty that he'd never possessed in his life, and he met the eyes of his family in turn. "To Treasure Planet."
Silence. The clock ticked. The rain tapped. The fire popped.
"Keith." Shiro's voice, low and steady, as if he were reasoning with a child. "That's—"
"Insane?" Keith cut in, meeting his cousin's eyes with fervor. "I know. But there's no other option." Turning to his father, his voice grew somewhat hesitant as he sought validation. "If the map is lost, the trove is lost. And we can ensure that no one can ever get their hands on that weapon. Power it down, or—or hide it or something. Right?"
Where Adam and Shiro looked aghast—eyes wide and jaws slack—Owen Kogane looked as if he'd come to terms with something particularly momentous. When he nodded, his face became unreadable and stoney, his mouth pulling into a thin line.
Keith swallowed, forcing himself to tear his eyes away even as Shiro cleared his throat. "Wouldn't it be easier to just… destroy it?" he asked, gesturing to the map in Keith's hands with a wrinkled nose.
To their surprise, it was Adam who squawked in indignation, leveling a glare at his husband and smacking at his arm. Shiro grumbled as he rubbed at the spot; and for the first time that evening, Keith allowed a smile to creep onto his face.
"Takashi," Adam chastised, using Shiro's full name for good measure. "Of all the foolhardy—we can't destroy it, we have no idea what sort of fail-safes we might set off! This is Zarkon's. Map. The thing could be rigged with a bomb for all we know."
"Well, can't you study—"
"Love, I adore your faith in me; I really do. But like I said before, I've never seen anything like this." He held an expectant hand out toward Keith, who wasted no time in tossing it over. He suppressed a snort as Adam scrambled clumsily to catch it, clearly not having expected a priceless artifact to be thrown. After shooting Keith a dirty look, he held the map up to the firelight, turning it slowly as he scanned its markings.
"As much as it kills me to say, uncovering its secrets will take time that we simply do not have if we're to keep it moving." He laughed breathlessly. "In fact, I'm not even sure how Keith managed to open it in the first place," he muttered, brows drawn in concentration as he prodded (to no avail) at the map's digits. Without pausing in his efforts, he angled himself towards Keith. "Darling, how—"
"That secret best remain with Keith," Owen interjected, striding forward to gently pry the map out of Adam's hands. He turned, pressing it carefully into Keith's awaiting palms and covering them tightly with his own. Bending slightly, he pressed a soft kiss to Keith's forehead before leveling him with a look so grave that Keith shuddered. "Fewer people know how to use this thing, the better. You keep it on you at all times, you hear? An' don't you mention a peep of this to anyone."
Reflexively, Keith nodded—and then the meaning behind the words caught up with him, and he took a shaky step forward as his father pulled away.
"Wait, Dad. Why're you talking like… like…"
"Like you're not coming?" Shiro finished, verbalizing what Keith could not. "We're gonna need you, Uncle O. There's no way we can do this by ourselves."
Adam made a noise like a dying engine. "Now hold on just a minute, I'd assumed we would entrust the map to—to a Garrison official, or—"
"Shiro is a Garrison official," Keith's father argued in a voice that strained for patience. "As Head of Outreach and one of the Garrison's finest diplomats, he is more than qualified—"
"And we all know what's happened whenever a Head of Outreach has traveled to the edge of the galaxy," Adam snapped, losing his temper in a very uncharacteristic display of aggression. "Or have we forgotten?"
The room's three other occupants reeled back—Shiro in particular looking as if he'd been struck. Keith's father folded his arms across his chest, and Adam shrunk back under his glare
"That," Owen said cooly, "—was out of line."
Adam desperately sought the attention of his husband, who looked like he was trying very hard to win a staring contest against the rug. "Sweetheart, please look at me; I didn't mean—it's…" Shiro's lips thinned into a line, and Adam threw his hands up in frustration, addressing the room at large. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? That was callous and—and insensitive, but I won't apologize for worrying for my husband's safety, not after—" The sentence screeched to a halt as his eyes darted to Shiro's cybernetic arm, but none of them needed words to understand the pain written across his face.
The room settled into an uneasy silence. Before it could become unbearable, Shiro cleared his throat, attempting to subtly shift his cybernetic enhancement out of view. "I think," he started, and Keith winced at the hint of tears in his voice, "—that Adam and I need a moment alone."
Both Keith and his father nodded, feeling very suddenly out of place as they watched Shiro wordlessly lead his husband from the room. They were gone within seconds, leaving nothing but the constant drone of the clock on the mantle in their wake.
For a few agonizingly silent seconds, father and son evaluated one another, worlds of unspoken thoughts sitting in the short distance between them. Keith's mind buzzed with so many questions that he hardly knew where to start; but as he tucked the map safely back into his pocket, one question slipped from his mouth without thought.
"You've known it was real all this time, haven't you?"
A pause. Shadows danced along his father's face. "Yes."
That was… good, at least. Even when the man was clearly keeping secrets, Keith could always rely on his honesty. As much as the answer hurt, at least he'd been trusted with the truth. "So…" Keith trailed off, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets. "You gonna tell me how?"
His father swallowed. "I can't."
Keith nodded, chewing at the inside of his cheeks as betrayal stung unrelentingly at his heart. "Did you know Thace?"
Another pause, just a hair too long to guarantee that what followed would be the full truth. "No."
"But you recognized him, or—or something."
His father's voice was a hoarse whisper. "He was one of the Blades of Marmora."
Keith inhaled sharply, feeling his fists clench inside his pockets. So they're real too. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised anymore, all things considered. If Treasure Planet was real, then so was the elite, top-secret society of rebel Galran spies tasked with infiltrating the Galran Pirates from the inside.
Sure. Why the fuck not.
It still didn't explain how his dad, a humble innkeeper from the Wastes, had come by this information. "And how would you know that?"
A tear ran down his father's cheek, and he raised a hand to wipe it away. "I'm sorry, Keith. You got no idea how bad I wanna tell you, it just… ain't my secret to tell."
The agony in his father's voice was enough to dislodge Keith from his line of questioning. With wide eyes, he watched as the man brought both hands to his face, muffling a sob. "I never wanted to hurt you, darling, I—I'd tell you everything if I could, I swear—"
Unable to bear the way his father's voice cracked, Keith practically flew across the short distance between them to wrap his arms around the most important person in his life. As they held one another in a crushing embrace, Keith imagined having to keep a precious secret from the people he loved. He imagined the guilt that would tear away at him, and his anger dissipated with each of his father's sobs.
"Hey." He pulled away, drying his own wet face. "I'm sorry, Pops. I'm not mad, okay?" His father regarded him with puffy, red eyes, and Keith felt shame well up within himself. Gee, you big jerk; how many times can you make your old man cry in one evening?
He clutched at his dad's sleeves, trying desperately to apologize with his eyes. "I get it. There's stuff you can't tell me, and that—that must suck. But maybe when I'm—" he took a shuddering breath, because he must have heard this part of the conversation incorrectly, "—when I'm up there, I'll find the answers for myself."
Regarding him with a wry smile, his father reached out to place a hand on his cheek, combing aside his unruly hair. "Oh, I think we can be certain of that, ace."
It might have been the tender, physical display of affection, or it might have been the old, well-worn nickname; but something inside Keith broke.
"You're really not coming?"
Owen Kogane laughed, the sound less humorous and more bittersweet. "I'm old, kid. I'd only get in your way. I'm not a fighter like Shiro, and I'm not—" He laughed again, but this time it was so unbearably fond that Keith almost wanted to look away. "I'm not anything like you, darling."
"Right." At that, Keith did look away, angling his chin toward the fireplace as his words leaked with bitterness. "I'm like Mom."
Another hand settled on his face, which was then gently guided back to meet his father's eyes. "No, baby boy. You remind me of her, sure—but no. You're like you, darlin'. Headstrong and clever and so darn resourceful in ways that I never have been. When this heart of yours knows what it wants…" he released Keith's face to tap a finger over his chest. "You're unstoppable, kid. That fella Thace saw it too, y'know. Your light."
Overwhelmed, Keith let his head fall forward against his father's chest, tears leaking from his eyes with abandon. It felt as if every word were scrubbing some dark smudge from his soul, lathering and cleaning until Keith had been scrubbed raw. He wasn't sure how he managed to speak through the dam of emotions building in his throat, but after a few seconds, he somehow managed, "How are you so okay with all this?"
"Okay? Keith, I'm terrified. You think I want to lose you?" His hands settled on Keith's head and upper back, holding him like he was something precious. "I wish I could come, sweetheart. But I meant what I said before. Like it or not, fate chose you for this task."
He pulled away, settling his hands atop Keith's shoulders. "Besides," he added, and something in his voice implored Keith to meet his eyes. "I've been preparing for this day for a long, long time."
When Keith stared aghast at him, unable to coerce his mouth into forming actual words, his dad laughed. "What? You think I don't see the way you look at the stars? You've been waiting for something like this since you were pint-sized, kid. You don't belong down in this—this mundane world. You belong up there, with the stars. Always have. An' who the hell am I to keep you tethered to the ground?"
Keith's head was throbbing—whether from crying or from sheer disbelief, he wasn't sure. It was everything he'd ever wanted—no, needed—to hear his father say, but admitting that to himself felt wrong, selfish beyond anything that he could describe. "I don't wanna leave you, Dad. It's—it's us against the world, right? We stick together," he insisted, even as his father shook his head, a bittersweet smile gently curving his lips.
"Keith." His hands moved to either side of Keith's face. "Look me in the eye and tell me that this life is what you want." Keith's breath caught in his throat, and his father's smile turned knowing. "Tell me honestly that you're happy."
He opened his mouth, furiously willing denial to his lips. It never came.
"You were meant for this, ace. Not for toilin' away in the Wastes." His father chuckled, knocking a fist gently atop his son's head. "Destiny's come a'callin. You gonna answer?"
"Yes," Keith breathed, chest tight with emotion. He felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one that had gotten heavier with each passing year; growing with each screw-up and failure. Now, he finally had a chance to shed that weight—to make it all right. "I'll do it. Shiro and I will make sure no one else ever finds the map, and I—I'll make you proud, Dad. I promise." He clutched the sphere in his pocket so hard that his fingers throbbed.
He wasn't expecting his father's face to crumple into an expression of pure love. "That's just the thing, kid. You already make me proud. You gotta stop trying to be the man you think I want you to be, and become someone you can be proud of. You hear?"
Keith didn't bother trying to hide his tears as he nodded his assent, shifting forward to once again seek the comfort of his father's embrace. It occurred to him that when he was in space, surrounded by the stars and adventure and everything he'd ever wanted, there'd still be something missing. He'd never be fully whole, not when his heart ached for what it had left behind.
"I'm really gonna miss you, Pop," he somehow managed to choke, hands tightening around fistfuls of his father's jacket.
Owen Kogane cradled his son close, raking trembling fingers through an unkempt head of hair.
"Hell, kid. I'm gonna miss you too."
…
The Spaceport of the moon Crescentia was crowded, almost unbearably so.
They'd taken Shiro's well-worn skiff off-planet, traveling the short distance between the surface of Montressor and its moon in what felt to Keith like mere minutes. In reality, the journey had likely lasted a little over an hour, but Keith was far too awed by his first venture off his home planet to pay much heed to the passage of time. As Shiro piloted, Keith crawled frantically around the front of the skiff, unable to quell his desire to take in the view from every possible angle. It seemed as if the sight in front of his very eyes was too unreal to process, and he found himself constantly blinking himself back into awareness.
It was breathtaking. Overwhelming. Too impossibly beautiful to be true, and yet; here it was.
Space surrounded him, stretching out as far as the eye could see. For a while, Keith was simply struck by how clear the air was; how wonderfully crisp and clean. It was one thing; breathing etherium with his feet planted firmly on the ground in the Wastes. It was quite another to breathe etherium in open-space, knowing that it stretched out all around him for hundreds of light years; connecting him to planets and stars, and to every living organism in the galaxy…
It was enough to bring any living being to tears.
In front of them, the crescent moon shone ethereally, growing more and more distinguishable as a spaceport as they approached. The flat curve of its surface became an intricate network of buildings and streets; and even from here, Keith could see grand ships returning to port, as well as setting sail in the distance as they headed out to farther reaches of space than Shiro's little skiff could weather.
The view behind them was perhaps more beautiful, yet Keith could not bear to look at it for more than a few minutes. He'd never before seen the planet Montressor from anywhere that wasn't on it. Not even endless, boring courses at the Garrison—during which they'd been shown picture upon picture and hologram upon hologram depicting their planet from space—could have prepared him. Seeing it like this; its greens and blues and browns merging into one hue as the planet grew farther and smaller by the minute…
It was peaceful. Heartbreaking. It stole the breath right out of his lungs; rendered his tongue useless and his mouth speechless. From up here, it was hard to imagine what had plagued him so on the ground below. For a moment—for one, poignant moment—Keith mused that it all seemed so insignificant.
The longer he stared—eyes glassy and lower lip held firmly between his teeth—the more he was tempted to run back to the piece of his heart he'd left behind.
Before long, he'd sent his father a silent promise of return and wrenched his eyes from the view, unable to bear watching it any longer.
By the time they'd docked and disembarked at Crescentia, Montressor was well on its way out of his thoughts; pushed to the back of Keith's mind as the Spaceport practically exploded to life around him.
Keith struggled to comprehend the utter insanity around him.
Street vendors hawked their goods at the passerby, gesturing robustly to lavish displays of food and jewelry and every knick-knack imaginable. Merchants muttered gruffly as they pushed through the crowd, loading their ships with crates full of supplies. Travelers and tourists of all ages and races (human and alien alike) hollered at one another over the bustling throng, reuniting or parting with equal fervor.
Keith had never been one for noise, or for crowds. He should have hated it; should have felt completely overwhelmed.
He couldn't have possibly been more enchanted.
It was honestly a wonder that Shiro didn't lose him. As his cousin forged through the masses, Keith stumbled along behind, barely able to keep up as he spun in circles, attention pulled in every direction all at once. He felt as if his heels were tied to a giant wheel, one that kept him turning out of wonder.
He'd never been surrounded by such… variety. He stared, open-jawed, as he passed stalls heaped with expensive looking gadgets that Keith and his father could never hope to be able to afford. He tried not to openly drool as he passed delicious-looking, off-planet delicacies that he'd only ever seen in the pictures of his Alien Cultures and You: The Finer Things textbook at the Garrison. He very much tried not to rudely ogle the weird and wonderful alien passerby; several of whom caught him gawking anyway, shuffling briskly away from him on scales or tentacles or gelatinous bodies with curt harrumphs.
On more than one occasion, he grew so restlessly eager to take it all in that he nearly lost sight of Shiro altogether; and his cousin was forced to retrace his steps to pull Keith from whatever extravagant display had caught his eye. (One such time, Keith had been side-tracked by an entire display case of glistening knives, and Shiro had been forced to literally drag him away; hauling him into the air with an arm around his torso as if he were a child. After that, Shiro had threatened to buy Keith a child-leash, and Keith had glowered at him for all of a minute before getting side-tracked once again.)
When the ships came into view, Shiro nearly made good on the threat.
Keith practically ran, squeezing and shoving his way through families until he was standing on the docks of the port. At the edge of the dock, mere inches from his boots, splintered wood fell away into the Etherium. With wind rippling through his jacket, Keith stepped toward the very edge, peering into the vast abyss of space before him.
It almost felt as if he were flying.
He might have closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze if not for the sight before him, stealing both his attention and breath all at once. Hundreds of massive ships stretched as far as the eye could see, their towering wooden masts reaching proudly for the sky. They hovered in mid-air at their berths, creaking and groaning as they bobbed gently on the currents of the Etherium. As Keith watched, entranced and captivated, the wind curled playfully through his hair as if summoning him onward.
Come, Keith, it seemed to say, teasing the hair around the nape of his neck and beckoning him out to open sky. Come home.
Keith didn't realize he was crying until Shiro's voice startled him away from the edge; and he took a couple of heavy steps backward and out of the wind's embrace.
"Keith Akira Kogane, I swear I'm gonna buy that child-restraint right now, or a pair of fucking handcuffs if I have to; and you won't leave my side until—"
He broke off as Keith turned wordlessly to look at him. Something on his face (Keith suspected it might have been the tears) softened his cousin's expression into something tender, and he stepped forward to join him without another word of admonishment.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he breathed, pulling Keith against his side and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
"Yeah," Keith croaked, unable to say much of anything else.
Next to him, his cousin hummed. "Wonder which one's ours, huh?"
"You mean, the Captain's," Keith sniffled, a teasing grin splitting across his face as he elbowed his cousin in the ribs.
Shiro huffed a laugh. "But of course. Captain Allura of Altea," he recited. "Hell of a ring to it. You know, Adam said she supposedly saved an entire fleet of Dayonnaraans from a Pirate attack. Single-handed." He gave his human hand a dramatic flourish, falling back into silence when Keith remained unresponsive.
After a couple seconds—during which Keith had nearly forgotten his cousin was even there—Shiro cleared his throat. "Alright, bud. I think I've been going about this the wrong way."
Ripping his gaze from the ships, Keith frowned up at his cousin. "Huh?"
Shiro grinned (as if Keith had just inadvertently proved some point) and reached out to ruffle his hair. He laughed as Keith protested, yanking himself out of his cousin's hold. "Here's the deal. You stay here and explore," he offered, gesturing to the docks, "—and I'll shop."
Somewhere under all the child-like wonder, Keith was hit by a twinge of guilt. "Are you sure? I can help—"
Already retreating, his cousin waved a dismissive hand. "It's your first time here, kid," he reasoned. "Have a look around, just—stay in this area, okay?" When Keith eagerly nodded, Shiro shot him a thumbs up. "If you need me, I'm gonna be over that way," he called, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "I think I passed a little shop with for-sale signs on open-space suits… Eden's Emporium, or something?"
Keith blinked, suddenly having second thoughts about letting his cousin wander off alone. "You're… buying suits from a place called—"
"I know what I'm doing!" Shiro called haughtily; and with that, he turned tail and slipped back into the crowd, lost in a sea of people.
…
Although the docks were slightly less busy than the port, they were equally chaotic.
Even as Keith meandered aimlessly along the creaking boards, his eyes glued to elaborately painted prows and flapping sails, he was forced to weave and duck to avoid collisions with sailors and passengers alike. The ships only seemed to grow more intricate and spectacular as he walked, all the while keeping an eye out for the Queen Melenor.
As happy as he was, the experience was somewhat soured by the absence of his father. Although Keith had desperately wanted him to accompany them to the port, his father had opted to stay behind with Adam, confessing the desire to keep their expedition as small and as inconspicuous as possible. (Secretly, Keith suspected that his father stayed behind to ensure that Adam didn't make a last-ditch attempt to dissuade Shiro.)
Neither Keith nor his dad had ever been to the Spaceport; not even when Keith had attended the Garrison, and they'd shuttled students to the port on field trips (he'd never been selected to go—not exactly surprising, considering his track record at the school). His father had always known that Keith wanted to visit, and he'd often promised to take them if they ever had the time or money.
Now, being here without him felt… wrong.
Mood dampened, he had just decided to double back to find Shiro when it happened.
He'd been so caught up in reminiscing about thoughts of home and warmth and familiarity that it almost transpired too quickly for him to process. One second, he was lost in thought, spinning on his heel to admire the woodwork on a prow that might have caught his father's eye; and the next, he was colliding into something back-first, grabbing the coat of a passerby for balance as whatever was behind him gave way.
At his back, a cry of surprise quickly turned into a blustering exclamation of rage; and preparing himself for the worst, Keith whirled around—
And considered throwing himself off the dock.
On the floor in front of him was a boy around his age, gaping at a shattered crate of supplies at his feet. Shells littered the planks around him, the remnants of whatever kind of eggs he'd been carrying. Gooey, neon-green yolk covered nearly every surface in the vicinity; the floor, Keith's boots, and—Keith realized with growing horror—the boy's face and clothes. He was covered in the stuff; and as it dripped into his eyes, the sailors lounging at the helm of the closest ship roared with laughter.
Mortification crept into Keith's cheeks as he pieced together what had happened. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd backed into the other boy, who'd been holding a crate brimming with eggs as large as Keith's palm. He must have thrown the boy off balance, and—
Keith swallowed, wincing as the goop-covered boy parted sticky hair out of his eyes with deadly deliberation.
Oh, fuck. He took a step forward, crouching down to meet the boy's eyes. "I'm—"
Sorry, he meant to say. Really, he did.
But then the boy was leveling him with a glare to rival all glares, and Keith's words died in his throat.
He'd never seen eyes so… so entrancing, before. They were different colors (heterochromia, Keith thought, that's so fucking pretty), one a pale, icy blue; the other a vibrant green that faded into hazel towards the center.
"You wanna take a picture, asshole?"
Keith blinked, reeling backward. He hadn't realized how close he'd gotten to the boy's face as he openly stared. "I—what?"
The boy rolled his eyes and laughed—a sarky, mocking sound that had Keith instantly bristling. "Clumsy and slow. That's quite an attractive combo, haircut."
… Haircut?
Standing, Keith wiped flecks of gelatinous goop from his palms against his pants, trying to ignore his burning face. Compassion left him as easily as it had come, replaced instead by haughty indifference. "Says the guy sitting in goo," he cooly replied, folding his arms across his chest in what he hoped was a very clear message: I don't help douchebags.
The boy on the ground spluttered in indignation, which might have reminded Keith of Adam if not for the venom behind the boy's expression. "Are you fucking—"
Their captive audience of sailors exploded into guffaws as the boy attempted to stand, only to cry out and topple back to the floor as he slipped in slime. His complexion, already several shades darker than Keith's, took on a red tint as a blush rose from his neck all the way up to his hairline.
By the time he'd managed to struggle to his feet, the boy's expression had practically gone thermonuclear. "Lemme give it to you nice and slow," he hissed, poking a finger into Keith's chest. "You bumped into me, Mr. 'I'm-Too-Cool-To-Watch-Where-I'm-Going'," he explained, his tone turning condescending. "Just to be clear: you're the asshole here."
Keith shrugged, batting the boy's finger from his chest with feigned nonchalance and schooling his features into the most bored expression he could muster. "Takes one to know one, I guess."
It was juvenile, and a terrible comeback; but something about the boy rubbed him the wrong way. He hadn't been this affected by anyone since—
Your father must be so proud.
Oh. So that's who this jerk reminded him of. Leave it to Keith to find the one person on Crescentia who reminded him of everything he was trying to leave behind.
The boy (Griffin 2.0, Keith lovingly decided to call him), stared—livid—at the empty spot that his hand had occupied before it had been smacked away. Keith could have sworn that one of Griffin 2.0's eyes even twitched. "Who the fuck," he growled, clearly goaded by Keith's indifference, "—do you think you are?"
Whatever witty retort Keith might have summoned proved unnecessary. As if Irony itself had intervened, an unfamiliar gruff voice located somewhere in the bustling throng behind Keith hollered, "Oi! Get a bloody move on, Cabin Boy!" punctuated by a round of distant, raucous laughter.
In the very far reaches of his brain (the part that he suspected housed what little rationality he possessed), Keith registered the way the boy's face fell, the fire in his eyes dimming as all traces of fight left his body in a split second.
It might have been enough to give any rational person pause—to perhaps rein in their attack and quit while they were ahead.
Of course, rationality had never really been Keith's strong suit.
Feeling his mouth twist into a triumphant smirk, Keith stepped forward, encroaching on the boy's space. "I might not be anyone important," he purred, clapping Griffin 2.0 on the shoulder as he maneuvered around him and lingering near his ear long enough to hiss: "—but I'm sure as shit not some cabin boy."
Griffin 2.0's head turned to meet his gaze, eyes wide with shock—and to Keith's delight, a spark of defiance had returned to their depths (he hadn't even realized that he'd wanted it back). His mouth sprung open with the promise of retaliation, and with a hammering heart Keith braced himself for—
"BLUE!" came another impatient bark.
The boy's mouth snapped shut, and Keith chuckled as he gave the boy's shoulder a final pat. "Sounds like you gotta get moving," he remarked, tucking his hands into his pockets and stepping away. Before he moved too far out of hearing, he raised a hand over his shoulder, not bothering to spare the boy another glance as he called, "See you never, cabin boy," before departing the scene.
…
By the time Keith found Eden's Emporium, he was in a foul mood. The entire interaction with the boy had left a shit-stain on his day that only seemed to grow with every step, and he merited a large number of glares as he shoved his way through the crowd. (Not that he cared. He was hot, sweaty, and the bright green yolk staining his favorite boots reeked in a way that made his stomach turn.) Keith was itching for the impending launch, eager to leave it all behind him.
Of course, he should have expected that it wouldn't be that easy.
When he pulled back the tarp flap to enter Eden's Emporium, the sight that greeted him didn't exactly boast efficiency and haste. Instead, Shiro lounged over a counter, human hand buried in the mane of the fluffiest cat Keith had ever seen in his life. The thing was sitting in a baby hamper strapped around the torso of an alien that Keith could only assume was Eden, who flashed a dazzling smile at him as he entered. He might have taken more stock of the four arms and green-tinted skin indicative of a ruthless Unilu trader; but in the moment Keith barely cared, his attention entirely swept up by the shop's chaotic aesthetic.
Every surface of the room was lined with plants, giving the shop's interior the appearance of a lush jungle. Keith recognized a couple species as being native to Montressor; while others had vines that writhed and slithered of their own accord, far too alien for Keith to identify. At the front counter, odd trinkets of varying degrees of uselessness were strewn about in a display case—a jar of dirt, a used candlestick, the fossilized remains of a sand-rat, and other strange objects that Keith couldn't name.
"Welcome, friend!"
The shop owner's voice garnered the attention of Shiro, who—without pausing in his ministrations—turned and, spotting Keith, shot him a grin and proceeded to point at the pampered kitten with a cybernetic finger. "Keith—cat," he greeted giddily, as if Keith had suddenly lost the ability to see.
He froze in the doorway, inhaling deeply as he attempted to control his breathing. "To be clear," he began, wincing as he realized Griffin 2.0 had used that exact same verbiage, "—while I've been wandering around in the sun, you've been… petting a cat."
"Sheesh, kid. I thought you wanted to wander around," Shiro reasoned, oblivious to Keith's unintelligible response of: "I did."
"Anyways," his cousin continued, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation. "I haven't just been 'petting a cat'. I also bought the suits, y'know." Shiro angled himself toward the store owner, shooting them a conspiratorial smile. "Some people just don't appreciate the finer things in life."
Without warning, he leaned towards the cat, moving to scratch at the bottom of its chin. To Keith's embarrassment, his cousin's voice took on a higher pitch as he cooed at the blissfully immobile creature sagging against Eden's front. "Do they, Miso? You sweet little baby, Adam would love you; yes he would, yes he—"
Keith pointedly cleared his throat, and Shiro sighed in disappointment. "Sorry Eden. Baby cousin has spoken." He saluted, all the while flashing the four-armed alien his most obnoxious—kids; am I right?—grin before bending to hoist his duffle bag off the floor.
(Sometimes, Keith wondered how old Shiro thought he was. The man had barely turned 29, for star's sake.)
As his cousin backed towards the entrance, hand raised in farewell, Eden shot the two of them a sharp-toothed grin. "Don't be strangers, now!"
"Wouldn't dream of it," Shiro promised. "You have a good one, and take care of that handsome devil of yours!"
The 'handsome devil' in question mewled loudly, and Shiro blew the thing a kiss before turning on his heel and slipping through the tent flaps. Keith scrambled after him, falling into stride as they rejoined the crowd.
"Who the fuck are you?" Keith hissed, struggling to keep pace. "Like, what the fuck was that back there?"
"That, little cuz, was how you do business."
Keith squinted up at him, wondering if he'd had too much heat for one day. "By. Baby-talking a cat."
Shiro snorted, breaking into an easy grin. "No. By being friendly."
"They were Unilu," Keith responded incredulously. "They're not exactly known for friendly, Shiro."
His cousin shot him a sideways smile. "Maybe not, but there was a sale, Keith. Least I could do was give her cat some love. And for your information, I also just happen to like cats, so—" Shiro stuck his tongue out, "—leave me the hell alone."
Keith shoved at him with his elbow. "And what was the sale, huh?" he asked hotly. "What, two spacesuits in exchange for your first child?"
"No," Shiro replied, dragging the word out as if he were making a great effort to be patient. "Like I said. It was a sale."
"What then?"
Shiro beamed smugly, a look that said: I thought you'd never ask. "Well, the first price she offered for them was my arm," he explained, flexing his cybernetic.
Keith paled. "Wha—that doesn't fucking come off—"
"Which I explained to her," he patiently interjected, waving a hand. "We haggled for a bit, took a break to talk about her cat, haggled some more, and then…"
He lifted a hand to comb through his hair. "We settled on a lock of hair."
Silence fell over them as Keith's brain buffered. Then: "What the fuck does she need your hair for?"
His cousin heaved a full-bodied laugh, clearly pleased by Keith's reaction. "I dunno! Nefarious purposes, I bet," he teased, wiggling his fingers in Keith's face.
Keith swatted away the offending digits with a scowl. "She could use it to clone you."
"O-kay buddy, you've been watching too many films."
"She could."
They'd arrived back at the docks, and a queasy feeling passed through Keith as he spotted the Disaster Area up ahead. To his relief, it appeared that Griffin 2.0 was nowhere to be found, even after Keith had cast a surreptitious look around.
"What's up with you?"
"Huh?"
Shiro gestured widely at his being. "This. Something happen?"
Heat flooded his face. Normally, he would probably have admitted to the fight; he'd never liked lying to Shiro. But today… today, things were supposed to be different.
A fresh start, and Keith had already screwed it up.
"Nothing. M' just hot," he grunted, just as the two of them passed the spot. The mess clearly hadn't been cleaned, and the crowd parted around it with wrinkled noses and hearty complaints regarding the rancid smell.
Shiro spared the spot a glance, his eyes widening before darting down to Keith's boots. Please don't ask about it, please don't ask about it, Keith chanted in his mind. As if he'd heard, his cousin cleared his throat and slowly acquiesced to Keith's answer with a nod—though he still looked entirely unconvinced. "Well, we're dock 22, and this is dock… "
"19," Keith hastily filled in, spotting the number on a nearby post and keen to draw Shiro's attention elsewhere.
"So the Melenor is somewhere right up there." His cousin gestured ahead, excitement palpable in his voice. "You ready to meet our new home for the next few months?"
Trying to match his enthusiasm, Keith shot him a smile. To his delight, he found that his heart was racing with anticipation that had not been dampened by any unpleasant encounters with random jerks. "I was born ready."
…
Stepping onto the ship felt like the most important moment of Keith's life.
The Queen Melenor was stately and elegant: all smooth, sanded wood and full, billowy sails. Although Keith spotted the occasional divot indicative of her travels, it was clear that the ship was well-loved, and that someone put painstaking effort into her upkeep.
Beside him, Shiro gave a low whistle. "She's a beaut, alright."
Tongue-tied, Keith had just opened his mouth to try to find the words to respond when a voice from behind them broke into their bubble.
"Welcome!"
Startled, Keith and Shiro both jumped as the voice's owner came into view, practically sliding in front of the two of them with enough enthusiasm to rival Shiro's apparent love for cats.
"You two must be Keith and Shiro! Unless you're not; in which case I'd kindly ask you to leave immediately, as you are in fact on the wrong ship."
As he took in the man's lanky stature, full orange mustache, and coiffed hair, Keith found himself suppressing a grin. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone who more perfectly embodied the sound of their own voice.
Shiro, on the other hand, seemed to have taken more stock of the man's attire—most notable being the navy-blue peacoat with various medals and insignia adorning the lapel. "No, that's us!" Shiro hurried, pulling Keith toward him with a hand around his shoulder. "I'm Shiro, and this—" Keith ducked out of his hold with a burning face. "—is Keith. And I'm guessing you're Lieutenant Smythe?"
The man clapped his gloved hands together in delight. "Right you are, my boy!" He leaned towards Shiro conspiratorially with a glint in his eye. "But please, call me Coran. 'Lieutenant Smythe' was my father."
When neither Shiro nor Keith reacted, Coran threw his head back and laughed, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "Just a little sailor humor for you; there'll be plenty more where that came from, never fear!"
"Oh, I'm fearing, alright," Keith muttered, and Shiro elbowed him hard in the ribs.
"Is Captain Allura around?" his cousin asked, a little too loudly.
If Coran had heard Keith's remark, he showed no sign, eyes glistening with adoration as he pointed upward. "The Captain is aloft," he explained with a voice full of reverence, and Keith followed his eyes up just in time to watch as someone slid down a rope, cloak fluttering around their legs as they landed daintily before the trio.
Well, Keith thought, mildly impressed. She's certainly got a hell of a knack for dramatic timing.
She wasn't exactly his type, but even Keith had to admit—the Captain was gorgeous.
He'd met a handful of Alteans who'd passed through the Benbow (enough so to have expected Coran and Allura's pointed ears, as well as the glowing crescent-shaped marks atop their cheekbones).
None were so ethereal as the Captain.
Pure white hair—so white that Shiro's nearly looked grey in contrast—billowed out from beneath the captain's hat, reaching down to her waist and tapering off into little curls. Her dark complexion was only highlighted by her baby-blue peacoat, fitted around the waist with a belt-holster that housed a wicked-looking pistol. Well-worn boots rose up to her mid-thigh over fitted black pants.
All-in-all, she was exactly the kind of hero that Keith had always pictured when he'd listen to his father's stories.
He squirmed as her sharp blue eyes flicked between him and his cousin, calculating and scrutinous and boasting deadly intelligence. "Misters Shirogane and Kogane, I presume?" Like Coran, her voice was accented—but where his voice was bubbly and bright, hers was as elegant and refined as her appearance.
Shiro cleared his throat, and Keith imagined that he'd been similarly affected by the captain's intimidating aura. "Uh—yes. Ma'am. Captain. Yes."
Unable to help himself, Keith snorted, and the captain's attention snapped toward him. As she fixed him with an indecipherable look, Keith felt his mirth ebb away. He averted his gaze, folding his arms protectively over his chest.
"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," she offered, sounding anything but. "As you've so perceptively surmised, I am Captain Allura. You may address me as 'Captain' or 'ma'am'. Do I make myself clear?"
"Entirely, Captain," Shiro eagerly replied, throwing in a cheesy little salute for good measure. Keith rolled his eyes, fighting a smirk as he allowed his gaze to wander.
"I said," came the captain's voice after a brief silence. "Do I make myself. Clear."
The tone of her voice had Keith's gaze snapping back in her direction, where he found three sets of eyes fixed upon him. Oh. He hadn't realized he'd been expected to answer, and he tried not to prickle in agitation under her stern, authoritative gaze. "Yes… ma'am," he added after Shiro nudged at his foot.
Her eyes lingered on him for a few disconcerting seconds before she was turning to regard Shiro. "I must verify that the two of you are fit for manual labor. If there are any pre-existing health conditions that Coran and I should be aware of, I'll kindly ask that you enlighten us now."
"No, ma'am," Shiro hurried. "We're fit to work, just—" He flexed his cybernetic with a self-conscious, apologetic look that Keith wanted to smack off his face. "My arm is a cybernetic if, uh—if that matters."
She stared at his arm for all of a second before she hummed, turning to Coran to remark, "Well. That makes three."
Both frowning, Keith and Shiro exchanged a look, but before either of them could ask what she meant, the captain continued. "Mr. Shirogane, you'll accompany me to meet our Sailing-Master, Thorn—I believe she's completing a routine inspection off-ship. Due to your navigational qualifications and experience, you will apprentice her for the duration of our voyage."
She leveled Shiro with an expectant look, and he quickly nodded. "Yes, Captain. Thank you."
Her steely gaze passed over Keith, once again hovering a beat too long before returning back to Coran. "Mr. Kogane will report to our Quartermaster Mr. Silver, but for now he can lend Mr. McClain a hand in the galley."
A pang of disappointment shot through Keith. "The galley?" he asked with a wrinkled nose; but the captain showed no signs of hearing, barreling on as if he hadn't spoken.
"Please do me the utmost favor of showing him the way."
Coran sent her a dazzling smile. "Your wish is my command!"
For the first time since they'd met her, the captain's mouth twitched up into something that wasn't a frown. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I trust that onboard preparations have been seen to?"
"Ay, Captain," he responded with a salute. "She's ship-shape and ready for sailing."
"Good. Top work as always, Mr. Smythe, thank you." With a nod, she turned back to Shiro and Keith, and that hint of a smile had vanished.
"In the meantime, I shall assist Mr. Silver off-ship with our loading delay, but first—" she raised an eyebrow at Shiro, her only warning of departure before turning sharply on her heel. When Shiro remained rooted to the spot, she called, "Do keep pace, Mr. Shirogane," over her shoulder.
Shiro threw Keith a final, desperate look that could only be interpreted as 'help me' before scrambling down the gangplank after the captain.
In their wake, an awkward silence fell over the two men before it was broken by Coran's overly zealous voice. "So! You've met the captain!" he proclaimed, as if Keith were unaware. Stepping forward, Coran settled at Keith's side and clapped a hand against his back, gently nudging him into motion. "She may seem a little rough at first, but she'll warm up to you in no time at all!" he promised, ushering them across the deck toward a descending flight of stairs.
As they headed toward what Keith could only assume was the galley, he belatedly realized that they weren't the only ones above deck. Gathered along the opposite rail was a group of their hired crew, standing with their heads bent together as they murmured amongst themselves. Keith only realized he'd been staring when one of them—a big burly alien with a face in the spot where his stomach should be—nudged the crewmember to their left, jutting their chin in Keith's direction. When they all realized they had an audience, their conversation immediately ceased; and the crew members opted instead to watch Keith in dead silence as he passed. One of them—an alien with tentacles for legs—caught his gaze and smirked, their forked tongue flicking out to taste the air as they winked at him.
Keith quickly averted his gaze, too unnerved by their eerie staring to challenge them.
Seemingly oblivious to the crew's strange behavior, Coran babbled on undeterred as he steered Keith toward the top of the stairs. "I'll wager Mr. McClain will be well-pleased to have the company. I've no doubt the two of you will be thick as thieves!" He laughed, as if just realizing something incredibly funny. "Might as well hope so, eh? Seeing as the two of you'll be spending so much time together!"
"Right," Keith grumbled, confused but feeling too thrown by the impromptu staring contest to formulate any good questions. "What're we meant to do in the galley, anyway?"
They began to descend the stairs, their footsteps loud on the creaking wood. "I believe he's currently loading the pantry—I'm sure he'll be terribly grateful for the help. The poor thing suffered quite the mishap this morning, didn't you, my boy?" Coran called, raising his voice slightly as they cleared the last step.
The room they'd stepped into was tiny. In its center sat a table, littered with a mess of fruit and vegetable peels that was beginning to spread to the floor. Crates lined the sides of the galley, boxing the room in on all sides in a way that gave it a homey, claustrophobic feel.
On the opposite end of the galley (mere feet from where Keith and Coran stood at the bottom of the stairs), someone grunted as they rummaged through a cabinet under a rusted sink. Although the top half of their torso was completely obscured from view, they seemed to have heard the Lieutenant just fine.
"Ohhhh yeah," they called, exaggeratedly dragging out the first word; their voice nearly too muffled to clearly hear. With another grunt, they shimmied backward, extracting themselves from the cramped confines of the cabinet. They straightened, dusting their palms against their legs as they turned, talking all the while. "I'm tellin' you, Mr. Smythe; the guy was a complete—jackass," he breathed, his voice falling away weakly as his eyes met Keith's.
Oh no. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck no.
Keith was convinced that the universe had it out for him. He wasn't sure how else to explain the boy in front of him, blinking in surprise at him with wide, two-toned eyes. He wasn't sure how else to explain the presence of Griffin 2.0, here on this ship, out of any of the hundreds of ships he could have belonged to.
In his panic, Keith almost wasn't even aware that Coran had started speaking. As he babbled, both boys stared at one another, too frozen in shock to move.
"He sounds entirely unpleasant, my boy. If you'd only had the chance to give him the good old what-for… you know, when I was a young man—"
"Coran," the boy interrupted, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face that Keith did not like. His voice was laced with barely restrained glee, as if seeing Keith here was the most delicious surprise of his life. "Please tell me this is the other cabin boy."
Keith unfroze, fists clenching at his side as he opened his mouth to deny—
"Hit the nail right on the head, my boy! Mr. McClain—oh, bother formality! Lance, meet Keith Kogane. Keith, meet Lance: your new bunkmate!"
The boy—Lance, what a fucking annoying name—was grinning now, hands splayed out over the table. "Charmed, Keith," he purred, throwing in a wink for good measure.
Keith whirled on Coran, giving Lance his back. "Give me a new assignment. Please." Behind him, Lance sniggered, and Keith suppressed an angry growl. "I'll—I can help in the nest, or help Shiro with navigation stuff, or—"
"Nonsense, my boy!" Coran clapped him on the back. "This is the perfect fit for a strapping young lad such as yourself! No better way to build character than with a little nit and grit!"
Behind him, Lance hummed in agreement. Keith turned to find him sitting on the table, having swept a good portion of scraps onto the floor in order to make himself comfortable. In his hand was a small burlap sack of tyne-nuts, and Keith watched as he tossed one into his mouth before speaking. "Pretty sure the nit and grit is all over the floor."
As if it were the funniest joke he'd ever heard, Coran guffawed, doubling over to clutch at his stomach as he laughed. With his head down, he failed to see the nut that sailed across the room, hitting Keith squarely between the eyes; nor did he see the lewd gesture that accompanied the flying projectile.
By the time Coran had recovered, Keith was rubbing furiously at his forehead, willing every molecule in his body to keep from a physical altercation.
"You've got a jolly-good sense of humor on you, Mr. McClain!" The lieutenant nudged Keith in the arm. "You see? Won't be a dull moment down here!"
Keith sighed, resigning himself to his fate with a monotoned, "Yippee."
To his surprise, the remark seemed to garner a laugh out of Lance, who watched him with a nasty glint in his eyes. "I'll take good care of him, Coran; you can be sure of that."
"Splendid to hear!" Seemingly persuaded, Coran backed toward the stairs. "I shall be up top if either of you needs me," he informed, reaching out to ruffle Keith's hair. Keith grumbled, swatting the Lieutenant's hands away. "I'll see you two at the launch!"
And with that, the one thing grounding Keith to sanity disappeared up the stairs, leaving both boys in a silence swimming with tension.
"So." Lance swung his legs up onto the table, kicking more scraps onto the floor. "This is pretty fuckin' rich, huh? I mean, what are the odds?"
Keith shrugged, folding his arms across his chest and scowling at the boy across from him."Fate's a bitch, I guess," he growled.
Lance hummed, popping a nut into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "Or," he said slowly, digging into the burlap, "—Fate is a fuckin' genius."
Another nut came flying through the air, this one bouncing off his cheek, and Keith saw red.
"Throw another one at me, and I swear to the stars I'll—"
"Bup bup bup! I don't think so, pal. Penalty for in-fighting among the crew is solitary down in the brig. Captain's supposedly pretty strict about it, too." Lance launched another nut in his direction, and Keith barely managed to dodge it.
"You're such a tool."
"Takes one to know one though, right?"
Keith flushed as his own words from no more than an hour prior were echoed back to him. "Okay, look. Uh. Lance."
Lance made a show of pulling himself forward until he was sitting at the edge of the table, leaning forward and cupping his face with his hands as if Keith was about to read him a bed-time story. He stared at Keith with wide, expectant eyes, legs dangling off the table and kicking childishly back and forth. "Haircut."
Trying not to bristle at the infuriating nickname, Keith clenched his jaw. "How about we just… keep to ourselves, okay? You don't talk to me, and I don't talk to you. No harm done."
He wasn't sure how Lance's answering laugh managed to be more annoying than the stupid nickname. "You really don't get it, do ya, dollface?"
"Don't fucking call me—"
"We report to the same guy, dipshit—is that better? We both report to Silver. Which means," he stood, shoving the burlap sack into his pocket. "Wherever you go, I go. We do the same jobs, report to the same people—" He gestured to a bedroll tucked at the base of the sink cabinets. "We sleep in the same room."
Lance stepped forward, smirking shamelessly at Keith as he took a confident step into his space. "Like it or not, haircut, you're stuck with me. And I promise you—" They were inches apart now; so close that Keith could almost feel Lance's breath on his face. "I will make your life a living hell."
Abruptly, the other boy drew away, walking toward the stairs with his hands in his pockets. Keith's heart raced as he tried to sift through what had just happened, though Lance's slow retreat from the room seemed more immediately pressing.
"Wait, where the fuck are you going?"
Lance paused mid-step, and when he turned back to face the room, Keith gestured angrily at the crates. "Aren't we supposed to be—I don't know, doing something?" he seethed.
"Here's the thing." Hands still in his pockets, Lance leaned back against the wall, one foot propped up on the lowest step. "I've been walking crates over from the market since piss-o'-clock in the morning, you know? Really does a number on a guy's back."
Keith growled. "I'm not doing this shit alone."
Most likely trying to fuel Keith's anger, Lance laughed again, the sound tapering off into a sigh. "You're so fuckin' cute when you're angry."
Keith whirled around, grabbing a handful of scraps from the table and throwing them in Lance's direction. He dodged them easily, sniggering as Keith finally lost his cool. "Fuck off!"
As if Keith hadn't spoken, Lance hummed, gesturing around the room. "I took care of all the storage and sorting. All that's left is clean-up. You can sweep up the scraps and throw 'em in a sack, or something. Should be a spare one lying around."
"You're seriously not going to help."
"Nope. I haven't seen the sky in like, two hours. Plus," he winked, leaning in conspiratorially and bringing a hand up to his mouth as if telling Keith a secret. "It's kinda been a rough day."
Keith's blood ran cold, but it wasn't from Lance's words. He watched, almost in slow motion, as Lance lowered his hand; cybernetic digits whirring as his fingers curled back into a fist. Before Keith even knew what he was doing, his own hand was darting out to grab Lance's wrist and pulling it toward himself for a closer look. The sleeve covering his wrist fell back to reveal an entire cybernetic arm, complete with whirring gears and cogs—a much more primitive piece of tech than Shiro had been equipped with.
Beware the cyborg.
He wasn't sure exactly how it happened, but one second he was gaping at Lance's arm; and the next, he was being slammed against a wall by the collar of his jacket, pinned with surprising strength.
"Don't you dare," Lance hissed, his voice deadly, "—grab me like that ever again. You understand?"
Keith's brain was empty of all thought, full of nothing but static. It had to be a coincidence; there was no way the boy in front of him was responsible for the destruction of his home. Yet at the same time...
Beware the cyborg. The last, desperate warning of a dying man.
Lance gave him a shake, his eyes burning with fury. "I said: do you fucking understand, Keith?"
He wanted to shove the other boy away; wanted to reverse their positions and demand answers for the Benbow, for Thace, for his father… but something in Lance's eyes quelled his ferocity.
"I understand," Keith whispered into the space between them. "I'm sorry," he added; and he realized that he meant it. Something about the cold rage in Lance's eyes was deeply sobering. In the short amount of time that he'd known him, Keith had certainly seen the other boy angry—but this felt different. Serious.
Clearly not having expected an apology, Lance blinked at him in surprise, still tightly clutching at his lapel. An awkward silence filled the space between them; and for a few seconds they stared unmoving at one another, frozen in place until Keith cleared his throat. "Uh. No in-fighting, right?"
If he'd been hoping the comment would restart Lance's motor, he was right. He watched the other boy's larynx bob as he swallowed, fury fading from his expression. "This doesn't count," he testily replied. "'S more like… rough-housing." His grip on Keith's jacket loosened. "No rules against rough-housing."
"Good to know."
Lance stepped away, and Keith released a breath he hadn't realized that he'd been holding. "I'd get the place clean before Silver gets back," Lance warned, moving backward up the stairs and nearly tripping over a step.
Keith rolled his eyes. "Watch where you're going, you lunatic."
Finally, the smug, infuriating smirk returned to Lance's face; the sharp, lively glint returning to his eyes. "Gotta admit, that's pretty funny coming from you." He chuckled to himself before turning to tromp up the stairs, leaving Keith down below. He was still staring after Lance when the other boy paused, turning his head just enough to shoot Keith a lopsided grin.
"I'll see you at the launch, cabin boy."
With that, Lance McClain was gone.