It took Keith the better part of an hour to fix the mess in the galley.
He might have made quicker work of it if his mind hadn't been plagued by thoughts of Lance—but the more he toiled, the more irritation flickered and burned through his veins until it was swallowing him whole.
Stupid Lance.
Stupid Lance with his stupid eyes and his stupid cybernetics. Stupid ship, and stupid crew, and—
Keith swore as he kicked at a cabinet a little harder than he'd intended. Pain coursed up his leg, and he bit back a yell of frustration.
Balling his hands into fists, he pounded at his thigh as he waited for the after-shock of pain to pass.
He'd been so hopeful when they'd left Montressor that morning.
Saying goodbye to his father had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life. It wasn't as if Keith had never envisioned leaving the Wastes; on the contrary, the fantasy of a new life elsewhere had been the subject of his dreams ever since he'd been old enough to envision it.
He'd just never imagined that he'd be leaving his father behind.
As their skiff had risen into the air, and he'd cast a parting glance at the tear-streaked face behind him, Keith had told himself it would be worth it. Losing his father, if only for the time being, would be worth it for the golden promise of opportunity that lay ahead.
Turned out 'golden promise' was just more of the murky, stagnant back-water that Keith had been drowning in his whole life.
Cabin boy. Of all things.
He bent to retrieve another handful of scraps from the ground, part of the table litter that Lance had kicked onto the floor—undoubtedly a deliberate and sadistic move on his part, considering he'd planned to make Keith clean it all.
Grumbling, he shoved the scraps into the half-full burlap sack in his hold, trying and failing not to fixate on the fact that this was his life now.
He turned sharply, looking for something softer than a cabinet on which he might impose his ire. Spotting Lance's bed-roll, he grinned maniacally, striding toward it with heavy, angry steps. With one mighty kick, he sent it sailing across the room, and—
Something small flew out of the roll and clattered to the floor, rolling out of sight. The smile slipped from Keith's face as he scrambled after it, eyes desperately attempting to track it. He lowered himself to his knees, peering under the table and frowning as he realized that he was unlikely to find the item among the mess of scraps. He was just about to give up the search when something glittered at the edge of his peripheral vision. With mounting curiosity, he reached out with a gloved hand to brush away fruit peels and dust, plucking the item from the mess and letting it roll into his hand.
In the center of his palm sat a marble, compact and lightweight, yet big enough that his fingers only just managed to close around it. Keith eased himself off his knees to sit with his back pressed against the cabinet, bringing the marble to his face for closer inspection.
Color swirled within the stone—or was it a gem? Keith wasn't sure, but he was sure that he'd never seen anything like it. Blue and green twirled together as they danced, hues shifting as they merged harmoniously one second, fighting for dominance the next. At the marble's core, amber rippled up to join the others, flashing like lightning where the two crashed and speckling the stone with twinkling gold stars.
It was one of the most captivating things Keith had ever seen.
Above him, the deck creaked, and Keith was startled from his trance. It occurred to him that the beautiful item in his hand belonged to Lance, and that he preferred not to be caught with it. He got the strange sense that it wasn't something he was meant to see; nor, indeed, find.
He stood, cradling the stone carefully in his palm as he retrieved Lance's bed-roll. Shame crept into his chest as he returned the bedding to its place against the counter, pinching the marble tightly between his fingers as he contemplated how to stow it.
After a couple seconds spent debating, Keith sighed, tucking it into his unoccupied pocket. He knew he was asking for trouble, but returning it to Lance's own hands was the only way he could think to ensure that the marble returned safely to its owner. There was no guarantee that the stone wouldn't just fall back out if he simply slipped it into the bedding, and he couldn't risk it being lost to the galley.
Unsure why he cared so much, he rubbed a hand down the side of his face, exhausted by his own emotions. He hated Lance, of that much he was sure; yet…
Yet the marble felt… important, hidden away from the rest of the world in the other boy's bed-roll as if it were a precious secret. It was clearly—Keith surmised—a sentimental token, considering Lance's very obvious lack of personal effects.
Recollection of the marble's colors flashed through his mind, and as the image of two mismatched eyes joined it, Keith finally realized exactly what the stone reminded him of.
Fleetingly, Keith wondered if the marble had been gifted to him by a romantic partner.
He scoffed at the thought, turning sharply to snatch the sack of trash from the floor and sweeping a half eaten tungflower fruit off the table and into the bag. What did he fucking care, anyway?
Lance was an asshole, of that much Keith was certain. He'd probably lose his shit again if he found the stone out of place, or thought that Keith had gone through his stuff.
"Just tell him you knocked it over," Keith muttered to himself, bending over to pick up a fruit pit the size of his fist. There were teeth marks all over it, as if someone had tried to gnaw through the damn thing. "Put it in his stupid hand and walk aw—"
He didn't register the footsteps on the stairs until they'd nearly reached the bottom. Without turning, he straightened, schooling his face back into impassivity. The back of his neck prickled under a silent gaze. "Hey, dickhead," he growled, irritated by Lance's silence and unwilling to dignify the boy with his full attention. He resumed cleaning, leaning over to pluck something slimy from the counter. "What, you come back to do your job?"
"Mister Kogane."
Keith had never jumped so hard in his life. He clutched the trash sack to his chest, whirling toward the source of the voice that decidedly did not belong to Lance.
Leaning against the rail at the bottom of the stairwell was one of the most intimidating aliens he'd ever seen. Though their lithe figure was relatively unassuming, their muscles were evidenced by the flex of their bare biceps as they folded their arms across their chest—the top set of arms, because the alien in the galley had three whole sets. Behind them, a thick scaly tail ridged with spikes rested on the stairs, its tip ending three steps above them. Even in the dimly lit galley, Keith could make out a light green tint to their skin, emerald scales littering their cheeks, hairline and arms like patchwork. Slitted, reptilian eyes bore unblinkingly into his own, and Keith fought the urge to take a step back.
"You're not Lance," was all he managed to wheeze.
The alien cocked their head, still staring blankly at him. "No."
Silence fell over them, Keith still frozen in place under that damned stare. After a few seconds, an opaque film shuttered sideways over their eyes, and Keith realized they'd finally blinked. Freed from that unrelenting, watchful gaze, Keith lowered the sack from his chest. "Uh. Can I. Help you?"
A forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. "No."
Keith snorted nervously, turning to busy himself once more with the trash. There was only the little corner near Lance's bed-roll now (he'd been contemplating leaving trash in that one spot as a fun little fuck you).
"Okay… " Keith muttered, dragging the word out. "This the part where you introduce yourself, then?"
No response.
Suppressing a shudder, Keith was just about to drop everything and excuse himself—though how he was going to get past the immobile alien on the stairs, he wasn't sure—when they spoke.
"Thorn."
Oh. Keith's gaze snapped up to meet slitted eyes. "Thorn. Sailing Master, right?"
They nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. In a blur, their tail was whipping forward, pulling a dagger from the sheath at their waist and flinging it across the room. Keith released an undignified yelp, scrambling sideways and nearly toppling into the crates Lance had oh-so-painstakingly stacked.
"Weapons Master, too," was all they had to add, and Keith swore he saw the corner of their mouth twitch upward.
He swallowed, trying to bring his breathing back to something more human and less frightened desert mouse. "You—" his voice came out slightly higher than he'd intended, and he cleared his throat. "You got a real way with people, Thorn."
This time, he wasn't imagining it. The side of their mouth lifted into a smile that showcased a singular fang. "You and Shirogane will train under my guidance for the duration of our journey."
Keith blinked. "Train?"
"Yes."
He felt his eyebrows knit together. "For… ?"
Thorn raised a scaly eyebrow. "Space can be perilous, Mr. Kogane. One can never be too careful."
"Right," Keith carefully replied. His heart raced in his chest, hammering so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. Thorn's face remained carefully blank, and it was impossible to discern a statement of fact from a veiled threat. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Clever boy. Shirogane tells me you have come unarmed—that is not so clever."
Heat rose to Keith's face. He hadn't mentioned to Shiro the pocket-knife his father had lovingly stowed in his boot. "Yeah, well." He folded his arms, trying for a casual shrug. For whatever reason, he was struck with the impulse to keep his secrets close to himself. "Dad never was big on weapons. Always said real power lies in words."
The alien across the room hummed. "Admirable, but words won't always serve you out in open space."
Reluctantly, Keith nodded.
"Good. We begin first thing tomorrow."
"But how will I—"
"I will provide you with a weapon from my own stash." They gave him a long look, and—feeling suddenly vulnerable—Keith shifted uncomfortably. "I have something in mind that may suit you."
They blinked, and Keith turned to clean the last vestiges of trash from around Lance's bedding. "Thanks," he mumbled. "Guess I'll see you later?"
"Your brother sent me to collect you for the launch."
Keith straightened again, tying the trash sack shut and kicking it aside. "He's not—whatever," he hurried, waving a dismissive hand. It wasn't the first time Shiro had referred to the two of them as brothers rather than cousins, and—although Keith usually attempted to clear the confusion—he would have been lying if he said that he didn't secretly love it. "Why couldn't he get me himself?"
"He is on deck aiding Misters Silver and McClain."
"Fantastic," Keith grumbled, heaving an anticipatory sigh and suddenly hyper-aware of the marble in his pocket. "Let's get this over with."
He took a step forward, stopping in his tracks when Thorn held out a singular, clawed hand. "My knife, please."
Turning, Keith found the weapon still embedded in the soft wood of the wall. He'd been too terrified of the deadly projectile to notice before, but the knife hadn't actually landed anywhere near where he'd been standing, sinking into a beam several feet to his right.
Realizing that he'd never been in any real danger, Keith allowed himself a smirk, fingers closing around the weapon's hilt and yanking it clean out of the wall.
"Gotta admit," he muttered, turning the knife in his hands as he examined the wickedly sharp blade. "That was a pretty neat trick."
He almost expected Thorn to dismiss the comment, but he was gifted instead with another almost-smile. "No trick. Just precision and skill."
Keith couldn't help the grin creeping onto his face. "You gonna teach me to do that?"
To his surprise, Thorn's smile stretched into a knowing smirk. "And more, Mr. Kogane."
Nodding, Keith crossed the room, no longer feeling frozen under the alien's unblinking stare. It felt as if the frigid tension between them had started to melt, and—although he had yet to meet Silver—Keith found himself wishing he was apprentice to Thorn instead.
Shiro, you lucky bastard.
He flipped the knife ever so carefully, offering the hilt to the still-waiting hand. "I should probably warn you," Keith offered testily, not quite sure why he felt the need to be so. "I'm not exactly the best student."
They laughed, the sound so low and raspy in their chest that at first, Keith hardly recognized it for what it was.
"Always did like a challenge, Mister Kogane."
…
The deck looked very different than it had an hour prior.
Where before there were only a handful of crewmembers milling about, the ship was now swarming with people. Aliens of races that Keith did not recognize shoved past him, calling out commands and affirmatives in turn as they readied the ship for launch. As Thorn and Keith emerged from the galley, Thorn was immediately bombarded by the crew and whisked away to help with preparations.
Left to his own devices, Keith savored the euphoric excitement fluttering in his chest at the thought of the impending launch—though the feeling was quelled nearly instantly when his eyes landed on Shiro, standing several paces away and deep in conversation with…
Awesome. Just great.
He made a beeline for them, watching as Lance flexed his cybernetic, saying something that made Shiro snort. Lance wiggled his eyebrows, and Shiro laughed even harder, clutching his chest as he threw his head back.
Fuck no.
Keith struggled to suppress a growl as he stomped toward them, glowering at Lance the whole way. As if he could sense Keith's anger on the wind, Lance met his eyes, his smile falling into a smirk as he registered Keith's fury.
"Well, look who survived the galley!"
Before Keith could tell Lance to fuck himself, Shiro was turning toward him, eyes alight as their gazes met. "Keith, hey! Lance was just telling me what you did! That was real sweet of you, kid," he finished with a fond smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair.
Feeling completely thrown, Keith batted his hand away, eyebrows furrowing in suspicion. "I—what?"
"You know!" Shiro clapped him on the back. "Volunteering to finish the cleaning?" he hedged.
Turning to level a flat look at Lance, Keith muttered, "I did, did I?"
Lance laughed good-naturedly, stepping forward to place a hand on Keith's shoulder, who shrugged it off far more aggressively than necessary. The other boy ignored him, undeterred by his hostility. "Such a help. Not sure what I'd do without my fellow cabin boy."
"Can I talk to you?" Keith hissed, turning sharply on him. "Alone?"
With an ever-widening smirk, Lance shoved his hands in his pockets, shooting Keith a wink that made him want to punch the other boy in the jaw. "Sure thing, buddy." He turned to Shiro, oblivious to the fists clenched at Keith's sides. "See you in a bit, man. Cool talking to you."
"Uh," said Shiro, who looked like he was just realizing that he may have potentially missed something. "Yeah, you too—uh, Keith, are you…?"
"I'm fine," Keith growled, sounding anything but. "Just need a word with my buddy."
"Uh—"
"I'll find you when we launch, okay?" Ignoring the confusion etched onto Shiro's face, he turned on his heel and marched to the opposite end of the ship, Lance sauntering along at his side.
"So." The other boy's voice was once more colored with that teasing lilt that Keith hated. "Your brother seems nice. Or is it 'cousin'? I feel like I keep hearing different things."
"It doesn't matter. Just don't fucking talk to him."
Lance laughed. "Yikes. I'm guessing he's the one who gets invited to all the parties?"
Having finally reached a corner of the deck that felt somewhat free from chaos, Keith whirled on the other boy. "Fuck off. You don't know a thing about us."
"Eh." Lance shrugged, folding his arms as he leaned against the banister. "Maybe not, but him? I know I like. You?" He clicked his tongue, looking Keith up and down with that same infuriating smirk. "Not so much."
Keith turned to the side, grasping the banister with both hands as he tried to control his breathing. He closed his eyes, attempting to ignore Lance's grin in his peripherals. "You have no idea how bad I wanna hit you."
The banister beside him creaked. "I get that a lot."
Peaking an eye open, Keith found Lance watching him with unveiled contempt. "And what does that tell you?"
Lance shrugged, surveying the deck. "That I run into a lot of people with anger issues?"
For a few seconds, Keith stared at him, completely speechless. When he could think of no appeal to reason that would pierce the other boy's thick skull, he released a shaky breath. "You are… the most infuriating person I've ever met."
He was rewarded with a sickly saccharine smile as Lance brought a hand to his heart. "Aw, haircut. I feel the same about you."
Hands shaking with anger, Keith reached into his pocket, withdrawing the marble in a tight fist. "Here. I don't fucking know why I even bothered." Lance stared blankly at the proffered fist, and Keith shook it irately. "It's your stupid rock, give me your fucking hand."
Blinking in stunned silence, Lance raised a hand, and Keith dropped the marble into the other boy's palm with shaking fingers.
"There, now don't talk to me until—"
"Did you go through my stuff?" Lance's voice was deadly, it's tone reminiscent of earlier in the galley.
"Of course not," Keith snapped. "I knocked your bed-roll over—"
"Don't fucking touch my shit, Keith," he hissed; and Keith realized that his hand, the one wrapped around his marble, was trembling.
"I didn't; are you fucking listening?"
"It was wedged in. No way it just fell out." Even Lance's voice was shaking, and to Keith's horror, his eyes looked glassy with unshed tears. "Don't touch. My shit."
"I didn't!" He was unable to prevent himself from yelling, his arms thrown out at his sides. "I kicked your stupid roll, okay? I was mad, and that thing just went flying out, and I wanted to give it back to you to make sure it didn't get lost again. Okay?"
Lance blinked in surprise, the anger leaving his face—and Keith swore he saw a singular tear cascade down the boy's cheek. "You—you kicked…?"
"Yes." Keith's hands were practically in the air at this point. Not guilty, officer. "It was stupid, okay? But I didn't go through your stuff. I know you don't think much of me, but I'm—I'm not that kind of guy."
For a disconcertingly long moment, Lance was silent, head bowed as he regarded the object in his hand. His expression was hooded, hidden behind the hair that hung over his eyes.
His response was almost so quiet that Keith didn't hear it. "Okay."
Keith frowned, irritation building as he wished Lance would just look at him. He'd never been the best at reading people—or indeed, at people in general—and he certainly had no idea what to make of this sudden shift in mood. "Okay…" he hedged, squinting at the other boy. "Is that… it?"
"Keith, please."
What the fuck does he want from me? Keith let his arms fall to his sides in exasperation, nose scrunched in bewildered agitation. "Please what?"
"I can't do this with you right now."
"Wha—do what?!" he asked incredulously.
"Keith, please just leave me alone, I—"
"Well, well," boomed a voice right behind Keith, and he whirled around so fast he nearly went careening into Lance. "Making friends, Little Blue?"
Towering over them was the most enormous human being Keith had ever seen. He was a tank of a man—at least seven feet tall and pure muscle; barrel-chested and imposing.
It wasn't the height that stole the air from Keith's lungs; nor was it the muscle mass. The Captain's voice rose up from his memories, her strange comment finally clicking into place.
That makes three.
Fuck, was Keith's only coherent thought as he gaped up at a red cybernetic eye and an arm made of Altean cyber-tech. Fuck.
Three indeed.
"You must be Mister Kogane." The red glow of his eye felt uncomfortably probing as it trailed across Keith's face. "I am this ship's Quartermaster. You may call me—"
"Silver," Keith breathed, unable to help himself as he took another step backward, his back hitting the ship's banister.
Silver's eye glinted in the sunlight. "You'd do well not to interrupt your superiors, boy."
Despite the man's effortlessly successful intimidation, Keith found his hackles rising as less-than welcome memories resurfaced. He felt as if he were back at the Garrison; fourteen years old and shaking with anger as his commanding officer Iverson towered over him, red-faced and practically foaming at the mouth as he disciplined his most 'troubled' cadet.
Before Keith could respond (thank the stars, he thought; he wasn't sure what he would have said if given the chance), Silver was turning to Lance. "You wouldn't be shirking your duties, would you?"
Lance, who'd been subtly trying to dry his eyes, floundered for words as he attempted to pull himself together. "I—no Sir, I was just—"
"He was just showing me around," Keith interjected, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with the other boy before he even knew what he was doing. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lance give him a surprised, owlish look; and it was the slight glistening wetness of his cheek that kept the words flowing from Keith's mouth. "I distracted him."
Silver cocked his head. That damnable eye roved over Keith's face like a laser-beam, and he suppressed a shudder.
Finally, his probing gaze drifted back over to Lance. "This true, Blue?"
Lance, meanwhile, was still staring at Keith like a desert-cat caught in high-beams. At the sound of his nickname, he seemed to startle out of his gaze, turning his attention back to Silver and clearing his throat. "Yes, Sir. He's never been on a ship before."
Keith tried not to prickle at that. It was a hell of a lucky guess, but he had hoped he was being at least somewhat subtle about the novelty of all this for him.
The other boy was awarded another long, calculating look from Silver—and then the man was laughing, a low chuckle that sounded completely devoid of actual humor. "Now isn't that mighty kind of you, Little Blue? I can count on you to keep a good eye on our friend Mister Kogane here, can't I?"
"Yes, Sir."
Silver smiled, and the sight of it was so off and strange on the man's face that Keith instinctively took another step back, pressing into the banister. The huge cyborg held out a hand, and—as if he knew what was expected of him—Lance stepped forward, letting Silver ruffle his hair with his cybernetic arm.
Something about the gesture made Keith want to be sick.
"Attaboy," Silver purred, his tone almost mocking. "Now, I've got duties with the Captain; but the galley?"
Lance forced a nauseating smile onto his face—a twisted, half-hearted echo of the real thing. "All stocked and clean, Sir."
"Deck?"
"Swept and mopped, Sir."
Silver's giant hand rested at the base of Lance's neck. The touch might have looked fatherly, but something about it sent goosepimples up and down Keith's arms.
Don't touch him, he found himself thinking; the thought spurred by pure protective instinct.
"Kosmo?"
"Uh." Lance froze, smile sliding off his face and voice suddenly going nervous, and—although he had no idea why—Keith found himself taking a step forward. "I'm not… I thought he was with you, Sir."
With a click of his tongue, the Quartermaster turned, assessing the deck with that sickly eye. "Blast him," he muttered fiercely. "Probably wandering the docks and begging for scraps like a starved mutt. No matter." Silver turned back to Lance, patting his shoulder. "I shall reprimand him when he returns."
Lance swallowed, and Keith watched his Adam's apple bob. "I'll keep an eye out, Sir."
"See that you do. Report to me when you've found him."
"Yes, Sir."
Keith found himself scowling at a coil of rope on the floor to his right. Yes Sir. No Sir. Sir, sir. Sir sir sir.
He'd always had problems with authority, but this felt excessive. Authority was one thing, but adults on power-trips… Keith's mind strayed to Iverson again, and his knuckles and wrist ached with memory.
"As for you," Silver rumbled, and Keith glared at the toes of the man's boots as he ground his teeth. "You'll help Blue, and then you're free to watch the launch. Plenty of work waiting for the both of you when we've set sail."
Not trusting himself to say anything remotely polite, Keith nodded jerkily at Silver's boots.
In the dead silence that followed, he thought it might have been better if he'd just said something.
The floorboards creaked as Silver took a couple slow steps forward—one, two, three—until he was encroaching on Keith's space. With a racing heart, Keith pressed himself backward, still determined not to meet the man's eyes.
"On this ship," Silver began, his voice eerily calm and terrifyingly deadly, "—you'll look your superior in the eye and speak when addressed, cabin whelp. Is that understood?"
Keith folded his arms across his chest. He knew he'd been in almost this exact same situation an hour earlier, but this felt… different. He'd never liked the empty frivolity behind the idea that he should immediately respect those in authority, but he'd found it much easier to lend it to the Captain.
It always seemed to him—in this sort of capacity—that respect was a thing to be earned, not granted. Keith had known far too many authority figures in his life who had sailed by on what they felt was owed them; never working a day to ensure that they actually deserved the respect they were granted. Those people, in his opinion, were always the first to abuse the power they were given. They were all the same, every last one.
"Are you and I going to have a problem, boy?"
His knuckles ached.
He wrenched his gaze upward, meeting a red cybernetic eye and a brown human one. "No."
Another slow step forward. He was close enough now that Keith could smell something foul on the Quartermaster's breath. "No… what, boy?"
Keith winced, fighting off the urge to openly gag; his jaw stubbornly sealed shut.
"Keith." Lance's voice was a quiet hiss, but enough to draw his attention. The other boy stood at Silver's shoulder, eyes wide and locked pleadingly onto Keith's as if trying to convey a telepathic message.
For a few seconds, the two of them remained locked in a silent discussion that Keith did not fully understand.
With a great sigh, Keith relented, turning back to Silver. "No, Sir," he regurgitated, feeling like a robot stripped of all will. "We're not going to have a problem, Sir."
Silver smiled triumphantly, seemingly unbothered by the anger in Keith's voice. The tank of a man straightened, reaching out to pat Keith on the head and releasing a booming laugh.
Keith's insides boiled.
"Good to hear, pet. Wouldn't want to go around making enemies, now would we?"
"No, Sir," Keith muttered, counting the second potentially veiled threat of the day.
"Attaboy." Silver backed away, gaze sweeping to Lance, who was still watching the whole exchange with wide eyes. "Keep this one in check, will you?"
"Yessir."
Silver sighed deeply, reaching up once more to clasp the side of Lance's head. "I can always count on you, Little Blue." His voice almost sounded fond, but Lance's weak smile and downturned eyes sent Keith's skin crawling.
"Always, Sir."
Turning to give Keith one final, piercing look, Silver backed slowly away before turning on his heel and departing entirely.
Keith released a breath he had no idea he'd been holding, and from the looks of it, so did Lance.
"He can't talk to us like that."
Lance laughed, bitter and wet. "Yeah, well. He can, and he will."
"You can't seriously be okay with that."
"Eh. You get used to it," the other boy shrugged, and a pang of sympathy shot through Keith's chest.
"And if I don't want to?"
With a sigh, Lance rubbed a hand over his face. "Look, I know you're like, Mr. Cool and all, okay? But don't test him, Keith. Seriously."
"Why?" Keith stepped forward, trying to catch the other boy's eye. "What's he gonna do? Threaten me again?"
A frustrated sound ripped itself out of Lance's throat. "Stars above, I forgot who I was talking to. You know what? Do whatever the fuck you want. It's not my problem."
He turned with a huff, striding away from Keith a couple steps before seeming to change his mind. Frozen in place, his fists batted a couple times against the sides of his thighs as if he were weighing an important decision. Before Keith could ask what was wrong, Lance was whirling back around and fixing him with a cautious gaze. "Why'd you do that?"
Keith shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. His fingers grazed a cool, metal surface, and he retracted the wandering digits into a tight fist. "Dunno. Do I need a reason? Guy seems like a dick."
Lance slapped both hands over his face, muttering a muffled curse. "No, I meant—" He flapped an impatient hand. "Why'd you lie?"
Heat rose to Keith's cheeks. "What do you mean?" he asked gruffly, despite knowing fully well what Lance was referring to. He still wasn't sure why he'd tried to cover for someone who clearly despised him, and he wasn't feeling inclined to figure it out at the moment.
"You know what? It doesn't matter," Lance mumbled, his own cheeks aflame with frustration. He took a step away, cocking his head to indicate that Keith should follow. "Let's just find Kos and then I'll get out of your luscious hair—"
"Lance, wait." Keith attempted to reach for the other boy's wrist, retracting his hand at the last second as he remembered the events in the galley. Lance's eyes tracked the aborted motion before flicking back up to Keith's face. "I just… about before."
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. The colors of Lance's eyes were so very distracting. "I—I'm really not that kind of guy," he finished, much more emphatically than he'd intended. He wasn't sure why it was so important to him that Lance understood that—understood him.
The look Lance gave him was long and searching, as if he were trying to read the truth behind Keith's words from his very soul. Something—Keith thought it might have been understanding, at long last—passed between them, and Lance nodded.
"Okay." It was full of meaning this time, full of subtext that Keith was too tired to read; but he thought that Lance might have been saying, I believe you.
Then, Lance was reaching out to clap his shoulder, shattering the moment. "Still don't like you, though."
Letting his eyes drift shut, Keith released a long-suffering sigh. "The feeling's mutual, don't worry."
…
Kosmo found them before they found him.
They'd searched everywhere, Lance giving him an inadvertent tour of the ship in the process. Keith had now seen the barracks, the mess hall, long-boat storage, and even the engine room; but whoever—or whatever—they were searching for was nowhere to be found.
Clambering wearily up the last few steps back onto the deck from the engine room, Lance released a mighty groan, and Keith sighed in agreement.
"Unbelievable," Lance grumbled, smacking his hands over his face and draping himself dramatically along the ship's banister. "M' gonna have a heart attack."
"Who is Kosmo, anyway?" Keith muttered grumpily, finally caving to the question he'd wanted to ask for the past fifteen minutes. He'd held off till now; partly because he didn't want Lance's mounting ire turned on him, and partly because their encounter with Silver hadn't exactly left him in the most upstanding mood.
Lance dragged his hands down his face, fingers pulling at his lower eyelids till they looked grotesque. "The bane of my existence," he groaned. "And also the love of my life."
Keith felt heat inexplicably rise to his cheeks. "Uh…"
"It's a complicated relationship." Lance dismissed with a wave of his hand.
… relationship?
"Oh," Keith slowly responded, hoping he didn't look as confused as he felt. "Is he… your boyfriend, or something?" he asked haltingly.
The responding laugh was almost a shout, startling Keith so badly that he jumped. From his position draped over the banister, Lance's head flopped over so that he was grinning crookedly at Keith with twinkling eyes.
Feeling strongly like he was about to be teased, Keith scowled, folding his arms and looking away.
"Yeah, totally," Lance giggled, sounding somewhat delirious. The sound of his laugh made Keith's face feel even hotter. "His hair is even thicker than yours."
Keith rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reach up to touch his ponytail. "Okay…?"
Cheeks red with laughter, Lance spread both hands in front of him as if setting the scene for an elaborate story. "I'm telling you, Keith—he's got the dreamiest blue eyes you've ever seen, and—" Lance leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially and bringing a hand to the side of his face as if to hide a secret. "He kisses with tongue."
"Ugh." Keith leaned away, wrinkling his nose as Lance winked at him. He was pretty sure that his face was literally on fire at this point. "Don't be gross."
Lance ignored him, sighing dreamily as he clutched a hand to his heart, touching the back of his cybernetic hand to his forehead. "If it were up to me, we'd just cuddle. Every second of every day."
"Okay, I get it," Keith snapped. "You're in love and whatever. Is he—are we—is he another cabin boy?"
"Yeah he is. The best boy."
"Is he gonna—quit smiling at me like that, it's fucking weird. Is he gonna sleep in the galley?" he asked, somewhat scared of the answer. Sharing a room with Lance alone was bad enough; but sharing sleeping quarters with Lance and his… his lover…
Lance gagged in response. "Stars, no. He usually sleeps up on deck. That boy's farts could kill a rakk hive."
"I don't know what that is," Keith deadpanned.
The other boy flapped a hand. "Doesn't matter. All you need to know is—"
He cut himself off, eyes widening as they fixed on something behind Keith, who followed Lance's gaze to find—
Nothing but the crew rushing about the deck.
Wondering what sort of trick Lance was playing, Keith turned back to him with a scowl, only to find the other boy already grinning at him.
"Speak of the devil. You ready to meet him?"
Keith narrowed his eyes, not trusting the wild glint in Lance's. "I gue—"
He never finished the word.
One second he was standing, Lance's stupid, crooked smirk inches from his face. The next, all the air had been knocked out of him and he was staring up at eyes bluer than the sky, blue-grey fur filling his vision. He was vaguely aware of Lance cackling as whatever the fuck was on him—dog, he thought distantly, nearly unable to parse the thought from his panic striken brain—licked relentlessly at every exposed part of his face and neck, trailing long lines of slobber up past his hairline and slicking back his bangs.
There was a shift of movement above him, and then Lance's face was squished beside the dog's, grinning down at Keith like he'd just delivered the punchline to his favorite joke. "Haircut, meet Kosmo. Kosmo, haircut."
As if he'd understood, Kosmo yipped happily before continuing to bathe him in affection.
"Kosmo is a dog," Keith wheezed, struggling and pushing against thick fur in an attempt to ward off another onslaught of kisses. "Kosmo is a huge fucking dog."
Lance laughed, open and bright, and the sound was too much for Keith's overloaded senses. "Cosmic wolf, actually. Found him in the Asteria Cluster on a great-whale; he was just a puppy then, but—"
"Lance," Keith whimpered as the over-excited wolf trod right over his balls, sending his voice skyrocketing upward in pitch. "Gethimoffme."
Taking mercy on him, Lance straightened, sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling sharply. Kosmo barked in excitement, spinning around before hopping off of Keith, who felt as if he'd been hit by a sand-speeder.
After taking a second to just lie there, Keith groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows to watch the giant wolf prance around Lance like an untrained puppy.
"The hell is wrong with you today, huh? Scarin' me like that… I looked everywhere for you, you little jerk."
The not-so-little jerk in question released a booming bark in response, and Lance clicked his tongue just as Keith decided to help himself to his feet, eyes still trained on the pair.
"Nuh-uh, mister; I don't wanna hear it. Got an earful from Silver because of you."
Kosmo whimpered, raising his front legs onto Lance's chest and attempting to lick at his face. "No," Lance complained, squirming as he attempted to turn his head. "Not the face, you know I hate the face—Kosmo, down—"
"Can he understand you?" Keith blurted, watching with rapt fascination as Kosmo whimpered once more before lowering back to all fours. It felt like a stupid question the moment it left his mouth, and his face flushed under that multi-colored stare.
"Not sure," Lance eventually sighed, seeming to know what Keith meant. He turned back to the wolf, who was now sitting politely on his haunches, watching them as if following their conversation. Lance sank a hand into the thick fur around Kosmo's neck, and the wolf turned to nuzzle into his palm. "Like I said, we found him when he was a baby, so he might just… understand us now?"
Keith merely nodded, reluctant to say anything else—not when Lance finally seemed to be opening up to him.
"I dunno, though," the other boy continued, lost in thought as he stroked through coarse fur. "Cosmic wolves are classified as higher intelligence, you know? I mean, he's definitely smarter than any dog I've ever had."
Keith blinked, mentally grasping onto that nugget of information like a lifeline. "You… have a dog?" he asked delicately; tentatively—still terrified to shatter their moment.
It was—apparently—the wrong thing to say (but then again, it was apparent that anything Keith chose to say around Lance seemed like the wrong thing to say.) He immediately regretted opening his mouth, wishing that he'd trusted all the instincts warning him against it.
In the span of a second, all emotion drained from Lance's face, his features going smooth and cold as marble; a hollow imitation of what they'd been seconds before. Keith watched as his eyes shut—ever so briefly—before fixing back on the wolf at his feet. "Can you find Silver, buddy?" he asked, ignoring Keith's question altogether. "Let him know you're onboard, okay?"
Frowning, Keith folded his arms, trying to ignore the stinging in his chest and feeling stupid for feeling hurt.
What the hell are you doing, asking about his life? Just because you managed not to fight for five fucking seconds doesn't mean you're friends.
As if sensing Keith's inner turmoil, Kosmo whimpered, trotting over to nudge at his elbow. Keith blinked down at the wolf in surprise, beginning to unfurl his arms to seek the wolf's comfort—
"Kos! Silver. Now." Lance's voice was sharp, tinged with a fridgedness that sounded foreign in contrast to the boisterous, mirth-filled boy from moments before.
Kosmo huffed and grumbled, warm breath ghosting over Keith's hand.
"I'm okay," Keith muttered, staring into eyes filled with understanding. "You should go."
With a final little nudge, Kosmo licked Keith's hand in parting before backing away and—
Vanishing. Into thin air.
Keith gaped at the spot an entire wolf had just occupied, his jaw hanging open. "I—what just—"
"He teleports," Lance responded flatly.
Too stunned to give the other boy's tone much importance, Keith whirled around to search the deck, his eyes eventually landing on Kosmo as he pranced around Silver's feet several yards away.
His eyes blown wide with adoration, Keith resisted the urge to sink to his knees. "He teleports?"
"S' what I said, yeah," came Lance's snippy response.
This time, the cyborg's tone was enough to break Keith from his spell. He turned, attempting to meet Lance's eyes; but the other boy seemed determined not to return his gaze.
"What crawled up your ass and died?"
Although still pointedly avoiding focusing on Keith, Lance's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Keith growled. "The fuck's your problem?"
Cold eyes finally met his, and Keith found himself foolish for ever having wished that they would.
"You're my problem, Kogane," he hissed, taking care to slam their shoulders together as he departed. "Get with the program."
…
"We are all clear, Captain!"
"ALL HANDS TO STATIONS!"
"Out of the bloody way, boy—"
"Move if ye know what's good fer ye—"
"LOOSE THE SOLAR SAILS! BRACE UP!"
"You want to lose an eye, cabin rat? WATCH YOUR STEP—"
"Blast it all, I've seen great-whales that be takin' up less bloomin' space—"
Keith gasped with exertion, stumbling wildly back and forth across the deck as he tried to figure out how to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. It had only been a few minutes since Lance had ditched him, disappearing off to who-knows-where to be a moody asshole and leaving Keith to fend for himself amidst the chaos of the launch. Since then, he'd nearly been speared by a whaling bow, narrowly missed collision with a rotating beam, and just barely avoided being thrown overboard by several frustrated crewmembers. He had no idea what to do, and even less of an idea as to where he was needed—or indeed, what he was needed for.
All in all, he was feeling pretty lost by the time an achingly familiar voice called his name.
The sight of his cousin sitting comfortably atop the ship's prow—smiling warmly and waving a hand in greeting—was almost enough to bring tears of relief to his eyes. Ducking to avoid another beam, Keith practically ran, only barely managing to avoid flinging himself into his cousin's inviting arms.
He tried not to wince when Shiro looked disappointed—but Keith couldn't bring himself to engage in such a vulnerable display of affection; not in front of this strange crew, not in front of—
He's not even here, he told himself, glowering out at the open sky. Fuck him.
"I dropped your rucksack off in the galley, by the way."
Grunting in affirmation, Keith hoisted himself up and onto the ledge beside his cousin, who after a small silence clicked his tongue.
"Uh oh. I know that face."
"What face," Keith grumbled, jaw tight. "There's no face."
"Keith."
When he turned to look, Shiro was looking at him with unbridled love, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. "You're my best friend, bud. I know the face." He smiled sympathetically, and Keith's insides rolled with guilt, tears of anger pricking at his eyes. This wasn't supposed to be happening—today was supposed to be a fresh start; conversations like this weren't supposed to happen—
"It was you, wasn't it?"
Keith's eyebrows knitted together. "What?"
"You were the one who bumped into Lance. Earlier on the dock."
Sighing, Keith looked away, unable to hold eye contact any longer. "Yeah."
"Stars, Keith."
"It wasn't like I meant to! It was a fucking accident, and now he hates me, and I just—" he groaned, letting his head drop into his hands. "This whole thing is a disaster."
Shiro was silent for so long that Keith peeked back out from behind his hands, finding his cousin staring pensively out into space.
"Can you just say something? Please?"
With a thoughtful hum, Shiro scratched absentmindedly at his jaw. "He didn't tell me it was you, you know. Heard him tell the same story to two other people, too—didn't mention your name once."
"... So?"
"So." Shiro stood, stretching out his back like a cat that had just been napping in a sun-beam. "If he really hated you, I think he'd be trying a little harder to make your life miserable."
Keith opened his mouth to object, and Shiro held up a hand. "I'm not saying he likes you, necessarily—but I think you two might have just started out on the wrong foot."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Keith mumbled, "Hell of a wrong foot," and Shiro snorted.
"Isn't that the truth. Little birdy told me you didn't even apologize."
"Oh yeah?" Keith growled, hackles rising in defense as he stood. "Well, I guess little birdy conveniently left out the part where he was a massive dick about the whole thing. So. No apologies granted."
"Keith, darling—"
"Don't," Keith snapped, whirling on his cousin with fire boiling under his skin. "I hate it when you do that."
"I'm just trying to—"
"I know what you're trying to do, Shiro, and I don't want it, alright? You're not him, I don't—I don't need two dads, okay? The one's enough."
Shiro swallowed thickly, his eyes going glassy. "Okay. You're right. I'm sorry."
Keith's stomach sank. "Stars, Shiro. Come on, man; please don't cry."
"I'm not," Shiro mumbled, turning his head to try to discreetly wipe away a tear. "I'm just—if something happens to you out here, I don't—I won't know what to tell Dad—"
Dad. A term that Shiro only openly used to refer to Owen Kogane when he was feeling particularly vulnerable; particularly scared.
Fuck the crew. Fuck Lance. Fuck what anyone else had to say or think.
Keith threw himself at his cousin, wrapping him in a unyielding embrace and burying his face in the elder's chest. Strong arms held him right back, bracing his head and upper back.
"You and me," Keith started, willing his voice to remain steady. "Are gonna make it back to Dad safe and sound, okay? We got each other's back."
Shiro nodded against the top of his head, squeezing him closer and choking back a sob. "I love you so much."
"Love you too, Shiro." After a couple seconds of consideration, Keith cleared his throat. "And I'm sorry I—"
"Keith," his cousin breathed, cutting off his uncharacteristic apology. "You might wanna look up."
Frowning, Keith pushed himself away, hands sliding to Shiro's forearms. "What—oh. Shit."
Around them, the world was moving.
Buildings were sinking, rooftops and spires disappearing below the ship's hull. To their right, a flock of disgruntled gull-swallows took flight in a flurry of white; the ship's ascent disturbing them from their comfortable perch atop a chimney. Squawking and tittering in complaint, they rushed the ship as a unit, gliding along sails that rippled with wind and swooping amongst the crew with reckless abandon.
As the flock swept past the cousins—who both gaped at the scene in childlike wonder—Keith registered that for the first time since he'd left the Benbow that morning, he was well and truly happy. He hadn't a care in the world, because right then?
Nothing mattered.
Nothing mattered save for the flight of birds and the untamed smile on his cousin's face and the invigorating rush of life pumping through his veins like electricity.
A laugh bubbled out of him—wild, and free, and so unlike him altogether that it drew the attention of Shiro, whose giddy smile turned unbearably fond. Returning it with a dopey grin of his own, Keith rushed toward the prow, hands splayed over wood as he peered over the edge at the ever-shrinking port down below. Wind pricked at his eyes until Keith had to blink away tears, yet he couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away.
On the docks down below, tourists and passengers were stopping to watch the Melenor's ascent, children grasping at their mother's sleeves as they pointed excitedly. One of them waved, and Keith—not quite knowing what had suddenly gotten into himself—waved back, his cheeks starting to ache with the force of his smile.
"What do you think?" Shiro's voice asked at his side. A warm hand landed gently on his back, and Keith leaned into the touch, looking up at his cousin with shining eyes.
"It's everything I've ever wanted," was his honest answer. The winds of the Etherium whipped at his hair, and Keith allowed his eyes to drift shut as he inhaled deeply.
Beside him, Shiro chuckled, the sound warm and devoid of teasing. "I wish you could see yourself right now."
Cracking his eyes open, Keith cast his cousin a curious look. In response, Shiro simply smiled, brushing Keith's wind-blown bangs out of his face.
A sharp whistle behind them shattered the peace of their moment, and Shiro's smile turned into a knowing grin. "You're gonna want to keep your feet under you, okay? No sudden movements, or you'll get twisted in the air and falling will suck."
"What are y—WHOA!"
Keith attempted not to panic as his feet slowly left the ground, the toes of his boots slowly scraping against the deck as his whole body went weightless. His brain scrambled to remember his Garrison training, and his surprise ebbed away as muscle memory took its place; years of simulations returning to him all at once.
Feet underneath you, cadet! Iverson's voice echoed through his memories like the reverberations of a gong. Keep still, 'less you'd like to break a limb!
Years later, an entire moon away from Vaarta City and Iverson and the Garrison, Keith obeyed. As the ship rose high above the Spaceport and left the moon's natural gravity, he took special care to remain vertical, easing all the tension out of his body one muscle at a time.
From a couple feet away, Shiro shot him a careful thumbs up, a seasoned enough sailor that the movement did not throw off his balance. "Good form, Keith!"
Keith, meanwhile, couldn't do much more than look at him with wide eyes and an uninhibited, slightly manic grin that made Shiro burst into laughter. "You got this man, you're doing—"
"ENGAGE ARTIFICIAL GRAVITY!" someone shouted behind them.
A low hum filled the air as the ship's gravity activated, and Keith had barely just remembered to keep his knees soft before he was falling, his body growing heavy once more. To his delight, he managed to land in a crouch, fingers grazing the deck as he steadied himself.
He straightened with a smirk and looked to Shiro for appraisal, who awarded him with light applause. Keith clutched a hand to his chest as he bowed. "Thank you, thank you. I'll literally be here all… okay."
Enraptured by the sight before him, Keith's words died pathetically, lost to the wind swirling around his face. Bright blue sky was slowly darkening to deep blue, threads of purple nebulas woven through glittering stars. The Spaceport sank farther and farther away, it's crescent shape becoming defined with distance. With a graceful surge of wings, the last vestiges of gulls swept down from the ship's beams, diving serenely down to the moon below.
Another whistle filled the air, low and long, and Keith sent Shiro an inquisitive glance. His cousin was already moving, grasping at the rope rigging along the side of the ship. "They're gonna engage the thrusters; I'd hold on to something!"
Keith immediately obeyed, grasping the wooden banister in front of him with both hands—and not a second too soon. Beneath his feet, the ship rumbled as if coming to life; and then they were blasting forward, leaving the moon Crescentia far behind them. Keith yelled euphorically, his heart leaping into his throat and feeling all at once too large to be contained by his body.
I'm home, he thought—even as they slowed to a moderate clip, Keith releasing his death grip on the bow's banister. Hit by a sudden desire to be closer—to touch and feel and taste—Keith scrambled past Shiro and up onto the ship's side, yanking himself up by the rope rigging. Ignoring his cousin's warnings and pleas for caution, Keith shimmied himself along the outside of the ship, gripping the sturdy rigging and using it to turn himself until he was suspended over the vast void of space.
"Keith, if you fall, I swear to the stars I'll kill you."
Ripping his eyes away from the swirling colors of the Etherium, Keith looked down and slightly behind him, meeting his cousin's gaze far below. He had no idea what his face looked like, but whatever expression he was making was enough to curb Shiro's irritation, the elder's face falling into fond resignation. "Alright, alright. Just—be careful, you jackass."
Keith barely heard the words, already turning back to the stars, his fists tightening and loosening around the ropes in succession. His grip on the rigging was the only thing keeping him from falling face-forward into the Etherium and floating away forever; and the thought sent a thrill of danger through him, making him grin in delirium.
I'm home.
There were not enough words to describe it, Keith thought. Not enough words in his language or any to describe the wholeness coursing through his blood; nor the ache of his heart as it strained in his chest, reaching out to unite with the sight before him.
There were not enough words to describe the way his soul sang, all at once complete and found and seen and wanting—for the first time in his life—for nothing.
The wind curled around him, and Keith closed his eyes, savoring its embrace. "Hi," he choked out, the word falling so short of the love bursting through his being.
As if in response, something enormous moaned beneath him. Well-familiar with the sound (his mind conjured up sacred memories of sleepless nights and nature sleep-tracks), Keith's eyes shot open, tears finally spilling from their corners as he beheld the pod of juvenile great-whales surrounding the Melenor. As they passed, an incredulous and tearful giggle slipped from Keith's mouth; and he stared awestruck at the enormous underbelly of the whale passing atop their ship, it's body at least triple the length of the Melenor.
In front of him, one whale came close enough that the two of them made eye contact as it passed; it's wrinkly, giant unblinking eye examining Keith with mild interest as it drifted by on the etherium's currents. Without thinking, Keith reached out a hand, extending the arm still gripping the rigging until he was hovering precariously away from the ship—reaching and reaching until his fingertips were barely brushing against coarse grey skin, and—
"And what do you think you are doing, Mister Kogane?"
Keith yelped, startling so badly that he nearly lost his grip on the rigging altogether. Muscles coiling with tension, he pulled himself in toward the rope netting, turning back toward the ship and threading his arms through the rope patchwork as he clung to it like a terrified kitten. His heart hammered madly, and he tried his best not to scowl down at the Captain below.
"Just… looking, ma'am."
Striking blue eyes searched his face—for what, Keith wasn't sure—before she was giving a curt nod. "You're to come down immediately, and you're not to footle about on the rigging until you've had the proper training. Am I understood?"
"What's your problem with me?"
The question left his mouth before he could stop it, and Keith inwardly cursed his permanently broken filter, scanning the deck for Shiro as the Captain's eyes narrowed; but his cousin was nowhere to be found.
"While I admire your spirit, Mister Kogane," she started, her voice icy, "—I believe it is time that you and I had a talk. In private, if you please." She stepped back, gesturing with a graceful arm to her private cabin at the back of the ship.
Keith swallowed thickly, feeling the walls he'd built up over the years (that had lowered for one blissful moment) build back up protectively around his heart. "Am I in trouble?" he asked, his face slipping into an indifferent mask.
The Captain's eyes were little more than slits, and the frostiness of her tone sent a chill up Keith's spine.
"That, Mr. Kogane, remains to be seen."
…
When the two of them stepped into the Captain's quarters, Shiro was in deep discussion with Coran, who's eyes lit with excitement as they entered. "Keith, my boy! Just the lad we've been waiting for!"
Keith frowned, his gaze meeting Shiro's. His cousin shrugged at him, Keith's apprehension mirrored in his face.
"Please," Coran urged, gesturing to the seats in front of the Captain's desk. "Make yourselves comfortable!"
The cousins exchanged another look before stepping forward and lowering themselves to the chairs, Keith leaning toward Shiro and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Where'd you go?"
Though his cousin looked calm and composed, Keith could see the gears whirring behind his analytical eyes. "Captain came to collect me," he muttered in response, watching the Captain like a hawk as she joined Coran behind the desk, settling into a high-backed chair next to his. "You were… a little out of it."
Before Keith could respond, the Captain was leaning forward, folding her hands together as she brought them to rest on her desk. "Before we begin, I'd like to designate my quarters a safe space for the sensitive topic at hand. Any further discussion shall not leave the confines of this room. Do I make myself very clear?"
Shiro nodded gravely. "You have my word, Captain."
All eyes turned to Keith, and he swallowed. "Mine too," he hurried. "Ma'am."
"Very good." She nodded, inhaling deeply as she unfurled her hands, splaying her palms out on the desk. "In that case, I suppose it's time I cut to the chase."
Her eyes locked onto Keith's, and his heart felt like it might rocket out of his chest.
"I'd like a word about the item you carry in your pocket."