fic repost: Black redux
Black as Love
"Are you feeling better?" he asked, when Lance's crying had more or less ground to a halt.
"Not really."
Keith tightened his hold on his friend's shoulders, but waiting didn't get him much more of a response. He couldn't blame him, really; it was hard to swallow betrayal on this kind of scale. Not a week before, Lance had plotting to find the perfect engagement ring, and today the woman of his dreams had nearly destroyed the red lion outright.
It had been the day before, he realized, staring at the stark red numbers marking the time. It was just past midnight. The day had never seemed so long before.
"I'm here, you know," he said eventually. "If you want to talk ..."
Suddenly, Lance was out of his arms and off the bed, pacing with barely concealed agitation. "I just cannot believe I fell for it! And for that long!"
"I'm sorry," he said, feeling lost and helpless. Lance was descending rapidly from shock into rage, he realized. He shivered, wondering if the anger would be turned on him, and wondering if that might not be the best outlet anyway.
"Why the hell didn't I see it? She was so fuckin' obvious, nosing around the repair bay!"
"She said she was a mechanic," Keith said, very softly.
"I know that! That doesn't excuse handing over blueprints! What was I thinking?" Lance drew himself up short and whirled to face him. "Why'd you let me give them to her, anyway?"
"I--" Keith swallowed. He forced his voice to keep to an even tone. "I don't know. You're right, I should have done something."
But he did know. He'd had something else entirely on his mind--mostly feeling betrayed himself. In the last few weeks, he had pulled back from Lance, from his friend. Before, these trysts had never lasted so long nor been so serious. But Lance with a steady girlfriend ...
Looking suddenly defeated, Lance's shoulders sagged. "God, and people wonder why I'm so paranoid."
"I'm sorry," he repeated. It seemed to be the only thing Keith could find to say, and it was so pitifully not enough. Words were worth little when faced with heartbreak.
"You shouldn't be, you know," Lance said after a short silence. "This was my problem. It's not your fault I was totally infatuated with her--if you'd come up and told me she was a spy, I wouldn't have believed you."
"But--"
"No. There wasn't really anything you could have done."
He sounded so tired, so resigned, that Keith had to go to him. He wanted to pull Lance into an embrace and never let him go, never let him be hurt again, but he knew he couldn't. Instead, he put his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Look. It's late, and we're both exhausted. You should get some rest." A crooked smile touched his lips as he thought of a quick way out of the situation. "You can sleep in. I can reschedule practice and your watch."
It elicited a snort. "Bribing me, oh skipper mine?"
"Oh, believe me, I'm not looking forward to getting up at the crack of dawn in a few hours." And he wasn't. He would probably still have to be awake and about, but there no need to tell Lance that.
"Ha! I knew you had to have an ulterior reason." Lance snickered.
Keith just smiled and tapped the tip of Lance's nose. With as much dignity as he could muster, he said, "Good night, then."
"Night."
He slipped out of the room and eased Lance's door shut, leaning back against it for a moment. The whole mess had him so frustrated. He wanted to stay with his friend and watch over him, but he knew that was entirely overprotective and inappropriate. Yet sometimes he loved Lance so much it hurt.
"Is he all right?" a quiet voice asked from the shadows.
He looked up sharply, finding the princess rousing from a chair nearby. Evidently she had fallen asleep, waiting up to see how Lance was.
It was nice to know she cared that much. In a way, though, it was just as painful as if she hadn't cared one whit about her teammates. The trouble, in Keith's opinion, was that Lance had far too many girls chasing after him. The second to last thing he wanted was to have to deal with Lance caught in a rebound relationship that would likely be headed for nowhere but disaster.
"I think he will be all right," he said. "Just give him some time."
The absolute last thing he wanted had already happened--Lance had fallen in love with someone else.
"I told him to get some sleep. You should, too."
"You're worse than Nanny," the princess muttered, but not with any real rancor.
"I'm shuffling tomorrow's schedule. Take advantage of it and sleep in; we could all use a rest."
"You mean, afternoon practice?" Her voice brightened at that. "You should really consider doing that more often, Keith. Some of us are not morning people."
"Very well, Princess. But only if you'll sleep. Now."
She laughed, but went. He did know how to convince his team to do what he wanted, most of the time.
He turned to his own room, to the sleep and oblivion that beckoned from his own bed, but paused mid-step. The day's fight still bothered him. He'd pushed his lion well past its documented capabilities; he'd had to, or he might not have survived the battle at all.
Frowning, he went to the archives. He needed to know--something--and there was an undercurrent of urgency to that need. The battle played over and over in his mind, but he knew that somehow he was missing it, whatever it was. Scrubbing at his eyes, he tried to think through the fog of exhaustion that was settling over his mind, and accidentally disturbed the bandage lying over his cheek.
A sharp jolt hit him. He'd gotten that cut mid-battle, when his actions had taken on a note of desperation and he'd miscalculated, crashing badly. It had not bled much; he'd been more incapacitated by heavy bruising along his side. He'd be an aching mess come morning.
But the cut had bled, and dark red blood had dripped down his cheek and onto the controls.
He could hear Black's rumbling growl, even though it should have been asleep, a motionless robot separated from him by thick walls of stone and metal. Still, the rough low growl was there, echoing in his ears.
Suddenly very afraid, Keith turned to the earliest history records he could find.
A grimace twisted his already-worn features into an ugly mask of exhaustion. Splashing cold water on his face had done nothing for him, either for his appearance or his state of wakefulness. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him from the chrome wall behind the sink, their state undaunted by the smears of soapy water. Slashed across his left cheek, the scar he'd earned the previous day was still raw and red. It looked angry, as if it were pulsing defiantly in time with his heartbeat.
"Ahem."
Wearily, Keith turned around and leaned back against the sink to face his executioner. No, he scolded himself, that's going a little too far. You're not going to be sentenced to death. He knew that. Still, he had the distinct feeling that he'd just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tried to think why, but such complicated reasoning was beyond him at that moment. So he got his eyes to focus properly and waited for the axe to fall. No, I was supposed to stop thinking about barbaric executions.
Hunk leaned in the kitchenette's doorway, with a neglected doughnut in his hands. The stocky pilot was scowling at him. "You look like hell, Keith," he stated baldly.
"Thank you. That really makes me feel better," he replied, and was startled at how hoarse his voice was.
Evidently it hadn't surprised Hunk nearly as much, for the big man went on as if he hadn't said a word. "I see you've been up all night. Don't you ever sleep, Captain?"
He rubbed his eyes, wincing as his lack of coordination bumped several bruises. "When I have the time?" he said hesitantly, hazarding a guess at the correct answer. It was truly too late for him to be carrying on an intelligent conversation. No, that's too early. It's morning now. Birds chirping outside the window. But wait, there's no window here. And those aren't birds, that sounds more like an overgrown house cat--
Keith hauled his recalcitrant thought processes to a halt and tried to look reassuring. He was fairly certain that he was nowhere near successful, but somehow it wasn't right if he didn't try. "I'll be fine, Hunk. I just need caffeine."
"You've got watch duty in half an hour. You really think a cup of coffee is going to wake you up enough for that?"
But it was Lance's turn ... oh. Damn! Keith rocketed to his feet, snapping to attention out of sheer habit. "What caffeine can't do, adrenaline will," he said firmly, meeting Hunk's eyes squarely. He probably still looked terrible, but he'd made the switch to 'alert' mode. He was awake.
Hunk looked increasingly skeptical as Keith made his way to the coffee pot and scrounged up a piece of toast for his breakfast. "You can't be serious, Skipper. You're--you were dead on your feet less than five minutes ago."
He shot him a look. "I've pulled all-nighters before. I'm sure you have too--it's a teenage rite of passage. It's nothing serious."
A chunk of doughnut sailed across the room, and Keith sidestepped before it could land in his mug. He hated crumbs in his coffee.
"I am not a child, Hunk." And even when he'd been a child, he'd rarely had the luxury of extra sleep. "Lance needs his rest far more than I do at the moment. As for you, if you're already awake, I believe I and the rest of the population of this planet would be eminently grateful if you could get a head start on those repairs."
"Round one, Captain," a cheerful voice announced from around the corner. Pidge poked his head into the kitchenette and waved, while Hunk sulked over the remainder of his doughnut. "Say, why don't I sub for Lance? I'm up, aren't I?"
What, are they ganging up on me? he wondered. Aloud, he said, "You're needed more with the lions, Pidge." He paused and phrased his argument more delicately. "I appreciate the offer, but Voltron needs a lot of work, especially on the red lion. Please. I can watch the monitors for a few hours. Your work is more important right now, and I can't match your expertise."
The two pilots looked at each other, and Pidge admitted defeat. "Round two, Captain."
Hunk was harder to dissuade. "And after your watch?" he pressed.
"Afterwards, I'll sleep," he conceded. "We're slotted for afternoon practice, but my ribs are telling me I'd be a fool to consider it, and I doubt Lance is in any better shape. You and the princess can decide what's best for you."
"Round three, us!" Pidge declared triumphantly, and gave Hunk a high-five. "Don't forget lunch, Captain. Hunk made that part of the bargain." He scooted out of the room before Keith could ask him about that comment, so he merely raised an eyebrow at the remaining pilot.
Hunk coughed. "I know he's acting as if it's a game and all, but we do mean well. You need sleep and food just like the rest of us human beings."
He was still tired enough that it was a moment before he flinched. But I'm not a human being like the rest of you, he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. It wouldn't have been an issue before yesterday, but his night's reading had brought up nasty memories. Almost reluctantly, he shelved those thoughts. He had watch duty; reflecting on the past could wait. "Thanks," he said softly, and this time with no sarcasm.
"Welcome," Hunk said roughly, then reached over and ruffled his hair. "You're our skipper, and we're not going to let you wear yourself out while your usual keeper is having a personal crisis."
He paused, having already started for the door. "My usual keeper?" he asked, not understanding the reference.
"Lance, Captain. What, did you think we hadn't noticed? He's always the one to remind you--in a roundabout way, mind you, but he does the job--that we're not superhuman and neither are you." Another pat landed on the top of his head.
Keith nodded absently and slipped away before Hunk could say anything more that might upend his world view. Lance? My keeper? His first thought was that he'd never thought the other man cared. Usually he's the first one to start complaining about this exercise or that drill or ...
He gave himself a mental kick as he entered the control room and took over from the man on the last night shift. 'In a roundabout way?' I guess that's about the last thing I'd suspect. If what Hunk was implying were true, it wasn't that Lance disliked training. It was that his friend was giving him a simple excuse to stop when pride and duty pressed him beyond his limits.
If, if. There were so many possibilities, but he couldn't read minds, nor would he want to intrude on anyone's privacy so. He guarded his own too tightly for that. But if he's right ...
Resolutely, Keith turned his full attention to the monitors. Later. I'll worry about it later.
Red as Blood
The child was fevered now; infection had set in and turned the gash on her leg into a putrid mess. She thrashed weakly, like a newborn pup. Wet snow fell all around, covering the gray slime of the alleyway with delicately white flakes. He'd constructed a lean-to of sorts, but the weather was worsening and so was her health.
He hated to do it, but there was little else he could do. Swallowing grimly, he slipped a small sharp knife from its hidden sheath. He shoved back his ratty sleeves, hands already shaking, and realized that she was awake, her eyes burning sadly into his.
I have to do this, he told himself. "I'm sorry," he mouthed to the girl, although no sound came from his lips. With one quick movement--
"Skipper!"
He came awake with a violent internal jerk, his body feeling as if it were frozen in time. "Wha--?"
Lance leaned back, obviously relieved. "Geez, Keith. I called you, like, a dozen times, but you didn't wake. I thought something was really wrong."
He blinked several times to clear the dream from his foggy mind. Sore aches in his neck told him he'd been sleeping awkwardly for some time. He was sitting at his desk, and the papers in front of him were smudged from his face. He felt inordinately grubby. "Guess I was tired."
"You were totally dead to the world. Comatose." His friend snorted. "And the weirdest thing is, I say 'Skipper' once, not even half as loud as I'd been yelling, and you snap awake." He cocked his head to one side. "You know, that's really weird."
"What is, exactly?"
"That you answer to 'Skipper' better than you do to your own name. I mean, you'd think that was your real name or something."
"I don't know," he hedged. "It just gets used a lot."
Lance frowned. "I call you Keith."
"Most of the time. Yes, I know."
"What do you mean by that?"
He shrugged. "You use 'Skipper' just like everyone else does. People have always called me that." Particularly when they didn't have anything better to call me.
The girl's face from the dream flashed before his tired eyes, but this time she was only curious. With a dimpled smile, she said, "Hi, my name is Cara. What's your name?"
He shivered. He'd looked away, and had only been able to say in response, "I don't know."
"Hey," Lance said, breaking into his memories, "you all right? You're fading out, here."
"Just tired," he hedged, and was countered with a snort.
"Just tired? Am I going to have to slip tranquilizers in your coffee again?"
"If you do, please remember to find some I'm not allergic to."
Lance put on a nervous, sheepish look. "I guess now wouldn't be exactly the right time to complain about the security on your medical records."
He groaned. "Why don't you just ask?"
"Well, your school records were a synch, so I thought I could do the medical ones, too." His friend shrugged. "Sue me, I'm easily bored."
"So I've noticed." He paused. "You hacked into my records?"
"Oops. Well, it's not like there were any surprises in there."
You weren't looking hard enough, Keith sighed to himself. But I suppose that explains why you're still speaking to me. Obviously, Lance hadn't seen through the subterfuge, hadn't guessed who or what he really was. He wasn't sure what he should do about that: tell him outright, tell him to take a second look, or pretend nothing was wrong.
Alarms cut through the comfortable, lazy evening before he could make a decision, and Lance cursed profusely. "Again? They've got to be kidding; we just got attacked yesterday!"
Launching himself to his feet, he tugged on Lance's sleeve. "Whatever it is, we should go."
"Yeah. Right. One of these days, I'm going to get Doom for ruining my free time."
"I didn't get around to the black lion," Hunk said apologetically. "You did say the damage seemed minor."
"Black can function, that's all we need right now," he said. "Besides, there's something odd going on, and I'd rather we didn't fiddle with it."
"Skipper, I hope you'll explain that." Hunk's voice was a low, warning growl over the radio headset, and Keith gave himself a mental kick for being so absent-minded. He hadn't meant to say anything until he knew exactly what it was that bothered him about Black.
He fastened what was left of the restraints and settled for tabling the discussion for later. "When we're not about to be torn into scrap," he said. "We're ready?"
"Way ahead of you, Skipper," Lance said, and he heard Red roar not far away.
"Don't do anything stupid," he muttered, and got Black through its launch as quickly as he could, cutting a few corners here and there.
The robot was attacking the castle itself; how it had gotten so close undetected Keith wasn't sure. Not wanting to think about it, he threw Black against their foe.
"Don't you do anything stupid," Lance shot back at him.
It's a little late for that, he thought ungraciously. The robot had six limbs and a seemingly infinite arsenal of weapons. Keith gritted his teeth as a shot he failed to dodge impacted and flung his body against the seat.
All five lions had finally arrived on the scene, but at any given moment, at least three had to counter active attacks aimed at them, the castle, and even the nearest village. "You know, I don't remember it being this annoying yesterday," Lance said.
"You don't suppose yesterday was a prototype?" Pidge suggested.
"Not a good sign," he muttered. He was getting more and more concerned. The robot wasn't giving them any breathing space to form Voltron. "Really not a good sign."
Blue went down, and had significant trouble getting back on its feet. Green was caught in some kind of metal tentacle. Black got thrashed, tossing Keith around some more, and he realized that he was spitting up blood. The other two lions were faring little better, mobile but limping.
"Skipper," Hunk said, worried.
"Get Pidge out of there."
"Yeah, but--"
"Just do it," he ordered grimly, as a laser cannon nearly put Red out of commission. He coughed weakly, swiping the blood from his mouth.
"What are you--" Lance began to say.
He slapped his hand down on the key, liquid scarlet streaming through his fingers. And Black screamed.
Rage.
He clutched the arm rests, breathing heavily. Black paced forward, a dark prince on a red carpet.
Intruder.
Somehow the other lions got out of the way, scattering like leaves in the wind.
Kill.
Keith hung on, just barely, as Black weathered the robot's defenses, leapt and landed and bit down like a cat seeking to break its prey's neck. Lightning coruscated over both robots, dancing over the smoking controls inside the cockpit. A white surge of power passed from Black to its victim, blasting through with enough force to tear it apart, and finally, finally the great cat subsided, its presence collapsing in on itself to leave only quiescent metal.
Silence.
Keith let out a breath he hadn't consciously been holding. Rusty gasps drew metallic-scented air into his tortured lungs. A stray reflection showed blood still dribbling out of his mouth. He turned off the visual feed from his cockpit.
"What the hell was that?" Lance demanded.
A ragged cough erupted from his chest. "I really don't know," he whispered.
"Wait a second," Pidge said. "Your video's off. Not broken, off."
"For a good reason." He tried to muffle the next cough and managed to choke on it instead.
"Hey!"
"Damn it, what's wrong?"
"Skipper!"
The demands piled on top of each other, becoming more indistinct by the second, blurring so he couldn't identify the speakers, much less hear their words. Slowly, he sank his head onto the nearest horizontal surface and blissfully passed out.
When he woke, Allura was sitting by his bed, doodling on one of the infirmary's small tables. A lion key lay neglected there, and he didn't have to ask to know it was Black's.
"When were you going to tell us you'd been injured?" she demanded.
He blinked. "Thought it was just bruising."
"Keith, there was blood all over the cockpit. All over it."
He hadn't remembered it being that bad. "Sorry. I didn't know." It wasn't the answer she wanted, he knew. But what should I say? Get used to it, it only gets worse from here on out?
She sighed. "Well. No one else was seriously hurt, and the boys are working on the lions already. We need better seat restraints, for one thing, and the black lion is a total disaster."
"Oh." He tried to think, but his head hurt. "Maybe I should go help."
"Shut up, Keith," Allura said, almost pleasantly, and stood. "I'll let the others know you're awake. I'm sure they'll want a few pieces of your hide for themselves."
What did I do? he wondered bitterly. Trying to be polite, he said, "Thank you for waiting."
"Oh, it wasn't for you. I wanted first dibs on chewing you out."
"I know," he said quietly. "Thank you anyway."
She shook her head, and the door swung shut in her wake. Keith closed his eyes and let himself drift. He felt drained and helpless. For some reason, his thoughts wandered back to the girl and the snow. I'm doing this for you, he'd wanted to say, but nothing had come out of his mouth and he'd known she'd never believe him.
--with one quick movement, he cut deeply into his arm, parting the soft flesh in a precise line. He trembled as dark crimson liquid welled up and dripped onto the girl's leg, oozing over her wound and foaming vibrantly on contact.
When he wiped away the blood on her leg, there was only a crooked scar.
Blood and Iron
"Just for a moment. I won't disturb him, he won't even know I'm there."
It was Lance's voice. He made himself open his eyes, but there was only a faint line of light from the bottom of the door.
He reached out with one hand, knowing he couldn't be seen but needing to move. "Lancer?" he called, when he had found his own voice.
The door opened with a faint rush of air. "Keith?"
He breathed a sigh of relief. Warm fingers intertwined with his and brought his hand back to the bed. "Anything wrong, Keith?"
"No." He tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes. It was so cold, and he was so tired. "What time is it?"
"A little after one. Hunk threw us all out of the repair bay."
"Should have done it sooner. You shouldn't be up this late."
"Neither should you. I didn't wake you, did I?"
"I slept all day." It wasn't quite right; the sun had been sinking into the horizon when the battle had ended. But it felt as if he'd been asleep forever. He shifted slightly, mind running over kaleidoscope fragments of things he knew he should remember. "Happy birthday."
"What?"
He blinked. "It's not your birthday?" He'd been so sure of the date.
"It--no--tomor--how can you think of something like that at a time like this?" Lance sputtered.
Pulling away, he felt as if he should apologize, but Lance did instead. "I'm sorry, you just surprised me. Thank you."
"I didn't get you a present. I'm sorry."
Lance took his hand back and squeezed it. "How about you get better instead?"
He frowned, but said, "Okay." If it was what Lance wanted, it was okay.
"Just don't plan on doing something like this next year, or I won't be able to forgive you."
They shared a weak smile in the dim light.