Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sound of metal clashing against metal rang in the large container that was the training deck. A red sword flashed in quick spurs and whipped around a spear held by the gladiator. Keith ducked under a shot at his head and flung his sword through the bot's middle, clashing through the silvery white exoskeleton and wedging itself stuck inside its abdomen.

The gladiator stepped back, effectively disarming Keith, earning a breathless "shit," from him.

The gladiator raised its spear and jabbed it at the red paladin, missing barely as he dived to the side. His aching body smashed into the cold tiled floor as he condensed into a roll off to the side.

"End-" his throat croaked. He coughed a bit before pushing himself backwards on his butt out of the way of another attack. "End-" he coughed again, "End training sequence!" He managed through coughs wrecking through his body. 

The gladiator faltered for a second but then decided to pause mid-strike and return to its default position. Its arms went limp by its side, its head hung down in front of itself, and the spear vaporised into nothingness.

Keith gasped in a shallow breath, letting his head fall back for a minute. He knew he wasn't feeling great when he woke up later than normal and with a crackly cough accompanied by a sore throat. 

His hands planted themselves just behind him to support his weight as he leaned back a little. His hair dropped from clinging to his forehead and dangled toward the ground. His eyes fell shut for a quick moment as he caught his breath.

He never got sick.

Keith grunted as he pushed himself to his feet and wobbled to the gladiator, feeling a little too light on his feet for comfort. He wrapped his hand around the handle of his Bayard and yanked it out of the gladiator's middle. 

Well, he tried to.

Because as he pulled backwards, his clammy hand slipped from its hold and the sword didn't move an inch.

Great.

Just fantastic.

So, as any reasonable person would do, he kicked the fighter robot in the middle, sending it down to the floor, whipped out his blade hanging on his thigh, and stabbed it multiple times in the chest.

"Stupid-" he panted, raising his hand, clutched around a bandage that encased the hilt of his blade. "Fucking-" he drove it into the gladiator's abdomen, dislodging his Bayard from the robot. "Altean-" his voice cracked around a cough. "Robot," he ripped his bayard from its cosy hold in the metal and wires. "Shit," he managed before getting lost in a fit of coughs again. 

If the constant training hadn't left him with toned abs, he's almost sure that the coughs that attacked his lungs would have left him with a set.

He wheezed in a couple of breaths before giving in to gravity's pull, letting his back fall against the training deck's floor. 

Everything ached. 

His stomach hurt from how much he was coughing, his legs and arms hurt when he woke up, and he has been burning since his training session.

And his head-

God, it felt like someone was punching him repeatedly right smack bang in the centre of his forehead. 

"Hey, Mullet!" 

And if his headache could get any worse, Lance's screechy voice would definitely have made it worse.

But it couldn't. The throb behind his eyes was persistent, unwavering at his interruption in his not exactly training session.

"What?" He grumbled, head rolling to the side to look at him as Lance came up.

"What's this training?" Lance mused, crouching down next to Keith, lying on the training deck floor, "Training for when all this overworking finally kills you?" He grinned.

Fuck.

Keith hated that stupid victory grin he made whenever he knew his joke was good. He hated it so much that he could feel butterflies in his stomach whenever he saw it. Hated it so much that he could feel the heat rising to his already feverish cheeks.

"Mullet?" He poked a finger to Keith's cheek and his grin snapped into a grimace, "You're burning up." He observed, leaning more over Keith's face again, "You good?"

Keith didn't know why he didn't answer. But his throat felt so dry that he wouldn't be surprised if tumbleweeds were raking at his windpipe. Was his vision always so fuzzy? Maybe he did need a break... maybe his vision isn't supposed to be going spotty...

"Kogane?" Lance's hand waved in front of his face a little, Keith's eyes not following them and just staring off into the distance.

"Lance?" Keith's voice was croaky but his head thudded inside his skull so hard that he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Yeah - it's me, you okay?" His playful smile had fallen, and his dimples faded into the flawless tan skin of his cheeks.

"Uh-" Keith mumbled, "I feel... I feel like shit." 

"You look it."

"Thanks, man."

"That's not - shit, hang on, I'll get Coran-"

"Mmhmm." Keith hummed, the blood rushing in his ears drowning out Lance's voice. 

And if on cue, Keith's vision hazed out, the corners of his sight blurring into a smudge of white, blue and Lance.

"I don't..." Keith grumbled, eyes lingering on the ceiling, "I don't think my vision is supposed to be giving out..."

Lance swallowed. "No... it's not..."

Keith lifted a weak hand to signal a thumbs up. 

He hadn't felt that bad the morning just passed - he felt shitty, sure, but he didn't feel terrible. He had opened his eyes with a subtle pulsing behind his eyelids and an all-over ache. That, and a crackly cough. Space cold. Cool.

But when the room was spinning and his vision was blurring and his head was thumping so bad - 

"Quiznack, Keith, Keith!"

And even when Lance was shaking his shoulders lightly, just repeating his name like a broken record, he couldn't even muster the energy to reply. Maybe, it isn't a space cold.

Or it is a space cold, and they're just this bad.

"For fucks sake -" Lance's voice cracked a little, "can you walk?"

Keith would have rolled his eyes if it didn't hurt to move them. "Can hardly talk; feel terrible."

Lance rolled his eyes because it didn't hurt to do so. "Why?"

"Why should I know?"

"Cause it's happening to you, duh."

"I don't know... space cold?"

"Space cold?"

"That's what I said."

"You look like you're going to pass out!"

"Feel like it too."

"Is this some weird Galra thing?"

"How should I know?"

"Because-" Lance started again, "ugh, we're going in circles."

"I've noticed."

"Congratulations." Lance said blatantly, sitting back on his heels, "You look terrible, feel terrible, are on the brink of fainting and you don't know why..."

Keith hummed in agreement, mumbling something that sounded a bit like, "That 'bout sums it up."

Lance nodded to himself, "So this... laying down is not part of your obsessive training...?"

Keith's eyes moved to Lance to glare at him as if it was the last thing he felt he could do. "Obviously, dumbass."

That was then followed by a fit of coughs, forcing him to sit upright. The coughs just kept retching from his chest before he could inhale any air to cough out. Then the tough, moody red paladin was reduced into a wheezing, coughing and squeaking mess, unable to even properly breathe with how his diaphragm was spasming.

Lance put a hand on Keith's back and watched with a kind of surprised look on his face. To be fair, he hadn't really thought Keith could be affected by simple things like sickness. Always so temperamental, impulsive and strong and hot -

Lance hopped over that thought. 

He never even thought that something so simple and... and human, as being sick could reach him from his high pedestal. 

Was that a bad thing? Not even seeing Keith as human. Even before the whole Galra realisation?

Lance would ask Hunk later.

He would know.

"L-Lance-" Keith gasped out, coughing into his elbow with a wheeze, "water-"

Right.

Keith's dying.

"On it." He said, reaching a long arm behind him and grabbing one of the water pouches Allura gave them from near Keith's abandoned training bag. "Here," he pulled it out of the half-zipped-up bag and held it in front of Keith as he shook with another wave of uncontrollable coughing and squeaking.

If Lance weren't so bewildered by the information that Keith could get sick, he would have made a comment on the squeaking noises Keith made when he was coughing with empty lungs. His mind was buzzing too loudly with the realisation to even think of a sly or funny comment on it.

Keith could get sick.

Keith is sick.

"Uh-" Keith sighed after a long gulp of the liquid, breathing coming back to him quickly. "Fuck," he added intelligently, putting the water down and clearing his dry throat.

"Fuck indeed," Lance hummed, pressing the cool back of his hand against Keith's burning forehead, forcing his messy bangs out of the way.

"What?-" Keith croaked, visibly relaxing at the cooling compress.

"Shh," Lance hushed, trying to gauge the temperature, "you've got a fever."

Keith's eyes fluttered closed with a sigh, "I know..." he groaned.

"You're banished from the training deck," Lance decided, pushing himself to his feet. His hand closed around Keith's and he tugged on his arm a little, signalling him to get up.

"What!?" Keith yelped, staring up at Lance as he - now - towered over him.

"You heard me-" he grunted, hunching over to latch his other hand further down Keith's arm, wrapping around his bicep; flexing instinctually at the contact. "Get up."

Keith opened his mouth to argue.

I don't need a babysitter looking out for me - I'm not a child, I know when I reach my limits!

Can't say that, that'll end up in a fight.

You can't just ban me from training, it's the only thing I do in this stupid castle!

Ooh, too emo. That, too, will end in a fight.

So instead, Keith pushed himself up to crouch with his hand still on the floor and used Lance's arm to haul himself to stand. Once on his feet again, he moved to make space between them.

"Ah ah," Lance interrupted, pulling him close again, making Keith lean on him a little. "You can't walk, remember?"

Right.

Can't walk.

Keith shot a sideways glance at the blue paladin, letting him help - but only because he knew Lance would whine if he couldn't help. Only reason. Yeah. Only that.

"Just know if I weren't so tired, I would fight you on this," he mumbled. Lance does not need any boost to his ego.

Lance chuckled lightly and wrapped a hand around Keith's back, "I know, I know," he sighed, starting toward the training deck exit.

That long tan hand on Keith's back? Oh, that just made him feel even warmer like the air around him was becoming more stuffy. Maybe he was allergic to Lance? That made sense. Yeah, like that weird flip his stomach does whenever Lance brushes past him, or flashes that pearly smile. That had to be an allergic reaction, like the flush that lingered on his ears after Lance was being... well, himself, or...

Yeah...

Yeah, no...

Keith had already twisted it so many times in his own head. It wasn't an allergic reaction or a deeply rooted hatred. Keith may be a little lacking when it comes to emotional intelligence, sure, but he wasn't utterly useless. Mostly...

This was.. uh... this was a teensy, weensy, tiny little crush. That has him up at night, that has lasted for over a year, that stabs at his heart every waking second of every day - and even in his dreams - 

Yeah, just a little crush.

Besides, that doesn't matter.

Keith tripped a little as he hacked again into his arm, twisting away from Lance.

He has other things to worry about. Like, trying to breathe, as an example.

"Wow-" Lance turned with him, patting his back a little, "we're nearly there." His hand dropped to Keith's waist to pull him into a walk again. That definitely didn't make Keith choke on what he was already coughing up, cause that's silly, and Keith is not silly.

Except it does, and wherever Lance's hands even merely ghosted against lit his skin on fire. Because Keith is silly.

Oh, so very silly.

And Keith, as silly as he is, still has some dignity. So, instead of attempting to melt into a puddle and soak into the wafer-thin lines in the metal of the floor, like he wants to, he just falls back into step with Lance -  whose hand is on his waist, by the way -  and follows his lead into med-bay.

"Ah - my boy!" A ginger Altean perked up, peeking from behind a shelf of stuff that Keith guessed were medical supplies. "Why are you here? I thought you said you were... ' going to find that Mullet and train'? " Coran quoted, earning a surprised noise from Lance.

"Well- I uh-" Lance cleared his throat after being called out. It didn't matter though, because Keith was entirely too focused on trying to suppress his coughs and the way his mouth filled with saliva like -

Like when he vomits.

Uh oh.

"I did, and found this," he nodded toward Keith who shivered and covered his mouth with a quick hand.

"Bucket-" he managed, prying himself from Lance, snatching a... medical bucket from Coran and leaning his head into it.

"Oh!" Coran chirped, taking a hefty step back.

Something like lemon was the last thing to grace Keith's nose before the bile was too high in his throat to swallow down.

"Keith!" Lance jumped forward, gathering as much black hair in his hand as he could before the noise of vomit hitting a pool of... wait... isn't that Coran's cleaning bucket?

Lance combed raven hair from Keith's face as he winced at the retching sounds coming from the boy. 

Tears pricked Keith's eyes as the acid burned through his oesophagus and out of his mouth. Hang on... this isn't a medical bucket. He hurled again as another wave of nausea crashed against him. Great, he had managed to look lame in front of Lance and defile Coran's cleaning bucket all in the span of 20 minutes. Nice going, Keith.

"Careful there, number four," Coran said, picking up a purplish bag and cracking it in half. The purple turned lime, and by the time it was pressed to the back of his neck Keith had realised it was an ice pack. "You look like you've got a case of the Whirlies," he assessed because that's a totally normal sickness that everyone has heard of. Obviously.

Lance lifted his head, still holding Keith's hair from his face. "What's that?" He asked before Keith could pry his pale face from the stew of vomit and soap and - is that a sponge?

"Nothing to fret, number three," Coran said chipperly as he spun around to search through a cabinet of Altean remedies no one but he himself could really understand. "It's a sickness carried through bodily fluids. It causes, I believe, the Earth equivalent of flu-like symptoms that last maybe a week." He rambled while picking up glass bottles, squinting at the scribbling marks, shaking his head and putting it back in favour of another one.

"Bodily fluids!?" Lance gaped, eyes dropping to his fist in Keith's hair, "Keith- did you?-"

Lance didn't know Keith had it in him, honestly. He knew that some of the aliens they had saved had drooled over his mysterious and dark demeanour- hell, if they saw him vomiting in a bucket full of cleaning supplies- Lance stifled a laugh at the thought. But he didn't know Keith would have taken the opportunity. He didn't want Keith to have taken the opportunity.

"No!" Keith lifted his head from the bucket, "I did not screw an alien!"

Something in Lance relaxed. He was overthinking again - there is no way Keith would have had the courage to swoop a lucky alien to bed. What was he even thinking? Well, now he was thinking about being said alien being swooped to bed. That was something he could dwell on later. Now, he had to shoot back a come back to save his relieved face.

"Look," Lance said, huffing a light laugh, "you need to tell me where you found the time!" 

"I didn't fuck an alien!" Keith repeated, seeming offended that Lance would even consider that a reason for him catching the - what was it? Wripplies? Whooshies? Whatever.  

"I didn't say anything about... intimacy," Coran murmured, swirling a yellow substance in a tube around, "it's most common in blood-to-blood contact."

Keith shot a glare at Lance, who still had his hand balled in his hair. 

"Keith!" Hunk cried, recovering from a blast to his armour, "Careful, buddy, you're bleeding!"

His warnings fell on Keith's deaf ears as his fist plummeted into the Galran soldier who was the reason Hunk was shot in the first place.

"Go check on the others!" Keith panted, having to physically restrain himself from beating the already - pretty roughed up - soldier more than was ethically okay. He wiped his bloody knuckles on his flight suit peeking through his cracked armour, brushing past a cut on his leg.

The soldier's blood mixed with Keith's own.

Blood to blood.

Lance's mind retracted to the present, tugging itself free of the story Hunk had told him after their most recent mission. The Galran's blood had gotten into Keith's. That makes way more sense than him getting laid. How did he not think of that first?

"Yeah," Keith mumbled, probably answering a question of Coran’s. 

Right, Lance is in med-bay with Keith and Coran, who are engaged in a conversation. 

"Makes sense," Coran nodded, squinting at the yellow substance, "the soldier must have also been sick with the Whirlies" 

Keith hummed, shaking Lance's hand from his hair. Oops, he still had a fistful of raven locks in his hand. Way to go, Lover boy.

"I'm sure that you'll be good as new in no time," Coran twirled with the end of his big moustache, "twice a day, take a sip, and your body should reject the virus entirely." The smile on his face nearly glowed more than the suspicious substance within the glass tube, seemingly bioluminescent. 

"What do you mean... reject?" Lance murmured, feeling although he should try to inject himself into the conversation instead of just standing to the side. Awkwardly. Just, letting Keith lean on him casually.

Coran pulled at his moustache and twirled it around a gloved finger in thought. "In an

Alteans, it meant that they would shed their skin and lack the ability to shapeshift whilst they grew a new one."

That doesn't sound like the best way to reject a virus, Lance thought, people aren't supposed to shed skin. However, people also aren't supposed to be fighting for their lives in deep space and be susceptible to space illnesses either. 

"Shed skin?" Keith parroted to the old ginger, before glancing at Lance. If Lance knew any better, he'd have thought the look seemed a little worried. 

"Like - like a snake !?" He looked at Coran with wide eyes, "he's going to shed like a snake!?"

Coran quirked an eyebrow, "What is this... snake, you speak of, my boy?"

"He doesn't know what a snake is," Keith murmured, putting the bucket down and sliding onto the floor, out of Lance's grip. "He doesn't know what a snake is."

Lance opened his mouth to protest at Keith moving without help, but his mind couldn't decide what problem to fix first. Coran, the gorgeous man he was, did not have any idea what a snake was, which was just sad, and Keith was now sitting on the floor with his back leaned against his legs. That wasn't sad but was something to think about for sure.

"Its-um- just, I'll tell you later, Coran. For now, can you try and find out how this Whirlies thing affects humans?" Lance asked, not knowing what to do with his hands, now that they were shaken from Keith's weirdly soft hair. He just shoved them into his pockets out of no idea what else to do.

"I have never seen a human catch Whirlies," Coran commented, popping the Altean equivalent of a cork out of the tube and measuring about 3ml into a shot glass-looking cup. "But, because I do know how it affects Galra, I could tell you that."

"That works," Keith mumbled, combing his hair out of his face. If only he didn't shake Lance's hands from his mop of hair, then he could have tan hands holding it back for him - 

"Okay!" Coran smiled, whipping a folder out of what looked quite literally like thin air, "Here's what I have documented-"

Keith didn't know when he had subconsciously tuned out the long list of symptoms, it could have been after the mention of glow-in-the-dark waste or maybe it was following the addition of spontaneous anaphylactic shock when in contact with scultrite. 

Lance, on the other hand, just stared, mouth ajar as Coran went on and on and on.

"He, if his recessive Galran genes are strong enough to react, may also decrease in body temperature, strength, energy and appetite." Coran finished, the paper in his hands folding over as he held the bottom, thumb brushing over the footer. "So, hopefully, his human DNA is more present in his genetic build-up - well, if humans react more positively to this virus anyway."

And with that, Lance snapped his jaw shut, nodded his head, and took the yellow substance in the shot glass Coran offered him.

"He should have 3 drops twice a day until his symptoms cease, he or no longer excretes neon waste."

Neon poop? 

Lance would have laughed if he wasn't still trying to recall all of the symptoms Coran had listed.

But still, neon poop?

"Sounds like you're in for a ride," Lance mused, handing the glass down to Keith, "you know, LED shit and whatnot."

Keith took the glass in hand and downed it without hesitation. He clicked his tongue at the sour tingling coat it left on the inside of his mouth and just sighed. "Can't wait."

Chapter Text

Being appointed Keith's personal supervisor while he was sick wasn't exactly good news for either of the boys.

Shiro and Allura were busy with organising diplomatic meetings and alliance building. Which was a rather vital task when it came to trying to win an intergalactic war. 

Pidge was preoccupied with working with the love of her life - technology. Whether it was picking apart and piecing back together parts of the castle, stolen weapons or gadgets she made herself, she was always nose-deep in a mess of wires, holograms and metal scraps. Another thing to consider is that she wouldn't necessarily be the best caretaker of a stubborn, hot-headed mess who didn't believe in being sick. Keith would either be tied to his bed with shackles binding him from leaving his quarantine, or he would be set free to train as he pleases. There would be no in-between.

Hunk, the perfect person he is, was busy collecting and putting together a list of recipes for the paladins to enjoy, instead of living off green food goo that oozed from a hose. Noone had a complaint about his job, no, if anything, the paladins agreed collectively that he had one of the most vital jobs on board: keeping them fed with food that would stay down. 

Coran - well, he was Coran. He was busy with alliance maintenance, castle maintenance, keeping up the paladin morale - though, that was a Lance job as well - and overall, he was busy with everything.

So, that left Lance.

Keith didn’t think he needed a babysitter to watch over him while he coughs and vomits and sneezes with some odd space flu, and Lance doesn't want to be a babysitter, to watch Keith cough and vomit and sneeze with the odd space flu.

“I still don't know why I need a babysitter,” Keith rolled his eyes, shivering under the blanket he wrapped around himself as tight as he could get it. At Least now, thanks to the weird bitter sour yellow stuff, he could roll his eyes without feeling like his head would combust his skull.

“Hey, I'm not thrilled about it either,” Lance snipped back, spinning himself around in the wheely chair that was tucked under Keith's desk. “Maybe if your room weren't so boring,” he complained, facing Keith for a second before he spun around again, his back showing as he talked, “I wouldn’t complain about being stuck here with you.”

Keith closed his eyes and flopped onto his bed. “Stop spinning so much, you're making me dizzy.”

“Your lame case of the Whirlies is making you dizzy.”

“You spinning is making it worse!”

“Urghh,” Lance drew out, coming to a stop. His chest was pressed against the back of the chair, his long arms crossed over it while he held on. “But your room is soooo boring.”

Keith groaned, dragging his hands down his face, “find something else to do then,” he muffled against his hands, “anything that doesn't involve you somehow making me worse.”

Lance huffed dramatically as he pushed himself off the chair, eyes dragging all around Keith's room, scouting for something to do. The room itself was bare, so much so, it was making him a little claustrophobic. There were no posters on his walls, no pictures on his shelves, Jesus, even his desk was devoid of games or books or -

Hang on.

Something hooked Lance's attention. From under an abandoned training shirt on Keith's desk. The clear sight of a metal spiral poked out from under a dark grey clothing article.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Lance's lips. He glanced over his shoulder at Keith, who seemed to be sleeping again in his bundle of blankets on his bed. Perfect . Slowly, he crept up to the desk, feet silently brushing against the metal flooring of the red paladin’s quarters. He swiftly pushed the shirt out of the way and his smile only grew at the sight of what looked like a large notepad, sitting on his desk.

His hand hesitated about 10 centimetres away from the spine of the book. No, no he shouldn't. This is Keith's room - Keith's stuff. That'd be intruding. Wouldn't it? 

Lance frowned, his rational side winning the fight in his mind. Keith wouldn't appreciate his stuff being looked through. He glanced over his shoulder again, and Keith was just as he was before; curled in on himself and wheezing a little as his breath puffed against a loose strand of hair. Maybe… maybe just a peek.

To be fair, Lance was bored. The poor man found it hard enough to sit still for so long, and trying to do that, be quiet, in a confined space devoid of anything to do, it was wavering on impossible. He was getting antsy and fidgety. If he were to be supervising Hunk, he could tinker with things around his room and chat with him. Hell, even if he were babysitting Pidge, there'd be something in her mess of a room to do - to look at.

And it was just one thing, one personal belonging, and he was only going to peek at it. Only a tiny glance. That wouldn't be intruding, the book is out in the open. If the Mullet really didn't want Lance seeing it, he would have lodged it deep into his wardrobe, or under his bed, or in the air vents.

Then Lance was looking around the room again. Maybe he had. Maybe there were things perched inside the ventilation ducts, maybe there were things wedged in the top of his wardrobe, hiding desperately from prying eyes. Seeking to keep away from eyes that beg to intrude, that begs to find it.

Nah, that's stupid. 

No way would Keith own anything important and secret enough to hide that well. The only thing Lance knew he owned was that blade that exposed his Galra half. Well, that and his stupid cropped jacket that hung a little high above his hips, and his stupid emo black jeans and his tight navy top that hugged his waist just right. Lance sighed, rubbing his eyes as if that would wipe the image of Keith without his jacket from his mind.

It didn't.

Whatever, it's not like he hated the image.

Nor did he hate the image of having a little flick through the book on the desk. It had a scratched black cover, and there were pages sticking out of the organised containment of the two hard card covers.

A little look wouldn't hurt.

Maybe it could be a window into Keith himself. For once, Lance could have a clear sight into his mind, and instead of punching uselessly at his mental walls, he could look through a peephole. Have a look at him without the barrier of his constant brooding and moody barbed wire fencing.

Yeah.

Just a quick look.

So, after the mental warfare died down into a mild argument between the nosy and honest sides of his brain, he let his hand rest on the cover of the book, pinching it between his thumb and index. With a gentle lift, he pushed the front cover to the side, letting it land next to the stack of pages, hitting the desk with a little tap.

And-

And he didn't take Keith for a drawer.

He especially didn't take him for a good one either.

But the inked sketch of the page before him disproved him entirely. Because that was a very well-drawn sketch of the observatory. Scribbled in blue ink, laid the main deck of the observatory, as well as the stars and planets that clouded the space outside the window. And before he thought about how ethical it was to be looking through Keith's sketchbook without his permission, or even knowledge, he flicked to the next page.

And a drawing of the red lion taking up the next page was the second thing to make his jaw slack. Because when was it possible to portray 3 dimensions so clearly on paper? There was shading cross-hatched into the shadowed parts of the ship, and highlights left untouched where the bright light would shine on Red from the hangar.

This was an unexpected sight that stood on the other side of the peephole he found lying on Keith's desk. It was a nice sight though, because harbouring the knowledge that the tough red paladin was an artist when he was alone in his room was like a precious jewel Lance now held in the palm of his hand. Sacred in a way, yet at the same time a little frightening. Because what happened when the red paladin found out about the gem in Lance's hand? Would he steal it back with angry words and venom-laced rage, or would he cower and try to shrug off the fact that his secret was spilt into the blue paladin's hands, who cupped it like it was liquid gold.

“Lance?” 

Lance snapped the book shut much faster than he had opened it and shoved it under the grey T-shirt before turning on his heels so fast he wouldn't have been surprised if there were marks burned into the floor beneath him.

“What's up?”

“Someone's at the door,” Keith mumbled into his pillow, “and I'm too sickly to get up.” The teasing in his tone was weak against the cough that interrupted his voice, but there nonetheless.

And Lance sighed a breath of relief he thought was going to be his last. Because Keith called him to get the door, and do what he was tasked with, and not to pelt him black and blue for looking at his sketchbook.

“You got it, sick boy,” Lance said with a mocking grin, hand landing on the keypad next to his door.

“ Sick boy ?” Keith lifted his head from the pillow, “surely you could have come up with something a little more snarky.”

Even when he was weakened, kneeling at the mercy of some weird space flu, Keith had managed to banter back with Lance. Because who was he if not a stubborn and moody mysterious soldier? No amount of sickness could cease him from pushing Lance's buttons.

Lance scoffed before keying in the code to open the door, “Cut me some slack, Mullet,” he rolled his eyes even though his back was facing Keith, “I've used most of my energy making sure you don't die of this Whirlie thing.”

That earned a crackly and cough-infused chuckle from the mass on the bed, a sound that made Lance's heart clutch in his chest just a little.

“Hey,” Hunk poked his head in the door frame just a little, “is Keith awake?”

“Barely,” Keith mumbled back but pushed himself to sit anyway. “Hey, Hunk.” 

“Hey,” he stepped inside with a ceramic crock pot held with his pink oven mitts, “I heard that you were under the weather, so, I made soup.”

Keith's eyes widened a bit as he slowly scooched his way to the end of his bed, his feet softly thudding against the floor. “You made soup?” 

“Pumpkin - at least that's what it tastes like. I picked up some purple fruits from the space mall last trip, and I figured, ‘cause you're sick, some purple-space pumpkin would do everyone some good.” He punctuated his explanation with a smile, the big smile he always wore when he made something.

“I’ll-” Keith coughed, his sinuses feeling so full they would explode. He pushed himself to his feet with a wobbly, “I'll be in the kitchen in a minute.”

Hunk chuckled lightly, handing the crock pot to Lance, having left the lid on the bench. In the crock pot were two bowls of purple soup, each with a spoon included. “Sorry, buddy, but Shiro said you're still room-bound.”

“What!?” Keith squawked, “I'm not even contagious!”

Lance looked his way, “I mean, you technically are.”

“What?” Keith shook his head, “ Blood to blood , Lance, I'm not going to brawl with anyone in the dining hall!”

“I mean…” he dragged out, walking over to put the bowls of soup on Keith's desk, hesitating for a second as he caught sight of the book again.

“Seriously?” Keith gaped, crossing his arms.

“It's happened before, bud,” Hunk shrugged, "you never know.”

Keith groaned and flopped back onto his bed because he didn't have a rebuttal. A fistfight with your teammate once in the dining hall and it haunts you forever. It wasn't even a proper fight. Stupid Lance.

“Well, have fun eating in quarantine, sick boy,” Lance teased, standing up and popping his back, “I'm sure-”

“Wow, wow,” Hunk interrupted, “you don't think both of those bowls are just for Keith, do you?”

Lance swallowed what insult he had harbouring for Keith as he turned to face his best friend, who had turned traitor.

“Excuse me…?”

“Oh, you don't know?” Damn Hunk and his empathetic nature. For once , Keith wished, Hunk could be a little mean. It was the perfect timing. Poke at Lance for being wrong. But no, Hunk just seeped sympathy. “You're banished to quarantine as well.”

“Huh!?” Was all Lance managed to come back with, because, just that: Huh!?

“Yeah.” Hunk explained thoroughly, “You have been deemed his caretaker while he's ill, Allura's orders.”

“Why me?” Lance complained, throwing his hands up in his over-the-top nature, “Why not Pidge- or, Shiro?”

“Princess's orders,” Hunk shrugged, “Something about it being a perfect chance for team bonding and how everyone else is busy.”

Lance frowned, “and I'm not busy?” he clarified, “I'm plenty busy!”

Keith huffed, “I don't think face masks and skin care count as busy ,” he croaked, throat dry with each word.

“Oh shoosh, you plague haver,” Lance scolded, before turning back to Hunk, “but seriously, do my hobbies not count as me being busy?”

“If it means anything; Keith's obsessive training doesn’t give him busy points,” Hunk added, taking off his mitts.

“What?” It was now Keith's turn to be offended. “I'm busy when I'm training!” he would have yelled if his throat allowed: but it didn't. So it was just a low-toned, gravely complaint.

“Not according to Allura,” Hunk stepped outside again, “face masks, extra training, it's the same thing in her eyes. If it's not benefiting our work in the war, then it's a hobby.”

“I-” Lance started, finger pointed in Hunk's direction. His frown just fell and the anger pinching his eyebrows together released. He's not mad at Hunk. He's mad at the Princess. He took a breath. Hunk didn't deserve his anger, so he collected himself and nodded, “Yeah, just - I'll tell her how important skin care is when I see her next,” he brushed the hair from his face, “maybe after a cooling cucumber mask, she'll understand how it benefits me in battle.”

Hunk patted him on the shoulder, “you do that, man,” he smiled, before bidding his goodbyes and departing Keith's room, the door closing with a soft gust of wind.

Keith shuffled on his bed, drawing Lance's eyes back to him from staring blankly at the door. “I would make fun of you being banished if it weren't for the fact that you're banished with me,” Keith said gravely, dropping the blanket from his shoulders for the need for mobility. 

Lance's eyebrows furrowed together again as he broiled up a rebutting insult until his eyes snapped on Keith's lips. A small smile tugged his mouth into a mix between an upward curve and a straight line. Suddenly, Lance wasn't angry, not even mildly irritated. Because of that? Well, that fond little smile was about to join the gem of knowing Keith draws in the back of Lance's mind, locked up in a velvet-padded vault. 

“Oh hush, Mullet,” Lance picked up his feet and dropped himself back into Keith's wheely chair, spinning to get the soup, “Channel your energy to recovering, not flirting with me.”

That was a step to their weird scale that slid from rivalry to friendship. Playful banter was not new territory, having been discovered a couple of months back. But playful banter with underlying hints? That was a grey area. Lance knew Keith well enough to know that he would nearly match Lance's energy on just about anything. Arguing at the kitchen table? Keith matched his energy and they had a fist fight. Fighting about whether the beach or the desert were better? Keith matched his energy and they bantered about the pros and cons of both. Lance is homesick and Keith somehow stumbled upon him on his hunt for a midnight snack? Keith matched his energy, slid down next to him and let Lance rant about how he missed Earth; missed Cuba.

But playful banter that bordered on hinting things he felt that Lance wasn't sure was mutual? That wasn't something he'd tested before.

But, just as he did on just about everything else, Keith matched his energy. 

“You wish I was flirting,” he chuckled, then coughed into his elbow again. Lance couldn't tell if the rosy colour on his cheeks was because of his Whirlies situation, or because of the new-step-in-friendship situation.

Hearing Keith match his energy, yet again on something completely unprompted, Lance decided that he could put a pause on that thought and look at it later.

“But no; I was just complaining about your flamboyant presence in my room,” he shrugged, trying to contain that smile again, as he reached for a bowl.

Lance laughed briefly, a hand flying to his face as he dipped backwards in mock offence. “Kogane, you and your mean words wound me,” he complained, the chair creaking at being bent at an odd angle.

After being scolded for letting the soup Hunk so graciously made for them go cold, Lance picked up his bowl and brought a spoonful of purple glug to his mouth. He prayed it tasted better than it looked.

He heard Keith swallow as he looked at his bowl, scooping up the purple substance and letting it drop back into the pool of itself. “Don't get me wrong…” Keith inspected the soup with a lopsided frown on his chapped lips, “I trust Hunk…”

Lance's eyes wandered back to his bowl of purple gluggy soup. 

“It just… looks, um…” Keith trailed off.

Lance pondered, listening as he, himself, questioned the look of the dish. He really did trust Hunk and was sure Keith did too, it was just, the food… it looked-

“Inedible,” Keith grimaced.

Yeah, that just summed up what Lance was trying to put nicely. Never doubt Keith and his ability to blurt what was on his mind.

“I'm sure it tastes amazing,” Lance defended, hesitantly sniffing the soup hanging in front of his mouth.

“Didn't say I doubted it,” Keith hummed dipping the tip of his tongue into the purple mixture, “I just said it looked interesting,” he murmured, tasting the soup in his mouth.

Lance watched carefully as Keith pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, gauging a taste for the purple liquid. “Good?” He asked, stirring his spoonful back into the puddle.

“Mmm,” Keith mumbled, dipping his spoon down for a fuller spoonful, “Hunk made it; it's amazing.”

Lance ignored the way his stomach tightened at the small display of genuine emotion, nodding with Keith as he also pulled a spoonful up to his mouth.

Good thing Keith didn't lie as much as he brooded, because Lance was seriously triple-thinking just how much he trusted Hunk’s recipes at the sight of the purple sludge.

Without another word, he just spooned soup into his mouth and hummed contently at the garlic-y pumpkin-y taste of the liquid.

Chapter Text

The third day of dealing with a good old case of the Whirlies rolled around and Keith felt bad, if not worse. The sirens that had woken him up from an already restless sleep kick-started a pounding in his head that had managed to last up until now. Now, being hiding behind a pillar in a Galra cruiser, because the universe hated him for some reason.

The halls were nothing short of chaos. Sparks flew as metal crashed against metal, sentries collapsed against the floor in heaps of wires and scraps. Blue lasers flew and purple ones rivalled them in the air. 

“You’ll guard the prisoners, Keith.” Keith mocked Shiro under his breath. “It’ll be easier on your body, if you’re not in combat, Keith.”

Well, screw Shiro and what he thought was better for Keith’s weakened body, because the universe wanted him on the front lines, not supervising some Galra prisoners in the holding bay. Though, for once in his life, he wasn’t there to be stubborn. He was staying to be stubborn, but he didn’t march with a puffed chest to fight just to spite Shiro.

It wasn’t his fault that some Galran soldier (currently purple floor mat of the holding bay) saw him watching and evacuating the prisoners. But he couldn’t say that he was entirely upset at being forced to battle out in the halls. Keith was always one to prefer being out in the flesh. 

However, with his current predicament of having a weird space flu equivalent, some part of him did wish he wasn’t fighting tooth and nail to not get shot.

He saw the way his breath fogged against his visor as footsteps clicked against the hall tile floor, the fast storm of senteries fading to a small horde as Lance shot them down one by one from his leverage point on the bridge.

“Just for the record,” Keith heard Lance’s voice come through his communication system in his helmet. “I am against you being down there.” His voice was firm from the concentration he hauled into his aim, blasting down the offenders in places varying from their heads, chests, and necks.

Keith stuck the tip of his blade into the floor to help himself up. The spinning in his head had subsided after finding some mystery medication in Red’s helm after they got the distress signal. It had yet to clear.

“I know.” Keith sighed, voice scratchy from the dryness and irritation in his throat. “I’m not particularly thrilled about it either.” The footsteps stopped. He turned his head around the corner to find no standing robot left. The only living thing in the hall was a small flickering fire that ignited from exposed wiring in the torn-through chest cavity of a sentry. 

“What?” Lance asked sarcastically, “You – not thrilled about being down on the front lines? Psh, never thought I’d see the day.”

“Shut it, Lance.”

“Ouch.”

“ Guys ,” Shiro huffed, clearly not stationary – wherever he was on the ship, “cut it out.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but bit his tongue, not feeling ready to piss Shiro off more than he already has, having left the holding bay, against his clear instruction. The distress signal they received from the dungeon-like holding space of the cruiser they were currently aboard was frantic. Frantic, rushed, and clearly written while fighting off guards. Pidge had managed to decrypt four words from it:

‘Help, need, Voltron, haste’

“Seconded,” Hunk agreed eagerly. “It's hard enough to try and rejig this control pad with the sound of a war zone outside the door-” Hunk cut himself off as he snapped shut a control panel of the dash from the navigation room, “–but with you guys bickering in the background? Honestly-”

“I get it.” Keith gritted his teeth, pushing himself off the wall and jogging down the scrap-metal-littered hall as fast as his sore legs let him.

“We wouldn’t be bickering if Mullet had just stayed watching the prisoners like he was told!” Lance argued, lowering his bayard as Keith came into his view, running down the hall with a little lag in his stride. The blue paladin stayed crouched from his high point and watched the other, adorned in red, make his way quickly through the hall through the scope in his rifle. 

“Since when did Keith ever listen to anyone?” Pidge added under her breath, vigorous keyboard clicking padding her words through the com link.

“You know I can still hear you, right?” Keith complained, pressing his back against the wall of the path when his ears picked up on distant footsteps. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” Lance grumbled, eyes narrowing as he watched Keith’s every move from his vantage point. He didn't like when Keith tried to flatten himself against the wall. It meant that there was more coming.

“ Enough ,” Shiro stressed, exasperation evident in his voice and something crashing on his end of the line. “You can argue when we get back to the castle.”

“ If we get back to the castle–”

“Hunk!”

“Sorry!”

Keith’s eye twitched a little. He could feel his skin prickle under his flight suit, his already low body temperature not getting any better with the icy atmosphere of the Galran cruiser.  “Shh, I can hear footsteps.”

The line went silent for a brief moment. A moment that Keith had honestly lasted longer, as he tried to guesstimate how far away the soldiers were.

Click

Click

Click

The sound of robotic feet skimming over the ship’s ground chinked uncomfortably in his ears. 

“Did you just say that to shut us up?” Lance whispered from his end, watching Keith as his head whipped around to glare at him. 

“ Lance !” Keith half whispered, his voice sharp against the microphone on the inside of his helmet. The footsteps were closing in. He could hear them.

“No, no, he’s right.” Pidge’s voice chipped in, much less loud than when she previously decided to partake in conversation. “There are sentries en route to the South Corridor of sector 2. Their live location is the junction of South East and Mid Halls, I can see them on screen.”

“They’re going to Keith’s current location?” Lance guessed from the technical mumble jumble that he got from the green paladin. 

“Keith’s current location.” The green paladin reiterated with a nod no one but Hunk could see.

“I told you I could hear footsteps,” Keith muttered, summoning his bayard up again. He only faltered for a moment when the weight of his weapon felt foreign in his hand. It felt heavy. Heavier than usual. Though, if he thought about it, everything had felt heavier than usual since his contraction of the Whirlies. His arms felt heavier, his legs felt heavier, his eyelids felt heavier.

“Shut it and focus, Sick Boy.”

Lance's voice sounded heavier. Whether that was because concern pushed the words out of his mouth, or because Keith's sinuses felt so full noises around him were dulled, he didn't know. Nor did he have time to think about it. The footsteps were coming in closer. They were egging nearer in the corridors.

The rhythmic chinking of armoured boots on the metal ground was eliciting a buzz under Keith's skin. The kind of static that made his ears tune in more carefully, made his eyesight sharpen, made his stomach churn expectantly. The adrenaline was leaking into his bloodstream, and he could feel the urge to just run and pounce the sentries before they even detected his presence – the almost animalistic need to tear them to shreds, to bash and beat them beyond what even Pidge could repair. 

“Keith, get ready, and Lance–” Shiro's voice chimed in through the red paladin’s thoughts, interrupting his little internal fight to keep himself still, “–reposition, I want you on standby in case Keith gets overwhelmed.”

“I won't get overwhelmed.”

Shiro paused but didn't reconsider. “Pidge says that there are multiple sentries. You're ill, Lance is your backup.”

“I don't need–”

“5 ticks,” Pidge alerted, “they're right around the corner.”

Keith didn't bother finishing his complaint.

The sentries didn’t bother announcing their arrival.

It took an embarrassing amount of time for Keith’s afflicted scenes to fully take an awareness of the danger encompassing him. In which, an embarrassing amount of time is long enough for some purple lasers to skim across his chest plate and rip a small breath from his already straining lungs.

The heat from the lasers warmed his chest in a way that almost felt comforting, but the blunt force from the projectiles stifled that pretty quickly. He sidestepped a sentry and whacked it on the head with the butt of his sword. It went down with a clunk and took another one down with it. 

“What was that about not getting overwhelmed? ”

Keith ignored the mocking voice that muttered its way through his communication link. Instead, he decided to focus on more pressing matters. Not getting killed, for example.

His shield materialised from his free hand, bocking his aching body from the blazing heat of the lasers being shot in his direction. The magenta light burned through the air until disintegrated against the magical Altean material of his only protection from the bloodthirsty monsters gushing down the hall.

Hang on.

This ship was supposed to be sentry run.

And, if Keith was correct, purple fluffy ears, lilac markings, and growling were all characteristics of living Galra. Not the senseless robots that often charted their ships. 

And, if Keith was correct again, Galran metal didn’t have the same give as flesh. His blade buried into the side of a, now sputtering, feline soldier, sending down a body to the cold floor. His mind didn’t register the flood of noises, senses overwhelmed by the irking smell of alien blood. It didn’t have the same smell as human blood. It was almost smokey, but in the way that a sunbaked corpse stinks, rather than charred wood.

He was knocked from his internal comparison when a blast hit him in the back, knocking some wind from his lungs. Before he could see the creature that was responsible, a blue light fizzed his vision, and the soldier landed on the floor with a loud thud.

“It’s a trap-” Keith could hear Pidge’s distant voice somewhere in his comlink, but his body was moving on command. Duck under that swing, counter that one, disarm this one.

“-overwhelmed-” there was a loud crash, and then a “-fucking hell-”, followed by a, “-language!”, and a, “-not now Shiro!”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Keith knew what was going on. He had a general idea of where this was going. More Galra cruisers had honed in on their location, their presence was expected, and Zarkon was going to try and take Voltron again. 

Surely that had to be getting old.

Losing every battle.

Going back with nothing more than lost hope and empty hands.

A weapon went clattering to the floor as Keith’s foot collided with the hand of a soldier, and its body followed soon after. A shockwave rippled through Keith’s leg from the impact, but he still hopped onto it and redirected his body weight to manoeuvre around a razor-sharp blade.

“Keith!”

He whipped his head around to the sound of his name, and his erratic heart paused. The burning that lingered under his skin from fighting like a feral cat fizzed out until his low body temperature reared its head through goosebumps rising on his arms and legs.

It felt like time had stilled, or slowed at the very least, but Keith knew better than that. 

He also would have thought that Lance would know better than to leave his vantage point.

His bayard was built for long-distance fighting. Not for hand-to-hand

“Lance!”

Yet, it didn’t matter what Keith thought he knew, because Lance was not at his vantage point. No, the blue paladin was actually backed into a corner, struggling to shoot off the Glara closing in with his rifle.

He had blood trickling down his temple, his eyes were wide, and Keith could hear his frantic panting through the speaker in his helmet. 

He couldn't have that.

The soldiers could rampage Keith all they wanted, but not Lance.

What’s the difference?

The red paladin ignored the Shiro-like voice that spoke in his mind. He didn’t care about the details. He can shoot now, ask questions later. Get Lance out of there, and think about his feelings later. He can think when he’s back in his room, wrapped in a blanket, and sitting on his bed trying to justify his actions to himself. Just- not now. 

Now, he needs to help Lance.

So, that’s what he did.