Archive of Our Own ^beta

The very first thing Lance could even process through the sleep-addled depths of his semi-conscious mind were alarms. Blaring alarms. Loud, blaring alarms.

Lance groaned sleepily and weakly rolled onto his side, face still buried in the nice softness of his pillow. But something wasn’t right. Namely, the pitch of the alarm was a bit higher than the one he used, the cute little blue alarm clock his mom had given him for his duration at the Garrison. And his pillow felt weird. It was much softer than usual. What…

Oh.

Within milliseconds the boy had flipped out of bed onto his feet, his eyes scanning his unfamiliar-yet-somehow-familiar-at-the-same-time room.

He was in his private quarters. In the Castle of Lions. In space. Because he was a member of Voltron.

And the alarm that was blaring signified an oncoming attack, from none other than the lovely space dictator Zarkon. He was going to be late, and if he was late in getting suited up the entire universe was doomed.

So he wasted no time at all hastily grabbing his paladin armor from the pile he had thrown it in next to his bed and dashing out the automatic door before speeding down the hallway. The trek towards the bridge, where Allura had marked their previous designated meetup spot, took maybe only a few minutes. But those few short minutes were precious minutes he could have spent already flying out of the hangar doors in his lion, already activating his cool ice laser and already shooting down the invading ships. Time was ticking.

He burst into the room of the bridge huffing and puffing and still in his pajamas with his helmet tucked under one arm and every other piece of his armor clutched in the other. Waiting in the room were the other paladins, equally exhausted and disheveled, also looking like they had only just gotten out of bed. All except for Shiro, who, for some reason, was able to efficiently get into his armor just like he had last time.

Standing by the control panel were Allura and Coran, both looking equally disappointed.

“That was just a drill, wasn’t it,” Lance deadpanned.

Allura’s glare gave it all away, and Lance didn’t even know what to say. Of course it was. It was only a drill because they had to get used to jumping out of bed in seconds and getting dressed and ready to fight in minutes. Because they were paladins of Voltron, and when the universe needed saving, lateness was not an excuse.

“This is the second time we’ve done this, and you have not arrived more than a few seconds faster. If we shall repeat the drill, I expect all of you to be at the bridge in no less than a minute. Understand?”

Allura’s stern voice had a disciplining effect on all of them. Lance found himself subconsciously straightening up and bowing his head. He did feel guilty. He had no right to be frustrated with Allura for making him get up on such a whim because it was his duty, and he would be held accountable for any problems that arose in a real attack.

Hunk, who happened to be closest to Lance, bowed his head as well, and spoke up for the other paladins.

“We’re sorry.”

It was a simple statement but it worked well enough.

Allura’s stern demeanor cracked a little, and she simply looked away, deflated and disappointed along with the rest of them.

“We had gotten so much progress less than a few of your earth days ago. I was hoping that it would carry through and that you would have improved. But I also understand that you’ve been tired from trying to adjust to your new lives as paladins and to life on the ship,” Allura said, sighing. “Of course, that doesn’t mean that I don’t expect you to keep working as hard as you can.”

Hunk gulped a little, the sound loud enough to fill the increasingly tense silence.

“And that is why, after you get yourselves properly dressed, we’re going to head down to the training deck and continue with our exercises,” Coran piped up in a cheerful tone that did nothing to hide the sinister thought process behind it.

Lance groaned.

This was going to be a long day.

“Oof!” Hunk cried out as he was struck to the side by the training bot’s pole thingy.

Lance winced in what could have been a vaguely empathetic gesture towards his friend. But he avoided any hesitation for even a moment in favor of sliding quickly to the side in order to avoid being struck by Hunk’s flying body and getting knocked down as well. It didn’t work to get distracted when facing the gladiator, and he knew this from firsthand experience. It hadn’t even been that long since their last unsuccessful training session; the fact that Allura obviously wasn’t going to give it up only made Lance more weary.

It didn’t appear to work. The training bot set its electronic vision-sensors on him. He gulped.

As the giant metal robot came charging towards him, he may have shrieked a little as he whipped out his bayard and tried rather unsuccessfully to deflect its blows.

He was also knocked backwards and into the ground not too long after.

His head bumped harshly against the floor and for a few solid seconds, all he could see were bursts of colored pain and dark haziness in front of his eyes. He let himself lie down and waited for his head to clear up. When it did, he sat back up again to observe where the training bot had gone, and was not very surprised to be just in time to see Pidge pushed over and into the floor like the rest of them.

Shiro charged up then with his training weapon, took and blocked several blows to his torso, and even stuck in a few of his own. The gladiator robot was pushed back one, two steps. Then something inside it seemed to click, and it stepped forward and twisted with newfound ferocity. Soon Shiro too was knocked into the ground.

Welp, that was pleasant, Lance thought. At least they all lasted maybe two minutes longer this time.

But the training bot wasn’t done, apparently.

Keith rushed out of absolutely nowhere with his blade raised over his head. His attempt at slamming it down over the training bot’s head was unsuccessful, but he wasn’t caught off guard and thrown to the side like everyone else. The teen kept ducking and diving to the side, occasionally jabbing back with his weapon. Lance watched in fascination as Keith was almost hit again and again. Yet each time he managed to just barely avoid the blow, slipping and swerving with unrealistic speed and vigor.

Then it was over. The bot found a weakness in Keith’s defense, and struck him in the shoulder, sending him skidding into the ground with the rest of his team.

With that the bot shut itself off and sparkled away.

The team got about five seconds to breathe before Coran was walking down from the control center booth thing overhead, smiling just the tiniest bit.

“Well done paladins! You have collectively managed to last almost five dobashes longer than your previous record. You’re already improving.”

Behind him was Allura, swiftly approaching with a less-than-disappointed look on her face. At least it was an improvement, however small it may be.

“Don’t get too full of yourselves. You’re still nowhere near ready to face Zarkon or any other Galra forces, but I do suppose you are getting there,” she finished.

Lance sat up properly this time, groaning as his back cracked. He stretched himself out a little and sighed when all the cracking had stopped and his skeleton was properly configured again. His thoughts returned briefly to Keith’s fighting before he forcefully expelled them from his conscience.

“So are we, like, done?” He wondered.

Allura considered for a moment before answering, “yes.”

Hunk got up and let out a weak sounding “whoo,” then turned and left the training room as fast as he could.

Lance wasn’t far behind him.

“What I want to know is,” Lance began, and paused as he tilted his head back and took a gulp of the juice in his cup, then continued, “How the heck Keith managed to improve so much when it’s only been a few days.”

Pidge and Hunk looked at him with carefully blank expressions.

“I mean like, it’s literally only been a few days. Hell, just a week ago we were still at the Garrison, living normal cadet lives and stuff.”

Lance ignored his peers’ silence in favor of continuing his rant.

“So yeah. It’s bothering me, in case you wanted to know or anything,” he concluded.

And there Pidge and Hunk were, giving each other the same carefully blank expressions they had fixed onto him earlier. Lance frowned.

“What, what is it?”

“Nothing,” the others responded.

Lance frowned a little more, just enough so that it looked like he was pouting.

“I hardly believe that but alright,” he said, then yawned, stretched, and switched the positions his legs were in before continuing his monologue, which was totally not pathetic and all why would anyone even think that haha, “Anyways, if he’s just doing it to show off then I think he’s got another thing coming.”

Hunk looked at Lance like he had just sprouted another head.

“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying,” Hunk said slowly, “are you?”

Lance raised his eyebrows at his friend. So now the others were doubting him, hmm?

“Oh no, you totally are,” Hunk groaned, “please take a moment to think about just what exactly you are considering, and maybe also consider not doing it at all. You already know what will happen. You know exactly what will happen. And trust me, you’re only going to regret it.”

Pidge looked confused while Lance looked smug and determined. Then it all seemed to click.

“Oh,” said Pidge.

“I know, right?” Hunk practically yelled, his voice going higher and higher in pitch until he was almost squeaking.

“Don’t do it, Lance.”

“Lance no.”

“Lance yes!” Lance whispered, a smirk spreading slowly across his features.

Hunk tried to plead with him with only his eyes for a good minute. Then even he could see that Lance had made his choice (albeit one that he would later regret very much) and gave up. Not that Hunk was particularly against the chain of events he expected to follow Lance’s next action, because it would probably relieve some of the, uh. Well.

“I can’t stop you now,” he conceded his defeat.

“As you shouldn’t.”

Following a few seconds of silence, Allura popped back into the room, gaze somehow even harsher than before.

“Alright, your time lazing around is over. It’s time to go back to training.”

Lance knew he should have groaned and generally acted very dramatic about his distaste with the harsh routine, but he also knew that this was his next and probably only chance to start doing things he had wanted to do for a long, long time.

It was time to show Keith just how capable Lance was.

(He knew, deep down, he wasn’t, but whatever.)

“You. You’re saying that.”

“Mmhmm, yes?”

“You want. To spar? With me?” Keith gasped out.

Lance would give a lot of things to see the absolutely ridiculous expression Keith was making one more time.

“Uh, yeah?” Lance rolled his eyes as obviously as possible. He wanted Keith to see just how annoyed he was.

Keith looked hesitant for a long time. He seemed to be having some sort of internal fight with himself, and his gaze quickly flew from Lance to the others and then back to Lance again.

Speaking of the others. They were all huddled together unusually close, like they had sensed the upcoming storm and were ready to avoid it at all costs. They, too, were looking wildly amongst one another for any sort of cue as to how to respond. The tension in the air was nearly overwhelming.

“Are you scared I’ll beat you, mullet?” Lance taunted, drawing out the nickname long enough for it to grate on Keith’s nerves.

As predicted, the raven-haired boy’s response was narrowed eyes, a determined violet gaze, and a small smirk of his own.

“Oh no, not at all. I’m just worried for your health.”

“You? Worried about me?” Lance forced out a guffaw to hide the nerves slowly spreading to his stomach. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it almost sounds like you care about me.”

It was just enough to push Keith over the edge.

“Why don’t you come over here and prove yourself then?” Keith snapped, immediately shifting into a fighting position.

This was it. Lance could feel his blood singing with joy. Finally, he was getting the attention and acknowledgement he had totally needed for the longest time, even if it had only come after some berating and teasing. But hey, he was never one to back down from a challenge, even if he knew deep down that it would only end in defeat for himself.

“Hand to hand it is,” he whispered, holding his own fists up besides his torso and shifting his stance so that his feet were spread further apart.

The two stared at each other for what had to be several minutes of nothing but cold, tense silence. By then the rest of the team had long gotten the heck out of there, and were now pallidly watching from a safe distance of fifty feet.

Keith was circling Lance slowly, the way a lion might (haha get it? Because they piloted lions??) while it considered how to attack its prey.

Though Lance’s heart was beating faster than ever, he tried to maintain his cool. The calm gaze he sent Keith incited no reaction at all, except a twitching eyebrow.

“You sure you’re not scared?” Lance chuckled. He could totally do this. Yeah.

Before he had the time to say anything else, though, Keith had charged towards him and landed a pretty solid kick to his shin, then sped far enough away to avoid Lance’s attempted return blow. Lance knew better than to shrink into himself from the pain of the blow, but he was awfully tempted to. That hurt. Then Keith was moving again, trying to jab in a few punches to Lance’s torso. Lance responded with his own punches, but they missed more than they hit. Blows were deflected and wrists were bent. There was a lot of yelling when Keith started to throw in knees. Lance was completely out of breath at that point, and he realized that if he didn’t back up soon he was going to miss something and get knocked over.

Which is exactly what happened.

Lance failed at parrying the fist to his jaw. The blow connected and all of a sudden pain exploded in his neck, his vision blurred from the disorientation. That was all Keith needed to step in and easily trip Lance with a swipe at his legs.

It took a good minute or two for Lance to catch his breath and recover from the combination of hits, and by then he realized that he was sprawled on the floor with Keith hovering smugly above him.

“Time?” Allura called from somewhere off in the distance.

“Thirty-two ticks,” Coran responded in a chipper voice.

“Whaaa?” Lance groaned, trying to sit up and wincing when the pain in his neck intensified.

“It took Keith exactly thirty-two ticks to knock you down and win,” Coran explained.

Lance had no idea exactly how long a tick was compared to a second, but he had a feeling his score wasn’t very good.

Keith looked so much more intense when the overhead lights from the ceiling were there to outline his silhouette. Lance tried to move again and cringed at the sharp pain from every other part of his body, particularly his ribs (ow) and his right shin (double ow). So yeah. He’d just gotten taken down by none other than Keith, the legendary hand-to-hand combat champion in the Garrison for a year, and yeah, he should have known that he wasn’t going to fare well considering he’d seen Keith slam people into the ground before and break bones fully intentionally, and yeah, he is kind of surprised he’s gotten away without any permanent damage. His only excuse is that his time away from his fighting classes has made him slow.

Lance did not expect Keith to drop down next to him and offer him a hand. Lance looked at the hand, then at Keith, then back to the hand. Keith rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to let you take my hand just to throw you or whatever you’re thinking,” Keith said, deadpan serious.

With no other option, Lance could only grab on and allow himself to be pulled upright, where he was then assaulted with intense headache pangs. Oh boy. He was not going to live this down, was he?

“Lance…” Hunk gritted out.

A mere wave of the hand was enough to dismiss his friend’s concerns.

“Wow, so, maybe you don’t suck as much as I originally thought,” Lance’s laugh was awkward and forced and only hurt his jaw more.

Great. Now everyone was looking at him with either pity or disappointment.

“Why don’t you take a break, perhaps?” Allura offered in a weak attempt at relieving some of Lance’s embarrassment.

“You know what? Sure,” he grumbled, then tried not to limp as he walked out of the training room.

Keith was staring at him when he left. He should have been happy he’d finally been able to prove his own skills to Lance, who just couldn’t seem to stop bothering him for some reason. But maybe he had been a little harsh when he accepted Lance’s challenge and brutally hurt him in front of the rest of the team. His guilt built up in his stomach and threatened to make him do rash, stupid things, like run after Lance and apologize.

The rest of the team had long since moved on from the display, and were gathering in a small circle around Coran and Allura, who were showing them a hologram video of some sorts. They didn’t bother to call Keith over, probably because they sensed his distress.

Keith stood around awkwardly for several minutes. Should he do something? Or should he let Lance wallow around in sorrow outside the room until he finally decided to stop bothering Keith? Guilt weighed every one of his conscious thoughts. Finally, he caught a brief glance from Shiro that told him all he needed and he was heading out of the room with his own determined gaze.

He found Lance leaning against the side of a hallway somewhere between the training deck and the kitchen. It was one of the hallways they rarely used, since it curved out of the way and wasn’t the fastest route to either important room. Lance probably chose to come here so the others wouldn’t run into him should they happen to leave training early. It was also obvious that Lance did not expect to be followed, since the moment he saw Keith approaching he bristled up like a rabid cat.

“Keith? Why are you here?”

Keith made no move to answer. He realized that he hadn't exactly come up with a heartfelt apology, and now he was wallowing around in his own indecisiveness.

“If you’re going to make fun of me for getting my ass kicked, please don’t. I think you’ve done enough today,” Lance grumbled, folding his arms and looking away.

The entire exchange, however one-sided it was, was a lot like something a bunch of elementary schoolers would say to one another after a particularly petty fight. Keith knew that he shouldn’t feel guilty, because Lance did technically ask him to duel, and he had used some pretty backhanded taunting to get Keith to accept. It wasn’t Keith’s fault he did exactly what he was asked! But then he was drawn to the dark bruise quickly forming on Lance’s jaw, the smooth skin turning blotchy, and his mind was made up.

“Lance,” he began, hesitated, then continued, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“Pshhh, you’re sorry? Now isn’t the time to make fun of me, okay? I admit, maybe you don’t suck so much. There, happy?”

Lance’s tone of voice was snappish and just the tiniest bit high-pitched. He was definitely a little embarrassed from losing.

“No really, I am. I didn’t mean to… punch you so harshly?” Keith tried, and Lance rolled his eyes again.

“Tell that to the town ugly purple splotch on my beautiful, originally flawless jawline.”

“Look, I’m sorry!”

“Hmm, nah, I don’t believe that.”

“Lance!” Keith yelled, suddenly very frustrated.

What was it with his crappy attitude? Keith had never done anything to him, at least that he was aware of. He’d only been polite, and only responded with harsh words or bantering when Lance started an argument. He never went out of his way to make Lance miserable. That was something that he just didn’t do.

But how could Lance not see that apologizing was hard for him? It wasn’t like he had a lot of experience in the art of apologies and making up. What could he possibly offer that would get Lance to maybe not hate him so much? He knew Lance's reasoning, knew his line of logic wasn't based solely on trying to make Keith suffer. Lance had his own reasons for his actions, however obscure they were.

Keith's brain was already on autopilot, and he spoke before he processed what he had considered.

“If you feel so bad about your fighting skills, I can help you,” he said, then clamped his mouth shut. Uh.

Lance was gaping at him, bruise and pain forgotten.

“I can help teach you, I mean,” Keith added pathetically, “if you want? I’m not exactly the best coach or teacher but I think I could give you some tips and stuff, and who knows, we might actually begin to get along a little better or something.”

Lance continued to gape at him. Keith was twitching. Ugh. Why was this whole situation so awkward?

“You’ll teach me?” Lance’s voice was suddenly very soft and very un-Lance-like.

“Yeah?”

“Really?”

“Uh, yes, I’m sure I am, why else would I be offering to help you?” Keith said.

“O-oh. Are you sure this isn’t just some excuse for you to spend more time with me? To be in my cool presence? You finally admitting that you wanna be my bro?” And there was that smirk again, that cocky smile Keith wanted to wipe off his stupid smug face.

But it also meant that Lance was back, that he had more or less forgiven him, and that he had more or less accepted his offer. Keith could deal with him being an ass for a little while if it meant some peace.

“Sure, whatever. I’ll meet you at the training deck after dinner tonight, alright? Bye.”

Keith left as quickly as his legs could carry him.

What have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what ha-