Chapter Text
Lance missed Blue so much it hurt, sometimes. There was something about her that he’d never gotten from Red, not for her lack of trying. Blue was just meant for him, or so he’d thought. She was his first real partner, someone that had chosen him for who he was and not who he pretended to be.
Lance misses Blue, but now everything is blue. The sky looks as blue as it does from Varadero beach. A soft breeze ruffles through his hair with the faintest tinge of sea salt. He can almost feel the ocean against his legs; the soft sand underfoot. A cloud drifts across the horizon. Row after row of waves break against a sandbar further out, and something calls him to try to find it.
To dive down where he should be, at home in the Caribbean sea. There, under the water, he can swim on forever. There would be nothing holding him back anymore.
Something doesn’t quite feel right. He figures it’s just because he hasn’t been home in so long. Lance had been afraid of that before: coming home to a house that isn’t home anymore, knowing that this path that chose him has settled him amongst the stars rather than the beaches of where he was born.
But there’s something out there calling for him. The waves keep swirling around his legs and it’s been so long since he’s been home. Lance dives under the water.
The sting of salt against his eyes is so familiar. The light filtering through the waves gleams against the sand and shells below. And there it is, the sandbar, shining as though it was covered with mother of pearl. Lance reaches out, as if to touch it, and then-
A gentle wave of blue pulls him up from the water. The too-familiar weight of his armor settles across his shoulders and the peace of the moment fades away. If he thought the world was blue before, now it really was. Blue all over, blue melting into the scars on his back and fading into the edges of his vision. Varadero fades away as reality floods back.
And then: Red.
Not the color, the Lion. Although Lance would much rather deal with the color at the moment given the lion was screaming louder than any Cuban soccer mom. And that was one hell of an accomplishment.
Lance couldn’t feel his fingers. Or maybe he could; it was kind of hard to tell. The blue was all but gone now. All he could see was Red, who was finally quieting down a bit, and… Allura.
“You saved me,” he says, something warbling in the back of his throat.
Relief crashes across her face. “I owed you one,” is her only reply. Red rumbles comfortingly around them as she comes back online.
Allura then throws herself onto him with a bitten-off sob, the hug more of a chokehold than anything else. Lance swears he can hear his back creaking. He gives her a few seconds of comfort before choking out, “Allura… can’t… breathe!!”
“What?” she cries. Lance holds back a wince as she immediately starts poking around his neck. His old scars flare up at the brief contact. “Is there something wrong with your helmet? Or… no, did my healing not completely work?”
“Allura no, no no no,” Lance wheezes out. “You were just hugging me pretty tight. I’m okay.”
Allura sighs in relief. “Oh, good. Uhm-“
“Hey guys, sorry to interrupt your frankly adorable moment, but we need to get back to Central Command. And I need to finish my lesson.” Hunk says.
“Are you sure you want to finish your lesson?” Pidge calls.
“Well given the 30 doboshes I did get just saved all our butts, yes Pidge. I am going to finish it.”
“I should… probably return to the Blue Lion,” Allura says over their conversation. “Will you… be alright?”
“Don’t you worry about me Princess, I’ll be just fine.”
The instant she left, Lance slumped down into his chair. He was so not fine. The world felt off, like everything in the cockpit had shifted half an inch to the left. Red was louder than before, but he’d almost just died, so it could just be her concern.
Wait a tick.
Dios mío, did he just die?!
Despite the rather horrifying implications of what had just occurred, Lance felt numb to it. He was alive. Allura saved him. He had no reason to panic. Panicking would only cause more trouble, and with whatever was going on with Shiro, that was the last thing any of them needed right now.
Settling back into his seat, Lance piloted Red back to formation with the other lions. It was hard to pay attention to Pidge and Shiro explaining what happened with his jumbled thoughts rattling around in his head, but he managed. While Allura was to aid Lotor in finishing his Sincline ships, the team had time to do basic repairs, get to know their allies, and rest. Alfor knows Lance needs that last one. His limbs feel like they’ve been through a taffy puller and rest would hopefully fix the soreness in his back.
But they were Voltron. Lance didn’t have time to rest just yet. “Hey Shiro? If you’re not too busy, would you mind joining me in the training room?”
Shiro seemed surprised at Lance’s request, but he quickly accepted. “Sure, Lance. It’s nice to see you’re taking things seriously.”
Lance bit his tongue to avoid one of his usual sarcastic retorts. He always took things seriously, but everyone was just so serious all the time so he felt a little joking was needed. They would all die from stress if he didn’t. Ha, die from- yeah, maybe it was a bit too soon to make death jokes.
Once Red was landed and set in her hanger, Lance headed on over to what he’d dubbed ‘the gym’ and began warm ups. As much as he wanted to rest, getting in a bit of hand-to-hand and maybe some sword training would be good for him. (He was scared he wouldn’t wake up if he slept now.) Sitting in a front split and reaching forward, he found the pain across his body fading. Maybe all he needed was a good stretch?
“Did you have something specific in mind for training?”
Lance jumps, head shooting up towards his jump-scarer. Who happened to be Shiro. How had he snuck up on him like that?
“I was thinking a bit of hand-to-hand since I’m not as good at that as I am at long-distance, and maybe some sword training? I know that’s more Keith and Allura’s thing but I figured you could help.”
“Sword training?” Shiro frowns. “When did you get a sword?”
Forgoing an answer, Lance calls his bayard into his hand with a flash of light. It immediately turns into his usual blaster, but he didn’t need that one for once. He closes his eyes and tugs at the link somewhere in his mind that leads to his bayard. He just has to -
Shnnk.
Lance opens his eyes and is nearly blinded by the flare from his sword. No, Alfor’s sword. Shiro takes half a step back, a wince quickly hidden. The edges of the blade gleam in the light of the training deck.
“When did you get a sword?” Shiro repeats. “And what kind of sword is it?”
Lance holds the sword up for him to see. “Allura said it’s an Altean broadsword, like the one Alfor used to use.” He waves it around for a few ticks before saying sheepishly, “I just haven’t really had the time to actually work on learning how to use it. I mean, I kind of get it, but not really. Y’know?”
“It’s certainly going to be very useful,” Shiro says. He crosses the room to the racks of training weapons. As he does so, he calls back, “It would’ve been useful a couple of times, actually. Why haven’t you tried using it in a fight?”
“Oh, uh.” Lance blinks. Hadn’t he just said that? “I can’t use it very well yet.”
“Hmm. I wish you’d asked earlier, but” –Shiro pulls from the wall a blunted blade shaped just like his– “we can fix that.”
Lance gulps, pulling himself off the floor to his default stance. Shiro gives him a once over, raising an eyebrow. “What?” he says, not moving a muscle.
Shiro sighs, shaking his head slightly before walking over and putting his sword down. He begins shifting Lance’s hands and feet while saying, “I thought you said you knew how to use it?”
Lance blinks twice, not expecting the blatant insult. “I do… generally. I’m a gunner, Shiro. No one’s ever taught me how to use a sword, much less the proper stances. That’s why I'm asking now.”
Shiro hums, giving Lance’s left arm one more adjustment before pulling away with a small smile on his face. “There you go. A proper stance.”
Lance knows he isn’t a swordfighter, but this doesn’t feel right. His limbs are all stilted and at awkward angles, but he trusts Shiro. Shiro knows what he’s doing, at least more than Lance does, so he must just not be used to it yet. It’s not like he’s trying to make it awkward, right?
“En Garde?” Lance says, trying not to fall out of the frankly unwieldy stance Shiro has put him in.
Shiro smirks, picking up his sword.
“Allez.”
~~~
“Again.”
“Are you sure you’re not just scarily good at reading my moves?”
“Lance, you asked for my help, so now you’re getting it. Again.”
“Ugh.”
~~~
He’s getting quicker, he can feel it. Every lunge from Shiro is met with a faster parry by Lance. It’s gone from a beat down to a dance, but not for very long. Shiro would make an eye movement there or a word there about his stance, and suddenly he’s flat on his back with a sword pointed at his throat. He honest to God almost growled at Shiro after the 5th time in a row he gave Lance that ‘no, that’s wrong’ look. It’s frustrating, but what could he do? Shiro knows better.
~~~
“Again.”
“Shiro, I appreciate this, but I’m getting slower rather than faster now.”
“I thought you wanted practice?”
“Yeah, practice. Not a beat down.”
“Then stand up. Try again.”
~~~
Lance is tired. He wants to cry. Or scream. Or both. Both at the same time? He isn’t quite sure. He thought that training with Shiro would be a good way to bond with his leader while also being productive, but all it’s gotten him so far is bruises left, right, and center.
And a few new voices in his head. Wait, no, that sounds bad.
Which, okay, being in space as long as he has he may as well have a few voices of that kind, but that’s not what he’s hearing. It’s little tidbits of left, block, duck - instincts he’s never had - or noticed? - before. Don’t get him wrong, it is helpful, but it’s also strange having that battle instinct now of all times.
Maybe his time as a paladin has changed him more than he thought.
~~~
Some time after Shiro leaves for a meeting with Allura, Lance is lying on the training deck floor. He’d flopped down after a particularly long set of spars which had earned him a new row of bruises down his ribs and an aching wrist. The cold floor felt good against his still incredibly sore everything and even now Lance isn’t budging until some of that ache goes away. Though from where he’s laying the lights are way too bright, so… ugh.
Lance rolls over and sits up on his knees. Some of the bruises protest the action, but the stretch helps the soreness abate just a little bit. That had been the longest day he’s had in a while, but Lance still can’t really feel anything. The world shifts, turning blurry as something settles within him.
He scoots over to the wall and props himself up against the cool metal. The lights are still a bit too bright, but he doesn’t know how to fix that from here. Not like it matters that much in the grand scheme of things.
So… he died.
Wow. Okay. He died. And Allura brought him back to life. He sacrificed himself for her and she repaid the favor. There was not much else to it, really. Who knew that dying was so peaceful. Lance certainly never would’ve guessed.
He sighs and stands with a groan. Pain spikes up from his wrist as he tries to push himself to his feet. Lance vanishes his bayard back into his armor’s storage and heads off to the showers. After everything that’s happened, he needs a long soak.
He is so, so tired.