Archive of Our Own ^beta

****

Lance liked to pretend that the skies were his element. It made sense. He was called the Acrobat in the underworld for a reason, easily leaping from building to building and landing on his feet with cat-like agility. The Acrobat's element was also darkness. Specifically the kind that came at night, the kind that filled every alleyway and every nook and cranny of the city. The second the Acrobat stepped into the shadows, he would be gone. He enjoyed that part of the job, watching from far away as the police scratched their heads in frustration. Especially his roommate, Officer Kogane. That one was a cutie.

But the truth was far less showy. Lance McClain's real element was plants. He owned a flower shop for a reason, after all. The city had never seen healthier looking orchids and pansies, and it was hard to find any florist shop that could boast that they had nearly every kind of rose known to man. It was a hobby he'd perfected since he was a kid, every pricked finger and stiff bandaid worth having tulips sing under his hands' attention. Whenever the familiar smell of lilies and blooming sunflowers filled the air and a dusty brown apron hung loose around his neck and waist, Lance Mcclain was undoubtedly in his element.

Now, that's not to say Lance McClain and the Acrobat were two different people. There were little clues, nuances, that showed where the lines blurred. It was in the way that Lance McClain was insanely flexible and light on his feet, the kind of footsteps that you couldn't hear even if you had a thousand microphones set in an empty room. It was in the way that the Acrobat flung himself into danger for the sake of drunk teenage girls getting crammed into cargo ships and lost children screaming for their parents from speeding vans. If you looked real closely, it wasn't hard to connect the dots. 

Though it's a shame nobody really looked that close. 

Lance McClain, the charismatic florist working an understaffed nursery. He was twenty five and had two dogs, talked to the birds that lived in the tree outside his window. He had more family than he had freckles on his face and he split the rent with a stuck up, assoholic police officer who had no right to be as ripped and beefy as he was.

It was hard to suspect anything about him. 

Though tonight he was cutting it close.

**** 

It was safe to say that Lance McClain was not having a very good night. His boyfriend of three months has conveniently revealed himself to be the heir to some gang of purple Russian furries that called themselves the Galra. The Galra were also conveniently the gang he was supposed to take down that night. It was a very convenient night all around. Thankfully, Lotor couldn't recognize him with his perpetually smiling LED mask and voice distorter. Though he would eventually have to formulate a plan for breaking up with him later. 

The whole excursion ended in him knocking out an entire platoon of Galra lackeys, though to no small cost. He'd barely escaped with his life, dancing between bullets on a sprained ankle and with a mild concussion, but Lance liked to think he was a man made of luck, and also that he was just that good. 

He managed to hobble home a good hour before Keith was supposed to finish his shift at the precinct, so Lance decided to treat himself to a shower and a roll of bandages instead of hiding in his room like usual. 

(of course, this was his first mistake)

He winced as he looked himself over in the mirror. 

Bruises. Deep, deep purple blooming in all directions over his ribs and stomach, all from when Lotor had gotten up a split second faster than Lance and managed to deliver a series of brutal gut-beatings with his stupid rich kid shoes. 

Then there was the handprint. It was an even deeper purple wrapped around his neck like it was still there, some kind of shadow hand that refused to leave. 

Those were just the main details. A closer look revealed cuts and scrapes and scratches that stung like hell. Lance winced, this time not from the pain. These would be impossible to hide, impossible to explain. He'd have to invest in more concealer...and a new turtleneck sweater. How fun.

With his self-examination over, Lance drags himself through the hall and into his room, fumbling with the door enough to get it closed (forgetting to lock it would be, unfortunately, the second mistake of the night) and sinks into the bed with a pained hiss. 

Iodine stung against his deeper cuts, a feeling that was all too familiar by now. He had just managed to unroll the tightly wound bandages when he hears the click of the front door outside. Lance feels his gut twist in anxiousness, turning back to the bandages as he begins to wrap his ankle. Everything either aches or stings, and there's a wild pounding in his skull that makes him feel like passing out. Now that would be nice, but the incriminating evidence on his body needs to be taken care of before his lovely cop of a roommate decides to take him in for an interview (likely ending with Lance in handcuffs. And not in the fun way).

"Lance?" 

Lance swallows as he hears Keith call his name, unconsciously curling back into the mountain of pillows he calls his bed. I should've left the lights on. Something to look like I'm home. 

I locked the door, right? Should be fine...

...which is true, at least until he hears his door knob jiggle and then turn. 

Lance pales, shrinking into the corner of the bed with his back pressed against the wall and hoping that the darkness could cover up most of his huddled silhouette. The shuffle of sheets as he tries to cover his near-naked body gives him away, however, and Keith's already moving towards the bed, violet eyes pinning him in place with concern.

"Lance...? You okay?"

...this is it. He'll connect the dots and it's over for me. This is where it ends.

He can't even talk right now because his throat hurts from the near-strangulation lovingly provided by his soon to be ex-boyfriend. So he settles for a nod, hoping Keith can see it in the dark. 

And un-fucking-fortunately he can't, because Keith reaches for the light and flicks it on, and Lance shrinks back into the corner even more. The bruise on his cheek is a dead giveaway, and there's the purple thumb of the handprint leading downwards, the rest of it covered by his blanket. Keith freezes, gaze immediately hardening at the sight.

Keith moves forward, sitting down across from Lance on his bed. Said blanket burrito almost starts grumbling because of how dirty Keith's tac pants must be at the moment, but tenses when Keith reaches for Lance's blanket, tugging on it slightly. 

"Show me."

It's not a question.

He's so, so fucked.

"I-It's, uhm...I fell. Don't worry about it."

"Bullshit. Let me see."

Keith tugs harder and Lance panics, shuffling back and pulling the blanket around him tighter. He tries to hide his nerves, but his shaky breathing and panicked eyes says it all.

"I-I'm fine. Doesn't...D-Doesn't hurt, or anything."

"Show. Me," Keith growls, moving closer and grabbing Lance's wrists, beginning to pry them apart.

"Keith-! I swear it's just-"

Fuck. 

Keith's already way too strong and pins Lance's wrists to the wall he's backed up against, moving closer and scanning over his body with his sharp gaze.

Lance holds his breath, hands shaking in Keith's grasp. He tries to squirm away but Keith already beats him in that department, tightening his grip. He flashes Lance an apologetic look when he hisses in pain, but immediately goes back to examining the damage.

It must look worse than it really is because with each growing second, Keith's gaze clouds over with more and more barely contained rage. His jaw locks enough for Lance to know he's gritting his teeth and he can only pray Keith isn't planning on murdering him with his own bare hands.

Though, as it turns out, it's quite the opposite.

"Who. did. this," Keith grits out, voice shaking in anger. Lance's eyes widen and he realizes-Keith didn't connect the dots, he doesn't know...holy shit.

Lance doesn't realize he's crying until Keith's eyes widen and he releases his wrists with a whispered apology. Lance winces with every incoming sob because holy shit everything hurts and he feels so fucking awful and Keith is just stressing him out and everything has gone to shit-

"Lance, shit, I'm sorry. I just wanna know who did this. I promise I'll protect you."

You think this is bad? You should've seen the other guy. Guys. There were at least ten. 

"Look, I don't wanna talk about it, okay?" And Lance liked to believe his voice was firm and commanding, but in reality he was shaking like a leaf and it took everything to even try to get his voice even. Well, if push came to shove he could always pretend that Lotor beat him up, right? Lance wasn't stupid, he'd seen the red flags from the start. Though, he'd been a bit too preoccupied as of late for any real confrontation.

"It was Lotor, wasn't it?" Keith hisses, rough hands moving to tilt Lance's chin up, the handprint around his neck a stark contrast against the smooth skin around it. "Fuck. I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"You're a cop," Lance helpfully reminds him, still trying to shove his hands against Keith's chest to at least put some distance between him, obviously to no avail. "And murder is illegal." 

"He hurt you."

"So what? You gonna hurt him back?" Lance sighs, voice hoarse and barely able to speak above a whisper. "An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind." 

"Fuck your philosophy. You're pressing charges." 

Lance doesn't hide the annoyed twitch of his eye, trying to shove Keith off of him so he can squirm away. Keith, the stupidly beefy bastard he is, stays put, steely gaze trying to read the irritation in his roommate's eyes.

"...since when did you care so much?" Lance grits out through a new wave of pain. "Last time I checked, you hate me."

"I-what? Where'd you get that idea?" Something close to guilt flashes across Keith's eyes. Lance is certain he's seeing things.

"Most people do. I'm gay and annoying and if people are fine with one thing they almost always hate me because of the other," He mutters, giving up on his struggle against Keith and deciding to just slump against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. 

"...well, I don't hate you. Let's get you patched up, 'kay?" 

"Fine. Only if you promise not to give Lotor the talk. Every 'talk' ends in fists with you."

Keith huffs out a half-hearted 'sure' and scoops Lance up, much to the smaller man's dismay. As much as he adored the aesthetically pleasing pros of his roommate, he also equally despised the cons. At the moment, one of those cons was Keith's guard dog-esque overprotectiveness, always snapping and threatening his previous boyfriends with a ferocity that Lance had to admit was pretty damn hot. 

Despite the roughness of his hands or his own painfully blunt nature, Keith's fingers were gentle and caring over his wounds, a calloused thumb brushing over his bruises with the unspoken words of I'm sorry. 

The clock reads one in the morning. 

Lance sighs. He was going to be late for work.

****

The next morning he wakes up with an arm around his waist and a knee between his legs. In an effort to ignore the obvious so that he doesn't spontaneously combust right in Keith's arms, Lance glances at the clock, sighing in relief when he realizes he'll be on time. He'd slept a solid six hours, no thanks to Keith. He'd been kept up far later than he'd liked to because of his mullet-wearing mother hen of a roommate. He takes a deep breath, hoping to dispel the growing blush on his cheeks, and tries to carefully pry himself away from Keith's iron grip without waking the sleeping asshole. 

Which, in hindsight, was completely hopeless, because Keith was a light sleeper.

Keith stirs with a groan, arm tightening further around Lance's waist, Violet eyes blink open and begin to register their very compromising position.

"Keith, babe. I know I'm irresistible but I have a shop to run and money to make," Lance murmurs, turning in his roommate's grip to send him a half-hearted glare. Keith only huffs, letting go dejectedly.

"Don't give me that look, asshole. You're not gettin' any of this 'till you ask," Lance gestures to his own body with the hand that wasn't conveniently pinned under Keith's constricting hold. It's then that he notices his ribs are wrapped neatly and Keith's thrown one of his edgy thrasher tees over him, though he hadn't bothered to make Lance pull on any pants. "Wow. You planned to have me half naked in your bed, Kogane?"

"...'s your bed. 'n I didn't dress ya, y'grabbed my shirt yourself."

"Fat chance," Lance scoffs, wriggling just enough to tumble out of Keith's arms and onto the much more welcoming floor. "Go to work, stupid. Don't you start earlier than me?"

At that, Keith seems to sober.

"Shit. You're right," He mutters, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. When he finally gets up and out of the bed, Lance realizes he's shirtless, only wearing some low-hanging joggers from the waist down.

"Huh. Together we make a whole outfit," Lance chuckles, picking himself off the floor and moving to rummage through his closet. One blue sweater and a pair of skinny jeans later, he finds himself waiting for Keith to finish blowdrying his stupid mullet, glancing anxiously at the clock. 

Eventually, they both finish their painfully long morning routines, and Keith tosses him a helmet, dragging him to his motorcycle outside.

"I don't want you walking. Or hitching a ride. With him."

"Okay, Mr. Possessive, have it your way," Lance sighs, missing Keith's sudden flush of embarrassment when he pulls on his helmet. 

The ride to Lance's nursery is quiet, and Lance is thankful because damn he needs to think up a lot of excuses. Lotor finding out Lance and the Acrobat are the same person is a huge risk that he'd rather not take. So what then? Keith thinks that Lotor was being an abusive bastard. Well things'll work out if I just avoid him. And then break up with him. But what would be a good reason? 

Oh, now this was getting fun. 

Option 1: Be a complete dick and dump him for another man. Who? Preferably Keith. Although Lance wanted to avoid starting a real relationship just to get away from a fake one.

Option 2: Be less of a dick and dump him, his excuse being that he just wasn't feeling it. The 'it's not you, it's me' kind of thing.

In his true jackass nature, Lance decides to just do whatever whenever, and closes his eyes in exhaustion. The rumble of Keith's motorcycle was a homecoming to the familiar. Lance rested his head against Keith's shoulder and starts wishing the world away.

It would be nice to escape all this Acrobat business. But there were people who needed him, and at this point Lance knew well enough he didn't belong to himself anymore. He belonged to the city, the city that was constantly plagued by murders and crime rings and gangs and the same kind of mortal folly that the McClains had found themselves victim to more than once. 

When they reach the nursery, Lance gingerly hands back Keith's helmet with a tired smile, carefully balancing on his tip-toes to give Keith a kiss on the cheek.

And he's stupidly oblivious as usual, completely missing his roommate's lovestruck expression as he watches him leave.

Ignorance is bliss, some people say. And in the back of his head, Lance knew exactly what he was ignoring.

****

(Turns out, option two would eventually turn into option one.)

(Lance could not believe his un-fucking-fortunate luck.)

(Ugh. Feelings.) 

****

Lance was ever the skilled opportunist.

It's two pm, and another three hours until closing time. Hunk's in the greenhouse part of their shop, tending to the chrysanthemums, Pidge is on her late as usual lunch break, and Allura is in the back finishing an order for an ungodly amount of daisy flower crowns.

Which leaves him at the counter, finishing another ungodly order, this time for floral arrangements. 

He's in the middle of poking around the vase, carefully adding carnations and daffodils, when the front door opens. Lance almost has a heart attack when he recognizes the three men, all of them wearing business suits and cuff links that probably cost twice as much as Keith's bike. 

"Ah, I'll be with you in a second," Lance quickly recovers, his signature smile gracing his features as he wipes his hands off on his apron and sets the vase aside. He shoots a glance at the mirror in the back, taking quick note of al three men. 

The tallest one is Zarkon, easily towering over Lance by nearly a foot and quite obviously concealing a gun in his coat pocket. He also happened to be the very head of the Galra gang, and Lance was careful not to show a single trace of cold-blooded shock.

The one to his left is Sendak, nearly as tall but more muscular than Zarkon. He had a long scar running through his eye and Lance immediately recognized him as Zarkon's left hand man. 

The last one has sideburns that probably has Elvis Presley rolling in his grave. Prorok, another one of Zarkon's stupid lapdogs. 

Lance very carefully loosens his apron, providing easy access to the knife strapped to his waist if the occasion arises.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" He offers, his melodic voice working its magic as he watches the three men visibly relax. 

"Lance McClain," Zarkon starts, deep voice nearly knocking Lance off his feet in surprise. 

"Mhm. Like the nametag?" Lance jokes, flashing another bright smile before leaning back against the counter.

"Didn't need it. We would appreciate it if you came with us quietly. We understand that the vigilante, The Acrobat, is one of your close friends."

What? Well, that's definitely a new one.

Feigning surprise, Lance puts on his best stutter and widens his eyes, quickening his breathing to trick himself into being nervous.

"H-How did you...."

As far as I'm supposed to know, Lotor's been keeping our relationship secret from his dad, and his dad is supposed to be a secret from me. I always assumed that meant daddy issues, but now it makes sense.

"You have no need to worry. We will not harm you or your friend. We just seek to contact him for a...proposal."

Bullshit, he wants to say. 

"The others...th-they'll notice if I'm missing. May I simply leave you my number?" He pretends to buy it, visibly relaxing and fluttering his lashes.

"In person would be ideal."

"O-Okay."

If they take me to their base for this...negotiation, I can at least do some reconnaissance. 

So he begrudgingly follows them to their car like the clever man playing the fool, stepping inside the black limo with his eyes carefully scanning the interior.

What a fun day, he thinks, deciding to do his stretches before he cramps in the middle of the inevitable fight. Shit, I was supposed to go grocery shopping. I might be cramped for time but I can still make it after this, right?

He counts the turns, mapping out every movement in his mind. They were taking an unnecessary  amount, which was the biggest red flag.

They're either onto me or they plan on beating the information out of me.

Lance discreetly takes a deep breath, taking stock of his limbs.

Everything hurts. I don't know which option would be worse.

They stop at a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Surprise must fail him, because Zarkon's eyes narrow as he opens the door.

"Wh-Where....Wh-Why are we-Ah!"

Lance pretends to be afraid when Sendak yanks him from the passenger's seat, quickly grabbing his hands and shoving them behind his back. Within seconds he's on his knees and a blindfold is wrapped tight around his eyes.

Wait until they make their demands. That's my ticket to seeing how much they suspect me.

The gears turn in his head as he's pulled to his feet and dragged inside. Careful to keep balance even in the rough, man-handling grip of Sendak, Lance makes sure to measure the distance.

Fifteen feet, ninety degrees to the right. 

He's thrown to the ground of the warehouse and unblindfolded, which is the answer to his previous question. 

They'd be tying me down with chains and locks if they really thought I was the Acrobat.

Then the door shuts behind them. Artificial light comes from above, bright white even in the ratty appearance of the building. Lance looks around, backing away on the ground and pretending to be fearful while he searches for the power source on the walls behind his captors. 

"Here's how this is going to work, Mister McClain. You are going to tell us about your friend and you go free with your life."

Lance gulps.

"A-And if I don't?"

"You still go free. We can't assure you that you'll be intact when we send you back to Officer Kogane but we'll leave your pretty face alone."

How kind of you, Lord Asshole. 

"U-Uhm...wh-why do you want to know?"

"If I must remind you," Zarkon chuckles, leaning down to where Lance is curled up on the ground. "You are the one being interrogated here, little one."

Lance fights the urge to lunge at him and gouge his eyes out. The confidence oozing off of Zarkon was self-made and undeserved. Lance hated that kind of confidence.

It's at that moment he drops the act, lifting his head and meeting Zarkon's gaze dead on.

"I think...well, first of all I don't mean to offend you but I think you're going to find that the Acrobat isn't going to take very kindly to you asking questions about him."

Lance leans forward, a conspiratorial grin on his lips.

"In fact, I think he's going to be very pissed."

In that instant, he grabs the gun hidden under Zarkon's coat at lightning speed, shooting the electricity panel on the wall behind him dead on. The lights go out and shit hits the fan.

****

So he's been gone thirty minutes. Fun. The most he'd gotten out of the whole ordeal was that the warehouse was most likely their storage; crates and boxes of god knows what had been piled to near the ceiling. So he drops a tip to the police on his burner phone and calls Pidge, preparing himself for the shitstorm of yelling he was about to face.

"If it isn't my favorite dipshit. Wanna explain why you've been gone for the past half hour?"

"Uh. Makeout session with a really hot russian guy?"

"Nice try."

"Zarkon ring a bell?"

"You're fucking kidding. Damnit, now I need to loop the cameras again."

"You uh...you do your looping. I may or may not need a ride."

"Call your officer boyfriend or whatever. Christ, I deserve a raise."

"Yeah well, that's the thing. I'm at an abandoned warehouse and I just sent a tip. They're probably on their way."

"Lance."

Lance lets out a nervous chuckle as he walks to the nearest road.

"Yes, mother?"

"I want a raise. And you have to be my housemaid for the next two weeks."

"Of course, your highness. It's not like I'm your boss or anything."

Lance has to hold the phone away from his ears with the amounts of profanity that the speakers start blasting. The call ends with a string of the most creative insults Lance has ever heard, and with a sharp mutter of "be there in five" which he's both grateful for and terrified of.

Soon enough Pidge pulls up in her worn out Honda Civic, middle finger raised high and proud from behind the window.

"Hey pidgeon, ETA for the police is uhhhh....three minutes?" Lance offers a nervous smile, hopping into the backseat. Pidge shoots him a withering glare before jamming her heel on the gas, letting the tires skid as she speeds down the highway.

It was nice to know that your childhood friends also doubled as employees for your vigilante-run business. It was also nice to know that they took absolutely no shit, vigilante boss or not.

****

Zarkon was getting frustrated. He could tell. The people he rescued were being found in worser conditions than when the Acrobat had first made his appearance. It was to the point that the man had begun setting up deliberate traps just to catch his identity. Lance saw through every single one, relying on the police for operations that were too difficult to go in solo. Of course, the police were still trying to arrest him in his own playing field but at this point Lance saw it more as an endearment.

Keith, of course, openly expressed his frustrations. Which was hot and annoying at the same time.

"Fuck. He uses us as his backup. And it's good that we're getting our 'take down massive crime rings' quotas all met n' stuff but it doesn't feel right. He does our jobs for us."

"Sounds like you need a day off," Lance giggles, tucking a fuzzy blanket over his shoulders and sending Keith a pitying look. "Take it easy. The Big Bad Vigilante actually sounds kinda nice."

"I'd agree with you if he wasn't humiliating us."

So that's what they thought?

"Mhm. Well I'm sure he just wants to do good or whatever. Only option you cops have is to step it up, huh?"

Keith glares at him from where he's sprawled out on the couch, one hand resting along the back and the other carding through his hair in frustration.

"Jeez, calm your tits, Keith. He's just one, cute little vigilante. I'm sure the police have bigger problems. Like the Galra? "

"Shit...you're right. Which reminds me," Keith murmurs, eyes suddenly serious. Lance just stares back in confusion, egging him on with a tilt of his head. 

"Lance...Apparently Lotor has close affiliations with the Galra. He's the heir."

Oh shit. Really? No way!

Lance really struggles to feign surprise this time. 

"H-Haha, funny joke Keith. Please don't. I already have fucking nightmares about it."

Keith's eyes widen in concern, and he shifts closer to examine the fading handprint around his roommate's neck.

"I'm not joking," Keith mutters. Lance brushes off Keith's wandering fingers with a sigh, scooting closer and wrapping his blanket around them both.

"...something was always off about him," Lance smoothly fakes the somber tone, cuddling closer against Keith's warmth. "Entitled prick."

"I'll beat him up for you," Keith whispers into Lance's hair, so sincere it's almost painful. "The next time I see him, I'm gonna bash his skull in."

"...for a cop, I think you like murder a little too much," Lance giggles, tucking his head under Keith's chin. At this point, they were too close for any sort of platonic cuddling but Lance figured it'd be nice to tease someone who wasn't trying to brutally murder him for once.

"Mhm, please excuse my violent tendencies towards people with more violent tendencies."

"Was that sarcasm, officer? I'll have you know I very much disapprove of your eagerness to disobey the law."

"Only for you," Keith chuckles sleepily, his deep voice a steady hum against the top of Lance's head. "Only for you." 

Lance frowns, doubt beginning to churn in his stomach. He feels Keith's breathing even out above him, and knows that his roommate's fast asleep. So the vigilante hopes that Keith doesn't remember his words when he wakes up, and hopes even harder that he doesn't hate him when he has to find out.

Ah. It really is inevitable at this point, isn't it?

Sometimes I forget I'm not untouchable. 

Taking in a shaky breath, Lance rests his head on Keith's chest, blinking away his tears as the clock hits nine.

****

It happens during a trafficking bust.

And this time, it's not his fault.

It takes a skull-fucking punch for Lance to remember that he's human, that death is a thing and if he doesn't do this right, it's coming for him. So he steels his nerves and fights back. 

Systema. When he's cornered, it's the familiarity that he runs to.

He fights. The Acrobat kicks and dances between punches like he has every move memorized, a glimpse into the future that has him planning moves and punches like a game of chess. His brain goes numb, primal instinct taking over and converting completely to motor skill and reflex, something he'd learned to do in his first days of fighting. 

And while his body moves for him, he thinks.

What had got him into his mess? Well, it started off as a cute little gang scuffle until he realizes, an hour too late, that one of the victims he'd rescued worked directly under Zarkon, and tipped the entire fucking gang about his current location. He'd had it coming, anyways. But three other girls were still in the shipping container, bounded, gagged, and half naked, and he wouldn't be able to get them out in time to escape before the police he'd tipped arrived. He'd dug himself a cute little grave and was definitely going to die in it. 

He doesn't bother with the traitor, the woman was currently scrambling away but was promptly knocked out by some asshole's blind swing with the butt of his gun. 

But he holds off for as long as he can, and holy shit, he thinks. Either I leave here in cuffs or with a hole in my head. 

And then he remembers- 

The groceries. I forgot to get eggs. 

I'm going to die eggless. How delightful. Keith will be so proud.

And then he gets promptly clocked in the face. 

Oh yeah. Priorities, Lance. 

He's been fighting for going on ten minutes now, and his body is exhausted with the complex twists, turns, and takedowns he's been executing, one after the other. Five assholes are left now, two still armed and the other three coming at him with dull shivs and knives which would definitely hurt more. Lance sighs, checking his watch again. 

ETA, two minutes. 

Lance loses his patience. 

The first guy goes out hard, coming at Lance with his pocket knife and ending up on the ground unconscious, Lance slamming his steel-toed combat boot on his head, knocking him (hopefully) unconscious. The second guy gets even worse treatment. He charges with his gun, which Lance sidesteps and yanks from his hands, not even sparing him a glance as he shoots him in the knee and knocks him out with a swift kick to the stomach. The third and fourth go out the same as the first, and the fifth just gets shot in the foot and thrown across the room without so much as a tired huff from his attacker.

He slumps against the nearest wall, letting out an exhausted sigh. He hears the sirens, sees red and blue, feels the rumble of car engines through the asphalt of the docks. Lance drops the gun that isn't even his and leaves before the police can even come in. He silently moves to the shipping container and frees the three captives, nodding in the direction of the police cars. There's shouting. Get on the ground. Hands up. Lance scoffs. 

He misses his carnations. 

Then there's footsteps, drawing closer and closer. Lance pulls himself onto the ship and slips onto the bow, thinking through his grand escape (and maybe his last words, if it really comes to it).

It had to end eventually.

Why not now?

Lance groans, carding his numbing fingers through his hair. He's certain his knuckles are bleeding, but pays the pain no mind when he hears someone cock a gun behind him. He takes quick stock of his body, relief flooding his chest when he remembers he's still got his steel half-mask on and his hood pulled up to cover his unmistakeable messy curls.

"Put your hands up, Acrobat. You're surrounded."

Lance turns to glare at him, irritated that he hadn't even gotten a chance to answer his own question. He needed answer. Needed a reason to make this escape worth it. It would be hard to run now, hard to hide the injuries he'd gotten. Hard, but the real question is worth. Is it worth giving the Acrobat one last push? 

When his eyes adjust to the flashlight pinning him in place, he feels his heart drop to his stomach. 

Officer Kogane. Towering above him, gun raised and eyes cold. 

How stupid of me to think that look would never be pointed towards me.

The same goes for the gun. 

And the flashlight. It's like it's accusing me already. 

So he puts his hands up, and snarks. If he was going to get shot, he was going to go down snarking his way to hell. 

"Oh yeah? Unless you cops have pet sharks now, I don't think that's necessarily true."

Keith looks at him with a glint of confusion, and then realization. But he lunges forward too late. Lance is already tipping his weight ever so slightly. 

And down he goes, into the frigid water. 

****

"Bien, muy bien mi chiquito." 

Blue. That's his first real memory. Blue like the color of the midday sky, blue like the color of his mother's sundress, blue like the color of the ocean his mother was currently teaching him to swim in. 

A cool hand runs through his soaked locks. 

"Nades bien! Mi pez pequeño." 

His mother smiles at him, wrinkles in the corners of her cobalt blue eyes, and then she motions for him to take a deep breath...

...and then she dives with him still in her arms.

He keeps his eyes open, squinting through the blurry water. His mother is smiling, warm and bright as she goes lower and lower and touches the sand at the bottom. Lance copies her, little fingers feeling the rough ground. 

She slowly ascends, and when they reach the surface she hugs him tight with more whispers of 'muy bien's and 'mi chiquito, mi pez pequeño's. 

"Lance, mi hijo. You listen? Ok? Deep breath, in, in, in, in! Through nose! Push air into stomach, not chest. You push air into chest? You drown." 

Lance nods, mustering his best serious face. 

"Never panic in the water. We McClains come from fish people, mi abuela me dice. The water protects us." 

She presses a kiss on his nose, gazing at him with so much love, as if he was her whole universe. 

"The water will protect you, hijo."

A wave moves by, rocking them into deeper water.

She smiles at her son, and tells him to breathe.

****

He's underwater for six minutes, diving and diving and pushing through the tempting pull of the waves. 

It would be so nice to just sink, away from the noise, let the waves wash away the blood and lick at his wounds. 

It would be so nice to pretend that he was still four, and that his mother was still holding him just a few inches under the surface.

But he surfaces anyways, and scales a cold brick wall, the air biting into his wet clothes and ice filling his blood. He hauls himself over the edge, plopping down into some empty street. Of course, it must be somewhere around three. He'd left at around ten, while Keith was still asleep. He almost felt bad for making Keith have to even come to work in the first place.

He drags himself home, walking through the streets in autopilot. The world goes silent around him, the warm yellow glow of street lamps teasing him, reminding him of the warm cuban sunset. 

It takes three tries to shove the key in the lock, and whole world of pain as he twists it, his wrist making a clicking noise that is most definitely not anything good. Once he's inside, he peels off his wet clothes and tosses them in the trash, blood covering most of the cloth and rendering it unusable and more importantly, evidence. He takes an all-too quick shower and changes into one of Keith's stupid band tees and a pair of ripped jeans, pulling himself out the door and beginning yet another trek to Pidge's place.

He swallows down his guilt and texts Keith.

bitch mcclain: hey babe ;)

bitch mcclain: sorry i left you without notice. pidge is having a rough night so im crashing at her place w/ hunk

bitch mcclain: dont yell at me ok i'll pay ur dumb gas money for the next week. i just need to be with her. these nights it's really hard with matt gone and all

Yikes, he thinks. Pulling the Matt card. 

He feels guilt coming back up when he dials Pidge with his burner phone, knowing damn well he's already asked for too many favors this week. 

"Whaddup, bitch. If you tell me you're bleeding out and that you need a ride I'm going to fucking kill you."

Lance snorts, stopping to lean against a street lamp.

"Yeah well, I don't know if the favor I'm about to ask is better or worse."

"I'll be the judge of that, McClain. Lay it on me, baby."

"Can I-uhm...Can I crash at your place for the night? I told Keith you were having a bad night and I went over with Hunk."

"Pft. What shit didja step in this time?"

"Allura told me there'd be some kind of sex trafficking thing loading up at the docks. I had to leave before it was too late and Keith was probably confused as fuck when he woke up alone." 

"Oho? You sleeping together now?"

Lance fights the rising blush, breath hitching at the insinuation.

"Nah. Asshole fell asleep on me."

Only because I let him. Keep makin' excuses, McClain. 

"...sure he did. And yeah, I did tell you that you could come over anytime. It's not like I ever sleep."

"You brag about it at night and bitch about it in the morning. I think that fact is practically burned into my head by now."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the wonderfully charming Lance McClain."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Eeyore wannabe Katie Holt."

Pidge cackles on her side, something between insane and hysterical.

"See you in five, pidgeon."

**** 

Keith smiles at the text. It was the only comforting thing about tonight.

First he gets rudely awoken by Shiro's stupidly loud ring tone, and then he's called in to shut down some kind of sex trafficking ring, and Keith's luck must've been complete shit because the caller that had originally reported the situation was strongly suspected to be The Acrobat. 

When he arrives on scene, not even a whole minute passes before the notorious vigilante sneers at him through his half mask and falls backwards into the water. They'd lost him yet again.

And as the lovely cherry on top, his cute lap warmer of a roommate had been missing when he woken up. 

But those worries were quickly assuaged as he makes his way back to the police car, frustration still burning in his chest but the reassuring text easing some of his nerves.

bitch mcclain: hey babe ;)

Keith had scoffed at the first text, some part of him wishing Lance didn't have to tease him all the time with the very thing he constantly dreamed about. 

bitch mcclain: sorry i left you without notice. pidge is having a rough night so im crashing at her place w/ hunk

bitch mcclain: dont yell at me ok i'll pay ur dumb gas money for the next week. i just need to be with her. these nights it's really hard with matt gone and all 

Keith lets his smile widen. Lance was the real mother hen, looking after his friends and taking care of his family. As much as the shorter man liked to deny it, Lance had a motherly side. He was ecstatic around kids, and even babied Keith from time to time (he definitely didn't complain).

He forces his numb fingers to move despite the cold.

keith: m not gonna yell at you, loser

keith: and you don't need to pay me anything. go take care of your friend.

keith: tell pidge i said hi

Keith startles when he feels a hand slap on his back, and suddenly he's nearly toppling under the weight of his adoptive older brother, Lieutenant Shirogane. 

"Keith! How come you've never told me you had a girlfriend?!"

Shiro feigns a betrayed gasp, laughing when Keith slips away from under his arm and quickly turns off his phone, the unmistakably pink blush crawling onto his little brother's pale face.

"Yeah well he isn't my boyfriend," Keith scowls, slipping back inside his car and slumping in the seat. 

"...jeez, you almost sound sad. Rejected?" Shiro moves to join him, shooting him a concerned glance from the passenger seat. 

"Haven't even asked yet. 'sides, don't you have a vigilante to chase, Shiro?" 

"Well I'm doing the same as you. Leavin' it to the helicopters."

"Fuck. Why are we even chasing him? He hasn't done anything wrong...yet."

"Law is law, Keef. There's no room for any real justice. That's why guy's like him are around. And also why I'm sorta glad he got away."

Keith groans, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"I need a raise."

"Mhm. I'll tell Iverson to think about it," Shiro chuckles, leaning back and closing his eyes. 

In the following silence, Keith's brain goes traitorously back to Lance. Lance, the sunkissed flower shop owner. Lance, the florist with curls that tumble all the way down to his nape. Lance, his roommate with a constellation of freckles spattered across his nose and cheeks and the entire ocean in his eyes. 

Fuck, Keith thinks. I'm so fucked. 

His phone buzzes. 

bitch mcclain: call me later, yeah? wanna say goodnight ;)

Keith gulps, trying to soothe his flaming nerves. 

keith: more like goodmorning

keith: and goodnight how?

bitch mcclain: get ur mind out of the gutter, officer kogane

bitch mcclain: i am shocked and scandalized.

bitch mcclain: though in all seriousness, it would be nice to hear ur stupidly sultry voice. it's been a rough day

keith: no kidding. i got called in for work. traffic bust. 

bitch mcclain: holy shit 

bitch mcclain: are you hurt? 

His mind traitorously reminds him of how Lance had bandaged his hands after his first real one on one fight, some kind of store robber that panicked and knocked his gun out of his hand. His touch had been distractingly soft and chaste, fingers rubbing Neosporin into the reddened cuts and scrapes lining his knuckles. Keith is almost tempted to tell him yes, yes I'm hurt and I want you to kiss it better. But he knows he doesn't have half the confidence Lance has, so he settles for something just as teasing but less on the nose.

keith: aw, you worried?

bitch mcclain: are you accusing me of caring about you?  

bitch mcclain: me, caring about you? the asshole who drives me to and from work everyday?

bitch mcclain: the asshole who drops off my lunch every time i forget it even though you're still on duty and get in trouble for leaving every time?

bitch mcclain: the asshole who repeatedly insisted on beating up my abusive ex and implied that he'd be willing to break the law for me? 

 bitch mcclain: the asshole who takes better care of me than my actual boyfriends?

bitch mcclain: perish the thought

Keith snorts, completely ignoring the way Shiro's painfully obvious in his peeking.

keith: i'll call you in thirty

keith: don't fall asleep

"Keith," Shiro wheezes, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh (and failing. Badly). "Keith, my wonderful baby brother. You are beyond whipped."

Keith shoots him a withering glare.

"How keen of you to notice," He growls, tucking his phone in his pocket.

He rubs at his eyes, silently cursing the vigilante for keeping him far longer than he gets paid for.

"Shiro?"

"Yeah?"

"Talk to Iverson about that fucking raise." 

****

It's even worse than before.

Lance grimaces as he examines himself in the mirror. 

The cuts and bruises and handprint are still there from three days ago. But now there are some unsavory new additions. He's sure one of his ribs is broken and that his wrist is sprained to all hell and back. 

On the bright side, Lance sighs to himself, There's not much on my face. 

He leans against the wall, head in his hands, and fights back the tears.

He's just so tired. Tired of fighting, of lying, of hiding, of running. But this isn't a job where he's allowed sick days. Lance knows better than that.

But in these rare moments of silence, Lance caves. He slides to the floor and lets it out. Sobs begin to wrack his body.  

Of course, because Lance has the worst luck every recorded in human history, his phone rings. He's dead set on pressing the decline button so hard that the screen cracks until he sees the caller ID. 

Keith Kogane.

He lets out a shaky breath and presses answer. 

"Hey." 

Lance sniffles. 

"Hey."

"Are you crying? Shit, do you need me to pick you up?"

And panic begins to set in, because Keith can't see him like this, bruised and bloodied and beaten half way to the afterlife, wherever that was. 

"No, nonono.....I'm j-just really tired."

"I can come over. I'm much better at this...ah, comforting stuff in person."

"...'m not worth all that tr-trouble. I just...i-it's been a super stressful week," Lance stifles a sob, ribs burning and shooting electric pain up his spine with every muffled gasp. 

"Is it Lotor again? I swear I'll fucking kill-"

"K-Keith, it's fine. I'm okay. J-Just wanted to s-say goodnight, remember?"

"Lance-"

"Keith," Lance giggles, even amidst the tears. "Goodnight."

There's a short pause, and then a tired huff on Keith's end.

"Goodnight...babe."

Lance starts to laugh, and then hisses in pain as his ribs protest in agony. 

"Lance-Are you okay? You're fucking hurt again, aren't you?"

"No-no, I'm fine-jesus shit it stings- disregard that last sentence, I'm fine-"

"I'm picking you up. We're taking you to the fucking hospital."

"Keith, you don't-"

The call ends. 

"-have to. Haha, 'm so fucked."

Lance sighs as he gingerly tugs on Keith's shirt, not daring to bend over and pull pants on. He's ninety percent sure his ribs would crack. At this point, he's too tired to protest and Lance is sure he'll come up with an alibi later. He grits his teeth through the pain as he stands up, bracing himself against the wall as he opens the door. 

"Piiiiidge," He groans, feeling his chest ache with every step. "Keith gave me a g'night call...totally figured out I'm beat the fuck up...he said he was gonna come."

Pidge appears in the hallway, looking just as tired.

"What's your plan?"

"Dunno. Tell him the truth."

"Oh yeah. Yeah, okay. Sounds goo-YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING WHAT-?!"

Lance flinches at the volume, letting his head thud against the wall. 

"...ugh, your poor neighbors. Look, I'm gonna try my hand at an excuse and if that doesn't work because Keith Kogane is a smart bitch, I'll just tell him."

"...You trust him, Lance?"

"With m'life, yeah..."

Pidge lets out a tired sigh, adjusting her glasses. 

"Well I trust you, so have at it, McClain."

Pidge gives him another once over, and then winces. 

"Put some pants on. And concealer."

"If I bend over, every bone in my body will crack. So either let me go without pants or put em on for me."

"Okay, okay. Go, let your lil' dude be free, just don't wave it where I have to look."

Lance cackles. 

"...'course, pidgeon."

He rummages around in her bathroom for the first aid kid, gingerly curling up on the couch to start his own, shitty self-care routine.

Iodine again. Ouch.

Neosporin. Not so ouch.

Bandaids for days.

Thank god Pidge has ibuprofen.

When he finishes he tugs a blanket over his shoulders and rests his head against the back of the couch, not daring to lay down should his body start up in agony once more. He prays that he doesn't wake up feeling like a thoroughly fucked size queen, though he wouldn't be surprised if he did. 

Just as the world starts to blur and his breathing stops hurting, there's someone pounding at the door. Pidge is there in an instant, putting a reassuring hand on Lance's shoulder before he tries to get up and do something stupid. She tucks her .22 in the back pocket of her jeans and looks through the peephole. 

It has to be Keith, because Pidge looks pissed.

When she swings the door open, she yanks him in by the collar and nearly throws him at the opposite wall. 

"Who the fuck do you think you are, knocking on my door at three in the morning? It's Halloween yet, you pissfuck."

Keith puts his hands up, paling at the venom in her voice.

"I just-where's Lance? He told me he was here and...he's hurt."

Pidge narrows her eyes, before nodding over to where he's staring, wide eyed on the couch. 

Keith nearly trips on his way over, tugging the blankets off of him in an all too familiar desperation.

"Lance-jesus shit, why can't you just trust me? I told you I'd take care of you, you even said it yourself-"

Lance flinches when the blanket slips off and pools around his waist. Keith stops mid-sentence, eyes darkening and jaw locking. 

"Lance," Keith's voice drops an octave, starting to shake with the same anger as before. Only this time, Lance isn't sure he can do anything to brush it off. 

Keith pins him in place with a gaze that could kill. 

"Who. Did. This." 

"Keith, it's nothing, it's not as bad as it-"

"Lance. This isn't just because I'm a cop. Every fucking time somebody lays a fucking finger on you I get pissed. And you keep telling me it's nothing. Well I'm not nearly as forgiving as you are and if you don't give a name right fucking now, I can't guarantee I'm not going to abuse my power as an officer and hunt them down."

"I-...I....," Lance searches for words but they're caught in his throat. He notices Pidge roll her eyes and slip out of the room from the corner of his eyes. 

So. Time to come clean? 

Lance starts shaking. The tears fall. 

"K-Keith..."

And suddenly Keith's moving closer, backing Lance against the arm of the couch and settling between his bare legs. Lance feels the flush crawl up his cheeks, and he carefully lays back against the arm rest, trying to look anywhere but Keith. 

Rough hands are pushing his shirt up, violet eyes showing more and more thinly veiled rage with each new bruise revealed. Keith's thumb traces over the shoe-shaped bruise on Lance's stomach, and he closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"K-Keith...," Lance tries again, this time reaching up and cupping Keith's face with a feather-light touch. "Keith, I have t-to tell you something. B-But...but promise n-not to get mad?"

Keith nods, resting his hands on Lance's hips, rubbing slow circles against the sensitive skin. 

"I...Lotor didn't d-do this. He didn't do it b-before and...and he d-didn't do it this time, either."

Keith frowns, confusion settling in his eyes. 

"I...I g-go out sometimes and...I get h-hurt on the job," Words aren't coming as fast to Lance as they usually do, and he feels himself start to sob as he waits for Keith to connect the dots, to realize. 

And when the moment comes-

"You...You're the Acrobat."

It's not a question. It's not an accusation. It's a quiet whisper in wonder, Keith's violet gaze softening and a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. 

"Y-You...you can t-turn me in. I know th-that's your job," Lance sniffles, reaching up to wipe at his face, biting his lip as the tears come harder. 

"Lance," Keith murmurs, moving Lance's legs so that they rest around his hips. "Baby, listen. I'm not gonna turn you in, okay? I promised I'd keep you safe. 's all that matters to me."

Lance stares back blankly in shock. It takes several seconds to process each word. 

"B-Baby...?"

Keith reddens, gaze immediately finding the floor.

"Fuck. Fuck, it just slipped out, I'm sorry-this wasn't how I wanted to-"

Lance smiles, slow but blindingly bright. He gently runs his fingers through Keith's hair and cuts him off, pulling him down just enough for their lips to touch. 

And from there, the pain nearly vanishes.

Keith's lips are rough against his, but the kiss is warm and slow nonetheless. Lance finds himself carding his fingers through Keith's hair and sighing as Keith murmurs stupidly cheesy, lovestruck confessions against his lips. 

"Fuck, you're gorgeous like this. Should've done it sooner," Keith chuckles, the sound deep and stirring something hot in Lance's gut. 

"Keith," Lance squirms against him, the feeling of cold fingers startling against his warm skin. 

"Lance," Keith whispers, leaning down to capture the smaller man's lips once more, this time more fervent, more desperate. They pull away panting, Lance weakly clutching the front of Keith's shirt. "Lance, you're my everything."

Lance gasps as Keith kisses down to his neck, pressing a kiss right under his jaw before sinking his teeth in-fuck, just like that-! 

"Don't ever think that you're not worth it," Keith growls into his neck, heat behind every word that has Lance shaking beneath him. "Not for a single fucking second, Lance."

"Fuck, fuck-I love you so much. And it's killing me to see you get hurt like this."

Lance tenses, biting his lip. The world starts to blur again and he thinks about pushing Keith away, pretending this never happened, pretending it didn't happen so he wouldn't have to choose. 

You know what that means...it's either him or-

"No, no don't shut me out baby. Look at me. Lance, look at me sweetheart," Keith's voice is steady, his forehead touching Lance's. Lance lets out a sound between a whimper and a sob, trying to push at Keith and squirm away again, just as he'd done the first time. Keith doesn't budge. He never does. 

"Lance, baby. 'm not asking you to stop. I know how important this is to you. I just want you to be safe. Let me come with you," Keith murmurs, the words so quiet Lance almost thinks he's hearing things.

"...nononono-Keith, you can't-I can't....," And Lance feels the tears coming again, he feels so stupid and selfish because here he is, dragging people into his mess like always, always leeching away at people, always bothering someone, always being that stupid, annoying, third-wheel Lance-

"C'mon, look at me baby. 's alright. I've got you," There's lips at his neck again, a pair of strong arms winding around his waist and carefully pulling him up, onto Keith's lap. Lance steadies himself on the taller man's shoulders and whimpers at the pain starting up again. 

"Keith, I don't wanna-don't wanna get you hurt-"

"I can handle myself pretty good, sharpshooter. I've got you, okay? I'll keep you safe."

Lance sniffles, leaning into Keith's touch when he reaches up to gently wipe away the tears running down Lance's face. 

"I've got you, baby. You're safe. I love you," Keith presses kisses to Lance's neck, letting out a soft chuckle when he sees the deep, rosy blush covering Lance's cheeks. "So damn gorgeous."

"Keith-'m really not-Ah!"

Keith sinks his teeth into Lance's neck again, deep red marks covering up the fading handprint. He gently licks at it in apology, though he's definitely not sorry. 

"You're beautiful," Lance tries to hide his face as Keith starts listing things, growing more and more flustered. 

"You're amazing. You're so kind and caring-"

Keith pauses to carefully place his hands over Lance's belly. 

"And so motherly. You'd make a damn good mommy."

"K-Keith!" Lance sputters, trying squirm away in embarrassment.

"Mhm...you should call Lotor. Tell 'im about this lovely new development."

Lance giggles, reaching for his burner phone on the coffee table. 

"Why don't you, Officer Kogane?" 

****

(the next week, Lotor shows up bound and gagged at the door of the precinct.)

(keith's coworker somehow miss his idle smile as he watches the Galran heir struggle)

****