erm what the jaith

A set coming from a fanfic I may never finish writing LOL

This is supposed to take place after news of the Kerberos Mission failure, but before the show starts!

Inspired by a yt short with this song and someone posing aesthetically at sunset LOL

So that Voltron Official Instagram story said that if Keith had a modern-day career, he would be an Extreme Terrain Search and Rescue officer (which is real and true). And in a modern-day setting, I see a 75% chance that James is involved in a family business of some sort (the other 25% is that he rebels and chooses a different career option out of spite).

But following the thread of James inheriting the family business, imagine his father sending him on a business excursion to check on the company mines. James gets his best shirt pressed the night before and wakes up early. He’s watched his older siblings receive commissions for years now, but this is the first time his father has entrusted James with one. Well, he did task his older brother Felix to accompany him and make sure James didn’t fuck anything up, so clearly he didn’t trust James that much. But some level of trust was still there. And James would do his best to rise to the occasion.

“Our reports state that profit has been up 28% since last year. Is that right?” James asks, looking between the Mines Manager and the clipboard in his hand.

The older man scratches at his beard. “That’s right, sir. We’ve been getting rather… creative in finding new ways to increase it.”

“And are any of those methods… up to standard?” James grimaces as he watches a worker descend into a tunnel in what looks to be faulty gear off in the distance. Were they making budget cuts?

The manager tips his head back and laughs. “Does it matter? ... Everybody likes sausage, kid, but nobody wants to know how it’s made. Do you really care as long as we’re both swimming in banknotes at the end of the day?”

Felix seems to share his views, laughing along. “Couldn’t have put it better myself, sir.”

Dread bubbles in James’ stomach; he levels Felix with a glare. “If the government finds out, we could be sued for millions.”

Felix levels him a look of his own, smile leering and laced with venom. “Not if they don’t find out. Are you going to tell them?”

James is tempted to spit out a “Yes!” to spite him, but then his father’s face flashes in his mind, and he begrudgingly looks away, dropping the subject.

Things go south anyway.

There’s a cave-in while James and Felix are exploring the tunnels. James, Felix, the manager and three mine workers duck into a cave to avoid the falling rocks.

Once the ground finally stops shaking and the boulders seem set in place, James quickly runs up and starts scrabbling at the wall of stones.

“It’s no use, we’re jammed shut!” He says, panting after several attempts to slam the wall with his shoulder. Exclamations of panic and some expletives cut through the group.

“What now?” He asks, turning towards the manager, only to be stopped dead in his tracks.

The manager looks petrified, like he had never expected this eventuality.

He probably hadn’t, which means he’d never prepared for it.

“And are any of those methods… up to standard?”

“Does it matter? ... Everybody likes sausage, kid, but nobody wants to know how it’s made. Do you really care as long as we’re both swimming in banknotes at the end of the day?”

With a sickening lurch in his stomach, James realizes that they might be stuck down here for a while, if not forever.

A few hours later and several miles across town, Keith gets a call from work.

“There’s been a cave-in at a local mine.” His boss tells him. “Report to the site immediately. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“What’s going on?” Keith asks when he arrives, walking up to where his coworkers are huddled around a sealed-in tunnel.

“The tunnel collapsed a few hours ago,” Vanessa- a coworker- tells him. “Most workers sustained minimal injuries from the incident; however, six people are believed to be sealed inside.”

Keith frowns. “Wait, hours ago? Why didn’t we receive word sooner?”

His coworker, Chris, chuckles dryly. His lips tick up, and the fold of his arms becomes somewhat languid, like he finds something about this amusing. “Probably has something to do with who was making the call.”

Keith’s confusion only grows, and Vanessa pulls up the transmission.

“[Heavy breathing] Hello? [The sounds of a scuffle] Ack, hey! [More sounds of a scuffle before there’s an audible ‘thud’ and another voice lets out a yelp] [Heavy panting near the receiver] … My name’s James Griffin. Me and five other people were caved in while touring the mines. We’ve been trapped underground for a couple hours now, I think, and our attempts to escape have been unsuccessful so far. Our equipment isn’t up to par, and our SCSRs are faulty- [Ambiguous sounds go off in the background, probably gasps] -we each have phones, but cell service is unreliable... [A long pause followed by the same voice, tone clearly distressed now] If anyone receives this message, please send help. I... don’t know how long we can last down here... Uh, th- thanks. [Click]”

Keith shakes his head. “That doesn’t explain anything. Who’s ‘James Griffin?’”

Chris’ grin only widens, and Vanessa pulls up a Google search.

Oliver Griffin

A man with a sharp jawline and stormy blue eyes fills the screen.

“Local billionaire,” Vanessa explains. “Founder of Griffin Inc. and owner of these mines.”

Oh yeah, Keith thinks. He knows that company, but he’s way too poor to afford any of their jewellery, even if he wanted any.

Vanessa dives deeper into Google Images and pulls up a photo of Griffin with his family, hovering her mouse around a man who seems to be around Keith’s age. He shares his father’s grey-blue eyes and hard stare, but brown hair falls over the right side of his face in a shade similar to his mother’s. He looks every bit the striking, self-important asshole his father probably raised him to be.

Keith’s brow furrows. “… I see.”

Chris scoffs. “Yeah, he and his brother are the reason they’re even in this situation to begin with.”

“What?” Keith turns, then gasps when he sees Chris holding up what appears to be a miner’s helmet. The nape strap seems flimsy at best, and the shell is scuffed up enough to be concerning.

“‘Faulty equipment,’ remember? His dad seems to have cut every corner.”

“… How long do you think they’ll last?” Keith asks, brow furrowed.

Vanessa purses her lips. “Under normal circumstances, about a week. Given these circumstances...” The tight press of her mouth grows more defined by the second.

Keith’s mouth presses into a thin line of its own, but the set of it is determined rather than downtrodden. “Where do we start?”

Chris huffs out a dry laugh and tosses Keith his gear. “Start digging.”

The silence is the worst part, James thinks as they sit near the mouth of the cave, waiting for a rescue that may never come. He sits with his knees drawn up to his chest, staunchly turned away from his brother.

Felix had seemed entirely unwilling to acknowledge James after he’d given him that bruise.

While James and the workers had wanted to call for help at first, Felix and the manager had been staunchly against it.

“If any of us call for help, they’ll get the government involved.” The latter had insisted. “Just stay put. My workers will have us up in no time.” Though from the tone of his voice, it was less of a certainty and more of the mad hope of a desperate man.

But then this conversation was followed by what felt like hours of waiting, a long stretch of time where the prolonged quiet allowed the weight of the situation to settle on their shoulders. The group started eyeing the cave ceiling like it could collapse on them any minute.

Eventually, James had cracked.

“What are you doing?!” Felix had demanded when he first spotted James pulling out his phone.

“Saving our lives!” James shot back as he frantically punched in the numbers.

“That won’t work,” Felix said a little smugly, folding his arms. “The signal doesn’t work down here.” He lets his little brother jam in numbers and watches him wait.

“Hello?” James asks into the receiver when the ringing suddenly stops. He’s about to explain the situation when someone suddenly slams into him.

“Ack, hey!” He shouts as Felix tries frantically to wrestle the phone out of his hands. Eventually, James manages to summon the strength to throw him across the cave, sending him to the ground with an audible thud.

Felix yelps, clearly shaken, but his attempt to get back up is rendered unsuccessful as the mine workers hold him down. The manager just stares at James like a deer caught in headlights, mouth agape, shaking his head ever so slightly.

James keeps his gaze trained on them as he speaks. “My name’s James Griffin. Me and five other people were caved in while touring the mines. We’ve been trapped underground for a couple hours now, I think, and our attempts to escape have been unsuccessful so far. Our equipment isn’t up to par, and our SCSRs are faulty-”

Felix and the manager gasp, and Felix finally stills.

“-we each have phones, but cell service is unreliable…”

James pauses, for the first time realizing that even if he manages to make the call, the chance of someone receiving it is still uncertain. Fear claws at his throat, but he pushes through it.

“If anyone receives this message, please send help. I… don’t know how long we can last down here… Uh, th- thanks.”

He turns his phone off and turns back to Felix.

The mine workers have let him go, and James watches as he sits up.

“You’ve ruined us,” Felix says, tone and expression dripping with disgust.

James doesn’t say anything.

Now he sits waiting for a rescue that may never come.

No, it will, James decides, sparing the slightest glance back at his brother. Mom and dad must be worried sick about Felix. Their love for his brother is the only thing guaranteeing that someone will arrive for them.

Whether they find them in time is another question entirely.

He snips that mental thread before it can unfurl and unravel him entirely.

James closes his eyes and tilts his head towards the ceiling, imagining himself anywhere but here.

( Based on headcanons by @komohine )

James introduces Keith to the concept of a power strip and then painstakingly explains to him how to use it safely (with an emphasis on Not Dying). The two of them fix the roof. Keith insists on doing all of the heavy work since he’s the better outdoorsman. James furiously patches up all his calluses and bruises afterwards, whilst chewing him out for being so rash.

It’s then that Keith realizes where James has been living since the end of the war.

“Who are you calling?” Keith asks, glancing at James curiously as the sun sets behind him. The latter jabs his thumb at the buttons of his phone and places it to his ear looking furious.

“Rizavi,” James says. “Her battery must’ve died again… I told her to charge it before she left the house.”

“You’re living with Nadia?” Something in Keith’s voice makes James turn around to find the man staring at him with wide violet eyes. His gaze holds a practiced level of nonchalance, with morbid curiosity and hurt lingering just below the surface.

“It’s not like that,” James says, turning away with pink-stained cheeks. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go after the war ended.”

“What about your parents’ house?” Keith replies, suddenly more insistent. What type of torture could James’ parents have put him through that made him want to move out entirely?

“They died.”

“Oh.”

The two men stand there for sometime, sheltered in the growing dark. James resolutely deciding to look at anything that’s not Keith. Keith refusing to look at anything but James.

Eventually, they are interrupted by the soft honking of Nadia’s car. James wordlessly makes his way into the vehicle. Keith doesn’t turn to look until James is a quickly shrinking blip on the horizon.

They continue working to patch up the house.

The two of them fill in the cracks in the walls and James finally pesters Keith into hiring a health inspector. They hang up posters of all the punk rock and emo bands he and Keith used to obsess over as kids. Keith and James have a long argument over whether or not Kosmo should be allowed inside the house (considering how small the shack is and that Kosmo is now as big as your average pony) and Keith wins when he states that it is his house, first of all.

(Kosmo is thrilled by this development. He chooses to celebrate by tackling James to the ground and licking every inch of him he can reach. James is understandably less thrilled.)

“Shouldn’ you be headin’ back now?” Keith slurs one night as they’re out on the porch.

James managed to get them a whole crate of Coca Cola bottles after a long day of hard work, and the two men had quickly taken to zipping through as many bottles as they could get their hands on. They’re both exhausted from a long day’s work and delirious on a sugar high, so it makes sense then, why James is sprawled out and Keith’s head is in his lap. They can blame their proximity on a minor lapse in judgement and mobility and not on any genuine desire for contact.

James hums, looking at him fondly, swirling what dark liquid’s still left in his bottle. This had been his third; Keith was just about finished his fifth. “Nahh… Few more minutes couldn’ hurt… Nice out here…”

“Really?” Keith snarks. With a concentrated effort, he pulls out of James’ lap and sits beside him. “Rather spend a night out here… in the desert… than the city?”

He’s ready to pull out the arsenal of all the old ‘city boy’ jokes he used to make at James’ expense during their childhood, when James says, “Yeahh… S’nicer out here… Quieter…”

At this, Keith frowns. “You… used to hate quiet…”

James now trains his gaze resolutely on the night sky above them. “That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before the war.”

Keith knew it. Keith knew what he was gonna say. It still hits like a punch to the gut.

Sometimes, on nights like this, the dark blurs out all the stress lines that have taken over James’ face, softens the severity of his expression. Sometimes, on nights like this, the sheer exhaustion from the day’s work phases out the space between them. And Keith can pretend that none of it had ever happened. That the two of them had stayed together, and no six-year rift had pulled them apart.

“You can stay… if you want,” Keith tells him. “If you like it better here… you can stay.”

“… Maybe,” James says, still not looking at Keith as he swigs down the last of his beverage in one go.

Nadia picks him up that night, same as ever. James mumbles a quick “See ya” as he heads into the car. He doesn’t turn to see if Keith responds.

Krolia visits one day.

James startles when he knocks on the door and it’s her who opens it.

“Who are you?” She asks, gaze narrowing as she looks him over.

“I- Uhhh…”

Keith peeks his head out the door. “Oh hey, James.”

“Uh. Hey.”

“Krolia and I were just talking about that plumbing we needed to fix up. Come in.”

“Uh?” James turns back toward Krolia, who blinks as if seeing him in a new light, but opens the door.

The three discuss the plumbing situation, with the plumber failing to pick up twice and then picking up immediately when James is the one who calls. They eventually set an appointment for the day after. In the meantime, James cooks up lunch while Keith and Krolia sit on the couch and catch up. He comes back in with steaming plates of chicken carbonara, a recipe from his mom’s side. In the afternoon, the three of them sit on the porch and discuss intergalactic politics while watching Kosmo run around the front yard.

(Krolia agrees with James’ assessment that Kosmo should be an outside dog. James gives Keith a smug look while her back is turned; Keith returns it with a glower.)

All the while, Krolia keeps glancing at him every so often. Her looks aren’t furtive, nor are they shy. The woman seems entirely unashamed to see that James has caught on to her looks, and entirely unbothered by how he squirms underneath them.

He doesn’t get an answer on what they mean until later that night.

James is leaned against the deck railing, watching the stars, when he hears her voice behind him.

“Keith told me about you,” she says, making him jump.

“I… He did?” James says, trying in vain to regain his composure.

“Yes,” Krolia states, raising an eyebrow before walking to lean against the railing herself. “He said you took care of him.”

James glances inside the house, then back at her, confused. “Just now?”

Krolia nods. “He told me that you’ve been helping him fix up his house and that you’ve been routinely inspecting it for threats.”

James nods slowly at that, still unsure how to reconcile the approval in the woman’s words with the harshness in her tone and gaze.

“He told me before, too.”

“Before?”

“While we were working with the Blades,” she says, causing James to freeze. “He told me how you took care of him when you were both kits.”

She notices his sudden silence and turns towards him with a soft frown. “Was that not the correct word for it? What do Earthlings call them? … Kids?”

“Keith said that?” James asks, hardly daring to believe it.

Krolia’s frown deepens. “Yes,” she affirms, like she’s surprised he needs to ask. Like Keith hadn’t avoided him in the months since he came back to Earth. Like James didn’t have to constantly reach out first in order to maintain some connection between them. “He told me of your friendship when you’d both first enlisted in the Garrison.”

Technically, they hadn’t been friends when they’d both enlisted at the Garrison. James had spent a good few years picking on Keith to elicit a reaction out of him at that point. Surprisingly, Krolia seems to be none the wiser.

“He told me of how frequently you kept him from getting expelled. And of the many times you saved him from dying when he was being reckless,” she grouses out the last word, tilting her head to the side as if remembering just how rash her son could be.

The ghost of a smirk passes over James’ face; he knew the feeling.

“He told me that you were there for him after Elijah died,” she states, eliciting a gasp from James.

He stares at Krolia, dumbfounded. Krolia stares back, trying to appear just as unfazed as she was at the beginning of this conversation, but there are cracks in her facade- a slight quiver in her lip, pain pricking at her eyes.

“I… I wasn’t,” James admits, earning a confused look from the woman. He turns, facing the house now as he leans against the railing with his back. His gaze catches the yellow light streaming through the kitchen window, where Keith is busy making dinner. “I tried to be, but… How did you put it? We were both kids. I snuck him food and scolded him to do work, but I could barely do anything…” He looks down as he forces a chuckle out of his throat, harsh but wobbly. “Sometimes I thought I was gonna lose him…”

A heavy weight settles on his shoulder and James finds that Krolia has placed a claw on his shoulder, leaning down to level with his gaze.

“You did not lose him. My son is here, and he is fine because you were there to look out for him.” James blinks, shocked to find that Krolia sounds seconds away from sobbing. “Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him. Do not speak of your kindness as if it meant nothing.”

James blinks again, and then blinks some more because he feels like if he doesn’t then he’s going to start crying too.

“You… And- and Shiro too…” Krolia takes a deep breath and composes herself, standing at her full stature. “I owe you both a life debt.”

“… Don’t mention it,” James croaks out, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything more. Then, he trains his gaze back towards the kitchen.

I would do anything to keep you safe, he thinks as he watches Keith cook.

Krolia leaves later that night despite her son’s protests. They exchange goodbyes on the tarmac. James hangs back on the porch, watching them.

(Before she leaves, Krolia turns her gaze towards James a final time and gives him a nod. James nods back.)

“I should head back,” James tells Keith as he jogs back over. Kosmo is at his heels, slowed somewhat from sleepiness.

“It’s really late,” Keith informs him, peeking at the clock through the doorframe. “Do you even think Nadia’s still awake?”

“I’ll manage,” James tells him, pulling his phone out. Most people will tell you Uber doesn’t pick up people in the middle of the desert. James will tell you that it depends on how much money you throw at them.

“You could stay the night,” Keith says casually, leaning down to give Kosmo some much-demanded face scritches.

These words had become a habit for him. They were followed by James’ quiet reply of “Not tonight.” or “Maybe some other time.” or even an outright “No.”

But tonight, something had changed.

Krolia’s words still echoed in his head.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

He thought of the night Keith had left, leaving nothing but an empty bed and his dogtag for James to remember him by.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

He thought of the day Keith had come back and hadn’t spoken to him a single word that hadn’t been an order between military officials.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

He thought of the night he caught Keith sneaking out and accompanied him to his dad’s grave.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

He thought of how he had taken it upon himself to clean up what Keith had decided would become his new home.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

For so long, James had felt he had been desperately reaching out to a man who did not care the way he did. Reaching out to the ghost of a boy who once needed him, a boy who once cared for him, a boy who had died somewhere between the clinically white halls of the Garrison and the red hot heat of the desert. A boy who left and came back completely unrecognizable.

But Keith had told his mother about him. Keith had accepted his help in repairing his house. Keith had still remembered him, even in the vast depths of space.

Keith had held onto him, too.

So this time, James flips the script.

( Based on headcanons by @komohine )

James stays with Keith that night. And then a night after that one, when they realize they’ve spent so long fixing the lights that they actually have to use them now. Yet another night, James tries to call Nadia but finds that her battery ran out again. One time, it didn’t occur to James to call Nadia at all until the two woke up bleary-eyed on the couch the next morning to find that she had left James five angry voicemails.

(“She’s gonna kill you,” Keith snarks as James types out her number with a lingering dread.

“Hello?” He croaks into the speaker, gulping when she actually picks up.)

Eventually, the newfound stillness the universe had settled into post-war starts to fade and things start to pick up again. The Garrison opens classes again. The MFE pilots go from frontline fighters to frontline diplomats. Keith goes back to working with the Blades. They transition from a resistance movement to a humanitarian organization.

James starts living with Keith permanently.

“It’s closer to the Garrison,” James offers as explanation as the MFEs help him move out. “We’ll need to be there earlier now, given our ranks. So moving closer is my best option.”

“I see,” Nadia smirks, leaning into Ryan’s side. “Move closer to the Garrison, continue to climb up the ranks. And tell me, James, where does hooking up with Keith fit into this plan of yours?”

James mumbles, half-listening, as he attempts to zip one of his gym bags shut. “Where does hook- WHAT?! HUH?!”

He fumbles with the bag and it falls to the floor. Nadia lets out a massive cackle, nearly falling onto the floor herself.

“Oh come on,” she says when she finally collects herself, catching sight of the indignant pink staining James’ cheeks with a smirk. “You’ve been spending more nights at Keith’s place than at home. You didn’t think I might catch on eventually?”

“Nadia,” James hisses through his teeth, cheeks glowing brighter and brighter by the second.

“Hm.” Ina says, studying James’ face. “Given your shared history, Nadia’s astute observations and your reactions to her statements, there is a high probability that she is indeed correct.”

“Ina.”

“Love wins~” Nadia singsongs to further James’ agony.

“Nadia, shut up.”

“Guys, come on,” Ryan intervenes, shaking Nadia’s once- short, but firm. “Lay off him.”

“Oh, alright.”

Nadia finally relents and James thinks he’s gained an ally until Ryan looks back towards him with an unmistakeable smirk. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s there.

The MFEs help him move in too.

The four of them drive out into the desert to find Keith and Kosmo already on the porch waiting for them. They unpack James’ belongings- equipment he’d taken with him from the Garrison. Trinkets he’d acquired while living with Nadia. Nothing from his old home. He hadn’t mustered up the courage to head back there since he’d first found its ruins at the beginning of the war.

(Allegra texts him periodically, asking him when they’re going to go through the will and their leftover belongings. James doesn’t know how much longer he can keep stalling.)

“Byeeee!” Nadia calls as the MFEs drive off. “Have fun smooching your boyfriend, Jamie!”

Keith blinks, the fold of his arms coming undone slightly. “What-”

“Nothing,” James hisses, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him inside. “Just- just come on.”

Nothing really changes when Keith and James finally move in together. Eventually, the newfound stillness starts to fade and the universe starts to pick up again, but that peace never quite fades for James and Keith. They spend their time in-between work hours and Blade missions smoking cigarettes on the porch together as they gaze out at the stars. They spend it climbing rock formations they’d been too scared to attempt as children. They spend it sheltering from a dust storm, silently grateful that the roof is finally secure as they wait for it to pass. They spend it tying cloths over their noses to keep the dust out and comforting each other when the night terrors leave them paralysed. They grab groceries at the nearest convenience store and head back in James’ Ferrari. Keith stands in his seat and tries to catch the fireflies glowing all around them. James watches him with a grin before pulling them into a drift.

One day, James wakes up just as Keith is about to sneak out again.

He’s got a sixth sense for it, he thinks. For sussing out Keith’s bullshit before it can get them too deep into trouble.

“Is there a reason you’re sneaking out at the ass crack of dawn?” He drawls, leaning against the doorframe and rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he watches Keith attempt to sneak away for what must be the thousandth time now.

And Keith turns toward him, eyes wide, a hesitance inscribed into his whole disposition. “I…” He licks his lips, unsure. “My dad.”

James’ eyes widen.

Turns out, it was Elijah Kogane’s birthday. Six months since that night they’d first snuck out to plant flowers at his grave. Keith had been sneaking out to wish him happy birthday.

And James? For once, James is content not to follow. He’d already made an one accidental intrusion. He wasn’t planning on repeating it.

But Keith grabs his hand as he makes to head back inside the house. “I didn’t want to wake you up,” he says, meeting James’ eyes. “But now that you have- come with me?”

“What- you’re sure?” James breathes, gaze cutting between Keith’s gaze and their interlocked hands.

“You knew him too,” Keith says, grin cutting into that crooked, rebellious slant that James so adores. “Besides- two people? Closest thing to a birthday party that I could get him, right?”

James stands a respectable distance away from Keith as he crouches in front of his dad’s grave, just like he had done all those months ago. The flowers they had planted there have nearly overtaken the space. The scene is backdropped by the rising Sun, catching against the vermillion flowers, turning them to flame. But this blaze is a beauty, an honor, a remembrance. This is a wildfire that seeks to give rather than take away.

James watches Keith, his Keith, surrounded by wildflowers and smudged in Arizona dirt and thanks every higher power that helped bring him back to James.

The sight of Keith’s dad’s grave, and the flowers, and Keith himself carves a hollow in James’ chest that refuses to close, even as the Sun fully overtakes the sky. Even as he watches it slowly set beneath the rock formations in the west. The hollow ache still stays.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks him in the quiet hours of the night. They’re laying in Keith’s bed together, a breath’s space between them. It’s a little cramped. They keep meaning to buy a separate bed for James. They keep forgetting. “Should I have just let you go back to sleep?”

“No,” James says immediately. “No, I wanted to come. I just… I miss him is all.” And it’s not a lie. James does miss Keith’s dad sometimes, he remembers him fondly. But that’s not why he feels so out of sorts right now.

Keith, unaware of this, moves to lay on his back and gazes at the ceiling. “Me too,” he whispers- maybe to James, maybe to himself, maybe to no one at all. “I miss him all the time.”

James watches him. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The soft in and out of his breath. Eventually, he hears snoring.

James turns towards the night stand. He grabs his phone, swipes through his texts.

A couple from Allegra in the past few weeks.

Allegra: James, I’m free next Saturday between 4 and 5 PM. Do you want to go over the will then?

James: I’m leaving on a diplomatic mission to Alyx on Friday and won’t be back till Monday. Maybe some other time.

Allegra: Alright then. Does somewhere between June 5 and 8 work for you? I’ve got those days off and would be happy to go over it then.

Allegra: James, please respond.

James: Sorry. I was busy helping Keith install a new AC unit. I didn’t see your texts until we finished.

(They both know that’s a blatant lie. She’d seen the ‘Read at 10:45 AM’ notification next to her text before she’d pleaded for a response. She doesn’t mention it.)

James finds a new text from this morning.

Allegra: James, are you free to go through our belongings anytime within this week? The law firm seems to be growing impatient.

He replies this time.

James: I’m free tomorrow. We can go over it then if you want.

Nearly half an hour later, his phone buzzes with her response.

( Based on headcanons by @komohine )

James introduces Keith to the concept of a power strip and then painstakingly explains to him how to use it safely (with an emphasis on Not Dying). The two of them fix the roof. Keith insists on doing all of the heavy work since he’s the better outdoorsman. James furiously patches up all his calluses and bruises afterwards, whilst chewing him out for being so rash.

It’s then that Keith realizes where James has been living since the end of the war.

“Who are you calling?” Keith asks, glancing at James curiously as the sun sets behind him. The latter jabs his thumb at the buttons of his phone and places it to his ear looking furious.

“Rizavi,” James says. “Her battery must’ve died again… I told her to charge it before she left the house.”

“You’re living with Nadia?” Something in Keith’s voice makes James turn around to find the man staring at him with wide violet eyes. His gaze holds a practiced level of nonchalance, with morbid curiosity and hurt lingering just below the surface.

“It’s not like that,” James says, turning away with pink-stained cheeks. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go after the war ended.”

“What about your parents’ house?” Keith replies, suddenly more insistent. What type of torture could James’ parents have put him through that made him want to move out entirely?

“They died.”

“Oh.”

The two men stand there for sometime, sheltered in the growing dark. James resolutely deciding to look at anything that’s not Keith. Keith refusing to look at anything but James.

Eventually, they are interrupted by the soft honking of Nadia’s car. James wordlessly makes his way into the vehicle. Keith doesn’t turn to look until James is a quickly shrinking blip on the horizon.

They continue working to patch up the house.

The two of them fill in the cracks in the walls and James finally pesters Keith into hiring a health inspector. They hang up posters of all the punk rock and emo bands he and Keith used to obsess over as kids. Keith and James have a long argument over whether or not Kosmo should be allowed inside the house (considering how small the shack is and that Kosmo is now as big as your average pony) and Keith wins when he states that it is his house, first of all.

(Kosmo is thrilled by this development. He chooses to celebrate by tackling James to the ground and licking every inch of him he can reach. James is understandably less thrilled.)

“Shouldn’ you be headin’ back now?” Keith slurs one night as they’re out on the porch.

James managed to get them a whole crate of Coca Cola bottles after a long day of hard work, and the two men had quickly taken to zipping through as many bottles as they could get their hands on. They’re both exhausted from a long day’s work and delirious on a sugar high, so it makes sense then, why James is sprawled out and Keith’s head is in his lap. They can blame their proximity on a minor lapse in judgement and mobility and not on any genuine desire for contact.

James hums, looking at him fondly, swirling what dark liquid’s still left in his bottle. This had been his third; Keith was just about finished his fifth. “Nahh… Few more minutes couldn’ hurt… Nice out here…”

“Really?” Keith snarks. With a concentrated effort, he pulls out of James’ lap and sits beside him. “Rather spend a night out here… in the desert… than the city?”

He’s ready to pull out the arsenal of all the old ‘city boy’ jokes he used to make at James’ expense during their childhood, when James says, “Yeahh… S’nicer out here… Quieter…”

At this, Keith frowns. “You… used to hate quiet…”

James now trains his gaze resolutely on the night sky above them. “That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before the war.”

Keith knew it. Keith knew what he was gonna say. It still hits like a punch to the gut.

Sometimes, on nights like this, the dark blurs out all the stress lines that have taken over James’ face, softens the severity of his expression. Sometimes, on nights like this, the sheer exhaustion from the day’s work phases out the space between them. And Keith can pretend that none of it had ever happened. That the two of them had stayed together, and no six-year rift had pulled them apart.

“You can stay… if you want,” Keith tells him. “If you like it better here… you can stay.”

“… Maybe,” James says, still not looking at Keith as he swigs down the last of his beverage in one go.

Nadia picks him up that night, same as ever. James mumbles a quick “See ya” as he heads into the car. He doesn’t turn to see if Keith responds.

Krolia visits one day.

James startles when he knocks on the door and it’s her who opens it.

“Who are you?” She asks, gaze narrowing as she looks him over.

“I- Uhhh…”

Keith peeks his head out the door. “Oh hey, James.”

“Uh. Hey.”

“Krolia and I were just talking about that plumbing we needed to fix up. Come in.”

“Uh?” James turns back toward Krolia, who blinks as if seeing him in a new light, but opens the door.

The three discuss the plumbing situation, with the plumber failing to pick up twice and then picking up immediately when James is the one who calls. They eventually set an appointment for the day after. In the meantime, James cooks up lunch while Keith and Krolia sit on the couch and catch up. He comes back in with steaming plates of chicken carbonara, a recipe from his mom’s side. In the afternoon, the three of them sit on the porch and discuss intergalactic politics while watching Kosmo run around the front yard.

(Krolia agrees with James’ assessment that Kosmo should be an outside dog. James gives Keith a smug look while her back is turned; Keith returns it with a glower.)

All the while, Krolia keeps glancing at him every so often. Her looks aren’t furtive, nor are they shy. The woman seems entirely unashamed to see that James has caught on to her looks, and entirely unbothered by how he squirms underneath them.

He doesn’t get an answer on what they mean until later that night.

James is leaned against the deck railing, watching the stars, when he hears her voice behind him.

“Keith told me about you,” she says, making him jump.

“I… He did?” James says, trying in vain to regain his composure.

“Yes,” Krolia states, raising an eyebrow before walking to lean against the railing herself. “He said you took care of him.”

James glances inside the house, then back at her, confused. “Just now?”

Krolia nods. “He told me that you’ve been helping him fix up his house and that you’ve been routinely inspecting it for threats.”

James nods slowly at that, still unsure how to reconcile the approval in the woman’s words with the harshness in her tone and gaze.

“He told me before, too.”

“Before?”

“While we were working with the Blades,” she says, causing James to freeze. “He told me how you took care of him when you were both kits.”

She notices his sudden silence and turns towards him with a soft frown. “Was that not the correct word for it? What do Earthlings call them? … Kids?”

“Keith said that?” James asks, hardly daring to believe it.

Krolia’s frown deepens. “Yes,” she affirms, like she’s surprised he needs to ask. Like Keith hadn’t avoided him in the months since he came back to Earth. Like James didn’t have to constantly reach out first in order to maintain some connection between them. “He told me of your friendship when you’d both first enlisted in the Garrison.”

Technically, they hadn’t been friends when they’d both enlisted at the Garrison. James had spent a good few years picking on Keith to elicit a reaction out of him at that point. Surprisingly, Krolia seems to be none the wiser.

“He told me of how frequently you kept him from getting expelled. And of the many times you saved him from dying when he was being reckless,” she grouses out the last word, tilting her head to the side as if remembering just how rash her son could be.

The ghost of a smirk passes over James’ face; he knew the feeling.

“He told me that you were there for him after Elijah died,” she states, eliciting a gasp from James.

He stares at Krolia, dumbfounded. Krolia stares back, trying to appear just as unfazed as she was at the beginning of this conversation, but there are cracks in her facade- a slight quiver in her lip, pain pricking at her eyes.

“I… I wasn’t,” James admits, earning a confused look from the woman. He turns, facing the house now as he leans against the railing with his back. His gaze catches the yellow light streaming through the kitchen window, where Keith is busy making dinner. “I tried to be, but… How did you put it? We were both kids. I snuck him food and scolded him to do work, but I could barely do anything…” He looks down as he forces a chuckle out of his throat, harsh but wobbly. “Sometimes I thought I was gonna lose him…”

A heavy weight settles on his shoulder and James finds that Krolia has placed a claw on his shoulder, leaning down to level with his gaze.

“You did not lose him. My son is here, and he is fine because you were there to look out for him.” James blinks, shocked to find that Krolia sounds seconds away from sobbing. “Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him. Do not speak of your kindness as if it meant nothing.”

James blinks again, and then blinks some more because he feels like if he doesn’t then he’s going to start crying too.

“You… And- and Shiro too…” Krolia takes a deep breath and composes herself, standing at her full stature. “I owe you both a life debt.”

“… Don’t mention it,” James croaks out, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything more. Then, he trains his gaze back towards the kitchen.

I would do anything to keep you safe, he thinks as he watches Keith cook.

Krolia leaves later that night despite her son’s protests. They exchange goodbyes on the tarmac. James hangs back on the porch, watching them.

(Before she leaves, Krolia turns her gaze towards James a final time and gives him a nod. James nods back.)

“I should head back,” James tells Keith as he jogs back over. Kosmo is at his heels, slowed somewhat from sleepiness.

“It’s really late,” Keith informs him, peeking at the clock through the doorframe. “Do you even think Nadia’s still awake?”

“I’ll manage,” James tells him, pulling his phone out. Most people will tell you Uber doesn’t pick up people in the middle of the desert. James will tell you that it depends on how much money you throw at them.

“You could stay the night,” Keith says casually, leaning down to give Kosmo some much-demanded face scritches.

These words had become a habit for him. They were followed by James’ quiet reply of “Not tonight.” or “Maybe some other time.” or even an outright “No.”

But tonight, something had changed.

Krolia’s words still echoed in his head.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

He thought of the night Keith had left, leaving nothing but an empty bed and his dogtag for James to remember him by.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

He thought of the day Keith had come back and hadn’t spoken to him a single word that hadn’t been an order between military officials.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

He thought of the night he caught Keith sneaking out and accompanied him to his dad’s grave.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

He thought of how he had taken it upon himself to clean up what Keith had decided would become his new home.

Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.

For so long, James had felt he had been desperately reaching out to a man who did not care the way he did. Reaching out to the ghost of a boy who once needed him, a boy who once cared for him, a boy who had died somewhere between the clinically white halls of the Garrison and the red hot heat of the desert. A boy who left and came back completely unrecognizable.

But Keith had told his mother about him. Keith had accepted his help in repairing his house. Keith had still remembered him, even in the vast depths of space.

Keith had held onto him, too.

So this time, James flips the script.

( Based on headcanons by @komohine ) After the war, Keith sneaks away into the desert one night. James catches him doing so on the Garrison security cameras and follows after him. Tale as old as time.

But this time they’re not as close as they once were. They aren’t friends anymore. James risked his neck to help Keith and Hunk find the latter’s family. Keith and James work seamlessly in tandem in a professional setting. But their personal interactions don’t amount to much more than staring at each other longingly from across the room before going about their day.

So it makes sense, then, why Keith is just as snappish as he used to be when James first started following him to keep an eye on him. Keith snaps and James retorts and they bicker the whole way there, right up until they reach their destination and James realizes where ‘there’ is.

Keith’s dad’s grave.

Suddenly, James feels like a massive asshole.

He leans against his hoverbike several feet away, feeling entirely out of place and out of line as he watches Keith crouch over his dad’s grave. Eventually, Keith makes his way back to his hoverbike and pulls something out of his side satchel:

Chuparosa buds.

His dad had been an outdoorsman, had always seemed most himself when he was teaching Keith to garden or when they were out on an hours-long hike through the woodlands. This is the one last thing Keith can give him.

Keith plants them next to his grave, and, when James decides he’s taking too long and that people are gonna notice if they don’t head back soon, he moves to help him. Their fingers brush as they set about placing the plants into the hole and covering their roots with soil.

Then, they head back. The two of them sneak back in, avoiding cameras and people in a scene reminiscent of their cadet days, holding hands on instinct. The two split up midway, with James heading down the left wing to the other MFE pilots and Keith heading down the right wing to his fellow Paladins.

And they both wonder, in the dead of the night, in the silence of their respective rooms, if that actually happened. The experience is so reminiscent of their Garrison days that they wonder if it had been real or just a hallucination owed to the feverish state of wanting. The only confirmation they have of its existence is the feel of dirt staining their fingertips.

The next time they cross paths, James is making a house inspection.

The shack Keith has retired to- the same one he’d holed up in when he was first booted from the Garrison- is technically on government property. James has been sent to get Keith to fill in the proper paperwork.

“This wasn’t Garrison property last time I was on Earth,” Keith gripes.

James shoots him a look from behind his clipboard. “Garrison’s expanded since the invasion.”

“Of course it has,” Keith says with a roll of his eyes, but otherwise offers no more protest as James works.

And James- James is a professional. James is focused and here strictly on business. James is… dead set on examining every inch of the one place Keith had gone where James could not follow. The place that had kept Keith from him for so long. The place that had sheltered Keith from harm until he could find his way back to James again.

He spots twelve different safety violations at first glance alone.

“Your shingles are loose,” James states matter-of-factly. “You’re gonna eat shit and die the next time a dust storm rolls around.”

Keith folds his arms with huff. “I’ve been meaning to fix those.”

“Hey, what,” James says, ignoring him to walk over to where Keith has five different wires plugged into the same outlet, “is this?” He pulls one out, shaking it lightly for emphasis.

James comes back the next day.

“I’m here on official business,” James says, letting himself in. “Garrison code mandates that all Garrison property must be up to par with government safety regulations.”

“You’re not in uniform,” Keith notes. James would never attend any sort of “official business” without a crisply-ironed orange uniform and a badge that said I-have-the-authority-to-be-as-obnoxious-as-I-am-being.

“… Shut up,” James snaps, moving towards the dangerous outlet, but the tips of his ears are tinged pink.