#velowsa

Sorry for the long wait, and thanks for wanting more! And thanks to @sol1056 for also requesting a continuation. 

Based upon @velowsa‘s amazing Voltron: Legendary Defender/Gargoyles crossover - see her lovely pictures here. Thank you for letting me write this story!

Fic: Love at First Catch  

Summary: When reports of falling rocks come in from Zarkon's penthouse, Detective Keith Kogane is dispatched to investigate and comes face to face a creature that should only live in his nightmares - and maybe his dreams.

Story series on AO3. 

Keith hated the Eyrie Building.

It was big and airy and too formal. Dressed in his beaten-up red jacket and jeans, Keith looked like a beggar coming before the king, instead of a New York City detective coming before one of the wealthiest men in the world.

He’d do it – because a call came in and he was a professional – but he’d only stay as long as necessary to finish his report. If anyone else had been on duty – anyone else – he would have deferred. Keith wasn’t scared or anything, but nothing could save him from the longing look in Honerva’s eyes when she opened the penthouse’s door.

“Mister Kogane. It is good to see you.”

Honerva smiled a tiny little grin, the same one she gave Keith every time he slid down the grand staircase’s banister. Zarkon was always furious, shouting about Keith’s safety and what-ifs. Honerva just stood there, stone-faced, and waited until Zarkon ordered Keith to his room. But before shutting the door, Honerva always handed Keith a cookie and a smile.

Keith clung to those smiles, even after the courts ordered him from the building.

He accepted Honerva’s tender hug and walked side-by-side with her, not realizing the destination until he found himself in the penthouse’s kitchen.

“I assume you have come to thank Mister Zarkon for those vests he donated.”

Keith paused. “What vests? Wait – you mean the new bulletproof ones we just got at the – ”

“What brings you to the Eyrie Building this evening, Mister Kogane?” Honerva interrupted with endless patience.

Keith stopped himself from telling Honerva not to don her apron or gather the milk, eggs, flour, and chocolate chips. There was no point; she wouldn’t listen. “There were reports of falling rocks, probably from the Scottish castle Zarkon had hoisted up here. Seriously, Miss Honerva. What was he thinking?”

“Well, you know Mister Zarkon. He is the quintessential history buff.”

“But to move a castle from Scotland? That’s extreme, even for him.”

Honerva cracked two eggs before reaching for the sugar. “Says the boy who spent the summer between his sixth and seventh grades traveling the globe because his father decided he needed to see the World Wonders – all of them.”

The memory stung. It was probably the best summer of his childhood. “Foster father.”

“Pardon me, Mister Kogane, but I do not see the significance in adding an adjective.”

All right. Keith deserved that. “I just came to investigate and make a report, if needed.”

“Hm. I do not believe the falling rocks came from the castle itself, but take a look around. I’m sure Mister Zarkon wouldn’t mind.”

Keith’s shoulders eased. Maybe he wouldn’t need to see Zarkon after all. “Thanks, Miss Honerva.”

Honerva smiled and winked. “Cookies in ten dobashes.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Dobashes was what they called “Zarkon’s minutes.” When Keith was growing up, Zarkon made a habit of telling Keith he’d leave the office in ten minutes; it always ended up being twenty.

Keith made his way through the long, wood-walled corridor, between the grand staircase, which sat before a floor-to-high-ceiling window. Off to the side, a new set of white and silver French doors opened to the one-time garden, where now sat the castle’s courtyard. As Keith grabbed the handle, an elegant voice called him back.

“Keith, you’re home.”

Keith took in a sharp inhale, braced himself, and turned.

Daibazaal Zarkon looked almost no different than he had ten years prior. A little gray on the temples, lines about his eyes and mouth from smiling that annoyingly fake smile, though his private grin was always kind for Keith. Jade eyes, a strong build. In a turtleneck, slacks, and Salvatore Ferragamo loafers, he appeared the epitome of the New York social elite gentleman.

“There were calls,” Keith managed to get out as Zarkon descended the stairs, arms open for an embrace. “Falling rocks, growls. I came to check out the castle you decided to hoist up here.”

Zarkon stopped a few inches from Keith but kept his arms open. It had taken Keith a full year to feel comfortable receiving hugs and a tad bit longer to give them, but Zarkon always allowed Keith to make the choice. He never pushed unwanted affection upon Keith, for which Keith was grateful.

When Keith refused to step close, a quick morose expression flashed across Zarkon’s face. He dropped his hands and effortlessly slipped them into his pockets. “Well, yes. It is a thing of beauty. Built around the 900s. Attacked by Vikings. Left abandoned for almost a millennium. Truly a work of art. I just wanted to…help it along a bit, I guess.”

Keith caught the double meaning and whipped around, eyes narrowed. “Do you really want to do this now?”

“You could have come home,” Zarkon said, eyes firm and dark. “As soon as you turned eighteen – ”

“And you could have stopped whatever underhanded trading you were doing. It was enough that the police – ”

“I was found not guilty.”

“Because you weren’t or because you bribed the courts?”

Zarkon remained silent, eyes glowing, and Keith found himself unable to back down. The fire burned in his gut, and he used it to demand, “They came for me at night. Child services tore me from my bed and needed two police officers to drag me out of here.”

Zarkon turned on his heel and threw up a hand. “Oh, come on, Keith – ”

“You said this was my home. You said no one would ever take me away from you. You said I was safe here.”

“I didn’t know the cops would find – ”

“You didn’t stop! You still haven’t stopped. That’s what this monstrosity out there is, isn’t it? Some other way to smuggle – ”

“Damn it, Keith. Don’t act like – ”

“You own half of New York.” Keith clutched his hands in trembling fists. “And you couldn’t get child services to hand me back. Or…” He put words to his greatest fear for the first time. “…did you not want me back?”

Whatever Zarkon was going to say died in his throat, and he whirled, eyes wide and breath loud. His hand came up, earnest but telegraphing, to cup Keith’s cheek. “Of course I did. I would have done anything to get you back.”

Keith couldn’t will the tears away. “Then why didn’t you?”

At some point, the dusk turned to dark, and an animalistic roar shook the very foundation of the penthouse. Shock stole Keith from Zarkon’s grasp, and he acted on instinct, opening up the doors and running into the courtyard. More fierce growls echoed over the landscape, along with the sound of rocks cracking, and Keith took the decrepit stairs one after another.

“Keith!” Zarkon yelled. “Keith, don’t go up – ”

As soon as Keith reached the top, his breath hitched. There, on the very edge of the platform, were crumbling statues. Gargoyles. The one closest to him huffed, its shoulders bunching and cracking, and between the slithers, he spotted purple skin, mussed black hair, and pointed ears.

Keith reached out, tentative at first, perhaps to knock the stone off the being, perhaps to simply touch. The statue rose up and whirled toward him, pupil-less eyes glowing, monstrous face scarred across the snout, a shock of white hair. The sudden movement jerked Keith, and he took a step back.

And fell.

The scream tore from his throat before he realized it came from him. His stomach bottomed out. He plummeted past the floor-to-ceiling windows, past the penthouse, down the side of the building. In a few seconds time – ticks, he mused with dark humor – he’d hit the pavement, and Zarkon, Honerva, the cookies – none of it would matter anymore.

Something caught his eye. Movement, and then that being – purple, scar, ears – dove toward him. His eyes now had slate pupils, and his face was no longer contorted with anger but fear. And he was beautiful, so much more handsome than any creature had the right to be.

“Hold on! I’m coming.”

“Thank…you!”

As he came to Keith’s side, massive arms slid under Keith’s knees and about his torso. Majestic wings spread from the creature’s back. Then the air tugged them up, and Keith buried his face in the creature’s neck. He smelled of pencils and dust, of lavender and white tea. His hands were massive, one curled about Keith’s far thigh, the other cradling his hip and back.

Keith’s pulse came down as his stomach righted, and he opened his eyes, first to see the New York streets hundreds of feet below, and then the creature flying above them, carrying him.

“You saved me,” he said in wonderment.

The creature shrugged, or the best he could while flying. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Are you all right?”

“Um…maybe?” He had just fought with Zarkon, happened upon a creature, and fell off a building, and was now flying around Manhattan with said creature. He wasn’t dead, which he appreciated.

“Uh, who are you? What are you?”

“Shiro,” he said with a gentle smile and a dip of his head. His wings flapped and arced as he curved around Madison Square Garden and went straight for the Empire State Building. “And you?”

“You didn’t answer my – ” They passed a perched statue, and the answer clicked. “You’re a-a gargoyle.”

The creature’s – Shiro’s – congenial nature evaporated as shadows crossed his face. He flapped his wings, brought Keith up, and dropped them both onto the closed platform of the observation deck. Keith took a step back, his shaky legs holding him, and he marveled as Shiro’s wings folded over his shoulders and locked upon his chest.

“Zarkon said we’d be safe on his building. He said no one would come to harm us.”

Keith snorted. “Join the club.”

“And you? What were you doing at the castle?”

Shiro rose up, back straight, height towering over Keith’s by a good few feet. He meant to intimidate, and perhaps if Shiro hadn’t just saved Keith, he might be frightened. But then again, Keith has fought worse villains than a handsome gargoyle with a metal arm and…yes, a loincloth.

Keith recounted why he’d come to the Eyrie Building, the roar, finding Shiro.

“And Zarkon and Honerva just let you?” he accused.

Keith straightened his back, ready to snap at Shiro, but those gray irises were hard and frightened. He thought back to the roof. Shiro and he hadn’t been alone. There had been more gargoyles. Shiro was protecting his own.

Keith could accept that. “Zarkon – he raised me, from the time I was five to when I was sixteen. He did something bad. Illegal. And the courts took me away from him.”

Understanding crossed Shiro’s face. “He is your sire.”

“Um…not biological, no, but…” A shrug.

Shiro glanced away. “He must miss you. Humans are close with their kin. I’ll take you back.”

As Shiro stepped forward, the moonlight brushed against his face and illuminated his defined cheekbones, strong chin, and kind eyes. They appeared almost silver against his night sky, and Keith found himself hypnotized in their firm gaze.

Wait. Were Shiro’s eyes dilated? Huh.

As Shiro went to grab Keith’s legs again, Keith put a hand on his chest to stop him – and damn. Those muscles were rock hard.

“I, uh, you need to know something about Zarkon.” Wow. Really hard, and those abs. Focus, Keith. “You can’t – You can’t trust him. He’s a smuggler, of arts and historic goods. He doesn’t do anything for altruistic reasons.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Waiting. Weighing Keith’s words.

“When I was twelve, he took me to see places around the world. At every stop, he moved illegal goods. He’s doing something with the castle.”

Shiro crossed his arms. “You think he’s using my clan?”

“Clan?”

“My fellow packmates – the other gargoyles. You think Zarkon doesn’t want to help us?”

Keith slipped his hands into his pockets. “I know Zarkon doesn’t do anything without a selfish cause.”

Whatever Keith said struck Shiro. His arms dropped to his sides, and his eyes softened. “I’m sorry. It must have been…difficult for you.”

“It…was, but I had people to help.” Kolivan, Thace, Antok, and others. “People who helped me to survive after…” He fought the shiver that threatened to overtake his frame. “If…if you need my help – uk!”

In one fluid motion, Shiro swept Keith into his arms. “I will need to speak to my clan, and we will decide together. But thank you for your offer, Keith.”

“I didn’t tell you my name,” Keith said. He’d told Shiro why he went to the castle, why he spoke with Zarkon, but Keith never told Shiro his name.

“No, you did not,” Shiro admitted, “but your sire did.”

“Zarkon told you…about me?”

So close, Shiro’s eyes cut to his soul. “Yes. The warrior on the streets, saving the world because he couldn’t save his father. It is admirable.”

“I don’t save anyone because I can’t save my father. Zarkon isn’t even my father.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“I’m not giving you a look.”

“Zarkon only took me in because I humanized him. It was good press, not because – ”

“Then I guess he only donated the money for…vests? For this good press? He said he was worried for your safety, nothing about…press.”

Keith’s head perked up. “Wait, Zarkon donated the precinct’s bullet-proof – ah!”

The wind caught Shiro’s wings, lifting him up and over the fences of the observation deck. Keith’s arms wrapped about Shiro’s thick neck and squeezed with all his might. Only once Shiro stabilized and begin their journey back, did Keith manage to look up at Shiro’s amused face.

“You did that on purpose.”

Shiro laughed, a hearty, grounding sound, and it eased Keith’s nerves. “Maybe.”

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

Shiro looked down at him, eyes open and expression fierce. “I think I should be asking you that.”

Perhaps Keith should have been scared, flying around Manhattan hundreds of feet in the air. Perhaps he should have been worried about entrusting his safety to a gargoyle he just meant, and maybe he should have been worried about offering his help to someone he didn’t know.

But Keith just held on and enjoyed the ride.

When Shiro touched down at the castle, three gargoyles – a green one with glasses, a pudgy yellow one, and a lithe blue one – rushed to his side, while Zarkon came up to Keith. He stopped just before touching Keith and opened his mouth, but Keith launched himself at Zarkon, gripping his father like he hadn’t done in seven years.

Zarkon jerked and then wrapped his arms about Keith, cradling him against his chest. When lips brushed the top of his head, Keith buried his face in Zarkon’s shoulder.

“Ah, there you are, Mister Zarkon, Mister Kogane.” Honerva. “I have fresh cookies.”

“Miss Honerva, did you say cookies!” a rambunctious voice yelled, and the blue gargoyle scuttled toward Honerva and her platter, the yellow one on his heels.

Loud flapping sounded behind Keith, and he turned in his father’s hold to see another purple gargoyle, this one with an artificial eye and arm, drop near Shiro and place a hand upon Shiro’s shoulder.

Right. Well, Keith brushed off his momentary disappointment and focused on Zarkon’s affectionate smile. Perhaps he couldn’t make Zarkon what he wanted, but he would always be grateful for those eleven years when this building was his home.

“Do you still have dinner at seven-thirty on Thursdays?”

“Yes, but I think for today, we could make an exception. Miss Honerva, would you warm a late dinner?”

“Of course, Mister Zarkon.”

“Before that.” Zarkon steered Keith toward the gargoyles. “Allow me to introduce you to the gargoyles.”