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Forgotten Promises
By Taryn

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It was still nagging at Keith an hour later, and all through lion practice he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was forgetting something, and that it was important. After getting as far away from Lance and his eggs as possible and taking enough aspirin to prevent a stroke for the next thirty years or so, which did nothing to calm the small brass band that had taken up residence inside his skull, he'd checked his schedule, the castle schedule, and even searched the floor around his desk for spare scraps of paper.

Nothing.

It was horribly frustrating.

What made things even worse was that everyone seemed more or less normal. Sure, Hunk was a bit touchy, but that could be chalked up to the random slams about needles and railroad spikes Lance, Sven, Pidge, and even Allura threw his way at every possible opportunity. Pidge was still surly, but if he felt half as bad as Keith that was explainable. Sven was being... well, Sven, which was as normal as he ever got, and Allura was acting smug about the hangover cure she'd stolen from Dr. Gorma's medicine cabinet when he wasn't looking.

Keith stopped in his assessment of the situation to make a mental note about stealing those keys the first chance he got. If he had to suffer, so did she. Although, he decided as a blast of angry commotion from Hunk and Pidge provoked by Lance singing something at the top of his lungs over the radio made black dots cloud his vision, maybe there was something to be said for robbing said doctor blind. It was only fair. The price for protection. Hey, it worked for the mafia, didn't it?

Cursing to himself, Keith forced his attention back to his rebellious teammates directly before someone decided to silence Lance with live ammo. "Okay guys, I think that's enough for one day."

"Come on, Keith! We haven't even started yet."

Keith glared at his speaker, eyes narrowing at the cheerful tone of Lance's voice. "I think we've done quite enough. Everybody down. Now."

The pronouncement was met with radio silence, though Keith could practically feel the gratitude radiating from the other three lions. Flipping off the sound before the pretty little starbursts could start erupting again, Keith decided that Lance was going to pay.

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Then there was a flash of light as the sun exploded and took everyone with it, thus solving- or at least negating- everyone's problems.

No? Oh, all right. Don't say I didn't at least try to throw the Apocalypse in there.

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Moods began to lighten as the day crawled by and the aspirin finally began to take effect. By dinnertime, most of the members of the mighty Voltron Force were back to normal. Most, but definitely not all, mostly due to the fact that taking revenge on the smugly not hungover member of the team had occurred to four separate people more or less simultaneously. Somehow, against all odds, four separate vials of Annalinda's Arusian Opium-based Brandy (*guaranteed to have no taste or smell, invited to an alcohol-free gathering? No problem with Annalinda's, the undetectable alcohol!! Remember the name: Annalinda's*) somehow made it into his cup during the long drawn-out afternoon.

In other words, Lance was really not doing too well. He couldn't quite manage to stand up by himself.

At first the whole thing was incredibly entertaining. There's nothing quite like watching someone who's made your whole day a living hell dance on the dining room table to music made by a couple of spoons and a dinner plate. It didn't take long before everyone began to feel kind of bad about the whole thing, however. One vial probably would have been a good practical joke, but four was stretching things a bit.

It's not nearly so much fun to watch someone about to pass out in their dinner, particularly when they didn't have any say in the getting drunk part. Kind of takes all the fun out of being self-righteous.

Finally they decided enough was enough. Keith half-carried Lance back to his room to put him to bed while Allura snuck back into theinfirmary to steal more hangover pills. When she returned, Keith- who was starting to feel unbelievably childish about the whole thing- chased everyone away and attempted to apologize.

If you think this was an easy thing to do, you've never tried to effectively apologize to someone who's drunk.

"Lance?"

Lance ignored him in favor of curling up in a ball on top of the covers and examining the quilt with foggy interest.

Keith, always a trooper, tried again. "Lance? Hey, are you listening?"

Lance continued to ignore him.

Keith sighed and gave up. He reached down to pull the covers away and started trying to work off some of Lance's clothes so he could at least pass out a bit more comfortably. To his surprise, Lance shook him off with an attempt at a glare, muttering something indistinguishable.

"Lance, come on. I'm just trying to help."

"Don't."

The whispered word brought the brass band in his skull off their lunch break. Keith and guilt were old friends.

"I'm sorry, Lancer. We shouldn't have done this to you. Come on, just let me help you get comfortable so you can get some sleep, all right? You'll feel better in the morning."

That might sound like a silly thing to say, but that's only because you've never tried Dr. Gorma's hangover pills. The phrase "ambrosia of the gods" comes to mind.

Lance shook him off again and rolled over. "Don't. You're just drunk."

Despite himself, Keith started to laugh. "I'm just drunk? Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah." Lance's voice dropped down into a whisper that was almost indistinguishable.

Almost.

"You only want me when you're drunk."

Keith went cold and the band kicked their way into a swinging Sousa melody, replete with multiple drum riffs and several sets of cymbals. That was it. That was what he'd been trying to remember all day.

"Lance, no..."

It was too late. The sudden sound of soft snoring emanating from the far reaches of the bed indicated that he'd already dropped off to sleep. Feeling even worse than he had that morning, Keith pulled the blankets tighter around Lance's sleeping form and curled up miserably in the chair next to the bed.

"That's not it at all, Lance," he whispered to the sleeping form of his friend, "but how could I ever look you in the face again if I was sober and you said no?"

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