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unsaid "So you've done it again," Hunk said. He sat down on the bar stool by Keith's and looked at his drunken captain with a critical eye. Two days of hard drinking had done nothing to ease the haunted look in Keith's eyes, or dull the pain of whatever it was that had set of this most recent binge. All the alcohol had done was turn Keith into a pitiful mess, clothes wrinkled and face dark with stubble and cheeks streaked with quiet tears. He sat slumped forward, head resting on his right arm, his left hand seeking blindly for the glass of scotch the bartender had taken away an hour ago. "Who's that? Lance?" Keith lifted his head, then dropped it, turning away when he saw it was just Hunk. "Go 'way. 'M not drunk 'nough yet." "Oh no. We need to get you back to the Castle. You've been gone long enough." Hunk pulled out a small bag of good Arusian gold and dropped it on the counter. He nodded at the bartender with passing familiarity. "Sorry about this," he mumbled, and he reached down to grab Keith's limp hand. A quick tug and Keith was more or less upright. Hunk slid an arm under Keith's armpits and manhandled him out the door. Once outside, Hunk abandoned all pretense that Keith could walk on his own and bodily picked him up. Cradling him like a sleepy child, Hunk felt once more the bitter resentment that he was the one stuck with this unenviable job. He understood, in theory, that he was the only one who was strong enough to take Keith back to the Castle when he was like this, and that Allura and Pidge must never see the gaping flaws of their hero; but in his heart, he felt only anger at Keith, anger at the selfishness of his selfless captain. This dirty little secret of their little family was a cankerous sore in his heart, and Hunk didn't even try to keep his disgust from showing. Keith used to be his hero too. "You're sort of an asshole, you know?" Hunk said. "If you're going to get drunk, at least pick a bar closer to the Castle." "S'ry." Keith's head lolled against Hunk's chest. "I needed..." He trailed off, but Hunk didn't care. He knew the gist of what Keith was going to say. He, too, searched for ways to forget. Lance was waiting in front of Keith's room and though his face was calm, his eyes were full of pain. He keyed open Keith's room and entered. "Put him on the bed," he said. "He's pretty pickled," Hunk said. He put Keith down on the bed, gently, gently, and stood back. Lance sat down beside Keith, and Keith turned toward him, clutched him tightly. There were new tears on his cheeks and his body trembled with silent sobs. He was mumbling something over and over and Hunk thought it was "I love you". "Shh, shh." Lance held Keith, stroked his back, his hair; he let Keith kiss him and cry on him; let him mumble his confession over and over again. Hunk stared at them, wanting so desperately to leave, drowning in the sea of pain that emanated from the two boys on the bed and yet trapped, too, by that pain. Because he could see Lance's face so clearly, see the sadness and the hurt, the pity and the pain, and the way he looked at Keith with love--but not the love that Keith hoped for, cried for, drank to forget. Lance looked at Keith with the love of a brother, a friend, and nothing would change that, and they both knew it. So Keith would drink just to feel Lance's touch, and Lance would let Keith cry and then tomorrow they would go on as if tonight had never happened. Layer upon layer of words unsaid, of unspoken oaths and forgotten actions. Lance looked up, once, and nodded at Hunk, who took one step back and then another, and then he was outside in the corridor. He leaned against the wall, let his head rest against the cool metal. And he wished that he never had to learn things that had to be left unsaid. |