Chapter Text
The waters of Loch Broom are like glass when they pull up to the Ferry Terminal in Ullapool. Lance appreciates Keith providing direction into the town as he is still nervous to be driving on the opposite side of the road. The white buildings with gray roofs against green foothills and mountains are breathtaking. It doesn’t take long to sort out their tickets. The overcast sky feels close and the fluffy clouds reflect on the water. The smell of the ocean fills Lance with comfort.
At this point there isn’t much to do but wait. Lance is nervous. Other than the one song, he and Keith haven’t really written together since they finished the last album. Lance told Keith that they didn’t have to work while they stay at the studio, but much of this plan is built around his hope that he and Keith will compose together. He is definitely hoping that Keith will share some of the music he has been writing in the past few months. He realizes now that he may have set himself up for a lot of disappointment, and wanders to a rack of tourist brochures, hoping to find some other fun things to do while on the islands, in case they don’t end up writing together. Lance tries to send a quick text to Hunk while looking over the pamphlets, but it doesn’t go through. Cell service is spotty, his phone showing two bars at best.
Soon they are driving onto the lower deck of the Ferry, and once the boat’s doors lock behind them they are free to wander up to the observation deck. Lance pulls on a windbreaker, and Keith grabs his leather jacket as the wind is picking up and the evening air is cool, especially out on the water.
There are beautiful green hills with houses and barns on the shores all around them, but Lance finds his eyes drawn to the way the wind catches Keith’s hair, blowing it around his face, Laughing when the other man gets annoyed and pulls it back into a ponytail with a band on his wrist. Even still, small wisps escape, and Lance is hard pressed not to toy with them, or the pony tail, or kiss the now exposed and defined jawline. Usually Lance would be talking up a storm but, in this moment, the combination of the breathtaking landscape, the calming influence of water and being with Keith, allows space for peace. As the boat traverses the summer isles, the wind gets stronger and a fine rain begins to fall. Lance presses into Keith’s shoulder, his thin jacket not quite keeping him warm enough. Without hesitation Keith pulls him in, trying to share warmth. His mind goes blank for a minute when Keith murmurs into his ear, “If you are cold, we can head to the lounge and grab a coffee.”
They decide to eat a cafeteria dinner on the boat, to save themselves figuring out a meal when they arrive at their destination. As they get closer to the other harbour, Lance’s peaceful mood dissipates. He has little appetite, and chatters about everything he sees. Nerves and excitement are warring with each other. The boat trip is more than three hours long and after eating, they move to the indoor observation lounge. It isn’t long before Keith is dozing on his shoulder. As they approach the Isle of Lewis, a flock of sea birds are visible on the surface of the water, somehow staying upright, afloat, on the choppy waves. Lance envies them.
He can see the docks from the observation window and travelers around him begin to gather their items as the boat approaches Stornoway. Lance hesitates to wake Keith. He feels they are on a precipice and wants to prolong the peacefulness of this moment as long as possible. All too soon, there is an announcement telling them to return to their vehicle. He looks down to Keith blinking himself awake and feels his face pull into a smile.
“Hi.” Lance whispers.
“Hey.” Keith replies softly, with sleepy eyes.
Keith leans up for a kiss and Lance meets him halfway. It is short, but deep. Lance tries to imbue it with his feelings. Instead it seems to draw his own fears to the surface. They pull away and gather their items and head down to the rental car.
Lance drives again, because Keith seems a bit foggy and tired. It isn’t a fun drive with rain pelting down, Lance’s hands tight on the steering wheel as Keith acts as a guide using an old school map along the twisting roads.
They are greeted by a bright eyed and ruddy cheeked young woman at the studio who gets them settled in fairly quickly. There is coffee, tea, and some basic groceries that Lance had requested when booking, so no need for them to head out again that night, which is a relief. The weather certainly isn’t inviting. While Lance would love to recreate the tea time snugglefest they had yesterday, he can see Keith is waning and he is feeling strained and off-center himself. In the end they both climb into bed early after making an attempt at watching one of the DVD 007 movies in the cabinet beside the large flat screen TV.
…
Lance isn’t sure what wakes him, but he is drawn out of bed, his bare feet padding out to the kitchen in search of something to drink. He sees the lights on in the control room and, still half asleep. He grabs an extra glass of water and heads toward its glow.
Keith isn't in the control room, he is in the dead room playing the piano. He must have considered recording, because the equipment is on, and Lance can hear his music through the speakers. Keith seems to be feeling out a piece on the piano. He plays it through again and again, and Lance can hear the minor changes he is making from where he lounges on the couch.
He’s not sure how long he lies there, lulled by the melancholy story the composition is telling. He hears Keith miss a note and then another, and then stop. It isn’t a graceful end, more of a keyboard smash than punctuation, probably a less than satisfying one, given the sound proofed space.
Lance feels a moment of panic, only now fearing that he has invaded a private moment. He sits up grabbing the extra glass of water and heads to the door, switching off lighting and equipment on the way, so both men enter the hall from different doors at the same time. Keith startles slightly, his eyes are red rimmed, but it could be from exhaustion. Lance holds out the water as a peace offering. Keith accepts it, but doesn’t speak.
“That was beautiful. Something new you’ve been working on?” Lance asks. It is the best way to confess he has been listening, maybe opening the door to more.
Keith nods slightly, notebook in one hand, water in the other.
Lance turns to walk toward the living area, not wanting to return to bed, leaving the door open for Keith to talk about whatever he is processing right now.
Keith follows, draining the water as he walks. He gently places the glass and his dog eared writing journal on the kitchen counter as he passes it. The sounds echoing in the quiet of the space. Lance settles down on one of the living room couches and is relieved when Keith joins him, lying down with his head on Lance’s lap. Keith must sense Lance’s surprise on that because he looks up and asks, “This okay?”
“UmmHmm.” Lance hums and nods. Keith turns on his side, his head facing away. Lance begins running his fingers through the other man’s hair.
“Sounded sad.” Lance tries, testing the waters.
“Heavy.” Is all he gets from Keith who is tilting his head back with his eyes closed.
“Are there lyrics?”
“Not yet.” Keith murmurs. “S’hard to write ‘em. S’bout lots of things.” he continues, leaning into Lance’s hand in his hair. “Complex.” Keith huffs the word with a humourless laugh.
Lance doesn’t push, just gently runs his fingers through Keith’s dark locks, massages his scalp. He feels the tension slowly drain from the other man. He wonders if he has fallen asleep until Keith turns onto his back and meets Lance’s eyes.
“When we get to Austria, and… when it's time to see my … um… mother. Can… would you just… like… hang out with us for a bit?”
“Of course.” Lance says. “Are you sure?”
“We’ve never actually been alone with each other before.” He winces a little when he says this. “Besides… Neither one of us are good at … conversation.” He says, with a wry pull of the lips. There is a self deprecating smile in Keith’s eyes.
“No problem.” Lance smiles down at him. “I can talk for all three of us.” He says, being self deprecating right back.
Keith sighs and closes his eyes, looking like he might fall asleep. As much as Lance would love a sleeping Keith on his lap, he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the night on the couch. He gently jostles him. “C'mon. We should go to bed.” Keith blinks back at him and gets up slowly, to walk together toward their rooms, but Keith stops. Lance turns, waiting.
Keith looks at his own door with something akin to panic, and looks back to Lance, “Can I… uh… sleep in your room?”
“Sure.” Lance says, keeping his voice as even as possible. It is clear Keith is vulnerable right now, and Lance treads carefully. Something has the other man off kilter and Lance definitely wants to support him in the best way he can. He opens the door and steps back for Keith to enter the space first.
“Which side?” Lance asks.
“Doesn’t matter.” Keith responds, but he quickly crawls under the blankets on the side furthest from the door, almost as though he is afraid Lance will change his mind.
Lance climbs in beside him. He slowly wraps himself around the other man, the big spoon to Keith’s tightly wound ball. “This okay?” He asks softly. Keith nods ascent and presses back into Lance for comfort. It seems to be mere moments before the dark haired man drifts to sleep. Lance muses that he must be exhausted. Lance’s tired brain can’t really process the events of the past hour, but his heart is brimming with protectiveness from the vulnerability Keith has shown him tonight. He lets himself match Keith’s breaths and drifts into a dreamless sleep.
…
It is late in the morning and they probably should head out grocery shopping at some point. There are sandwich fixings for lunch, but they may want something other than eggs, toast and beans for dinner tonight. The wind and rain are a disincentive to leaving the space. Keith has been sprawled on the couch reading something on his tablet as Lance sits on the floor fiddling with the embroidery floss and beads he had purchased in Loch Ness. He is making bracelets for his niece and nephews. There is comfort and comradery in the quiet moments after breakfast.
Lance had awoken alone, a rumpled pillow beside him. Keith was in the kitchen fiddling with the stovetop percolator and gas burners, his hair wet from a shower. Lance discovered the other man had gone for a run in the misty dawn, and tried to calculate the few hours of sleep Keith is operating on. The math was made easier by a cup of rich, surprisingly good, coffee with extra sugar. Keith described the rocky shoreline and local area as the two put a breakfast together and Lance asked light questions and teased until the other man’s tense face pulled into a small smile and light came into his tired eyes. After breakfast Lance got showered and dressed and they settled here, in a bubble of warmth highlighted by rain pelting against the windows outside.
Keith plunks his tablet on the coffee table and slouches further onto the couch, one of his feet on the floor pressing against Lance’s leg.
“Do you ever think about doing covers of other people’s music?” Keith asks with a yawn, watching until Lance looks back at him, then, after a beat, turns his gaze upward.
“Keith,” Lance responds with mock disappointment. “Haven’t you read the popstar handbook?” He makes a teasing tsk sound while shaking his head. “We cannot do a cover album until after we record our sixth or seventh LP. It’s like, to do covers, you have to be considered easy listening but it should be before your earliest music is oldies.”
Keith squints at Lance for a moment and then readjusts. Snorting and closing his eyes. Supposedly he had expected to be taken seriously. Too bad. Lance is gaining momentum and continues with.
“Then you follow it up with a Best Of album, and a Christmas or Holiday one.” He says, turning his attention back to the bracelet. “But those can be released in the same year.” He adds, with authority.
“I meant live.” Keith says in a dry voice, glancing over momentarily, with a scowl that is rendered ineffective by the crinkles around his eyes and the sparkle within them.
“No Keith,” Lance sighs loudly and focuses on picking another bead for his creation. “The Live Album comes after the Christmas one.” He then meets Keith's eyes with mock seriousness. “There are rules.”
Keith ignores his teasing and pull his arm over his eyes, still trying to have a serious conversation. “I read somewhere that George Micheal performed covers at benefits because he didn’t want people to believe he was only performing to promote his music.”
“Hmmm.” Lance ponders this. “I get that, but, if people are buying tickets to see us play, they are likely our fans who want to hear our music. It’s kinda ripping them off to play something else.”
Keith glances from beneath his arm at Lance but once their eyes meet, he shifts his gaze, yet again, addressing the ceiling. “I learned guitar beside a campfire, with my Dad.” He says flatly. “We played different songs, from different artists.” Keith takes a big breath. “I miss it.” He says simply, eyes closing and head tilting back.
Lance stops fiddling with the bracelet in his hands and just stares back at Keith. Keith must expect a response, because when he doesn’t get one he opens his eyes to glance back at Lance who is watching him with a half smile. After a beat, Keith looks upward again.
Lance feels a full smile stretch across his face, “Why d’you keep doing that?”
Keith actually scowls now, but he blushes at the same time, which is delightful.
“Doing what?” Keith directs to the ceiling.
“Look.At.Me.” Lance says, bemused.
Keith glances at him, holds his gaze for three full seconds and then becomes engrossed in removing invisible lint from his tee shirt. Shrugging with forced nonchalance. “What?”
“Why do you keep looking away?” Lance is now trying not to laugh. Keith is pink and his nose is wrinkled with frustration.
To his credit, Keith doesn’t continue to pretend to not know what Lance is talking about. He sighs deeply and says, in the general direction of the back of the couch, “You’re just really, really cute right now.”
Lance glances down at his well worn baseball tee shirt, faded jeans with frayed seams and bare feet. His tattoo is partially covered by his sleeve. He didn’t do a full skin care regime last night and definitely didn’t shave or spend much time fixing his hair this morning. He feels rumpled and comfortable, but not cute. Definitely not cute.
“Pardon?” Lance grins, bemused. “I didn’t hear that.”
Keith meets his eyes fully now, as though he has been issued a challenge, one he has accepted. While he hasn’t moved from his position, his posture is suddenly more alive, hands flat against the leather of the sofa, but strung like a bow, like a predator waiting to strike.
“You heard me Lance.”
Lance loses all capacity for speech at the gravelly sound of his name in Keith’s voice.
Keith continues, “Right now you look absolutely beautiful,” Lance feels his face burn at the words. “But you are doing something that needs patience and could be easily mussed up. I don’t want to interrupt it.”
Lance considers the situation, looking down at the bracelet he is working on and admittedly, he is at a delicate point in this process. He has been weaving a grouping of beads into the pattern and they will be loose and could all fall out, the threads will unravel at this point if he doesn’t add a few more rows to stabilize it. His fingers shake as he tries to temporarily tie it off, giving up after the third try and deciding he can start over as he drops it into the box of supplies and climbs onto Keith on the couch.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Keith says, looking up at him, hands landing softly around his waist, affectionate eyes.
“Yeah, I did.” Lance responds before dropping his lips down into a kiss.
…
The grey weather finally lets up and an unbelievably clear blue sky appears. The air smells clean imbued with fresh rain and ocean air. They pack a picnic of sandwiches and fruit and hop in the car to go to the Callanish Stone Circle. Keith drives, and Lance supports by joking about the livestock as they pass stone fences lining fields of sheep, furry cattle, and even a pony or two.
“Look, a bunch of cows.” Lance grins gesturing to the fields.
“Not a bunch, two cows, just two.” Keith tries to sound stern.
“A herd of cows.” Lance corrects himself.
“Oh my god, Lance, two cows.” Keith huffs.
“Of course I’ve heard of cows.” Lance continues to himself, because Keith won’t play along.
“I will boot you out of this car.”
“No silly, a cow herd.” Lance is undeterred.
Keith is shaking his head.
“So? I didn’t say anything confidential.” Lance finishes the skit and gives Keith a brilliant smile.
They arrive at the stones. Huge rocks standing upright, jagged, yet smoothed by weather and time. They are surrounded by rich green grass with sparkling water reflecting the deep blue sky. A sea breeze blows through the stones, gentle, yet enough to raise hairs on Lance's arms and the back of his neck. This place is beautiful and timeless and he has to pause to catch his breath as a the stories heard at his Abuela's knee reverberate through him. Those who live on small islands in deep oceans learn respect for things larger and older than themselves.
“These are literally the oldest rocks in the world.” He warns Keith, reading the sign.
“Hmm.” Keith responds walking through the centre stones in a spiral. He raises his hand up at the largest one, in the middle, and Lance grabs his wrist, stopping him.
“Dude, didn't you hear me? You could possibly, maybe, actually fall through time if you touch that.” He says, alarmed.
“Which would be awesome.” Keith responds, humour making his eyes sparkle.
Lance waggles a finger in front of the other man’s face. “No.Touching.The.Stones.” He says through gritted teeth.
Lance is pretty sure Keith sneaks a touch when he is not looking, but he doesn’t disappear into another century, so Lance lets it be.
Their next stop is Uig Beach, where they spread out a blanket on the white sands and Lance rolls up his pant legs to wade in the cool water. Keith does not join him, promising to swim when they get to Spain. They eat their sandwiches and watch the sun move across the sky. Lance tries to not think about the fact they are not writing together, he tries to enjoy the chill afternoon they are having, especially when Keith distracts him with kisses.
“Stores won’t be open tomorrow.” Keith reminds Lance, “We should head back and pick up what we need before it gets too late.” Keith is pink from wind and sun, and Lance sighs, starting to pack up the remnants from their picnic. He feels like time is getting away from them. Everything seems to be too short. He pauses and does some deep breathing, and counts to ten forwards and backwards with the breaths. Keith gently touches his back, an indication that he knows Lance is spiraling and then steps away, taking the bags back to the car, giving him space. Lance doesn’t want space and has to fight a feeling of panic when he leaves. Lance manages to stop himself. He has to close his eyes. He sits and takes practiced breaths until he calms down. Once centered, he picks up the blanket, shakes as much sand as he can off of it, and folds it sloppily.
…
They stop for supplies and, now, back at the studio, Lance begins a simple dinner of burgers and oven baked fries while Keith takes the wood and kindling left for them by their hosts out back to a firepit. By the time Lance comes out with a tray of plates and drinks, there is a roaring fire. They pull up patio chairs and watch the blaze, eating as the sun finds its way to the horizon. The fire makes Keith’s eyes sparkle and puts his high cheekbones in stark relief. Keith grabs the plates to take in, while Lance lounges under a blanket. Keith comes out with two acoustic guitars, his own and one from the studio.
Lance intuits that as much as he wants this to be the moment he has been waiting for, he knows it is not.
“What do you want to play?” He asks Keith.
“Dunno.” The other man says shortly, shyly.
They fumble through some songs they used to play. Lance is shocked at how little he remembers. Keith is right, that is something he wants to change, he shouldn’t only know his own music. They figure out chords for some current favourite tunes, and play around with harmonies. As darkness overtakes the campfire, they set the guitars aside.
There are so many things Lance wants to say, to ask, but instead he fills the silence with chatter. He talks about Pidge and Matt's new robot, about Coran’s stories of Alfor, about Veronica’s job and what his niece said the last time they skyped. Keith listens with interest and makes a few soft responses. He laughs at the right times and on the surface, it is a perfect night. But underneath Lance’s thoughts dance and spin like leaves on the wind. Questions play, and tender words push against his lips. He doesn’t utter them.
When they head to bed, each in their own room tonight. The coals banked and guitars put away. Lance lies there, his hair smelling of campfire. He reminds himself that Keith doesn’t have to write with him, that he is hyper fixated on something he cannot have, and discounting all the other beautiful things that are happening. He reminds himself that it is Keith's choice. Not writing together doesn’t mean he is being left out, or left behind. He feels tears roll down his cheeks and tries to understand why he is so afraid. Keith has shown he cares in so many different ways. Finally, Lance drifts into an uneasy slumber.
Lance wakes late to find the studio empty. Keith left a note on the fridge saying he had gone for a walk. Lance makes a cup of substandard coffee, not having Keith’s finesse with the percolator. Everything is too quiet. He shaves, showers and dresses. He makes a simple meal of eggs and salsa on toast. He frets about Keith walking along the rocky shoreline and imagines him falling and knocking himself unconscious, being pulled into the ocean. He loses himself in the horrific day dream. He is imagining having to explain everything to Shiro when he hears the door open below and Keith’s cat-like steps come up the stairs.
Keith smells like the ocean and fresh air. His eyes are bright and there is a lightness to him that Lance immediately resents. He greets Lance with a smile, which Lance does not return. Keith notices immediately.
“You okay?”
“M’ fine.” Lance says coldly. He watches Keith’s eyes narrow in confusion and feels a wave of shame, which immediately makes him angry. Why does he feel bad? Keith is the one who took off and scared the crap out of him. Which his rational mind pushes back on. Keith had left a note, he wasn’t even gone that long after Lance woke up.
“Good walk?” Lance asks, trying to return to neutral ground.
“Yeah.” The word comes like a sigh. “It’s beautiful here. Thanks for suggesting it.”
Lance’s mood sours further. He didn’t choose this place because it was beautiful. He chose it because it was a private studio, where people make music. Lance knows he is being irrational, but he is having a lot of trouble figuring out how to pull up out of this nose dive.
“I’m going to go play some music.” Lance says, before he even realized he decided to do that. But it seems like a good option. He can tell he is looking to pick a fight, and that is not what he wants right now. He hasn’t figured out how to get what he wants, and he knows past Lance would go on the offensive, so running away seems the safest option.
“Okay.” Keith says slowly.
No, that’s not what he wants. He wants Keith to ask to come, or to get mad or to do something other than acquiesce. He picks up Red and heads to the Live Room, firmly closing the door behind him. He plugs in and sets up and then sits, and sits, and sits. Now he is lonely and embarrassed. He strums a chord and it seems too loud in the empty space. He feels his face pull into a pout.
Now what?
“Did you want to record something?” Lance jumps as Keith’s voice comes over the speaker from the control room.
“Sorry.” Keith says over the speaker, but Lance can tell the fucker is laughing by his voice.
“I dunno.” Lance admits, defeated by his roller coaster emotions.
“We could lay down tracks for that Willow Smith song we sang last night.” Keith suggests.
Lance shrugs, “Sure.” He says, looking up to the window where he can see Keith turning on equipment and adjusting settings on the sound board.
And they take turns recording and playing, laying down tracks for three different songs. Not their own music, but covers. It is a delicate dance and it is fun and… for now… it is enough.
After a few hours they have to wrap it up and pack. They organized dropping the rental car at the airport in Stornoway to fly out from there to Edinburgh where they will meet an evening flight to Vienna. Lance has the audio files sent to Altea and the team back home, as they won’t have extra time on the road to play with them. Keith heads out to the car with the last of their luggage and Lance pauses to look back at the studio. His dreams of writing and recording with Keith here still taste bittersweet on his tongue. He makes a wish that they will one day return.
Keith is waiting for him, leaning against the car, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans. Almost as though he’s read Lance’s mind, he meets his eyes with his own fiery and determined ones, “It’s a great spot.” Keith says. “I hope we come back sometime.” This small thing is enough to set fire of hope in Lance’s chest. Lance finds himself unable to respond, rubbing the back of his neck, looking for words. But Keith just leans forward and plants a kiss on Lance’s lips, before turning to open the driver’s side door and sliding into the car.
…
Monday morning in Vienna is warm compared to Scotland. Lance wears his jean shorts and a NASA shirt and generally celebrates sunshine. He spends an extra ten minutes deciding which sunglasses he is going to wear. Keith is pacing in Lance’s hotel room and checking his watch and chewing on his cuticles, which he hasn’t done since the second last year of highschool and Lance lectures him about it while pulling his hand away from his mouth.
“Keith, my dude. We are fine, we have forty-five minutes to get to the café.”
Keith is dressed in black jeans and the shirt Lance got for him in loch ness. A black tee with a silk screened Nessie in the water, with bigfoot walking foreground to the right, a full moon behind them with a UFO to the left background. While he looks adorable, Lance asks,
“There is supposed to be a high of 80 degrees today, are you set on that heat sink of an outfit? Because you still have time to change.”
Keith stops pacing to look in the mirror. “I look okay, right?”
Lance smiles, “You look great, but you might melt. Do you want to change?”
“No.” Keith says. “ We’re good, this is good.”
The concierge at their hotel orders them a cab to a fancy café in the Gloriette of Schönbrunn Palace, and holy crap is that place fancy and huge. They are seated by an extremely curt waiter beside a window with a glorious view. Lance is enthralled by the endless length of the Palace below them. He is so distracted that he misses Krolia, er Kara’s arriving at their table.
‘Hello.” Kara says politely sitting down. “How was Scotland?” She gives a practiced, professional smile.
“It was great.” Keith nods.
Lance waits a beat, and it is apparent that Keith has finished talking. He looks to Kara, who nods back at Keith and silence descends.
“Uh… we went to Loch Ness…” Lance prompts Keith, trying to kick start conversation.
‘How was that?” Kara asks.
“Good. Yeah, great.” Keith responds.
“That’s where Keith got that shirt.” Lance prompts again. Only to have Keith nod again, saying nothing. “We got it at this café, which had a great brunch.” Lance continues, leaving openings for Keith to jump in, but to no avail.
“Um Right after we went canoeing, which was cool, cause I’ve never really done that… but apparently Keith has done it a lot. Right?” Lance said, giving Keith a meaningful glance.
Finally the darker haired man seems to catch on. “Yeah, you know, uh, portage trips and stuff, with, with, um. Dad.” Keith manages awkwardly.
“Yes. He was very into that outdoorsy stuff.” Kara smiles kindly.
Again, silence descends.
“It’s a good thing to have, you know, survival skills.” Lance sputters, “Like Keith had no problem starting a fire the other night after a biblical amount of rain."
"-It was a bonfire.... In, like, a fire pit, ya-know. I mean, we weren’t out committing arson or anything.” Lance assures her.
“I mean, it is really handy for Keith to be good at that kind of stuff.” Lance manages, almost rolling his eyes at how dodgy that all sounded.
Lance is relieved when Kara chuckles and gives Lance a kind smile. “Yes, it is very helpful." And to Keith, "I am glad you father was able to share those skills with you, it sounds like you had some really special times together.” Her smile is wistful and there is another moment of silence, less awkward, more weighted.
"Yeah, we did." Keith says, softly, warmly. "We really did."
Something shifts, and conversation goes a little more smoothly after that, but it is hard won and awkward as heck. The experience is prolonged by the slow service in the café. Finally, they manage to finish eating and pay their bill. Lance is hoping that the sightseeing at the palace will help smooth over any stagnant conversation.
“There are three Labyrinths and a Hedge Maze on the palace grounds.” Kara shares as they walk down the hill.
“What’s the difference between a labyrinth and a maze?” Lance asks, his long strides heavy as he navigates the steep decline.
“A Labyrinth has only one entrance and one path. You walk in and follow the path to the centre and then follow it back out again. It is often used as a tool for prayer or meditation.” She says, her words always clear and precise. “A maze has many paths and both an entrance and exit. It is a game or a test.” She gets a glint in her eyes as she says this, which instantly reminds him of Keith.
“How shall we play this Keith?” Lance asks, “Should we try to see who can do the maze faster? or …”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t finish.” Lance complains.
Keith shrugs.
If Kara were not with them, and hill were a little less steep, this would be the moment where Lance would challenge Keith to a race to the maze. Instead he shrugs back with a grin.
Of course Keith beats Lance through the maze, but it is close. The surprise is that Kara kicks both of their asses. Completing the maze in half the time it takes either of them.
They walk one of the remaining labyrinths before heading across the grounds to see the Roman Ruins. The grounds are a bit overwhelming. They come up over a hill and Lance blinks. That can’t be right.
“Am I seeing a white grand piano in the middle of a park right now?” Lance asks, blinking a few times.
“There are more than 140 public pianos in Austria.” Kara smiles.
“Oh, I’ve got to see this.” Lance grins down the hill.
Keith points over to a restroom. “Can I meet you down there?”
Lance and Kara walk down together. Lance feels a growing comfort with her quiet nature, realizing that he has practice with Keith.
Kara sits and runs her hands over the keys. Lance slides in a seat beside her. He is struck at how her long fingers and delicate hands look like Keith’s against the ivories.
“Do you play?” She asks.
“A little bit.” Lance smiles, “Not as well as Keith. But I know you do.” He says, a hint of challenge in his tone.
“Yes.” Kara murmurs. “I do.” She seems to be speaking more to herself than Lance.
He listens as she plays the first few bars of a song he recognizes. He feels himself humming the melody as he tries to figure out where he knows it from.
The words surface in his brain as she hits the chorus. 'Easy On Me'.
“Hmm, Adele.” Lance hums.
“It has been playing in my head on repeat today.” Kara gives a small, Keith-like smile, continuing to play softly as she speaks.
Lance absorbs the music and her words thoughtfully.
“He doesn’t have to, you know?” He feels compelled to say after a moment. “You know, go easy on you?”
Kara nods, “I know. And thank you! You’re a good friend to him.” She continues playing. “Don’t worry. Shiro has also said as much.” Lance notes the tight lines around her mouth. “The song is more for me, the self talk can be…” She tapers off as she begins playing the second verse..
“Humph.” Lance tilts his head ruefully, remembering his own run in with Shiro.
Kara shoots him a questioning glance. “Shiro can be… protective.” He explains.
“It’s good,” Kara says ruefully, “That he has that. Like me… he can be…” She searches for the right word, “Reckless.”
Yes, that is a pretty good word, Lance thinks. He brings his hands up and plays the melody for the next chorus and bridge.
He softly sings. “I had good intentions and the highest hopes, but I know right now that probably doesn’t even show.”
He pulls his hands away as she finishes the last few bars and they sit together as the echo of sound dissipates.
Keith wanders down the hill, oblivious to the reason for their sudden thoughtfulness.
Soon after, Keith feels comfortable enough to head to lunch at the stadium with his mother, where she has work to complete and Norlox’s band is doing their sound check. Lance bows out, wanting them to have some time without him as a third wheel.
Lance considers calling Hunk, or Veronica. But ends up wandering back to the hotel on foot. His thoughts run in all directions.
Mostly he plays over the words, “I had good intentions and the highest hopes, but I know right now that probably doesn’t even show.”