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Year 3238

Friend or Foe

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Two figures, wrapped in dark cloaks, hooded and veiled, leisurely join the chatting crowd moving slowly into the arena for today’s battles. Though no words are spoken between them, an air of togetherness surrounds them.

A Lady watching them lifts a brow in surprise, and then murmurs to her young escort. //There. Do you see? Those two are a prime example. They’re clearly warriors -- it’s obvious in their awareness of everything around them and the air about them. They’re bonded -- that is clear in how they move together. Now do you understand?//

//Yes, Lady Mother..// Her escort nods his head thoughtfully. //But, what are warriors doing heading toward the Arena? Just by the quality of their movements, they don’t seem to be the sort that would need to enter into arena fighting...//

The Lady shrugs, inwardly pleased at her son’s observation. //It isn’t as if anyone would dare ask them anything. Perhaps they’re here to see Lotor. Maybe they need a third. Or perhaps they’re doing their own type of research -- quite a few of those Alliance fighters are good. Seeing them in hand-to-hand combat might give them better insight into their fighting style in space as well.//

//Ah.// *They move so well together, I can’t imagine what they would do with a third...* //So, they’re probably gaining insight into their enemy. But, warriors aren’t to be approached?//

//Not when they’re not feeling sociable. And if they cover themselves up like that, they are not feeling sociable.// Taking in her son’s surprise, seeing the fascinated thoughts of unwitting death roll through his eyes, she laughs softly. //Oh, they wouldn’t hurt anyone, should one of us be so crass as to approach them. That’s the whole reason why one _doesn’t_ speak to a warrior who isn’t feeling sociable. They can’t challenge someone who is not a warrior. So, it’s very unfair of non-warriors to inflict their presence on them when they don’t want it. Someone who isn’t a warrior can’t provide them the relief that another warrior can if the conversation annoys them too much.// Pausing thoughtfully, a wicked smile ghosts on her face. //Though, should you go up to them and speak, they might choose to be civil, since they know you don’t know better.//

Startled, he looks up at her. //How would they know that?// Half remembered tales of warrior insight are quite clearly dancing through his head.

//We are not out of hearing range, right now.//

Mortified, he turns a deeper blue in embarrassment. Carefully not looking at the two warriors in front of him, he allows his feet to drag, so to become even further behind them. His Lady Mother’s lips twitch in amusement before she manages to control herself.

Watching them retreat out of the corner of his eye, Lance grins behind the concealing veil. Meeting Keith’s eyes, the two share the grin for a moment, eyes laughing in delight with how well their disguises work. *Not quite what we intended, but this is even better. Though it might have been wiser to try to be less noticiable.* Lance shrugs slightly and fatalistically. *It’s done, and it can’t be undone. We’ll just have to run with it...*

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Lotor narrows his eyes at his opponent. *Avok of Pollux. Again. When is he going to understand that he just isn’t good enough to defeat me? Stupid fool has already earned his planet a place in Drule society. He ought to bow out gracefully, before I lose my patience and cripple him.* Dodging a sharp blow, Lotor’s face flattens out even further. *Or before I choose to emasculate him...* Raising his laser sword, Lotor presses the attack.

A flurry of activity leaves Lotor bleeding sluggishly from a cut in his side, and Avok throwing insults. *Hmmm. He’s gotten better..* Lotor, circling back, rests his hand gently on his side, coaxing it to heal. *Enough of this nonsense.* Focusing in, using his healing sense to look at Avok, he can see the stressed points in Avok’s body that weren’t there the last time they met. *Ah... His new skills have a price...*

Lunging in, a few quick strokes leaves Avok groaning on the floor.

*Idiot.* Lotor turns his back on Avok, and bows to the crowd, ignoring the resentment he can feel behind him.

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Watching the blue-skinned fighter play to the crowd, Lance tenses against the surge of his Gift. *Bloody hells. Why?* In answer to his question, a clear picture of Keith, bloody and all but dead, pulled back to life by the Healing Gift in this stranger pops into his mind. Barely concealing his shock and horror, Lance can feel Keith’s concern through their link. Instinctively shutting him out, not wanting to think about the images his Gift is sending him, Lance breaks one of their agreed upon rules.

He looks Keith straight in the eyes, and speaks. //We have to talk to this person. He belongs with us.//

Keith looks at Lance, blinks once, and nods. *You better explain more later...*

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Stretching, Lotor sighs as he relaxes. Throwing himself on an old, comfortable chair, he sprawls, a glass of wine in hand. *Finally. Don’t have another match until --* Abruptly, he launches himself out of his chair, furious at the intrusion, his wine glass crashing to the floor. Attempting to attack, he growls out, //Show your--//

Hands and feet coming out of the shadows lash at him, taking away his footing and his breath, leaving him in an undignified heap on the floor. *Damnit. I didn’t even notice they were here until I settled in... They must want something from me -- I’m just winded, not hurt...* //Fine. What do you want?// Sitting up, he makes no move to rise to his feet. Now, Lotor can just make out two dark figures against his windows. Absent-mindedly focusing his magic, he takes a second look. *What the?* Stiffening in surprise, he stares at them. *Shit.* Knowing that if they wanted to gut him, they could, he just reaches for his wine bottle, and takes a long gulp, staring at the two of them all the while. *They act like Warrior-caste. High Warrior-caste. But they don’t feel Drule. Maybe the wine will make things clearer...*

A soft, oddly accented voice interrupts him before he can take another gulp. //The wine will not help.//

Lotor snorts, irritated at the humor in the voice. //And what would you have me do?//

//Well. You could set off an alarm.//

Lotor laughs. //And you think I’ll be believed? Not unless the two of you are extremely foolish and stick around.// *That is, of course, assuming you aren’t hallucinations...*

Moving closer, the speaker crouches in front of Lotor. //That would get rid of us.//

Lotor just shakes his head, and puts the wine down. *Clearly, the wine is not helping. It figures that I get hallucinations that chop logic with me..* //And I’d never know what you wanted. And you’d probably come back.// *Besides, for some reason I’m drawn to your partner. Not that I’m going to tell you that, if you haven’t figured it out yet...*

//Ah. Well, then.// Moving gracefully, the figure before him sheds the cloths concealing his face.

Stunned, Lotor just stares. *This is what my magic told me, and I didn’t really believe...* A completely calm face, ghost-like in color. Eyes that are far too small and round, with large round pupils. Ears that are blunt, as if they were trimmed. *Well. He looks more frightening than Avok does...*

A whisper of wind has him jerking his head up, as the second figure settles down, a short distance from the first. Moving quickly, this one, too, sheds his concealment.

Lotor’s normally weak future-sense hits him with all the subtlety of a punch to the gut. He just barely manages to tone his outward reactions down to a widening of his eyes. Images slam into him -- images of a blonde haired, pale faced, blue eyed Warrior who holds his heart in her hand. Images of these two, paler than their norm, drenched in bright red blood, with his hands deep in their bodies in a desperate attempt to heal them. More images press in on him, but those last hang before his mental eye, as the other images subside to haunt his dreams. *Healing others? How? I’m not trained, I’m too old to learn a different way...And desperate to heal _them_?* Shaking his head abruptly, Lotor is indifferent to the tenseness of the two before him. *Never ignore your senses. Especially the ones that not everyone has. That’s the first rule I learned, and it has kept me alive. Very well. It’s clear I’m going to give up Arena fighting for these two...* Lifting an eyebrow in invitation, a resigned, amused look lights his face. //I like to be called Lotor. Would you care for some wine? And do you mind very much if we sit on the furniture, rather than the floor?//

The first warrior snorts, and relaxes, somehow reading something of what Lotor went through. The second merely rises to his feet, conceals himself, and fades back into the shadows.

The first warrior sighs. //I’m Lance. My other is Keith. I have no problem with moving to furniture.// Lips curving up slightly, he looks blandly at Lotor. //Thank you, but we’d rather not have wine.//

Shrugging, Lotor picks up his wine bottle and slumps gracelessly back into his chair.

Face carefully under control, though his brown eyes are laughing, Lance settles in a chair opposite.

Taking another long pull of his wine, Lotor slouches comfortably, ready for a long story. *Life just got interesting.* //Well?//

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Secure in their bolthole, Keith whips around, and glares at Lance. //Explain. We don’t _need_ this Lotor for the prisoner break-out.//

Stiffening, not wanting to think about it, Lance goes on the offensive. //Why don’t you explain?// “My sixth sense urged me to action.” //You should have followed my lead!//

Keith’s eyes narrow and his voice goes even softer as he allows himself to be diverted. For now. //My gut tells me not to trust Lotor.//

Lance slices his arm through the air between them in outrage. “_I_ have the sixth sense that deals with males! And _that_ sense told me to trust Lotor.”

Nostrils flaring, Keith seems to grow even more still. //Really.//

Lance rears back, eyes blazing in outrage. //You think I’m wrong?//

Mouth tight, Keith just looks at Lance coolly. //I think you’re not sensing as clearly as usual.//

Snarling, Lance starts to argue, but finds himself falling infuriatingly silent at an abrupt, sharp motion from Keith.

//You were off balance when we first saw Lotor. I was not. Explain what happened then, and why it _wouldn’t_ affect your reading of Lotor.//

Stiffening in outrage for a moment, Lance almost tries to argue the point. As he starts thinking instead of just reacting, he softens, but he meets Keith’s eyes with a defiant and stubborn look. //Point.// “But we should still trust Lotor.”

Meeting Lance’s now calm eyes, Keith sighs. “You’re still avoiding explaining.”

“So are you.”

For a moment more, the two stare at each other.

Abruptly, Keith gives in, with a short sharp laugh. “All right. But you’re still going to have to talk about what happened.”

“Fine. But you first.” *The longer I can put off thinking about it, the better.*

Shrugging, Keith throws himself into a chair and regards his feet. “Lotor has the Warrior Gift. Your turn.”

Lance shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips, and settles himself down on top of Keith. “Oh no, lover. You’re going to have to explain more than that. I know that having similar Gifts pulls people closer together.”

Feeling Lance’s amusement, Keith relaxes and wraps his arms around Lance. “Well. With the Warrior’s Gift, it’s pulls people together, but to the extreme. When two warrior-gifted meet, the one who is weaker willed almost always ends up obeying the stronger willed one.” Running his hands up Lance’s back, Keith tilts his head back to meet his bondmate’s eyes. Seeing the half puzzled look, he sighs as he realizes he’s going to have to be more specific. *I don’t want to think about this.* “Lotor has to be strong willed to be the best Arena fighter for five years. Besides having the battle skill, he has to be stubborn enough to not accept the upcaste into Warrior. He’s intelligent enough to know that becoming part of the Warrior caste, though it would mean a much greater jump in social status, isn’t worth it -- he’d spend his life scorned and looked down upon because of his non-Drule heritage.” Tightening his arms, Keith tucks head against Lance’s. *I’m not being very coherent.* “Basically, I can tell that I’m more stubborn than he is, but getting him to do what I want feels like flying a fighter at the edge of the tolerances. It doesn’t help that he could take either of us, hand-to-hand, if he caught one of us alone. I feel that if I relax around him, he’ll take us out.”

Lance sighs. *So. I always wondered why Matsuda gave in. I’ve never been eloquent enough to convince a CO to allow out and out insubordination before...* “Keith... It’s very important that you trust him. He’s _not_ going to betray us.” Lance concentrates on sending his surety to Keith.

Keith just shakes his head. “Lance -- it doesn’t matter how much your Gift tells me he can be trusted. It’s going to take time. I didn’t even trust you fully until after I graduated from the Academy.”

Flinching slightly at the confirmation of what he’d always sensed from Keith, Lance curls closer to Keith. *Maybe if I tell him _why_...* “What happened when I first saw Lotor was --” And through their link, Lance projects the scene he saw, of Keith broken and bloody, holding onto life only through Lotor’s healing gift.

Startled, Keith examines the image closely. “You were upset just because you saw that he’s going to save my life someday?”

Pulling back, Lance glares down at Keith. “What do you mean, ‘just’?”

Not looking at Lance, Keith mumbles. “I’m surprised I lived this long.” *He’s not going to like this...*

Lance’s hands tighten painfully on Keith.

Unflinching, he continues, almost too quietly to be heard. “By going to the Academy, I accepted that I was going to die young. I figured, actually, that I’d be dead my first few years out.” *I would have been, because of Shigure, if you hadn’t helped me and if Hammond wasn’t honorable.* “Every bit of time afterward is a joy and a surprise. Especially with you.”

Lance hisses at Keith, too choked to speak any louder. “And just what do you think I would do without you?”

Confused, Keith looks at Lance, seeing the despair that matches the feeling flooding the link between them. “You would be fine --”

“I would _die_. What do you think is between us? A simple pair-bond? We’re _bondmates_. We’ve been bonded since the first time we saw each other, even if we didn’t key the link to the full potential for years.”

At Keith’s uncomprehending look, Lance sighs sharply, and leans his forehead on Keith’s. Eyes closed, he recites the most concise passage he found about bondmates. “Bonded travel life together, neither one in front of the other, side by side -- a greater whole, they move as one through joy and pain, and once met are never more alone. Not even upon the final journey. Where one goes, so goes the other.” Pulling back, Lance sees the horror in Keith’s eyes. “Just so. Maybe now you’ll take better care of yourself.”

Swallowing, Keith meets Lance’s eyes with a promise. “I will. But -- even knowing this, even knowing that your Gift urges trust of Lotor -- it’s still going to take me _time_ to accept him.”

Sighing, Lance agrees. “I understand. Just -- try not to take too long.” Focusing desperately on Keith’s face, he attempts to ignore the flickering images, clamoring for his attention.

Sensing his distress, Keith leans closer and softly kisses Lance. Murmuring against his skin, Keith tries to reassure him. “I’m here, alive and well... Try to think of the now, rather than what could be...”

“Well... If you made ‘now’ interesting enough...”

Any comments or suggestions for JoAnn should be sent through me with either the story title or JoAnn in the subject line. I'll forward them without peeking. Really I will.

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