Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron. Song by Brad Paisley.
I Wish You’d Stay
It had only taken three trips for Lance to carry all of his things down to his car.
Keith was surprised. For some reason, he thought he’d brought more stuff when he’d moved in than just those few boxes, thought it would have taken longer. He wished it had, anyway.
Anything to keep Lance with him, if only for a few minutes more. Anything to keep it from ending.
He trailed disconsolately behind Lance on his final trip down. Leaning casually against the railing of the front stoop and trying to pretend it wasn’t killing him, he watched as Lance packed his car.
Lance was uncharacteristically silent, piling boxes and things in the trunk of his car with more haste than care, as if he couldn’t wait to get away. Biting his lip, Keith looked away, to study the cement of the steps.
He knew it wasn’t his fault, wasn’t Lance’s fault. They’d fought a war, and won over Doom, and managed to stay together through it all. But sometimes . . . the happy ending just didn’t happen. That knowledge was cold comfort indeed when faced with the reality of a future without his bright presence, a future with an empty bed, empty arms, empty heart.
And he couldn’t help wondering what he should have done better, and what he might possibly have done to drive Lance seek a life elsewhere.
Everything at last wedged in, Lance slammed the trunk shut, then stood, his back to Keith, hands resting on the metal. “Well,” he said quietly. “That’s that.”
Looking up, Keith nodded, and had trouble finding his voice. “I guess,” he whispered, and crossed his arms over his chest, holding himself tightly. The slowly cooling air of the autumn evening couldn’t account for the chill he felt. I don’t want you to go! he screamed to Lance’s back, hoping that, somehow, he would hear.
If Lance had heard, he gave no sign as he turned around. Keith found his eyes were riveted to Lance’s face, that he couldn’t look away no matter how much he wanted. He had to store up every last bit he could, had to commit to memory every nuance, even down to the way the unruly brown hair glinted red in the rays of the setting sun.
Just so he’d have something to hold on to when no one was there anymore.
Lance could feel the heat of Keith’s eyes on his back as he packed his car. He could feel, too, when Keith looked away, from the sudden absence of warmth. He was certain Keith was waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t think what. So he said something inane, just to hear Keith’s response.
Because what do you say when you know you’re breaking someone’s heart? he wondered.
And what if that heart is your own? He pushed the unbidden thought away.
He turned around, and knew almost instinctively that Keith was just inches away from tears. He took the few necessary strides and stood at the bottom of the stoop, just looking for a moment. Keith was barefoot, dressed in the oldest jeans he owned, and a ratty black tee shirt that had seen better days, and Lance realized he wanted a picture of that instant of time . . . except with Keith smiling.
Then he beckoned, quietly ordering, “Come down here.”
Hesitantly, Keith stepped down, arms still wrapped around his chest as if to hold himself together. For another few seconds, neither moved, unsure of what to do or say. Then Lance reached up to touch Keith’s cheek.
Keith jerked his head back, and Lance stopped in shock.
“Don’t,” Keith said in a low tone, his eyes still locked on Lance’s. He couldn’t say the words, but he knew that if Lance touched him like that, touched him at all, he wouldn’t be able to let him go.
Lance stared at him, his hand still hovering in the air, and suddenly, Keith couldn’t handle the hurt expression in those green eyes anymore. He dropped his gaze to the sidewalk, and muttered, “I’m sorry . . . but I can’t . . .” It was all the explanation he could give.
Lance lowered his hand finally. “I understand . . .” he replied, though his tone said he didn’t. He dug in his pocket for his keys.
The jingle of the car keys brought Keith’s attention back. To him, they were the executioner’s ax. But he schooled his expression to neutrality as best he could and asked, “How long will it take you to get there?”
Lance shrugged. “Four or five hours. It’s kind of a long way.”
He nodded, almost absently. “I know. And . . . you start on Monday?” His voice fell so that the question was almost inaudible.
“Yeah.” Lance shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll need the weekend to get settled in . . .”
Though he couldn’t- wouldn’t- say the words, they both knew he was really asking, “Do you really have to go now?”
And Lance knew he couldn’t answer with “Yes.”
After a short awkward silence, Lance said, “I really ought to get going.”
Keith nodded again. “Call me when you get there.” Then, quietly, he added, “I . . . I just want you know you got there safe.” He blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.
“All right.” He wanted to reach out and hug Keith goodbye, but couldn’t. Instead, he just backed away a step, then turned and walked around the car to the driver’s door.
Keith retreated up to the top of the stoop as Lance got into the car. He knew Keith would watch until he could no longer see him, no matter how much it hurt to do so. It was just something that, being Keith, he had to do.
If it were him in Keith’s place . . .
The guilty thought struck him suddenly. If Keith were leaving me like this, I’d be crying and begging him to stay. And if he left anyway, I certainly wouldn’t be able to watch as he drove away.
He gave his head a little shake to clear it as he turned the ignition. It’s too late for that, he told himself firmly. Everything is all set up, and I need to go . . . He was about to put the car in gear when something on the seat next to him caught his eye.
It was a map, carefully folded so it lay open to the section of state he would be traveling. The easiest, most direct route had been clearly highlighted with small, precise arrows. His hand trembled slightly as he picked it up. Why would Keith . . ?
The note that had been tucked into the fold slipped onto the seat. He recognized Keith’s neat writing immediately, but it took him another moment’s study of the map to realize that the arrows were all pointing in the wrong direction, back to . . . here. He snatched the note off the seat.
‘I know you have to go. However much I want you to stay, I won’t force you to. But if you ever want to come back home, no matter where you are, this will show you the way.
‘And wherever you are, my heart is with you.’
Amazed, his eyes flew to the rear view mirror. In it, he could see Keith, standing on the steps, arms crossed again, watching him. When their gazes met in the mirror, Keith gave him a lopsided little half smile, and a nod.
Letting him go.
Damn. Damn the new job, and damn the new apartment and damn it all, he didn’t want to be let go.
He threw the car door open and flung himself out, the map and note still clutched in his hand. He leapt up the steps to stand in front of Keith, breathing heavily as if he’d run a marathon rather than just a few feet. Keith held himself very still, though his dark eyes glittered suspiciously bright.
“I . . .” Lance choked on words that wanted to come too fast. “I don’t want to go. Please, don’t let me go . . .”
Keith’s arms were around him instantly, and Keith was sobbing into his neck, and he into Keith’s.
“Stay, then, please stay . . .”
And Lance clutched him tighter, that whisper all he needed.
***
December 20, 2002
© randi (K. Shepard) 2002