Author’s note: I’ve stolen the title from a song by Restless Heart, but this is not a songfic. Language and angst. Many, many thanks to Phoenix for patiently beta'ing for me! *hug*

Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron.

Long Lost Friend

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

Somehow, I just can’t stop.

Smoke curls from my mouth, my nose.

Stare blindly at nothing. The room is merely a shadowy blur around me. There’s a chair and a table, my cigarettes in easy reach. The lights could be on or off . . . but I just don’t care.

He’s gone. That is the sum of my universe, right there. He’s gone.

My eyes burn. I take another drag.

I don’t know how, but I’ve managed to become numb. I know the pain is there, just beyond the wall. But now . . . right now, I can’t feel anything.

And I want it to stay that way.

Allura doesn’t. She comes to me every little while and tries to coax me into responding, into talking with her, into doing anything at all. But I won’t. The balance is very fragile. If I do anything other than light the cigarettes and bring them to my mouth . . .

She thinks I’ve lost my mind, that I don’t know what’s going on around me. I know very well that I’m on Arus. I even remember how I got here. I just don’t give a damn.

What I’ve lost is my heart, my very reason for living.

I can’t understand why I can’t stop.

I can hear Allura’s voice again, very soft behind me. Thankfully, she’s not speaking to me, but to someone else. Every time she talks at me, I have to fight to keep the balance, because she reminds me . . .

" . . . anything. Please, you have to help . . ."

She’s tried this before. She dragged Hunk and Pidge up from their machine shop in the village the day I arrived. They tried to talk to me, to tell me how sorry they were . . .

Another drag. I’ve smoked this one almost down to the filter. She’s taken my lighter, but it’s easy enough to light the next from this one.

In a small corner of my mind, I know that eventually, I’ll have to do something other than this. If I don’t eat, she’ll have the doctor hook me up to an IV to nourish me. If I don’t say anything, she’ll have a therapist try to draw me out.

If I do nothing else, she’ll force me to live.

I can’t . . . I can’t . . .

The hairs on the back of my neck are prickling. I ignore it. It only means that Allura’s got someone watching me, to make sure I don’t do anything . . . drastic.

Drastic. I close my eyes, and rest my head on my hands. Drastic would be . . . what? Screaming? Crying? Don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t . . . The pain tries to push through the wall of numbness. I open my eyes, and stare at the smoke, wafting up from the end of the cigarette. A deep breath, shuddering in my chest . . . another . . .

So close. So close.

When the arms encircle my neck, I’m taken completely by surprise. Through the heavy haze of smoke, I smell a scent I thought I’d forgotten. Clean and spicy, with a hint of pine . . .

And the voice . . . smooth and deep . . . "I thought that maybe you had given up smoking for good that time."

Shocked into responding, I choke, and twist to look over my shoulder. My voice is small and rusty from disuse, but I force it past my dry lips. " . . . Sven?"

***

Oh, Keith, what are you doing to yourself? A black cloud is almost visible around you. My heart breaks just looking at you.

Allura is standing next to me, Romelle just behind me, peering over my shoulder. The room is spacious, and almost unused. The blue smoke hangs leaden in the still air.

"Keith is . . . he’s been like that since he arrived. I don’t know what he’s thinking about, he won’t talk to me at all." The hurt in Allura’s voice is almost palpable. She never understood, no matter how she tried. The black gown she wears makes her seem even younger than she is. "He won’t talk to anyone, not even Pidge and Hunk. This is all he does, just smoke. He’s not eating, not sleeping, hardly drinking anything. Please, you have to help him."

Very carefully, picking my way through a minefield of feelings, I say, "Your Majesty, I’m not sure he wants to see me, particularly now. After all, we . . . did not part on very good terms." Romelle takes my hand, and her fingers twine tightly with mine.

All she knows is that our friendship ended. She has no idea how deeply I loved him . . . how deeply that love still hurts me.

Allura’s eyes plead with me. "I know, Sven. But . . . maybe the shock will bring him out of this. That’s what I’ve been hoping for since I sent you the message."

I sigh softly. Romelle squeezes my hand, already knowing my answer, then releases me. "I’ll try." I step into the room and motion the servant to leave. Allura said she had him watched, just in case he decided to . . . She had trailed off before she said the word ‘suicide’, but I knew it’s what she meant. Quietly, I shut the door behind me.

I can’t take my eyes from Keith. I’m drinking in the sight of him, just as I did his twin on Pollux months ago. The yearning I felt that night has returned, just as strong and terrible now as then. He drops his head onto his hands, and I expect to hear him begin to cry, but all he does is take deep, steadying breaths, the smoke from his cigarette swirling away and adding to the haze.

The first we’d heard of Lance’s death had been when Allura contacted us just a couple days ago. Now, all at once, I’m trying to deal with my dear friend’s death, and trying to pull my old lover from the brink of madness at the same time.

I’m not sure I can. The last time we’d been in the same room together, he’d glared at me with such pain and hatred . . .

Well. If he already hates me, then nothing I do will change that. And if Allura thinks the shock will bring him out of this, then shock it shall be.

Never mind that I’m giving in to that horrible need to hold Keith again. Never mind the feeling that by doing this, I’m somehow betraying the love my wife has for me. Never mind any of that.

I’ll deal with the guilt later.

Keith doesn’t even know I’m here. He’s never been so lost within himself that he didn’t notice his surroundings. It’s easy enough to embrace him from behind, and murmur into his ear.

He jumps, and half turns, the cigarette drooping in his fingers. "Sven?" he croaks in disbelief.

"Didn’t you give up smoking years ago?" I continue, not letting go of him. It feels so good just to have him in my arms. I long to close my eyes and savor the moment . . .

And it’s so easy to forget the past . . . all the bitter memories . . .

I think I’ve got about two more seconds to enjoy this before he gets over his amazement and reacts. If he’s going to. I’ve got to keep him off balance and reacting, in any case.

So, just before he decides throw me off, I release him, and slide into the chair next to him, pulling it up close. That’s when I get my first look at his startled face.

If I hadn’t known him so well, I would have sworn this was someone else. He’s far too thin, and looks like he’s not slept in a week. But I hide my surprise and prod, "Well, didn’t you?"

"Yeah, I had . . ." He blinks at the sound of his own voice again, and I can see him preparing to turn away, close up and say nothing more. Time for another shock, maybe.

"So why did you start up again?" I ask quietly. "Was it because of Lance?"

He freezes in the process of crushing out the cigarette in the ashtray. His hand trembles.

"Allura told us about his death," I go on, watching him closely. "Is he buried here? I think I remember once he told me . . ."

"Shut up," he orders in a hoarse undertone. He’s closed his eyes against my words.

Guilt on top of guilt. But Allura was right. No matter how much it upsets me to cause him this anguish, I have to continue. I just wish I didn’t need to.

So I feel like a heel as I speak. "Lance told me he wanted to be buried near . . ."

"Shut up!" His words hold the force of a scream, though he doesn’t raise his voice above that harsh whisper. "Shut up!" He turns away, and folds his arms across his stomach like he’s trying to keep the pain in.

"Keith." I reach out to touch his shoulder, but he flinches away from me. "Keith, you can’t go on like this. He’s gone. You know that better than the rest of us; you were there. He’s gone. You have to deal with it and move on."

He starts taking deep breaths again, and suddenly I know that he’s retreating, trying to find a place inside where what I’m saying won’t hurt. "Stop that!" I tell him, making my voice as stern as I possibly can. "This isn’t going to go away! Denying it isn’t going to bring him back!"

His shoulders hunch, his back still toward me. "I know that," he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Then grieve! Let it out, all the anger and sadness you’re feeling that he left you!"

Keith’s entire body is trembling as he whispers, "I can’t, God, I can’t . . ."

"Why not?" My tone is not the least gentle as I demand an answer. I can feel the tears now, standing in my eyes. I need to grieve, too, Keith, for Lance and for you . . . and somehow, for myself as well . . .

He shoots to his feet, and faces me, almost knocking the chair over. His eyes are wild with all the grief and pain he’s trying to hold inside, and I bite my lip, seeing how close to the edge he is, how far I’ve driven him. "I can’t!" he cries, clenching his fists. "If I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop!" And then his eyes widen, and he makes a small noise, like a sob, as he realizes that it’s already too late, and I’ve forced him to think too much about it for him to retreat again. He crumples in on himself, sinking to his knees, shaking.

I catch him, and hold him as he begins to weep, with throat-tearing, heart-rending sobs. His hands clutch at my arms, gripping almost painfully. It’s all I can do, just hold him, kneeling there beside him. I tuck his head onto my shoulder, and embrace him tightly, just trying to let him know he’s not alone . . . not as alone as he thinks.

This isn’t the way I wanted to hold him. But I am, and God, it’s almost like no time has passed. Forgive me, Romelle, but he needs me now . . .

Without warning, I hear him speaking again, words he can barely articulate through his convulsive sobs. "Damn . . . you . . . leav-ing . . . me . . ."

I take a deep breath. The words apply to me as much as Lance. They hit home in a way I thought I had expected, but I wasn’t prepared for the pain they bring. That’s when I join him in his tears, grieving not only for Lance, but also for what I had lost.

***

Damn you! Damn you! Leaving me alone here, and expecting me to go on! I can’t go on without you . . .

And they won’t let me die . . . I’ve lost my reason to live, and they won’t let me die . . .

And fuck you, Sven! Damn you, fuck you for talking about him, for making me think about him, making me think about his death . . .

Damn you for being here . . .

I can’t stop. I can’t stop crying, Lance, I can’t stop feeling. I can’t stop thinking about you, lying pale and wasted on the hospital bed . . . All I can see is you. All I can feel is pain, the pain you were in . . . the pain you left me . . . you left me . . .

He left me, oh, God, Sven, he left me . . .

It’s all I can do to find air to breathe between the tears. I cry helplessly, like a child, for what seems like forever. Eventually, I become aware that Sven is holding me, his hand gently stroking my hair.

It’s been a long time since he held me. Part of me wants to push away, but the rest of me is too drained to move.

I can’t stop crying, I’m just too exhausted, too empty to continue. I can feel myself shaking, the tears still wet on my face, but I can’t hear myself anymore.

"Keith? Can you stand?" Somehow, I realize that Sven is trying to get me to answer. I shake my head weakly against his shoulder. I wonder if he thinks I’ve stopped?

So tired. My eyes hurt, and they won’t stay open.

Everything swims around me, as Sven picks me up. Then he lays me down on the bed, and pulls a blanket up over me. He brushes my hair away from my face, where it’s stuck in the dampness of my tears. "Go to sleep, Keith," he says softly. "Sleep as long as you need."

Perversely, I open my eyes, and see him turning away. "Don’ go." I force the words out, and though it’s only a whisper, he hears, and returns to the bedside. My eyes are closing again, but I manage to mumble, "Only one I c’n talk to . . . right now . . . please stay . . ."

I think he knows what an effort this is. He touches my face again, and replies, "I’ll stay for as long as you need me." After a short silence, I hear him say very softly, "I never wanted to hurt you. I just hope that, after everything, we can find our friendship again."

Even through the long time when I hated you for betraying my love, I missed you, missed your friendship. Strange . . .

Drifting now, the bed soft as feathers. I can’t remember the last time I slept.

Missing, something missing . . .

Of its own accord, through the habit of years, my hand reaches out, searching the empty space next to me . . .

Searching for the warmth of my love . . .

Memory cuts me, all sharp edges, and I curl up into a ball, unable to escape.

I was right. It feels like I’ll never stop crying. That space next to me will always be empty now, matching the gaping, aching hole in my chest . . .

Lance, Lance, how could you leave me? I love you so much. I’m not sure I can live without you . . . And just being in a bed alone, when we’ve been together for so long . . . oh, God, that’s almost the worst pain of all . . .

But exhaustion claims me, Sven’s fingers still smoothing the tears away from my cheeks.

***

April 15, 2002

© randi (K. Shepard), 2002.