( Based on headcanons by @komohine )
James introduces Keith to the concept of a power strip and then painstakingly explains to him how to use it safely (with an emphasis on Not Dying). The two of them fix the roof. Keith insists on doing all of the heavy work since he’s the better outdoorsman. James furiously patches up all his calluses and bruises afterwards, whilst chewing him out for being so rash.
It’s then that Keith realizes where James has been living since the end of the war.
“Who are you calling?” Keith asks, glancing at James curiously as the sun sets behind him. The latter jabs his thumb at the buttons of his phone and places it to his ear looking furious.
“Rizavi,” James says. “Her battery must’ve died again… I told her to charge it before she left the house.”
“You’re living with Nadia?” Something in Keith’s voice makes James turn around to find the man staring at him with wide violet eyes. His gaze holds a practiced level of nonchalance, with morbid curiosity and hurt lingering just below the surface.
“It’s not like that,” James says, turning away with pink-stained cheeks. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go after the war ended.”
“What about your parents’ house?” Keith replies, suddenly more insistent. What type of torture could James’ parents have put him through that made him want to move out entirely?
The two men stand there for sometime, sheltered in the growing dark. James resolutely deciding to look at anything that’s not Keith. Keith refusing to look at anything but James.
Eventually, they are interrupted by the soft honking of Nadia’s car. James wordlessly makes his way into the vehicle. Keith doesn’t turn to look until James is a quickly shrinking blip on the horizon.
They continue working to patch up the house.
The two of them fill in the cracks in the walls and James finally pesters Keith into hiring a health inspector. They hang up posters of all the punk rock and emo bands he and Keith used to obsess over as kids. Keith and James have a long argument over whether or not Kosmo should be allowed inside the house (considering how small the shack is and that Kosmo is now as big as your average pony) and Keith wins when he states that it is his house, first of all.
(Kosmo is thrilled by this development. He chooses to celebrate by tackling James to the ground and licking every inch of him he can reach. James is understandably less thrilled.)
“Shouldn’ you be headin’ back now?” Keith slurs one night as they’re out on the porch.
James managed to get them a whole crate of Coca Cola bottles after a long day of hard work, and the two men had quickly taken to zipping through as many bottles as they could get their hands on. They’re both exhausted from a long day’s work and delirious on a sugar high, so it makes sense then, why James is sprawled out and Keith’s head is in his lap. They can blame their proximity on a minor lapse in judgement and mobility and not on any genuine desire for contact.
James hums, looking at him fondly, swirling what dark liquid’s still left in his bottle. This had been his third; Keith was just about finished his fifth. “Nahh… Few more minutes couldn’ hurt… Nice out here…”
“Really?” Keith snarks. With a concentrated effort, he pulls out of James’ lap and sits beside him. “Rather spend a night out here… in the desert… than the city?”
He’s ready to pull out the arsenal of all the old ‘city boy’ jokes he used to make at James’ expense during their childhood, when James says, “Yeahh… S’nicer out here… Quieter…”
At this, Keith frowns. “You… used to hate quiet…”
James now trains his gaze resolutely on the night sky above them. “That was before.”
Keith knew it. Keith knew what he was gonna say. It still hits like a punch to the gut.
Sometimes, on nights like this, the dark blurs out all the stress lines that have taken over James’ face, softens the severity of his expression. Sometimes, on nights like this, the sheer exhaustion from the day’s work phases out the space between them. And Keith can pretend that none of it had ever happened. That the two of them had stayed together, and no six-year rift had pulled them apart.
“You can stay… if you want,” Keith tells him. “If you like it better here… you can stay.”
“… Maybe,” James says, still not looking at Keith as he swigs down the last of his beverage in one go.
Nadia picks him up that night, same as ever. James mumbles a quick “See ya” as he heads into the car. He doesn’t turn to see if Keith responds.
James startles when he knocks on the door and it’s her who opens it.
“Who are you?” She asks, gaze narrowing as she looks him over.
Keith peeks his head out the door. “Oh hey, James.”
“Krolia and I were just talking about that plumbing we needed to fix up. Come in.”
“Uh?” James turns back toward Krolia, who blinks as if seeing him in a new light, but opens the door.
The three discuss the plumbing situation, with the plumber failing to pick up twice and then picking up immediately when James is the one who calls. They eventually set an appointment for the day after. In the meantime, James cooks up lunch while Keith and Krolia sit on the couch and catch up. He comes back in with steaming plates of chicken carbonara, a recipe from his mom’s side. In the afternoon, the three of them sit on the porch and discuss intergalactic politics while watching Kosmo run around the front yard.
(Krolia agrees with James’ assessment that Kosmo should be an outside dog. James gives Keith a smug look while her back is turned; Keith returns it with a glower.)
All the while, Krolia keeps glancing at him every so often. Her looks aren’t furtive, nor are they shy. The woman seems entirely unashamed to see that James has caught on to her looks, and entirely unbothered by how he squirms underneath them.
He doesn’t get an answer on what they mean until later that night.
James is leaned against the deck railing, watching the stars, when he hears her voice behind him.
“Keith told me about you,” she says, making him jump.
“I… He did?” James says, trying in vain to regain his composure.
“Yes,” Krolia states, raising an eyebrow before walking to lean against the railing herself. “He said you took care of him.”
James glances inside the house, then back at her, confused. “Just now?”
Krolia nods. “He told me that you’ve been helping him fix up his house and that you’ve been routinely inspecting it for threats.”
James nods slowly at that, still unsure how to reconcile the approval in the woman’s words with the harshness in her tone and gaze.
“He told me before, too.”
“While we were working with the Blades,” she says, causing James to freeze. “He told me how you took care of him when you were both kits.”
She notices his sudden silence and turns towards him with a soft frown. “Was that not the correct word for it? What do Earthlings call them? … Kids?”
“Keith said that?” James asks, hardly daring to believe it.
Krolia’s frown deepens. “Yes,” she affirms, like she’s surprised he needs to ask. Like Keith hadn’t avoided him in the months since he came back to Earth. Like James didn’t have to constantly reach out first in order to maintain some connection between them. “He told me of your friendship when you’d both first enlisted in the Garrison.”
Technically, they hadn’t been friends when they’d both enlisted at the Garrison. James had spent a good few years picking on Keith to elicit a reaction out of him at that point. Surprisingly, Krolia seems to be none the wiser.
“He told me of how frequently you kept him from getting expelled. And of the many times you saved him from dying when he was being reckless,” she grouses out the last word, tilting her head to the side as if remembering just how rash her son could be.
The ghost of a smirk passes over James’ face; he knew the feeling.
“He told me that you were there for him after Elijah died,” she states, eliciting a gasp from James.
He stares at Krolia, dumbfounded. Krolia stares back, trying to appear just as unfazed as she was at the beginning of this conversation, but there are cracks in her facade- a slight quiver in her lip, pain pricking at her eyes.
“I… I wasn’t,” James admits, earning a confused look from the woman. He turns, facing the house now as he leans against the railing with his back. His gaze catches the yellow light streaming through the kitchen window, where Keith is busy making dinner. “I tried to be, but… How did you put it? We were both kids. I snuck him food and scolded him to do work, but I could barely do anything…” He looks down as he forces a chuckle out of his throat, harsh but wobbly. “Sometimes I thought I was gonna lose him…”
A heavy weight settles on his shoulder and James finds that Krolia has placed a claw on his shoulder, leaning down to level with his gaze.
“You did not lose him. My son is here, and he is fine because you were there to look out for him.” James blinks, shocked to find that Krolia sounds seconds away from sobbing. “Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him. Do not speak of your kindness as if it meant nothing.”
James blinks again, and then blinks some more because he feels like if he doesn’t then he’s going to start crying too.
“You… And- and Shiro too…” Krolia takes a deep breath and composes herself, standing at her full stature. “I owe you both a life debt.”
“… Don’t mention it,” James croaks out, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything more. Then, he trains his gaze back towards the kitchen.
I would do anything to keep you safe, he thinks as he watches Keith cook.
Krolia leaves later that night despite her son’s protests. They exchange goodbyes on the tarmac. James hangs back on the porch, watching them.
(Before she leaves, Krolia turns her gaze towards James a final time and gives him a nod. James nods back.)
“I should head back,” James tells Keith as he jogs back over. Kosmo is at his heels, slowed somewhat from sleepiness.
“It’s really late,” Keith informs him, peeking at the clock through the doorframe. “Do you even think Nadia’s still awake?”
“I’ll manage,” James tells him, pulling his phone out. Most people will tell you Uber doesn’t pick up people in the middle of the desert. James will tell you that it depends on how much money you throw at them.
“You could stay the night,” Keith says casually, leaning down to give Kosmo some much-demanded face scritches.
These words had become a habit for him. They were followed by James’ quiet reply of “Not tonight.” or “Maybe some other time.” or even an outright “No.”
But tonight, something had changed.
Krolia’s words still echoed in his head.
Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.
He thought of the night Keith had left, leaving nothing but an empty bed and his dogtag for James to remember him by.
Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.
He thought of the day Keith had come back and hadn’t spoken to him a single word that hadn’t been an order between military officials.
Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.
He thought of the night he caught Keith sneaking out and accompanied him to his dad’s grave.
Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.
He thought of how he had taken it upon himself to clean up what Keith had decided would become his new home.
Keith would not mention these things if they had no effect on him.
For so long, James had felt he had been desperately reaching out to a man who did not care the way he did. Reaching out to the ghost of a boy who once needed him, a boy who once cared for him, a boy who had died somewhere between the clinically white halls of the Garrison and the red hot heat of the desert. A boy who left and came back completely unrecognizable.
But Keith had told his mother about him. Keith had accepted his help in repairing his house. Keith had still remembered him, even in the vast depths of space.
Keith had held onto him, too.
So this time, James flips the script.
This time, when Keith says, “You could stay,” James surprises both of them by saying, “Okay.”
