Chapter 1: Hunk, Sven, Return-Coda
"You look like shit," Hunk said when he finally opened the door, and Sven just grunted and pushed past him and dropped his gear on the coffee table in Hunk's living room.
"You could've come and picked me up," he said. Hunk shrugged and handed Sven a bottle of beer.
"Sorry. Barbeque is a very demanding mistress."
"Aw, you grilled?"
Hunk grinned and nudged Sven with his shoulder. "Hey, I figured you could use some actual food after all that frou-frou crap Keith cooks."
Sven smiled, and Hunk took a pull of his beer, and tried not to let the memory of Sven all bloodied and dying impose itself over the Sven who was sitting on his couch, travel-worn and going a little gray, and nothing dead could manage to look so utterly, wonderfully, grossly mundane.
"So Lance and Keith say hi," Sven said after a while, fiddling with the label of his beer.
"Really? ‘Cause when they called me to tell me you were coming, Lance and Keith said I should fuck you into the mattress."
And maybe he shouldn't have said that while Sven was taking a sip of his beer because, well, it'd always been a most grievous sin in Hunk's household to waste good beer, but on the other hand it was a damn funny sight, and besides, he hadn't seen Sven look that flummoxed since Arus and the week he'd spent trying to figure out where the hell his clothes went whenever they took to the Lions.
"Dude, your face," Hunk said, laughing so hard he had to put his beer down.
"You're a real dickwad, you know that?"
But Sven was laughing too, in that quiet way he had, and he felt warm and solid and alive when Hunk hugged him, tight and rough and even though he'd always known Sven had survived, what with one thing and another he'd never been able to put his hands on Sven until now, never been able to confirm that fact with all of his senses and now here Sven was. Old and tired and wincing a little as Hunk squeezed just a little bit too hard, and ruffling the hair on the back of Hunk's head, like he always did and nevermind that Hunk was at least four years older than Sven.
"Hey," Hunk said, soft and quiet and full of strange, childlike wonder.
"Hey," Sven said back, and Hunk finally believed that the war was truly over.
Chapter 2: Sven, Hunk and Snorri
"I'm the crown prince of Pollux!" Marcus says, his voice cracking on the 'own'. "You can't treat me like this!"
"Sure I can," Hunk says, calmly. "I'm the guy who saved your planet. Also, your mother adores me."
"I could have you thrown into the darkest dungeon!"
"Yes, but first you have to finish inventorying the stock room."
"You're not my father! I don't have to listen to you!"
"You're right, I'm not your father. But I am your boss, at the moment, and you're a snot-nosed, pimply-faced, gawky kid who's working for me for the summer, and I outweigh you by at least a hundred pounds and have no qualms about smacking some sense into your head."
"Just because you're sleeping with my father doesn't give you the right—" Marcus begins, but he's been working for Hunk for a month now and has become quite familiar with the gesture that means Hunk is reaching for his pre-rolled tube of newspaper which, while not exactly the most painful thing in the world to be hit by, is not exactly the most fun experience in the world either. Largely because Hunk believes in repeat application if the first attempt fails and he makes a boink noise when he does it that Marcus finds oddly disconcerting.
"Fine," he says, sullenly. "I’m going."
Hunk smiles beatifically and leans back in his chair. He laces his fingers together and rests his hands on his stomach and it isn't until Marcus has slouched out of the room that Sven leans over the remnants of breakfast and says, "At what point do you think we should tell him that you and I are not actually having sex?"
"Three years," Hunk says promptly and Sven raises an eyebrow questioningly. "That's how many years behind on the inventorying I am."
Chapter 3: Hello
They make it all the way to "hello" before the fighting starts. Will sticks with it for a solid fifteen minutes, a personal best, and then takes the opportunity presented by the change in topic from hair – how Keith is in desperate need of a good shearing and how Anna does not look good as a bottle blue – to relationships – i.e., the fact that Anna has never been in one that lasted longer than a month and the fact that Keith has only ever had three and there still isn't enough concrete evidence to prove that the first one wasn't completely made up – to bow out of the conversation and join Lance at the far side of the room.
"So you're the lawyer, right?" Lance says, idly. He's surprisingly calm for an outsider witnessing a Davies' style throw-down, and that speaks volumes about things Will doesn't want to know.
They shake hands and that automatically makes this the best introduction Will has ever had with any of Keith's boyfriends.
When Lance hands him a cup of coffee – hot, black, and strong – Will is ready to break out the chairs and do the hora.
"Why aren't you, you know—" Lance gestures at Anna and Keith, who are toe-to-toe now and have moved on from the initial pleasantries to the long-standing debate over who stole (and subsequently destroyed) the Super Captain Awesome With Karate-Chop Action figurine (which actually isn't all that mysterious to Will since he was the one who stole it in the first place), "—over there?"
"Eh." Will shrugs. "Anna and Keith always were better at that whole "verbal communication" thing than I ever was."
And, yes, he is fully aware of the irony that the only member of their family who doesn't like to get into screaming matches is the one who became the lawyer. Ironic twist of fate aside, Will was always better at physical communication when it came to Keith, so he plans on smacking Keith in the back of the head a couple of times at some point today; preferably while Keith is drinking something, so Will makes a mental note to abduct Keith and hit the bars in an hour or two.
"Hmm." Lance raises an eye and then blushes as he catches a particularly graphic description of Keith's cock-sucking abilities. "Is it always like this when you three get together?"
"Actually," Will says, checking his watch – specific accusations and to general insults in less than thirty minutes, a new family record – "this is an improvement."
Chapter 4: Post-war Pidge and Chip
"You're insane," Pidge said. "You're fucking insane, you know that, right?"
"And if I'm insane, what do you think your chances for continued mental health are, hmm?" Chip put the last of the dishes in the sink and returned to the cleared table. "Anyway, it's no crazier than some of the stuff we did in school"
"No crazier – Chip, do you have any idea what kind of trouble we could get in here? I mean, forgetting for a moment the fact that you've stolen classified military documents, this thing is a fucking weapon of massive fucking destruction!"
"Well, yes, if it fell into the wrong hands, but, come on Pidge, it's me." He stared steadily at Pidge across the table, and he'd been getting Pidge in trouble for so long that he no longer felt even the slightest twinge of guilt. "Besides," he said, knowing that this was the kicker, the punch line, the sure sell, "don't you miss it?"
Pidge stared down at the table for a long time, and for a strange, vertigo-ridden moment Chip thought that maybe they'd spent too much time apart, and Pidge really was just a stranger to him now. But then Pidge looked up, that old familiar gleam in his eye and Chip knew he'd got him.
"Okay," Pidge said. "But. Not a lion."
"Yeah, sure," Chip said, unrolling the Voltron schematics he'd carefully copied six months ago. "Sure. We won't build a lion."
Chapter 5: Pidge, Chip, building Voltron
"It's never going to work," Pidge said from the middle of the circle of computers and wiring, glasses skewed by the pencil he had stuck behind one ear.
"Will to," Chip said, his voice echoed and distorted by the metal surrounding him.
"Never going to happen, Chip. I mean, we're missing an essential component of this whole thing, y'know."
"Magic-shmagic." A loud snap and then Chip grunted in satisfaction and climbed out of the guts of the vehicle. "There. Try it now."
"No matter what you do down there, it's never going to work you know."
"Just push the damn button, will you?"
Pidge rolled his eyes and executed the start-up program. The hunk of half-formed machine that lay before them grumbled twice, then a sharp whine filled the warehouse and the, well, Pidge supposed they'd have to be eyes, flickered twice then began to shine with a cold, white light.
"There," Chip said in smug satisfaction. "Toldja it'd work."