I could hear Lance's deep, labored breathing through the thick glass of the healing pod. His eyelids fluttered ever-so-slightly in his stasis, his fists clenching and unclenching as his dreams bid him.

The stranger's reflection in the glass stared gloomily back at me, the unfamiliar yellow eyes glittering and hard in the dim light of the corridor. His chin was rested on his arms. The clawed fingers wrapped around the figure's knees mirrored my own perfectly. The ears twitched with each breath I heard Lance take, with each unexpected noise I heard in the vicinity of Lance's healing pod.

The reflection was my own. The stranger—the Galra—was me. The purple skin, the fuzzy ears, the sharp claws and piercing yellow eyes were mine. I glared at myself in self-pitying hatred. It was my fault that this had happened. It was my fault that Lance was hurt, that I lost control of myself and allowed my Galra side to take over what little humanity I had left, that Allura had (inadvertently) turned against me and was now (once again) shunning my very existence. It was all my fault, and every second that ticked by while Lance was in that pod and while my monster of a reflection stared back at me was a grim, agonizing reminder of that fact.

It had been a little over six hours since we had put Lance in the healing pod. Allura and Coran had hurried off to restore some of the castle's defenses that had been damaged after the firefight not long after we had made sure Lance would be okay. Hunk had gone to make dinner about an hour later and had brought Pidge and me plates. Pidge had scarfed hers down and gone to tinker with her laptop about an hour after that. My plate still remained cold and untouched beside me. I couldn't have made myself eat it—even if I had wanted to.

It was the sound of light, distinct footsteps down the corridor that made my reflection's ear twitch. I didn't have to look away from the pod to know to whom the footsteps belonged.

Pidge sat down beside me and crossed her legs as she silently laid a skinny arm around my shoulders.

Full minutes of comfortable silence passed between us.

Finally, she opened her mouth and spoke.

"Keith, it wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault."

I grunted. "Don't start with me," I began, "because it's a load of bull and you know it. You aren't one to spout bull."

"You're right, I'm not. If anyone on this team is one to tell you straight, then it's me. Pidge doesn't spout bull. And I'm definitely not spouting it now."

"I watched that bullet blast through his chest. Because he was protecting me. Because he saved me. I held him in my arms as his blood seeped over my hands and into my lap. I watched him cough and spit blood on the floor as he struggled to speak to me, to stay awake. They hurt him. And he almost died. We almost lost him. And it was because I was too damn hasty to wait and think about what I was doing. I'm the leader of Voltron, Pidge. It is my fault, and you know it. They hurt him. Bad."

"And you slaughtered every single one of them," she replied quietly, calmly. "You killed them all. For him."

"He almost died for me. He still might die for me, Pidge. He still might die. And it'd be all my fault." I buried my face in my arms once more, my clenched fists shaking slightly. The claws at the end of my fingertips pierced the flesh of my palms, nearly drawing blood. "I wish Shiro were here. He'd have known what to do. He could've calmed me down enough to think things through."

Patience yields focus. If only I would have had the patience.

"No, it isn't your fault. Lance would've done it for you in a heartbeat, anyway."

"That's why I hate myself so much for it," I snapped, raising my head again to look her in the eyes, "because I know he would've thrown himself in front of that bullet for me. I know that he'd die for me. And I hate him for it."

Pidge raised an eyebrow, perplexed by this. "Annnnd, that's a valid reason because…?"

"I should be the one in that healing pod," I spat, disgusted at myself. "I should be the one that's hurt. I hate it. I hate the way he's always doing crap like this."

"Crap like…?"

"Reckless crap. Dumb crap. Selfless crap. I hate it. I hate him." I could feel the rage building inside of me, lighting up like a match that burned my gut and made me want to scream. "I hate his stupid freaking jokes and his dumb freaking laugh. I hate how shallow he always acts even though he's not shallow at all, even though he's hurting. I hate how he never wants anyone else to know he's in pain. I hate that he never comes to anyone when he needs it. I hate how he bottles himself up all the time, and I hate that I've never been brave enough to be the one that he opens himself up to. I hate the sadness in his eyes. I hate how he hides it underneath his goofiness. I hate those freaking gorgeous blue eyes. I hate how they glitter when they look at me, like they know something that I don't."

I could feel Pidge's shock, her wide eyes blazing into my skull. I couldn't help it. Everything was gushing out of me without my permission.

I was close to breaking.

Pidge knew it.

I knew it.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"I hate the way he does that stupid, goofy smile all the time. I hate the way his mouth twists up at the corners when he says my name. I hate how he always seems to get closer to me when he talks to me and how his hand always inches towards mine but then hesitates and I hate how he runs his hands through his dumb, stupid freaking hair when he gets nervous or when he thinks he's being cool. I hate his smile. I hate his eyes. I hate his skin. I hate his voice. I hate him, dammit." My voice was choked with tears. My eyes burned hot. I squeezed them shut to keep from crying. I wanted to stab myself in the thigh. How dare I show my weakness. I hated myself almost as much as I wanted to hate Lance.

"I hate that I want to get close to him. I hate that he makes me feel like I'm melting, and I hate how I can't breathe when he gets too close to me. I hate that I want to pull his body close to mine and kiss him so hard that he forgets about everything else in the universe but me. I hate that I want to sleep next to him at night and wake up in the morning with his head on my chest. I hate that I want to see his face asleep on my pillow. I hate that I want to know his taste, his touch, his scent like the back of my hand. I hate that I want to be with him, that I want to go out and watch the stars with him and grow old with him. I hate that I want him, Pidge. I hate it. I hate him. And the worst part is, I hate that I don't hate him at all. Not one freaking bit, Pidgeon." I looked up at her again. Her bright hazel eyes gazed sadly into mine, her mouth slightly agape and pulled into a small frown. I hadn't realized how quiet my voice had gotten until I noticed that there wasn't really a difference between my talking and the silence of the infirmary room.

"I don't hate him at all," I repeated, drawing in a shaky breath. "Not one freaking bit."

"You're in love with him," she murmured, her eyes widening some more at this enlightenment. "Keith, you're in love with him…!"

I swore loudly and buried my face in my arms again. "Of course, I freaking do. Of course. I love him and I almost killed him. What in the ever-living quiznak am I gonna do if he doesn't pull through this? What if he dies? What then, Pidge? What am I gonna do?!"

"He's not going to die, Keith," she reassured me gently. "Lance is a fighter. He'll be fine."

"Yeah? Well, what about if he wakes up? When he sees me like…? Like… like this?!" I gestured to myself in repulsion. "He'd never want me like this. Not ever."

"It'll go away, Keith. But you've gotta calm down, okay? Calm down." She took one of my hands and squeezed it as hard as she could. "That's enough. Look at me. Lance is okay. Allura said he'd be out of the pod in less than a day."

"It's still my fault. I never wanted this. I never wanted to fall for him. I didn't ask for this."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow raised again, a bit of her normal, no-nonsense self shining through again. "Have you ever heard of anyone who's asked to fall hard enough for someone that they'd cry outside their healing pod for hours on end waiting for him to come out?"

I stared at her in silence, a tear spilling out of my eye almost as if on cue. I wiped it away angrily, frustrated at myself for letting myself show how upset I was. At least it was just Pidge. She was the closest thing to a sister that I would ever have. I could trust her.

I hoped, anyway.

"That's what I thought," she said. "Now, I'm not sure what I can say to make you feel better, because this whole 'romance' thing is waaaay out of my expertise. But honestly, you idiot, do you think Lance would want you to worry yourself sick over him? Get a hold of yourself."

"B-but… I-I…."

"But you what? I'm serious, Keith. Lance wouldn't want you to hate yourself over this. He didn't have to take that bullet for you, but he did, because Lance is Lance and he'd take a bullet for any of us before he sees us suffer. If you'd have been the one to get shot, then Lance would be the one sitting in front of your healing pod and crying to me. So, man up. You need to quit moping around. If Lance were able to see you like this, he'd probably be making fun of you for being emo."

I stifled a surprised chuckle. She wasn't wrong.

"You're nineteen-freaking-years old. You're past your emo phase. Quit acting like you're still in it, because you're not."

This time, I laughed aloud. "Okay, that's insulting. I'll always be a little bit emo. It's one of those things that stick around until your old and wrinkly, and so when you're ninety-eight years old and you hear the G-note on a piano you'll start kicking in windows and screaming 'Welcome to the Black Parade' at the top of your lungs."

She smiled, delighted by my response. "See? You're feeling better already." She stood to her feet and nodded toward the glass. "You look better already too."

I blinked and whipped my head around to face my reflection.

Sure enough, the purple tint in my skin had faded back to its normal pale human color, and the tail had disappeared. My ears had shrunk significantly. My eyes were still yellow, but there was a little more of a human glimmer in them than there was before. I guess that finally admitting the inner turmoil I called my 'feelings' helped out a lot. I certainly did feel a little better than before. Maybe a pity-party was all that I really needed.

Not that it erased any of the guilt I felt about Lance, of course. That would still haunt me. But, at least I was feeling okay.

For the moment, anyway.

I grinned, revealing two large, pearly-white canine teeth, and turned back to Pidge. "Yeah. You're right. I do look a little better, don't I?"

"Mm-hmm. Now come on, it's late. You need to get some rest."

My grin faded as I glanced back at Lance, still paralyzed in his stasis, his lips forming quiet words and his brow furrowing in his sleep. The chocolate-colored hair on his forehead was damp with sweat; I could see it beading on his brow.

What I wouldn't have given to reach out and wipe it off just then, to feel the heat of his skin beneath my fingertips, to remind myself that he was still really here, and not just a figment of my delusional imagination.

She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, glaring at me. "God, if I didn't think of you as a brother, then I'd sock you in the jaw. Would you feel better if I brought you a pillow and a blanket so you could finally sleep beside him like you told me that you wanted to earlier?"

I scowled at her. She was using a teasing tone, but I knew Pidge well enough to understand that she was being dead serious. "You mean, if you weren't two feet tall, then you'd sock me in the jaw. You can't punch what you can't reach. And, yes, yes I would."

She flipped me the bird, but laughed at my remark. "Yeah. Okay. Give me a minute, I'll go get some stuff for you. Are you hungry?"

I opened my mouth to tell her no, I wasn't hungry—and then my stomach growled so loudly that it echoed down the corridor. I shot her a sheepish grin as she eyed the untouched plate of foot by my foot and glared at me.

"Fine. I'll bring you food, too. God, you dumb men, never taking care of yourselves—"

"Oh, uh… Pidge?"

She had begun to turn around, but she stopped when she heard her name. "Yeah?"

"You… You aren't going to tell anyone about… About what I told you… Are you?"

She smiled again and shook her head. "Wouldn't dream of it, pal."

She turned away again and made to walk away.

"Katie," I blurted. "Katie, wait."

She froze again, and looked over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"…Thank you. For this. For everything."

She shot me another grin and waved her hand nonchalantly at me. "Anytime, bro."

I watched her disappear down the hall before going back to sit cross-legged beside Lance's pod, laying my head against the glass and closing my eyes as I listened to his breathing.

I was out cold before she had even made it back with a blanket.