Author's Note: It seems I can never enter a new fandom without composing a dozen or so stand-alone pieces, usually focused on a particular character. Basically, I enjoy the freedom of having an unstructured place for the pieces that don't fit in more plot-heavy stories. So here's my playground for Voltron: Legendary Defender and the character of Lance McClain. By the way, a rhapsody is a piece of music with an irregular form, full of improvisation, which is known for heights of emotion that swing suddenly from exuberant to somber and back again. Sounds a lot like our boy, don't you think?

Rhapsody in Blue

Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits
Chapter Summary: Keith's shaggy haircut begins to interfere in combat situations, so Lance takes matters into his own hands. You know, because he's nice like that.

His blade hissed through the air, missing the gladiator's faceplate by a millimeter, just as it had the last three times. Frustration seeped into Keith, who blew determinedly upward, sending sticky strands of hair fluttering out of his eyes…only to have them fall back down immediately, cutting through his vision at exactly the wrong time. "Argh!" he shouted, forced to roll as his attacker's weapon brushed by his ribs. Without his armor, he could actually feel it snag against his shirt, and he flinched, trying to rebalance so he could go on the offensive again.

Before he could, however, a singing high note cut through the air, followed by electrical feedback as the gladiator collapsed into a pile. Lance stepped closer, his bayard still smoking. "Keith, dude, this has gone on long enough."

Annoyed by the interruption, Keith whirled. "Why'd you shoot?" – and apparently cancel their training session, since no opponents were oncoming. "You didn't have to stop the sequence. I was fine."

"Sure you were," Lance said, a touch of sarcasm threading through his words. "Because it's normal for the guy who hurls his magic space sword halfway across the room and still hits his opponent in the face to get sloppily eviscerated by a gladiator. But it's cool. Nothing to see here. Everything's fine."

The words stung. Keith knew he'd been making mistakes all morning, but it still sucked to have it rubbed in by Lance, whose accuracy had improved by leaps and bounds since he'd taken on the Red Lion. Feeling sullen, Keith admitted, "It's not my fault. I keep losing sight of them."

Lance's bayard deactivated. "Well, no wonder. We've been out here for close to a year, Keith. Have you trimmed that mane of yours, even once?"

Always with his hair. Keith's fists bunched. "I like my hairstyle."

"Uh, excuse me. Did I say anything about your emo 80's hairstyle? No, I did not. I just asked if you cut it. It's hanging in your eyes."

It was doing exactly that, and had been for a while. The fact that he was sweating helped, because it was easier to manage when it clumped. In battle, though, he moved so fast that it often came loose. He looked at Lance, standing there with his neatly trimmed hair, which was curling slightly over and around his ears. Despite the fact that he was also perspiring, it looked just as coiffed as it had on that first day on Earth. Which, now that he was thinking about it, was kind of weird.

Seriously, Keith asked, "Lance, did you find a space barber?"

There was a slight widening of Lance's eyes before he answered. "No, Keith, I did not find a space barber. I trim it myself, like any self-respecting guy with short hair."

"Oh." Well, that did make sense, he guessed. Keith thought about Shiro, who'd sported almost the exact same cut for as long as Keith had known him. "Do you think Shiro does that?"

"If you'd asked me before, I'd have said absolutely," Lance said. "However, I think he's losing his touch. Still, as concerning as Shiro's puffball is, he's not the one I'm worried about at the moment." He took Keith's arm. "Come on."

It was the remark about being worried that kept Keith from dragging his feet as Lance drew him through the castle corridors. Brow scrunched, he allowed himself to be led directly into Lance's room, where he was nudged toward the bed.

"Take a seat," Lance said. "I've got to get a few things if I'm going to cut your hair."

His hands came up. "Whoa," Keith said. "You didn't say you were going to cut my hair."

"Don't worry." Lance was digging around, coming up with scissors, a comb. "I cut everybody's hair. Well, just Pidge and Hunk's now that the garrison's about a kajillion miles away. I had to sit on Pidge the first time, though, and it took me an hour just to brush out all the snarls. Speaking of which," he said, scrunching his nose at Keith's limp, sweaty hair. "I think you need to hit the showers first."

Keith raised his eyebrows. "What does that matter?"

"Because it's a lot easier to do a good job if it's wet, especially since your hair's so long. Plus," Lance said, poking his arm. "You stink, even for someone who's been training. When was the last time you had a bath?"

When had it been? His uncertainty must have shown on his face, because Lance rolled his eyes.

"That's what I thought. I swear, I'm going to talk to Allura. If we can have all-day training sessions on Altean combat strategies, then we can definitely take an hour for hygiene. I can't tell if Pidge is a natural slob or just can't be bothered, but you – your education has clearly been lacking in this department."

The idea of having to sit through a hygiene seminar with Lance sounded terrible, and Keith backed down quickly. He raised his hands, shifting toward the door. "Okay, okay. I'll take a shower. Back in five."

"Make it fifteen," Lance said, "so you have time to actually wash the crevices. And don't forget your pits!"

Ugh. No one else in Keith's life ever talked to him about people's crevices. Sometimes Lance was really too much. Nonetheless he took extra care in the shower, wondering just how much soap one was expected to use. His hair was no more cooperative once it was wet, slopping around and dripping suds in his eyes and tangling unmercifully. He returned to Lance's room fourteen minutes later, dripping all down his neck and in his ears, and honestly so fed up that he almost wanted Lance to shave his head and be done with it.

Lance himself had gotten cleaned up, and now he stood there in that Altean shirt he liked so much, messing around with Pidge's phone. "If she finds out you took that again, she's going to freak," Keith warned, taking a seat on the bed.

"Yeah, well," Lance said, setting down the device and coming over. "I like to live dangerously."

It was kind of awkward, sitting there and letting Lance, of all people, run his fingers through his hair. Keith kept waiting for a sharp tug, or a joke, but Lance seemed focused on his task, merely tutting as he examined Keith's scalp.

"What kind of shampoo do you use?"

"That bar stuff, the one in the shower stalls," Keith answered.

"You use the bar soap on your head?" Lance sounded horrified.

It made Keith bristle. "What about it?"

"It's just harsh on your skin. No wonder you've got dandruff. Don't you find it itches?"

His scalp did feel irritated sometimes, but it had always been like that. He'd never connected it to his use of soap – or lack thereof. He gave a scratch, feeling the slight scaly texture. "It's not bad."

Heaving a sigh, Lance said, "Never mind. I'll give you some of mine and make extra next time." He gave Keith a condescending pat, which was only a bit maddening. "Don't worry your fluffy head about it."

Keith wanted to say that he had never once, in eighteen years of life, worried about his "fluffy" head, but he doubted that would get him anywhere, so he kept quiet.

Lance, meanwhile, had taken up the scissors. "Might as well get this show on the road. Sit still, alright? Wouldn't want to make a mistake and accidently improve something!"

"You better not," Keith warned.

To his surprise, Lance paused. "Cross my heart and hope to die, Keith. Your mullet is safe with me."

For a time after that, there was only the metallic sound of the scissors whispering through Keith's hair, occasionally guided by the comb. Lance's movements were crisp and sure, like someone who had done this many times before. He didn't talk while he worked, which Keith found unnerving, considering how much Lance babbled the rest of the time. Eventually, he broke the silence himself.

"You really cut Pidge and Hunk's hair?"

Lance eyed him, momentarily distracted. He made a firm cut before answering. "Nothing fancy. Just keeping everyone from going full werewolf, like you." He lifted a bit of Keith's fringe. "Ugh. Split ends like this are a crime against humanity. My neice's Barbie dolls had less fraying. At least your hair is a nice texture, though."

Keith shifted. "My dad told me that once. 'At least you didn't end up with my hair, coarse as a coyote,' he said. Whatever that means."

The fingers running experimentally over his scalp stilled, and Lance said, "You don't talk about your family much."

Of course, he didn't. Keith barely knew anything about his family on Earth, and as for his other potential parent… Keith looked at his palms, which were a perfectly normal human beigey color. Well, that was an entire galaxy of unknowns. His father, though, was clear in his memory, only a bit hazy as he put more years between himself and his childhood. He didn't often take the time to examine the softer, quieter moments, like his dad's comment about his hair, though. He didn't want the pain that came with it, but in this moment, it didn't seem so bad.

"He was a big man, my dad. Like Shiro. When I was a kid, he used to let me ride on his shoulders, and it felt like I was flying."

Lance cleared his throat. "My brother used to let me do that, too. He's a giant, bigger than Hunk, and he teases me for being so skinny."

A thin sliver of humor, like the edge of a knife, worked its way under Keith's skin. He enjoyed teasing Lance, whose reactions were always entertaining. "You are a lightweight."

"Lightweight?" Lance demanded. "You're, like, the tiniest GI Joe in the pack, the one with the gimpy leg."

Keith flexed, feeling the confident, ready contraction of his muscles. It was a good feeling, knowing that he could launch himself into combat at any time, sure that his body would respond exactly how he wanted it to. Size wasn't really a factor. "Appearances can be deceiving. Besides, I'm dense underneath."

Lance narrowed his eyes. "You mean you're heavy underneath. I thought I'd never drag you out of that communication hub last week."

There'd been an explosion while Keith was standing too near a consol. He'd woken up flat on his back, bumping along the corridor while Lance cursed up a storm overhead. Even after he regained consciousness, he…might have needed a little assistance making it back to his Lion. Thinking about that day, and now sitting here on Lance's bed, a realization occurred. "We've gotten better," he said.

Taken off guard by the transition, Lance froze. After a moment, though, his expression softened. "Yeah, we have," he said, and the scissors snipped with a final flourish. "There. All done."

Keith scrapped his fingers through it, feeling a pleasing lightness as he did so. It was still longish in the back, but not so much it would snag in his suit, and his ears and forehead were cool, unaccustomed to their exposure to the castle's filtered air. He grinned. "Feels good."

"I do nice work," Lance said. "Come back again. That will be two hundred GAC."

Keith pushed off the bed, reveling in the way he could easily see all areas of the room without turning his head or blowing to get his bangs out of his eyes. The gladiator bots didn't know it, but they would soon be suffering a massive depopulation. Or better yet… "Wanna spar?"

Lance shook his head. "Oh, no. I do you a favor, and your way of repaying me is to give me a concussion?"

Keith leaned forward eagerly. "Yes?"

It would have taken someone a lot harder-hearted than Lance to resist the hopeful look Keith was casting in his direction. He watched Lance visibly weaken. "We just showered, though!" he whined, one final attempt to evade the inevitable.

It was time for the big push. "We could go swimming after."

Lance's shoulders fell with resignation, though he gave Keith a look of annoyance. "You're evil, you know that?"

Keith was too satisfied to argue. He even went so far as to punch Lance in the arm, but lightly enough not to leave a bruise. Lance rubbed it anyway. "I'm going to teach you to use a gladius," Keith said. "You ought to know about more blades than scissors."

Lance groaned.

Author's Note: You know that scene in the space mall where Lance runs his hand through his hair? So my brain's commentary for that scene was, "He definitely trims his own bangs." You know, like he isn't a cartoon character with zero need for haircuts. Thus you have this short, with the boys bonding over how generally shaggy Keith is. Also because quiet, comfortable moments are one of the heights of friendship, and these two need more of them.