The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Whoever the heck said this definitely knew what they were talking about! The biggest changes were usually the subtlest. The subtlest changes could also be the biggest. It was this vicious, brainteaser cycle of change and sameness that had given Lance an impressive headache earlier that afternoon. Lance rubbed his forehead gingerly and tried to calm the cacophony of thoughts crowding his skull. Too many thoughts. Too many questions. Not enough rock-solid answers.

Keith was different. It hadn't taken very long to pin that fact down. When the Galran pod had touched down in the Castle Bay several dobashes earlier, they had taken a long, hard look at the new, fan-like ears and the subtle, lavender-tinged skin. It was Keith, but not the Keith that had left them months earlier. Shiro had welcomed the boy back with his trademark hug and easy, welcoming smile. Keith was still his Keith. The others offered similar welcomes, pointedly ignoring Keith's usual level of antisocial reluctance. The only awkwardness came from Hunk's request to touch Keith's new "kitty-bat" ears. Keith had visibly balked at the nickname and coldly denied the request. They all seemed too eager to get Keith back to dwell too long on the newest manifestations of Keith's secret heritage. Lance didn't blame them. Denial was always the easiest route.

Lance scowled quizzically at retreating glimpse of broad shoulders rat the other end of the hallway. Keith was no doubt headed to the training room (no surprise there!) He was still wearing the inky-black and purple Marmora suit. It clung to lean muscle and raw sinew hidden beneath. When had Keith gotten that buff? Had he always been that tall? No, definitely not! Lance had the keen memory of looking down at him ever so slightly the last time he and Keith had spoken face-to-face. 6 months ago Lance had definitely been taller than the scrawny Red Paladin. Not by much, but enough to use as ammunition in more than one of their endearing "lover's quarrels" as Pidge had so sassily nicknamed them.

"Lance, what sounds better? Space stroganoff or not-so-Chinese Chinese food. I'm substituting the lo mein for those slimy noodles I found on Tragal-"

Hunk was flipping absently through a dog-eared notebook of beloved shopping lists and recipes, the end of worn pencil poking out from his mouth. He was in full-on "chef mode;" that much was clear.

"Does Keith seem different to you?" Hunk looked up and frowned at the question Lance blurted out.

"Different?"

"Yeah, anything off about him? New?"

"You mean besides the fact he's totally an awesome-super-freaky-space-ninja-cat now?" Hunk let off a low whistle. "I know the purple barely shows on his skin and he's not exactly furry, but man! If it wasn't for his fluffy kitty-bat ears, I'd totally be terrified of him! Kolivan did a number on him. Do you think Galra have steroids?"

Lance cocked his head in contemplation. Keith definitely was more space ninja-y than before, but 6 months in immersive Marmora training could do that to anyone-with or without steroids. God knows what creepy assassin skills Kolivan had pounded into him during training.

Lance made a mental note to check under his bed before going to sleep that night. Just in case.

"So stroganoff or Almost-Chinese. I think I figured out how to make a passable wrapper for the spring rolls, but I'm still playing around with the beef and broccoli. Believe it or not, there's not really a good space substitute for broccoli."

Lance let the soothing, warm blanket of Hunk's rambling flow over his head as he tried unsuccessful to tune-out the alarm bells jangling faintly in the back of his brain. His mama would call him a Nervous-Nelly if she knew the level of anxiety creeping up inside him. His sister Leigh would call him a big fat worry wart. Either way, he knew he needed to stop brooding over Keith like a clinging mother hen-preferably before Keith found out.

Keith couldn't stop eating. To be fair, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to stop himself even if he wanted to. He felt himself reaching for another spring roll even as he continued shoveling a heaping forkful of stir fry into his mouth with his other hand. He barely bothered to chew, wincing instead at the thick lump he forced down his throat. There was a loud throat-clear he couldn't quite manage to ignore. He looked up and sheepishly met Shiro's familiar gaze.

"Did Kolivan starve you?"

Keith quirked a smile, a difficult task with his bulging cheeks, and gave a light shrug. "Guess I missed Hunk's cooking more than I thought I would."

"Awww! Keith, you do care!" Hunk was beaming widely across the table. "Just for that, you earned yourself the last spring roll."

"Hey, I wanted the last roll!"

Hunk sniffed at Pidge and stared down his pudgy nose. "I reward the grateful! You barely touched your stir fry!" Pidge began tapping irately at her Mini-Screen she'd smuggled beneath the table. She muttered something that instantly had Shiro on high alert.

"What was that, Pidge?"

The girl shot him wide grin that was nothing short of angelic-in a fallen angel sort of way. "I was just saying how much I love the taste of stinky feet."

A guffawing laugh escaped Keith's throat before he could stop it. It was quickly joined by the others. Even Allura managed a quiet chuckle at their resident chef's expense. Coran, however, peered closely at a forkful of stir-fry as if searching for hidden toes among the chopped vegetables and meat.

Keith was vaguely aware of the fading chuckles around him as his stomach gave an all-to-familiar jerk. Saliva pooled coldly in his mouth as his chest constricted. He jumped upright in blind panic and stumbled desperately from the table. He was already bent over the garbage chute by the time he realized he'd made it to the kitchen.

Footsteps shuffled awkwardly behind him and voices whispered their not-so-subtle concern as his body violently rejected his meal. His eyes stung and his nose burned with bile and stomach acid. He let himself slump against the chute several long minutes after the final dry heave. He had no desire to turn and see his teammates' worried expressions. He had even less desire to answer the unavoidable slew of questions about to assault him.

"My lad, I believe a trip to the med bay is in order. I don't believe Hunk's cooking warranted such an... extreme reaction, ill-smelling feet or not." Coran was fiddling with his mustache pensively. Keith could practically hear the gears turning in the man's head. He fumbled for a plausible excuse, but before he could muster even a half-way decent lie, Shiro was already staging a follow-up interrogation.

"How long have you felt sick? Could you have caught a bug at the Blades' base?" Shiro's features were taut with worry, his eyes searching. Every lie in Keith's frantic brain sounded flimsy and shallow, like a bad Halloween mask. There was no way he was lying his way out of this. He inhaled shakily and braced for a tenuous confession.

"It comes and goes. It's usually just nausea, but sometimes if I eat too fast I get sick. It's wasn't you Hunk; it's me."

"Wow, bad break-up lines 101. Sorry, Hunk, you still got dumped," Pidge snickered to herself in the backround.

Hunk narrowed his eyes at her, but quickly turned his attention back to Keith. "I am so sorry, dude. I shouldn't have made the Chinese. Do you want tea? I know a ginger recipe that's good for stomach upset? Technically, we don't actually have ginger, but I found this root substitute-"

"Whoa whoa whoa! Hold the phone. You said this comes and goes? How often and when did it start?"

Keith pointedly ignored the intense frown plastered over Lance's face. Somehow, Voltron's cheesy Blue jokester had evolved into a mother-henning watchdog during Keith's absence. He had no idea how he felt about this transformation or why so much of this protective energy was suddenly assaulting him.

"Last month or so. I haven't really noticed it much. Heavy training always makes me kind of queasy.

The concern on Shiro's face instantly evolved into full-fledged alarm. "Keith, I think you're due for a vacation. I have no idea how much work Kolivan put you through with the Blade, but there's nothing wrong with you taking a short break before you jump back into Voltron training."

Keith didn't bother to stifle his humorless snort of amusement.

"I'm fine! Last time I checked we're in the middle of war. You don't get vacations in between battles."

Keith shoved away from the garbage chute and stalked past the group. He was 100% done talking about this. So he puked a little... big deal. It wasn't like he'd gotten an arm hacked off. Why were they turning it into a crisis? He might have heard a concerned shout from Shiro, but the dining room door was already sliding shut behind him.

"Paladins, we just intercepted an emergency communique from the Rebel Coalition. A small fleet of the supply ships was ambushed by two large Galran flagships. The cargo contains critical supplies that cannot be afford to be lost."

Shiro nodded thoughtfully at the Princess' hurried briefing over the Lions' intercoms and tapped his index fingers restlessly against Black's thrusters. He heard her displeased growl in the back of his mind over the mission update. Two flag ships against a small supply fleet wasn't a battle. It was a massacre. Fish in a barrel had a better chance of escape. There was a very real possibility that Voltron would simply arrive too late to do anything more than avenge their fallen comrades. Even wormholes weren't always fast enough.

A bright red flash caught Shiro's peripheral. The Red Lion was racing forward at a murderous speed with no sign of hesitation. Shiro frowned. Keith had been back with the team nearly two weeks, but this was the first real conflict they'd faced together. He couldn't ignore the subtle sense of awkwardness hovering over the group like a circling vulture. Everything felt ever-so-slightly stilted and forced, as though no one was quite sure how to ease back into their previous dynamics. Lance was back in Blue. Keith was back in Red. In a diplomatic, peace-keeping gesture, Allura had volunteered to sit out altogether to oversee missions with Coran from the Castleship. She seemed to sense the tension before anyone else and had been more than willing to sacrifice her temporary piloting position to preserve the peace. Awkward didn't begin to cover the game of "musical-lions" they were stuck playing.

"Keith, steady. I know we have to hurry, but we can't afford the risk of rushing into an unknown situation alone. We stick together."

"We don't have time!"

Shiro winced at the shout and sped up to match Red's breakneck speed.

"Keith, wait for us!"

"We can't afford to ease into this! We get there now and save the rebels or we show up late and clean up the wreckage!"

The coms went dead silent at Keith's blunt words. Shiro could feel the tension oozing from the others. None of them dared utter a word.

"We'll get there as quickly as we safely can, but we will arrive together as a team. That's an order."

There was a half-a-tick hesitation at the verbal ax-swing. Keith was obviously tasting the iron that had crept into Shiro's voice. The Black paladin frowned. He hated pulling rank. Far too many instructors and officers back at the Garrison had pulled that stunt with him during his cadet days. He'd always believed that true leaders never had to remind their followers who was in charge. He'd just subjected Keith to the same cold authority he'd always hated. What did that say about him as a leader?

"Yes, sir."

They arrived too late.

Twisted scraps of glowing, red-hot metal floated aimlessly in the dark void of space. No ships were intact, Gala or Rebel. Keith stared at the wreckage, a hot flame of guilt worming its way through his chest. Failure, an ugly voice whispered in his ear. He gritted his teeth and cursed. How many rebels had been lost because of them?

Keith cringed at the muffled half-sob he heard over the comm. They all knew Matt wasn't in this Rebel fleet. A quick, on-screen visit several days earlier had confirmed that he was still holed-up on the outskirts of Rebel territory, far from any possible conflicts and busy working on new coalition weapons. Keith knew this reassurance didn't make anyone feel better. Matt could have very easily been on any of the annihilated ships. If he'd been on-board they would have lost him. Again. There wouldn't have been any more second chances.

Keith inhaled shakily, steeling himself against the surge of emotions bubbling up inside. It didn't matter how close to home this hit. They had to stay focused on the mission at hand. Pidge must have been thinking the same thing because he heard her give a shaky sniffle and bite out a dark curse that normally would have had Shiro instantly chastising. Their leader didn't comment, though. He was too busy delegating search quadrants to hunt for survivors.

"Hunk, Lance, begin trolling the wreckage for survivors. Take twelve o'clock and work your way clockwise. There's still a chance some survived. Pidge-"

"Wait! I'm getting proximity readings on ships! They're not far and they're definitely Galra! I'm patching the coordinates through to your HUDs now."

"Fighters?"

"No, the readings are too big to be fighters. At least one of the flagships is still nearby. We can still rescue the survivors!"

"Pidge, we have no certain intel what ship the survivors may be on... if they were even taken onboard."

"I know one way to find out."

"Keith, fall back!"

Shiro's warning shout felt to the back of Keith's consciousness like wafts of smoke as he took off after Pidge's coordinates. If the survivors were still around, there was no time to sit around and talk about it. Red was fast and strong. One in and out reconnaissance mission wasn't a big deal. He'd survived far worse with the Blades with far worse odds.

The chattering com went abruptly silent. He looked down idly with a frown. He didn't remember switching it off.

Pidge had been right about the distance. Within less than a dobash, a looming dark mass appeared up ahead. Keith slowed and scanned his screens for signs of patrolling fighters. All was quiet and still. If anything, the flagship seemed to be waiting for them.

"All right, girl, let's take a look." Keith gently eased his thrusters forward, aiming for the dark underbelly of the ship.

It took him half a tick to realize they weren't moving. He frowned, forcing the thrusters forward harder. The instruments slid forward with their usual ease, but Red remained stubbornly frozen in place. "Hey, come on, we're sitting ducks. Let's go!"

An odd sound filled Keith's mind. Something between a growl and a whine-definitely not a sound Keith had ever heard her give before. "Red?" The question hung silently between them.

Keith's HUD flashed an abrupt and angry red warning. He looked up to find two fighters whizzing closer. He couldn't tell whether they'd already been spotted yet, but they definitely would be it they didn't get moving.

"Red, let's go!" Before Keith could jerk the thrusters, Red was already barrel-rolling out of the fighter's trajectory. A fierce roar filled Keith's mind like a canon boom. Red sounded angry. No, not angry. Furious.

Keith grabbed for the thrusters and stomped at the left rudder petal to bank hard for a clear shot, but Red clearly had plans of her own. They continued at a sharp, gut-jerking plummet far from the fighters' reach. Too far to even think about returning fire. Keith cursed and flung the instruments away hotly. They were all but useless to him now. He wasn't piloting Red anymore. She clearly had her own agenda, and he was nothing more than a helpless passenger.

The coms abruptly crackled to life; Shiro's voice was the first thing Keith heard