Terminal Velocity • Voltron x Terminal List

VIII

Shiro talked to Keith before heading back to wherever he'd come from without so much as a goodbye, and Coran made a quick stop to refuel before they proceeded onward. While at the fueling station, Lance sent a message to Hunk. Truth be told, he'd rather not drag Hunk into the mess he'd created, but his assistance would prove valuable with what Lance had planned.

When Coran touched down the helicopter in a private bay, Lance was both relieved and made anxious by the sight of his long-time friend.

Hunk looked up as Lance stepped off the chopper and ran forward, catching the Latino in a bear hug that had him grimacing. He still had some bruises from his encounter at the medical clinic, and he'd been pushing his body too hard to allow them to heal.

"Existing injury," Lance got out, and Hunk backed off at once, biting at his lip and scanning Lance. He'd taken the chance to change after the sicario raid, so he was no longer covered in blood. Now he was just wearing jeans and some cheap shirt he'd found at the gas station. He could be anyone. He could be no one.

"Lance," Hunk said, his eyes watering, and Lance exhaled, one thousand percent sure that he absolutely should never have contacted Hunk. Of all his friends, Hunk was the least attuned to violence, and Lance knew exactly how it would play out, how Hunk would see the monster in Lance and shatter their friendship of decades. Lance could and would sacrifice everything he had to for the figures in the drawing he carried with him in his pocket.

But for now, he and Hunk were friends. "Hey, Hunk," Lance said, leaning forward to give him a one-arm hug with considerably less force than Hunk had administered. "Sorry to drag you out here."

"Hey, I've always wanted to visit California," Hunk said, pulling back with a smile. "Just, you know, more as a tourist and not as the accomplice of a domestic terrorist."

"I prefer 'man of intrigue'," Lance responded with a half-smile. "And no one's saying you can't come back as a tourist."

Hunk winced. "I have a feeling that whatever it is you're orchestrating, I probably won't be welcome in this state for a long time coming."

"You and me both, buddy. But hey, let's get started," Lance said, turning and steering Hunk to the side of the bay where there were several tables and a whiteboard against the wall. "I've got this hangar rented for the week. Gives us time to plan," he said, pausing to take two more headache pills, and Hunk looked at the bottle.

"What are you taking those for?" he asked, and Lance tucked the bottle back into his duffel.

"Brain tumor," Lance said without looking over at Hunk.

"Very funny," Hunk said with a roll of his eyes. "What exactly did you bring me out here for, anyway?"

--

"No, you can't," Hunk said, shaking his head in vehement protest. "Attacking a guy in broad daylight? Lance, that's...well, for starters, your face has already been broadcasted on every television in the country, and I hate to break it to you but you don't exactly have a loving fanbase."

"I'll wear a disguise," Lance said simply. "You'd be surprised what people won't recognize in front of their own face when they're not expecting to see it. And besides, this guy has a retinue of guards surrounding him constantly. There's no way to get through that many human shields without being close enough to time it perfectly."

"Even so," Hunk continued. "You're putting yourself at risk, and you're endangering every single civilian in that area, people who have done nothing against you."

"That's why I need you," Lance reminded Hunk. This was the third go-round of the same conversation. Lance had filled Hunk in on the plan, which Hunk had immediately rejected as being too dangerous. "I can rig up an explosive just as good as anyone, but you can help make it more directed. If we can increase the precision, then we can make sure it doesn't hit any civilians."