Contrary to Keith's concerns, Coran was an excellent pilot, and he had them touching down in a small town an hour and change outside of Monterrey just several hours later. Lance's headache was still throbbing but manageable after he'd taken a few pills during the ride. He tried to ignore the fact that he'd nearly finished off the bottle. Coran had noticed but hadn't said anything.

"So, what brings us out here, my boy?" Coran asked after they'd gotten out. Although his tone was friendly, his eyes were sharp, and Lance knew that lying wouldn't be appreciated.

"I'm here to kill the man that killed my family," Lance replied without flinching, meeting Coran's eyes and holding eye contact.

"Right, then," Coran said with a single nod, and he didn't look an ounce surprised or, Lance noted with a small amount of relief, disappointed. "I suppose you'll be needing these," he said, pulling a duffel bag out of the helicopter and presenting it to Lance, who peered inside.

Several automatic guns, plenty of ammunition, several grenades, and a handful of other toys to play with. "You know, I'm starting to think Keith has skimped out on my birthday every year," Lance said thoughtfully as his eyes picked through the ordinance.

"And there's one other thing, my boy," Coran said, hesitating for a moment before producing a small white bag. "Number Five informed me of your...condition," he said, his eyes faltering for a moment before he looked up at Lance in sadness. "And she requested that I passed these along as well."

Lance accepted the smaller bag and looked inside to find several prescription bottles.

"She said that they might...assist in reducing some of the symptoms."

Lance just nodded but didn't say anything, instead sealing the bag, tossing it in the duffel with the rest of his supplies, zipping up the duffel, and slinging it over his shoulder. That way he didn't have to look at the pity in Coran's eyes. He paused to send a brief message to Pidge letting her know that they'd landed and that he'd call in a bit.

"You boys up for a walk?" he asked after a moment.

--

Lance had instructed Coran to set the helicopter down about two miles out from a small town. They met up with a road and followed it into the town limits, and once there, Lance instructed them to wait while he procured rooms for them to stay in. He spoke with a landlord, the two of them exchanging rapid Spanish, and Lance returned to Keith and Lance a few minutes later, holding up a single key.

"All they had open for tonight," Lance said. "Mi habitación de motel, nuestra habitación de hotel. You two settle in. I've got to chat with a genius scientist-slash-hacker-slash-researcher."

--

"Hey, Pidgeon," Lance said. He was up on the roof of the motel, scanning along the street and paying special attention to anyone that either looked suspicious or looked like they might have some answers for him.

"Hey, rampaging military-experiment supersoldier," Pidge greeted back.

"I take it you found out what RD-4895 is all about then?" Lance asked.

"More or less," she hummed. "And it's- well, it's rather fascinating...potentially even revolutionary in the healthcare industry. No offense," she added as though having suddenly remembered that the miracle mystery drug had given Lance a death sentence.

"None taken. Tell me about it."

"Well, this guy - Matthew Scopek – has spent pretty much his entire career researching the human memory. He's done a lot of work with Alzheimer's in the past, and RD-4895 was his most recent project."

"So what's it do? Besides create tumors."

"It's a nootropic that's supposed to mute the link between your hippocampus and amygdala. Essentially, it lets your brain encode memory data without the associated combat trauma. It's...well, it's like anti-PTSD."

"That's..." Lance's eyes alit on a figure below who sported the outline of a pistol tucked into his belt. He tracked him across town and made a mental note of the building – likely a bar – that he disappeared into. "Well, that sounds a lot less evil when you put it that way. How'd it get from Scopek to us?"

"Nubellum started developing RD-4895 two years ago, only from what I could dig up, it looks like Thorn froze the project after animal testing. There wasn't much justification as to why, but then I cross-referenced the timing against their cap table – that's a sort of accounting document that itemizes shareholders' stakes in a company."

"Not totally following, but I get the gist. Thorn froze the project, a lot of people put money behind it...where does my platoon come in?"

"Well, the drug worked in rats and in dogs, but Thorn rushed it into humans in a blind test."

Lance's hand clenched into a fist as he pictured Kinkade. He hadn't been well. Lance hadn't seen it clearly until the op, when Kinkade had frozen up in the middle of combat right before charging into an IED that wiped out several of his men and almost killed Lance too. "Alpha Platoon."

"Right, and the drug had horrible side effects not present in the animal testing. That's why Thorn is trying to sell Nubellum right now – because if RD-4895 had worked as intended, Nubellum Pharmaceuticals would be one of the most valuable companies in the world. But it didn't quite work, and if his investors find out that it failed, Thorn's looking at a loss of 15 to 20 billion. Hence him pressuring the government to take it off his hands, plus the subsequent cover up and the manhunt for you, the last member of Alpha Platoon who's carrying evidence of that failure in his brain."

"Perfect, there's a guy out there with 15 to 20 billion reasons to kill me," Lance said with a sigh, sinking against the short wall that ran the perimeter of the rooftop.

"And Lance, that's not all. A month back, Thorn took out a portion of his shares in Nubellum and divvied them up between a number of shell companies. That was right around the same time as your mission."

"Payoffs," Lance inferred, his eyes stony as he harnessed his rage. He couldn't afford recklessness right now; he had to save his fury for tomorrow. "For killing my men in the Syria op and covering it up."

"That's what I inferred as well."

"Can you get me a list of those investors?" Lance asked, turning so his back was to the wall and his elbows were resting atop it. "I need names. I assume Perrello and Pelios are on it, as with Thorn and El Navajas, but they'd need someone in the military to complete the cover up. I need that name. And see if you can get me Thorn's location. I'm heading his way next."

"I'll work on it, Lance, but...be careful," Pidge said.

"Roger that. Thanks, Pidge."

--

"All Emilio could give me was a name and a number," Lance said. "El Navajas." He flicked his eyes up to Keith, who was squinting back at him. "Small Assassin," he translated before looking over at Coran. "The number didn't lead anywhere – probably a burner phone that's been tossed since – but I was able to trace the lot number to find that it was purchased in this town."

"So how do we find this El Nava...Small Assassin guy?" Keith asked.

"I'm going to spend the evening getting familiar with the local color," Lance said. "Hopefully make a few friends with loose lips."

"You're not going alone," Keith said immediately, and Lance raised an eyebrow, a smirk falling onto his lips.

"Keith, hombre, I don't know exactly how to tell you this but..." He pointed to his friend. "You? A lovely half human, half fuzzy purple alien. Me..." Lance waved a hand at himself. "100% Latino eye candy."

"You're saying I stick out," Keith said, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm saying that you don't exactly have the right costume for this parade," Lance corrected diplomatically. "And that it's going to be difficult for me to get the info we need if I have a big red half-alien flag hovering over my shoulder."

"I assume I'm also a bit...conspicuous," Coran said, twirling his mustache with a small frown then. "All right, Number Three, I take your point. But how can Keith and I make ourselves useful while you're out doing recon?"

"Great question," Lance said, pulling a map out of his pocket that he'd gotten from the motel owner's office and spreading it on the motel table. "Study up. This is a topographical map of the surrounding 10 square miles. My gut tells me this guy is holed up somewhere close, and depending on how much heat he's packing, we might want to claim the high ground." Lance straightened up. "Aside from that, order food service, watch a program – I'd recommend Firefly – knock yourselves out."

Lance checked his magazine to ensure it was full, then slipped his pistol into his waistband where he could easily grab it if things went south.

"You'll call me if you run into trouble?" Keith asked, and Lance frowned at the concern in his voice. When he'd been a part of Voltron, Keith asking him that would've been nice. Appreciated, even. Because it meant that he had his back, that he was worried about him. Now it just meant that Keith doubted his ability on account of his diagnosis.

"If I run into trouble and can't handle it, then sure, but I won't need to," Lance said shortly, nodding to Coran before stepping out the door and strolling down the street toward the bar he'd seen the man enter earlier.

--

It was a little after 11 when Lance returned to the motel room to find Keith and Coran sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes glued to the television.

"Your recommendation was well-received, Number Three," Coran said, pausing the show and looking up with a grin. "Earth entertainment is quite fascinating and imaginative for a species that had, up until recently, rather limited interstellar engagement."

"Yeah, it's a favorite," Lance said, flicking his eyes over to the television to see the Serenity, the Firefly space vessel featured in the show, frozen on the screen. He and Veronica had rewatched the series every summer, and then they'd watched it again when he'd applied to the Garrison. "You guys comfortable with the geography?"

"Yeah, we looked over the map. Marked a couple of locations that could work well, just depends on where this guy is," Keith said.

"That part I can help with," Lance replied, going over to the map, picking up the motel pen, and drawing a circle in the approximate area that he'd been told about. "According to my source, he's holed up here. Flat land in all directions far enough out to avoid a long-distance approach, so we'll have to go in fast and hard, and they're sure as hell going to see us coming."

"They?" Keith asked.

Lance nodded grimly. "Our guy is part of a group of sicarios. We're looking at...two, maybe three dozen. Minus one." The man hadn't exactly been eager to give up the information, so Lance simply counted it as a head start.

Keith was quiet, not quite scowling but thoughtful. "That complicates things."

"It does and it doesn't," Lance said, staring at the map. "These aren't civilians or innocent bystanders. They're murderers and assassins. Taking out the whole nest would be doing a favor to the world."

"And I'm not disagreeing with you," Keith said, although his eyes had strayed downward. Lance followed his gaze to find that Keith's eyes were on his right hand, which had started shaking. Lance tucked it in his pocket. "I'm just saying that there's three of us and three dozen of them, and we might be better trained, but those are shitty odds no matter how you spin it."

"Did you have to bust out your calculator for that one?" Lance asked, a bit of bite in his tone that Keith, in all fairness, didn't deserve. Lance was just tired.

"It's a good thing I called in some backup then," Coran said cheerfully, ignoring the somber mood.

"Backup?" Lance asked, looking over with narrowed eyes.

"I contacted Number One after we touched down," Coran said, and Lance clenched his jaw but kept silent. "Number Three? Is there something wrong? Another headache?"

"No, I just...Shiro and I aren't on the best of terms," Lance said.

"You two saved the entire universe together! I don't know of any better terms than that," Coran replied. "No matter what may have been said in the past, he still has your back, my boy. He said he's on his way."

"There's no distance Shiro wouldn't travel to give me a lecture," Lance muttered before closing his eyes and pressing his hand to his head as his head started to hurt.

"Lance?"

"If we come in from the east around 7, the sun will be rising behind us and they'll be looking right into it," Lance said, ignoring Keith's concern. "From there, we..."

"Lance? Are you all right, my boy?"

"... my two boys up to?" Veronica asked.

Raphael rambled on for a moment before exclaiming, "And I'm not a little boy anymore!"

"Welllll," Veronica said, finger tapping at her chin as she pretended to do the math. She exchanged a conspiratorial look with Lance. "You're only seven, so you're not exactly grown up either."

Raphael's face scrunched up in a pout and Lance laughed, scooping him close. "Maybe you're not grown up yet, but you will be someday."

"Lance–"

"When I grow up, I'm going to be just like you, Tío Leo," Raphael grumbled.

"Dashingly handsome?" Lance asked, striking a pose, and Raphael's pout was replaced with a laugh.

"Nooo, Tío Leo. I'm going to be a supersoldier, and I'm going to save everyone!"

"Nahh, you don't want that, bud," Lance said after a moment.

"I do! I'm going to grow up to be big and strong, and I'll be a hero that fights the bad guys and protects people and saves princesses."

"Lance!"

"Tío Leo is pretty cool, isn't he," Veronica intervened, pulling Raphael close to her, and he nodded.

"My job isn't all cool," Lance said after a moment, looking over at Raphael. "It's scary sometimes."

"Scary? You get scared too, Tío Leo?"

"All the time," Lance said, blinking, and Raphael was replaced by Keith, who was staring at him intensely, one hand on his gun like he was ready to shoot the tumor right out of Lance's brain.

"'All the time' what?" Coran asked after a moment, his brow furrowed.

"I...nothing," Lance said, looking away. His eyes landed on his duffel, the white bag of medication peeking out, and he gritted his teeth. It was stupid, his ego getting in the way at a time like this, but he felt weak relying on the pills. He didn't want to take them. But he couldn't go blacking out in the middle of a firefight tomorrow. "I just...got lost for a second there."

"Longer than a second," Keith mumbled. "Lance, are you...are you still feeling up to this?"

Lance grabbed the map, folding it back up roughly and wrinkling it in his haste. "I'm going to be just fine. Now get some sleep. I want to be out of here by four and in position by five at the latest."

Coran and Keith exchanged worried looks that Lance chose to ignore as they all moved about the room, preparing for the night. Lance glared at his duffel before getting up, popping two pills, and laying down for the night.

--

Four o-clock came under the dark of night as the three of them exited the motel room.

Lance tossed a key to Keith, then another to Coran. "Picked these up last night," he said shortly, gesturing to three motorbikes that were a bit worse for the wear but had run just fine when he'd tested them upon purchase. "Would've preferred something that would run a bit quieter, but these will get us close. We'll cut the engines and walk them to our recon position."

Coran mentioned something about pinging their coordinates to Shiro, but Lance tuned them out for a moment as he popped several more pills, rolled his shoulders, and swung his leg over the first motorbike. "Try and keep up now, Red," Lance said, interested less in instigating a competition and more in proving that he had the mental capacity and wherewithal to issue such a challenge in the first place.

Keith huffed a rebuke under his breath and turned the key in his bike. The engine sputtered, died, sputtered again, and coughed to a start. "Hijo de puta," Keith muttered. "You sure this thing's viable?"

"Sure? No. Hopeful? Absolutely," Lance said with a grin as Coran started his with no problem. "Let's go."

--

They cut the engines when they were two miles out from the sicarios' location and walked the bikes another mile before stopping near a rocky outcropping around 4:45AM. The rocks wouldn't provide much useful cover or any meaningful vertical advantage once the sun came up, but while the moon reigned supreme, it was as good of a position as any.

Lance braced against one of the larger rocks, a rifle in his hands and an eye up to his scope. "No activity just yet," he murmured, moving his sights from entry point to entry point. "Probably all asleep."

"I thought there was no rest for the wicked," Keith said, taking a stab at lightening the mood, and Lance smirked.

"5AM is early no matter how bad of a person you are. Coran, what's Shiro's ETA? And, come to think of it, how the hell is he getting here? And does he even know where 'here' is?"

"Lance," Keith said urgently, ear tilted toward the landscape behind them, and as Lance looked in the direction Keith was listening in, Lance thought he caught a glimpse of something under the moonlight. He adjusted his scope to see a figure in black heading toward them at a high velocity, quite nearly blending into the surrounding landscape.

Without a word, Lance passed the scope over to Coran, who took a look. "Well, Number Three, to answer your questions...I'd say, imminently, by way of a hover device, and yes."

--

published 09/18/11

3067 words