Let Me Do My Job
This strange cross between Murderbot and Voltron because I could. It was written after I'd drawn a picture (which is below).
Staring down the leader of this group was both the easiest and hardest thing Keith had ever done. It hated the emotional reaction that bloomed in its chest at the sight of Shiro alive and mostly in one piece, minus his augmented arm. The others were also alive and recovering from their myriad injuries.Â
âNext time your SecUnit tells you to run,â Keith said slowly, practically glaring, âyou run. You donât stop and attempt to rescue the SecUnit.â
Sequestered in their corner of the lounge, Pidge looked up from their multiple displays. Their fingers were still typing away as they said, âButâŠâ
Shiro shook his head, stilling whatever argument they mightâve offered. âSecUnit â Keith â is right. We did it no favors today.â
âWe donât abandon teammates,â Hunk blurted out. He was nursing a broken arm and three fractured ribs, and apparently, staying put in medical was advice for other people. The dark-haired SecUnit wanted to shake him a little.
âI can defend myself, and Iâm more durable than any of you.â Keith focused on Shiro. âIncluding you, captain.â Before it lost momentum, it added, âLet me do my job.â
Not words the SecUnit had ever expected to say, but it stood by them with all the ferocity of a lion about to strike. This group of misfits were its humans, and it planned to keep them alive through the rest of this star-forsaken mission.Â
âSorry,â the pale-haired princess said, almost too quietly to be heard properly.Â
âWell, Iâm not.â The brown-haired sharpshooter jumped up from his seat and paced the room. âYou doing your job and dying would make a whole lot of people unhappy.â A jab at Shiro, maybe, or just earnest belief that the team cared. Keith neither knew nor cared.
âHelpful clients account for approximately sixty-three percent of all my injuries,â it stated with a shrug.
âSo what do you propose?â Lance demanded, getting so close they were practically touching noses.Â
âThat you back off and remember I have guns in my arms.â
âSeriously? What the fuck is wrong with you?â
Solid question to which the SecUnit didnât have an answer. Its governor module was malfunctioning, sure â Pidgeâs handiwork â but its other components reported nominal activity. The optimistic numbers failed to explain the uncomfortable feelings rattling around in its organic bits.
The reassuring readouts definitely didnât explain Keithâs singleminded desire to protect these people, or the fluttering of its non-existent heart wherever Shiro got too close. For fuckâs sake.
âIâm functioning within normal parameters.â
Lance shook his head and backed off a few steps, still very much upset.
âPerhaps we should take a break and regroup in a few hours?â Shiro recommended in his cat-herding voice. Keith had seen better men behave when the commander of this mission asked nicely. It definitely had an effect this time around.
Tension seeped out of the SecUnitâs narrow shoulders, and its eyes softened into something less feral. It stuck its hands in its pockets and took a steadying breath.Â
Glancing hesitantly up at Shiro, it added, âIâm going to patrol the perimeter.â
to be continued
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Diversion
A snippet featuring Voltron characters having a terrible time. Finished one shot with an ambiguous but hopeful ending.
The ransom video pissed Shiro off beyond all reason.
He had every right to be angry with the nameless resistance cell who'd kidnapped his husband in the middle of a humanitarian rescue operation. The Blades had been helping in the wake of a natural disaster on a planet halfway across the galaxy whose name Shiro knew only by the virtue of a mission brief.
It should have been perfectly safe.
Should have been.
"Can we track where this came from?" the admiral asked as he turned to the communications officer.
The older officer knew a little something about the relevant technology, but he shook his head. "A Blade hand-delivered it."
That got Shiro's undivided attention. "What?"
The officer's expression twisted into something concerned. "Head of ATLAS security escorted them to an interrogation room. So far, they haven't said a word to us, but we assumed you'd want to speak with them."
"Have the Blades been contacted?"
"Yes, sir."
Shiro let the matter drop and hurried to the small, dimly lit room where he normally conversed with frightened aliens and drunk crewmembers. Calling it "interrogation" was stretching the truth, and the ATLAS bristled at the critique.
The holding room door slid open with a soft whoosh as the admiral approached, and sure enough, a small, lithe person sat on one of the chairs inside. They wore a full combat suit, complete with an opaque mask that covered their features, so Shiro couldn't see their face. The stranger's head turned to look toward Shiro when the tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into the room.
âIâm told you delivered the ransom⊠information."
The Blade nodded and then did something unusual. They rolled their neck the way Keith sometimes did in boring meetings when all the sitting took its toll.
âCan you tell us where you got it?â
That earned Shiro a shrug and a headshake.
âYou know we have other means of finding out," the admiral growled, and the words hung between them.
Shiro frowned at the Blade's lopsided shoulders, hunched forward in a familiar-as-fuck slouch. He would recognize that pose anywhere. How often had he walked into yet another boring meeting and scanned the room, looking at backs and necks until he found the familiar one?
âKeith?â
It made no sense given the video.
Shiro had just watched three Galra assholes torture the man he loved, so his being here didnât make any sense. But the Blade nodded and put his hands on the table where it became instantly obvious that he couldnât move them.
Shiro grabbed the nearest chair and sat down beside the other man. With gentle fingers, he pulled off the mask and stared into a pair of intense, violet eyes with black bags under them.
Keith looked utterly exhausted, but he stared at Shiro fondly over the metal muzzle that completely covered the lower half of his face. Breathing be damned, the admiral thought as he noticed the outlines of cuffs beneath the smaller man's tight skinsuit. None of the restraints had obvious locks.
âFuck!â he cursed as he scooped his husband up into his arms and held him like a bride, or like the most precious person in his universe.
Keith leaned his head against Shiro's comforting shoulder as the admiral made a beeline for medical.
The ransom, the video, the entire fucking thing was a setup for the contents of his suit, which would detonate given the right set of actions. Keith had done what he could to make sure Shiro would figure it out, but the rest was in Shiro's court.
Keith trusted his husband to help before trouble knocked on their door.
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Keith's original impossible task was to stop the volcano, and he succeeded at great personal cost. His magic weakened significantly as a result, as did his body. And it alerted the Garrison to his existence.
And the universe wasn't done with him, either.
So, he knows that there's more he must do and feels the pull to do it, but he also doesn't know how to make it happen.
*And in this world, every magic user feels the need to do a specific something that will ultimately have a net positive effect on the world. Most just don't make it, going mad (suffering mental health consequences) when they cannot complete their objective. Sitting by and doing nothing isn't an option.
Shiro believes that magic's guiding hand is done with the witch and that the Garrison is the only monster after them. So, there's that.
But they both make it (in no small part because all my stories have to have happy endings).
Impossible Task
Shiroâs target is sitting on the roof of his own house, face turned upward to take in the sparkling night sky. This far from the nearest townâs light pollution, the stars shine bright against the backdrop of the Milky Way. Somewhere in the distance, critters scurry in the desert and a cool breeze rushes across the hardscrabble rock of the nearby flatland. A single, lone cactus sits idly near the porch; itâs probably been here longer than the single-story shack Red call home.
âMight as well come up,â calls a low, raspy voice. âLadderâs on this side.â
The hunter walks around the side of the house, past a row of hardy flowers in planters, down a narrow, well-trodden path that circles around the small building. He gets a glimpse of the well-maintained external siding decorated with rows of grey-and-black sigils.
Far beyond standard protection wards, these symbols flow and writhe as Shiro passes, as if tracking his progress. On the back side, the shack has a small back door with a couple of steps leading down toward a secondary path, and thereâs a ladder propped up against the bottom of the roof.
The older man takes a moment to gather himself before clambering up to join his query. Heâd known from the beginning that he couldnât possibly sneak up on the witch â Red is the most powerful spell caster of his generation, and this is his domain.
âDidnât think youâd come so soon,â says the dark-haired young man once Shiro is safely standing on the roof. âHuh.â
By the meager light of the night sky, Shiro can make out few details. Red is skinny and tan, his black hair messy as it curls behind his ears. Heâs dressed in loose pants and a thick sweater with sleeves long enough to cover his hands. The witch has legs for days and bright, piercing eyes that watch the hunter with suspicious calm.
âHuh?â Shiro asks.
âYouâre not at all what I expected.â
âWhat were you expecting?â
Red shrugs and pats the blanket heâs sitting on. âOne of the exorcists, maybe? Last time, the Garrison sent three at once.â
âIâm not with the Garrison.â
âOh, really?â
Shiro shrugs and takes the offered seat. âThey put out a bounty. Nearly a hundred thousand credits. I took the job.â
âAnd drove straight here?â the younger man asks with a note of surprise.
âNot exactly. I did my homework first.â
Red chuckles and sips from his thermos, gaze returning to the glimmering sky above. This close, Shiro can see a recently healed scar on the manâs face and the way his hands wrap around the thermos.
âWhenâd you know I was here?â
âWhen you crossed the boundary back at the crossroads.â The witch shrugs his narrow shoulders and closes his eyes. âI can feel it when people enter my domain.â
âThatâs gotta be a useful skill.â
âIt comes in handy when dealing with unwanted visitors. Iâm surprised you came here at all. Most people wouldnât think of challenging a witch on their land.â
Shiro knows heâs taking a risk by coming here, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve. âI guess I wanted to see for myself what all the fuss was about. The Garrison insisted I was dealing with a powerful and deranged madman hellbent on taking over the world.â
That gets a full-throated laugh out of Red. The man snorts and shakes his head in disbelief. âIs that what they think?â
âAre they wrong?â
âHow much do you know about spell casting?â
âEnough,â Shiro answers quickly.
âIt requires willpower and raw natural energy from the earth, a.k.a. magic. I have a lot of both, so yeah, Iâm powerful. Deranged, though? And definitely, not hell-bent on anything.â
âI thought it was common knowledge that each witch has an agenda.â
âItâs called an impossible task. Every witch is born with one, something they must accomplish before they die or suffer the consequences. And yes, I have one of those.â
Shiro spent weeks scouring the old libraries and digging through newspaper clippings to better understand his target. The world knows Redâs pseudonym because he saved thousands of people once. From atop a mountain, he calmed the wrath of a volcano that had threatened the West Coast.
Then, he disappeared, and the Garrison took it upon themselves to capture the rogue witch. Magic might be legal, but the government loathes anything and anyone it canât control.
âThey say yours is to burn down the world.â
The quiet man behind him hums softly in answer. âSomething like that.â
âTheyâll never stop chasing you,â Shiro tells the witch, hands in his pockets. âIf not me, then the next hunter. You canât hide forever.â
âI know.â Red stands up and downs the rest of his drink. âI know theyâll stick me in the deepest hole they can dig and throw away the key. Iâve known my future for a long time now.â
âAnd yet here you sit.â
âThe alternative was to live in fear, looking over my shoulder until the very end.â The man turns toward Shiro and thereâs a wan half-smile on his lips. âAt least this way I get to meet a handsome man.â
The hunter recoils as his cheeks grow warm. âFlattery wonât postpone the inevitable.â
âDoesnât make it any less true.â The witch shrugs and kneels in front of Shiro. âMy real nameâs Keith. I thought you should know.â
Shiroâs heart is thumping hard in his chest. In his pocket is a sedative, a heavy dose of something that can fell a witch, and all he has to do is touch the beautiful, ethereal young man before him to activate the drug.
Keith watches him with eyes that glimmer in the dark. âItâll be all right, you know. You can stay here afterward. I know you donât call anywhere else home, so I tried my best to make this shack livable. The pantryâs stocked, and Iâve got year-round vegetables growing in the greenhouse. You can see for miles. No one will be able to sneak up on you here.â
âWhyâre you doing this?â Shiro asks as his hands find Keithâs face and cup it, callused fingers pressing against the angles of the witchâs cheeks. âYou couldâve fought back, surely.â
âMaybe. I mightâve even won. But time is like a river, and some events in it are immovable rocks. I tried to budge one, and it cost me dearly. Iâll be picking up those pieces for the rest of my life.â Keithâs eyes flutter shut. âTake care, Shiro.â
---
Shiro gingerly descends from the roof with his precious cargo pressed close to his pounding chest.
He walks into the house, Keith held in his arms like a sleeping bride, and places him with unparalleled care on the couch in the living room.
In the dim light of a corner lamp, the shorter man looks almost peaceful. His short hair spills around his head like a halo, and his dark clothes show off a gorgeous physique. Shiro slips a pillow under Keithâs head and covers him with a woven blanket.
Then he looks around the cozy home and canât help feeling impressed. Hereâs a home whose occupant cared deeply. Itâs visible in every nook and cranny, from the way plants dot the windowsills to Keithâs favorite mug placed next to a coffee maker.
Shiroâs smile fades as he glances at his phone.
He has a choice to make.
Dial the number provided by the Garrison and wait for a retrieval crew to arrive, or run with his sleeping friend. Keith will awaken eventually, and theyâll need to cross state lines before dawn to stand a chance of escaping the Garrison.
Asleep, the witch looks so vulnerable and young, the sight breaks Shiroâs already fractured heart.
âYeah, all right, all right,â he tells his conscience. âShut it."
âRest easy,â he whispers to the sleeper and then goes outside to prepare his truck.
It feels like shedding a lifetime of weight off his shoulders, this single moment. One moment, heâs someoneâs hound, and the next, his own master. He chooses to escape, to save the raven-haired man from the horrors the Garrison has planned. The choice leaves him breathless and light.
He has a plan by the time he straps the sleeping man into the truckâs passenger seat. Or at least the beginning of one. Outrunning an organization whose tendrils touch nearly every aspect of society will be no easy task, but itâs a challenge Shiro is willing to face. He won't let Red - no, Keith - struggle to survive alone.
Keith doesnât stir as they drive away from his home, and Shiro is glad he doesnât have to explain himself. He will figure this out in time. For now, heâs just a lone hunter helping a person who might one day call him a friend.
Today, that will have to be enough.
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Impossible Task
Shiroâs target is sitting on the roof of his own house, face turned upward to take in the sparkling night sky. This far from the nearest townâs light pollution, the stars shine bright against the backdrop of the Milky Way. Somewhere in the distance, critters scurry in the desert and a cool breeze rushes across the hardscrabble rock of the nearby flatland. A single, lone cactus sits idly near the porch; itâs probably been here longer than the single-story shack Red call home.
âMight as well come up,â calls a low, raspy voice. âLadderâs on this side.â
The hunter walks around the side of the house, past a row of hardy flowers in planters, down a narrow, well-trodden path that circles around the small building. He gets a glimpse of the well-maintained external siding decorated with rows of grey-and-black sigils.
Far beyond standard protection wards, these symbols flow and writhe as Shiro passes, as if tracking his progress. On the back side, the shack has a small back door with a couple of steps leading down toward a secondary path, and thereâs a ladder propped up against the bottom of the roof.
The older man takes a moment to gather himself before clambering up to join his query. Heâd known from the beginning that he couldnât possibly sneak up on the witch â Red is the most powerful spell caster of his generation, and this is his domain.
âDidnât think youâd come so soon,â says the dark-haired young man once Shiro is safely standing on the roof. âHuh.â
By the meager light of the night sky, Shiro can make out few details. Red is skinny and tan, his black hair messy as it curls behind his ears. Heâs dressed in loose pants and a thick sweater with sleeves long enough to cover his hands. The witch has legs for days and bright, piercing eyes that watch the hunter with suspicious calm.
âHuh?â Shiro asks.
âYouâre not at all what I expected.â
âWhat were you expecting?â
Red shrugs and pats the blanket heâs sitting on. âOne of the exorcists, maybe? Last time, the Garrison sent three at once.â
âIâm not with the Garrison.â
âOh, really?â
Shiro shrugs and takes the offered seat. âThey put out a bounty. Nearly a hundred thousand credits. I took the job.â
âAnd drove straight here?â the younger man asks with a note of surprise.
âNot exactly. I did my homework first.â
Red chuckles and sips from his thermos, gaze returning to the glimmering sky above. This close, Shiro can see a recently healed scar on the manâs face and the way his hands wrap around the thermos.
âWhenâd you know I was here?â
âWhen you crossed the boundary back at the crossroads.â The witch shrugs his narrow shoulders and closes his eyes. âI can feel it when people enter my domain.â
âThatâs gotta be a useful skill.â
âIt comes in handy when dealing with unwanted visitors. Iâm surprised you came here at all. Most people wouldnât think of challenging a witch on their land.â
Shiro knows heâs taking a risk by coming here, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve. âI guess I wanted to see for myself what all the fuss was about. The Garrison insisted I was dealing with a powerful and deranged madman hellbent on taking over the world.â
That gets a full-throated laugh out of Red. The man snorts and shakes his head in disbelief. âIs that what they think?â
âAre they wrong?â
âHow much do you know about spell casting?â
âEnough,â Shiro answers quickly.
âIt requires willpower and raw natural energy from the earth, a.k.a. magic. I have a lot of both, so yeah, Iâm powerful. Deranged, though? And definitely, not hell-bent on anything.â
âI thought it was common knowledge that each witch has an agenda.â
âItâs called an impossible task. Every witch is born with one, something they must accomplish before they die or suffer the consequences. And yes, I have one of those.â
Shiro spent weeks scouring the old libraries and digging through newspaper clippings to better understand his target. The world knows Redâs pseudonym because he saved thousands of people once. From atop a mountain, he calmed the wrath of a volcano that had threatened the West Coast.
Then, he disappeared, and the Garrison took it upon themselves to capture the rogue witch. Magic might be legal, but the government loathes anything and anyone it canât control.
âThey say yours is to burn down the world.â
The quiet man behind him hums softly in answer. âSomething like that.â
âTheyâll never stop chasing you,â Shiro tells the witch, hands in his pockets. âIf not me, then the next hunter. You canât hide forever.â
âI know.â Red stands up and downs the rest of his drink. âI know theyâll stick me in the deepest hole they can dig and throw away the key. Iâve known my future for a long time now.â
âAnd yet here you sit.â
âThe alternative was to live in fear, looking over my shoulder until the very end.â The man turns toward Shiro and thereâs a wan half-smile on his lips. âAt least this way I get to meet a handsome man.â
The hunter recoils as his cheeks grow warm. âFlattery wonât postpone the inevitable.â
âDoesnât make it any less true.â The witch shrugs and kneels in front of Shiro. âMy real nameâs Keith. I thought you should know.â
Shiroâs heart is thumping hard in his chest. In his pocket is a sedative, a heavy dose of something that can fell a witch, and all he has to do is touch the beautiful, ethereal young man before him to activate the drug.
Keith watches him with eyes that glimmer in the dark. âItâll be all right, you know. You can stay here afterward. I know you donât call anywhere else home, so I tried my best to make this shack livable. The pantryâs stocked, and Iâve got year-round vegetables growing in the greenhouse. You can see for miles. No one will be able to sneak up on you here.â
âWhyâre you doing this?â Shiro asks as his hands find Keithâs face and cup it, callused fingers pressing against the angles of the witchâs cheeks. âYou couldâve fought back, surely.â
âMaybe. I mightâve even won. But time is like a river, and some events in it are immovable rocks. I tried to budge one, and it cost me dearly. Iâll be picking up those pieces for the rest of my life.â Keithâs eyes flutter shut. âTake care, Shiro.â
---
Shiro gingerly descends from the roof with his precious cargo pressed close to his pounding chest.
He walks into the house, Keith held in his arms like a sleeping bride, and places him with unparalleled care on the couch in the living room.
In the dim light of a corner lamp, the shorter man looks almost peaceful. His short hair spills around his head like a halo, and his dark clothes show off a gorgeous physique. Shiro slips a pillow under Keithâs head and covers him with a woven blanket.
Then he looks around the cozy home and canât help feeling impressed. Hereâs a home whose occupant cared deeply. Itâs visible in every nook and cranny, from the way plants dot the windowsills to Keithâs favorite mug placed next to a coffee maker.
Shiroâs smile fades as he glances at his phone.
He has a choice to make.
Dial the number provided by the Garrison and wait for a retrieval crew to arrive, or run with his sleeping friend. Keith will awaken eventually, and theyâll need to cross state lines before dawn to stand a chance of escaping the Garrison.
Asleep, the witch looks so vulnerable and young, the sight breaks Shiroâs already fractured heart.
âYeah, all right, all right,â he tells his conscience. âShut it."
âRest easy,â he whispers to the sleeper and then goes outside to prepare his truck.
It feels like shedding a lifetime of weight off his shoulders, this single moment. One moment, heâs someoneâs hound, and the next, his own master. He chooses to escape, to save the raven-haired man from the horrors the Garrison has planned. The choice leaves him breathless and light.
He has a plan by the time he straps the sleeping man into the truckâs passenger seat. Or at least the beginning of one. Outrunning an organization whose tendrils touch nearly every aspect of society will be no easy task, but itâs a challenge Shiro is willing to face. He won't let Red - no, Keith - struggle to survive alone.
Keith doesnât stir as they drive away from his home, and Shiro is glad he doesnât have to explain himself. He will figure this out in time. For now, heâs just a lone hunter helping a person who might one day call him a friend.
Today, that will have to be enough.
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Sappy Horror Night
Shiro doesn't remember how the rest of the paladins talked him into this, but here he is, a thirty-year-old man on a couch, watching Alien for the first time.
This is not a movie for the faint of heart, he decides when yet another bystander dies to the jaws of a creature that would probably send even the Lions scampering. This might be worse than the psychological torture he endured.
He glances over at Keith, seated next to him on an oversized couch, clearly having a good time, and shivers. How is everyone else so calm and collected about this? How are they not freaking out whenever the music subtly changes and the lights flicker?
"You all right?" his husband murmurs, leaning in close.
"Fine," Shiro practically squeaks.
"He's not fine," Pidge adds sagely from where they're perched on a cushion on the floor, bowl of popcorn in hand.
Keith reaches over and puts an arm around his husband's shoulders and nuzzles his flesh-and-blood arm reassuringly. "You gonna make it, big guy?"
Shiro swallows and holds back a whimper, just barely. "Definitely."
"Liar," Keith whispers into his ear. "Come on, let's go do something else."
"Nope, I'm fine."
Keith rolls his eyes. "We've been married long enough that I know better."
"Shhh!" Lance mutters. "We're just getting to the good part."
"Shut up, lover boy. One more wordâ"
Allura snickers and wraps her fiancé in her embrace. Keith is thankful she knows what to do with Lance because he certainly doesn't. Distance hasn't made his heart grow any fonder, at least not about this.
"We can turn the lights on," he offers.
"It's almost over anyway," Shiro protests, endeared at Keith's single-minded protection. "Plus, you like it."
"It's a guy in a suit. You can tell!" Keith protests.
"Well, don't tell us that," Pidge grumbles. "Next time, I'm not inviting either of you to horror movie night. Just kiss him and get it over with!"
"What?" Keith sputters, and even poor Hunk can't help chuckling.
He glares at the back of Pidge's head before turning and doing exactly that. He reaches up to hold Shiro's overheated face and presses their lips together in a gesture that's both familiar and so, so precious.
That they get to spend this life together still feels like a revelation.
Shiro returns the kiss, leans into it, and sighs.
"They're doing it again," Lance mutters quietly.
Allura takes the opportunity to do the same to shut him up.
Someone screams in the background. Hunk makes more popcorn.
It's⊠pretty much like every other movie night the paladins have ever done. Perfect in all the ways that matter.
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Familiar Faces
At some point, the movie ended and another began. Keith dozed through some of it, exhausted almost despite himself, and woke just in time to see Shiro fiddling with his phone. The storm still raged, no quieter now than when heâd crashed an hour prior, and the world outside the window was dark.
Sitting up, he glanced at the easily-visible screen. A group chat was open, the conversation moving at a steady pace. The nicknames were unfamiliar, but they were color-coded so he could take a few educated guesses.
âWe â me, the paladins, a few others â have a shared channel,â Shiro explained, hands hovering over the tiny keyboard. âIâve been ignoring it since leaving the Atlas, and my friends are chatty.â
Shiro wanted to reassure them, but words wouldnât come. What could he possibly tell the team if not the truth, and that truth involved Keith? Keith, who had asked for more time to think, who clearly wanted to lay low.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and Shiro looked up into a pair of overwhelming eyes. They saw right through him, he was sure of it. Keith pointed at the small device, and Shiro handed it over.
A few taps later, Keith had the camera going and took a quick, rough selfie of the two of them. Shiro looked at the resulting picture and couldnât help the warmth spreading across his face. Here was Shiro, expression pensive, looking over at Keith who made a silly face. The scars on his neck were partially obscured by the short beard, but not fully.
Keith handed the phone back to him. âYou can tell them.â
âI know you donât remember any of them, but the paladins⊠we think of you as a dear and precious friend. If I show them this picture, theyâll be here in the time it takes this storm to pass.â Shiro licked his chapped lips. âThey can be a lot.â
The twisting, sinking feeling in Keithâs gut only worsened. âIâm not Keith from before. Iâm just a person. With scars and missing memories. They need to understand.â
He ducked his head, hands curled into fists at his side.
After a momentary debate, Shiro reached out and touched the younger manâs nose.
âYouâre still you, Keith. Memories or not. Still kind and selfless, still a tinkerer at heart, still in possession of your motherâs knife.â He nodded toward the sketchbook on the coffee table, open to a page filled with theoretical designs. âPlease, no matter what you decide, donât sell yourself short.â
Slowly the fists loosened, and stormy eyes looked up at this not-quite-stranger. Keith wanted to argue that Shiro had no right to upend his current life, but that didnât ring true.
Theyâd just spent five hours on Keithâs lumpy couch, watching old movies and eating snacks while thunder roared overhead and lightning danced. Keith felt like a passing asteroid pulled into Shiroâs gravity well.
Did he want to escape?
Living this life meant reconciling his old one, whatever that ledger looked like.
âIâm willing to give whatever happens a chance.â He shrugged and pulled off his sweater.
Underneath he wore a black t-shirt, and Shiro got a good look at his friendâs body. It told its own story.
âI will tell them to take it easy.â Shiro knew a little something about surviving trauma, and a world turned suddenly busy and loud wasnât his idea of a good time. âThey mean well," he added.
Keith's lopsided smile didn't reach his eyes. âI knew I couldnât hide forever.â
âBut you wanted more time,â Shiro said.
âWe all do.â
Shiro ended up settling for the facts.
Keith Kogane is alive and on Altea. He doesnât remember us. Thereâs a lot to discuss, but not over chat.
[Picture]
The steady flow of conversation exploded into mayhem. He saw a message from Keithâs mother, whose name was the same bright-red color as Keithâs had been, and couldnât even begin to imagine what she must be thinking.
Sheâd lost her son twice now.
Krolia: Can I speak with him?
âWould you be up for a video chat?â Shiro asked his silent companion and showed him the message. âYou can say no. Iâm sure she would understand.â
âYes.â
A few taps later, the face of a strong, stoic Galra woman appeared on the screen. Tears marred Kroliaâs eyes as she saw her son and couldnât help either the grin or the sadness.
Two years⊠a lifetime of pain crammed into mere moments.
Keith looked back and felt a wave of warmth, unlike his feelings for Shiro. Different but similar enough to recognize. They looked alike, he reflected, like mother like son.
âI love you, child,â she said softly as a doggy-shaped face shoved itself into the picture. âThe space wolf misses you, too.â
The creature vanished in a puff of haze and smoke as Keith watched. Confused, he glanced at Shiro. An incoming burst of ozone was all the warning Keith got before a two-hundred-pound creature rammed into him at full speed. The wolf knocked him over and went straight for his face.
A new mind touched Keithâs, slipped easily past his shields, and settled in its familiar spot. Something clicked as the wolf nuzzled him.
âKosmo, down!â Shiro practically yelled, horrified.
Keith grinned and nodded, and the wolf got off him as if by magic. It slid off the couch to examine the empty popcorn bowl for any signs of remaining butter.
âGood boy,â Keith signed.
The creature nuzzled his hands, begging for treats.
âI donât have any,â the dark-haired soldier told the wolf, unsure how he knew what it wanted. To Shiro, he signed desperately, âHe teleports?â
âOh yes, your space wolf definitely teleports. He can even take people with him assuming he knows where to go.â
âI have a teleporting wolf?â Keith reiterated.
Krolia chuckled and wiped at her eyes. âWould you mind translating, Shiro? I donât know enough sign language.â
âOf course. Uh, Keith was making sure the wolf was real.â
The wolf found a wall inside Keith's mind that hadnât been there before. It didnât remember coming across it in the past, and the wall felt wrong. Keith was pack, and the strange obstacle stood in the way of that.
Confused, the wolf whined at the humans.
âHey, buddy,â Keith mouthed and scratched behind an ear. âMy wolf?â he signed with utter disbelief when the furry menace calmed down enough to go explore the studio.
âYou raised him,â Shiro acknowledged. âMore than once he saved our collective behinds. Heâs a very good boy indeed.â
He had a⊠pet? Keith looked at the giant creature and couldnât shake the strange feeling that it had taken up residence in his brain. It settled on the couch beside him, head in Keithâs lap where it could get occasional pets, and closed its eyes. It took up all of the remaining sofa space and then some.
âWhen we lost track of you on that mission, Kosmo was with your mom on a mission. One of my biggest regrets was not insisting that he come with you,â the admiral explained.
âKosmo?â Keith finger-spelled the name.
âYou told us that he would tell you his name one day, but then⊠you were gone and we canât talk to him like you can. Could. So, we had to improvise. Lance wouldnât stop calling him Kosmo and the name stuck, eventually. He likes âbuddyâ too, occasionally. When treats are involved.â
Krolia added, âHe looked for you, for months.â
âI donât know how to take care of him,â Keith signed and then scratched behind one enormous ear.
âHe eats pretty much anything you give him and will sleep on any warm body he trusts.â His mother smiled. âBut Iâm sure youâll figure it out quick. You were amazing with him when you first met him.â
if you want to read more, click on the memories tag.
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Return to Sender
Shiro buried his husband.
Whenever he closed his eyes nowadays, he couldnât get the image of Keith lying in a coffin out of his mind. It was a body, really. Keithâs private smiles and knitted eyebrows were nowhere to be found.
Gone was the bright, burning fire that Shiro had loved so desperately.
That had been three months ago.
He was not prepared to find Keithâs dead body standing on his porch at midnight, but there it was. It was still dressed in a ceremonial Blade suit and looked largely unchanged from when Shiro had seen it last.
Its eyes were the color of the night sky, but the smileâŠ
Shiro knew that smile.
He opened the front door.
Keith waved at him.
âWhat the fuck?â
Shiro drew his husband into a hug and refused to let go. The smaller man shivered in his arms, and that prompted him to usher the dead man inside and wrap him in a blanket. The strange night was taking a hard left into the bizarre.
âUh,â Keith offered, expression open and so damn puzzled. âShort version: I donât really know whatâs going on.â
Shiro sat on the couch where theyâd used to stupid cooking shows together and pulled his husband into his lap. âKeith, deity above, Iâm beyond happy that youâre here. But, uh, you look⊠terrible.â
âI was dead,â the other admitted as he snuggled in Shiroâs embrace and closed his eyes. âFeels weird. Better though, now that Iâm here.â
âAre you tired?â
âA little. It was a long walk.â
âFrom the cemetery?â Shiro asked with growing horror.
âYeah. I, um, didnât want to call in case this was⊠more short-term than I imagined.â
Shiro had a brief glimpse of a possible future where he received a middle-of-the-night phone call telling him that his husbandâs body had been found in a gutter somewhere on its way to his house. That would have been the final straw in the breaking of his already-frayed sanity.
âNext time, call anyway,â the admiral insisted before he could think too hard about it.
âYes, sir.â
Shiro stroked Keithâs hair and tried not to ponder the implications. âHow about a hot shower and some clean clothes? Are you hungry?â
"Yes, please. To all of the above,â murmured the sleepy man in his arm.
Another knock on the door startled both of them, and the figure that marched inside wore a costume that looked far too real even for Halloween.
âAh,â said the person in a black robe and hood, âso thatâs where he went.â The stranger sighed in annoyance. âHe couldnât stay put for an hour. That one is yours. Iâll be back for the two of you at some later date.â
"What's that supposed to mean?" Shiro demanded.
"That even death isn't all-powerful. Go do whatever it is you do to keep him happy and out of my hair."
Shiro's eyes narrowed. "For how long?"
Death shrugged. "I'll be back when you're dead. However long that takes."
âThat sounds ominous,â the admiral pointed out.
"Just a statement of fact. Everyone's time comes eventually." The hooded figure sighed again and turned away from the door. "You two are apparently a packaged deal, so do with that what you will."
Death left, still muttering to itself about how troublesome some people could be.
Shiro decided step one was to sleep in tomorrow with his husband. Step two, never let the gorgeous man out of his sight again.
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Who We Are
Squat, rectangular buildings rose five stories into the sky, each one identical and made out of some material Shiro didnât recognize. Housing everyone in the wake of a war was a perpetual logistical nightmare. Occasionally the admiral felt like they were making progress.
More people had more places to live.
Then he saw the monstrosities that went up and doubted his entire existence.
Keith had no such qualms. He walked down a narrow sidewalk with the familiarity of someone who knew the way. A couple of men seated near one of the building entrances smiled at him, and he briefly signed with one of the elders.
Clearly, they knew him, and the rapid exchange of signs solidified that fact. Shiro felt a little lighter knowing that Keith wasnât quite alone.
âFriends of yours?â he asked as they walked into the younger manâs austere studio apartment on the third floor.
âFixed their sink two days ago.â Keith shrugged easily. âWater? Soda?â
âWater, please.â
Keith went to grab some from the kitchen while Shiro looked around. An old, worn sofa doubled as a bed, and the small apartment had the basic necessities. But the place hardly looked lived in. No pictures graced the walls, the coffee table contained a single closed notebook, and Shiro saw no hints of any personal touches or sentimental items.
He wondered if the other man moved too frequently to ever really settled down. Perhaps minimal belongings were a practical requirement of his current life. Shiro remembered Keithâs neat, empty room in the castle and couldnât help comparing that visual silence with this one.
Had life with the paladins taught him that?
A few moments later, Keith came back with two glasses of water and ice, and handed one to Shiro. Overhead, the first peals of thunder boomed like the bitter shouts of an angry god.
The pitter-patter of rain hitting the apartmentâs only window followed, growing in intensity so quickly that Shiro had the urge to go look outside.
âGuess the stormâs here,â the admiral said quietly and sipped his water.
âBig one. Sounds bad. Bet the streets will flood again.â Keith offered a lopsided smile and sat down on the couch. âVideo games or terrible movies?â
âItâs been⊠a while since Iâve sat down and watched a movie.â
The younger man patted the couch cushion next to him, then asked, âDo you work a lot?â
âProbably more than is reasonable.â Shiro took the offer gratefully, shrugged off his jacket, and sat down beside Keith. âThere are a lot of pieces to pick up. More than I imagined, I guess.â
âWar is hell,â Keith agreed, and then turned on the television.
âYeah, it is.â
To Shiro, hell had come in so many flavors that he no longer bothered counting them. Each one felt like it had ripped out his heart, and heâd kept going with the pieces that remained.
Maybe even somehow glued them back together into something usable.
Not this last time though.
With Keith gone, heâd become his job and his obligations. He thought he had no more heart left to give.
Possibly because it was sitting in front of him in the form of a very familiar person with a hesitant but open expression. Who was waiting for Shiro to select a film.
***
Shiro picked a movie almost at random from whatever was available while Keith made popcorn. The whole scene felt achingly familiar and yet⊠distinctly different.
He saw a couple of films that theyâd watched together with the other paladins and selected one of them before he could overthink. Anything-but-quiet movie nights had been a reprieve from the horrors surrounding them in the midst of a conflict they had to solve on their own.
The smell of butter and popcorn preceded the younger man, who had a bowl in one hand and more water for himself in the other. He set both down on the worn coffee table â something plastic meant to resemble wood in name only â and glanced at the TV.
âHavenât seen this one yet,â he signed. âLooks interesting.â
Shiroâs heart hurt. âItâs a good one,â he promised. âI think youâll like it.â
âAs long as itâs not a horror movie.â At Shiroâs puzzled expression, Keith added, âNightmares.â
âYou have them, too?â
âLess often now than before.â He took a seat on the couch again and leaned back, relaxing. âStart it?â
Shiro fumbled with the remote.
Opening credits began to play as more thunder crashed overhead. It looked dark outside now. Ominous clouds hung above the city while lightning flashed overhead. The rain ebbed and flowed in intensity just past the window.
Keith grabbed a blanket off the floor and wrapped himself in it. âDonât like storms,â he explained before disappearing into the cocoon.
âWant to sit closer to me?â Shiro offered. âIt might help with the anxiety. Well, it used to, for me.â
The younger man eyed the space between them before scooting closer. Shiro put his flesh-and-blood arm along the back of the rickety couch, and Keith practically snuggled into his embrace.
âBetter?â
Keith nodded.
The admiral didnât say it out loud, but he felt better too, with the most precious person leaning against his side. Even after two years apart, this felt like coming home.
Keith grabbed his sketchbook and wrote on an empty page. âStorms bother you, too?â
âTruth be told, a lot of things bother me.â
Shiro swallowed hard, struck with the sudden realization that Keith didnât remember the reason he had a scar on his face.
âYears ago, by both of our reckonings, I went on a mission to Kerberos. The Galra captured us. I spent a year in their prisons and fighting arenas. And then the war⊠A lot of bad memories piled up. Nightmares are a small price to pay.â
The younger man reached out, slowly, and intertwined his fingers with Shiroâs. The feeling soothed him, yet another remnant of a past he wasnât getting back.
âYou came home safe,â he scribbled with his free hand awkwardly.
âThatâs more than I can say for a lot of people,â Shiro agreed. âWhen Blades return from missions safe and sound nowadays, thereâs sometimes celebration. To mark another day lived.â
Keith could believe it. He took a deep breath and sank into the comfort of Shiroâs arm and shoulder.
âYou used to be a Blade,â Shiro went on.
The younger man looked up at him, a little surprised and a little sad.
âSo I gathered,â he wrote. Putting the notebook aside, he sat up enough to use both arms. âThe other prisoners didnât know who I was. People I met later knew about the paladins. That and news about the war helped put the pieces together.â
âIs there anything youâd like to know?â the admiral offered.
âWhat were we before?â
âYou and I?â
Keith nodded. âI donât like being touched now.â He didnât elaborate, but Shiro winced regardless. âBut thisââ He gestured at them, the room, all of it ââfeels good. Feels right.â
âWe were friends,â the other answered. âBefore the end of the war, privacy was scarce, so it was easier to⊠set things aside. You rescued me, more than once.â Shiro took a shaky, hesitant breath. âIâve loved the Keith I knew for a long time. Probably since before Kerberos, if Iâm being honest. But I didnât know how he felt, and I was too much of a coward to ask.â
Keith moved to ask more but Shiro shook his head.
âI thought I didnât deserve the person I loved, and before I could tell him how much he meant to me, he was gone.â
Soft, dark eyes looked up at the older man. âYou deserve happiness.â
âMaybe not after everything Iâve done.â
Keith offered him a tentative smile. âIâm not that person. Not your Keith.â
âI know that. Iâm sorry if I made it seem otherwise.â
Keith put a single, long finger against Shiroâs chapped lips. âYouâre not my Shiro. You are Shiro. I met you today. You seem kind and genuine.â
âAnd I invited myself over to your place to give you an existential crisis.â
âI was due.â The younger man grinned, then sobered. âMost likely, your Keith isnât coming back.â
Shiro wasnât sure he understood what the other man was trying to say. âAre you telling me to move on?â
Keith nodded. âBest advice I ever got. Live this life.â
Shiro thought about that for a moment. Maybe his Keith was never coming back, but the man curled comfortably beside him was very much here and alive.
âIâd like to be your friend,â Shiro said softly, hesitantly. âI canât say that my past has no bearing on that. But Iâd like to get to know you. This you, not the ghost living in my head.â
Keith handed him the popcorn bowl and snuggled closer to his chest. It really did feel like home.
âAfter the storm,â he mouthed silently.
If you want to read more, click on the memories tag.
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Coming Storm
Lunch finished, they exited the restaurant into a sun-warmed afternoon. Keith squinted up at the sky where this sunâs brightness was contrasted with dark incoming clouds.
The air felt sticky and smelled of incoming rain. The dayâs forecast was coming in hard and fast.
Keith glanced over at his tall companion and felt a wave of protectiveness that nearly bowled him over. He didnât know where the feeling came from, but it was overwhelming and so decisive that he couldnât argue with it.
âGonna rain hard,â he signed, gesturing at the sky. âSite closes for inclement weather.â
Shiro peered at the same clouds. âYeah, looks like it. Sorry, I didnât even check the weather forecast out here today.â
His excuse had been simple enough. Less than eight hours ago, heâd been aboard a city-sized, sentient spaceship where the weather had no practical meaning. On hearing the report about a Keith sighting, heâd jumped into the first available shuttle and hightailed it down here before anyone could stop him.
And now he was faced with a reality that was infinitely better than heâd imagined.
The person he cherished was alive and not some space alien ghost. Not only was Keith tangible and real but he wasnât nearly as skittish as Shiro wouldâve guessed.
Some things didnât change.
âMy place,â Keith signed, already looking both ways to cross a large, open avenue.
He didnât relish apologizing to the foreman in the morning about walking off the job, but at this point, heading back to work was pointless. The storm would break in short order.
He stole another glance at the man walking alongside him.
Shiro.
The name didnât stir anything in his mind, save the strange urge to protect the war hero. He wasnât an idiot, he could put together the pieces from the Coalition posters and what heâd read about the paladins.
Without those memories, Shiro was a virtual stranger with a warm smile and tired eyes. Whatever his relationship with Keith-once-upon-time, half of it no longer existed.
âSo, uh, what have you been up to recently?â said stranger asked, still hesitant, still on unsteady metaphorical footing.
âWork, mostly. I catch rides from place to place. Help rebuild where I can. Keep my head down.â
âHow long have you been doing that?â
âTwo years.â
Shiroâs breath caught on those words. âKeith,â he said softly.
The soldier rounded on him. âNo pity.â The flash of anger in his eyes was unmistakable.
Shiro shook his head. âNot pity. Guilt, that youâve had to struggle all this time while we just⊠went on with our lives.â
"Your lives weren't roses either."
Keith's hands felt clunky and stiff as he formed the relevant signs. The campâs cold and damp, not to mention the endless work, had done its damage. But that wasn't the problem now.
âYou didnât know. I was no one, halfway across the galaxy."
"Maybe we could've done something... looked a little harder."
"Doesn't work that way."
Keith had long forgiven the past.
âThis way,â he added, turning a corner into the temporary housing community.
If you want to read more, take a look at the memories tag.
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Scrapbook
They're already married and living together the first time Shiro suggests a scrapbook. Keith gives him a puzzled look â since when is his husband into scrapbooking â but whatever. A few more pictures can't hurt.
The very first picture is of them.
Keith doesn't remember the Coalition dinner where it was taken. A journalist had snapped a photo. They look⊠frazzled. It's an old photo; there are no rings on their fingers.
The second two entries aren't pictures at all.
They're newspaper articles about the Blades; Keith's impressive achievements are documented on paper for all to see. Shiro was adamant about adding these to their scrapbook.
"It's about you, too."
The next image pierces Keith through the heart. He touches the page like it might simply crumble to dust if he's not careful. He's in a hospital bed, hooked up to half a dozen wires, with their kiddo in his arms.
Shiro leans over him; the admiral is crying.
On the next page is Akira's birth certificate with their names on it. Papa and Daddy.
The pages after it are filled to the brim with photos of themselves and their little one.
Shiro and Akira playing catch. Akira on a hoverbike, age three, wearing Daddy's oversized goggles. Akira, Shiro, and Keith at a science museum. A water park. An alien zoo; Akira clutches their hippo for dear life. Akira and Keith's mother.
The milestones come next. First day of school. First parent-teacher conference. First report card.
Mixed in with the images are the child's drawings. They drew everything from Daddy to the space wolf to the stars.
Keith reaches Akira's college graduation. They're standing between two beaming parents and surrounded by friends. Even Matt and Pidge made it that day.
The final three pages are quiet, simple. Just Shiro and Keith again, taking long walks with the space wolf. A few snapshots of them in the desert, leaning on Keith's hover bike, kissing.
A hand appears in front of Keith's face and lands on top of his own before he can turn to the final page.
"Daddy!" a voice calls out from the driveway.
"Ready?" asks the man Keith has never stopped loving.
"They're getting married!"
"Are you scared?"
"Aren't you?" demands the Blade who once liberated colonies.
"Terrified. Let's go."
Their kiddo and their fiancé are at the door. Keith thinks it might be time to start another scrapbook.
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Expected Outcomes
Keith scooted as far into the booth as physically possible and ducked his head. No one recognized him with the beard and braid, but sometimes he still felt like people were staring. Seated across from him, Shiro looked exactly like someone important, someone whoâd won a war.
âAre you all right?â the older man asked. âWould you rather we go somewhere else?â
Keith shook his head and signed, âHere is fine.â
A waitress brought over menus, and Keith glanced over his with slowly growing concern. The food here cost more than he made in days.
Delicious smells wafted through the place, so he figured it probably tasted amazing. It was just out of his price range and maybe not the sort of place he would've gone to.
âStill OK?â
âCosts too much.â
âI invited you to lunch, Keith. Iâm paying for it.â
âI can manage.â
âIâm sure you can, but you donât actually have to this time around. Next time, you can take me to your favorite place, and then itâs all on you. Fair?â
The prospect of a next time sat heavy with Keith, but it was doable. Next time implied another meeting, implied something other than quiet solitude.
âOK,â the younger man signed and visibly relaxed.
âHowâs life out here?â Shiro asked softly once theyâd gotten drinks.
âSimple,â was the quick, painful answer.
Silence hung between them until Shiro finally said, âIâm sorry if Iâm interrupting it. I just⊠I couldnât not come, not see for myself if the man I loved was still alive somehow against all odds.â
âAlive is up for debate.â Keith let out a soundless sigh and stared at the polished table in front of him. His hands sat on the surface, too rough and dirty for the pristine setup.
âCan I ask what happened?â Shiroâs voice was so quiet that Keith wasnât sure he heard at first, even with his superior hearing.
He wanted to say no and leave it there, build a wall between himself and this stranger who remembered him. It would be so much easier that way, but his heart wouldnât let him take the easy way out.
âMission failure,â he signed slowly, getting his bearings. âConcussion, amnesia, imprisonment. In that order. War ended, camp was liberated. Eventually, someone told me who I was.â
The admiral ran a shaking hand through his white bangs and hissed. âWe thought weâd lost you. The Blade reported the failure, but the insurgents were long-gone by the time we got there. We tracked them a few months later, but if theyâd captured prisoners, we couldnât find them.â
âNot your fault. Not anyoneâs fault.â
Shiro didnât think he had the words to express his grief at that moment, and heâd talked plenty of Coalition members into nothing short of miracles. None of those compared to seeing his friend alive again.
The waitress returned with food this time around, sparing him the urge to apologize a dozen more times. He would let Allura know as soon as the opportunity arose, but damn if he was letting the love of his life out of his sight again.
Keith ate quickly, guided more by mild hunger than any social graces. He didnât go long without food nowadays â the work paid enough for food and a roof over his head â but old habits died hard.
And he still remembered the damn camp.
Some of his first memories were ugly gray walls and the endless twisting of his starved insides.
âUm, listen,â Shiro said finally, barely able to look at his food. âWould⊠would you be offended if I hung out with you for the rest of the day? Iâll ditch the uniform and help out where you work. If youâre OK with that.â
Piercing indigo eyes stared at the admiral like heâd grown a second head, but eventually, Keith nodded. He let go of his utensils long enough to sign, âDo what you want.â
âGreat. Let me let Allura⊠the current Altean representative know where I am. Do you want to, uh, see her?â
Keith stopped eating and set his food briefly aside. âI canât eat and talk. I know who Allura is. Sheâs in the news.â
âOh shit, sorry. My bad.â
âNo worries.â
The soldier had no real recollection of Allura. On TV, she looked tall and proud, and maybe a little lonely despite that. Did he want to see her?
âCan I think about it?â
It was more than Shiro had been hoping for. âYeah, of course, take as much time as you want.â
If you want to read more, click on the Memories tag and take a look.
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Love Interrupted
They say it's an illness. Another one, on top of everything else that has happened in Shiroâs relatively short life. He isnât even surprised anymore, and he has bigger plans. The Kerberos mission is on the horizon, and heâs mentoring a kid who needs all the patience Shiro can muster.
The first petal is a bright, mesmerizing shade of purple on his lower back. It might as well be glowing.
"You, too, huh," a fellow pilot commiserates in a shared locker room.
Shiro needs a mirror to see it, and even then, the strange design doesnât mean much to him. It could be someoneâs fancy ink work, but something inside him knows better. Tattoos donât magically appear on people â when that happens to someone, itâs a disease.
"What is it?â
"Unrequited love, they say, or a hidden one." The co-worker shrugs like itâs old news. "Happens to the best of us."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Maybe? I've heard of people covered in those tattoos. Never met one, though."
He climbs into a shuttle three weeks later and takes off for the stars. The mark doesnât waver through years of hardships. It returns with fresh vigor when he finally escapes the astral plane.Â
The body is new, but the petals are the same.Â
He canât escape love so easily, it seems. Shiro laments that his heart always knows what his mind refuses to admit, even to himself.Â
The war ends, and slowly, more petals appear. Thereâs never any pain, but each one might as well stab him through the heart. They form a blade, a gorgeous bit of work with a hauntingly familiar design.Â
He doesnât need magic to tell him who he loves â he has always known â but this isnât a confirmation.Â
This is a mandate.
The strange ink doesnât hesitate to mark his skin. It doesnât have hang-ups or fears â it doesnât know how devastating losing Keith would be. Itâs merely love, if one could transform love into a work of art.
Shiro hides the almost completed blade carefully because he doesnât want the man who is the other side of his soul to know. He fears rejection more than the white lie.Â
And then, one morning, itâs complete. Petals that turn into roses turn into a blade extended. Turn into something permanent, writ large on his skin, that Shiro treasures beyond words.
That same day, he walks into a hotel room, tired and cranky, and sees the same truth decorating Keithâs tan skin. He can't believe it -- his heart can hardly bear the knowledge that he's not alone anymore.Â
He doesn't remember crying.
The kiss that follows sweeps him off his feet.
"I love you, too," he whispers, flesh-and-blood hand pressed against his lover's cheek.
There's a sudden urgency to remove his own jacket and shirt. Decorum forgotten, he watches as the final piece of art shimmers into existence between them.Â
Then, he turns, and Keith can only stare.
Fingers touch Shiroâs back, feather-light and reverent. âMy blade.â
"It came back when I did." Shiro swallows hard, unable to stop the tears or the smiles. "It knew when I didn't."
"It's a gift," says the man he loves.
âOne I would gladly share with you for as long as youâd have me.â The words come unbidden but not unwelcome.Â
Perhaps they cannot promise each other a forever, but together, they will make do with a lifetime.
See the quiet love tag for the other part of this story.
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Quiet Love
Keith notices the first petal almost by accident in the shower.
Heâs cataloging injuries from yet another mission when he sees the intricate ink work just beneath the skin of his shoulder blade. He doesnât remember getting any tattoos, but theyâre in the middle of a war, and this minor work of art seems inconsequential in comparison to the galaxyâs troubles.
Earlier, heâd said âI love youâ to a man who was not himself.
The next two petals catch him off guard, especially the pale pink one that touches the top of his arm. Theyâre beautiful and drawn so realistically that he can barely tell theyâre ink under his skin.
They donât hurt, and there are no âI love yousâ to be had. Just furtive glances and stolen moments with his best friend.
Another oversized petal shows up one morning after a sparring session with Shiro. Keith watches it slowly bloom as he strips out of his sweat-soaked clothing.
The pattern is easily visible now but still well-hidden beneath the sleeve of his shirt. Something about it speaks to him of unyielding strength.
Still another petal flares into gorgeous life when he dances with the Admiral at a Coalition dinner. He feels it spawn along his upper arm like a barely-there touch against his skin, a cool balm to soothe his pain.
By now, he knows what they mean.
A love unspoken.
Heâs surprised it took them so long to catch on. This soft, quiet love has existed for an eternity.
He traces the next few petals with trembling fingers as they materialize around his right elbow. Theyâre the same gray hue as the eyes of the man he loves, and there is something sad about them.
Keith feels the sadness acutely and wonders if itâs his own.
These are the last because Shiro walks into their shared hotel room at that moment, frazzled by another series of endless meetings with people he can barely stand, and sees Keithâs bare back.
The flow of the ink is familiar, echoing the lines of his prosthetic.
The meaning is unmistakable.
Keith turns to face him and finds the man he loves standing there, silent, with tears in his eyes and a soft, fond smile on his lips.
âYouâreâŠâ Shiro begins.
âIn love,â Keith finishes as he looks just as fondly at the man who is the other half of his soul.
An adult now, all these years later, he stands before Shiro and feels vulnerable, afraid, hopeful.
âWith me?â It sounds like a revelation.
âWho else?â
âAll this time,â Shiro whispers, voice hoarse.
Keith gestures to the petals that cover his shoulder and arm. âI wouldnât want it any other way.â
The kiss that follows tastes sweet and sweeps away the melancholy sorry.
The last petal blooms over their hearts, shared in all the ways that matter.
Also on AO3 @ https://archiveofourown.org/works/40805109
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Lost Memories
War had left its mark across the universe. Keith had been a prisoner at the end of it. Physically he was free now, though he carried the scars of both combat and incarceration.
His mind never truly settled.
Anxiety plagued him during waking hours and nightmares stole their way into his dreams.
The promise of stable construction work had dragged him to New Altea so heâd caught a passing shuttle away from one destroyed planet to another.
Now he was on the largest Altean world, a sprawling planet of green and blue not unlike Terra. The architecture was different, the technology more advanced, but in the slums where he finally found himself a room to sleep in, it was hard to pinpoint the differences.
Keith barely walked onto the first available construction site, the future location of a school, when the foreman had offered him a job. That had been easier than heâd imagined, even when he could only communicate with the alien by pointing and grunting.
Months of wearing manacles had left scars on his wrists and throat, and the Galra had taken his voice along with his sanity. So, it was easier to keep quiet and not think too hard about the future.
***
Six days into his three-month-long contract, Keith had the rhythm down. It was a cool midmorning with the promise of rain on the horizon, and Keith had his favorite sweater on. It was threadbare now from years of wash cycles, but still too comfortable to part with.
He was hauling lumber from a delivery truck when a limo drove up to the site. Keith saw it before he heard it, a sleek, black thing with tinted windows and enough room to hold at least six people. He grabbed a few planks and turned to head back when the limo doors slid open.
The tall, broad-shouldered man who emerged from the carâs darkened exterior was admittedly handsome. He wore the same garb as Altean royalty, but the white hair was unmistakable. Takashi Shirogane, once the Champion, now the Admiral of the Atlas and the black paladin. Everyone knew who he was. His face was occasionally plastered on television, so he was hard to miss.
As Keith watched, the foreman practically jogged to meet the stranger.
Disinterested in the ensuing conversation and eager to keep his down, Keith started hauling again. He was about to grab another stack of planks when the paladin strode over to him.
Tall and handsome looked ever more delicious up close. His gray eyes turned down at the edges as he looked at Keith, and his expression grew sad. âGood morning, Mr. Kogane,â he said in a deep, rich voice that sent shivers down Keithâs spine.
Keith offered a lopsided half-smile and a salute.
âWould you mind taking a ride with me?â the admiral asked. âNothing nefarious, I swear. I just want to have a conversation with you, in private.â
With a sigh, Keith put down the lumber, waved to the foreman, and nodded. He gestured vaguely toward the older manâs car and followed him out of the hard hat zone and onto what remained of a sidewalk.
The limo door whooshed open, and Keith slipped into the warm, sweet-smelling interior. He felt out of his depths as he took a seat on the nearest plush bench and looked squarely at the man whoâd invited him here.
âItâs obvious you donât remember me,â the black paladin said once the doors closed behind them. âItâs all right. My nameâs Shiro. Takashi Shirogane.â
âKeith,â the younger man fingerspelled.
âI know who you are, Keith.â Shiro opened a small compartment under his seat and pulled out a manila folder. âYour file,â he said as he handed it over.
Keith shrugged and set it aside. âWhat do you want?â he signed.
âTo see a friend I thought was dead. When I heard you were hereâŠâ The admiralâs voice trailed off. âWhen one of Alluraâs informants thought sheâd seen you on Altea, I didnât believe her. It was impossible. And yet here we are.â
That earned him a shrug. âSorry.â
Sorry didnât begin to cover it, but Keith didnât have anything else to offer.
âYou have nothing to apologize for, Keith. Itâs not your fault, god, no. Farthest thing from it. Iâm just so relieved youâre alive. Your mom⊠Keith, we buried you two years ago. Thereâs a grave with your name on it.â
Tears rolled down Shiroâs cheeks.
âSaw it,â the younger man admitted, guilty despite himself. Heâd promised not to think too hard on it.
âYou did?â
âBefore leaving Earth.â Keithâs hands were steady as he signed, but inside, the turmoil was back, tenfold. Nowhere to run from his own broken mind.
âWhy didnât youâŠâ
The younger man frowned, his expression more hawk than man. âThis amnesia.â He gestured to his head. âPermanent.â
âBut, Keith, we wouldâve welcomed you. Still welcome you, always.â
The soldier didnât have an answer. âJust want peace.â âI canât even begin to imagine.â
Shiro reached over and touched the other manâs cheek, finding wetness there, too. âWill you have lunch with me? Please?â
Keithâs stomach made itself known. âOK.â
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Poison
Contains angst and a dying Blade. The ending is ambiguous.
Keith doesnât even know the name of the Galra resistance leader who poisoned him. All he remembers is a grating voice telling him about a slow-acting poison running through his veins.
âDonât worry, I have the antidote, but youâll have to earn it.â The asshole laughs. âIâm going to let you escape, and I want you to lead your team back here. Once Iâve finished with them, youâll get the antidote. You have three cycles. Deal?â
The Blade doesnât even hesitate. âDeal.â
He ends up in a broken single-person flier at the nearest coalition base with coordinates heâs supposed to share with the rest of the paladins. Instead, they get on a video call, and heâs up-front about the whole ordeal. He knows he canât avoid discussing the consequences, but in his mind, protecting the team comes first.
âItâs an ambush, nothing else. The leaders arenât even there.â He can see Kolivan in the background, muttering to himself.
âAnd they let you escape?â Lance asks because of course he does.
âThey said they gave me something.â Keith doesnât elaborate. âIt doesnât matter. What does is that my ship came from their actual base. Its flight plans and navigation are scrambled to hell and back, but maybe Pidge can do something with them.â
âAlready on my way,â says the bright-eyed engineer, âand I can tinker with it remotely while en route.â
âGave you something?â Shiro asks slowly.
At this moment, the admiral is aboard the Atlas and parked somewhere around Earth. Heâs ferrying Allura and Lance back to New Altea, and itâs almost time for their scheduled departure. Keith doesnât exactly relish the upcoming conversation, but he doesnât dwell on it either.
âHe claimed it was deadly but slow. All I know.â The Blade nods to the door. âMedics took a blood sample in case they can figure out what it is.â
âAnd if they donât?â
Keith shrugs. âSomething, something honor. They will. Or I might get lucky. Or not. Regardless, none of you are stepping into a fucking trap setup by literal madmen on my behalf.â
---
Kolivan pings him privately about a debriefing. If his lifespan will be counted in hours, possibly complete with mental decline, they need to get as much information out of his head as physically possible in the meantime. Heâs not relishing this part, either.
He shakes his head. âI need to talk to Kolivan. I know this is hard.â Keith takes the tone of a leader, the one he fucking hates. âI will speak with all of you later, Iâm sure.â
Heâs not looking forward to the friendly interrogation heâs about to walk into, but thereâs just no time. Itâs all necessary for the Blades to figure out the next steps. Kolivanâs on the other line, ready to grill him for as long as he breathes, presumably, so they can take down another separationist cell.
But all Keith wants is Shiroâs comforting warmth in his arms, and he canât have that across the space of the universe.
Later, after the debriefing is done, Keith calls Shiro directly and asks for a private connection. He doesnât know what to say, but silence doesnât appear to be an option. Not when he has a dozen unread messages, and more missed calls than he dares to think about it.
Heâs also married to this man, and he canât avoid his husband for long.
âKeith!â Itâs a bellow, and maybe he deserves that. âWhat the actual fuck?â
âSorry.â
âI love you, Atlas and I are on our way, so you⊠better be there when we land.â Shiroâs expression is caught somewhere between righteous anger and endless fear. âStars above, what happened?â
Keith doesnât think Shiro wants another mission debrief. âI donât know. I was careful, followed the protocol to the letter, it was supposed to be a diplomatic engagement. Blades donât fuck up like this.â
âShit, baby, I know. I know you. Youâre not careless, and you donât miss red flags.â
âYeah, soâŠâ
âDo you think they were telling the truth?â
Keith nods hesitantly and chews on his lip. âThey injected me with something. I heard them whispering something about how theyâve seen this shit fuck up Galra twice the size. So, probably.â
âFuck.â Shiro paces his living quarters like a lion trapped in a cage.
âShiroâŠâ Keithâs voice comes out soft and the words catch on his tongue. âI love you. I always have and always will. If I donât get to say it again.â
âDonât! Please, Keith.â
Keith canât promise not to die, not when he didnât set the timetable. The Blade feels tears burning in the corners of his eyes. Heâs hollow inside like reality hasnât quite settled in. He knows heâs dying, and understands rationally that his body is sick, but emotionally heâs still catching up.
âI miss you.â
âWeâll be there in just under three cycles.â
Neither of them mentions that it will be too late, that the cold equations of space travel and living bodies donât lie.
âIâll see you when you get here,â Keith offers, thinking that perhaps pretending for another five minutes that everything is fine is good enough.
Shiro looks downright horrified. âNo. Keith, not, thatâs not what I meant. I would rather talk to you for as long as have than sit here. I justâŠâ He sobs. âIâve known a lot of helplessness in life, and none of it felt like this.â
âI wish you were here.â
âWhat about the space wolf?â
âHeâs with mom on a rescue mission, and theyâre still trying to get ahold of them. On account of⊠you know.â
âAre you OK? Do you feel sick?â Shiro asks.
âNot yet, at least not any worse than when I got here.â That was already a flavor of awful, bruised, battered, and dehydrated.
âYou should lie down. Rest. Shower. Take care of yourself.â
Keith is definitely looking forward to all of those. Theyâve assigned him a room with a private restroom, small mercy that, and he plans on not letting it go to waste. âYou, too.â
âJust donât hang up, OK?â
Keith looks down at what remains of his tattered uniform and starts stripping out of it. Shiro has seen him naked plenty before, and the new bruises are what they are.
âYeah, OK. Of course. Iâm here. How was the peace accord renewal whatever it was?â
Shiro laughs through his tears, and itâs dark and agonizing. âMore bullshit in one day than I usually see in months. Iâm surprised Lance didnât punch anyone given how the ambassadors behaved around his wife.â
Keith shakes his head in sympathy. âThank goodness itâs over then.â
âFor all involved,â his husband agrees. âAre you⊠going to say goodbye to the others?â
âI feel like I kind of should, you know?â
âYou donât have to do anything you donât want to, Keith.â
âI know.â He takes his PADD to the bathroom with him and starts the shower running. âBut⊠closure will help them more than itâs going to help me, and I want that for them.â
âDonât you dare say goodbye to me!â
Keith smiles and closes his eyes. âItâs going to be all right, Shiro. No matter what happens, youâre going to be all right. I know it.â
âNot without you,â Shiro mutters as his husband steps into the shower and shudders with pain.
Keith sleeps fitfully for a few hours and wakes in pain. Itâs a new, dull ache that covers his whole body in a way no bruise ever has â the poison, if he has to guess. His mind feels like heâs swimming through a fog, and it takes a few minutes to get his bearings.
Still at the Coalition base, still safe, still⊠alive.
Shiroâs already calling him like he knows Keith is awake. âHowâre you feeling?â are the first words out of his mouth.
Keith hunts his nightstand for a bottle of water. âNot great.â
âYou look like you didnât get any sleep.â
âI think I dozed. Bad dreams.â Keith drinks water and sighs. He feels fatigued despite the nap, his limbs heavy. âHowâd you know I was awake?â
âI mightâve called in a favor to get access to your vitals.â
âNice use of expensive technology.â
âShut up. You should go to medical if youâre not feeling well.â
âAnd do what? Everything hurts. Them handing me pain meds wonât solve the problem, and my head already feels like cotton candy.â He shrugs and lies back down. âTalking to you is nicer.â
"Keith, let them help."
"If they can find an antidote, I'm sure I'll be the first to know. Have you slept?"
Keith's husband doesn't lie. "No. Just sitting here, thinking about you. About our wedding. Remember Kosmo nearly eating the damn wedding rings?"
"Far too well. 'Bad wolf,' never sounded more appropriate."
"And then the honeymoon. I didn't think the Garrison would let us leave for long enough to actually enjoy it."
The Blade chuckles. "I still don't know what Pidge told them to get them off our backs. I'm glad she did. I think those were the best two weeks of my life."
Tears stream down Shiro's face and Keith wishes nothing more than he could hold the man he loves, could wipe those tears away. They'd gone camping together, drove across a country, marveled at the night sky in each other's arms. Keith only wishes for more time, more chances to make happy memories. He looks down at the wedding ring, dangling on a chain around his neck alongside his dog tags.Â
He hopes both make it to Shiro if he doesn't.
"I love you," he says into the silence. "You were like a brother to me, when I was a kid and desperately needed someone in my corner. And then you were an unwavering friend, a leader. I don't think we would have survived the war without you. But most of all, I treasure your love. I don't know where I'd be without it, without you."
"Keith... I... More than anything in the world, in the universe. I love you, too."
"I'm tired," Keith admits, eyes fluttering closed.
Rest easy," Shiro prompts him just as another call comes in and a familiar face appears on the screen.
---
Later, while Keith is once again dozing, Shiro is plotting a painful demise for the ones responsible. He will find them and end them in ways that the galaxy is unlikely to ever forget.
And if he has his way, Shiro will do it with his husband by his side.
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The Job
The job goes south but they make it somehow. Dumping the getaway vehicle, Keith catches a ride to his apartment in a nondescript Uber and stumbles into the elevator, dead on his feet. His whole left side is one giant bruise, and heâs got a few bleeding cuts underneath the leather jacket, mostly hidden from casual view. Itâs nearly seven in the evening, but the lobby is blissfully empty for a change and the mechanic thanks his lucky stars.
He almost makes it to his apartment.Â
His hand is on the doorknob when a familiar little voice says, âKeith! Papa, look, itâs Keith.â She smiles up at him. âWeâre going to get ice cream because I got a good grade in class!âÂ
Keith swallows hard and nods to Shiro, who takes one look at him and winces. âHey, baby,â he tells his five-year-old. âI donât think Mr. Keith is feeling well.â
The little girl deflates and whispers, âOh,â then grabs Keithâs hand and holds on. âWhen Papa doesnât feel good, we get pizza.â
Shiro opens his mouth when Keith offers, âMaybe you could bring me back some ice cream?â
âCould we watch Dora afterward?â
âSure.â
Kairiâs exasperated father adds, âAre you sure? KairiâŠâ His voice trails off and his heart grows a couple of sizes at the sight of the clearly-exhausted man kneeling beside his kiddo, adding a braid to her blond hair.
âItâs fine. I just need to shower.â
âAll right. Whatâs your favorite flavor?â
âCoffee?â
âYou donât sound so sure.â
âI donât usually⊠get sweets.â
Shiro nods and offers the other man a hand up. âWeâll be back in thirty minutes. Is that enough time?â
âPlenty.â
âSee you soon!â Kairi calls as she follows her dad to the elevators.Â
Keith has no idea how any of this is happening, but he canât seem to say no to the little menace. Not to mention, after the hellish job, the promise of some quiet time with Shiro and his kid sounds like heaven, like a dream heâd never allowed himself to have.Â
---
By the time Shiro and Kairi returned from their ice cream gathering adventure, Keith had showered and changed. Heâd also bandaged the worst of his new injuries and cleaned the slice across his cheek. The whole thing looked way worse than it actually felt.
Keith changes into pajamas and finds himself on the couch, resting his eyes. In the shower he braced himself for explaining what happened to Shiro but now, he feels like maybe he can be honest. Maybe itâs possible for a person to understand him and the need to go fast, to feel the pumping of his heart.Â
He doesnât even bother with the door when he hears the knock. âCome in!â
Both Shiro and his kid are coded into the lock. They can get in at any time, a privilege theyâve used on a few occasions. Now, Kairi darts into the apartment and clambers easily onto the couch to cuddle with Keith. This child is slowly worming her way into Keithâs heart like no one else.Â
Shiro is a little more hesitant. Keith can hear him puttering in the kitchen, probably grabbing silverware for the ice cream. Over the last month, theyâve gotten close â as close as Keith knows how to be. He keeps expecting the other shoe to drop, for Shiro to demand something the mechanic is unwilling or unable to provide.Â
But heâll take what he can get for now.
Kairi starts telling him about her day at school. âMrs. Williams told me I was a really good student and an awesome helper.â
âShe did?â Keith asks. âIs that why you got ice cream?â
âParent-teacher conferences,â the little girl explains. âPapa said this was the first one.â
Shiro sits down on Kairiâs other side, sandwiching the girl between the two adults, and sets out various ice cream options on the coffee table in front of them. He looks tired but content.Â
âHowâre you feeling?â he asks Keith.Â
The Iâm fine dies on Keithâs lips and he says with heart-breaking honesty, âNot great, but better with you guys here.â
Shiro smiles wanly and ruffles his daughterâs hair. âWell, the best cure for feeling bad is ice cream. So, dig in.â
Keith doesnât love sweet things. Until meeting Kairi, he didnât bother with candy â now⊠well, he might actually need to visit a dentist in this lifetime. He sits back though and lets the little one have her pick first. Thereâs no hurry; according to Pidge, the heat from the job is dying down and everything looks good so far.
Heâll take it.
---
After theyâre done with ice cream, itâs time for the kiddo to go to bed so they all troop to the next-door apartment where Shiro makes a valiant effort to herd his child into bed. Itâs an uphill battle that culminates with a request that Keith read to Kairi, with voices and everything. Shiro had no idea that Keith is aware of the existence of childrenâs books, but apparently heâd been reading to the little girl almost every time heâd had to play babysitter. Stranger still, hereâs a small human who has looked at a complete stranger and decided, without prompting, that this stranger is part of the family.Â
No questions asked.
Shiro doesnât know how to take, especially after how much Kairi absolutely hated Curtis. Theyâd adopted the tiny toddler when she was barely two, long before children begin to form any long-term memories. And even then, when everything had been new and Curtis had been charming, the little menace would have none of it.
Shiro had incorrectly assumed that Kairi would need help forming connections to other adults, and yet here she was, content with her kindergarten teacher and welcoming Keith into her life like he belonged.
âA short book,â Keith says when Kairi asks him. âIâm tired, too, and am going to go to bed right after you.â
âOh. OK!â
Shiro watches them walk into the kiddoâs bedroom and then putters in the kitchen, aware that heâs in a strange place where the man he loves gets along with his daughter. Itâs a scenario he hadnât imagined in his wildest dreams.Â
Eventually, Keith emerges from the bedroom and gingerly closes the door behind him. He looks at Shiro and gives the older man a thumbs-up. âSheâs out,â he whispers.
âSugar crash.â Shiro gestures to a chair. âHow are your, um, injuries.â
Keith takes a seat, closes his eyes. âBetter than before. Thank you for the ice cream and the pleasant company.â
âHey, anytime. I know I havenât really asked about your job, and Iâm not trying to pry, but one hell of a delivery?â
âSomething like that.â Before Shiro can change the topic, Keith puts his head on the kitchen counter. âWhat do you want to know?â
âWhat do you do?â
âI drive a car,â the mechanic explains, âusually for people who have less-than-legal business to conduct. Sometimes I also do security.â
Shiro nods and hands him a glass of water. âAnd this time was bad?â
âWhatever we delivered wasnât taken well, and they came at us with guns. It happens. Thatâs where my driving skills come in, usually, when things go south.â
âShit.â
âSorry, Shiro. I know the last thing you need in your life is a criminal and an adrenaline junkie.â
Gray eyes soften. âHey, donât do that. Do you hear me complaining?â
Keith looks up with a startled expression. âI kind of expected you to tell me to get out.â
âIâve seen you protect my daughter, Keith. Shit, even if I hated your guts â which I donât, just to be clear â I wouldnât complain. As it stands, Iâm sort of hoping youâll stay the night.â He raises his hand. âJust to sleep. Thinking about the possibility of you getting hurt scared me, not gonna lie about that. Holding you will make me feel better.â
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
âOK.â
Shiro looks surprised. âPerfect. You look dead on your feet, though. If you want to crash, I just need to shower.â
âYou go to bed at eight?â
âNot usually, but I think I could use the extra sleep, if Iâm being honest. Workâs been hopping since the holiday rush, and Iâve had a couple of big projects that just wrapped up.â The older man smiles and adds, âNot to mention, itâs not all about me. You need sleep.â
His companion yawns and drinks the offered water. This feels new to him; people donât normally takes his wellbeing into consideration like that. He nods and watches as Shiroâs shoulders finally release some of their tension.Â
âI definitely could use some sleep, too.â
âAre you OK staying here? I know your apartment has a security system.â
âIâll manage,â Keith reassures him. âItâs fine.â
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Princess
"Whatâs off limits?â Shiro asks one afternoon.
Itâs a mild, winter day, and theyâre seated at a hole-in-the-wall cafe near Kairiâs school, waiting for kindergarten to let out for the afternoon. Itâs Friday; earlier that day, Shiro introduced Keith to Kairiâs teacher and the school administrator. Now he has permission to pick her up from class if Shiro canât make it.Â
According to the feisty child, he was bestowed a high honor and should be pleased. With Shiroâs help, Keith picked out a stuffed plushie for her and plans to hand it to the kiddo this afternoon.Â
For now, they have thirty minutes to spend and Shiro is asking questions that no one has bothered to ask before, about Keithâs needs.Â
The mechanic has a pretty good idea of what his companion likes â Shiroâs a tactile person for whom touch matters a great deal. With permission, heâs hugged Keith dozens of times, and he occasionally messes up the younger manâs already-unruly hair. Heâs also been an absolute gentleman about Keithâs limits.
So, really, at this point itâs in Keithâs court. âI donât know, exactly.â
âIs there anything you could share? That might help. You donât have to, obviously.â Shiro hesitates, staring down his drink like it might wander off otherwise.
Keith searches for words for a full minute, composing himself. Heâs not afraid of disappointment, but this is a gray area heâs walking into blindly. Softly, he says, âItâs not so much off limits as I donât respond like a normal person might. I have preferences, but they donât involve other people.â
âYou definitely weren't comfortable when I kissed you,â Shiro points out.
âMost people Iâve been with donât stop at kisses. Havenât stopped, before. I shouldnât have included you in that statistic, but I didnât know.â Keith frowns into his coffee. âIâm sorry about that.â
Shiro reaches out and puts a large hand over Keithâs. They sit together like this for another minute. âDonât be. I know a thing or two about unwanted expectations. Iâd like to kiss you again sometime, if you donât mind.â
âI could be OK with that,â Keith murmurs. âI donât know.â
âWe can always find out, on your terms. I donât want to push you, and I donât want to assume anything, but itâs on the table. Whatever you want.â
The mechanic nods, resolves to open up about his needs someday soon. âAll right.â
âGood. Now, how about we go grab the princess and then get started on this weekend adventure?â
---
A week later, Pidge gets ahold of Keith.
Itâs snowing again after a few days of mild weather, and Kolivanâs closed early to avoid rush hour traffic. So, heâs at home on his computer, pondering birthday presents for Shiro. Heâs excited about the prospect of spending time with the man and getting him something nice.
âHey,â she says a little too seriously when Keith picks up the phone.
âWhatâs up?â
âTrouble, maybe. Remember that guy you asked about?â
Keith hums in answer. âCurtis, yeah. What about him?â
âAccording to some recently submitted legal docs, heâs trying to file for custody of a little kid named Kairi. I donât have all the deets, but you told me to monitor him and this came up today. I thought Iâd pass it along. Also, the boss wants to know if youâre up for doing a run in the near future.â
The news about Curtis makes Keith unreasonably angry, and he doesnât have an opinion about the latter. âTell the boss I donât know, and they can kiss my ass.â
Pidge rolls her eyes. âItâs a package delivery, completely legal and legit and fucking insured. Itâs safe even by your exacting standards, except obviously it needs added security.â
âAnyone can do those.â
âNot this one.â Keith hears Pidge typing away in the background. âTheyâre pulling in Hunk and Lance for it. Me, too, in a coordination capacity.â
âHuh.â Keith looks over at his computer. He could use a distraction. âSend me the details, and weâll see if we can make a good presentation for the boss.â
âThanks, Akira. I always feel better when youâre there.â Pidge sounds genuine, and that scares Keith more than anything.
âBye, Pidge.â
He stands up and stretches the kinks in his neck. A wave of excitement settles in his gut at the prospect of real work, the kind that leaves him high with adrenaline. Itâs been a few months since the last engagement, and while money isnât a problem, Keith loves the rush that comes from what he does.Â
He doesnât have to lie to Shiro about it, either â deliveries constitute a large chunk of the agencyâs business and theyâre easy enough to explain. Delivering precious goods makes sense to most people.
The bit about Curtis warrants a conversation with Shiro, so he grabs his keys and heads downstairs. He can pick the older man up after work and discuss logistics on their way home.
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