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Pidge didn’t mean to open the video file.
Honestly, it had been a mistake, a slip of the hand as she was looking for... whatever it was she was here for. Shiro had asked her to bring the tablet computer from his bedside table? Something like that. It was enough of a shock to be willingly allowed -– and unaccompanied -– into his personal space.
And now.
Now she’d screwed up.
Her hands hovered uncertainly, fingers fluttering over the keys like wounded birds. The recording device was small and simple, only a couple of buttons on the side and a hologram projector on top that was currently showing a six-inch-high display of the Black Paladin. Only he wasn’t the Black Paladin, he was out of armor, tired and small and looking so, so sad.
His voice was soft and even though Pidge didn’t want to listen in, she couldn’t help it. None of the buttons were working to stop the video. Maybe if it played to the end it would shut off automatically and she could leave, making up some excuse about what had taken her so long. Maybe, maybe.
“I hope... I hope you’re all still there. Whatever’s happened to me, I dearly hope that you’ve all made it through okay.”
“Stop it,” Pidge hissed, but the recording wasn’t listening.
The fuzzy image of Shiro looked down, offscreen at where his hands were probably clenched in his lap. There was just enough visible in the background to show that the video had been filmed here, in this room, Shiro sitting on the edge of the bed and facing out where the device was resting on the edge of the table. Pidge leaned back against the side of the bed, swallowing as she adjusted her glasses.
Would it be better to watch this all the way through, or plug her ears and close her eyes and pretend this never happened at all?
Glancing back up, she saw that recording-Shiro now had a faint smile, genuine but small. Like he could somehow find something good in all the awful words he was saying.
“I want you to know that this has been the best time of my life, exploring space with you guys. Even when we’re fighting aliens, or running for our lives, or all the other crap the universe has tried to throw at us. You’ve been the best family that I could have ever wished for.”
Pidge resigned herself to her seat on the floor, knees tucked up to her chin, arms wrapped around herself in whatever small comfort she could find. This had to play out, and maybe it was better that she was here to listen to his words before it was too late.
At some point, while she and the other paladins were off sleeping or having fun, Shiro had sat alone here in his bunk. Pidge tilted her head, let the draping blanket rub against the side of her face, and kept her eyes on the video. Shiro hesitated and looked away from the camera, one hand in his hair, placed so she couldn’t see most of his face.
But it was impossible to not notice how his mouth was drawn painfully tight, lips pulled back for harsh breaths, his throat bobbing with the way he was rapidly swallowing.
No no no.
There was no way Pidge would ever be able to look at him again -– absolutely no way she would be able to go back to him tonight -– if she saw him crying.
“I’m sorry. You guys don’t need any more of this in your lives right now,” Shiro said, trying to sound upbeat even though he was dragging his sleeve across his eyes. “But if you ever had any doubts how much all this means to me, how much you all mean to me...”
Pidge closed her eyes and pressed her face into her knees, glasses knocked askew on her forehead.
Sure they were close. It was part of the Voltron bond, they had to trust each other implicitly and work together every time they went into battle. But this -– this went beyond their unspoken camaraderie.
Sinking even further into herself, Pidge hugged her legs tighter to her chest until it was hard to breathe.
She’d always been fine on her own. She liked her personal space as much as anyone, and although she couldn’t wait for the day when Matt and Dad were added to the castle’s crew, she could wait until then. It wasn’t like she was starving for human contact; she got plenty of that from Lance’s attack hugs and Hunk’s occasional fist bump.
Lance needed company, clearly, but he managed that himself. Lonely? He knew where to find other people. In need of a hug? He didn’t hesitate to grapple Pidge or Hunk or sometimes even Keith. He was homesick, probably more so than any of them, but he was well adjusted and never really let it show.
Hunk was the same way -– he could articulate his insecurities, and didn’t see any shame in seeking comfort when he was feeling down.
Keith was an enigma but if he was cracking, he hid it well. Pidge had never really considered him to be a liability in terms of emotion.
And she’d thought the same of Shiro. Strong. Stoic. The one to turn to when things got rough.
She never thought she’d be sitting on his bedroom floor watching him cry as he tried to get out words that were supposed to comfort a grieving crew.
She never wanted to be here again, if that day ever came.
“I wish I could say something that would make this easier on you, but passings are never easy. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I’ve never really had any regrets -– I mean, there were a few times I wish I’d taken another serving of dessert, but overall I’m pretty happy.”
“You’re not happy, you’re crying in front of a camera in an empty room,” Pidge muttered. Her voice was a knife.
Shiro continued to speak but Pidge’s focus was elsewhere, on the footsteps sounding faintly in the hallway outside. She couldn’t tell whose they were but she could guess -– Shiro was wondering what had taken her so long to grab the datapad and was coming to see what’s up.
Punching at the recorder’s buttons again, Pidge finally found the combination to turn it off just as the bedroom door slid open.
“Pidge, you in here --?” Shiro said, poking his head around the doorway. He froze upon seeing her face, eyes red rimmed and tear tracks that she was frantically trying to wipe away. It was almost tangible, the moment he recognized the little device sitting on the table, and the way he recoiled.
Pidge started to her feet in a vain attempt to...salvage the situation? make him stay? But it turned out to be unnecessary as Shiro stepped into the room anyway, feet moving like every step was onto burning coals, and shut the door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” Pidge said, more automatic response than apology. She was stuck standing by his bed, nerves too frayed to know which way to move. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I believe you.” Shiro moved past her and sat on the edge of the mattress.
She stared at his bowed head, close enough to touch, to count the white hairs that streaked the dark. Some part of her wanted to laugh at how they were talking around the issue instead of about it. It didn’t matter if Shiro believed it was an accident or not. What mattered was that he was clinging to the team as the only good thing in his life, and not one of them had realized it.
“You know you’re being stupid.” The words were out of her mouth before she was even sure what she was saying.
Shiro glanced up at her.
“Stuff like that,” she gestured at the recorder, “isn’t going to help us.”
He breathed deeply and looked down at his hands clasped in his lap. “Katie, you know we all made wills before we went on the Kerberos mission. Even Matt and I, even though we felt far to young to be worrying about that kind of stuff.”
Pidge frowned, the use of her name throwing her off balance, and the only counterargument she could think of was childish at best. “Wills are for people you don’t know and don’t want to deal with. They’re ways of settling disputes between all your third cousins arguing over your collection of space rocks. They aren’t for... they aren’t for people like us. We don’t need that kind of --”
“And what would you rather happen? I leave you without a word?” Shiro glared up at her, his eyebrows drawn down into what was almost anger but more likely sorrow.
“Just say it to our faces! We could all live with hearing how much other people care,” she said, close to stamping her feet in annoyance. She was guilty of it too, of silence and taking people for granted, but still -– “Right now it feels like you’re reading a sympathy card full of cliches.”
Shiro stood up, the movement abrupt enough to drive Pidge back to avoid being stepped on. He started pacing, arms folded tight across his chest, and she knew she’d gone too far. He’d put a lot, emotionally, into that recording. She didn’t want to think about how many walls he’d let down in that moment, to be able to show the true core of himself.
And honestly, deep down, she could imagine how it would feel, if he ever... if he ever, and she knew she would want to hear his voice again in that moment. Have some kind of memento to hold close and play over and over again when the nights drew on dark and painful.
But that realization didn’t stop the fact that she was currently upset because he was upset, and there didn’t seem to be any easy end to the cycle. Even now, as he was pacing the small room and trying to find something to say, she could tell that he was suffering. He’d planned for his own death while none of the rest of them gave it a single thought.
How on earth could he go on, smiling every day, full of encouragement, when he was facing things they never thought of?
“Shiro --”
He stopped and turned to face her. Pidge couldn’t look him in the eye right now, but she didn’t have to.
It was five steps across the room to him, and then she was wrapping her arms around his waist as tightly as she could. At first Shiro started to pull away, metal hand gentle on her shoulder, body tense with surprise and confusion. But she didn’t let go and after a moment he relaxed, both arms coming around to press her head to his chest.
“I’m sorry, Pidge. I’m just... tired of doing this on my own. I don’t want to bother you guys with my problems.”
She gave him another squeeze before stepping back, tilting her head up to see the quiet, sad expression on his face. “You’re not alone. I know you’re the leader and all, but I’m not exactly a kid anymore. I can handle stuff if you need to talk.” She shrugged. “Or if not me, anyone else would be happy to help you, I promise.”
“I don’t want to bring you down. I tried talking to Keith about what to do if something ever happened to me, and he just. Couldn’t handle it, I guess. It’s not fair to you all anyway.”
“Maybe he just didn’t understand why you needed to talk to him?” Pidge let her shoulders slump, knowing Shiro would be able to feel it. “I think we’re all too closed up for our own good.”
“We’re fighting a war, just the seven of us, all alone in space with aliens out for our blood. It makes sense we’re all trying to find our own footing.”
“Yeah, but you’re able to talk about it when you’re joking, like right now.”
Shiro laughed and patted her shoulder before letting go. “Humor is my best defense.”
“Friendship’s better.”
He paused and looked away again.
“Even in the video, you were lying,” Pidge pressed. “You said you were okay when you weren’t. We can tell, you know.”
This time, Shiro’s laugh sounded more like an ill-disguised sob. “Then why are you the only one in here right now?”
“If you keep trying to fake it, then we’ll leave you alone out of courtesy. I mean, I’ve... seen you in the training room sometimes. Absolutely obliterating the training bots. But you keep saying you’re okay, so I don’t want to let you know that I know.”
Pidge waited for a response, something she could latch onto and argue with, but Shiro stayed silent for several minutes. Finally she looked up at the same time he moved, dropping to sit crosslegged on the floor.
“But you know now,” he said in a voice like thin ice, one misstep away from cracking completely. “You’ve seen.”
“And I’m not going anywhere.” Pidge joined him on the floor, knees tucked under her as she leaned against him. “I’m still going to follow you as my leader, and I’m still going to trust you,” she said, turning to bury her forehead against his shoulder. “I’m weak too, you know, and that doesn’t make me any less of a paladin.”
Shiro shifted; at first she was afraid she’d gone too far and he was leaving, but instead the weight of his arm wrapped around her and he tilted his head to rest against hers.
“That’s good,” he said. “Because I need you as a paladin. And...” Shiro paused, gathering courage. “And as a friend. I don’t want to do this alone any more.”
Pidge hugged him back, smile lopsided on her face. “You never were alone. But I’m glad to be here with you anyway.”