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Episode 9: Know Your Enemy
Shiro stared at himself in the mirror for the first time since… everything. His hair was shocked white and unfamiliar. He brushed his fingers over the top of it, wondering if it would suddenly poof into dust like some Altean magic trick.
He dragged his eyes lower over his bare chest. This body was his now, but not by invitation. It felt like somebody else’s house, but nobody had been home for a long time. He was a phantom, a dream, just a consciousness for so long that he had trouble believing that he was really inhabiting a person again. A clone of himself.
In his dreams he felt distant, like he was floating away. Even when his alarm stirred him awake, he couldn’t convince himself that he was real and whole again. He felt untethered most of the time, like a stiff wind might pull him right out of his new body.
There used to be a mark on his side, a small slice from hot, summer days spent repairing vehicles with his dad. The Galra had gone ahead and “fixed” that for him. That mark had been replaced with other marks. Scars that didn’t hurt because the memory of getting them was adopted, foreign.
He was grateful, though. Of course he was grateful. Allura had saved his life with her magic. And Keith had… Jesus , Keith had almost given up everything to save Shiro’s life.
Shiro wanted to be whole again, for them. He wanted to pay them back for all the second chances he was getting.
Which was why he had to get it together.
He grabbed the uniform the Garrison had left for him on the bed. The fabric was sturdy and familiar between his fingers. He shoved his left arm though awkwardly, reaching his hand towards the ceiling so that his jacket would hopefully slip on the rest of the way. He hadn’t changed clothes much in space without his right hand, and anyway the Voltron armor was easier to manage with it being so stiff.
He leaned down and bent over slightly, swinging the right side of the jacket into the reach of his left arm. He pulled it around himself, tugging on the buttons clumsily until he could finally fit them through.
While his body still felt new, an air of nostalgia hung over his uniform. He hadn’t worn a uniform like this in how many years? He liked the weight of it. Liked how familiar it felt against him. He adjusted his collar and a memory came rushing back to him.
It was of Fall. One of those crisp mornings where the desert woke up slowly as it adjusted to the change in the weather. Shiro and Adam had woken up slowly too, their backs guarding against the chilled air coming in from the open window.
Shiro had watched the sun make silhouettes on the bedroom wall. Adam’s hair. Their shoulders tucked into one another. The tumble of blankets thrown over them against the cold.
He traced his fingers along Adam’s hairline, knowing that Adam would blush if he had been anything less than fast asleep.
They ended up dreadfully rushed that morning. Skipped breakfast and shoved their shoes on as they shuffled out the door. It wasn’t until Shiro got to his first meeting that he noticed how stiff his arms felt with the tightness of his jacket. It hugged his sides more tightly than normal.
He ran his fingers along his collar, stretching it forward away from his neck. That was when a faint scent rode along with the air he breathed in. He dipped his chin down into it. It smelled like ink and old blueprints, which happened to be two of Adam’s favorite things.
Adam had laughed when Shiro got home that day. “Guess that’s what we get for hitting the snooze button so many times this morning.”
Shiro ran his hands along Adam’s arms, feeling the bulk of the extra fabric on his shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Shiro to notice. He twirled a finger around a loose thread the jacket Adam was wearing, Shiro’s own jacket, before tilting his chin up to press his lips gently on Adam’s forehead.
“You know,” Shiro chuckled, leaning down to sniff into Adam’s shoulder, “I don’t think I’ve washed that thing all week.”
“ Ugh,” Adam groaned, “No wonder I smelled like sweat all day. Didn’t I ask you yesterday if you had any laundry?”
“I must’ve forgotten.” Shiro replied.
Adam smiled disbelievingly, “You forgot about the one piece of clothing that we’re required to wear every single day ?”
Shiro reached forward and started unbuttoning Adam’s jacket for him. “Guess it’ll have to be tonight then-”
Knock knock knock.
Shiro snapped back into focus, still standing in front of his mirror. “Yeah? I’m in here.”
“You coming? We’re supposed to meet with the Garrison leaders. About, you know, the Galra-taking-over-the-Earth thing?” It was Hunk.
Shiro pulled open the door, “Yeah, sorry I’m late.” Shiro felt his sleeve brush against his side. “Could you?”
Hunk was confused until Shiro handed him his right sleeve. “Oh, sure thing.”
Hunk took his time to roll up the sleeve, making sure that his folds were neat so it wouldn’t come sliding back out. Adam would’ve done it the same way, just as carefully.
After he was done Hunk looked at him and grinned, “Ready Officer?”
Shiro looked down at himself. He couldn’t think about the past now. Even though the clothes looked the same and the people and the smells and the tech were all so, so familiar for him.
Voltron needed him here. Earth needed him here.
Except he couldn’t ignore the growing pull in his gut and the tightness in his throat. He hadn’t realized how much hope he’d been harboring until it all fell apart in the landing bay, surrounded by everyone reuniting with their families. The hope that he might have someone waiting for him on Earth too.
Shiro needed Adam here. But he wasn’t.
***
The meeting was delayed, so Shiro found Commander Iverson and pulled him into the hallway. He had to know about Adam. He had to ask. He started to string words together, but Iverson already knew what he was getting at.
“I’m sorry, Shiro,” Iverson said, shaking his head, “Please, follow me.”
Shiro followed him dumbly, their boots echoing in the hallway. When Iverson stopped they were staring at a rounded out wall, covered in golden plates. A memorial.
Shiro found the name he was looking for. He reached his hand out, tracing his fingers across the Adam W. etched into the metal.
He stared at it for a long time as Iverson explained the circumstances , as he called them. Something about a damaged landing stabilizer on a new test craft. He said Adam had acted honorably, because he chose to avoid a botched landing into a busy area by attempting to land somewhere else. He’d saved lives. In his casket they put a medal around his neck.
“Adam, I’m sorry” Shiro said. His voice came out empty, in a whisper.
Iverson continued. “It’s because of them, that Earth still has a chance.”
He paused, looking unsure about what he should do next. In a moment he decided it best to excuse himself. “It’s time for our debriefing.”
Shiro felt frozen as he listened to Iverson’s footsteps drop off into the hallway.
Iverson’s words echoed through Shiro’s head.
It’s because of them, that Earth still has a chance. He died honorably. He was a hero.
A hero.
Shiro looked over Adam’s picture. He always looked so clever in his glasses. His hat pressed his hair against his forehead. His jacket fit tightly around his shoulders.
His jacket.
Shiro felt something break inside of him and he slumped forward, pressing his forehead against Adam’s picture. He clenched his teeth together and pressed his hands against the wall.
In that moment, Shiro decided he was so goddamn tired of heroes.
Shiro didn’t need the platitudes. He didn’t need anyone to tell him how honorable and brave Adam was. He didn’t need to know about medals and memorials.
Shiro didn’t need a hero. He just wanted his boyfriend back.
Shiro imagined the smell of ink and old blueprints. He thought of the way Adam read books, sitting at the kitchen table while tapping his toe into the floor. How surprised he would look when Shiro interrupted him, like nothing else could exist in the world along with those words on the page. He thought of the way Adam always straightened the folds of Shiro’s sleeves when they got crumpled throughout the day. His fingers carefully tugging them into clean lines.
Shiro had a whole collection of Adam memories. He used to think about them, when he was far away from home. Now that Adam was gone, the memories turned against him. His security blanket weighed heavily on him, suffocating him instead of comforting him.
Don’t expect me to be here when you get back.
Adam’s words burned through Shiro’s mind and he slid down to his knees.
Shiro had listened to Adam, but he hadn’t believed him. He always assumed there would be more chances. There had to be.
That was always their problem, wasn’t it? Shiro was too positive. Too filled with hope and confidence. Adam was practical, more realistic. On their good days they balanced each other out. On their bad days...
Shiro heard footsteps in the hallway again. Faint at first, but gaining speed. They were lighter than Iverson’s.
As they approached Shiro they slowed down.
“Shiro,” Keith started. “What’s going on?”
Shiro shook his head slightly, waited for Keith to put the pieces together.
He didn’t have to wait long, and in a moment he heard Keith stepping towards Adam’s name.
Keith brushed a hand over it before kneeling down and dropping his hand over Shiro’s shoulders.
“Keith-” Shiro said, his voice still almost a whisper, “I left him behind.”
“You didn’t-” Keith started to protest, but stopped when Shiro shook his head.
“I did, Keith.” Shiro looked up, making eye contact for a second. Keith listened silently.
“I left him behind, but-” Shiro followed the line of golden plates upwards until his gaze got to Adam’s picture. “I really believed I would see him again.”
Shiro’s throat tightened again, and he felt tears run along his cheeks, following along his jaw. He dropped his head to his hands and let Keith pull him in.
They stayed there for a while, until Shiro saw the evening sunlight streaming in from above, casting their silhouettes against the golden wall.