Chapter Text
Shiro sits alone in the commissary. It’s mostly by choice; while he picks through the meagre salad bar and tries not to pay too much attention to the tray of mac and cheese beside it, he makes eye contact with Axca. She’s sitting across the dining hall with Veronica and the other MFE’s, and she studies him for a moment, then tilts an open hand to the vacant seat at their table in tentative invitation.
Shiro’s endeared by her shyness, and even more by her kindness, but he gives her an apologetic smile and inclines his head towards the empty table in the corner. His days are long and packed with necessary with human (for lack of a better term) interaction. Mealtimes are his only opportunity to be alone with himself for any significant amount of time while also remaining conscious.
He’s stabbing dubiously at his wilted salad when a shadow falls over the table.
Keith is there when he looks up.
“Good,” Keith says with a smile. “I was hoping you’d be here. Can I sit?”
It doesn’t feel like giving anything up when he sends his prosthetic across the table to pull a chair out for Keith in answer.
“What are you eating? Keith asks, taking the seat. His nose wrinkles as he looks over Shiro’s lunch. “And why.”
"These are called vegetables,” he tells Keith, gesturing at his tray with his fork. “Some people eat them to stay healthy.”
Keith huffs a little laugh. His own tray is heaped with macaroni.
“What are you talking about? You’re in great shape, Shiro. You can afford to cheat a little.” He pushes his tray to the middle of the table in offering. “Besides, mac and cheese is your favorite. Here, share mine.”
“Well, I guess you only live twice,” Shiro says wisely. Suddenly empty calories don’t sound like the worst thing in the world. He slides his pathetic lunch out of the way.
Keith rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth curl into a small, pleased smile.
“So, what’s on the schedule today, Black Paladin?” Shiro asks. Keith has been planetside for the past fortnight. For most of the year, he’s been with the Blades on various peacekeeping and relief missions. The time away has been kinder to him than it has Shiro; he’s as lean as ever, but there’s a new breadth to his shoulders, his jaw sharper, his longer and braided to his waist. He inhabits his skin in a confident, easy way that leaves Shiro both proud and envious.
“I got my orders from Kolivan, actually,” Keith says, and takes a sip of his drink. “We’re getting ready to ship out in the next couple days.”
Shiro’s stomach drops. For all that they’ve been on the same planet, they’ve barely seen each other between their respective obligations. The thought of Keith going already deflates something in him.
“Oh,” he manages dumbly.
“Yeah,” Keith says. “We found a Galra outpost that we think is hostile, but from what we can tell, they’re low on resources. A small team going to negotiate. Mom, me, Kolivan, just a few other blades.”
It sounds like important work. It sounds a little dangerous, a little exciting, the hallmarks of a good mission.
“Wow, Keith, that’s…” he can’t find the right word, and he chuckles weakly. “I’m a little jealous, honestly.”
Keith’s watching him with sharp, searching eyes, and he must find what he’s looking for, because he shrugs hesitancy off and squares his shoulders like he’s steeling himself.
“Shiro,” he starts, and leans in, puts his hands palm-down on the cafeteria table in an earnest gesture. “I want you to come.”
At first, Shiro doesn’t understand. When he does realize what Keith’s asking, his heart soars, and when he realizes what his answer has to be, it crashes back down.
“Keith, I …” Keith waits for the Shiro to finish, but the words won’t come.
“I know you think you need to say no,” Keith says eventually. He’s always had a way of cutting straight to the heart of it, in a conversation or in a fight. “But just listen.”
If it were anyone else, he’d politely but firmly tell them that he appreciated the offer, but he did not need to listen. He knows what he needs to do, and indulging in the idea that he has the freedom and flexibility to put his responsibilities aside on a whim only leaves him heartsick. But this is Keith, who would do anything he asked. Returning the favor doesn’t being to make a dent in what he owes Keith. He nods for Keith to continue.
“I know you’re busy here,” Keith starts. “But Kolivan thinks this is going to be a tough mission. This outpost is one of the empire’s last strongholds, but they’ve been cut off from most comms and supply routes. They have nothing to lose at this point. Anything could happen out there.”
Anxiety mounts has Keith talks. He knows Keith is no stranger to threat, but to hear it implicitly, from Keith’s mouth, compounded with the fact that help will be so far from the action should anything go wrong, makes his insides churn.
“But if you came, it would be proof that the coalition is as strong as we say.”
Shiro can see Keith’s point. To have representatives from the three heads of the coalition is not only a testament to the galaxy’s unification, it’s an insurance policy. There is strength and protection in numbers.
“And honestly, Shiro,” Keith says, and then pauses. His eyes flicker away from Shiro’s, and then back again. He’s nervous, Shiro realizes, but the last thing Keith is a coward. “I want you there. I miss you, and I could use the backup.”
How can Shiro say no to that?
It’s easier to get Iverson to approve his mission request than Shiro thought it would be. Shiro spends more than hour on the form and attaches it to a carefully crafted message that he asks Keith to proofread before he sends.
Within minutes, his data pad dings with a new message.
“captain, looks ok. come 2 my office when u can. Thx”
He goes to Iverson’s office between a grounds and maintenance committee meeting and his workout, head spinning from the day.
He knocks softly on the doorframe. Iverson looks up from where he’s squinting suspiciously at his data pad and waves Shiro in.
“Commander,” he greets as he takes one of the chairs in front of the man’s desk.
“Captain,” Iverson returns solemnly. There’s a glint in his eye that Shiro has come to recognize as a good mood. “So, you’re finally running away to join the Blade of Marmora.”
“It looks like it,” he says on a small laugh. He wonders at finally. “With your permission, of course.”
“Look, I’ll level with you,” Iverson says. His chair creaks a little when he leans forward to rest his elbows on the desk, and Shiro’s heart drops with the realization that he misunderstood Iverson’s reply, that his request has been denied, that he’ll be left –
"It’s good you put this through in when you did,” Iverson continues. “Frankly, the Admiral and I were ready to insist on a mandatory R&R leave anyways.”
Shiro’s building panic shutters to a halt and then twists itself in to confusion.
“…Sir?”
Iverson sighs.
“Captain, you’ve been putting in 12 hours a day at minimum for over a year. You take every meeting, you train constantly. I’m not sure you sleep. You’re running ragged here.”
“Commander, this is a war,” Shiro’s jaw goes tight from indignation. “Everybody is doing their part to – ”
“The war is over, Shirogane,” Iverson interrupts. His voice is horrifyingly kind.
“What about the Atlas?” Shiro asks after a long moment.
“You have a fine bridge,” Iverson says. “She’s in good hands.”
“What if there’s an attack while we’re away? What if – ”
“There won’t be,” Iverson tells him. “But if there is, we’re up to our ears in robot lions and MFE’s. We’ll handle it.”
Shiro’s brain is racing with a million more questions, a million more worst case scenarios, but Iverson continues before he can voice them.
“This is not a punishment, Captain. This mission is what you wanted, and I think it’s what you need. Why are you fighting it?”
Shiro can’t answer. He can’t stop slipping messily between doubt and elation. He knows he’s being irrational.
“Tomorrow we’ll meet to finalize the details with the Blade of Marmora and your crew. For now, you’re dismissed.”
Shiro stands, and says, a little stiffly, “Thank you, sir.”
Iverson’s mouth twitches with his version of a smile.
“Good evening, Captain.”
Shiro leaves, a mess of confusion and skepticism and relief. He goes to the gym and takes his insecurities with him.
The next several days are a marathon of meetings, paperwork, and packing.
They’re leaving in two days. The Galra outpost is situated on a small, hospitable planet called Navix. From the images coalition scanners have been able to pick up, the planet looks verdant, wild with vegetation. The only way it could be farther from the Garrison’s desert is if it were an ocean. Reports estimate that there are anywhere from seventy-five to two hundred Galrans manning the large outpost, all loyal to the old empire. During the last stretch of the war, Navix had been largely cut off from supply routes, and comms to whichever base they reported to seem to have been severed entirely. Prepping for the mission is endless, but it’s the kind of workload Shiro has become intimately familiar with. The shape and volume of his days since the war don’t change. There are constant briefings, flight simulations, health exams, and system checks. The difference is that he finally feels like he’s working towards a tangible end-point. It’s an important distinction, and one that he relishes in. Really, the preparations are the easy part.
The goodbyes are harder.
When the news broke that he’d accepted a mission with the Blades, he’d been met with smiles and well-wishes from the Atlas crew and other colleagues. The paladins were more colorful, but no less congratulatory. Lance had faked tears and bemoaned the likelihood of him returning with a mullet, Hunk speculated on whether Shiro would look good with a mullet (Lance and Coran were both highly – and loudly - offended, Hunk and Keith were in the yes camp), and Pidge had asked a series of brisk and increasingly technical questions on the Blade’s evolving wormhole capabilities. Over the noise, Shiro had looked to Allura and found her beaming at the antics of her teammates. Her smile gentled when she caught Shiro’s eye. “Don’t worry,” she’d said quietly, fondly, “I’ll look after them,” and Shiro knew she would.
Now, at the launch site, the desert sun is high and harsh in a cloudless blue sky, and the reality of their departure is sinking in. They get all the necessary photos and handshakes out of the way first. Keith handles the publicity with his own kind of grace, but Shiro can see the way his shoulders slowly tense under his flight suit as the attention wears on. Then the Atlas crew offers Shiro handshakes or salutes with varying levels of sarcasm (Veronica is an outlier and probably shouldn’t be counted). Finally, the only people left standing under the black lion’s shadow are the paladins. The uncomplicated collective excitement of Keith and Shiro’s mission is replaced with the knowledge that they are about to be scattered across different corners of the universe again. They don’t talk, but they each hug both Shiro and Keith for long moments, and the gesture says everything it needs to.
When everyone has retreated to watch from a safe distance, Keith tips his head to look at Shiro, eyes squinted against the sun, a silent question. Shiro nods, and Keith leads them into the ship.
As they buckle into their seats and Keith begins the final system checks, Shiro wonders at Keith in the pilot seat. Some secret part of him had worried that we would feel envious watching Keith man Black. He knows Black is in the best possible hands, and he’s proud of the leader Keith has grown into. Black hasn’t been his for a long time, but she was once, and he was prepared for the hurt that comes with losing a piece of yourself. As Keith deftly navigates the controls, Shiro finds that he’s feeling a lot of things, but resentment isn’t one of them.
“You’re quiet,” Keith says, breaking Shiro from his thoughts. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Shiro says. “I think it’s all just hitting me that I’m about to be up there again.”
Keith looks away from where he’s adjusting his gloves briefly to slant an encouraging smile at him.
“When we break earth’s atmosphere, we’ll need to check in with Kolivan,” he responds, and puts his hands on the controls. “Ready?”
It’s a complicated question.
“Yes,” Shiro says.