Archive of Our Own

“You know, I can’t believe this is almost over.”

Yawning so wide he almost felt his jaw crack, Shiro glanced over to where his subordinate’s disembodied voice floated, muffled, through the floorboards.

“Chickens, Pidge,” he said tiredly, although he also couldn’t really quell the anticipation in his heart, tired and sleep-deprived as it was. “Counting, hatching.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Shiro could almost hear the way she rolled her eyes. He could certainly picture her: hunched over her laptop in the basement beneath his feet, digging through years and years of encrypted data. It was a considerable, and high stakes, job. Their team had fought, grinded, crawled for years after one of the most formidable criminals Shiro had ever seen, all leading to this: Shiro and his team having infiltrated a hideout, and Pidge getting her hands on a system that she had been hungry for over too many years.

This was the last place they wanted to mess up. But the chatter was her way of focussing, so Shiro let her patter along. “I’m just saying. I don’t think I’ve missed anything as much as I’ve missed my bed.”

Shiro snorted. “That’s what you said about your dog last Tuesday. Up your game, Holt.”

“Don’t bully your underlings, Shirogane,” she retorted.

“Show some respect, Detective.”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant, oh old and wise and—got it,” she barked. “We’re in.”

Shiro tensed. “You got him?”

It was the rest of Shiro’s squad, halfway across the city, who responded into his earpiece. “Good job, Pidge, security is down. We’ve got eyes on Lotor. We’re going in.”

Shiro swallowed, wishing he could be there. “Good luck, team. Get the bastard.”

Months and months of grinding after years of hard work, and they were almost there. Every lost moment of rest, every sliver of information carefully gathered and slotted into place, every frustration and all their rage at the lives lost—this was it.

Within minutes, they would all be rounded up. Within minutes, one of the longest running drug rings in their jurisdiction would be shut down.

Then, Shiro thought with fierce satisfaction, he could sleep for ten years.

“Good work, Pidge,” came another voice, also from beneath the floorboards, this one slightly higher pitched. “May I leave the basement now, Shirogane? The amount of machines down here is...unnerving.”

“Pidge, do you still need Detective Altea?”

“Nope, I’m good. Literally just needed the one translation.”

“All right. Altea, come back out and help me with these files. Pidge, you stay where you’re comfortable.”

“Easy.”

“Coming up now.”

There was a shuffling of cloth in Shiro’s ear piece, and then silence settled. For a moment, Shiro just let himself close his eyes and revel in the peace as he waited for his partner to rejoin him.

Pidge, however, had different plans.

“Soooo.” Her voice floated up through the floorboards once more. “What’re you thinking, Lieutenant?”

Shiro shrugged, surveying the bureau around him. He had tasked himself with poking about in Lotor’s office, but found little motivation to do so when all his attention was focussed on the raid halfway across the city.

“Nothing much,” he said. “Just how much I want to be there to get the bastard himself.”

“You were the one who said we shouldn’t. Months ago.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Shiro blinked, squeezing tired eyes against the fatigue. God, one more night and it’d be all over. “And it makes more sense this way. He’s always been one step ahead of us. It was safer to run that op out of another team. If I even looked like I was anywhere near his home base he would’ve sniffed us out.”

“We know, Shiro.” Altea’s voice sounded quietly in his ear. “None of us wanted to jeopardise this.”

“Yeah, Lieutenant, you can stop justifying yourself now, you know,” Pidge said wryly. “Found anything interesting up there?”

Shiro surveyed the room. It was clearly one of Lotor’s offices. It was steeped in luxury, the way the rest of the house was. Although it had looked nondescript from the outside, the interior boasted high ceilings, gorgeous paintings, and a ridiculous collection of crystalware. As far as Shiro knew, Lotor didn’t actually live here. From what they could tell, it was simply a base for operations, so who knew why he needed a very expensive collection of polished silver cutlery.

That opulence extended to the room Shiro was currently standing in. A massive watercolour painting—lilies in the sunlight—looked over an imposing wooden desk which took up most of the room. However, unlike the rest of the house (which had looked to be various sitting rooms) this room was lined with an abundance of folders, and, most importantly, had Lotor’s computer perched on the table. Encrypted, to be sure, but still there, and to be guarded with Shiro’s life.

“Barely started looking, Pidge. Been a bit distracted with you trying to hack into his main place.”

“Well that’s done now, so what’re you waiting for?”

Shiro sighed. “You couldn’t give me two minutes to just relax?”

“Hey, you’re stuck in this hell hole with the rest of us. We haven’t had two minutes for a bathroom break for months. You know the only thing I’ll give you two minutes to do at this point is to do some Pretty Boy Planning.”

Altea’s sudden peal of laughter mixed with the sound of Shiro choking.

“Wait, what did you call him?” They both said the words at the same time, Altea’s delighted, where Shiro was horrified. There was only one person Pidge could he talking about.

“Well, he is, isn’t he?”

“Pidge, he—he has a name.”

“Yeah I know, I know. As if I could forget Keith.” The way she said it was long and simpering, and—Shiro didn’t sound like that, did he?

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, he is quite pretty.” Everyone who had ever thought of Detective Allura Altea as warm and fuzzy clearly had never witnessed her eviscerating her superior officer in a handful of words. “It’s a perfectly normal reaction.”

“But you don’t—Pidge, why—”

“I have to get my kicks from somewhere. You’ve been pining after him for so long that just teasing you about it isn’t as fun anymore,” she grumbled, as though she was entitled to Shiro’s dignity. “And he’s pretty enough even for those of us who aren’t in love with him.”

“He’s—he’s not—” Shiro wanted to protest the name, but is wasn’t like it was wrong. And he felt a physical ache in his heart to even try to say so. “I’m not—” That was wrong too; Shiro was absolutely in love with him. “I haven’t been pining.”

Pidge dropped her voice approximately ten octaves into what Shiro assumed was an imitation of him, although she somehow still managed to make it simpering and pathetic. “Oh, look what Keith cooked last night. He’s such a wonderful cook, everything he makes is so tasty. And last week he figured out how to fix my car all on his own. He’s so good with his hands, I wish he’d use them to—”

“I don’t sound like that!”

Now, in an absolute act of betrayal, Altea also joined in. “I wish he would take me in his strong, manly, arms and sweep me—”

“It’s not like that!”

“It could be, Shiro, if you just asked the boy.”

Shiro sighed, perching on the edge of Lotor’s massive desk. “I just—it’s complicated, Altea. I’ve been trying. Really.”

“You’re just making it complicated,” Pidge insisted. “You watch, as soon as you get home all you have to do is waggle your eyebrows and he’ll be all over you. Then you can get ride off into the sunset, get married and have an army of overly attractive offspring.”

Why was he arguing with floorboards?

“Again, Pidge. Chickens. Hatching.”

Shiro heard Pidge’s scoff more through his earpiece than the floorboards. “Yeah. ‘Cause that bird hadn’t flown the coop ten years ago. I’ve only met the guy a few times—once at the Christmas party that everyone brought their partners to, can I just say—and every time I see him, he’s heart eyes all over you, Shiro.”

Oh, if only that were the case. “And I told you, we’ve known each since we were kids. We’re just comfortable with each other. We’ve been through a lot together.” One parent death, two presumed parent deaths (and then resurrections, one of those seven years in the making). They knew each other well, and much as Shiro loved Keith, he knew that Keith’s gaze was not one of longing.

It was hard, being in love with your childhood best friend, because how did you shift from platonic to romantic when more than two decades’ of friendship was on the line?

“Man, has he always been looking at you like that then?”

Shiro spluttered. “I was five when we met.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be seventy-five by the time you two finally get together.”

“I told you I’m going to do it!” Shiro protested.

“I distinctly remember you saying the same when it was Valentine’s day,” Altea said.

“And the new year before that.”

“The time you both went to visit your parents.”

“Keith’s birthd—”

“I haven’t had time lately,” Shiro interrupted. His ears felt like they were on fire. “You both know that.” If Shiro was going to ask Keith out, it had to be right. His job was always going to be hectic, but the least he could do was not start off any relationship when all he had time for was sleeping, working, and snacking. Keith deserved better than a few fleeting moments of Shiro’s attention every handful of days. Keith deserved to be treated, a perfect first date, to be treasured and loved. Properly.

Although Keith deserved far more than Shiro anyway, so it was all moot. He leafed through a few of Lotor’s folders half heartedly, mood turning morose. Regardless of how much Shiro could give Keith, he wasn’t sure it could ever feel like it was enough. That, more than anything, was why he hadn’t made a move despite knowing the state of his heart for years.

(He still remembered the realisation: when Keith had turned to him one night, pen tucked behind his ear, to remind Shiro to book his physio appointment for the prosthetic, and Shiro had just thought I need you in my life forever.)

“I know you’ve been busy,” Pidge conceded. “But Shiro, you’re always busy. Just kiss him. I promise you it’ll be fine.”

Shiro dropped a paper file he’d just picked up. “I can’t just—Pidge.”

“You know you want to.”

“What I want has nothing to do with it.” Shiro crouched down to collect the papers that had scattered on the floor, scowling. “I can’t just…” Shiro blinked, his own face smiling up from a photo right in front of him. Scowl turning to a frown, Shiro leafed through a few more of the scattered papers, tuning out Pidge’s voice.

A picture of the house he shared with Keith. One of the police station. His name printed in neat letters along the bottom border of each sheet.

Gut wrenching uncomfortably, Shiro stood to grab another folder from the pile where he’d picked up the original. Flipping it open confirmed his worst fears.

Pictures of Pidge, her brother. The next folder Altea.

“Shiro!” Pidge’s voice cut through Shiro’s growing dread.

“I’m still here,” he said softly. “Sorry.”

Pidge sighed. “Good, I thought something had happened!”

“I just found something. That’s all.”

“What is it?” Pidge asked.

The door to the office creaked open, Altea entering. Her silver hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail—work mode—and there was a grim satisfaction in her eyes under the fatigue.

“I’m still struggling to believe we’re at this point. He’s escaped us so long.”

Shiro’s smile was grim. “Not finished yet. And I just found out exactly how he’s managed to escape us for so long.” He held out the folder that documented every pertinent part of his life, Altea taking it from him with a raised eyebrow. Shiro watched as she opened it, expression twisting from shock to fear to rage.

“He—he can’t have done this alone,” she said, arriving at the same conclusion that Shiro had formed.

Shiro sighed, tired in a whole new way. “If he had help from one of us, then we’ll find out soon enough. We’ll need to take all of this into evidence. It’s just so much bigger than—”

Shiro’s phone chimed, and there was a sudden clamour of sound over their ear pieces.

“All units on standby! The target has escaped.” Shiro’s heart dropped. No. No, he couldn’t have— “Lotor is on a motorcycle headed south. We’re in pursuit, we don’t have eyes on him yet.”

Lost. Years of work, and they’d lost him.

Shiro didn’t have to look at Altea to know the rage that would be written across her face. This had been more than personal for her. Lotor linked to his father; his father had murdered Altea’s own. Years and years of searching and pain, and to have him so close…

But when she stormed away, temper and grief in her fists, Shiro grabbed her arm.

The icy rage that she fired his way was terrifying.

“Shirogane, let go—”

“What are you going to do? Just drive off and hope that you can find him?” Shiro spoke low and quick, knowing he had mere seconds to stop her from rushing off to do something foolish. “We have the entire force on the lookout for him, and we are right here, where he had his operations. We can’t go rushing out into the wild when we know he’ll just have another plan we haven’t figured out yet.”

He could feel her shaking in his grip, and he held her rage-filled gaze, trying to convey everything he couldn’t do with words.

I am here. I understand.

But Lotor was clever. They hadn’t even been able to pin him down in two separate locations. Lotor wouldn’t rush. He would think. He would plan, if he hadn’t already.

Gradually, Altea relaxed. “Fine.” The single word was bitten off, fire still colouring it. “We’ll search further.”

Shiro rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I know what this means,” he said quietly. “But I’m here.”

Altea stepped away without a word, gathering files and flicking through furiously. Despite her temper, Shiro knew this was the right thing to do. Lotor was a planner. He didn’t act out emotionally. If they had any hope of pinning him down, it was continuing the search here.

“Pidge?” he called. “See if you can dig up anything more on where he might run if—”

“Already on it, Lieutenant,” she replied, all business.

“Good work.” Shiro sighed, looking around him as he tried to pull it all together. Tried to forget the fatigue, the grief, and just think. Patience yields focus, he told himself. They knew their target. They knew his patterns by now. What might—

The noise hit all at once.

Phones, pagers, radios—all relaying the same information Altea gave to him only a few moments later.

“He’s abandoned the bike on Balmera Highway, down the Olkarion end,” she said, fury tightly controlled, and the look she shot Shiro was filthy. Shiro fell into step beside her, trying not to let guilt rise, as she dashed to the door. “Witnesses said he left it ten minutes ago. We could have been there.”

Shiro swallowed, trying and failing to convince himself that the anger she was feeling wasn’t directed at him personally. “Let’s focus on what we can do now.”

“We’re going to put him away.”

Shiro nodded, discarding the guilt. He had to look after his partner, after all. This had been her family, and throughout the whole process, she had shown admirable calm. But Shiro knew her, and knew just how hard this hit. He too had lost his mother, although not to the hands of another person. He couldn’t even begin to think of the grief that would consume him if he lost his father, or Keith…

Keith. His home.

Down the Olkarion end.

Shiro’s heart skipped a beat as they stepped out into the open air of the street, his mind flashing back to the scene they’d just abandoned. Their own pictures filed meticulously, each of them with their own dossier.

“Shit.”

Altea turned to him. “What is—?” He saw the moment it dawned on her, and she started barking orders over their comms, racing to the car with Shiro.

Heart pounding, Shiro fumbled for his phone as he slammed into their car, siren blaring before his partner had even buckled herself in. They shot off into the night, terror in Shiro’s veins as he raised his phone to his ear, nerves screeching with each moment it rang without being picked up.

“Come on, come on…”

“Hi, this is Keith. Leave your message and I’ll get back to you.”

Beep.

Shiro hung up violently, before dialling again.

“Pick up, pick up. Come on—”

The ringing stopped abruptly, and Shiro let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god, Kei—”

But the voice that answered, while familiar, wasn’t the one he’d been hoping for.

“Hello, Detective Shirogane.”

The lights dimmed and the cacophony of sound faded as ice filled Shiro’s heart.

Too late. You were too late.

Shiro swallowed. They’d thought that this was the end. How naive they’d been to think that this would all go down smoothly.

After all, didn’t they know their target?

“Lotor.”

Evening air was quiet, which was one of the things that Keith loved about his neighbourhood. Living in the suburbs was nice; not too far from things to be inconvenient, but also quiet enough to remind Keith of the farm on which he had grown up.

When he had first decided to move away from the country with his best friend, his parents (and Shiro’s own dad) had worried about the both of them. But one small town wasn’t big enough to contain two energetic boys, and the move away had been inevitable.

It was that gentle quiet that Keith revelled in, one weeknight like any other. He had been through his usual Thursday schedule: classes in the morning, a few hours at the lab in the afternoon, and then a quick gym session and another hour or two with readings while he waited for Shiro to come home.

Maybe Keith just loved where he lived because it meant living with Shiro; Keith was willing to admit that could also possible be true. Living with Shiro was easy, even if Shiro’s line of work always had Keith warring between pride and worry for his friend.

“You fret like we’re a married couple,” Shiro had once said, after coming back after a particularly long raid, phone unanswered and driving Keith out of his mind. But his words had been gentle, and he had gathered Keith up in his arms and just held him, Keith hiding his blush against Shiro’s chest.

‘Couple’ would have been enough to set his heart pounding. ‘Married’ was an entirely different matter, and Keith tried not to let that daydream get too much out of hand. They weren’t together like that. And with Keith stubbornly sitting silent on his long-term crush that he had only just recently realised might be something more, they probably wouldn’t ever be together like that.

Keith sighed, shaking his head. “You’re meant to be studying,” he muttered to himself, although not with much heart. Ever since his realisation eight days ago that he might, maybe, just maybe be a little bit in love with Takashi Shirogane, it had been hard to stay focussed. When he was with Shiro, he spent his time marvelling at all the ways that Shiro was wonderful, now in a whole new light. When Shiro wasn’t there, Keith daydreamed as usual, except now it was also accompanied by marvelling at how stupid he had been not to realise earlier when thoughts like I hope we can live together forever and I wish I could just hold you and protect you from everything crossed his mind.

Yeah, that really made it seem like it was just a crush, Keith.

A knock on the door jolted Keith from his thoughts, and he got up. He was procrastinating but…

That was it. He was procrastinating.

Still, knowing that didn’t stop him from abandoning his reading without a second thought to open the door.

There was a Galra standing outside, hands shoved inside the pockets of a long black trench coat. Silver hair cascaded down past his waist in a way that made Keith envious, and when he caught sight of Keith, a charming smile appeared.

“Good evening,” he said, voice deep and smooth. “You must be Keith.”

Keith nodded slowly, unsure as to where this was headed. “Uh, yeah?”

The man smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ve just heard a lot about you. My name’s Alfor, I’m a friend of Takashi’s. He—” For a moment, the man looked unsure, eyes darting downwards. “He said I could come to him if I was in trouble. I need his help.”

Keith smiled. It probably looked a little awkward, but the man look stressed. “Uh, he’s not at home right now. I’m not sure when he’ll be back tonight.” It had been like that for a little while, Shiro barely having time to eat or sleep. While Keith knew Shiro’s job was important to him, he just...missed him.

Keith shook himself from his thoughts. All of that was for some other time, when he didn’t have someone on his doorstep asking for help. He opened the door a little, waving the man in. “You can come in, though, and I’ll give him a call.”

The man smiled, but Keith could see the way it shook. “I tried calling before, it went to voicemail. I just thought…”

“It might just be hard to get him,” Keith explained, leading the man to their living room. “And you’re welcome to wait. It’s just I don’t know when he’ll be back. He’s been pretty busy lately.”

Something flashed across Alfor’s face. “I—yes. That’s why I’m here. It’s related to what he’s been working on.”

“I’ll send him a message for you—”

“It might be easier from me,” Alfor said, pulling out his own phone. “He can decide what’s best that way.”

“Sure. Do you want a drink or anything?”

“I will be fine.” Alfor smiled, all charm, but Keith recognised the resignation in the other’s man face. He looked tired. There were bags under his eyes, and an air of fatigue around him that Keith knew all too well—it was the exact feeling that haunted Shiro these days. “Although, if I may, I’m here to pick something up from Takashi. He said it would be in his room…?”

Keith frowned. “Ah, it’s all pretty messy at the moment, I’m not sure he’ll want people poking around in there. I can go have a look for you if you want?”

Alfor fiddled with his phone, and Keith felt that twinge of pity again. If the guy was after Shiro for help, it had to be work related, which very rarely meant anything good. But still...it was Shiro’s room.

“I’d appreciate it,” Alfor said eventually. “I just left some files with him. They should be labelled with Lotor, or something similar. But it might have a different name, which is why I wanted to have a look.”

“How about I go have a look for you, and we can see if he replies?” Keith suggested. “I’m sorry, it’s just—he can be a bit weird about people in his space.” Keith smiled apologetically. “I just don’t want him to be mad when he gets back. Like I said, he’s been pretty stressed.”

“Of course, of course.” Alfor sighed, but then he smiled tiredly. “I apologise, I am grateful for the hospitality. It’s just been a long handful of weeks.”

Keith nodded. “Yeah, it can be like that. I’ll go have a look in Sh—his room for you. Be right back.”

With a wave, Keith padded down their hallway, slowing as he approached Shiro’s room. With a sigh, he brought out his phone, flicking on the light as he stepped inside.

For a moment, he just looked around, feeling a pang of loneliness. The state of Shiro’s room only reminded Keith of how awfully busy he had been lately, and how little he’d been home. The bed was barely visible anymore under a mountain of clothes, and there was a small explosion of stationery next to Shiro’s desk from when he’d been digging around for a birthday card to send his dad.

The desk itself, however, was immaculately organised. Shiro was serious about work, and Keith knew that everything had its place in Shiro’s workspace. Folders were lined neatly on the shelf, spare equipment tucked away in the top drawer. The only thing out of place was his laptop bag, perched on his chair.

Keith wandered over to the shelf, scanning over the spines. As Alfor had suggested, none of them read Lotor. But there was no way that Keith was letting a complete stranger poke around in Shiro’s confidential files. Shiro kept his work at home with the knowledge that no one, not even Keith, would rifle through his things. Sure, the stranger in the living room had looked distressed, and Keith felt for him. He looked just about as tired as Shiro did, which would make sense if they were working on the same thing that was keeping Shiro up all hours.

But something just niggled at him. He hated feeling suspicion about someone who was so clearly upset, but there were just all these tiny things that grated his nerves.

Outside, there was the distant sound of sirens, turning Keith’s worry to his best friend again. His default state seemed to be worry about Shiro these days, although he didn’t know why Shiro was so busy. All he knew was that there was some huge operation that was occupying the entire team’s time, but that it had to be completely confidential (even more so than usual) because of the scale of the whole thing.

“He’s slippery,” Shiro had said once, when Keith had caught him shovelling down breakfast before dashing off again. “We’re close though. And then I promise we can hang out more.”

That’s not why I’m worried, Keith had wanted to say, but he’d just waved as Shiro tumbled out the door and off to work once again. It was the constant shadows under Shiro’s eyes that made Keith’s heart ache, the frustration he saw lining his friend’s face.

It was all that which floated around Keith’s mind as he took out his phone, thumb hovering over his conversation with Shiro. Over the past few weeks, Keith had tried hard to be only a positive force around Shiro, helping him relax and switch off in the little time they did get together. It wouldn’t do Shiro any good to worry him pointlessly.

But…

The top of Keith’s screen read “Shiro”.

Not Takashi.

There were two types of people in the world who called Shiro by his first name: the ones who’d known him for twenty years, or those who didn’t know him at all. And whoever this Alfor was, he definitely wasn’t a figure that had featured when the two of them had grown up together.

It might be nothing. After all, Keith wasn’t personally there every time Shiro introduced himself to someone. It could have been someone undercover, or who Shiro wanted to get closer to, or a million other things. Alfor clearly knew enough about Shiro.

But Keith actually knew Shiro. Had known him as long as he’d known anyone, and loved him almost as long. And what he knew told he that at the very least, he should check.

Coming to a decision, Keith started tapping out a quick message.

Hey Shiro, I’ve got som

A shuffle behind him had Keith turning, phone already slipping back into his pocket. “I’ll be there in—”

Pain lanced bright red through Keith’s skull. The last thing he saw was a black coat and purple skin, and a familiar face flashing up on his phone.

Shiro.

It felt like swimming through glue for Keith to drag himself back to the land of the living. His head was pounding, and then something rocketed into his stomach and he coughed, wheezing against the pain.

“Sh-Shiro…”

There was a faint buzzing, and Shiro’s face swam before Keith’s eyes, as though the thought alone had summoned his friend. He tried to get up, but a sharp pain pinned him in the back, shoving him down and knocking the wind from him again.

“No, no, just stay down there,” someone drawled. Who was…?

Alfor. The stranger.

Fuck.

“Y-you…” Keith coughed, struggling for breath.

“Yes, me,” Alfor said, delighted. There was a clatter of a desk drawers being opened. Shiro’s drawers. Shiro’s things. Fuck…

“Oh look, a present. Shirogane’s own little collection.” Another clatter, but Keith couldn’t think. He could barely move, fingers twitching as he tried to roll over and haul himself up. And Alfor wouldn’t stop talking. Keith just needed him to shut up for a moment, but the other man just kept going.

“Does he use these on you?” Alfor asked conversationally.

“What…?” Keith groaned, the rhythmic pulsing in his head not letting up. Something cold clicked around his wrists, and that…meant something…

“I’d love to know if he plays with you.”

Keith couldn’t compute what Alfor’s words meant beyond the fact that they were insulting.

“Shut…up…” he said around a thick tongue. He tried to push himself up, but his hands were locked behind his back. Something cold and sharp dug into his wrists, and—

Shirogane’s own.

Cuffed. With Shiro’s equipment.

Although he knew it was useless, panic took over, finally overriding the confusion. Heart pounding, Keith yanked at the cuffs with a snarl, ignoring the bite into his skin as he squirmed on the ground.

“You fucking—let me go.”

There was the buzzing again, and now Keith realised it wasn’t just the ringing in his ears, but his phone lying discarded on the ground. Shiro’s face lit up the screen, and Keith’s racing heart only beat all the faster. Shiro. This would put Shiro in danger.

Purple fingers entered his vision, plucking the phone delicately from the ground. “Ah, I’d believed Shiro was merely an acquaintance nickname. I see where I went wrong.” Though the words were light, Alfor still sounded frustrated.

“Put that down,” Keith growled, hoping Alfor didn’t hear the fear in his voice.

“I don’t think so. I wish to talk to your Lieutenant.” With a grin, Alfor picked up.

Keith hadn’t even begun to form Shiro’s name with his lips before he was faced with a barrel of a gun, making his blood run cold.

This was real.

He could die here.

Shiro’s voice sounded, tinny over the phone’s speakers. “Thank god, Kei—”

“Hello, Detective Shirogane.”

There was a pause, and Keith clenched his eyes shut, wishing more than anything that he could spare Shiro the fear, the pain. Think. Think. How could he get out of this? Shiro would come for him—he knew that, and loved the man for it—but the thought of Shiro putting himself in danger to keep safe terrified him.

After a moment, Shiro’s voice came again. “Lotor,” he said quietly. “What do you want?”

Alfor chuckled, and Keith gagged when he was hauled to his knees by the collar of his shirt. “Not even a greeting, Detective? I thought we knew each other better than that.”

Keith started to struggle, yanking at the tight grip. If he could just get himself free, at the very least he could run—

Claws dug painfully into his shoulder, and the unforgiving metal of the gun pressed down relentlessly on the back of his neck, making Keith cry out.

Shiro’s reaction was immediate. “Keith! Keith, are you okay?”

Keith glanced up at Alfor—no, Shiro had called him something else. Lotor, according to Shiro. The files that Lotor himself had been after. The huge operation that had kept Shiro up all hours, for months on end, exactly because of how dangerous their target had been.

Shaking, the reality of the situation started to sink in. There was nothing he could do here. Nothing to be done against death which hung precariously from the barrel of the gun against his neck, nothing to be done against a man who, by all accounts, dealt professionally in murder.

Nothing to do but wait. Obey. Put his trust in Shiro.

After a moment, Lotor nodded.

“Shiro,” Keith rasped, before clearing his throat. “Shiro,” he repeated, more steadily this time. “I’m—I’m okay. I’m all right.”

“Keith.” God, the tenderness in Shiro’s voice almost made Keith blurt out everything he’d held back over the past few months. How important Shiro was to him, how he’d saved him, over and over. He could die tonight, and Shiro might never know. “Keith, are you hurt?”

Keith’s eyes flickered again to Lotor. “Not too much,” he said quietly. “I’m fine, Shiro.”

“Okay, just—you’ll be okay, Keith. I promise.”

And Keith believed him.

Then Lotor decided it was time for him to speak again. “I wouldn’t make promises that you might not be able to keep, Detective.”

Shiro’s voice was all business once again, the tenderness with which he’d spoken to Keith all gone. “It’s over, Lotor. Hand yourself over and I won’t even add this little episode onto the other charges.”

Lotor laughed. “Because that will change so much for me, Detective.”

“It’ll look a lot better than you running off to cause even more trouble after you knew you’d been caught.”

“Looks.” Lotor scoffed. “I don’t care much for looks right now, Detective. What I want are all your files on me, and a clear path to leave. And,” he continued, when Shiro started to speak again, “if I don’t get that, I’ll shoot your little friend to pieces.”

“No, no, just—there’s no need for that,” Shiro said.

Lotor’s hand slid from Keith’s shoulder as he crouched down, fingers tracing a path over Keith’s collarbone to caress his neck. “Or maybe I’ll kill him some other way.” His fingers tapped out a gentle beat over Keith’s Adam’s apple, and Keith shuddered at the touch. “I can be creative, if you like.”

“Lotor, what are—”

Lotor’s hand closed abruptly over Keith’s throat.

Keith barely had a moment to gasp, to cry out in protest, to do anything before his air was cut off.

Shit, he couldn’t breathe. Lotor was watching him with a manic smile, eyes glinting wildly, as Keith bucked, trying to get that awful weight off his neck. But it was useless, and with every passing second, Keith’s vision became more out of focus, his heart pounding as panic clamoured in his mind with the need to breathe.

Distantly, he could hear Shiro’s voice, and he sounded so upset, so angry. He shouldn’t sound like that, shouldn’t ever have to feel that. It was Keith’s fault that they were here, but Keith could do nothing but struggle weakly, his own voice gurgling, he couldn’t breathe…

Lotor let go, and Keith heaved in a choking breath, heart thundering. Shiro’s desperate pleas had stopped, and his own heavy breathing mixed in with Keith’s gasps.

“Lotor, I can help you,” Shiro said eventually, sounding defeated. “Just…don’t hurt him. Please. I’ll hand everything over if you just let me come in and get it all for you.”

Keith’s heart stopped. “No, Shiro, don’t—”

“Shut your mouth,” Lotor growled, and the slap was so brutal it sent Keith crashing to the floor, head spinning.

There was ringing silence, and Keith’s heart was beating so furiously that he was sure everyone could hear it. He coughed, throat aching from its recent abuse, but nothing hurt more than the thought of Shiro out there, putting his life on the line because of Keith.

It wasn’t meant to be like this.

I can’t live without you, Keith thought, and wished he could say the words aloud.

After a long while, Lotor spoke. “I only wish to see you, Detective.” His voice had an edge now, his hand tightening around the gun in his hand. “Bring anyone else, and he dies.”

And when Lotor looked down at him with a vicious grin, yellow eyes glinting in the lamplight, Keith could see the hungry flames of vengeance in his eyes.

Lotor had no plans to keep him alive.

“I only wish to see you, Detective,” Lotor had said, and Shiro hadn’t even thought of disobeying. The demotion, Shiro knew was deliberate, and was intended to infuriate. But he couldn’t care less.

Keith, alone, Lotor’s hands on him however…

Lotor knew exactly where he had to strike to hurt.

The scene outside Shiro’s house was surreal. The neighborhood was meant to be peaceful, not all this noise, with sirens and bright lights surrounding him. This was meant to be home. His work wasn’t ever meant to come here and ruin the peace with all that was ugly and horrible.

But this was how it was. And it was Shiro who had brought it here.

An entire team of hands strapped Shiro into a protective vest, reading him to go inside, and Altea stood to one side watching them. He knew she had to be caught up in a maelstrom of her own emotion, but couldn’t even begin to think of her right now, because the grief that fuelled her rage was no longer just a distant possibility to Shiro.

Keith. Keith inside their home, scared, vulnerable, his life on the line.

(And your fault, Shirogane. Your mistakes.)

“We’ll be right outside,” someone said, and Shiro just nodded numbly. “You go in, you figure out what he wants. You report back if you can.”

There was no way in hell that Lotor would let Shiro have any contact with anyone outside, but Shiro kept nodding, knowing that the quicker he agreed to it all, the quicker he could get inside. To Keith.

“See you on the other side, Shirogane.”

He took a few steps towards his house (their home, their home) before a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Altea met his eyes and the blame he expected to see in her gaze—had hoped to see in her gaze—just wasn’t there. Instead, he was met with nothing but fierce affection, and it sickened him that she would believe in him when it was his own stupid decisions which had brought them here.

“Best of luck,” she said quietly. “Be careful, Shiro. You know what he’s capable of.”

Shiro licked his lips. He knew, but he didn’t like to think of it. “I know,” he said, and he gave her a quick hug, closing his eyes to allow himself the briefest moment of weakness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. To her. To their team. To Keith.

She said nothing, merely squeezed him tight before letting him go.

Shiro felt like a stranger in his own body as he slipped his house key into the lock on their front door. A simple, mundane motion, on a night when it was anything but. Still, the action was practiced, and Shiro inhaled a shaking breath before he stepped inside.

Lotor’s voice rang out immediately. “Close the door behind you, and lock it.”

Shiro did as he was told, cutting all of the noise from outside abruptly. “It’s done.”

“We’re in you’re lovely sitting area, Detective, if you’d care to join us.”

With heavy feet and a leaden heart, Shiro rounded the corner to their living room, and he felt his entire soul freeze at the scene before him.

Lotor was sitting next to Keith on their couch, pressed up close to him in a parody of affection. There was pain in Keith’s eyes and his arms were stretched behind his back, which Shiro assumed meant that Lotor had found some way to restrain him.

But nothing hurt more than seeing the gun at Keith’s neck.

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Keith’s fucking books were still lay open on his study desk, speaking of a simple day, a normal day.

It wasn’t meant to be like this.

(It’s because of you that we’re here.)

Keith was trembling. Shiro knew him, and knew that he was trying not to show it, but Shiro could see it even from across the room. Could see the fear in his eyes he was desperately trying to hide, a habit from years of knowing that predators could smell the fear of their prey. Lotor could scent it, and Shiro wanted nothing more than to gather Keith close and hold him so that he’d never have to see that expression on Keith’s face again.

“Look,” Shiro began, knowing it was useless, “you can take me. I know everything you want to know. Let my friend go. You don’t need him.”

“No, but you do,” Lotor said with a smile. “And ‘friend’? Now, Shirogane, let’s not be so cruel as to forget his name. It’s Keith, isn’t it?”

Shiro’s heart skipped a beat when the gun shifted, caressing Keith’s throat. One slip. That would be all that it took. The tiniest movement of a finger against a trigger, and Keith’s life would be gone as if it meant nothing. Shiro was intimately acquainted with how death worked, and he was under no illusion that Keith would be in any way immune to human weakness.

But this was their home. This was Keith, and he was meant to be safe here, studying for his dreams and his passions, not caught up in all the dirt and ugliness of Shiro’s employment.

“There’s no need for that,” Shiro said, gesturing at the gun. “We can talk. I’m right here, and whatever you need, I can work with you.”

“I need him for insurance,” Lotor said smoothly. This time when he moved, it was a rough jab, Keith flinching as the barrel of the gun shoved up against his neck. “In case you get any ideas, Detective.”

“I won’t,” Shiro said quickly. “I—you don’t need to involve him.” It was all Shiro could do not to just fall to his knees and beg for Lotor to let Keith leave. This was Shiro’s best friend, and so much more besides. Shiro would do anything to keep him safe, but he was helpless.

And Lotor was clever. Lotor’s grin only widened at the desperation that had to have slipped through in Shiro’s words.

“I rather think he does need to be involved—you’re far too clever. And besides, he let himself get into this whole mess in the first place. Unlike you, this little boy is so foolish.” Long fingers stroked down Keith’s hair, and Shiro resisted the urge to launch himself bodily across the room and rip Lotor away. “Keith, was it? Tell the Detective how we ended up here.”

But Keith said nothing. He was still pulling at Lotor’s grip, glaring at the opposite wall, and each passing second that crawled by filled with Lotor’s increasing displeasure. The calm was only a veneer; however he might have been acting, Lotor was unsteady.

Just do what he says, Keith. Shiro tried to catch his friend’s eye, tried to let him know that it wasn’t worth it. This isn’t the time. Please.

But Keith didn’t look at him, and Lotor did not enjoy the silence.

“Tell him,” he growled, fisting his hand in Keith’s hair, Keith gasping when he Lotor yanked.

“Keith, do what he says,” Shiro blurted, terrified. “You don’t have to fight. Just listen to what he says.”

Keith glanced at him, pain and panic all mixing together. “I—Shiro.” It was the first time Keith had spoken since Shiro had come home. His voice, usually gentle and safe, was shaking. Shiro never wanted to hear that fear again.

“It’s okay, Keith,” he said softly, as steadily as he could manage. “Do what he says. It’ll be okay.”

“Listen to the Detective, Keith.” Lotor tugged at Keith’s hair again, exposing his neck further. “Tell him how stupid you were. How did we get here?”

Keith grit his teeth, glaring at the ceiling as Shiro did nothing but look on helplessly.

“I—I let him in,” he admitted, frustration ringing clearly in his voice. “Said he was looking for you. That he needed help.” Heartache layered on top of Shiro’s terror; Keith was honest to a fault, and to have that used against him…

“Gullible little bitch, isn’t he?” Lotor remarked conversationally.

Keith’s breath hitched, and his gaze dropped to Shiro’s, anguish plain on his face.

“Shiro, I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I didn’t think, I didn’t know…”

“Keith, it’s okay.” Shiro tried to keep his voice calm. Whatever sliver of peace he could bring Keith right now, he would try. Because there was no world in which Shiro could ever blame Keith for Shiro’s own incompetence. The simple fact was that if Shiro had been smarter, faster, better, they wouldn’t be here. “You couldn’t have known.”

Lotor’s every moment had Shiro on edge, but this time, the other man was just shifting on the seat, finally releasing his grip on Keith’s hair. Frustratingly, the gun was still pressed against Keith’s throat, hard and unforgiving.

“That wasn’t an invitation to talk,” Lotor said, voice level. “I’m here for business.”

Shiro’s fingertips tingled, numb with the horrible itch to reach for his own gun and stop playing games. “Business then. What exactly are you after?”

“I already told you,” Lotor snarled. “I need your files on me. All of them. I need you to hand over your computer, otherwise I’ll blow your friend’s pretty little head off.”

Shiro wanted to throttle him, wanted to spit and curse and rage at him to stop playing games with them. They both knew protocol; they both knew perfectly well that what he was asking was ridiculous, and that Shiro could never meet his demands. What Shiro wanted to do was to scoff in his face, demand that Lotor just shut the fuck up and accept that he’d lost.

But he hadn’t. Not yet. Not while Keith looked across at Shiro with defiance shielding the terror in his eyes.

“That will be difficult, Lotor,” Shiro said slowly. “You know that. I don’t have the authority to override our security in—”

“You have a password, don’t you, Detective? It really is not a complicated request. Not if you value your friend’s life.”

“You’re right, I do have a password,” Shiro said steadily. “But we both know it’s not that simple. The Department would shut it down in seconds once they realise my data’s been compromised.”

“Do you think I care, Detective?” Lotor snarled. His pretend calm had certainly slipped now, his own panic clear for Shiro to see. Shiro didn’t know whether or not that was an advantage; though it meant Lotor might slip up, the knife’s edge on which Keith’s life teetered hardly needed any more turbulence.

“You think I couldn’t easily best that?” Lotor continued. “It isn’t all that complicated an equation Detective: you get me what I want, and I don’t kill your friend.”

His final words were punctuated by Lotor wrapping his arm around Keith’s throat, shoving his head back to make his point bluntly, gun to Keith’s skin. “Do as I say, Detective.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t hurt him.” Shiro raised his hands placatingly, mind racing. There was no way he could give what Lotor wanted. Lotor had evaded them for years; while this had clearly been a move of desperation, Shiro was certain he wouldn’t live to see Lotor ever slip up again. They had only seen the extent of Lotor’s operation earlier that evening, and how deep into the police force his webs went. Shiro couldn’t even begin to imagine what he might do if he had unlimited access to their systems, even for only a few moments.

“I’ll do as you say,” Shiro repeated, and this time when he met Keith’s eye, the fear in his friend’s eyes was mixed with new concern.

Then Keith’s gaze steeled, and for a moment, the terror disappeared from his face. For a moment, his expression dipped into a fierce scowl, and there was fire in his eyes.

Shiro knew this version of Keith, and it fired both hope and fear in Shiro, and a cascade of thoughts. This was a Keith who was ready to fight, and between the two of them, they might make it out of here. But it also meant risking Keith…

Although Shiro also knew that the possibility of them both getting out of here alive if they simply did as they were told was slim. Even if Shiro gave Lotor what he wanted and then let him have clear passage away, Lotor would likely demand to take Keith with him. There was no scenario that Shiro could imagine where he would just leave them alone. Lotor had the chance to re-establish his position of power after the disaster of a night that he’d had; he was a proud person, Shiro knew. He wouldn’t let them walk away from this.

So really, it came down to this: how much did he trust Keith?

And that was a simple enough answer.

“Keith…” Shiro hoped that the look he gave Keith was enough. Hoped that they had known each other long enough that Keith could see the change in Shiro’s expression where Lotor couldn’t, the way Shiro had been able to with him. “I promise you’ll be okay,” he said gently, and he meant it. He would do anything to make it true.

Lotor growled. “He would be more okay if you hurried, Detective.”

Shiro nodded hesitantly, feigning reluctance. “All right. I’ll do it.”

Fierce satisfaction flashed across Lotor’s face, and at the same time, Shiro saw Keith close his eyes and take a steadying breath.

Then he started to struggle weakly, pulling at Lotor’s grip.

“No, Shiro, you can’t—”

“Shut up.” Lotor shook him roughly, the gun pushing closer, and fuck, they’d overplayed it—

“Sh-Shiro.” Keith’s was shaking, and he started to choke on his breath. “Shiro, no—”

“Keith, it’s okay.” God, please let him have read this right. His heart was racing all the way up his throat, adrenaline firing through him. “Keith, just breathe.”

“No, y-you can’t—” Keith yanked weakly against Lotor’s grip, and he was in the middle of a very convincing bout of hyperventilation now, shaking, sobs choking him.

“Keith, it’s okay.” Shiro took a step forward, as though to help, and the Lotor swung the gun to point at him instead.

“Stay where you are.”

Shiro’s hands shot up, and then Lotor started turning back to Keith.

But before he did, for the briefest moment, only a split second, Keith locked eyes with Shiro.

Be ready.

Then he leaned forward, before snapping his head straight back against Lotor’s nose with a crack.

Shiro was darting forward before Lotor had even finished crying out, fist swinging forward—

“You bitch—”

—Shiro’s knuckles solid against Lotor’s cheek—

The crack of a gunshot—

Lotor splayed on the floor, utterly still.

Books spilling off their table to the floor.

“Lotor’s down.”

Shiro’s voice ringing in his own ears. “Lotor is down. Someone secure him.”

Words of acknowledgement buzzing incomprehensible in his ears.

Lights outside, still flashing.

Keith crouched next to the couch, curled over. Blood on his cheek.

Blood on—

“Keith!” Shiro dropped to his knees, scrambling to reach his friend. “I need the EMTs in here, now,” he barked, only vaguely aware that people had started to swarm inside the house, starting to haul Lotor away. “My friend’s injured, I need assistance. Keith, look at me. Where are you hurt?”

Keith stared at him for a moment, chest heaving, and Shiro’s heart beat double time as he ran his hands across Keith’s chest and neck, checking for any vital spots.

“Shoulder,” Keith panted, just as Shiro’s fingers ventured back up over his collar bone, brushing against wetness. Keith hissed when Shiro tugged gently at the black, tattered sleeve, but he still wasn’t moving his arms…

Shit.

“Sorry, I’ll get you untied in a moment, okay? I just need to make sure you’re okay.” Shiro tugged at Keith’s t-shirt gently so he could pull the collar down and expose bare skin—

Skin that was torn, red and ugly. Blood leaking sluggishly to trickle down Keith’s arm.

Shiro swallowed against the hatred that threatened to overwhelm him (for Lotor, for himself), and looked around for something to stop the bleeding. He grabbed a shirt he’d discarded on the couch that morning (so long ago now) folding it up to press up against the wound.

At the movement, Keith moaned lightly, breaking Shiro’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, fighting not to let panic overwhelm him. It didn’t look bad, but Shiro had seen people die from injuries that looked far less severe. Plus, if Keith didn’t get help soon, they’d be in trouble.

“Shiro…” Keith blinked sluggishly, looking up at him. “Hurts.”

“I know, I know.” And god, Keith had to really be feeling it to admit it to Shiro. Shiro looked around, waving a medic over. “I know, but we’ll get you fixed up soon. He’s got a bullet wound to the left shoulder,” he told the EMT when she reached him. “I don’t know what else.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant, we’ll—”

“Head hurts,” Keith said dully. “He knocked me out.”

Stupid. How had he not thought about that? Shiro had just assumed that Lotor had arrived, a threatening gun in hand.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve checked.” Guilt rubbed raw against his throat with the words.

The EMT’s smile was grim, but understanding. “Then I’d be out of a job, Lieutenant. Let me take a look.”

Reluctantly, Shiro relinquished his hold on Keith, shuffling back a little, before remembering something else.

“Let’s get you untied, now,” Shiro said gently, trying not to betray the anger that coursed through him. He should’ve thought of it immediately, but it was all a blur, too much to think through clearly. Because this wasn’t some straightforward assignment. This wasn’t just the job. This was Keith, beautiful and gentle, bleeding on the floor of the home they shared together.

Which was all the more reason for Shiro to get it together, but he was still reliving those horrible moments when Lotor had fired the gun. Had Keith cried out? Had he yelled out in pain, and Shiro had simply missed it, leaving him hurt for those precious few extra seconds? Had he—

“Here.” Shiro forcefully banished his thoughts and shuffled behind Keith, swallowing down the rage when he saw the cuffs that bit into Keith’s wrists. They were his own. Lotor had hurt Keith with Shiro’s equipment.

Pulling his key from his belt, Shiro couldn’t resist brushing his fingers gently over the redness that marred Keith’s wrists, but now wasn’t the time.

Next to him, the EMT had snipped away part of Keith’s shirt, and was swiftly bandaging his shoulder up.

“We’ll need to get him to the hospital,” she said, once she realised she’d caught Shiro’s attention again. “I’ll get one of the team to prep a stretcher, and then we can get him on his way. The bullet didn’t go all the way through, so we’ll need to get it out.”

Shiro’s heart felt like stone. “Okay,” he said through numb lips. Eight years in this job, and he’d never had to deal with a bullet wound. Now Keith was in this position because of him.

“We’ll be on our way soon.” The EMT smiled, before turning away to fiddle with this or that, and Shiro shuffled closer once more.

Keith looked…distant, still. Like he wasn’t quite with them, and Shiro brushed his hair back worriedly.

“We’ll have you fixed up soon, Keith,” he said, not knowing what else his friend needed. “Promise.”

After a worrying moment, Keith shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, still vacant, eyes not quite focussed on anything. “It’s okay.”

Shiro took his hand, Keith’s fingers loose in his own. “You’re not. Keith, that was so risky. It’s okay if you’re still shaken up.”

“He wasn’t going to kill me,” Keith said faintly, but he was still staring into the middle distance, and it sounded like he was reciting someone else’s lines. “He had nothing else that he could’ve used against you. He had to keep me alive, so I knew he couldn’t k-kill—he couldn’t—”

Keith’s words came to a stuttering halt, and it seemed to hit him all at once.

“Shiro—fuck, he could have—”

Without a second thought, Shiro wrapped his arms around Keith to pull him close, holding him the way he couldn’t before. Around them, there was the bustle of bright lights and jarring voices, but to Shiro, his world had narrowed to the square patch of space where he was huddled next to their couch, Keith safe in his arms.

“I know. I know, but you’re safe now, I promise. I promise Keith.”

“He almost killed me, and you were right there, he could’ve—he would’ve killed you too. I was so scared that he’d hurt you, and I couldn’t—I wasn’t—”

Heart shaking, Shiro closed his eyes, swallowing down the unrealised grief. The images flashed before his eyes, in a terrible caricature: Lotor loud and snarling, Keith bleeding all over, eyes lifeless—

“He didn’t,” Shiro said firmly, for the both of them. He couldn’t fall apart while Keith needed him. “He just left a bit of a scratch on you.”

Keith choked on a breath, and Shiro thought he felt something damp against his shirt.

“It’s okay, you’re okay now,” he murmured, stroking Keith’s hair gently. He tried not to think of how Lotor had done the same only minutes ago, a mockery of affection. “You were so brave, Keith, but it’s okay now. It’s over.”

“Shiro—” Keith choked on his name, and Shiro was quick to hush him. This time the panic wasn’t feigned, and Shiro tried to soothe him as best he could.

“You’re okay. I’m here, we’re both safe. We’re going to get you to the hospital to get your shoulder patched up, and then you’ll be good as new, hm?”

“I was so scared.” Keith’s breath hitched, and Shiro just held him tighter, rubbing circles against his back. “So scared, Shiro—”

“You’re okay, I promise. He won’t hurt you again.” I should never have let him hurt you at all. “They’re going to lock him up, and he can’t hurt us again.”

Footsteps approached, and Shiro looked up to the EMT shuffling close once again with a new team mate, stretcher in tow. “Here we go. We’re going to take you to the hospital, and then we’ll stitch your shoulder up good as new.”

Shiro drew back a little and glanced at his friend, and god, Keith looked so lost. His eyes were dazed, locking onto Shiro’s for a brief moment before sliding away again. Asking for help had never been something that Keith was good at, but Shiro had known him for so long that he didn’t need words to know what Keith was begging him for.

Please stay.

Not like Shiro had needed convincing.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Shiro stood, tugging Keith up with him, not letting him slip from his arms. It might be irresponsible of him to leave everything, but other people could take care of the fallout; he didn’t trust anyone else to take care of Keith. “I’ll be right there with you, okay? Let’s get you to the ambulance now.”

Keith was still staring at him with that distant look in his eyes, but after a worrying moment, he finally nodded.

“‘Kay,” he said quietly.

Carefully, Shiro guided Keith onto the stretcher. Keith looked a little reluctant—and it heartened Shiro to see that spark back in his eyes, however petulant it was—but Shiro’s grip was firm.

“You’re coming with me?” Keith asked, and Shiro nodded immediately.

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Spitfire.”

Keith relaxed at that, squeezing Shiro’s hand.

“Okay,” he said softly, before fatigue—or worse, Shiro thought, pain—overtook him, and his eyes slid shut, head thumping onto the pillow.

They headed to the ambulance, people—police, medical staff, and what look like journalists—rushing to and fro around them. For a brief moment, he caught sight of Altea’s worried face, but all Shiro did was nod. They could talk later; right now, his whole attention was dedicated to Keith, and soon the doors of the ambulance slammed shut, muting the action outside.

The pair were quiet as the van sped to the hospital, Shiro observing silently as the paramedics checked this or that, and made sure Keith was still coherent and lucid. His side of the conversation was a little slow, but nothing to worry about, they assured Shiro.

Not that it stopped him worrying. Anxiety gnawed at him, guilty, white-speckled grey, throughout the journey. Then came the waiting in line, being shunted from one room to next as Keith got progressively quieter and quieter, before fear that threatened to drown Shiro when they took Keith away for an hour that felt like days to extract what remained of the bullet from his shoulder.

(The foggy fear that had flooded Keith’s eyes as they’d wheeled him away would haunt Shiro forever.)

Then the icing on the cake, when Keith was finally let out, was the usual “family members only” routine.

He is my family, Shiro wanted to growl, but his job and a badge were enough to get him through with no more protest. He didn’t feel a lick of shame for it either. If his job was the reason why Keith was in this situation in the first place—lying asleep in the hospital bed after finally succumbing to fatigue—then it was the least Shiro could do to make sure that Keith didn’t wake up alone.

And it was there, alone in the quiet, that Shiro felt how absolutely wrong this all was.

Keith wasn’t this stillness and silence. Keith was bright as flame. He was life and energy, a daring smile when he raced down the road on his bike, the raucous laughter whenever he allowed Shiro to catch up to him. Shiro hated how horribly still and sick Keith looked in the moment, his stitched up shoulder hidden from sight.

So close. So, so close to something critical. A handful of inches and Shiro would have lost him.

He would have lost him.

Would have lost the best thing in his life, with Keith none the wiser for it. What would it have been like, to know that Keith would never know how much Shiro loved him? Shiro wondered if he would have had the courage to tell him, even then. If his love confession would have been with Keith’s blood on his hands and his heart already breaking from grief in what should have been something joyous, if—

“Shiro?”

Shiro jolted out of his reverie, eyes drawn immediately to the still form in the bed. But Keith was just that—still. Shiro looked to the door, shoulders relaxing once he gathered who it was.

“Auntie.”

Keith’s mother was silhouetted in the doorway, with what Shiro assumed was her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her before she approached, footsteps soft but certain. “How is he?” she asked. Like her son, she was always straight to the point.

Shiro turned back to watch Keith, tucking the corners of the blanket more firmly around Keith’s shoulders. “Safe. The doctors have cleared him of any immediate danger, but they just want to watch him for a day or two. There was a head wound involved, and he—a bullet wound.” The guilt that came with the admission felt like a shot to Shiro’s heart itself. “But he should recover with no issues. It only hit his arm.”

Only, he said, as though there was a threshold of pain below which it was okay for Keith to be hurt.

But Krolia’s sigh sounded more like relief than anxiety, so at least Shiro had succeeded in making sure that she didn’t worry any more than she needed to. Or any more than was normal when your son was shot and you received a flurry of texts and missed calls from his panicked room mate in the middle of the night.

“I am glad he is all right.” She too fussed over the blankets, before brushing gentle fingers through a few stray strands of Keith’s hair. “Of course, I also trusted that you had kept him safe.”

Guilt twisted deep in Shiro’s heart, and he almost choked on the acid of it. “I didn’t,” he whispered, staring at Keith’s still face, feeling all his resolve crumble around him. “He was meant to be safe but some criminal invaded our house, our home because of me.”

And it all came crashing at once. All of it, in blinding, terrifying clarity. How it was entirely Shiro’s fault that it had come to this. He had been totally complacent. Altea had known. She had known what Lotor was capable of, had been ready to go find him as soon as he had slipped from their grasp.

But Shiro. Shiro had thought he’d been clever. He’d thought he could out-smart and out-plan a man who had evaded them for years.

That moment of stupidity was what had led to Keith in a hospital bed.

“Shiro.” Krolia’s voice sounded somewhere above his head, gentle but firm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.” She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand all the ways that Shiro had failed and put her son in danger, all the ways he just wasn’t enough, how he’d betrayed her trust in him—

He hiccuped on his breath, feeling tears well hot in his eyes. He yanked at his hair in a desperate attempt to stop. All this drama was embarrassing, and ridiculous in front of someone who had almost lost her son because of—

“Shiro.” A hand firm on his chin, lifting his face to meet yellow eyes glowing with familiar ferocity. “Shiro, you stop that.”

“I didn’t protect him,” he choked out, begging for forgiveness with the confession. “I was meant to, he was hurt because of me.”

“Shiro, Shiro.” Krolia’s hand was on his cheek, her gaze understanding. “Stop. Breathe.”

Shiro gasped in a choked breath, focusing on her steady gaze, and suddenly Shiro was three again, fresh from losing his mother. Suddenly, Shiro was fifteen again, one arm down and his guard up.

Suddenly, Shiro wasn’t a twenty-nine year old police officer, but just one man scared to have lost everything.

And Krolia understood that fear. He was reminded of that in her calm gaze. You are safe. You are loved. There is no shame.

“I’m sorry.” Shiro scrubbed at his face, scrambling to pull himself together.

“You don’t need to apologise.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro still repeated, because the churning in his brain still wouldn’t stop. “I just—I—”

It was pathetic, the way his throat clogged up with the fear and disappointment and shame.

But Keith had learnt his kind heart and gentle soul from somewhere, and Krolia just laid an comforting hand on Shiro’s shoulder, pulling him close.

“I understand.”

Shiro nodded frantically, glad that he didn’t have to explain himself. Grateful for the contact, he leaned in against her, feeling like the lost child he once was, growing up in a small town all those years ago.

“Thinking that the one you love is lost…that can a horrifying experience,” Krolia murmured. “And he is that one, isn’t he?”

It had been so long, so practiced, that Shiro’s immediate reaction was to turn to her with a denial already on his lips.

But Krolia just raised both eyebrows in a way that was so Keith, that Shiro found he couldn’t lie. He was at his mental limit for today, and denying something that was so achingly true was beyond him.

“I—I almost didn’t get the chance to let him know that.” The words stumbled out as a horrified whisper, and again, all the what ifs and could have beens flashed through Shiro’s mind like a horrible movie reel. “I was a coward.”

Krolia said nothing to that, only sighed. “He said similar to me, once.”

Shiro watched the gentle rise and fall of Keith’s chest, clinging to it like a lifeline. “He’s the bravest person I know.”

“He was afraid to lose you.”

A lump rose in Shiro’s throat, unbidden. I almost lost him for good, he wanted to say.

But then Keith shuffled, letting out the smallest sound, and both Krolia and Shiro darted forward.

Keith blinked, once, twice, before his brow furrowed, eyes sweeping over the two of them. “Mum…?”

“I’m here, little one,” she said quickly, taking his hand. “And Shiro too.”

Keith’s eyes drifted over to Shiro, and the tiniest smiled touched his lips. “Shiro. Hey. You’re okay.”

Shiro would have laughed if he had energy left in a single atom of his body. “I am. You should be more worried about yourself.”

“I knew I was fine. I didn’t know about you.” Keith shrugged, and whatever he had meant to say died on his lips as he winced. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said hurriedly, correctly anticipating the waterfall of worry that washed off both Shiro and Krolia. “I’m okay. Just forgot I should be careful about it.”

He shifted so he could sit up a little, the blanket falling away to expose his torso and…his shoulder. There was little evidence of the wound, but there were the tiniest hints of the bandages dancing around the collar of Keith’s pyjamas. Enough to throw Shiro’s mind right back to his living room, and the horrible, terrifying grief that had lanced through him when he’d seen Keith on the floor.

“I have a message for you,” Krolia said to Keith, and Shiro forced his attention to the phone in her hands, forced himself to focus on the gentle trill of the phone.

But then a bark sounded over the tinny speakers of the phone. Keith’s face absolutely lit up, despite all the fatigue, despite the pain, and Shiro found he didn’t have to force himself to concentrate anymore when Keith looked so happy.

“Kosmo! Hey boy!”

Shiro shifted his chair so he could put the image of a large, fluffy, overexcited wolf to the sounds of frantic panting and the clattering of claws on floorboards. Then another face invaded the screen to join Kosmo’s lolling tongue, and Keith’s expression softened.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Keith.” His gaze slid over to Shiro, warm. “Shiro. It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, too.” Shiro’s smile was cold plaster over a glass heart. Another man he’d failed tonight. “How are you?”

Keith’s dad shrugged, in a way that was so Keith it almost broke Shiro clean in two. “Things have been better. But we’re all alive and with the ones we love, so nothing much to complain about.”

With the ones we love.

That was right. They were all together, and Shiro could stop worrying now. He should, he knew. It was all over, and they were fine.

But he couldn’t stay focussed, even as the three devolved into quiet conversation around Shiro, Kosmo’s enthusiastic panting providing a gentle backdrop to it all. Even with all that love and safety—love and safety that had helped him weather so many other storms—Shiro couldn’t fight back to shore, to knowledge that they were all together and that nothing could hurt them anymore. All he could see was Keith’s terrified eyes on his, Lotor’s yellow ones glinting madly—

“Shiro. Come on, little one. You’re safe.”

Krolia’s voice drifted softly through the fog, and Shiro looked up to see the three of them watching him. The freak at the freak show.

“Shiro?” Keith’s gentle worry was something that Shiro didn’t deserve.

“I—sorry, what were you talking about?”

Keith’s expression was so fond it almost killed him. “Hey, I’m okay. What are you thinking about?”

How you almost died. How I failed you. How I could be apologising to your parents now instead of thanking them for looking after you.

But what came out was none of that. What came out was broken, and so ashamed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t look after you.”

Keith’s eyes widened for a breath, before they softened, and he wasn’t meant to look at Shiro like that. Shiro had dreamt of him doing so for so long, but he wasn’t meant to, not after tonight. Not after Shiro had been a hair’s breadth from failing him in the most absolute way possible.

“Shiro, no.”

But Shiro shook his head, dropping his gaze to his knees so he didn’t have to see the god awful understanding in Keith’s eyes.

“No, I didn’t. I was meant to look after you, and my fucking job meant that you got hurt.”

It was beyond pathetic, that he couldn’t control this. Krolia had just gotten him to calm down, but he went again. His breath was exiting in stuttered spurts, and this wasn’t about him. Keith’s parents were right there, almost having lost their son because Shiro hadn’t been good enough, and he was making a scene when it was Keith who was hurt and tired.

“Shiro…”

Keith’s hand found his, and even swimming through the self-hatred, Shiro couldn’t deny himself that comfort. He gave it a gentle squeeze with numb fingers, even if he still couldn’t meet Keith’s eye.

“Shiro, you did. You always do.”

Shiro had no idea what to say in the face of that conviction.

A beat passed, and then Krolia stood, headed to the door. “I’ll give the two of you some privacy.” Gentle, she kissed Keith on the forehead, before disappearing.

She took the sounds of Keith’s dad and pet with her, and suddenly all the life and light was sucked out of the room once again, and Shiro was just left with fear hooking its greedy claws into his heart. Now that it was just the two of them, the silence felt oppressive, and Shiro took an even greater interest in his knees.

Next to him, Keith sighed, before shuffling closer.

“Shiro? You have to know I don’t blame you.”

“I know.” Keith wouldn’t. “I know that, but it’s just…” Shiro squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. “Keith, I almost lost you. And it was—”

Terrifying didn’t even begin to cover it. To Shiro, it was inconceivable that he could exist, could be without Keith. It was a horrible, horrible reality that he’d come too close to living, and Shiro wasn’t sure he would have survived it. The thought that he might never have seen Keith smile again, heard his laugh, get to be held…

Shiro took a steadying breath. His cowardice had brought him to close to a reality where Keith died not knowing how Shiro felt. When Shiro compared his fear of rejection, it paled in comparison with the utter terror of losing Keith entirely.

He couldn’t let it go unsaid any longer.

“Tonight,” he started, voice hoarse, “when Lotor first picked up that phone and I realised—I realised he had you…that was the scariest thing I’ve ever faced.” Shiro licked his lips, then dared to look up to see Keith, watching him with the patience that he had always given Shiro. And that was just Keith. He had always had the time to let Shiro find himself.

The least Shiro could do was to be as brave as Keith thought he was.

“It was worse than when we knew that I’d lose my arm.” Keith’s eyes widened when the words left Shiro’s lips, but Shiro shook his head against any protest that might have been forthcoming. “It’s true. Because when I lost my arm, after the accident, you were there. You were there.”

Years ago, Shiro had spent his own fair share of time in a hospital. A drunk driver had hit his bike while he’d been going home from school, and night and day, Keith had been by Shiro’s side in the hospital. He’d brought all Shiro’s favourite toys from home, and snuck him snacks and video games, helping Shiro learn how to use his left hand after they’d realised that they would need to amputate. Keith had been there, even when Shiro hadn’t wanted him to be.

Gently, because Keith only ever deserved gentleness, Shiro took both of Keith’s hands in his own. One flesh, one metal.

“You were there, and that was all I needed. You’re the only thing I ever need.” Shiro took a shuddering breath, feeling a sob catch again. “Tonight, I had to imagine what that might be like. I had to—I had to face the possibility that there might have been a future where I didn’t have you every step of the way, and that thought terrified me.” Shiro blinked, overcome. “I never want to feel that again, and that’s why I never said anything. I never wanted to lose you, and I was always so afraid that I would.”

“Hey, Shiro, breathe.” Keith reached up, swiping his thumb over Shiro’s cheek, and Shiro gulped in a breath that he didn’t know he needed.

Then Keith caught his gaze, eyes a fierce violet. “Shiro, I want you to hear this: you can never lose me, all right? Wherever you go, I’ll be.”

Slowly, Shiro nodded. “I—I need to tell you something.”

Keith smiled, all of a sudden impossibly shy. “I think—I think it’s something I need to hear.”

Shiro took a deep breath, meeting Keith’s gaze square with his own. It was time to be brave, because Keith deserved that.

“I love you.”

Keith’s eyes widened, and god, how could he not have known? It wasn’t right that he should look so shocked at it. How had Shiro gone this long without letting the man know how absolutely incredible he was?

“I—I just—” Shiro stumbled, not knowing how to convey the full depth of his emotion, how important Keith was. “I love you, Keith,” he repeated helplessly, because he didn’t know what else to say. “I’ve loved you as long as I remember. I can’t imagine not wanting to be with you, in every possible way.”

It was all wrong. Shiro had tear tracks on his cheeks and fear still thrumming in his veins, and Keith deserved sunsets and roses not a shitty hospital bed and a two AM confession. But Shiro had to get the words out now, because the thought that Keith might have died not knowing broke his heart. More so than any rejection that Shiro might have faced—might still have faced—the thought that Keith could have gone from the world without any idea of how beautiful and how deserving of love he was caused an ache deep in Shiro’s soul.

It was all wrong. But the way Keith smiled? That had Shiro thinking that maybe none of it needed to be perfect if Keith was there with him.

The reply was simple. Keith lifted his hand to Shiro’s cheek, brushing away the tear stains, and echoed the words.

And the sound of Keith’s voice, so awfully familiar but wrapped around words which were so excitingly new, soothed a much-needed balm over Shiro’s battered heart. Shiro closed his eyes against Keith’s touch, taking comfort in the closeness. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say,” he whispered.

“Hey, I didn’t make a move either,” Keith said, so, so gentle with him. “We were both dumb.”

Shiro laughed, voice still choked with tears. “So stupid. I almost—we almost missed each other completely, Keith.”

“But we didn’t,” Keith said firmly, and his hand slid down to find Shiro’s, lacing their fingers together. “We didn’t. We’re here now.”

Shiro took a shuddering breath. “We’re here.” His heart was far from steady, but it was whole, and that had to count for something. “We’re okay.”

“We are.” Keith leaned forward, resting his forehead against Shiro’s. “We’re okay,” he said, the roughness in his voice making Shiro’s breath catch. He was so utterly gorgeous, Shiro wasn’t sure how he would survive with Keith in such close proximity. “We’re together. That’s all that matters.”

Tentatively, Shiro reached up to stroke Keith’s cheek, looking into his eyes. “You’re all that matters,” he whispered.

Smiling gently, Keith closed his eyes, nuzzling against Shiro’s hand. “I should’ve known that you would be sappy.”

For what felt like the first time in a decade, Shiro laughed. It was quiet, and he still felt like his soul had been completely wrung out, but lightness was beginning to spark in his heart again. “You know me too well. And you started it.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to finish it.”

“Of course I did.” Shiro brushed Keith’s hair back gently, tucking it behind his ears. “I always need to tell you how important you are. I—I almost missed my chance to do that.” Shiro sobered up again, trying not to let his eyes drift to Keith’s injured shoulder. “We’ll—we’ll be all right?”

Despite all the fear, when Keith nodded, Shiro believed him. “We will be,” Keith said, and for the first time that night, Shiro truly, truly felt his soul finally calm. And when Keith tugged at his hand, Shiro stood and followed easily, because going to Keith was coming home.

“Come here and stop worrying.” Keith untucked his blanket, patting the spot beside him. “You’re too far away.”

Shiro smiled at the gesture. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re too far away.” Keith coughed, brows slowly settling into a frown. His ears were pinking up a little, and…

Shiro laughed at the realisation. “Are you asking me to cuddle you?”

“No.” Keith huffed, but there was the beginning of a smile in it. “I’m injured, and you being all the way over there makes this too hard. So come closer.”

Shiro grinned, but indulged him, crawling in beside him. He was careful not to jostle Keith’s shoulder, tucking him carefully against his chest.

“This all right?” Shiro asked quietly.

Keith nodded, relaxing into his hold and cuddling closer. “Perfect.” Keith smiled, the most beautiful thing Shiro had ever seen. “Don’t you dare move,” he said, closing his eyes and tucking himself close to Shiro’s chest.

Shiro fingers found Keith’s hair again, stroking gently, and he kissed Keith’s forehead gently.

“There’s no place I’d rather be.” In his arms, Keith sighed, and when Shiro glanced down at him, he had his eyes closed and the smallest smile curling his lips. He was gorgeous, and beautiful in so many ways that Shiro would spend the rest of his life telling him, it Keith would allow it. But for now, Shiro let him rest, his best friend (and boyfriend?) the picture of utter contentment.

And Shiro?

Shiro came home.