Archive of Our Own

“So, how’s life?” Matt asks, like he always does.

Matt claims to think best when moving, so he and Shiro are making their way up a winding trail to a low plateau just outside the Garrison. It’s early spring, but they’d still headed out just after sunrise to avoid the brutal afternoon heat. Before the war the Garrison ran survivalist drills with the cadets out here. A little further and they’d reach the canyon where Shiro, Matt, and Sam drilled before the Kerberos launch. The Garrison had hauled out a bunch of their equipment and in the frigid chill of desert winter midnight they’d practiced setting it up and taking it down while in full gear.

After the invasion the Garrison preferred to train in a few of the still-demolished blocks in Plaht City, now that the biggest danger in space is less ‘equipment failure on a desolate hunk of ice’ and more ‘hostile locals.’

None of the Holts are what Shiro would call outdoorsy, but Matt doesn’t have Pidge’s utter distaste for fresh air and exercise. Matt likes to have someone to bounce ideas off of and the hiking is decent cardio, so Shiro often finds himself roped into tagging along. Matt claims he’d asked Keith once and been hastily denied when he found out they’d be walking instead of taking hover bikes.

Keith, naturally, can’t understand the appeal of walking when he could be going faster.

The thought brings an unintentional smile to Shiro’s face.

Given Shiro’s luck, of course Matt spots it. “That good, huh?”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Yeah, life is good.”

“You two are so gross,” Matt announces, as he often does.

“And you’re just jealous,” Shiro jokes, the banter well-worn and comfortable.

“Of you? Definitely. Keith is hot.”

“Back off, Holt,” Shiro says without any heat.

“Hey, I just call it like I see it. Besides, the whole half-Galra thing? I could be into that. I bet he’s—”

“For your own sake, you’re not going to finish that sentence,” Shiro interrupts, though still not harshly. After years of friendship and several months cooped up in close quarters on the trip out to Kerberos he’s used to Matt’s unique brand of humor. Unrepentant, meaningless flirting is just part of the strange package that is Matt Holt.

Kosmo appears in a shower of sparks, a branch in his mouth. Shiro takes him on these hikes for exercise. Keith doesn’t really understand why. He insists that if Kosmo needs exercise he’ll go running by himself and he’s probably not wrong. Kosmo has free rein of their house and the Garrison, since it’s not as if they can lock the teleporting space wolf in a crate. But all the same Keith never stops Kosmo from accompanying Shiro, and in fact has been known to send Kosmo along when he learns that Shiro is going on a hike, probably to protect him in Keith’s stead. It shouldn’t feel as heart-warming as it does.

“Earth to Shiro,” Matt breaks into his thoughts.

Shiro laughs. “Well, if the guy in charge of Coalition communications is hailing me, I guess I should pay attention.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“I take it that’s why we’re out here?” Shiro asks as he tugs the stick from Kosmo’s mouth and chucks it. The wolf blips out of existence. Keith had tried for so long to teach Kosmo to play fetch, to no avail. It had crushed him a little when Shiro managed it, shortly after they started dating. They ultimately realized that it only worked if Shiro used his Altean arm, which had enough power to launch the stick or ball far enough to make it worth Kosmo’s while.

“Yeah,” Matt agrees, watching as Kosmo goes tearing off after the stick, which might end up in the next county. “The Coalition wants more real-time communication. The Galra Empire managed it, but only with space-magic bullshit.”

“And the Coalition doesn’t want to use space-magic?”

“More like can’t. They powered all their technology with quintessence.”

“Ah.”

“And Alteans figured it out, but they use alchemy, which probably also uses quintessence, even if we could replicate it.” Matt pants as they make their way up the final stretch before the summit.

“So no-go there.”

Another flash of blue sparks heralds Kosmo’s return. He has a stick clasped in his mouth, but it’s bigger and a different color than the stick Shiro just threw. “That’s cheating, buddy.”

Kosmo huffs a response through the branch in his mouth as he trots alongside them, tail wagging.

“Come to think of it, the Empire probably used alchemy, too. What with Honerva and all,” Matt muses. “In any case, I don’t think it’s a power issue. It’s a physics problem. So we should be able to figure it out if we can just understand the mechanics behind their solution.”

“What if it’s just magic?”

Matt’s face scrunches up like Shiro suggested he make out with Slav. “Magic is just science we don’t understand yet.”

“Clarke lived a couple hundred years ago, he’s a little outdated,” Shiro points out.

“Wow,” Matt replies with mock astonishment. “Bold words from someone basically living his Second Law.”

Shiro opts to ignore that one.

They’ve reached the top of the plateau. From one side they can look out over the Garrison’s compound, which has been expanding as their role in the Coalition increases. The other side of the mesa overlooks the vast desert landscape, wild and unchanged even after years of Galra occupation.

Shiro wrestles the branch from Kosmo’s mouth and wings it out into the desert. The wolf disappears in a flash of blue and reappears at the foot of the cliff, striking out after the stick.

“What if you can’t recreate the same process?” Shiro asks.

“The brass will kick me out of the Garrison?”

“I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Well, they should,” Matt pouts.

“As one of said brass, I don’t think we’ll blame you if you can’t figure out how to break the laws of physics.”

“You of all people should, though,” Matt argues. “You guys will be heading back out soon. You can’t tell me that faster communication wouldn’t help.”

Shiro considers it. The Atlas’ next mission is slated for departure in a month. They’ll be gone for a year, making diplomatic and humanitarian rounds. Shiro doesn’t have family left on Earth, but most of the humans on the crew do, and he knows it’s hard on them when they’re far enough away for the delay to make messages home prohibitive.

But that’s not to say that Shiro doesn’t have his own selfish reasons for wanting better interstellar communication. Keith will be onboard when the Atlas departs, but as a member of the Blades he has his own missions, some of which take him far from the Atlas… and from Shiro. Just because they can survive bouts of minimal communication doesn’t mean either of them like it.

“Okay, it would be useful,” Shiro concedes. “But the Atlas will survive if you don’t.” Something about Matt’s distress—even knowing that most of it is exaggerated for comic effect—strikes Shiro as odd. “Why is this really bothering you?”

“Did you hear that my mom is heading to New Olkarian?”

Shiro has. “She’s going to see if there are any Earth plants that could help with the terraforming, right?”

“Yeah, something to speed up the process, but that won’t throw their whole system of biodiversity out of whack.”

“Sounds tough.”

“What’s tough is that there’s a three day delay for any messages between New Olkarion and Earth.”

“Ah.”

Matt scoops up a rock from the ground and tosses it over the side of the cliff. “My family’s been spread out over the whole universe for years. We’re finally back together now. It’s great that so many people want our help with their projects, but I can tell it bothers Pidge. And my parents.”

“Looks like it bothers you, too.”

Matt forces a grin. “Guilty.”

They stand in silence for another minute, looking out over the desert landscape in peace. The sun is still climbing, but the day is already blistering.

Kosmo pops into existence between the two of them, startling Matt. Shiro is used to it. His sixth sense for when and where Kosmo will appear isn’t as refined as Keith’s, but Shiro can usually sense that he’s about to show up.

Shiro looks down at the space wolf and groans. Kosmo has the drool-coated stick clasped in his mouth, which is fine. What’s not fine are the seemingly hundreds of spiny, brown burrs tangled in his fur along with the mud caked up his legs to his belly.

“Kosmo!” Shiro exclaims. “What the hell, buddy? What did you get into?”

Kosmo drops the stick and gives him a big doggy grin, complete with lolling tongue. It feels like he’s mocking Shiro. He barks and vanishes in a shower of blue sparks.

Shiro sighs. Keith is currently the only person who can keep Kosmo in place long enough to do any sort of bathing or grooming.

Matt is laughing. “Keith is going to be so mad.”

“Not at him,” Shiro grumbles. “Kosmo is his baby. Me, though? I’m in trouble.”

“Yeah, right,” Matt scoffs.

“I threw the stick,” Shiro points out. “It’s at least partially my fault.”

Matt shakes his head and steps onto the path back to the Garrison. “Doesn’t matter, Shiro, he won’t be mad at you. Keith thinks the sun shines out of your ass.”

“Matt…”

“It’s a nice ass,” Matt admits. Shiro only rolls his eyes, and Matt continues, “I don’t think that Keith could ever be mad at you.”

“Are we talking about the same Keith?” Shiro asks. It’s true that Keith has calmed down a lot since his days as a hotheaded cadet. Shiro will never stop being immensely proud when he sees Keith serve as a leader, whether that’s with the paladins or his team of Blades. But while Keith’s better at maintaining his calm when he needs to, that passion still rages beneath the surface. Shiro’s been an audience to Keith privately venting his frustrations about Garrison regulations or alien politics more than once in the past year.

“Wow, you really don’t see it,” Matt marvels, stumbling only a little over a patch of rocky terrain. “Well, don’t worry. I guarantee he won’t be mad.”

Shiro decides to let it go. Matt’s a smart guy, but he was never as close to Keith as Shiro is, even if you don’t count their current relationship.

It takes another hour to finish up their walk. Shiro doesn’t toss any more sticks for Kosmo, but the space wolf teleports back occasionally to check in. Shiro tries to pick at the burrs trapped in his fur, but the wolf dances and darts away before he can remove even one.

Keith had been working with James Griffin that morning, helping test out some of the MFE’s new capabilities. It was just another thing for Shiro to be proud of, how Keith managed to make a friend out of the boy he’d nearly been expelled for fighting. But when Shiro finds Griffin in the hanger, Keith’s already gone. Griffin salutes as Shiro leaves, even though Shiro is still dressed down in his hiking clothes.

Shiro considers grabbing a shower in the locker room. Despite Matt’s opinion that Shiro is always left unruffled by their hikes, Shiro does, in fact, sweat. But if he doesn’t find Keith there was no telling what Kosmo will get into in the meantime, so it’s better to rip that band-aid off.

After checking the cafeteria and both of their offices, Shiro feels a little silly when he finds Keith in the base gym. It probably should’ve been the first place he checked.

The Garrison doesn’t have training robots and everyone else on Earth is too scared to spar with Keith, so he spends a lot of his time lifting weights. Sometimes he runs. Right now he’s attacking the heavy bag with the same intensity that he once brought to fighting Zarkon.

Shiro takes a moment to admire the view. Keith’s wearing a loose red tank over skintight black pants, his hair pulled back into a bun. Strands of black hair that have escaped the bun fall wildly around his face. It’s hard to tear his eyes from the flex of Keith’s arms as he attacks the bag.

“Hey, babe,” Shiro says after a round of kicks, punches, and elbows.

Keith turns toward him, face flushed with exertion, and maybe a little blush. Pet names both embarrass and endear him, a fact Shiro exploits ruthlessly.

“Hey. Wanna spar?”

“I just got done with a hike.”

“Good, you’re warmed up.”

Shiro shakes his head. “Raincheck. I was going to take a shower and then grab lunch. Did you want to join?”

A wicked grin steals across Keith’s face. “For lunch or for the shower?”

They’ve suffered some gentle reprimands about appropriate behavior in the locker room showers, but Shiro can’t help his answering smile. “Both?”

Keith starts unwrapping his hands and Shiro is reminded of why he was seeking his boyfriend out in the first place. “Oh, Kosmo got into something on the hike while we were playing fetch.”

Keith’s eyebrows draw together as he concentrates, until Kosmo appears between them in the gym. He’s in the process of gnawing at his front leg, where a patch of the burrs are nestled deep in his fur.

“Drop it!” Keith commands.

Kosmo leaves off his chewing and he and Shiro both blink at Keith, who crouches beside his wolf to pull at one of the burrs.

“These are poisonous,” Keith says.

A sinking feeling settles deep in Shiro’s stomach. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got into them.”

Keith doesn’t look up, focused on tugging more burrs out of the wolf’s fur. Kosmo tries to squirm out of his hold and Shiro kneels down as well, bracing him so he can’t wiggle away.

It takes a while to remove all the spiky brown pods, and it would probably be easier to do in their quarters instead of the middle of the gym. Other people are coming in and out, but they ignore the two former paladins as the pile of burrs next to Keith grows. Shiro picks at the burrs stuck on Kosmo’s rear legs and Kosmo lets him, docile and compliant now that he’s with Keith.

When they’re finally done Kosmo shakes himself vigorously, shoots Keith a betrayed look, and vanishes in a burst of blue motes and ozone.

Keith is quiet as he gathers up the discarded burrs. Shiro helps and tries to figure out if the silence is as pointed as it feels. “I didn’t realize they were poisonous.”

There’s a pause before Keith shrugs. “I guess I don’t know if it’s poisonous for space wolves. He probably didn’t eat any—too prickly.”

They throw the plant refuse in the garbage and Shiro asks, “Still up for lunch?”

Keith shakes his head. “I’ve got to stop by my room.” He manages a small smile and is gone.

Shiro plays their interaction over in his head as he washes off the desert dust and heads down to the cafeteria. Since they started dating Keith has all but moved into Shiro’s room on the Atlas. With the ship in dry dock on Earth they don’t live in those quarters; they rent a house off base. The Atlas has offered to merge their quarters together for more space, but Shiro hasn’t let her, and it’s times like this that he’s glad he did. Sometimes Keith needs his own space. His room now is mostly storage, but at least it’s available.

He doesn’t get much time to dwell on Keith, though. Veronica had kindly cleared his schedule for the morning so Shiro could go on his hike, but the afternoon is booked with back-to-back meetings. Getting the Atlas ready to launch has been the work of more than a full year, and at T-minus thirty days to launch there are still plenty of loose ends to wrap up.

By the time he’s done it’s already past dinner. There’s a message on his tablet from Keith that says he had Kosmo bring him home. That leaves Shiro driving home alone in their vehicle.

Keith’s waited to start dinner, so they eat together. Shiro keeps telling him that it’s not necessary. He knows his work schedule isn’t ideal for a relationship. Keith, for his part, only seems to mind when Shiro forgets to feed himself or cuts back on sleep. Shiro can’t detect any anger or annoyance in Keith as they finish their meal, but after today he wonders.

He tries to think of the last time Keith was mad at him and comes up blank. But that can’t be right. They’ve been together for nearly a year. Every couple has fights, even if they’re over petty things. But as Shiro racks his brain he can’t think up a time when Keith was even mildly perturbed. Well, he can think of plenty of times when Keith was upset, but not at Shiro.

It shouldn’t bother him, but it does. Disagreement doesn’t have to be unhealthy after all. His own fits of pique aren’t his best moments, but he and Keith worked through them and their relationship is stronger for it. The thought haunts Shiro as soon as he has it, that Keith might be holding back because he doesn’t feel secure in their relationship.

Getting to where they are wasn’t easy. The wreckage of Shiro’s marriage still weighs on him, as he knows it must with Keith. They don’t talk about it, but suddenly that omission seems more fraught than it had only a day ago.

The thing is, Shiro loves Keith. It took a long time to admit that, even to himself, and he hurt a lot of people in the process, Keith among them. Since they’ve been together, there hasn’t been a good time to talk about that past. Keith isn’t one to dwell, and Shiro was all too happy to let them move on.

The worries dog him that night as he gets ready for bed, and they’re waiting for him when he wakes up. When he finds himself staring at the same email for thirty minutes, mind clearly elsewhere, he knows he needs to act.

Matt’s lab is in an out-building on the Garrison’s grounds. It’s notable for the array of satellite dishes that surround it, of varying designs. Some are clearly biological—Olkarian. Others have the sleek lines of Altean architecture or the brutalism of the Galra.

“How’s revolutionizing interstellar communication coming along?” Shiro asks as he enters the building.

Matt lets out a loud groan in response. He’s face down in a pile of papers on his desk.

“That well, huh?”

Matt lifts his head up, a page sticking to his cheek. He swipes at it, returning it to the stack. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “What brings you here, Captain?”

“How did you know?”

Matt blinks. “Gonna need more than that.”

Shiro slumps into a desk chair that’s seen better days. “Yesterday, with Kosmo. You said Keith wouldn’t be mad at me.”

“Was he?”

“Yes! Well, not at me. Or, maybe he was? He seemed like he might be? But he didn’t say anything.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I don’t know!”

Matt sighs. “Okay, you’ve lost me now. You don’t know if it’s good that your boyfriend is not mad at you?”

“It’s not that simple,” Shiro protests.

“Sure, I only have the equivalent of several PhDs, why don’t you explain it to me?”

Despite Matt’s mocking, Shiro feels comfortable telling him his problems. They weren’t always close friends, but months of training and then further months cooped up in a shuttle on the trip out to Kerberos forced them to either bond or murder each other.

Matt was witness to the rise and collapse of Shiro’s marriage and was supportive as Shiro and Keith found their way back to each other. He knows, mostly from being a shoulder to complain on, how important this relationship is to Shiro. So important that it almost never happened, for fear of it all going wrong.

Holt wisdom saved the day, then: if you get too worried about what could go wrong, you might miss a chance to do something great.

Shiro takes a deep, bracing breath. “I don’t want Keith to be mad at me. But I want him to feel comfortable expressing himself, if he is.”

“So you’re worried that Keith is, what, hiding his true feelings?”

“Yes.”

Matt’s face scrunches up. “Doesn’t really sound like Keith.”

And Shiro has to admit that he has a point. Keith is one of the most expressive people he knows. It’s less that he wears his heart on his sleeve and more that he’s honest to a fault. Though with age and maturity he’s gotten better at playing politics and moderating his temper, he’s still thoroughly authentic.

But there’s one exception to all that, one giant blind spot that Keith has, and it’s always been Shiro.

“He didn’t tell me how he felt about me,” Shiro points out. “Not until after the divorce.”

“Hmm, touché,” Matt concedes. “Okay, so talk to him about it.”

“I can’t do that.” In response to Matt’s skeptical look, he elaborates. “If he doesn’t feel secure in our relationship, he won’t admit to it.”

“Sure, but what other options do you have?”

An excellent question, and one that’s been plaguing Shiro. Talk is cheap, especially to Keith. “He needs to understand that I’m not going to be scared off by a little arguing.”

“Or by his temper,” Matt points out.

The idea strikes, fast and hard. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“I need to reassure Keith that he can get angry with me. So, first, he needs to get angry with me.”

Matt raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re going to try and get Keith pissed at you?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, but your relationship has never been normal anyway, so I guess it makes sense.”

“Thanks?”

“Anytime.”

Now that Shiro has a plan of attack, he feels better. Plans are reassuring; they give him something to do other than spin his wheels uselessly. When he’d been striving for space as a cadet in the Garrison he had layers upon layers of plans—how to study, what classes to take, what scores he needed on the simulator. Plans helped him fight the war and in peacetime they help him command a spaceship full of people, even though he’s barely thirty. The universe is chaotic and messy and has only gotten more complex since Earth’s abrupt introduction to the interstellar community.

Shiro’s happy for any amount of order that he can impose on the chaos.

Even the half hour spent talking to Matt puts him behind on his work. Much of the rest of the day is wasted in meetings that easily could’ve been a series of emails. For all Shiro’s love of planning, he could do without bureaucracy.

That night Shiro’s finishing up signing off on some requisition forms when he notices that the time has, once again, gotten away from him. If he leaves now he’ll be just in time for a late dinner. Keith’s probably waited for him, as he normally does. He’s already packing up his things when he remembers the Plan.

Keith’s never been very annoyed by Shiro’s workaholic tendencies, but Shiro’s also worked on improving his habits. He remembers all too well the fights his late nights and carelessness once caused between him and Adam, how it had ultimately ended their relationship.

It was also a nontrivial factor in his divorce from Curtis.

Keith’s different. It’s not as if Adam or Curtis were without ambition, but Keith’s directing several teams of the Blade of Marmora, and that’s just when he’s not leading his own team. He and his team operate out of the Atlas and Keith functions as an envoy of sorts from Daibazaal. It’s a role Keith designed for himself, something hammered together out of sheer willpower, that allows him to both lead his people and still stay close to Shiro.

Which is all to say that Shiro’s boyfriend’s plate is full enough that he doesn’t begrudge Shiro’s own workload. It’s been a relief. The wreckage of Shiro’s previous relationships is substantial, but losing Keith would be catastrophic.

But despite Keith’s understanding nature, everyone has a breaking point. Shiro needs to start his plan somewhere and staying late is the easiest way he can think of to get his significant other mad at him. It’s always worked before, after all.

He sits back down at his desk, stomach churning.

It shouldn’t be surprising that enacting this plan is upsetting, but for some reason he’s caught off-guard anyway.

Like he told Matt, he and Keith haven’t had a real fight, even after dating for nearly a year. It’s not as if Shiro thinks his relationship with Keith is so fragile that they can’t handle a few bumps when they inevitably hit them. Keith has crossed the universe for him. They’ve defied death.

But all the same, he doesn’t want to hurt Keith. He’s already done too much of that in their relatively short lives. Keith lives with scars Shiro’s given him, both physical and not.

Sitting in his office, considering the ways he’s hurt the person he loves most in the universe, he almost chickens out. But instead he steels himself. This may hurt a little, but it’s a healing sort of hurt. Their relationship will be stronger for it. He has to believe that.

And so Shiro stays on base as the minutes tick over, until he knows that even if Keith waited for dinner, Shiro will be too late. As their usual bedtime comes and goes, he packs it up and heads out to the car.

When he gets home it’s dark inside, except for a single light above where Keith is sitting at the kitchen table, typing away on his laptop. His hair is pulled up in a low bun and he’s changed out of his Blade of Marmora uniform into sweats. The mug sitting next to him on the table looks like it’s long since cooled off, but he has a smile for Shiro when he walks in the door.

“Hey! Late night?”

Shiro nods as he slips his shoes off. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

“It’s fine. I got some work done. I don’t sleep great by myself anyway.”

Guilt surges through Shiro. “I’m sorry, babe.” He rests his hands on Keith’s slim shoulders.

Keith grins up at him. “Shiro, it’s fine. Bed?”

Shiro drops a kiss onto his lips. When he straightens up again, Keith chases after him, as he always does.

As they get ready for bed he searches Keith’s body language for any annoyance, any anger, and finds nothing. It’s not really surprising. Shiro knew it’d take more than one late night to set him off. But as his stomach churns with nerves he’s beginning to appreciate what the long game here will look like and wondering if he has the resolve.

That night he has Keith in his arms as he braces himself for what’s ahead. It’s for the best.

Right?

Over the next week Shiro stays late every night. Keith takes to packing up leftovers from the dinners he cooks for Shiro to eat the next day. Neither of them are expert cooks, but Keith’s more of a natural in the kitchen. Only following a recipe to the letter allows Shiro to stave off disaster.

Shiro appreciates Keith’s cooking, but no amount of cooking ability can make eating reheated stir fry alone in his office feel less pathetic.

At the end of the week Keith doesn’t seem even mildly perturbed that they’ve barely spent a handful of hours together. Shiro makes up an excuse for working that weekend, and actually manages to make a dent in the backlog of paperwork and emails involved in coordinating the Atlas’ upcoming launch.

When he arrives home Keith’s completed all the laundry, dishes, and cleaning. He gives Shiro a sheepish grin when Shiro thanks him and plays it off as having been bored.

Shiro should be thrilled by his boyfriend’s understanding. But, of course, that’s exactly the problem.

It’s clear that drastic measures are necessary. So, reluctantly, Shiro escalates.

His dirty clothes stop making it into the hamper. His dishes don’t find their way to the dishwasher—or even to the sink. Despite what people may think, Shiro isn’t a naturally tidy person, but years of military life have ingrained certain habits in him.

While neither of them love chores, Keith’s always been one to put his head down and just do the work. So even as Shiro slacks off, the chores get done.

By the end of the second week, with Keith still unmoved by Shiro’s frequent absences and messiness, Shiro isn’t sure where to go next with his plan. He goes again to Matt for help, to no avail. Matt cites not wanting to invoke the wrath of Keith. Shiro tried to explain that that was the whole point, but Matt pointed out (not incorrectly) that it’s only Shiro who’s immune to Keith’s temper.

With no better ideas, Shiro stays the course, which means staying late. They’re closing in on the launch date for the Atlas, T-minus sixteen days, when Keith surprises Shiro in his office after hours.

“Hey, I thought you’d gone home.”

“Had some work to finish up,” Keith says. “Thought maybe we could eat together.” He holds up a paper bag.

“Is that…?”

“From your favorite Indian restaurant? Of course.” Keith passes out the boxes of rice and plastic containers full of curry. “Figured it was better than reheated pasta.”

“I love your pasta.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “As much as you love paneer?”

“...Maybe?”

Keith pulls out a foil package from the bag. “How about as much as you love naan?”

Shiro shrugs, caught out. “Sorry, babe.”

Keith smiles indulgently and hands the warm bundle over. Shiro spoons some rice and matar paneer onto his plate and then piles some directly onto the naan. The first mouthful is scalding hot, but so worth it.

“I have some samosas, too,” Keith announces as he unpacks another container.

“What’s the occasion?”

“I can’t want to eat dinner with my boyfriend?” Keith teases.

It immediately sinks a stone into Shiro’s gut. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. It’s his fault that they haven’t eaten dinner together in weeks, after all.

“It’s okay,” Keith reassures. “I know you’re busy getting ready for launch. And I did actually have an ulterior motive.”

That catches Shiro’s attention, unfortunately while he’s in the middle of shoving a wad of naan, rice, and curry into his mouth. He chews and swallows quickly. “You did?”

Keith nods, scooping some of his beef vindaloo onto his rice. “Kolivan contacted me.”

That’s a surprise. “You have a mission?”

“I know it’s bad timing,” Keith admits. “It should only take a week. I’ll be back by the launch.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Shiro brushes off. There’s a ceremony planned for launch day—speeches, the Garrison band, all the usual military pageantry. Shiro is slated to speak and Keith is as well, describing the partnership between Earth and Daibazaal on this voyage. Shiro doesn’t hate ceremony—he understands its power, and at least he doesn’t have to do any of it on ice this time. He knows that Keith isn’t a fan of prepared speeches, but he’d never intentionally skip it.

Well, he wouldn’t nowadays.

But faced with the time apart, Shiro regrets the past few weeks of avoidance. He and Keith haven’t been apart like this in months, not since the early days of their relationship.

“What’s the mission?”

“Warlord. Acxa’s team has been there for a few movements, but she’s not getting anywhere.”

“So they’re calling in the big guns, huh?” Shiro teases. “A visit from the Leader of Voltron, the Black Paladin himself.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I think it’s more likely that they’re worried Axca’s going to open fire if she has to keep playing to the warlord’s ego.”

“My boyfriend, the mediator.” It comes out unbearably fond. “When do you leave?”

“Tonight,” Keith admits, and now he really sounds guilty. “My team’s getting everything together now.”         

That manages to surprise Shiro. Suddenly the nice dinner together seems more like an apology for being blindsided.

“Not much heads up,” Shiro says lightly.

“Kolivan gave me the details yesterday.” Keith studies his plate of food. “I was going to say something last night.”

That he didn’t because last night Shiro got home well into the evening goes unsaid.

After a long pause, Shiro speaks up. “I won’t get to say a proper good-bye.”

“Nobody is around,” Keith says, peeking up at Shiro through his lashes.

“Keith!” Shiro laughs, scandalized. “We’re not having sex in my office.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to make the homecoming that much better.”

Shiro sees him to the tarmac, where the ship and Keith’s team await. Griffin and Rizavi are there as well with their MFEs. They’re going to accompany the ship out of Earth’s orbit. Humans still get a little uneasy when they see Galra birds in the air.

Keith is very professional as he greets his audience and turns to say goodbye to Shiro. It falls to Shiro to break decorum, and he doesn’t hesitate, pressing a heated kiss to Keith’s lips, hands cupping Keith’s face. “Be safe,” he whispers against his boyfriend’s lips.

They ignore Rizavi’s wolf-whistle.

Keith squeezes his hands and then he’s up the ramp and gone.

The next week would probably pass slowly if it wasn’t for the work that Shiro buries himself in.

Kosmo keeps him company. Keith’s official reasoning for leaving him behind was that the wolf wasn’t much for diplomacy, but Shiro knew that he listened to Keith well enough to not cause problems. It’s a thoughtful gesture, and Kosmo appreciates that unlike Keith, Shiro is a pushover about letting him up on the furniture.

Meanwhile, a pleasant side effect from the approach of Atlas’ launch date is the arrival of diplomats and other personnel who are either attending the ceremony and accompanying the Atlas on her voyage.

“Allura!” Shiro greets warmly as he wraps the Altean envoy in a hug.

“Hello, Shiro,” she says in return, squeezing him hard enough to crack his back. Altean strength remains impressive.

“Oh, I see where I rank,” Lance gripes from behind her.

“Hello, Lance.”

“I don’t even want to hear it,” Lance says, even as he moves in for a hug. “I won’t forget this betrayal.”

Allura and Lance will be aboard the Atlas for the first leg of her voyage—a movement’s journey right back to Altea. What it lacks in efficiency it makes up for in symbolism. Allura’s position as envoy to Earth and her connection to the other Voltron paladins is something the Garrison is invested in playing up. Her presence highlights Earth’s connection to the Coalition.

It also goes a long way towards explaining why Shiro, their star captain, absconded with the Atlas a year ago to save her life.

If Shiro had been anyone else he would have been court-martialed immediately upon his return. But as it is, he remains the only human capable of accessing the full abilities of the Atlas, and apparently that trumps grand theft spaceship. His brief stint as a space pirate got retroactively sanctioned, the Garrison and Coalition enjoyed some good press for helping to restore Altea’s princess, and life moved on.

“Pidge wanted to say hi as well,” Shiro says as they make their way aboard the Atlas for the pair to store their bags. “She’s helping Matt, but they should be around for dinner.”

“And where’s your better half?”

“Keith is on a mission with the Blades and I’m telling him you called him that, Lance.”

Pidge and Matt do manage to join them for dinner. Pidge has joined Matt’s project to crack instantaneous interstellar communication, but despite the combined brainpower of two Holts they’re still struggling to make any headway. Allura tries to explain what she knows of the Altean method, but as suspected it relies heavily on alchemy.

“I am so sick of magic,” Pidge grouses.

“Are the Olkari able to help?” Shiro asks.

“I love the Olkari, but what they do is practically magic, for all that we understand it,” Pidge says.

“The real question is: why does everyone have magic except humans?” Matt muses.

Allura smiles. “Clearly, you’re the only sensible ones.”

After the meal is over the Holts manage to convince Allura to come back to their lab, leaving Shiro and Lance to pick at the remnants of dessert.

“So how are you doing, really?” Lance asks.

“What do you mean?”

Lance fidgets with his fork, picking at crumbs on his plate. “I talked to Keith a little while back. He said you’ve been really busy.”

Shiro takes a long drink of his water to stall. He didn’t realize Keith and Lance talked, though he’s glad they do. Maybe a little less glad now that he’s getting the third degree. “Yeah, getting the Atlas ready to launch has been a lot of work.”

“But you two are okay?”

Shiro can’t help but perk up. “Did he say anything?” He’d prefer if Keith came to him with any issues, but Shiro can work with it if Keith feels more comfortable talking to someone else.

“Nothing bad. He knows you have an important job.”

Shiro deflates back into his seat. “That’s good.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Shiro, you’re the first guy I’ve ever seen who acts like he wants to be in hot water.”

Shiro sighs. “It’s not that, it’s just… do you know we’ve never had a fight?”

“Not really seeing the problem.”

“You know our relationship isn’t exactly normal. I’ve hurt Keith.” Shiro doesn’t exactly want to go into the details. For one, Keith wouldn’t appreciate it. But Lance probably knows the outlines anyway. Keith’s expulsion from the Garrison after Shiro’s disappearance. Keith’s struggle to fill the role of Black Paladin after Shiro’s second disappearance. Keith reappearing after the fight at the clone facility with a scar on his face. Keith fleeing Earth after Shiro’s wedding. Their relationship had baggage before it even began. “I’m afraid that he doesn’t feel comfortable in the relationship.”

“Because you don’t fight?”

“Well, yeah. Because he doesn’t get upset at anything.” Shiro catches Lance’s skeptical look and specifies. “Doesn’t get upset at me . Not when I stay late, not when I’m messy, not anything I try.”

Lance holds his hands up in shock. “Wait, wait wait… are you saying you’ve been staying late on purpose ? To make him mad?”

“Just until he says something about it. It wasn’t supposed to take this long.”

Lance gives him a long, incredulous look before shaking his head. “Shiro, I don’t think you see what the rest of us see. Keith loves you, man. Who cares if it’s not normal? Since when have you two ever been normal?”

“I don’t doubt his commitment,” Shiro insists. “I know more than anyone how he feels. But I don’t know if he trusts me enough to be himself with me. He’s been mad at me before, but not since we’ve started dating. With all that’s happened between us, I want to make sure he knows that I’m not going to run off at the first argument.”

Lance sighs. “Okay, well, you’ve come to the right person.” He gives Shiro a solemn look. “I’m an expert in annoying Keith.”

According to Keith’s original timetable, he should’ve returned the day after Lance and Allura arrived. Shiro finds it hard to focus that day, keeping one eye on his data pad, looking for the incoming ship alert. He doesn’t leave the office until after midnight, and no message arrives. Kosmo seems to sense his anxiety when he gets home, and despite Keith’s strict ‘no space wolves on the bed’ rule Shiro doesn’t have the heart to shoo him away as he curls up in the empty space. It helps.

A message arrives early the next morning, as Veronica and Shiro are going over final adjustments to the launch day ceremony. It’s audio-only, nothing more than a short recording. The timestamp indicates that it’s been in transit for four days.

“Mission successful, but it will take a few quintants to wrap things up here. ETA is an extra movement from original return. Will rendezvous with the Atlas en route to New Altea. End transmission.”

The relief at hearing Keith’s voice knocks the wind out of Shiro, and he ducks his head as he tries to pull himself together.

Veronica gathers her things. “I’ll arrange the speeches to cover Commander Kogane’s absence. You’re free for the next hour until the meeting with the bridge crew.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says. He’s thirty, he’s the captain of the Garrison’s flagship and the hundreds of people who work onboard her—he probably shouldn’t need time to mope over his boyfriend’s absence, but appreciates Veronica’s consideration. Especially since it turns out to be warranted.

In the end the ceremony goes off without a hitch. Shiro gives the speech he’d written, with Veronica’s edits, expressing the hopes and dreams of space exploration that Atlas will be fulfilling. It’s a speech he could give in his sleep. The dream of the Atlas is the same as the one that’s carried Shiro from a child looking up at the stars through his first telescope to where he is now.

Keith isn’t there to give his speech about the importance of working with the new Galra Commonwealth in rebuilding the universe, so Shiro incorporates some of it into his speech, and Allura covers the rest when she speaks.

It’s a theme Shiro has made a point of stressing in other aspects of his captaincy. He knows all too well how difficult it will be for some on Earth. The discontented rumblings have already begun from those who’d rather not trust aliens, Galra or otherwise. To counter it, Shiro made a point of recruiting crewmembers from other Coalition planets. They have quite a few Olkari on both the bridge and engineering teams. There’s a smattering of Balmerans, Puigians, and even some Arusians, among others.

The Atlas launches amid cheers and claps and an MFE escort that’s purely for show. Rizavi revels in buzzing the crowd, showing off flashy loops and rolls.

Once they’re beyond Earth’s gravitational pull the MFEs dock and the ship accelerates out of the solar system. With Allura aboard they could use the teludav to wormhole straight to Altea, but the mission is just as much about the journey as it is the various destinations. This first movement in space is a good opportunity for everyone to settle into their roles, iron out any conflicts. The path they’ve charted is through safe territory.

Shiro is kept busy that first day checking on his various teams. The cycle is long, nearly a full quintant, a schedule calculated to better line up with the time zone of the capital city on Altea, to reduce space-lag. When the night cycle hits Shiro returns to his quarters and to Kosmo, exhausted.

They’re another full cycle out when Keith’s ship hails them. Shiro gives the bridge over to Sam and makes his way to the ship bay. He’s not alone; Allura and Lance are already there.

Shiro can tell it’s Keith behind the sticks from the way the ship lands, a little on the fast side, but pinpoint accurate.

It’s barely been two weeks, Shiro tells himself. It’s ridiculous to have missed Keith this much. Shiro’s an adult. Once upon a time he never gave a though to signing up for missions that took him away from Adam for months at a time.

An elbow in the side shakes Shiro from his trance. “Remember the plan,” Lance hisses at him.

Shiro has to admit, Lance was right about his skills at annoying Keith. They’ve mapped out several strategies, each progressively more horrifically irritating. It begins with eliminating public displays of affection.

But then Keith steps off the ship and it seems stupid to deny the way his heart jumps in his chest. No plan is worth giving up the chance to wrap himself around his boyfriend, to bury his face in Keith’s hair, even though it’s clearly been a few days since it was washed.

Keith eventually extracts himself with a laugh, but behind the blush Shiro can see how pleased he is. He greets Allura and Lance before quickly making his excuses. He’s tired, it’s been a long flight. Shiro accompanies him, ever the dutiful boyfriend.

Their friends surely see right through them, but they’re kind enough to play along.

“You’re really going to have to step your game up now, Shirogane,” is how Lance greets Shiro the next day when he stops by his office.

Shiro doesn’t bother looking up from his work. “And why is that?”

Out of the corner of his eye he watches Lance plop into a chair, leaning back and sticking his feet up on the desk. “Because everyone in the mess this morning saw Keith’s face and knows exactly how pleased with you he is.”

Heat rises in Shiro’s face and he sends his Altean arm to push Lance’s feet off the desk, possibly more forcefully than necessary.

“Oh, my god,” Lance moans. “Are you smiling? You’re enjoying this! How dare you.”

“I’m not going to apologize for—”

“No, don’t finish that sentence!” Lance screeches. When Shiro holds his tongue he relaxes, safe from knowledge of his friends’ sex life. “You realize you’ve just made my job a lot harder, right?”

It probably should worry Shiro how quickly Lance has taken to this plan. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Lance was enjoying the opportunity to cause Keith grief, even if it was only from a distance. “Your job?”

“Okay, so here’s what you’re going to do…”

When Keith comes back to their quarters that night he winces as he crosses the threshold. Atlas’ soundproofing is impressive, so Keith had hasn’t prepared himself for the onslaught.

Music is not an area they agree on. It’s less a disagreement in taste and more a question of application. Shiro likes having music on in the background as he’s cleaning or working. His family was always playing music growing up. From what he understands, the house Keith once shared with his father was quiet, and whether it’s that or his sensitive Galra hearing or something else, noise can grate on Keith’s nerves.

It’s not something Keith’s ever said much about while they’ve been dating, but he remembers Keith complaining about the noise in the Garrison dorms as a cadet. And it’s easy to see the tension sometimes gather along Keith’s shoulders.

Normally, they make it work. Shiro works with headphones on or plays something quiet and calming. It’s unusual to find him as he is now, attempting to finish up paperwork to upbeat pop music at a volume only a few decibels short of being classified a war crime.

Lance really is an evil genius.

“Shiro?” Keith says, needing to raise his voice to be heard over the music. Shiro turns it enough to allow for conversation. “Are you… okay?” His brows are pinched together in confusion.

“Yeah, of course. I’m just finishing up some work.”

Keith looks like he wants to say more, but opts for discretion.

Shiro hears the sound of rummaging and crumpling in the kitchen. He’d left out some snack food containers. It’s a bad habit of Shiro’s when he’s distracted by other things. It must bug Keith when he does that. Not that Keith’s ever said anything, but he always closes them up and puts them away.

Shiro adjusts the volume on his data pad and the music pouring through the living room’s speakers ramps back up. He’s fortunate that the Atlas’ soundproofing will keep the residents of nearby quarters from complaining. Shiro gets back to his work—he really does have a few things he needs to finish up—and is quickly engrossed in the details.

He feels eyes on him and glances over his shoulder to find Keith standing in the doorway of the small kitchenette.

“Everything okay?” Shiro asks, hoping that it isn’t.

Keith chews on some words, but ends up shaking his head. “It’s nothing. I’m going to head to the gym.”

Shiro bites back the disappointment. “Have fun.”

It’s like that all week. Shiro is his most obnoxious self, and Keith says nothing. Nothing to the food left out or the leftovers sniped. Nothing to the loud music or laundry strewn about or chores that go unfinished. There are moments where Shiro is sure Keith is about to say something, but nothing comes of them. By the time they’re approaching Altea he’s at his wits end.

And what’s more, so is Lance.

“I can’t believe he hasn’t cracked,” Lance laments.

“He’s stubborn.”

Lance shakes his head. “Kaltenecker is stubborn; Keith is obstinate. And where was this newfound inner peace when we were living on the Castle of Lions, huh? We could’ve used some Zen Master Keith then.”

Shiro opts to ignore that. “I don’t know what to do. I should probably just talk to him.”

“No! We didn’t come this far to give up now.”

“’We?’”

Lance waves his question off. “This is a group endeavor. I’m not going to let Keith get the best of me—of us, I mean.”

Shiro shakes his head fondly.

“Besides, we have a great opportunity coming up.”

“What do you mean?”

Lance gives him a puzzled look. “You and Keith got together right after we got Allura back, right?”

“Yeah.” The tension between them on the rescue mission had been high. The swell of relief and celebration at having their friend back among the living had pushed it over the edge.

Lance stares, clearly waiting for Shiro to say more. When it’s clear that nothing more is forthcoming, he bursts out, “So doesn’t that mean your anniversary is coming up?”

Oh. Shit.

Shiro knew that, of course. Academically, he knew it had been a year since the mission to save Allura—hence the celebrations—and that their relationship started then. But for some reason he hadn’t put two and two together.

“Wow, how is Keith not mad at you? Is he on something?”

“It’s not something we’ve discussed,” Shiro defends. He can come up with a date, but should he count from when they fell into bed together? Or from when they talked the next day? From their first real date? He supposes it’s mostly a moot point, as no matter how they count it, it’s rapidly approaching.

Lance is, unsurprisingly, less than impressed with his reasoning. “You kinda suck, dude.”

“Not helpful.”

“But really, when was the last time you guys went on a date?”

The question shouldn’t be so difficult to answer, but if Shiro thinks back it’s hard to pinpoint. Not in the past few months, as they prepared for the Atlas’ launch. They’ve both been too busy. And while they’ve gone on plenty of dates over the last year, it’s never been a focus of their relationship.

“Wow,” Lance says as Shiro struggles to find the answer. “Well, that’s the plan. Our Hail Mary: forgetting your anniversary.”

“But I can’t actually do that,” Shiro insists.

“Why not? You basically already did.”

And Lance has a point, there, but… “I can’t now that I know.”

“It’ll be fine. If you tell Keith I said this I’ll kill you, but even I can tell how much he loves you. He’ll get over it.”

Shiro’s shoulders slump. “Okay. Okay.”

They arrive on Altea early the next day.

Coran leads the Altean delegation sent to greet them. Shiro recognizes some of the rest—Merla, Tavo, Rana—but others are new faces. Next to them are Hunk and his crew. Protocol dictates that they should greet each other formally, with handshakes or bows. Of course, that gets thrown to the wind a moment after Shiro and his commanding officers disembark. Coran throws his arms around him in a hug. Romelle beats out Hunk to Keith, leaving the Yellow Paladin to throw his arms around Allura and Lance’s necks.

Once the group has traded hugs, they reluctantly return to their ranks for a more formal greeting.

“Apologies,” Shiro says on behalf of his crew to the Altean delegation.

Tavo smiles at him. “The bonds forged in war are deep, we understand. Welcome, and thank you for making the time to visit Altea. There will be plenty of time to discuss our alliance during the reception in a few quintants.”

“We look forward to it.”

Formalities concluded, Shiro gives permission for the crew at large to disembark, if they’re interested. They’ll be on New Altea for several quintants, though most of the crew will be living aboard the Atlas for lack of sufficient accommodations. The Altean population is small; the presence of the Atlas nearly doubles the planet’s population. It’s something the Coalition is concerned about, and part of why New Altea was their first stop.

Romelle steals Keith away. Far from being annoyed, Shiro’s relieved. He turns instead towards the shopping district of the city, hoping to find something to buy Keith for their anniversary. He’s tentatively onboard Lance’s plan, but it’s always good to have a back-up.

A few vargas later and he’s no closer to finding a gift. That Keith doesn’t own much should mean that there are lots of options. But the truth is that Keith doesn’t seem to need much. There are certainly practical gifts that Shiro could buy him, but he was hoping for something more romantic.

What’s more, for as beautiful as the many products are, the Altean aesthetic doesn’t scream ‘Keith.’

Shiro is stepping out of a clothing store—everything pastel and gauzy—when he hears a familiar voice call his name. The streets are empty enough to easily see Allura strolling up the sidewalk, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in a curly, white cloud.

“Princess,” he greets.

Allura shakes her head. “Altea has no more royalty. It’s just Allura, now.”

“You could never be ‘just’ Allura,” Shiro teases. “But what brings you here?”

“I should be asking that of you,” she counters, eying up the store he’d just left.

“I’m looking for a gift.”

Allura perks up. “For Keith? It must be your anniversary soon!”

Shiro winces. It appears that everyone remembered except him.

“What sort of gift are you looking for?”

Shiro gives a helpless little shrug. “I don’t know. I’m terrible at gifts.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Shiro’s lips press together in a grim attempt at a smile. “The last time I had to do this I bought socks.”

Her brows draw together. “Is there a meaning to socks among humans?”

“Only that they’re a terrible gift.”

He gets the laugh, but Allura follows it up with a pitying look and a pat on his arm, before looping her hands around Shiro’s elbow. “I’ll help. To be honest, I’m glad I ran into you. What with all the ceremony and work, I feel we haven’t had much of a chance to talk.”

“Something you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, it’s a bit awkward to do so after a year, but I wanted to thank you, Shiro.”

“Thank me?”

“For saving my life. Obviously, I am eternally grateful, but I didn’t realize at the time the consequences for you doing so.”

It’s true that Shiro had faced backlash, though it’s mostly worked itself out now. It’s also true that he has no regrets. He would’ve faced much worse to save her life; they all would’ve. Shiro covers her hand with his own, the metal palm engulfing Allura’s slender fingers. “I’d do it again.”

The festivities on New Altea start with a formal state dinner in the newly built Castle. The Paladins and Allura all sit together at the high table during the dinner. Hunk, who’d arrived movements ago to plan the menu, explains the Terran-Altean fusion dishes as they come out.

“Altean food has two modes: sweet and savory,” Hunk explains. “So I tried to find Earth that could complement that.”

“He’s being generous,” Lance tacks on, sotto voce. He’s been living with Allura on New Altea since she returned. “It’s worse than food goo. Somehow everything either tastes like candy or weird meat.”

“Weird meat?” Keith echoes.

“Don’t ask,” Lance says. “I’ve already said too much. I can’t believe Allura freaked out over milk.”

They start with hors d’oeurves. After Lance’s warnings, it’s funny to find something that looks almost exactly like ants-on-a-log, though with a bright orange stalk vegetable. The peanut butter, it turns out, is the real thing. Apparently it’s been a big hit with the Alteans.

“It’s similar to food goo,” Hunk points out.

“That’s a grave insult to peanut butter,” Pidge argues.

Whatever has replaced the raisins is shiny and crunchy. Shiro pointedly doesn’t ask.

Next is a soup that reminds Shiro of actual food goo, thinned out into a broth. It’s brilliantly green and tastes a little nutty, but with a sweet grape garnish.

“The Alteans have really taken to grapes,” Hunk tells them. “And berries. They’ve built a huge greenhouse just to grow fruits from Earth.”

The main course is much stranger. There’s a cut of meat garnished with juniberry flowers that Lance begs them not to ask anything more about. The outside is crispy and reminds Shiro of biting into a sausage casing, except the middle is mushy and soft. The mashed sweet potatoes on the side are a welcomed familiar touch.

After that is a salad. The leaves are perfectly round and oddly blue, but the raspberry vinaigrette helps cut their bitterness.

Dessert, as Hunk tells them, had been a struggle. He wanted to introduce the Alteans to ice cream, but apparently couldn’t overcome Allura’s horror at the idea. He managed to whip up some vegan ice cream using coconut milk that’s nearly as good.

After the full meal they’re served coffee, which has really taken off here. Even now, several years after the war, the supply chain is struggling to reestablish itself, so the cups are very small and heavily garnished with chocolate and spun sugar. There’s a snicker off to Shiro’s right and he glances over in time to see Pidge snap a picture of him.

It takes a moment to figure out what’s so funny, before he realizes that he’d picked up the tiny, espresso-sized coffee cup in his Altean hand. The floating arm dwarfs the cup. With a roll of his eyes, he takes another sip, lifting his middle finger off the porcelain.

“Appreciate the blackmail material, Captain,” Pidge says.

“What would Iverson say?” Matt tacks on in his most scandalized tone.

“Why don’t you go ask him,” Shiro replies, nodding over to where Iverson is sitting among a group of Atlas crew and Alteans. They seem to be engaging in some sort of drinking contest that Shiro, as captain, should probably be responsible and put a stop to.

He doesn’t.

After dinner the guests move outside. It’s a gorgeous night, warm and cloudless. The city center is strung with lights in the colors of Voltron and beyond that the sky is a map of stars. The formal dinner had been small and semi-private, but the after-party is city-wide. The suffering that the Altean people have gone through seems to have given them an appreciation for celebration that translates into raucous parties. Nunvill and Earth wine are passed around liberally. There’s music and festivity all through the city, but the Paladins keep to the main square.

Lance catches Shiro’s arm and pulls him aside as the music begins. “What’s your plan here?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I want to have a good time at the party. I want Keith to have a good time at the party.”

“No, you can’t pass this chance up, it’s too good,” Lance says, wagging a commanding finger in Shiro’s face. “You gotta stay away from him. No dancing, no talking.”

Shiro considers it. His shopping excursion had been a bust, even with Allura’s help. But despite his lack of a gift, or maybe because of it, he’s not convinced he should hold back.

“I could find you some eligible bachelors to flirt with,” Lance proposes.

“No,” Shiro says, because he draws the line there. “I’ll do the avoidance thing. But not that.”

It’s easy enough to accomplish. As Captain of the Atlas there’s no shortage of people who want to talk with him. He positions himself on the opposite corner of the town square from Keith, and when he sees his boyfriend attempt to make his way closer, Shiro moves on to maintain his distance. In this way he has a rousing conversation with Coran about a sport that sounded weirdly enough like quidditch, a mild argument with the trade secretary over the prioritization of supplies, and a shockingly dull exchange about New Altea’s planetary defense with an Altean general.

He manages it for the first few vargas. But the problem with playing keep away with Shiro’s attention is that it only takes a moment of getting wrapped up in conversation to lose the game.

It’s during a discussion with the Ummoiddi ambassador to Altea that Keith manages to sidle up next to him.

“Ahhh, Black Paladin,” the Ummoid, Attux, greets.

“Ambassador,” Keith returns, before turning to Shiro. “ Captain .” His voice is low, almost a purr.

A flush runs through Shiro. A quick peek at Keith’s face confirms that he knows exactly what he’s doing. Devious.

The Ummoid doesn’t notice, of course. Whether it’s because they’re unaware of Shiro and Keith’s relationship, or unfamiliar with the flirtation methods of humans, Shiro can’t be sure. Instead Attux directs their attention at Keith: “I hear that elections on Daibazaal are coming up.”

“Yes. I look forward to voting.”

“Voting?” the Ummoid scoffs. “A paladin of Voltron would attract many votes, if they wanted to.”

Shiro expects Keith to be flustered by the attention, but he takes it in stride, replying smoothly, “I much prefer my position on the ground, helping people directly.”

“You know,” Shiro says once Attux leaves. “What you said is only going to encourage people to consider you for politics.”

Keith ignores Shiro’s musing on his political future. “Are you okay?”

Shiro’s been avoiding Keith all night, but it’s not as if he can admit that. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

Keith’s regard is more focused than a laser, as always. Shiro usually thrives under such scrutiny, but usually his conscience is clear. Whatever Keith sees must satisfy him enough, because he doesn’t elaborate on his question. Instead: “I got you something.”

“You did?”

Keith’s holding an unwrapped box. It’s wooden, with five sides. The cover is intricately carved in swirls, with small bits of inlaid metal that are clearly meant to be stars. It’s Altean handiwork, if Shiro’s time walking around the shopping district here has taught him anything.

Shiro takes it, running his human fingers over the details. “This is gorgeous.”

“Open it,” Keith says. He’s gnawing at his lip, a tell that he’s mostly trained himself out of.

Shiro pries it open and his breath stutters in a gasp.

“Happy anniversary.”

“How did you get this?” Shiro asks, removing the watch from the box’s plush interior.

Shiro hasn’t seen this watch in years. It had been his grandfather’s, and his father’s before him. Shiro wasn’t sure how old it was, or how many generations back it went, but it was a rare luxury item in a family that prized practicality. Which wasn’t to say that the watch didn’t work—it kept immaculate time. The leather straps had been replaced once or twice, but the clock itself was original.

“I tracked it down,” Keith, always a master at understatement, replies.

The watch hadn’t been something Shiro could take to Kerberos. He was glad of that later, when the Galra destroyed their ship and stripped him of his suit, his dog tags, his arm. Between being declared dead, spending the next several years on the other side of the universe, and the Galra’s invasion of Earth, nothing had been left of his small storage unit when he returned.

Shiro puts it on now, the worn leather band soft against the skin of his left wrist.

And the guilt hits hard.

“I didn’t…” Shiro begins.

“It’s fine,” Keith quickly reassures. “We didn’t discuss if we were doing gifts. I just wanted to do this for you.”

The worst part is that Keith really believes that. He’s smiling at Shiro with the soft look that he’s never bestowed on anyone else. Shiro doesn’t know the details of Keith’s other romantic entanglements, but he knows there wasn’t anyone significant enough to introduce to the other Paladins.

And he didn’t expect anything for their anniversary.

The guilt was expected, but now it’s Shiro’s pride that smarts. Something mean churns in Shiro’s stomach. Why would Keith not expect any better from him? Is Shiro that bad, that neglectful, of a boyfriend?

The utter wreck of his previous relationship suggests it’s possible.

The turmoil must show on Shiro’s face, because Keith grows worried. “What? It’s okay, right? I checked it over, to make sure it was working—”

“It’s perfect,” Shiro assures, squashing any uncharitable thoughts. “Thank you, babe. Happy anniversary.” He bends down for a kiss.

He must fake it well enough, because Keith’s smile as he pulls away is wide and authentic. If the lighting was better Shiro’s sure he’d be able to see a blush. As it is the colored Altean lights shine off the twists in his braid and light up his eyes.

Still, darker feelings churn underneath. It’s been the best year of Shiro’s life, but he’s starting to see the cracks in the foundation.

The Atlas leaves New Altea after a movement. There’s no ceremony to see her off, just the normal bustle of a ship preparing to launch. Allura and Lance stay behind, but in their place the Atlas gains Hunk and his team. Hunk has somehow found a way to use his passion for the culinary arts to promote peace. This isn’t the first time he and Shiro have found themselves on the same mission. Shiro is proud, sure, but mostly he’s thankful that he’s going to be able to occasionally eat Hunk’s delicious meals for the next few phoebs.

It’s easier for the Atlas’ crew to slip into their roles this second movement. The newer members are more comfortable with the ship’s layout and their jobs now, the seasoned crew have fallen into well-worn routines.

Shiro finds himself with a new routine of his own. Without Lance’s enthusiastic encouragement he’s lost a bit of his enthusiasm for actively goading Keith on, but that isn’t to say that he changes his habits for the better. Instead he finds himself using it as an excuse. When work keeps him late or he leaves a trail of dirty clothes in his wake he reassures himself that it’s for the best. After all, maybe this will be the proverbial straw.

It turns out that it’s startlingly easy to fall back into old habits. Shiro has never been a great boyfriend.

And apparently Keith never expected him to be. It’s a petty thought, he knows that, but it festers nonetheless.

Hunk cooks for them, a few quintants after they leave Altea and head on to New Daibazaal. They gather in the captain’s quarters so Hunk can use the kitchenette. Shiro is helping him. While he’s not much of a cook, he takes direction well. Hunk calls him his favorite sous chef.

Pidge and Matt have brought their work with them and they sit pressed together on the floor, poking away at a display of equations they’ve projected over the coffee table.

Keith shows up late, having been stuck at a late meeting with his team. When he walks in Shiro sends him a questioning look, but Keith shakes his head, jerking it back towards the door. He means it was just team stuff, nothing else. Shiro inclines his head towards the bedroom, to see if Keith wants to get showered and changed, but Keith shakes his head again.

“Ugh, could you guys not be a gross couple for one moment?” Matt interrupts.

“As if they haven’t always been like that,” Pidge points out.

Shiro flushes. Keith makes his way to the couch, ‘accidentally’ running his elbow into the top of Matt’s head in retaliation. The elder Holt goes for an open-handed smack that’s neatly turned away, and is smart enough to recognize when he’s outmatched.

“See,” Hunk says from the doorway of the kitchenette. “That’s the kind of communication you two need to create.”

“Yeah, if only Shiro could waggle his eyebrows across the universe,” Matt laments theatrically.

There’s a flurry of quick typing from behind Pidge’s screen. Shiro cranes his neck to try and see what she’s doing, but the screen full of numbers and symbols might as well be Olkari. Shiro has the equivalent of a master’s degree in astrophysics, but not many people can keep up with the Holts.

The dinner is much simpler than Hunk’s five-course Altean masterpiece, but no one complains. The captain’s quarters is elaborate, but doesn’t have much dinner seating, so they eat sprawled over whatever couch or floor space they’re occupying. There’s a spot open next to Keith and Kosmo on the couch that Shiro gravitates towards, before adjusting his trajectory to sit next to Matt. He catches Keith’s frown out of the corner of his eye.

“Is that a new watch?” Matt asks.

Shiro grins down at his family’s heirloom. “Old, actually. It’s been in the family for generations, but it was lost after the invasion. Keith tracked it down.”

“For your anniversary?” Hunk guesses, and not for the first time Shiro wishes his friends weren’t so perceptive. “That’s so sweet.”

“Gross,” Pidge corrects.

“So what’d you get him?” Matt asks Shiro.

Shiro freezes, because of course he still hasn’t given Keith anything.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Keith drawls, once again coming to Shiro’s rescue.

Matt nods contemplatively, his mind no doubt sinking to some depraved depths. Pidge screws her face up, probably thinking along the same lines.

“I’m excited to see Daibazaal,” Shiro says. Not his smoothest attempt at changing the subject, but fortunately his friends can be merciful when they choose.

“It’s very different than Altea,” Hunk says. He’s been there several times since its reappearance after the end of the war. “Much more arid.”

“Good,” says Matt. “After a year at the Garrison I couldn’t handle the humidity on Altea.”

Hunk continues. “And the Galra aren’t as much for five-course formal dinners.”

“Clearly, the only reasonable race,” Pidge opines under her breath as she continues to type.

Hunk ignores her. “They like to eat family style.”

“As long as there’s a party,” Matt says solemnly.

“Galra parties involve hand-to-hand combat,” Keith says, entirely straight-faced. “Sometimes, to the death.”

“Ha ha,” Matt shoots back, but grows worried when Keith doesn’t laugh along with him. “Wait, you are joking, right?”

“Why would I joke about sparring?”

Matt turns to Shiro. “He’s kidding, right?”

Shiro tries to maintain the façade, but breaks after a couple of seconds, unable to suppress his laughter at Matt’s increasingly terrified face. He gets a pillow to his face in retaliation as Matt pretends to be offended.

“I can’t confirm or deny, since I’ve never been,” Shiro points out. “But it’ll be nice to see Krolia and Kolivan again.”

“Yeah, Keith, are you excited to see your mom?” Hunk asks.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” is Keith’s less-than-enthusiastic response. “The wolf misses her.”

“The wolf,’” Matt mocks.

Keith rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond. Shiro knows that he misses Krolia, but their relationship isn’t like the one that the other people here have with their families. They send messages when they have a chance.

The party winds down and everyone leaves to their respective quarters. Shiro’s putting the dishes away in the galley when hands sneak around his waist. Keith stretches up to rest his chin on Shiro’s shoulder, pressing a line of heat along Shiro’s back.

“Seeing you clean is definitely a turn on, but you can finish that up tomorrow.” Keith’s tone is teasing, but Shiro cringes at the reminder that he’s been leaving the chores to Keith.

Shiro latches the cabinet and allows Keith to turn him around. Shiro’s arms come up to cradle Keith as he leans against him.

“It feels like we’ve hardly seen each other,” Keith says into his collarbone.

“We have important jobs.”

Keith’s hands, which had been kneading at Shiro’s back, still. If Shiro cranes his neck he can catch the edge of a worried expression on Keith’s face.

“Hey, what is it?”

“You remember the last mission I did? With the warlord?”

“Of course.” Keith hadn’t said much about it, but Shiro knows the mission had been a success. A former Empire general turned warlord had been menacing a system, demanding supplies under threat of death. Acxa’s team, with Keith’s help, promised them resources to settle within the Coalition. Last Shiro heard, she’d accepted their offer.

“Kolivan got a report from another system that she’s attacked the people there.”

“You’re going?”

Keith nods, head still resting on Shiro’s shoulder. “I’ll miss you.”

“Will you?” It slips out before Shiro can stop it.

Keith pulls back to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Shiro forces a tired smile and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, nothing. It’s just been a long day.”

Keith steps back, out of his arms. He keeps hold of Shiro’s hands, though, squeezing them once. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Worry is written all over Keith’s face. He’d probably be more comfortable if there was something physically menacing Shiro. He’s matured a lot since the early days of Voltron, but prefers problems he can hit. Shiro can’t blame him, he feels the same way.

But physical or not, Keith still attacks everything full-tilt. Just now he’s as open and earnest as ever.

Which is why it’s so unfair that Shiro’s first thought is, but you don’t tell me anything in return.

But his pettiness has a limit, so he only squeezes Keith’s hands right back. “I know.”

Keith’s team was always intended to operate out of Atlas, so their departure doesn’t leave any holes in the roster. And Shiro shouldn’t feel upset about the hole in his own life when he’s been so absent while Keith was around.

He shouldn’t. But he is.

Fortunately serving as captain offers plenty of opportunity for distraction. There’s no Kosmo this time to keep him company during lonely nights in his cabin, but with Hunk and Pidge and Matt aboard there are friends to talk to during the day-cycle. A few quintants pass without incident.

Shiro’s on the bridge when it happens. He’s discussing their future flight path with the navigation team when the speaker system erupts in a high-pitched tone:

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The whole crew startles, looking around for the source of the noise. It’s coming through the speakers, but it’s not one of the many alarms they’re familiar with. Nothing they’ve drilled on.

BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEP

“Where’s that coming from?” asks one of the techs.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Enian, an Olkari member of their comms team, shakes her head. “It’s not external.”

Sam has the ship’s specs pulled up on his screen over in Engineering. “Everything’s green, it’s not a problem with the ship.”

Shiro closes his eyes and reaches for the place where he’s connected to Atlas. The sound isn’t coming from her, she says. It’s hijacked her shipwide address system, but it wasn’t brute forced. The source is local, not foreign. Something about the way it’s slipped into her system is familiar.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Shiro opens his eyes as Pidge careens through the door. “What’d you do to my ship?”

BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEP

“It’s Keith,” she says, holding up a device in her hand that flashes in time with the beeps. “It’s Keith.”

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Shiro cuts the speakers with a thought. “Explain.”

“I figured it out,” Pidge starts. “The communication issue. Keith offered to test it out, and it works! Just Boolean data, but it’s instantaneous.”

“So this is a test?” Shiro asks.

Pidge shakes her head, nearly losing her glasses in the process. “No, the test was last night. This is him trying to communicate. It’s live, he’s sending this message right now. I linked it up to Atlas’ speakers so I wouldn’t miss it if he called.”

The device in her hand lights up in lieu of that beep and Shiro’s blood runs cold.

“So what’s he saying?” Enian asks, intrigued by the technology. It makes sense that the Olkari wouldn’t understand.

After all, Morse code is an Earth thing.

“S.O.S.” Pidge translates. “He’s in trouble.”

“Everyone to stations,” Shiro orders. The Atlas’ lights blink red as its captain calls her crew to battle stations. “Prepare to open a wormhole.”

They emerge just a few light-years from a massive red gas giant. Keith’s mission had been to its largest moon, a small, rocky satellite covered in familiar blue and green. It sits between them and the planet.

And above it hovers a Galra battleship.

Shiro asks Pidge, “Can we pinpoint the source of Keith’s transmission?”

Pidge shakes her head, but before she can explain Enian interrupts. “Captain, we’re being hailed. It’s a Marmora frequency.”

“Put them through.”

Shiro recognizes the Galra who appears on the screen in front of them. Byxca is a member of Keith’s team. Shiro likes her. She’s young but eager, and had jumped at the opportunity to serve once the Empire fell.

Now she’s got shrapnel burns scattered across the side of her face.

“Status?” asks Shiro.

“It’s Warlord Mynveig, she attacked us. We managed to escape to the far side of the moon.”

“Is your team accounted for?”

“Everyone except the Commander,” Byxca admits. “Mynveig said she’d open fire on the planet. She’s not receiving any of our hails. The commander went to stop her.”

“They’re on the ship?”

“Yes.”

Shiro nods. “Dock your ship in Atlas’ lower hanger and take care of your injured. We’ve got it from here.” The transmission cuts off and he opens a channel to their fighter wing. “Scramble the MFEs. Priority is keeping the focus away from the planet. Try not to cause too much damage to the body of the ship.”

Shiro steps off the podium. “Sam, you’ve got the helm.”

Sam smoothly moves into place, but Shiro is stopped by Enian. “Sir, where are you going?”

Olkari often struggle with following orders when they don’t understand the reasoning behind them. Usually, Shiro appreciates the check on his decisions, but right now he doesn’t have time to explain. “I’m going onto that ship.”

Once he’s beyond the bridge Shiro pulls on his helmet and opens a private channel to Griffin. “Lieutenant, I’m going to need you to take me over to the ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

Griffin’s MFE is the last left in the bay when Shiro reaches it and he wastes no time climbing into the back seat.

The battleship doesn’t seem to have any fighters, just turret guns and the main cannon. Compared to the war this is child’s play for their squadron. The ship doesn’t have the maneuverability to target the MFEs with its cannon, but they’re firing the thrusters anyway.

“They’re going to try and fire on the Atlas,” Griffin says, voice tinny through Shiro’s helmet.

Shiro chuckles. “They can try. Once I’m free, have your team focus on the cannon. See if you can disable it without blowing us all up.”

“Roger that,” Griffin answers as they slide in under the pinpoint laser fire. “Get him back, sir.”

Shiro doesn’t bother responding, he’s already jetting across to an airlock.

The ship is quiet once he gets inside, nearly deserted. No droids here, and not enough crew for a full staff. Shiro’s been in enough Galra battleships to know his way around, and he starts off towards the bridge.

The lights flicker off and on as he runs, courtesy of the MFE’s bombardment.

He hears the bridge before he sees it, angry growled shouts that echo down the hall. There’s a massive metal door in his way and for a moment he wishes for the power of his Galra prosthetic.

Or at least the ability to work the palm scanners.

But then there’s a shower of sparks and Kosmo is standing in front of him. Shiro places his hand on the wolf’s mane and a moment later he’s somewhere else. A deserted corner. And they’re not alone.

“Keith!”

Keith’s Blade mask fizzles away. “That explains the power outages.”

“We need to get off the ship.”

“No,” Keith insists. He was leaning against the bulwark, but now he staggers to his feet. He’s keeping weight off of one of his legs. “We’re finishing this.”

Keith rests a hand on Kosmo’s back and Shiro places his own hand on top of it.

A blink and they’re on the bridge.

It’s in chaos. Warning lights flash violet on consoles and the crew rushes between stations. Beyond them, the MFEs streak past, their lasers strafing the battleship.

The largest Galra, who Shiro assumes is the warlord, immediately notices their appearance.

“Halfbreed,” she spits.

“Mynveig,” Keith replies calmly. “You’re outmatched. Surrender. You and your people will be treated fairly.”

The sneer on her face is cruel, emphasizing the scar that bisects her mouth and jaw. “You coalition cowards never understand. Victory or death!” She raises her pistol towards them.

Shiro sends his Altean arm to deflect her shot, but Keith is already moving, disappearing along with Kosmo and reappearing next to her, forcing her arm up and away, wrenching the pistol from her grasp. She reaches for Keith, but Kosmo has already teleported him away and she stumbles as her target vanishes.

By the time she straightens up, Keith has her own pistol leveled at her head.

 “Do it,” she growls. Her crew is frozen at their stations around the bridge, watching the showdown.

Keith lowers the weapon, though not so far as to leave him open to attack. “The victory is ours, and we say you live.”

Shiro stands watch as Keith disarms the crew and has Kosmo transport them into the Atlas’ brig. It’s fortunate that they’re already on the way to Daibazaal, where the Coaltition has established a war crimes tribunal.

Once the last of the marauders are gone, Shiro slips an arm around Keith’s back just as the last of his stubborn strength gives out.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Keith says, but doesn’t move out of Shiro’s hold.

Shiro talks him down through the fading adrenaline rush, and when Kosmo returns he directs the wolf to the Atlas’ medbay. Shiro lets command know that they’re aboard, but doesn’t return to the bridge. Sam can handle the cleanup.

Keith’s going to be okay, but he’s spending the night under observation. That happens a lot to Keith, who likes give evasive answers when asked if he’s sustained any head injuries Beyond what’s likely a concussion, he has a sprained ankle, some laser burn, and a smattering of deep bruises.

Shiro settles into the chair beside Keith’s bed, Kosmo curls up at the foot of it. They keep up conversation until the pain meds kick in and knock Keith out. Shiro has Kosmo retrieve his datapad and passes time by working through the inevitable after-action paperwork. He pokes at the form one-handed, his left hand interlaced with Keith’s.

“Hey.”

Shiro glances up to find Hunk poking his head through the medbay door. There’s only one other member of Keith’s team here, passed out on the far side of the room.

Shiro runs his thumb absently over Keith’s fingers. “Hey, Hunk. He’s out cold right now.”

“That’s cool,” Hunk reassures. “I just wanted to see him, you know? Make sure he’s really okay.” Hunk sits on the next bed over, hands on his knees.

“The docs say he’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. He’s tough. Even for the Galra.”

Shiro can’t disagree. He just wishes he had less cause to have an opinion on the matter.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” Hunk says.

It’s a weird thing to say, and Shiro really looks at him for the first time. Hunk has always worn his heart on his sleeve and right now he seems uncomfortable.

 “You’ve been really busy,” Hunk points out. He forestalls Shiro’s next question by continuing, “Keith didn’t say anything, it’s just something that I’ve noticed.”

In all the action and tumult, Shiro forgot about everything else. Not that it would have made a difference. He doesn’t know how to explain that to Hunk, though. Doesn’t want to talk about such petty problems with Keith lying here, unconscious.

Hunk continues anyway. “I learned a lot about leadership from you, but I think I might have learned more from Keith.”

Hunk says it almost apologetically, but Shiro doesn’t take offense. He’d always known that Keith would be a good leader. Hunk and Keith bonded at some point, and Shiro wouldn’t trade that for anything.

“Do you remember when we found out Keith was part Galra?”

Shiro huffs out a laugh. “Do I remember Keith fighting endless waves of Blades for over a day?”

Hunk manages a chagrined smile. “Yeah, probably a little more memorable on your end.”

“A little.”

“But do you remember how Allura reacted?”

“Yes.” And of course he does. Shiro had tried to step in at one point, but Keith stopped him. Even knowing that Allura eventually got over it, Shiro thinks maybe he made the wrong call. Maybe he should’ve said something anyway.

“I asked Keith about it, back then. I wondered why he didn’t say something to her. Know what he told me?”

Though he has his guesses, Shiro doesn’t. He shakes his head.

“He said, ‘if you have to ask someone for respect, it’s already a lost cause.’ I used to think he was a little too pessimistic, but I kind of get it now.”

It sounds like Keith, toeing the line between pessimism and realism. But Hunk’s not just here to reminisce. For someone becoming ever more adept at diplomacy, it’s a bit ham-fisted. “And what’s your point?”

“I know you guys love each other,” Hunk says. “But for leaders you both suck at communicating. Figure it out. Tell Keith I said to feel better.”

With that, he gets up and leaves.

Shiro sits in shock for a moment more before he cracks up. It feels a little strained after a moment, a little too giddy, feeding off the hangover from his adrenaline rush. He chokes the laughter off before it can turn into something hysterical.

Keith sleeps right through.

They make it to New Daibazaal only a couple quintants late.

The Atlas remains in orbit. Shiro and the Coalition don’t like the optics, having landed on Altea, but Krolia and Kolivan insist. New Altea is sparsely populated, the Altean people on the brink of extinction. New Daibazaal has the opposite problem. Once it reappeared, billions of the Galra diaspora wanted to return home. It’s a continual headache for the Galra Commonwealth’s new parliament, and a security risk for the Atlas.

Instead Shiro and a selection of the crew descend to the planet’s surface in a dropship. Keith’s team is there as well, bandaged but mostly whole.

They’re greeted by a member of the parliament, a severe looking Galra who even towers over Kolivan.

Keith’s team disappears with Kolivan to discuss Blade activities and their recent run-in with Mynveig. Shiro and his crew are shown to the imperial compound. The vast palace once housed Zarkon and his family, but now serves as the seat of power for Parliament.

The meetings last all day and by the end Shiro is dead on his feet. He makes his way to the diplomat housing, intending to crash early, but when the door slides open he finds Keith in casual clothes, tying off the end of his braid.

“Are you going somewhere?” Shiro asks, allowing the door to close behind him.

Keith must see the exhaustion on his face, because he flashes Shiro a tight smile. “I was hoping we both could? Dinner with Krolia.”

And Shiro loves Krolia, he truly does, but he’s tired. It’s been a long day and, what’s more, home with Keith doesn’t feel like the escape it once did. He shouldn’t blame Keith for that.

He shouldn’t.

Shiro collapses onto the long couch. “I’m sorry,” he says, the only words that come to mind.

Keith understands immediately. “You don’t want to come.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Is that really it?”

Shiro glances over, but Keith’s no longer meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Keith’s hands are buried in Kosmo’s fur. “Nothing. Nothing. Get some rest, okay?” With a flash, they’re both gone from the room.

Shiro wakes the next morning, alone.

The bed in their suite at what was once the Imperial Compound is firm, just one step above sleeping on the floor. He’d gone to bed early, before Keith got back.

He wanders into the small sitting area, which is empty as well.

It seems obvious that Keith didn’t come back last night.

A pit sits low in his stomach as he puts on his dress uniform that morning.

He’s in meetings all morning with members of the Galran parliament. Krolia is present as well in her role as a representative to the Coalition, along with Kolivan. She greets Shiro cordially and not unkindly. Shiro is reminded, once again, that she worked deep cover for years.

The meetings go well. They break for lunch and Shiro manages to make small talk as the attendees move down to the cafeteria. After picking out his food he chooses a quiet corner to eat.

Krolia sits down next to him. In lieu of a plate of food she holds a bright purple fruit with a waxy skin. When she bites in, it snaps like an apple.

“The Galra don’t have marriage,” Krolia says, apropos of nothing. “Did you know that?”

“No,” Shiro replies, already intensely uncomfortable with the topic. He does his best to keep a calm façade, because he’d rather chew his remaining arm off than suggest to Keith’s mom that he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life with her son.

“Keith’s father and I weren’t married, but he explained how Earth marriage worked. It’s binary. We don’t see relationships like that. For us there are many levels, many steps that signify deeper and more profound connections.”

“That’s beautiful,” Shiro says, because it is.

“It is traditional for some of us to mark these levels with actions, or gifts. I believe it’s similar on Earth.”

“Uh, yes,” Shiro replies. “There are rings, engagement rings.”

“Exactly.” Krolia’s smile is perfectly pleasant as she takes another bite, but Shiro starts to wonder how many people saw that smile in their last moments. “I saw your watch.”

The abrupt change of subject throws him. “Uh, yes. It was a family heirloom, lost in the war. Keith found it.” The previous conversation catches up with him a beat late. “Oh, is this…”

“A timepiece can be such a gift for the Galra, yes.” Krolia takes Shiro’s hand in hers, turning it over to peer at the watch’s face. “I don’t know my son nearly as well as you do, but I’m aware that he has a hard time facing rejection.”

“I wouldn’t have rejected it,” Shiro insists. “Or him.”

She pats the back of Shiro’s hand and relinquishes her hold. “I know that, and he does, too.”

She sounds so sure.

Before he has a chance to decide how to respond, she gives him a warm smile and leaves.

Shiro heads back to his office.

It should be reassuring, that Keith is signaling a deeper commitment to their relationship. And it is, to a certain extent. That’s what Shiro wants.

But Keith not feeling comfortable enough to say so is exactly the problem.

He spends the next few vargas stewing over the issue before he’s forced to pull himself together for a meeting with the MFE squadron. Their numbers have expanded, and the original four pilots now all lead their own flights.

It’s a good distraction from his personal issues. When the meeting wraps up Shiro asks Griffin to stick around and talk battle strategy. Griffin has a solid grasp on the basics, the things taught in class, but he has a hard time with improvisation.

He’s also been distracted all meeting.

“Something on your mind, Lieutenant?”

Griffin startles, but quickly returns his gaze to the datapad. “It’s not mission-relevant.”

That’s a little unusual. Griffin’s such a stick-in-the-mud about protocol that Shiro forgets he has a life outside the uniform. It’s an uncharitable thought, especially since Keith’s managed to eke out a friendship with his former rival. It’s been good for both of them—Keith deserves friends and Shiro can see his influence in Griffin’s battle strategies, which have become more innovative over the past year.

“Is it something I can help with?” Shiro asks, because even if they’re not friends, he cares about his crew.

Griffin takes a long moment to consider the question, which is a bad sign. “It’s about Commander Kogane.”

Shiro probably shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. “Oh?”

“I don’t want to presume….”

Shiro sighs. “You can speak freely.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with you and the Commander,” Griffin starts, clearly still uncomfortable speaking like this to his commanding officer. “And I don’t really want to know. But Commander— Keith doesn’t know either. Which means that whatever it is, he can’t fix it. And that’s not fair to him. Sorry, sir.”

Shiro’s never bought into the Garrison’s military hierarchy. He accepts command, but he doesn’t like to exert power over the people under him. Voltron was a family and he would like the Atlas crew to be the same.

All the same, it’s embarrassing to be dressed down like over his personal life by his subordinate.

He forces a genial smile. “Thank you for your concern, James.”

Despite having time to cool off as the workday winds down, Shiro is still annoyed when he gets back to their suite that evening. Keith is there, must have come home at some point after being gone all night. He’s reading something on his tablet, Kosmo stretched out on the floor next to him, head in Keith’s lap.

Shiro’s relief at seeing him is quickly overrun by his simmering annoyance.

“Did you talk to Griffin about me? About us?”

Strategically, this is probably not the best opener, as is evident by the way Keith’s face goes blank. “Yeah, a little.”

“That’s completely inappropriate.”

Keith stands up, displacing Kosmo’s head from his lap. “You talk about us with Matt.”

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“Matt’s not your direct report, for starters.”

“The whole Atlas crew is your direct report,” Keith says. 

“The Blades aren’t.”

“I can’t talk to anyone else on the Atlas?” Keith fixes him with a level stare. 

It’s an unreasonable request, Shiro knows that. He should take it back, be sensible. He can’t alienate Keith from his human friends, especially while they’re on mission and communication off the Atlas is spotty.

But Shiro’s hurt and embarrassed and in that moment he chooses to be petty.

Keith’s voice is preternaturally calm as he speaks. “I think we should talk about this later.”

“Well, I think we should talk about it now,” Shiro presses.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Oh, I know that,” Shiro says. He feels like a brat even as he says it. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Keith snaps.

“We never fight!”

“Is that what this is about? Why would I fight with you?” Keith asks, voice rising in frustration to match Shiro’s. It should feel like a win, and in some small way it does, but that doesn’t stop the ache that’s filling Shiro’s chest.

“Couples fight!”

“Not all couples fight.”

“Yes, they do, Keith, of course they do!” Shiro is worked up. He should calm down, take a breath, use any of the strategies he’s taught cadets for managing their temper. He doesn’t. “People who care about each other have fights. Like when I work late or forgot our anniversary or don’t do my share around the apartment.”

Keith throws his hands out. “The hell are you talking about? Why would I get mad about that?” he yells.

“Because that’s normal!”

“Maybe for you.”

That stops Shiro in his tracks. “Excuse me?”

Keith folds his arms up, tight against his body. “You think we should fight because that’s how it was with Adam, right? I remember. And… and probably with Curtis, too.” It costs Keith to say this. Curtis and Shiro’s marriage is the third rail of their relationship.

Keith wasn’t there to see it fall apart, but he’s right. Before the divorce they’d fought more than they’d talked.

“Maybe that was normal for your other relationships,” Keith says. “It’s not like I have a lot of experience here. But they didn’t last. Why do you want me to be like that? Why do you want us to be like that?”

The worst thing is that Keith’s right. Shiro was trying so hard to fit Keith into the molds formed by Shiro’s other relationships. But they’d ended for good reasons. How could he think that would be a good idea?

He tries to explain. “I just want to know that you trust me. That you trust that I won’t leave if you get a little mad or if we have a fight.”

Keith is unimpressed, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Well, I’m pretty pissed at you right now, if that helps.”

Shiro chokes on a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “I really screwed this up, huh?”

Keith sighs, pushing his hand through his hair. It’s down, spilling over his shoulders. Even in his anger, perhaps especially in his anger, he’s beautiful. “You should have talked to me. You say you don’t know if I trust you, but how can I if you don’t tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry.” Shiro means it, he can only hope Keith understands that.

Keith sits tentatively on the couch and inclines his head at the space next to him. Shiro joins him. The scant few inches between them feel like a chasm.

But they’ve crossed longer distances for each other.

Keith meets his eyes. “I didn’t get mad about the other stuff because it doesn’t matter to me. I love you, and part of that is loving your job.” He grins, a small, self-deprecating thing. “I don’t like when we’re apart, but I understand. Just like you understand when training with my team or a mission runs late.”

“I do. I do understand.”

“Was this why you’ve been…” Keith’s newfound abilities at diplomacy fail him.

“Such an asshole?” Shiro supplies. “Yeah. It wasn’t supposed to last this long. I thought it’d be easier to piss you off.”

Keith smirks. “Patience yields focus.”

“Hoisted by my own petard,” Shiro laments overdramatically, before sobering. “I wanted you to understand that you can’t scare me away by getting angry. But… I’m worried I did the opposite.”

“You think you scared me off?”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

That must be too much for Keith, who does what he’s always done and crosses the miles between them. He swings himself over Shiro’s lap until he’s straddling him, pushing him back into the couch. His hands frame Shiro’s face, cool against his skin.

“You can’t scare me, Takashi.” Keith lowers his head until their foreheads touch. “You think I’d give up on you that easy? Just because you were lazy and late and play shitty, loud music?”

It sounds stupid, now, with Keith pressed against him. “I’m sorry.”

Shiro’s too close to see Keith’s smile, but he can tell it’s there from the way Keith’s eyes crinkle up in the corners. “And you won’t do it again.”

“And I won’t do it again.”

“Good.”

So close together, it’s hard to tell who moves first or if it’s both of them as their lips meet. Shiro’s hands tighten around Keith’s waist, pulling him in.

A thought occurs to Shiro and he pulls away, albeit reluctantly. “Oh, god, this means Lance was right.” Keith makes a face and Shiro elaborates. “He said you just don’t care about any of that petty shit.”

“Please don’t talk about Lance when we’re making out.”

“Deal.”

Shiro’s lucky that they’re still on Daibazaal for most of a movement. He finds Krolia the next morning and has Veronica reschedule all his meetings with crewmembers. That gives him enough time to make his way into the city.

It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for.

Keith’s gone at meetings all day as well, but when he returns home for dinner Shiro is already in their suite, unpacking some food. It would be better if he could cook for them, but takeout will have to do.

They eat in peace. Keith sneaks a few pieces of heavily seasoned meat to Kosmo under the table, and Shiro pretends he doesn’t see.

“I never gave you an anniversary gift,” Shiro starts.

“It’s fine,” Keith says with a shrug. Shiro believes him this time. Keith’s low expectations no longer seem like a slight against Shiro.

All the same, he wants to exceed them. Keith deserves that. He deserves more than Shiro can give him.

But this is a good start. Shiro pulls the rectangular box out and places it before Keith. They don’t have wrapping paper. The box is plain and black and Keith stares down at it for a long time.

Shiro breaks the silence. “Krolia told me about the watch, about what it’s supposed to symbolize. I wish you’d told me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Keith insists, weakly. “It’s not even, really… I didn’t exactly grow up with Galra traditions.”

“But you’d like to feel closer to their traditions,” Shiro says. “I get it. I’ve been there myself.” Keith snaps his head up, but Shiro just smiles. “Open it.”

Keith opens the box. Shiro can tell he understands what it means.

The blade is smaller than his old one, which was designed for Krolia’s larger hand. The blacksmith works with the Blade of Marmora, so their logo glows on the guard. The blade is curved and single-edged, less a dagger and more a curved knife. What shape it will transform into is up to Keith.

Shiro only found out after the war that Keith had lost his Blade of Marmora dagger when Zethrid cornered him on that volcano. The memory still sends a chill through Shiro, recalling standing frozen in horror as Zethrid used Keith as a human shield.

He’d never replaced that blade, but it had obviously been a devastating loss.

“How…” Keith whispers.

“With Daibazaal restored there’s access to luxite again,” Shiro says. “I know it can’t replace the one you lost, but…”

“You know about the watch,” Keith says, still staring down at the gift. He hasn’t taken the knife out of the box yet. “Then do you know…”

“I know ,” Shiro confirms. “I talked to your mom about it, actually.”

A weapon, the food. Symbols of Shiro’s willingness to defend and provide for their family.

“Shiro…”

“I want you to know that I’m in this for the long haul.”

Keith pushes out of his seat. “Get up. Stand up.”

Startled, Shiro automatically complies. Was there some Galra tradition or ceremony that Krolia didn’t explain? He hoped there was no sparring involved.

Shiro’s world spins as Keith throws him over his shoulder.

“Keith,” he laughs. Keith's Galra-augmented strength is always impressive.

And hot.

Keith doesn’t answer, just carries him to their bedroom. He throws Shiro down, who winces as his back hits the hard bed. Galra furniture is apparently made for more sturdy people. There isn't much time to complain, though, as Keith climbs over him.

“Is this you accepting the gift?”

But Keith’s always preferred actions over words, and that’s how he answers. Shiro knows better than to complain.