#caseyvalhalla

The surprise came when the projection of himself made to abandon Keith. Of course Shiro would never—maybe he didn’t agree with the reckless abandon with which Keith threw himself at the trial, but he would never abandon a teammate, least of all Keith, and it made something painful tear at his insides to see it. And then to see the way Keith’s resolve crumpled, in the face of that. That was another thing entirely. Shiro had been ready to abandon his mission of gaining the Blade’s alliance when it seemed Keith might truly die from their sordid trial. The revelation that Keith had Galra blood was nothing, in the face of almost losing him.

So perhaps Shiro needed a little distance, himself, to consider the whole ordeal, and what those feelings, those actions, meant.

The quiet tension between them persisted as Keith brought Red into its hangar, and Shiro could see the tremble in his limbs when they made their way to the bridge to report back, but he walked tall, and Shiro respected that—admired it, even—and as much as he wanted to reach out and take some of Keith’s weight, he didn’t offer. Still didn’t offer, when Allura’s gaze immediately hardened upon hearing Keith’s revelation, though Keith’s shoulders stiffened defensively, and Shiro couldn’t help his own frown at that, because it didn’t change who Keith was.

Shiro followed him into the corridor once they’d finished their report. There was still planning to be done, coordination with the Blade--but there was always more to done, and they had to take a break to rest. Keith, certainly, needed it.

“Nothing’s changed, you know.” Keith’s steps faltered, then stopped. There was a weariness in the set of his shoulders, in the way he didn’t turn to face Shiro. “She’ll realize it before too long. You’re the same person you’ve always been.” The air between them was thick, the distance tangible. It wasn’t entirely true, that nothing had changed. Something had shifted, between Shiro and Keith, something they would have to figure out. Preferably before Shiro’s heart tried to tear itself out of his chest.

Keith shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “It’s fine.” His tone said it wasn’t, but it also said leave me alone.

Shiro sighed; Keith still had his back to him. “You should go to the med bay, get yourself patched up.”

“I’m fine, Shiro. I just need some rest.”

Thoughts flickered through Shiro’s head, rapid-fire—You could’ve died, you’re not fine; That wasn’t me, you know that, right? Let me help you. I’m here now. Let me in. But Shiro’s throat stuck, his fists clenching with the need to offer comfort, and all he could say was, “Okay.” It took effort—it had never been so hard to say before—to add, “Let me know if there’s anything you want to talk about.”

Keith let out a hum of acknowledgment, and Shiro watched him walk away until a bend in the corridor took him out of sight.

Shiro slumped against the wall, cursing himself. It was true he was protective, fond, of everyone that called this place home, but this was more than that. At least, he thought it was. Maybe it just hurt, to be shut out by the person that he was closest to.  And he realized it was as true for him as it was for Keith—that Shiro was closer to him than anyone else

He had to fix this.

It wasn’t a surprise that Keith wasn’t in the med bay when Shiro got there. It was the same stubborn persistence that had carried Keith in everything else he did, and it was that that drove Shiro to piece together a first aid kit from the Altaen supplies.  (He never ceased to be amazed by how well they had kept, despite ten thousand years of disuse.)

It wasn’t a surprise, either, that Keith wasn’t in his room.  Shiro knew him better than that, but he checked there first, anyway, in a vain hope that he had decided to rest, to take care of himself.

It wasn’t a surprise, then, to find Keith in the hangar with his lion, sitting with his back against a metal leg, his eyes distant, contemplative.  Shiro approached cautiously, watching Keith’s attention shift to him, though he made no move to stop Shiro, or move, himself.

“I said I’m fine, Shiro.”  Despite the protest, Keith’s expression had opened a fraction since earlier, more out of exhaustion than anything, Shiro guessed, but he would take any opening right now.

“Yeah, I heard you.”  Shiro raised the kit up for Keith to see.  “You should still be patched up.”  Shiro resolved himself to argue this, if he had to, because this much, this much he needed to do, but Keith only looked up at him impassively.

“Whatever.”

It was as much of a concession as Shiro would get, and Keith didn’t move to get up, so Shiro dropped to his knees beside him, and tugged at the sleeve of his jacket.  “Come on, then.”

They’d done this for each other innumerable times.  It came with the territory, when they’d accepted their roles as paladins of Volton, so it was easy to drop into the routine of it, and something eased in Shiro, once he’d confirmed that there was no major damage.  A lot of bruising, yes, and a scattering of minor scrapes and cuts, but other than probably being sore for a while, Keith was, in fact, fine.

Still, the silence between them was stifling, rather than the usual companionable quiet they shared, and Shiro found it difficult to draw away when he was finished.

Shiro swallowed around the lump in his throat, his hand—the human one—lingering on Keith’s shoulder.  “Keith…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”  Keith shrugged him off, and pulled his shirt back on, not looking at him.

Shiro felt his mouth thinning at that, red hot emotion boiling up, and his voice came out sharper than he intended when he snapped, “Well maybe I do!”

Keith was looking at him, now, eyes a little wide from Shiro’s uncharacteristic outburst.

Shiro took a breath and sat back against Red, taking his turn to avoid Keith’s gaze, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft.  “I saw it all, you know.  The trial.”

“No shit, Shiro.”

He rolled his head until he could see Keith from the corner of his eye, smiling a little at his fierce determination.  “Not just the combat.  I saw what happened on the lower level—that wasn’t me, Keith.  You have to know that, I would never—”  Shiro’s voice broke a little over the word, and he had to suck in another breath.  “I would never abandon you like that.  I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t leave you there.”  The thought of it still made Shiro’s stomach twist, and he turned his head a little more, to reassure himself that Keith was still there, started to reach out to him, but dropped his hand in the space between them, because Keith had brushed him off.

Keith wasn’t looking at him again, his face turned up towards the ceiling, hands clenched in fists and knees drawn up defensively, and the silence was deafening.

Just when Shiro was about to give it up as a lost cause, Keith spoke, barely a whisper, so that he had to strain to hear it.

“But you did.”

He sounded so small and so lost with those three words, and Shiro wanted to tell him that, no, he didn’t, he was right here.  But he had.  He had, once, and the thought of it, however unintentional it had been when he’d been captured by the Galra, that their work as paladins could very well take him away from Keith again, made pain lance through his chest.

Before he even realized he was moving, Shiro was pulling Keith into his arms, and while Keith didn’t fight, he didn’t relax, either, but Shiro was murmuring his name, over and over, “Keith, Keith, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” voice rough with emotion, and Keith’s hands clutching his jacket made Shiro draw him in closer, rubbing circles in his back, pressed a kiss into his hair because it felt right, and Shiro could feel it, all at once, when the dam broke.

“I couldn’t—Shiro, I can’t!  I can’t lose you again!”  Keith’s voice was thick with tears and Shiro tightened his arms around him, breaking with each of Keith’s shuddering breaths.

How had he missed this?

“Keith, shhh, Keith,” and that wasn’t enough, stroking his hair wasn’t enough, so Shiro drew his hand forward to cup Keith’s warm cheek—the human one, as always, because he wanted to feel what he was doing—and guided him to meet his eyes, thumb gently brushing at the wetness on his face.  He’d never seen Keith so vulnerable, his eyes red and glassy, and it ached.  “I’m here now.”  He pressed a reverent kiss to Keith’s forehead, and then his cheeks, tasting salt, and Shiro felt vulnerable, too, shaken apart by this tangible thing between them.

It was Keith who closed the distance and brought their lips together tentatively, his tears subsiding under Shiro’s steady gaze, the hand on his cheek, and it felt like gravity, natural and inevitable, Keith’s arms winding behind Shiro’s neck like they were meant to be there.  A balm he’d never known he’d needed, and Shiro sighed into it, relief making his shoulders sag.

“I thought I was going to lose you, too,” Shiro murmured against Keith’s hair, some time later, still wrapped around each other

Shiro could hear the smirk in Keith’s voice as he retorted, “Yeah, but then who would be around to save you?”