#vldfic

“Get off my bike if you’re gonna hurl,” Keith tells him with a glance over his shoulder, and jumps to the ground himself, turning quickly to steady Shiro as he slumps forward. “Hey, man, are you with me? Shiro?”

Shiro stirs and mumbles something incomprehensible, his eyes flickering open halfway before closing again. Whatever the Garrison medics gave him must have been pretty strong stuff. Keith sighs and shakes his head, pulling Shiro’s arm around his shoulders to help him down from the bike.

“So, uh, what’s this place?” the scrawny one - Lance - asks, looking up at the house. “Some kinda secret safe house, or what?”

“It’s where I live,” Keith replies, frowning at him. “It’s just my house.”

“Wow,” Lance says. “What a dump.”

Fury prickles hot under his skin, but Keith bites his tongue and tries to ignore the jab. “Come on,” he says, putting an arm around Shiro’s back to support him. Fuck, he can feel his ribs through the thin, ragged shirt he’s wearing. What the hell happened to him? “Let’s get inside, okay?”

He pushes open the door and pulls Shiro over the threshold, moving to kick it closed just as the tiny cadet with the glasses he doesn’t recognize moves to come inside. “Hey, wait,” the kid protests, quickly stepping in to stop him. “What about us?”

“I didn’t mean you,” Keith says, trying to push him back outside with one hand.

“What?” Lance protests, scrambling down from the bike to join his tiny friend. “But we totally helped with your rescue mission!”

“More like got in the way,” Keith snaps. “I came back for Shiro, no one asked you three to get involved—“

“So you’re just gonna strand us out in the desert?” Lance argues, gesturing at the open landscape with one hand. “Where are we gonna go when you live out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Not my problem,” Keith tells him, shrugging. “You’re the ones who decided to hitchhike with me.”

“I’m not leaving til I get to talk to him,” says the one in glasses stubbornly, ducking under Keith’s arm to push his way into the house.

“And we can’t go back to the Garrison,” Lance says, wedging his foot in the door before Keith can slam it shut. “We’re gonna get suspended, or expelled like you—“

“Shut up!” Keith snarls, his free hand curling into a fist at his side.

“Keith?” Shiro asks, his voice thick and slurred as he lifts his head. “Where… what’s…”

“You awake now?” Keith asks, trying to focus on Shiro instead of the others trying to intrude. “Come on, you should sit down.”

“The Garrison,” he mumbles. “They need to - I’ve got to tell them…”

“So, uh,” says the big guy as he appears in the open doorway behind Lance, looking a little unsteady.  “What’s - what happens now? What’s the plan? Do we have a plan?”

“We don’t have a plan,” Keith says, annoyed. “I do, and it doesn’t involve any of you.”

“Well, he’s obviously not thinking clearly,” Lance says, jerking his head at Shiro. “Iverson just tried to lock him up and he wants to go back there!”

“Yeah, no offense, sir,” the big one adds, “but any of us going back to the Garrison right now seems like a bad idea.”

“You don’t… understand,” Shiro manages, trying to push himself upright. “They’re coming, we don’t have much time, I need to get in contact with Flight Command—“

“Sir, I don’t know if the Garrison can be trusted,” the little one says, standing up straighter himself. “They hid the truth about what happened to the Kerberos mission—“

“Stop!” Keith tells him, glowering. “All of you, stop talking—“

He breaks off as Shiro sways and slumps sideways, ducking under his arm again to support him.

“Look,” he says, “if you all want to stay here for the night, fine. But I don’t want you getting in the way, and I don’t want any of you bothering Shiro right now, got it?”

He crosses the room carefully, still supporting most of Shiro’s weight, and helps him to the couch to sit down.

“Hey, man,” he says, perching on the arm of the couch to rest a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

Shiro stirs a little and groans faintly, trying to lift his head, but if he’s trying to say something he doesn’t manage it. Keith swallows hard.

“He’s gonna need some time to sleep off the sedative they gave him,” he mutters aloud, more for his own benefit than for the bunch of strangers who are now standing in his living room. “Guess asking any questions is gonna have to wait until morning.”

“What about the aliens?” the big guy asks, fidgeting nervously. “You know, the ones he said are coming? Here? To Earth?”

“What did I just say?” Keith asks, annoyed. “I don’t know any more than you do, and Shiro’s still too out of it to tell anyone anything.”

“I mean, yeah, but,” he protests, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, do something? Tell somebody?”

“Who?” asks the little one, adjusting his glasses. “Who is gonna believe us when even the Garrison wouldn’t listen?”

“Okay, okay, just because Iverson wouldn’t listen,” Lance begins.

“I thought you didn’t wanna go back,” the big guy reminds him.

Lance shakes his head quickly. “Oh, no, no, no, no, I don’t. Even if we wouldn’t get court-martialed, my sister would kill me. I’m just saying--”

“Will all of you be quiet?” Keith shouts at the top of his lungs, and the three cadets all fall silent. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, or what we should do,” he adds after a moment. “What I do know is that my friend needs time to recover, and my one priority right now is to make sure he’s gonna be okay.”

No one speaks, the three cadets all staring at him wide-eyed, and he’s suddenly far too aware that he looks disheveled and run-down, hardly the picture of some kind of hero even if two of them didn’t know him as that kid who lost his mind last year and got expelled from the academy. Not exactly the kind of guy who inspires trust.

“I’m…” he says, and swallows. “I’m gonna help Shiro lay down. All of you can fight over who gets the couch, or whatever, I don’t care, just - stay down here, okay?”

“Dibs,” Lance says, looking around at the others. The big guy groans.

Keith rolls his eyes, getting to his feet. “Come on, man,” he tells Shiro softly, taking his arm to pull him up. “Let’s get you up to bed.”

Shiro’s still barely conscious, and he has to lean on Keith’s shoulders heavily to stay on his feet, but with Keith’s hand on his back to support and guide him he’s alert enough to walk, at least, and he only stumbles a few times on the stairs. “Keith?” he groans under his breath as they reach the top, his voice still slurred and heavy. “Is… that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Keith says, guiding him into the unused bedroom. “Take it easy, I’ve got you.”  Their footsteps stir up dust from the floor, and he wrinkles his nose, trying not to sneeze.

“Where… are we?” Shiro asks, and coughs weakly.

“My house,” Keith tells him, and swallows. “I mean - my dad’s house, you know, where I…”

“You’ve gotta warn them,” he manages, trying to pull himself upright. “They need to know, Keith, if Iverson won’t listen…”

“I know,” Keith assures him. “I promise, we’ll figure things out in the morning, okay? Right now I think you need to sleep.”

"...Yeah," he agrees slowly, slumping against Keith's shoulder. "Okay."

He all but collapses onto the dusty mattress when Keith goes to help him sit down, and crawls into bed with a groan, struggling clumsily to pull at the covers. Keith tugs the quilt out from under him, swallowing a lump in his throat as he drapes it over Shiro's shoulders. "Night, Shiro," he says quietly.

There's no answer; Shiro's already lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Keith sighs and brushes his hair out of his face, turning away. From the closet he pulls out one of his dad's old t-shirts, examining it in the dim light to determine it's probably around Shiro's size. As quietly as he can, he digs out a pair of jeans and Dad's old vest as well, grimacing at the musty smell of clothes long left untouched. He'll need to wash them first, but Shiro's going to need something other than those rags to wear.

The others in the living room are still awake; he can hear them talking as he creeps back downstairs, but they go quiet before he comes around the corner. At least if they're pretending to sleep they won't try to talk to him, he thinks, and hurries past to the laundry before any of them change their minds about that.

When he’s put the clothes into the wash and started the cycle, he sits down next to the machine and leans back against the cool metal, drawing his knees up to his chest.

In the quiet, with just the rumble of the machine to keep him company, the reality of what’s just happened finally starts to sink in, and he screws his eyes shut as they well up with tears. He’s not going to cry about it, not now, not when he finally knows for sure that Shiro’s okay - and especially not when there are three near-strangers in his living room who could overhear. He takes a deep breath through his teeth to steady himself, lets it out slowly so it rumbles in his chest. He’s not going to cry.

He’d never really thought Shiro was dead. Not when the Garrison reported the loss of the mission, anyways, because the upper brass must have been kidding themselves if they thought passing it off as pilot error would fool anyone. But when weeks passed, and then months, with no renewed contact, no sign of anyone on the crew, no more information on what could have happened - a part of him had started to think he was never going to see him again. And now that he’s back, home —

Keith’s breath catches in his throat and comes out as a choked sob. Shit. He buries his face in his folded arms, tears burning in his eyes. He’s not going to cry, he tells himself, swallowing hard. He’s not.

A tear leaks through his lashes despite his best efforts to fight it back; he feels it hot on his cheek before it runs down into the sleeve of his jacket. He sobs again and presses a hand to his mouth, biting into his skin to smother the sound.

Pull it together, Keith, he tells himself. Shiro needs you. His teeth dig into the heel of his hand until it hurts, until he can feel his pulse in his palm. He takes a deep breath and lets it out before wiping his eyes with the end of his sleeve. He has to be ready to help when Shiro's up - getting him these new clothes is a step, but he'll need to eat, too, and he'll probably still be as confused and frantic as before when he comes around. He's going to need someone around he can count on.

The washer spins to a stop slowly, and he pulls out the change of clothes to throw them in the dryer before he heads upstairs. He can leave them down there for a bit once they're dry if he has to, and he's still much too aware of the three cadets in the living room who he hopes are asleep by now.

At the top of the stairs, he pauses in front of Dad's room, looking around the edge of the door at Shiro where he's sprawled on his back on top of the covers, motionless except for the fair rise and fall of his chest. For a minute he just watches him, tries to keep his own breathing steady despite the tightness in his chest and the lump in his throat. He's not going to cry.

“I’ll do my best,” Varok grumbles, and grimaces as she grabs onto his ears to support herself. As she pushes his face to the side to stand up, he sees Keith, and opens his mouth to say, “Vrani, wait--” before she leaps towards the machinery. 

Startled, she looks around, already in midair, and only half-catches the ledge she’s trying to grab hold of. “Careful!” Keith shouts, and she yelps as her claws skid off the metal. Before she slips any further, though, Varok is on his feet to catch her, hoisting her up to his chest with both arms. 

“I think it is time to be finished with this game, kitten,” he tells her, turning towards Keith. “Vrani has told me all about her new friend who plans to take her somewhere there are no soldiers. Of course, she tells us about many new friends, but most of them have been her own invention.”

“Is it time yet?” Vrani asks, squirming to get out of Varok’s grasp. “Are we going?”

“Yep, we’re going,” Keith says. “You wanna come down to the docking bay with me?”

Her face lights up, and she looks up at Varok with wide eyes. “Oh, can I? Can I?”

“The others are going down to their quarters to get anything they want to bring,” Keith tells him as he grabs his blade from the console and straps the sheath back onto his armor. “You should probably go do the same.”

“Understood,” Varok agrees. “You better tell Izan what’s happening, though, she won’t like it if she doesn’t know where Vrani is.” 

“Come on, kiddo,” Keith tells her as Varok sets her down. “You ever been on a shuttle before?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m not allowed. Avka says it’s too dangerous.” 

“What’s too dangerous?” Izan asks as they’re leaving the room. “What trouble are you getting into?”

“Keith said he’s gonna take me to the docking bay!” Vrani says cheerfully, and grabs onto his hand. 

“I’m coming with,” Izan says. “Stick close to me, and don’t touch anything.”

“Aw, no fun,” Vrani pouts. 

“You’re about to go into space,” Keith tells her. “Won’t that be exciting enough?”

“Well,” she says, considering that. “I guess you’re right.”

“If you behave, I’ll let you watch what I’m doing,” he tells her. “Maybe someday when you’re older, you can be a pilot too.”

“Will you teach me?” she asks, tugging on his arm. “Atka teaches me about the machines sometimes when he works. I can’t touch them but he says maybe when I’m older, will you show me how to fly a shuttle so I can do it when I’m older?” 

“Your father should not be teaching you how to run the mining machinery,” Izan says, glowering at the technician she’d called Martek. “And your new friend will not teach you how to fly a cargo shuttle. Martek, I trust you to get Vrani’s things, and mine.” 

“Yes, dear,” Martek replies, nodding. “We’ll meet you there.” 

“Go,” Kolivan says. “I will finish the task you started in the control room.” 

“Thanks,” Keith replies, and heads for the lift, Vrani still clinging to his hand and Izan close on his heels. 

—

The hangar’s outer edge overlooks the canyon running alongside the base, two bay doors side by side at one end, a curved docking station for imperial cruisers at the other. Keith’s eyes dart around the room, taking in the stacked shipping crates and the four angled cargo shuttles with red lights along the sides lined up and waiting to be loaded. 

“Whoa,” Vrani says as he pulls her towards the shuttles, her claws digging into his palm through his glove. “It’s big.”

“A lot bigger than the rest of the building, huh?” he says, smiling faintly at her, though he can’t help thinking that as big as it is compared to the other sections of the base, this little loading area would fit easily twice over into the castle’s hangar. 

“Don’t wander off, Vrani,” Izan warns her gently. 

“Avkaaaaaa,” she complains. “I’m not doing anything. And Keith’s holding onto me, anyways.” She pulls halfheartedly at his hand to demonstrate. 

“Any difference between the shuttles?” Keith asks, glancing back at Izan. “I don’t want to take one that’s damaged.”

Izan shrugs. “This third one has the newest engines. They’re fast, for a cargo shuttle, but very loud. The first is the quietest, but it’s slower, and shakes a little, and the second has a bad thruster so it can’t get up to full speed. The fourth lists left, but it goes the farthest on a single fuel cell.”

“How’s it compare to the others for speed?” Keith asks. “We might need that kind of distance.” 

“It’s about the same as this one,” she says, gesturing at the nearest shuttle. “Perhaps a little slower.” 

“Let’s get it ready for takeoff,” he says, continuing past the first shuttle towards the end of the loading bay. “I want to be ready as soon as the rest of your crew gets here with their things.”

“Aw,” Vrani complains, looking longingly over at the third shuttle as Keith pulls her past it. “I wanna take the fast one.” 

“Didn’t you say you’ve never left the base before?” Keith asks, laughing. “I think this one’s gonna be more than fast enough for you already.” 

“But,” she protests, digging in her heels and pulling back on his hand to stop him. “The other one’s more fast.” 

“And you will not know the difference, Vrani,” Izan tells her firmly. “I thought this rebel was your new friend? You should stop arguing with him.” 

He throws his duffel on the bed and pulls it open to dig around for his running clothes, finding them by feel and getting dressed without turning the lights on. Grabbing his shoes in one hand, he creeps out to the kitchen to get a protein bar from the cupboard, and eats it sitting on the floor while he runs through range of motion to warm up. When he’s finished stretching, he laces up his shoes and pushes himself to his feet, slipping quietly into the hall. 

Even in summer, the desert is cold before the sun comes up, and he shivers a little as he steps outside, wrapping his arms around himself. Even with the chill, he can’t help grinning as he looks out over the flat, open desert, light just starting to creep over the horizon, and takes off running along the dirt track that circles the Garrison base. 

Adam is awake by the time he gets back, standing in the kitchen eating leftovers from dinner, and he looks up startled when the door opens, only to relax when he sees Shiro come in, his shoulders slumping as he sighs. 

“I didn’t think you were up,” he says. “Where were you this early?” 

“Running,” Shiro says, leaning against the wall to unlace his shoes. “I try to do it before it gets too hot.”

“Oh,” Adam says, blinking sleepily. “Right.” 

“Is it cool with you if I shower quick?” he asks, pushing his sweat-slick hair back from his forehead. His heart is still pounding against the inside of his ribs, and he takes a couple deep breaths to steady it. Adam nods, still looking slightly bewildered, and he crosses the room to duck into the bathroom and turn on the water, stretching to cool down as he waits for it to get hot. 

—

Adam is waiting for him when he gets out of his afternoon exam, leaning against the wall with his arms folded behind his back and staring at the floor. “Hey,” Shiro says, surprised. “What’s up?” 

“Come help me get groceries,” Adam says. “I want to be able to make real food.” 

“What, you don’t like the stuff Colleen made for dinner last night?” Shiro asks, incredulous. 

“Of course I did,” Adam says, raising an eyebrow. “But we can’t live all summer off of the leftovers from Mrs Holt’s cooking.”

“Bet we could if we tried,” Shiro says, grinning. “I’m pretty sure she’d feed just about anyone she thinks looks a little too skinny, and you’d definitely qualify.” 

“Thanks,” Adam says, making a face that scrunches up his nose. “Even so, I’m not going to let someone else feed me when I can cook for myself. And leftovers aren’t breakfast.” 

“Sure they are,” Shiro says, shrugging, and heads down the hall with him to the commissary store. “If you want to cook, though, I’m not gonna say no. Just as long as you don’t ask me for help.” 

“Who said I’m cooking for you?” Adam asks, elbowing him in the side. “You only have to help if you want to eat it.” 

“Well, I have a bad habit of ruining anything I touch in the kitchen,” Shiro says with a rueful laugh. “So I guess I’ll have to eat in the caf, instead.” 

“Oh, don’t say that,” Adam says, grinning as he shakes his head. “You can cut vegetables, or do the dishes. Or both. You’ll have to learn how to do some things while I still have restrictions from surgery, you know.”

—

They spend most of their free time that week studying for the next day’s exams, and when they’re not studying, they’re working on unpacking. 

For as little as Shiro brought with him to school, it sure feels like there’s a lot to sort through and put away, and he’s tremendously grateful that at least for his part, he has another few weeks to get settled in before summer courses start. Adam isn’t so lucky, with his surgery on Monday morning, and whenever they take a break from studying he returns to his room to work on reorganizing his things. 

“You know you can put stuff on the shelves in the living room, right?” Shiro tells him, when he peeks into his side of the room to see him glowering at his bookshelves, a box half-full of textbooks and schoolwork sitting open at his feet. 

Adam turns to stare at him as if this suggestion is completely insane. “I want to keep the living room clean,” he says flatly. 

Shiro looks around at his meticulously organized shelves and tidy desk, his bed perfectly made with hotel corners and nothing on top of the dresser but his alarm clock, and wonders what standards of clean Adam isn’t meeting already, because their definitions definitely don’t match. “Uh, okay,” he agrees. “Well, you’re welcome to, if you change your mind.” 

“Thanks, I guess,” Adam says, blinking at him in confusion, and Shiro shakes his head, bewildered, as he ducks out of the room. 

—

“Do you do this every morning?” Adam asks, staring at Shiro as he comes in from his run. He’s standing in the kitchen with a plate of toast and cut fruit, still in his pajamas, his glasses slightly askew on his face.

“Uh, yeah?” Shiro says, shrugging. 

Adam frowns, the toast he’s eating apparently forgotten in his hand. “I’m not an expert,” he says slowly, “but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to take days off from working out.”

“It’s not really a workout,” Shiro says, crossing to the kitchen to grab a banana from the counter. “Back when I did cross-country I ran twice as far as I do most mornings.” He probably still could, but pushing himself farther than he needs to is a stupid risk to take when he knows he might not bounce back from a real injury.

“Don’t you only build muscle when you’re resting?” Adam says, still frowning. 

“I’m not trying to build muscle,” Shiro replies, ducking around Adam to grab the peanut butter from the cabinet. “Even if I wanted to, the cost’s too high, this is just upkeep.” 

“What are you talking about?” Adam asks, still staring at him, and Shiro freezes, his mouth going dry as realization hits him like a punch to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. 

Somehow, in the year they’ve known each other, he’s never told Adam he’s sick. 

“I’m already in good shape,” he says, shrugging again, and tries to laugh. “I’m not gonna push myself harder than I need to and risk getting hurt, you know?” It’s the truth, mostly, and he’s not going to go into the rest when they’ve got exams starting in a couple hours. 

Adam angles his head to the side, considering this with a frown. “Feel like taking a day off would still be healthier,” he says.