Chapter Text
A soft, broken sob was lost among the harsh gurgle of his stomach as he retched and coughed the contents into the bowl. Clutching at the rim and gasping, vision blurry.
It came on in the dead of night, like he always remembered nausea did. Waking up from a fitful sleep to a horrid churning in his gut. Denying and denying, swallowing saliva and taking long, deep breaths until he was forced to rush to the nearest bathroom.
And so that was where he was. Hunched over the toilet and spitting bile into the bowl. Ribs heaving, belly aching with exertion.
He went lax when his stomach had nothing left to give, shivering against the bowl, rearing back at the rancid stench. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t rest just yet, not until he pushed himself upward, closing the lid, flushing his mess away.
He went to the sink, cupping a handful of water to his lips. There was a weariness in every move he willed himself to make, a resignation, perhaps. Two or three mouthfuls of water, another splashed on his skin to wash away the grime and tears from his cheeks.
He lifted his head, panting, studying himself in the spattered mirror. He looked as bad as he felt, pale, lips stark against his skin.
He shook his head, returning to bed to shiver and curl in on himself.
The nausea wasn’t gone. Lingering gently in the corners of his awareness.
The shiver intensified, his breath catching behind his teeth, his veins gone cold and his belly stricken with a deep set ache. Lower, intimate. It sent a chill down his spine, flashes of a memory, a hiccup in his throat.
A low dread welled like nausea in his gut.
“Fuck.”
He couldn’t sleep. He closed his eyes and waited for his body to return to it without success. But at the very least he was grateful that he didn’t vomit again.
The lights brightened for the day cycle and he heaved a long sigh. Exhaustion bled into every movement. Sliding his legs out and down to the floor, stepping into the bathroom to brush his teeth, pulling his clothes on. Sweat was beading on his temple by the time he was ready to step into the cockpit. Creeping down his neck. Skin hot despite the chill of the ship.
He swiped his sleeve over his forehead, shaking his limbs out and tilting his neck until it clicked.
“Okay…”
The door slid open and he stepped down, settling into his seat with a grunt, tapping at his controls and setting the final course.
Returning to Earth felt like revisiting the memories of a different person. A person he shut out of his own head a long time ago to spare himself. He couldn’t believe he was going back. His own mind was a stranger to him, but maybe that was to be expected. All things considered.
He wasn’t even sure if he was headed to the right place.
Moving in a daze he barely remembered, he landed his ship at the closest docking bay, murmured something to the people there, and then he was on the back of a hoverbike. Flying across the desert he grew up in.
Funny how he stayed here of all places. He thought he would have moved somewhere green and cool. Away from dust and heat. Full of trees and maybe bordering a lake or an ocean, he himself would have liked that…
But no. The modern right angles and sharp white walls of the residence came into view just as the sun began to set. It was somewhat small, considering the location and the neighborhood of winding mansions up the side of the mountain, but no doubt luxurious. As expected of a retired Admiral and Paladin.
He parked his bike on the street, turning the key in the engine and staring at the door.
There was no vehicle in the driveway, but he wondered if he was home all the same.
Shouldering his pack, he slipped off of his bike and approached the door, breath held, heart racing as he raised his hand, hesitating, and then rasping his knuckles against the wood. Each knock was so loud. He hunched his shoulders, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as if he were being watched. A glance thrown behind him proved that wrong, and yet he remained tense.
He startled to attention at the muffled sound of footsteps, the jiggle of the doorknob as a lock was turned, and then the door swung open.
He met wide eyes, his own burning with the urge to shed tears.
“Keith?”
He swallowed over the lump in his throat.
“Hey, Shiro.”
The man in question looked like he had seen a ghost.
“What…what’re you—“
“Can I crash here for a couple days?” Keith asked, a note of desperation in his tone, a crackle in the facade he was trying to hold on to. Nonchalance, casual.
“I…uh…sure. Yeah, come in.”
Keith pushed past him almost as soon as space was made. His head was heavy and stuffy, his body was slicked with sweat he didn’t notice until he was standing under the air conditioner vent and it all began to cool, condensing and rolling down.
“You…are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Thirsty?”
He glanced at him, silent in confirmation.
Shiro went to the left, and Keith followed him into the vast space. Open with archways above the staircase, a couch that looked cozy enough to rest his head for the night and a large screen built into the white wall. The kitchen felt like a mile away from the living room, separated by a lengthwise island, stools along one side and a sink embedded in the center. Shiro collected a glass from one of the cupboards and filled it with water from the sink.
“Here.”
Keith took it and gulped it down, gasping softly as he finished, setting the cup down and bracing his arms on the island counter.
Shiro was quiet, watching him, and Keith closed his eyes, a tremble in his bones he couldn’t hide.
“Keith…are…are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You look—“
”I’m tired. Just…I’m gonna go lay down.” he rasped, “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Down the hall. Keith—“
He nodded and moved back to the living room, setting his pack down on the floor, shrugging his jacket and boots off, and flopping onto his side. His breath was labored and heavy, fingers digging into his own arms, hot to the touch and yet he was trembling with cold.
“Do you have a blanket?” he wondered, low and hoarse.
There was no reply, only the sound of approaching footsteps, and then a quilt draped over his body and he sighed in relief.
He could feel that questioning gaze for a long time, until his body started to go lax and he began to drift into sleep.
He lurched upward, stumbling in the low light of dawn and taking in his surroundings desperately until he remembered instructions from the previous night and made his way down the hallway. He burst into the first door he encountered and barely closed it behind him, shoving the lid of the toilet up so he could curl over it. Gurgling and retching into the bowl with a wet cough.
He didn’t have much to give.
He rested his cheek against the bowl, panting, quivering, a tear rolling down his nose. Reflex. His body ached and his ribs were thrumming with the aftermath.
He spat the remaining saliva in his mouth out, hoisting himself up with a shuddering sigh to flush it, closing the lid and moving to the sink to rinse his mouth once again. Reminiscent of the past three days.
“God.”
He breathed it into the empty bathroom, hunched over the sink while the water continued to run and swirl down the drain.
By the time he gathered strength in his legs again, startling back to himself and shutting the water off, there was motion behind him.
He turned, meeting curious eyes with bated breath, a chill of terror that perhaps he had already been found out.
“You’re awake?” Shiro prodded, voice low and husky with the remnants of sleep.
“Sorry, had to use the bathroom.” Keith said, “I didn’t mean to wake you guys.”
Shiro made a strange face at that, and then he left him be.
Keith reached for one of the fluffy, white towels hanging by the sink. Patting his face dry, burying his head into it for a moment before he tried to fold it as best he could. Setting it back on the hanger. It didn’t look quite right, but he didn’t have the energy to fix it.
He stepped out into the hallway, peering down toward the back of the house. It seemed to open into another living room, and then a wide sliding door to the backyard. The sun wasn’t exactly coming up yet, but there was a teasing blue illuminating the outside.
A light clatter from the kitchen gathered his attention. The clink of glass as dishes were shifted in a cabinet, perhaps.
Shiro was setting a mug down on the counter before he returned to the cabinets, rummaging around as Keith stared at his back.
“It’s early.” he pointed out.
“It is.”
“You…don’t have to stay up.”
Shiro hummed, “I’m not.” he said, turning with a little packet in his hand, a stop by the fridge, and Keith gulped when he realized his intentions.
“This is for you.”
Shiro gestured with the tea and the little nub of ginger root.
“I heard you, you know.”
Keith shifted in place, ducking his head.
Shiro was quiet for a moment, and he could feel him studying him, but regardless, silence reigned as he chopped little bits off of the shaved root into the mug. He wrapped the tea string around the handle and poured hot water into it when the electric kettle began to boil.
“My mom always used to make this for me when I had the flu or food poisoning.”
“Yeah?” Keith pulled one of the seats out, sitting heavily with a muted wince.
“So which is it?” Shiro prodded. “Flu? Bad goo?”
Keith didn’t reply, crossing his arms pointedly and avoiding his gaze.
“You don’t look very good.”
“Thanks.”
“You look sick, Keith.”
“I’m fine.”
“Pretty sure that’s the dozenth time you’ve said that in less than ten hours.” Shiro exaggerated as he set the mug in front of him. “…we used to talk.”
“Yeah. Key word.” Keith snarked.
Not like it was his fault that they weren’t close anymore.
“You…I tried—“
”No you didn’t. Not since you woke up.” Keith said coolly, “Don’t act like you did because I have fuckin’ memories too, okay?” he breathed a wet laugh, rubbing at his face and taking a sip of the hot beverage. ”I don’t know why I’m here.”
A long beat of deathly quiet followed, and then a soft huff of breath.
“I don’t either.” Shiro whispered, “Care to tell me?”
Keith considered it, the urge was something sudden and unexpected. Begging to pour past his lips, and then a swell of disgust and shame as potent as nausea swallowed it all up and he shook his head. Subtle, barely-there as he took another sip.
“Keith…”
”Where’s…what’s-his-name?” Keith glanced toward the stairs idly, “Your husband? He’s not awake?”
Shiro shifted, crossing his arms and clearing his throat.
“He’s not here.”
“Hm. Garrison business?”
“Keith…don’t you ever read the news?”
“Never have, don’t see a reason to start now.” Keith sipped at his tea.
Shiro made a noise, something like disbelief.
“We divorced two years ago.”
Keith stared at the mug, his own reflection. Dark circles under his eyes, the sickly paleness to his skin. The starkness of the scar against his cheek.
He huffed a laugh, incredulous.
He didn’t believe it.
“You…got a divorce?” he couldn’t help another laugh as he lifted his head to meet Shiro’s solemn expression.
He wasn’t amused, but Keith didn’t really care.
“How long was that?” he took a moment to calculate it in his head, looking at some point on the kitchen cabinets for a beat, “Jesus, like eight months?”
“Ten.”
“Stars, Shiro. Why did you marry him in the first place if it wasn’t even gonna last a fuckin’ year?” he muttered.
“What does that mean?”
“What should it mean? I think it was stupid, is all.” Keith shrugged.
Shiro’s fingers twitched, drawing Keith’s attention up to his furrowed brow, his lips where they quivered.
“I was…” he floundered, unable to come up with a reason, an excuse.
Not as if Shiro needed an excuse. It was selfish of him to think that, but if he was braver in those days he might have slapped him with this dose of reality sooner.
“Stupid?” he offered up. Petty, to be sure, but Shiro sighed, resigned to it with a slight nod.
“Yeah. Guess I was.” he said, soft, an admission that almost seemed like one he hadn’t allowed himself to realize.
“Nobody’s perfect.” Keith said. A harsh lesson he realized on his own after all of that horrid business with the Lions. People like Shiro, for instance, were not perfect.
No matter that his love-addled mind had convinced him of it. Everyone was—in the end—destined to hurt him somehow. He’d forgiven his mom and his dad a long time ago, but with Shiro…his heart still ached. He wasn’t sure if they would ever be the same. If they could be the same.
“Where did you go?”
He blinked up at him, humming for clarification.
Shiro looked almost wistful, looking off toward the window, the tease of a rising sun.
“You left after the wedding.” he said, “I didn’t know until I came back from the honeymoon. Krolia kept saying she’d give me your new comm address…she never did.”
Keith hunched his shoulders, guilt whirling in his gut.
“Allura says you did the same to her, and the others…”
“I needed some time to myself.”
“Three years?” Shiro looked at him, a crease of hurt in his brow. “That’s a lot of time to keep to yourself. At some point I had to start treating you like a memory. A dream I wasn’t sure I really had.”
Keith frowned at him, tilting his head in thought.
“A good dream or a bad dream?” he wondered.
Shiro stared at him, gaze darting between his eyes, lips parting and closing until he finally managed to rasp:
“I’m not sure.”
Keith’s breath caught in his chest. Words were stolen away and all he could do was keep that intense gaze. Study the hurt he didn’t think Shiro deserved to feel when he pulled away first. Study the stubborn defiance burning in his silver-flecked eyes. See the veil they were for the concern underneath. Concern he wished Shiro might have shown after his resurrection.
He broke it at last only to wrap his arms around himself in a weak mimicry of the tenderness he craved.
Neither of them spoke a word.
Keith couldn’t muster one if he tried.
Slowly, he gave a nod, “M’kay.” he rasped as he turned in place to slip back to the couch. He sat down like his legs had given out, lurching onto his side with a hitch of breath. He almost wondered if he might cry.
He didn’t, but every atom of his being felt as though he would.
He vaguely recognized that his gut ached, bruises too fresh throbbing on his hips, his thighs…
Shiro remained in the kitchen for a time, and then the light flicked off, plunging the room into that soft blue of early dawn before his steps finally rounded into the hallway and up the stairs.
Keith closed his eyes, shifting in place with a soft groan, a hiss, and a tear tickling its way over his nose.