Promise
promise | saratogaroad
rating: G
wordcount: 1913
characters: Shiro, Keith, Reader (GN-OC)
relationships: Shiro/Reader
other tags: Grief/Mourning, reunions
warnings: None.
You sigh against his shoulder, but he pulls away to look at you. His eyes are warm, filled with love that makes your heart grow in size. He puts his hand on your cheek.
"Hey." He kisses your forehead, your nose. "I'll come back. I promise."
----
What if Shiro left behind an S/O when he left for the Kerberos Mission? A year is a very long time to wait.
(Written pre-Season 2, and long before we knew Adam existed. Tried to keep it gender-neutral all the same.)
--
You've been dating Shiro--Takashi Shirogane but he really does prefer Shiro--for almost a year when he's assigned to the Kerberos mission. Pluto's fourth moon, you can't even see the thing from the telescope you've dragged up onto the Garrison's flat roof. The fact that it's too cloudy to make out even Mars doesn't help, but Shiro smiles at your attempts anyway.
"Hey," He says as you plop down beside him, frustrated, "It's only for a year." He reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, rubbing your shoulder as you lean against him. "I'll be back before you know it."
"A year's a long time, Takashi." You say in response, the rare use of his given name turning his smile wry. He pulls you in closer until you're almost smushed together, the pulse in his neck strong beneath your ear.
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." You can hear him grin, sure and confident. You love that about him. Barely graduated with last year's class and already taking a science team to the outer reaches of the system. Sure, it's just a science mission and they'll be back within a year, but it's not just any prodigy that gets chosen for this. "Though you're pretty fond of me already."
"Oh," You laugh, "I'll show you fond!"
There's a certain heat to the kiss, a certain heat that pools in your belly every time he kisses you like this, and you run your fingers through his short cropped hair to pull him close, his hands on your back to do the same. You kiss until you're both breathless, flushed and leaning on one another. Below, the Garrison calls for lights out in ten minutes. You sigh against his shoulder, but he pulls away to look at you. His eyes are warm, filled with love that makes your heart grow in size. He puts his hand on your cheek.
"Hey." He kisses your forehead, your nose. "I'll come back. I promise."
----
He lied. He doesn't come back.
----
Life goes on like it always has after he's gone. The Garrison has a moment of silence, both for Shiro and the Holts, but nothing changes. Classes, assignments, internships and training...it's all the same. Only the color's been leeched out, you think to yourself, drained through the Shiro-shaped hole in your chest. He was gone for so long that his dorm was already long cold, his scent faded. His things are boxed in your dorm where he asked you to keep them, clothes and accolades and personal effects. There's no next of kin, family long gone and buried. There was just you, Shiro, and Keith.
Keith, who gets himself kicked from the Garrison within a month of Shiro's death. Shiro was his anchor, his best friend, his reason to be better, and now Shiro is gone. There is just you and Keith now, and you're not an anchor. Not the kind he needs, anyway. You spend what free time you have with Keith, trying to keep him from collapsing in on himself like the star you and Shiro knew he could be, even if in the desert the only thing that'll come down is the ramshackle hut he calls home. You don't talk much--the only connection you had was Shiro--but you think he appreciates you being there anyway.
"Do you think he's out there?" He asks you one late night, when everything is pitch dark except for the moon and stars. Trying to find Kerberos through the viewfinder of a telescope, you don't look up even as your heart skips a beat and your stomach knots itself up again. You know who he's talking about, know the Shiro-shaped hole in your chest with its still throbbing edges.
He has one, too.
You sigh, sitting back on your hands. Stars glimmer overhead, as they always have. As they always will. Shiro's hands ghost through your hair, grown out since the last time you saw him. Everything's the same, everything's changed. You swallow hard.
"...I don't know, Keith," You say, unable to voice the words you know to be true. That Shiro really is dead and gone, not just trapped somewhere like in those novels you used to laugh over together. "I don't know."
---
Months pass. A year since Shiro left comes and goes without fanfare, without mention. Classes are ongoing, graduation for your year next month. Cadets wash in, cadets wash out. Life continues as it always has.
Until, one night, it doesn't. Keith calls you in the dead of night, the hour so late it's early. He tells you to come to the shack, that he needs your eyes. He never calls, not without a good reason, and so you go. He picks you up at the edge of the Garrison property, hoverbike eating up the desert like it's so much paved road. The shack stands, his notes and diagrams and charts pinned to the wall. You've been out here doing this before, helping him look for whatever calls him to those cliffs and canyons, but there's more to work with now.
"I've almost got it," He says to you as you tack a photo to the wall, uncaring of your eyes wanting to close and stay closed for a few hours. "I just..." He rakes both hands through his hair, the bags under his eyes thicker than before. "I...Shiro would have figured it out by now."
He's right, you think to yourself. Shiro would know what to do. But he's not here anymore. He'll never be here again.
You still can't bring yourself to say it. It's been a year, but you can't bring yourself to say he's gone. There's a new name on the marker the Garrison has, for those lost to the stars and space in the name of Progress, three new names and a small memorial ceremony the day they were revealed, but you still can't say it even to yourself.
"...Yeah," You finally whisper, smoothing wrinkled papers just to do something with your hands. "He would have."
Keith's next words die in a wash of fire. You both rush to the window as it lights up like daylight, like sunrise. Only it's not. It's a fireball. He's a step ahead of you to rush outside, heat like summer cooking the desert sand as a fireball lights the sky. You watch it go, the shape irregular, metals gleaming in the light of re-entry. It's not a meteor. It's a sort of pod, black even against the flames that chase it down. Thoughts of a missile, of an attack on the Garrison, pass through your mind before they go up in flames as the thing, whatever it is, crashes into the desert with a plume of dust, not smoke and fire. Not a missile then, but what?
Keith is on his bike before you can turn to ask, calling that he's going to check this out, and he's gone before you can react or even hope to stop him.
Again, you are alone.
You hope the Shiro-shaped hole in your chest doesn't add a Keith-sized addition to it tonight, but he has your only ride out of the desert. There is nothing to do but wait, tidying the tiny shack and stacking boxes. There's some of Shiro's things here, clothes and books that make your heart jump to your throat even though you knew they'd be here. For the thousandth time, you wish he was here, back with you, back after the mission was completed with flying colors.
For the thousandth time, he is not here.
The roar of Keith's bike jolts you away from the sadness, throaty and heavier than before, as if carrying a weight it's not meant to carry. You throw the door open, step into the desert wind, and stare. There are five on a bike meant for two at the most, Keith and three faces that you know, sort of. They're in a younger year, faces passed in the hallways and names passed in gossip. They aren't your focus. Your focus is on the man between Keith and the lanky one as they jump down, on a familiar face you thought you'd never see again.
Shiro.
Your voice has left you, heart pounding as they stumble past. It's Shiro. His face is different, cheekbones hollowed out and skin pale in a way you've never seen him before, a shock of white in his overgrown hair that was once all black. But it's him. You'd know him anywhere.
"What happened?" You ask, following them inside, though it's more of a shriek because how is this possible? He was gone and there was a memorial and there was nothing but loss and now he's here again! You want to shake Kieth for answers, but you know that he has as few as you do.
"Sedation," Keith finally grits out as he and the other boy set Shiro down on Keith's cot, the blanket folded neatly in your need to do something. "He'll wake up soon."
And then he's rounding on the others, all bluster and growling and shoving. But your focus isn't on them. It's still on Shiro as you drop to your knees beside the cot, unsure if any of this is real or just an elaborate dream. He's breathing, chest rising and falling beneath the odd black bodysuit and torn purple shirt. He's thinner than before, muscles stark lines along his tall frame, a dark scar across his nose. Slowly, you reach out to touch him. He doesn't disappear, doesn't decay or anything like you'd expect a corspe to do, and you muffle a sob behind your other hand.
He's real. He's really here. You take his hand, squeeze it hard, and don't let go.
An hour passes. Two. Three. Sunrise comes as the silence grows awkward, Keith sitting on the edge of the cot like a hound on guard. The other three huddle in the corner together, unsure and insecure, but you don't lift your gaze from Shiro's slumbering body. You wait, wondering, hoping, praying. He's home he just has to wake up and then--
And then he does. A soft noise, a blink at the ceiling, before he stiffens. His hand in yours goes sweaty, clammy, and he jerks his head to stare at you, eyes wide and face carved into something like terror. Your heart skips a beat even as Keith moves, ready to pull you back if this goes bad, but Shiro stops. Stares at you, pulse racing beneath your fingers. His breath hitches as you hold yours, daring to hope nothing's wrong and he remembers you, daring to hope that he's still Shiro, the man you loved.
The man you still love.
The tense silence stretches. You stare at each other, his eyes meeting yours. But then, slowly, he pulls his hand from yours.
"You're..." His voice is hoarse, raspy from disuse. He stares at you, drinking you in like you're the first person he's seen in a year. Maybe you are. "...You're real?"
You smile, just a little, as your breath catches in your throat and your eyes fill with tears. He reaches up to put a hand on your cheek, gasping as he feels warmth beneath his fingers. Shiro's not a crier, has never been a crier, but in that moment you think he might start. You take his hand in yours again, feeling his pulse racing still.
"I'm real. You're home."
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Vow
Vow | saratogaroad
rating:G
wordcount: 865
characters: Shiro, Reader (GN-OC)
relationships: Shiro/Reader
other tags: Mentions of other Voltron Paladins
warnings: None
"Hey..." He holds you to him, voice rumbling through your bones, "I'm here. I won't leave you again."
You know better than to believe that. Still...
"Do--do you promise?" You hiccup, tears blurring out the stars behind him as he pulls away just enough to cradle your head in both hands. He smiles, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, your nose. Then, he leans against you.
"I promise."
-
(Shiro left someone behind before Kerberos. Now, he's come back. Things will never be the same again.)
[Written at the end of Season 2, before we knew Adam existed. Sequel to Promise]
=
Sunrise comes in a wash of colors and warmth, light restored to the world. To your world. In the dawn light that filters through Keith's tiny bathroom window, Shiro's even more of a mess than before, sharp lines and tired eyes that drink in the sight of empty scrub desert and messy shack. It's like watching a blind man see for the first time, finally understanding what everyone takes for granted.
He's thinner, too. Covered in scars that speak of months of fights. Claw marks, ragged wounds healed improperly. The thin marks that can only be from a scalpel or something like that. Small, perfect holes that speak of projectile weaponry. You catalogue each one, mind going end over end as you snip and shave his hair, Keith bark and bluster just outside the bathroom door.
A lot can happen in a year, you think to yourself, but this is...something else entirely.
"What happened?" You finally get the nerve to ask, the fine strands of his hair clinging to your fingers as you finish up. He's tense, metal and flesh hands grasping at his knees, dressed in his own clothes that Keith had stored here. He stares at the floor, but his eyes are distant, staring into a space where you can never stand, and perhaps...never understand.
"I don't remember." His voice is soft, barely a whisper. "I don't...there's this..." He takes a breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. He looks up at you through the mirror, through the shock of white hair you weren't sure how to cut. The morning sun casts odd shadows on his face. Your stomach churns again. "There's this black hole in my memory. I remember leaving the Garrison, the launch, getting to Kerberos, but after..." He closes his eyes. "Just...flashes. Nothing I can put together."
Trauma, supplies the bookish part of your brain. This time you don't shush it, taking in the lines of his starved body, the scars on his flesh. Your stomach churns, and you swallow it down. Maybe it's better he can't remember.
"Well." You say, then have to clear your throat. You reach down for his hands, flesh and metal alike. The temperature difference is stark, but his grip is gentle as he closes his fingers around yours. "What really matters is you're home. We can figure out the rest as we go."
He smiles at you, kissing your palm.
"Business as usual, huh?"
"Business as usual."
----
Except it's not. It's really not. Things go to hell in a handbasket faster than you can say your own name.
What happens after...well. Half the time you're still not quite sure.
---
Half-sentient, ancient battle lions. One of whom has been sitting, on Earth, for ten thousand years.
Actual aliens. Actual talking, walking, breathing aliens. Spaceships. A corrupting empire spreading across the stars like a plague.
Pidge, Lance, Hunk. Keith. Shiro. Destined to fight it in a legendary space robot like something out of a mecha anime, even if half the time they can all barely get along. Maybe that's half the point, you think to yourself, standing on the Arusian hillside just outside the Castle. Unfamiliar stars whirl overhead, not a single constellation marked in the clear skies.
You never did end up finding Mars that night. Now, you wouldn't have a single clue where to look.
"You know," Shiro says, causing you to turn around to see him walking up the hill behind you., "I was thinking about it, and..."
"Yeah?"
"I kept my promise." He smiles. "I came back."
You can't help it. You laugh. His smile only widens as he comes to stand beside you, shoulder warm beneath your arm as you have to reach out for support. Laughter shakes your sides, your shoulder, your throat. Slowly, it gives way to tears. The grief of the past year clogs your throat, burns your eyes.
For a year he was gone. Dead. His name is carved on a memorial for Progress into the stars, stars humanity will never understand are so much bigger than they ever could have imagined. For a year, you mourned him, mourned the color pulled out of your life with Shiro, and now...
Now he is back, the color has returned, and it hurts. You can't breathe for the pain of it, the heaving sobs that wrack your body and bring you both to your knees. He pulls you in to a hug, cradling your head against his shoulder, warm and so very alive.
"Hey..." He holds you to him, voice rumbling through your bones, "I'm here. I won't leave you again."
You know better than to believe that. Still...
"Do--do you promise?" You hiccup, tears blurring out the stars behind him as he pulls away just enough to cradle your head in both hands. He smiles, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, your nose. Then, he leans against you.
"I promise."
You should know better than to believe that. Still, as he holds you to his chest and lets you learn that he's alive again, you find yourself believing it anyway.
Maybe that's what makes what comes after so much harder.
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