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When Keith wakes up, he doesn’t know where he is. No, that's a lie, he knows objectively where he is, he’s on some Empire ship in one of their numerous hallways. The problem is that he doesn't know how or why he got there. He doesn’t know how far he is from home.
He gets up slowly, careful for the aches in his limbs and the heavy throb in his head. Sentries lay in ruin around him, trailing down the hall in sparking bits and broken limbs. There was a fight, one he was likely involved in, given the positioning. He turns a slow circle but nothing else jumps out at him, literally or figuratively. He doesn't see nor hear anything.
“Keith, status.”
Except that.
There's a radio in his ear, connected to the suit he's wearing. He knows the suit; he became a Blade six phoebs ago. He doesn't know the voice.
“I'm fine,” he says. “Slight situation but it's been dealt with.” They likely would’ve heard the fight. There's a sigh of relief as Keith pulls up an image of the map through his gauntlet. His location pings but that's the only thing that stands out.
“Great,” the voice on the other end sounds. “Head towards the extraction point, we’re done here.” Keith purses his lips. There's nothing on the map to point out where he's supposed to go. He scans both ways down the hall but gleans nothing from the walls.
“Keith?”
He grits his teeth. “Where… is… the extraction point?”
There's a pause where Keith's heart pounds in his ears. Every tick that passes feels like a countdown to detonation. He starts walking through the mess of sentries on the floor.
“What happened?”
No part of him wants to admit something is wrong. That he might’ve fucked up somehow. But there's only one way he's getting out of here in a timely manner. He knows, intrinsically, that he doesn't want to get caught by the Empire.
He remembers a Galra, heavily scarred and missing an arm. Terrified yet still willing to fight.
There are consequences he'd rather not face.
“I got hit,” he admits. He’d much rather be getting his teeth pulled. “I don't remember.”
“Where are you?” Keith brings up the map again, zooms through the different sectors of the ship to see his ping through the lines of floors and halls and service tunnels.
“Second floor, port wing,” he reads. “Central hallway, it looks like.”
“Start heading towards the belly of the ship,” his mystery partner directs and Keith starts moving faster as soon as he has a route laid out. “It’s where our pod is latched. I’ll meet you along the way.”
“Are you far?”
“I’m coming down the service shaft, stern side.” Keith glares at the map as he figures out where that would be in relation to him. “How did you get in the port wing?”
“Complications, I don’t-”
“Remember.” The voice finishes with him. “Right.” There's a sound akin to someone clicking their tongue. “But you’re fine otherwise?”
“Just a headache.”
“Right.” The voice repeats then silence falls between them. Keith skulks through the halls, dodging patrols as he comes across them. The section he’s in seems to be populated enough, filled with enough live galra that the mess he left behind will likely be found soon. He wonders, briefly, if he compromised the mission entirely but it’s not something to dwell on. He’ll leave it for later when he’s marginally more safe.
There’s a hiss as he passes a panel, one that’s strangely echoed in his ear, and it’s all the warning he has before the panel pops open. A galra is there, large and hulking in the space behind the wall, wearing the same uniform as him. His mystery partner.
“In here,” they beckon and Keith is on their tail as they drop further in the shaft. He shuts the panel behind them and then they’re moving, Keith following close behind so they don’t get separated again. The rest of the way back is relatively smooth sailing, only needing to stop to dodge a few more patrols.
Strangely enough, his partner seems to sense them far sooner than Keith does, signaling to stop or hide moments before Keith notices their footsteps. And they’re far lighter on their feet than Keith first thought they’d be.
Another thing he’s likely forgotten.
But they get back to their pod and manage to launch away without being noticed.
When they’re safe, his partner pulls away from the pilot’s chair, their mask dissolving as they stand. Keith doesn’t do the same, taking in the new face as they– he , something tells him–steps closer. There’s a scar over the bridge of his nose, cutting into the markings that reach up his cheeks. But his eyes are kind and they stare at him with a level of familiarity that Keith doesn’t expect.
Because Keith knows who this is. He’s the one that the Empire took. The one they tried to make an example of before the Blade of Marmora took him back. The Champion. He remembers the fear but now, there’s none of that fear left.
His ears, large on the sides of his head, twitch when Keith only stares at his approach. “Keith.” His voice is softer here, away from prying eyes and ears. It sounds like a plea.
Keith deactivates his mask.
His partner smiles and the warmth that fills Keith’s chest feels almost like reflex than anything else. He thinks of Kolivan, his mother, but they don’t garner the same reaction. Some part of him, deep inside, wants to make this one happy.
Keith doesn’t even remember his name.
“I’m okay,” he murmurs. He lifts his chin up, accepting the hands that come around his jaw. Gentle claws sift through his hair, searching for the damage. Keith tries not to flinch when they skim over the left side of his head, right next to the temple, but it’s still noticed. His partner pulls away with a frown and leads Keith to sit. He collects the first aid kit then settles on his knees in front of Keith. His fingers are deft as they pull out the cold pack and painkillers.
“Can you tell me what the last thing you remember is?” he asks. He hands Keith a couple of pills that he swallows dry.
“I don’t remember meeting you,” he says. It makes his partner stop and the distress that flickers across his face has guilt pooling in his chest. It’s hidden quickly, his partner pressing the cold pack gently to the side of his head, but Keith can’t pretend that he didn’t see it.
“I don’t remember you,” he reiterates softly, “ but that doesn’t mean I don’t know you.” He stares at his partner around the corner of the compress, leaning into the touch that holds him steady. “I don’t remember your name,” he says, “but I know that you’re mine in some way.” He closes his eyes, opens himself to his partner’s touch through his hair, over his jaw, down around the back of his neck.
It’s soothing, a comfort that Keith’s body knows intimately.
“Shiro.”
The name comes after a few moments of quiet. Of them listening to the sound of each other and the ship around them. Keith opens his eyes and Shiro is watching him, just a little bit unsure even as he holds Keith oh so carefully.
“My name,” he explains.
“I know.” Keith partially interrupts him and tension releases from Shiro’s shoulders as Keith smiles. “Thank you,” he says.
The headache is starting to ease, leaving a level of drowsiness that goes hand in hand with concussions. Pulling away from Shiro is a chore that Keith desperately doesn't want, but if they're going to make it back to base in a timely manner, he must.
“Here.” Shiro pulls away slightly, his hold lingering on the compress for Keith to take over. He does with a sigh, sinking back into the seat for one last moment before he has to get up and move. But Shiro doesn’t stand up to get out of his way. He bends over Keith and, in a dizzying maneuver that has Keith groaning, they’re both suddenly situated in a seat that was barely made for one person.
Keith has half a mind to object. If something happens, neither of them will be in any position to face it. But Shiro lays a hand over his own on the side of his head and the other shifts his legs in such a way that they’re not pressing uncomfortably into the armrest. The position has his nose pressed into the side of Shiro’s neck and his mind blanks.
The tension bleeds out of him with every breath he takes, filled with Shiro’s scent and surrounded by his warmth. A sound escapes him, some kind of whine that he should be embarrassed by but Shiro responds in kind. He nuzzles the crown of his head, holds Keith tighter, and a deep rumbling purr vibrates in his chest.
“I’m here,” Shiro murmurs. Keith feels the words more than hears them. “Rest,” he says. “I’ll wake you when we reach the base.”
Keith would like to say he doesn’t sleep. That he’s aware of every shift and breath, every system they pass. But he wakes up in the med bay with Shiro’s scent pulling away. His head pounds and nausea rolls in his stomach. The lights pierce through his eyes and he shuts them with a hiss
He doesn't remember anything between now and when they were on the ship.
“Shiro!” It's a whine. A plea. He reaches out and his hand is caught within a cool metal palm. Shiro shushes him. His lips press against his hairline. Someone speaks above him and it takes Keith a few seconds to parse it out.
“I thought he didn't recognize you.” Ulaz, it sounds like.
“Consciously,” Shiro responds. Then Keith loses track of the conversation. He lets himself sink into the cadence of Shiro's voice, lets it lull him into a state of relaxation, but he doesn't sleep, everything hurts too much for that.
It actually takes him a bit to realize that someone’s trying to get his attention.
“Keith.” Ulaz again. Not Shiro. His hand is still gentle on his own, breath steady near his ear. He bites back the whine and manages to turn it into a grunt. “Can you sit up for me, please?” He rolls the thought over in his head before accepting with another grunt. He shifts and Shiro's hands move with him, supporting him until he's upright and stable on his own.
Ulaz’s hands are deft, poking and prodding up and down his limbs with practiced accuracy. He finds the impact site on his head with a click of his tongue, locates where his shoulder is strained and the rib that's either cracked or bruised. Keith ends up holding his breath until he steps away.
“Almost done,” Shiro promises, his left palm a balm across the back of his neck. Keith hums.
He knows.
He hasn't opened his eyes again since he woke up.
Ulaz steps close again, and Keith is tense before he forces himself to relax. “Eyes, please.” Keith obeys, one eye at a time, and he lets out a sigh of relief when he finds the lights have been pointed away from him. A claw taps under his chin and Keith tilts his head, looking Ulaz in the eye.
“Slight discrepancy between your pupils but nothing major. With enough rest, you’ll be fine.” He leans back, standing to his full height. “The issue now is the grade of your amnesia and whether or not it’s temporary.” Keith shrinks under his stare, darting a glance to Shiro at his side before meeting Ulaz’s again. He sighs and pets a hand through Keith's hair, careful of the side of his head.
“Sleep for now,” he says and Keith relaxes fully, leaning into Ulaz’s touch before pulling back. “It might be all you need to recover your memory.”
“Okay.” Keith bows his head in a nod and Shiro comes up beside him.
“I'm taking you off the roster for a movement,” Ulaz tells him as he slides to the floor. “But I'll come see you tomorrow to see if there's anything else we should do.” Keith nods again. Ulaz turns to Shiro. “Make sure he sleeps, I'd rather not face his mother otherwise when she returns.”
“Of course.” Shiro makes some sort of motion but Keith isn't paying attention, already moving towards the door. Shiro catches up to him on the other side and then they’re alone in the hall.
Keith looks up at him, at the face he should remember beyond the image in a report. Shiro’s focus is entirely on him, eyes on his, ears pointed forward and his hands twitching. Keith doesn't remember him, but he's the calmest, feels the safest, around him. There's something there, an emotion that runs deep in his heart.
Keith thinks he could call it love.
Keith doesn't remember him but he still loves Shiro.
“Take me to bed?” he asks and Shiro flushes, a deep colour that runs into the thickening fur around his face. He stutters but nothing sensible comes out before he's silenced by Keith raising his arms. The colour in his face deepens but Shiro obeys the silent request. He lifts Keith into his arms and Keith buries his nose in Shiro's neck where his scent isn't restricted by the suit.
They pass by others on the way back to their rooms but Keith isn't paying enough attention to catch their reactions. But Shiro holds him tighter in response to something they say. He speaks, his words short with a growling undertone and the other Blades, recruits, Keith assumes, scamper off.
“Do we sleep together?” he asks as they turn down the hall towards their rooms. There's a hitch in Shiro's breath. His hold on Keith tightens. There's a hesitation in the way his steps falter. He's missing something but Keith swallows and presses closer. “Can we sleep together?”
Another hitch, another barely missed step. But Shiro recovers faster, buries his face in Keith’s hair as he takes a breath. “Yeah,” he breathes. They pass Keith's room and Shiro takes them into his own. "Yeah, we can."
The lights stay off, a level of thought that Keith is thankful for. He’s placed on the bed and, before he can say anything, Shiro is removing the gauntlets of his suit. He has one off and is most of the way through the other before Keith speaks.
“Are you going to undress all of me?” Shiro slows but he doesn't stop. His eyes are intent when they meet Keith's. He draws the gauntlet off his wrist, pulling the glove with it. His fingers caress the uncovered skin beneath, claws scraping ever so gently across his palm. Keith sucks in a breath as shivers race down his spine.
“I will take care of you,” Shiro promises. He takes Keith's hand in his, bringing it up to his lips so he can kiss the pads of his fingers. “I am your partner,” he says, “just as you are mine.” He lowers Keith's hand, places it in his lap. “You once took care of me while I was at my lowest. Let me do the same for you.”
There's weight there, a story Keith feels bereft without but there's nothing he can do about it now. He smiles and closes his eyes, bowing his head so Shiro can reach the latch at the back. His touch is gentle, reverent. The armor is drawn away, piece by piece, until the only thing left is his suit. He stands only so Shiro doesn't have to ask. He gets a kiss for that, pressed to his cheek right below his eye where the scar ends.
And something about that itches at the back of his mind. There's pain and heartache. Fear and loss and somehow hope to counter it all. But he sets it aside as Shiro moves on, finally revealing bruised and aching skin to the cool air.
His touches are warm, glancing and solid all at once. It’s grounding in a way Keith wants to experience for as long as he can.
He’s down to his underwear when Shiro guides him back into the bed, leaving Keith with his skin tingling as he undresses himself. He’s quick with his own armor, motions efficient until he’s in the same state of undress as Keith. He slides between the sheets with him and Keith doesn’t hesitate in pressing close.
The brush of skin on skin is a relief. Keith folds himself into Shiro’s arms, tangling their legs together beneath the sheets and Shiro curls around him. His limbs are long, wrapping around Keith in soothing caresses that have him humming.
The pain becomes secondary.
He’s surrounded on all sides but he doesn’t feel trapped. That rumbling purr starts up again, low, barely there, but slowly gaining strength and all Keith can feel is love.
He loves Shiro.
He doesn't remember how they came to be. Doesn't know for sure how close they are as partners. He doesn't know what's been said and what's been held and hidden.
This shouldn't be hidden.
"I love you," he tries to say. But his tongue is heavy and what comes out is more of a slur of nonsense than anything else. He grunts, goes to try again. Shiro shushes him, purr skipping with muffled laughter. He pets through Keith's hair, nuzzles the top of his head as he squeezes him closer.
"Sleep." His voice vibrates in Keith's ear. He skims through Keith's hair one more time before he draws it down his back. The press is firm, solid, comforting, and it lulls Keith to sleep before he even realizes it.