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It was done.
Pidge gazed upon it like a mother their new child.
She had made that.
Her.
And, okay, Hunk had helped a bit with the design and Coran with the integration but otherwise it was her baby.
Shining, sleek silver metal interspersed with white outer plating and the gentle, soft Altean teal indicator lights showing its Balmeran crystal power source; a pure, clean energy.
It was perfect.
And now…
All it needed was to be attached.
Well, actually…
Pidge chewed on her lip.
First she needed to actually show it to Shiro and ask him if she could replace his current prosthetic. She knew it would be a yes; why wouldn’t it be? The model she’d designed was lighter — and she’d seen how the Galran one seemed to physically pull him sideways after a long day — it was stronger, it was a natural energy rather than the Druid magic his current one ran on, it would be easier to maintain and…
And she’d made it removable.
She hadn’t inspected Shiro’s arm in… in a long time, not since he’d escaped from the Galra a second time, but she knew it well enough from constantly using him as her quick-hack into Galra systems and she knew it did not detach.
And the flesh beneath it…
She’d gotten a glimpse, once, as she’d startled Shiro while he was apparently running laps at three in the fucking morning and she’d come down to the training room to run a simulation as it had the best holographic technology for her purposes and he’d been in a sweat-drenched tank top and clearly not planning to run into anyone.
She had never forgotten the scars carved into him — left arm and a line under his collar bone and puckered line across his stomach --but the one that stuck out most was the angry, mottled and burned skin where flesh met metal.
Almost like the Galrans had… had welded it on, whether with magic or fire or both, and she could not imagine how painful that had been, how painful it must still be.
Making Shiro a new arm was something she’d always envisioned doing, but it had become less a side project fantasy and more pressing as she saw how… how Shiro was breaking.
The cracks were revealing themselves in small, but telling ways.
It was physical exhaustion: dark shadows beneath his eyes, listing more and more to the right as the day went on and his arm became heavier to balance, at the way always tall, proud shoulders would hunch ever so if he didn’t think anyone was watching.
It was his temper: always so even and steady that now had a much shorter fuse, less room for error, more emphasis on perfection.
It was his leadership: involving them less and less with decisions (she still had not forgotten the whole Lotor / Black bayard thing when it had been her father whose life was at risk), in not listening to feedback (Lance’s flinch was etched into her mind when Shiro had told him the issue didn’t concern him), and putting them in more reckless, more dangerous situations.
And it was how Shiro didn’t spend time with them anymore: he secluded himself in his room after missions and training, barely showed for dinner, and barely spoke with them outside of Voltron and Coalition duties.
And it was the hairline cracks she could feel whenever they formed Voltron, of how Shiro’s connection flickered at times, at the doors she could feel slammed shut between them to keep the rest of the team from feeling Shiro’s exhaustion and pain and what had happened to him?
She missed Shiro. The Shiro she knew; the one that tried to be the adult but was a really big inner-dork, the one who would carry her to her room when he found her up late in her lab, the one who would press his forehead to Keith’s as they spoke (and she didn’t think he’d reached out to Keith once since he’d left for the Blade almost three months ago) in that intimate, sibling way. He’d lost his softness, his gentleness and had them replaced with pain and exhaustion and she wanted to fix it.
But Pidge didn’t know how to fix people. People and emotions and communication were complicated in a way technology and coding wasn’t.
But a prosthetic arm?
She could fix that.
And while it wouldn’t fix everything it would at least fix something and no doubt having that literal weight removed had to help.
She had wanted it to be a surprise and had sworn Coran and Hunk to secrecy, but now she was starting to wonder if that had been the best idea. As she’d just finished noting, Shiro wasn’t exactly the same person she had once known and springing something like this…
It wasn’t just a pop on new arm and done. It would require surgery to remove his old one, to install the new port on the his bicep, and while he’d be sedated and not in any pain and that wouldn’t be an issue at all…
Her hand lifted up to brush on Matt’s glasses.
She knew the importance of memories. Of symbols. The prosthetic the Galrans had forced on Shiro definitely wasn’t a good memory, but… but he had done a lot with it. He’d helped a lot of people with it.
And maybe…
But, Pidge’s eyes narrowed with determination, hers was better. It would be better for Shiro.
And…
And if he said no, then…
Then she had learned a lot.
And later she would try again after he’d had some time to think about it, to realize that no matter what attachment he had to the Galran arm that it wasn’t good for him.
But all of that was moot because there was no way Shiro wouldn’t want it.
Pidge gave a decisive nod of her head.
And tonight after dinner…
She would give it to him.
xxx
Pidge found her plans a bit waylaid as Shiro didn’t show for dinner.
He had retired to his chambers, Allura informed her, after they had finished their conference with several Coalition leaders.
He did not look well, Allura confided to her quietly. He had said nothing but she had no doubts he had a rather severe headache based upon how his hand continually gravitated to press upon his forehead and he had winced slightly whenever the Movlirian leader — an alien race whose quietest volume seemed to be tuba blast — spoke.
It probably wasn’t the best time to show him the arm and ask if she could attach it to him.
But maybe that was the point.
There never would be a good time. It was always training or Coalition or the Galra Empire alliance or missions and there would always be reasons and excuses and maybe that’s why Shiro was breaking to begin with.
When had he last taken a break?
When had he last lingered after dinner or watched a movie? When was the last time they had played Monsters and Mana together? When had she last caught sight of him sitting outside in the sunshine and mediating? Visiting the Black Lion?
When had she last heard him laugh?
She didn’t know.
And this was no longer just about a prosthetic arm.
This was an intervention.
Because Shiro couldn’t go on like this.
So after dinner Pidge picked up the case she’d lovingly packaged the prosthetic in and made for Shiro’s room.
She took a breath as she stared at the closed door and then raised a hand and gave two sharp knocks along with a call of, “Shiro?”
No answer.
But he was definitely in there as while she couldn’t quite describe it as noise before after her address it went silent.
“Shiro?” she knocked again. “It’s Pidge. Can I—?”
The door whooshed open before she could finish, revealing Shiro, who despite retiring early was still dressed in his full Paladin armor; not even taking off the chestplate or arm braces and she didn’t miss the way his eyes were somewhat squinted as he looked into the bright light of the hallway from the darkness of his room and it only highlighted the pained furrow in his brow and the lines of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
He looked like shit.
“Can I talk to you?” Pidge asked before Shiro could say anything although the fact he’d opened the door was already a good first step.
“Pidge,” and she could hear those hairline cracks in even that, “now isn’t—”
“It’s important,” she interrupted him.
And they both knew that Pidge was not someone who would say so without a reason.
Shiro inclined his head and stepped back, gesturing her inside.
Shiro’s room was the opposite of her own; everything put into its place, not a single pile on the floor and the bed crisply made to Garrison standards that Pidge had always said could fuck off.
“I made something for you,” Pidge cut right to it, putting the case on Shiro’s desk.
And she was relieved as Shiro’s expression turned to curiosity and it erased some of the lines, made him look young again.
See, surprises were a good thing.
“It’s been something I’ve wanted to do for a while,” she continued, “and I’ve been working on it for the last couple weeks. And…”
And she popped the case open.
She heard Shiro’s breath hitch and a breathless, “What…?” as he took a step forward.
Pidge counted that as successful second step.
Now to sell it.
“It’s human and Altean technology,” she lifted it up, “and it runs on Balmeran crystals with a quintessence and technology integration so you’ll still have full control. It’s comparable to the weight of your left arm, which is nearly twenty pounds less than your current prosthetic.”
Shiro could figure out what exactly what that meant and what a good thing that was.
“I kept the same scope as your current one and even though it’s not Galran I incorporated the same code so you can still access their technologies. Everything else should function exactly the same. It’s a different metal too so it shouldn’t heat the way your current one does and it’ll be more comfortable in hot climates. And…”
One of the big reveals.
“It’s removable. I, I made it so only the port adheres to your bicep and it’s not heavy at all and the prosthetic detaches from it so if you wanted to take it off if it was hurting you — although the weight should be far better — or if it needed repairs or cleaning or, or for whatever you needed.”
And now for the cherry on top and the reason her prosthetic was not just better it was the best.
“I used Altean sensor technology and fitted it into the fingertips and the palm. You’ll… you’ll be able to feel temperatures there now; not just pressure. I programmed over fifty textures too, so it’s more like a flesh hand than…”
Than a lump of metal that could feel nothing.
She swallowed and looked up, the gentle teal glow from the arm illuminating Shiro’s face that she couldn’t quite get a read on except that it… it was soft. And maybe awed. And maybe… maybe a little hesitant. “What… what do you think?”
“I…”
She’d never seen Shiro speechless before.
“Here,” she extended it towards him so he could see it for himself.
Shiro took it near reverently from her, holding it so, so carefully in his hands.
She did not miss the way his flesh thumb gently stroked the prosthetic’s hand and she smiled softly.
Yes.
This. this was what she had wanted.
The prosthetic was a technological marvel, advanced and detailed beyond anything she’d ever created before…
But all of that came second to this.
This peace.
Shiro looked up and met her eyes. “Pidge, I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you want it?” she grinned.
“I…”
Shiro glanced back down, eyes shifting between her prosthetic and his current one.
It looked even bulker and heavier next to hers.
And it was shaking.
Shiro was shaking.
And there was no warning as Shiro let out a low, pained moan and the prosthetic tumbled from his hands as he hunched forward and both hands came up to press into his head.
The prosthetic hit the floor with a clatter.
Pidge didn’t spare it a second glance as she near teleported to Shiro’s side, wrapping an arm as far as she could reach around his back and trying to pretend it helped as Shiro sank to the ground.
What had happened?
What was wrong?
Should she get Cor—?”
Shiro let out another moan and a tear snuck out from tightly scrunched eyes Pidge knew in that second she wasn’t leaving him alone like this.
How…
How many times, behind a closed door, had…
Had he been in this much pain?
“How can I help?” she asked quietly and even at that soft volume Shiro winced.
The knuckles on his left hand went white with pressure as he dug them more into his head and he gave a barely there shake.
No, he didn’t want help, no he didn’t know how she could or no, he didn’t know?
“Shiro,” Pidge brought her other hand up and lightly rested it atop his flesh hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Too…” it was a gasp more than a world. “Too l-loud.”
Loud?
“Stop,” he choked out.
Pidge didn’t think it was directed at her.
She trembled.
What…
What was Shiro hearing?
A memory? The pounding of his pulse?
A…
Her gaze flickered to his Galran arm and her eyes widened as there were little flickers of purple light coming off his fingers.
Was…
Was his Galran arm…?
Was it doing something to him?
Holy fuck.
Shiro flinched as one of the purple sparks struck his cheek.
He was hurting himself.
Oh God.
What was this?
Shiro moaned.
Pidge’s heart leapt into her throat.
What did she do?
What the fuck did she do?
“Shiro,” Pidge squeezed his left hand as tightly as she could. “Shiro, please. Look, look at me.”
And to her great relief a pair of pained charcoal eyes squinted open.
“Listen to me. Not, not whatever else…” she swallowed, holding his eyes. “Listen to me, Shiro. Look at me. I’m right here. You’re here. Just us.”
God, she hoped so.
“Just us, Shiro,” she repeated. “It’s not loud here. Just us.”
Shiro drew in a shaky breath.
“That’s it, good job. Just us, Shiro. Just us.”
And all of the rigid tension went right out of him and he slumped forward, hands falling to his sides.
The purple light was out.
Pidge could still feel him shaking.
“Shiro?” she whispered and his eyes met hers and there was so much pain in them she couldn’t believe he’d been suffering like this.
And the arm wasn’t a question of want anymore.
This was a need.
Shiro’s Galran arm… it was doing something to him. It was hurting him.
It had to go.
“Your arm,” she licked her lips. “It’s… Shiro… it needs replaced.”
Now.
Right now.
Shiro didn’t agree.
He didn’t disagree.
“Tomorrow,” Pidge said, for as much as she wanted it done now they still had to figure out how to remove his current one. “I’ll talk to Coran tonight and we’ll get the infirmary pr—”
Shiro flinched before she could finish and gave a shake of his head.
His trembling increased.
What had she said?
She repeated back each word.
Only one stuck out.
“Infirmary?” she said quietly and Shiro flinched again.
“Shi—”
“I can’t,” he interrupted her and God, his voice.
It was so small.
And it made her realize that since Shiro had returned to them almost three months ago now…
He never had gone to the infirmary.
Not once.
He didn’t talk about what had happened that second time he’d been a prisoner of the Galra, but…
But…
It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together and Pidge was very much a genius, even if it hadn’t clicked in until now.
Shiro was scared of medical environments. Of operations.
Of being vulnerable.
It was why he hid himself when he was in pain, why he slammed doors on them with Voltron. He couldn’t afford to be weak, couldn’t put himself in a position where he didn’t have control.
Because the Galra had taken that from him. They’d hurt his spirit far, far more than they’d hurt his body.
He needed a lot more than an arm.
But that was what she could offer right now and it might fix even more than she’d first intended if the Galra prosthetic was indeed doing something. It wouldn’t surprise her; it was Druid magic and tainted quintessence and bad memories and it physically hurt him and all of that bundled together…?
She should never have put off making him a new arm.
And maybe…
Maybe she understood people more than she thought.
“You can,” she said back softly, but firmly. “It’ll just be us, Shiro. Me. You. Coran. Maybe Hunk, for a little bit. Just us.”
Shiro still looked scared.
She realized there was one person she needed to add to that list.
“Keith too,” she said quietly and Shiro started.
Because Keith and Shiro… they were brothers, even if things had been a little… strained, before Keith had left for the Blade. But she knew Shiro made Keith feel safe. And while it was hard to see someone you loved to be in pain, to be scared, and she knew Shiro saw himself as a protector, but…
But he had been protecting them all too long and hurting himself.
It needed to stop. And if there was one person in this universe who Shiro could be vulnerable with…
It would be Keith.
“Shiro,” Pidge squeezed his left hand as tightly as she could. “Shiro, listen to me.”
But Shiro shook his head. “No. No. I, I don’t…” he trailed off.
Pidge understood, she thought.
“It’s okay to be scared,” she said and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “And it’s okay to accept help. You’ve, you've always been there for Keith, Shiro. I know he’d want to be there for you. Will you… will you let us help you?”
Shiro swallowed.
And then he inclined his head in acceptance.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Pidge promised.
Her eyes cut to the prosthetic lying on the ground in front of them; all soft teal and clean white and safe.
She squeezed his shoulder tighter. “It’s gonna be okay.”
xxx
“Shiro.”
His name was a whisper but even so every head jerked up as though it had been a shout to where Keith was standing in the infirmary doorway.
Pidge felt Shiro both tense and sigh in the same breath where he was sitting on the very edge of the infirmary table, clothed in light teal Altean hospital garb save for the fact he had a long-sleeved one-arm black shirt beneath it and Pidge knew it was to cover the scars on his left arm, both arms wrapped around his stomach and looking like he was going to be sick.
Shiro would not be awake for the operation, Coran had gently informed him alongside Pidge and Hunk that morning. They would sedate him — and it would just be he and Pidge and Keith in the room at that time — for the removal of the Galran prosthetic and the surgery to affix the port to the stump of Shiro’s arm. Hunk would rejoin them when it was time to calibrate the arm to the port and help fit it on and after that was finished the surgery would be complete as well.
Shiro would then be awoken and they’d test the responses of his arm and make adjustments as needed based on feedback.
And then Coran and Pidge, unbeknownst to the others, would be dissecting Shiro’s Galran prosthetic. Pidge had told Coran privately about the purple lights, about Shiro’s choked out plea, and she had been darkly relieved to see the horror she felt filling Coran’s face.
Something about Shiro’s arm… it was wrong. No doubt, Coran’s eyes had narrowed, from when he’d been the Galra’s prisoner a second time. They would comb it over and find out what it had done to Shiro and they would fix it. It was why during the surgery Coran would be monitoring Shiro’s vitals, especially as they removed it as there was a quintessence connection, to make sure it didn’t…
Didn’t do anything.
She would never let it hurt Shiro again.
“Number Four,” Coran said brightly when Shiro said nothing and it jerked Pidge back to the current situation. “If you could scrub up at the sink and then put on one of those masks and jackets by the door for me please.”
They were all wearing the Altean doctor garb as while there shouldn’t be any blood or open wounds, Coran had quietly told them he would not put it past the Galrans to have adhered the prosthetic in such a way that… that ultimately they would need to cut it off.
Shiro had gone pale but nodded, knowing like the rest of them the arm needed to go and go now.
“I trust you,” he’d whispered to Coran, eyes flicking to Pidge too, and she’s squeezed his left hand tightly as she knew, she knew, how much that meant, how brave Shiro was being. He’d balked a bit arriving at the infirmary early that morning — surgery not scheduled until nearly nine as that was the soonest Keith could arrive straight from a Blade mission — balked again when he’d had to change (and retreated into the bathroom to do so even though Pidge had said she’d step out) and she’s seen him growing both paler and more green as the minutes ticked by to nearly ten now and Keith hadn’t shown and despite his earlier protest Pidge could tell how much he wanted Keith to be there.
Keith had been briefed about the arm surgery, about how Shiro ultimately wanted the new arm but… but the infirmary wasn’t sitting well with him and would Keith—?
Absolutely, he’d interrupted before Pidge could even ask. He’d set course right now. Anything… anything for Shiro. Anything he could do to help.
The desperation, the yearning, in his voice broke Pidge’s heart a bit.
Keith was joining them a minute later and his eyes met Pidge’s, worry and fear crowding in, and she tried to smile as best she could with hers behind the mask, before turning to Shiro, who was trying to sit up straighter at Keith’s arrival but his fingers were still white-knuckled on the exam table and he still looked green, lips pressed in a thin line.
“Hey,” Keith said quietly, his voice nearly a rasp and Pidge did a double-take at him, at the exhaustion in his voice.
God, everyone was falling apart around her these days.
“Keith,” Shiro whispered and it was immediately followed by a wince and Pidge saw his right hand twitch as though it wanted to press against his head.
She filed it away for later.
“All righty now,” Coran said. “Number One, let’s get you lying down. Number Four, you sit right here,” and Coran directed Keith to Shiro’s left side and the single chair there while Shiro slowly, slowly leaned backwards, apprehension clear, “and—”
He didn’t even finish before Keith was already picking up Shiro’s hand — mindful of the IV taped on the back of it — and holding it tight as though almost daring Coran to tell him otherwise.
“Perfect,” Coran beamed somehow through his mask and in the same breath both Keith and Shiro lost some of their tension.
Pidge smiled softly at the display.
At least one thing about this whole fucked up situation was.
Pidge moved to Shiro’s other side, the prosthetic on the table next to him and even though it was already metal it looked rigid and uncomfortable.
She glared at it.
It didn’t belong and she was so glad to be getting rid of it.
“Number One, I’m going to put the sedative into the IV now,” Coran said. “It should take about a dobash. Number Four, if you could…”
Keith nodded. He’d been told that he would be talking to Shiro as the drug entered his system — keep him calm, Coran had instructed, keep him distracted — and while his shoulders curled up a bit — defensive, Pidge noted, or maybe embarrassed? — he began to speak.
“You’re gonna be okay, Shiro,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right here. And I’ll protect you. I promise. Nothing… nothing is gonna hurt you here.”
Shiro said nothing but Pidge saw him squeeze Keith’s hand.
“And,” she could almost hear the watery grin, “you know I don’t like doctors either. So, so I brought you something. For after.”
And Pidge’s eyes were not stinging as Keith dug into the pocket of the lab coat and pulled out what had to be the alien version of a sucker and they definitely didn’t sting more as Shiro’s lips pulled into a soft smile and she knew there had to be a story there.
“Better… better be more than, than one,” he nearly slurred, eyes drooping.
“I learned from the best,” Keith retorted with no heat. “‘Course I have a ton.”
Shiro gave a gentle hum.
And for the first time that Pidge could remember there were no lines in Shiro’s face as the sedative took over.
“Can… can I…?” Keith licked his lips, eyes darting between his hand holding Shiro’s and Coran.
“I insist,” Coran inclined his head. “Hold tight, lad.” He turned to Pidge. “And now it’s time for us to get to work, my dear.”
Pidge nodded.
Yes.
It was time to begin to fix what had been broken.
The infirmary was silent as Coran unscrewed outer plating around the base of Shiro’s arm and Pidge connected the arm to her laptop to pull up the diagnostics and code so she could begin shutting down various segments as they worked. They couldn’t affect the quintessence and magic but removing the technology component would at least simplify the process.
As she worked to implement the kill code for that part, Coran examined where the arm attached — and Pidge had never seen its inner workings before — and she and Keith both watched him do so.
It…
It was worse than she’d thought.
There was no port, for one. Instead the Galra looked to have attached the prosthetic via brackets and bolts; punched into both Shiro’s flesh and then into the prosthetic.
God.
That was…
She could see where the weight and constant use had made it worse; the skin there was scabbed in some places, raw in others, and one section was bleeding a bit.
It was never given the chance to heal and of course Shiro would say nothing of that constant, stabbing pain.
God.
God, this was so wrong.
Why hadn’t she made a new arm sooner?
And if the Galran’s violence wasn’t enough of an indicator as to how wrong all of this was, the purely black Balmeran crystal with purple sparks shooting off it revealed in the innards of the upper part of the arm certainly was.
That was…
That was dark magic. Tainted quintessence. And it had been hurting Shiro.
“All righty,” Coran said and despite the upbeat words his tone was anything bone, “this removal at least looks simple enough. We’ll need to pull out those…” he swallowed, “those screws and then pull the brackets back and it should all just… come right off. Number Five, if you could do such while I monitor the crystal and the quintessence feedback, we should be right as ravioli in getting this accursed arm off.”
“Absolutely,” Pidge said, already turning and selecting a screwdriver from the table of tools she and Coran had prepped.
Her hands were absolutely not shaking as she brought the screwdriver down into the topmost port.
Someone had done this to Shiro.
This wasn’t technology.
This was torture.
And if she ever got her hands on that bitch Haggar…
She let that anger chase away the horror as she began to turn the bolt, wincing as blood bubbled up beneath it and she stopped immediately, gaze darting to Shiro’s face.
Still peaceful.
“Pidge,” Keith’s voice was a waver of what it normally was. “Don’t… just, just get it over with.”
“A-fucking-men to that,” she muttered.
She removed the first bolt without any trouble.
And the second.
The third, on the inside of his arm, got stuck a bit.
The fourth, on the back, involved rotating Shiro onto his side, but it too came out without issue.
And now…
All she had to do was pull it off.
Pidge swallowed.
Grasped the arm with both hands.
She swallowed.
Pulled.
And she screamed as black and purple fire engulfed her hands, as lightning erupted from the crystal and raced across Shiro’s body, and she stumbled backwards, faintly hearing Keith shouting and Coran yelling above it all.
Shiro made not a sound.
Hands were on Pidge then — shoulders and then wrists — and her hands were being lifted up and she stared at them through tear-blurred eyes.
The gloves had been completely burned away, melted globs of plastic in splatters, and flesh both burned and raw and bleeding and oh God oh God oh God.
Those were her hands.
Shiro’s arm…
It had…
The magic and quintessence…
It had a failsafe.
And she’d activated it.
Oh God.
Her hands.
“—shh, shh, it’s going to be all right, Pidge,” Coran’s murmur pushed past her screaming pulse and she realized it was his hands holding her wrists and the use of her name brought her back to present with a jolt.
She whimpered as she felt her hands being guided into something — cool and sort of squishy and it hurt but… but it was soothing too — and she blinked past more tears to find that Coran had practically pulled her all the way across the infirmary and she was at the far counter.
A chair was being pushed beneath her — Keith — and she sank into it, legs trembling and not sure how she’d still been standing.
And, and if she was like this…
Then was Shiro…?
God, what had happened to Shiro?
“Is…” she swallowed at the awful rasp of her voice, “is Shiro…?”
“He is all right,” Coran said gently, a just as gentle hand stroking her hair. “Vitals are strong and the prosthetic is off.”
Pidge let out a sigh.
Thank fucking God.
It was off.
Shiro was okay.
That’s all that mattered.
“Let us focus on yourself for a moment, my dear. Is the bubutober sap helping?”
Pidge nodded. The stinging was fading and there was a pleasant numbness settling over her hands now.
“You will need a cryo-pod,” Coran continued.
“Later,” Pidge said.
After this.
“As I thought you would say,” Coran smiled at her, mask under his chin now. “But I am afraid you cannot assist any further with your hands in such a state. I shall call in Number Two and Number Four, if you would not mind—”
“Anything,” he interrupted.
They reconfigured at Shiro’s beside within fifteen minutes; Pidge’s hands remaining in the bowl of sap, and Keith took up position of handing Coran items as he treated the raw and bleeding flesh left behind from the bolts.
“These wounds will fully heal,” Coran concluded. “A little salve to ease it along but your design, Number Five, will adhere directly to here,” his hand gently traced the bottom of Shiro’s scarred stump, “and not impact it at all.”
Pidge let out a breath.
Thank God.
She had thought so, but to know that her design would adhere flawlessly — held on by quintessence bonding and aided with particle barrier technology — and not cause any pain after seeing what the Galran prosthetic had done?
She couldn’t wait to see Shiro’s face.
She couldn’t wait to give him this little bit of peace.
Hunk arrived a few minutes later and outside of a quick balk at the still open wounds on Shiro’s arm, and then a quick heaving noise when he saw Pidge’s hands, he said he was ready to begin.
Keith took Pidge’s place and clicked where she told him to on the computer to activate the various codes as the arm was installed, although one of his hands remained tight around Shiro’s left, while Hunk and Coran did the manual installation of first the port and then attaching the arm to it.
Not even twenty minutes later it was done. And it…
It looked perfect.
It looked like an arm moreso than a weapon, even if it wasn’t done in Shiro’s flesh color (and Pidge was still working on that; a hologram that could be activated to make it appear as a human arm but she hadn’t perfected it yet and was keeping it under wraps).
And Shiro…
He looked so peaceful.
Pidge prayed such an expression remained when he woke up.
She prayed that this would be the beginning of a recovery that would heal so much more than a broken arm.
After that it was starting to turn the systems online, for Coran to coax the quintessence arrays to correspond to the Balmeran crystal, and he also removed the sedative from the IV feed so Shiro would begin to awaken; about twenty dobashes he estimated.
“All systems are responding,” Hunk reported, turning the laptop so Pidge could see his side of things.
“And no anomalies in his quintessence readings,” Coran said, holding a scanner, and as his eyes met Pidge’s she could see the second message there.
This arm would not taint or hurt Shiro as the Galran one had.
“Come on, Shiro,” Keith murmured, squeezing the flesh hand between his own while Hunk gently held the prosthetic, continuing to test the sensors in the fingers and Pidge watched with delight at the corresponding light on the computer screen that showed the temperature of Hunk’s hand, the amount of pressure applied, and was reading the texture of skin: human. *
At just past twenty-five minutes Shiro’s hands twitched.
It was followed a few moments later by a flicker beneath his eyelids, lashes fluttering.
His brow furrowed.
The brain wave monitor began to beep and Coran quickly muted it as Shiro let out a soft, almost sleepy mumble.
Pidge was not the only one leaning forward but she was aware of Hunk and Coran stepping back, allowing her and Keith to be the first faces Shiro saw.
She looked quickly over to Keith, who met her eyes and in place of the earlier fear there was something brighter, something more hopeful.
Shiro’s arm wasn’t the only broken thing that was being fixed today.
Shiro’s eyes slowly, slowly blinked open, charcoal orbs soft and hazy from both the sedative and…
And the lack of pain.
“Shiro?” Keith spoke first, squeezing Shiro’s left hand. “How… how are you feeling?”
Shiro let out a little hum that had Pidge’s lips pulling up. “...comfy,” he mumbled after a moment.
“Comfy,” Keith repeated, his grin and relief audible. “No… no pain?”
Shiro gave a hum of confirmation.
“And…” Pidge spoke and very, very carefully brought one of her hands — heavily bandaged for the moment but she refused to miss this moment— up and brushed the piece of soft, downy fabric she’d picked for such a task against Shiro’s right palm, “how does that feel?”
“Soft,” came the tired mumbled.
His eyes blinked wide open.
“Soft,” he repeated, incredulous, and the haziness rapidly clearly from his expression.
His head turned in Pidge’s direction and the smile he sent at her made tears prick her eyes.
“It’s soft,” he said again. “I… I felt it. My hand, it…”
His eyes met Pidge’s and she was both alarmed and comforted to see tears sparking in the corners of his.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
She carefully squeezed his hand, uncaring of the pain it caused her, caring even less about it when Shiro squeezed back and his expression lightened as she knew he was feeling it.
He was feeling her hand, her touch, and there was no pain.
He was not broken anymore.
He was whole.
And whole he would remain.