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my right-hand man

Chapter 2

Notes:

"And I can't eat, can't sleep, can't sit still or fix
things and I wake up and I
wake up and you're still dead."

      - Richard Siken, "Straw House, Straw Dog"

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Keith was dead, and time– true to its cold, unfeeling nature– passed anyway.

Days slid into weeks. Weeks slid into months. Months slid into a year.

A year, and Keith was still dead.

Perhaps this was karma. Perhaps this was all some sort of celestial punishment for leaving Keith alone while he went away on the mission to Kerberos, letting him think that he had died out there in the frigid expanse of space.

If this was punishment, then it had succeeded in making Shiro suffer.

Because Keith truly had died out there in the frigid expanse of space. Unlike Shiro, who had not.

There was not even the slightest chance that Keith would be returned to them.

They had buried what remained of their Red Paladin in a plot of direct sunlight. With green, sweet-smelling grass all around, and a breathtaking, entirely uninhibited view of the stars above when day slipped into night. Shiro left fresh new flowers there whenever the previous bouquet began to crumble into wilted brown dust.

But Keith was still dead,
and Shiro was not.

Shiro found himself in the cockpit of a spaceship, piloting yet another mission into the great unknown.
'You don't need to do this', said Everyone. But he did. He really did.

Keith wouldn't have wanted him to be stagnant, paralyzed by his grief. He would have wanted Shiro to make his sacrifice worth something.

And Shiro did not know how to do anything else.
He only knew how to sit in a spacecraft and go. He only knew how to keep his body in furious, fleeting motion.

Besides. Keith had always loved the thrill of flight.

One of his crewmates, Gibson, managed to catch him looking out the window for too long. He must've worn a strange look upon his face, as well, because Gibson's lips twitched into an inquisitive frown.

Gibson. Young and innocent. Just graduated from school, but still quite a capable mechanic nonetheless. He reminded Shiro of Keith, a little bit. Same bone structure. Same thin, swift wrists.

Gibson also had a penchant for looking at Shiro as if he were something wonderful. Something heroic.
This, too, reminded Shiro of Keith, and this, too, was a core reason behind his inability to grow close to the kid.

"What is it? What's wrong?" asked Gibson, his eager, wide-eyed expression of 'concern' betraying the true curiosity that lay underneath.

And that was okay.

Shiro knew that people still saw him as the Black Paladin.

It only hurt because he wished that they could have seen the Red Paladin, instead.

"Look. Ganymede," said Shiro, indicating the port-side window with a nod of his head as they hurtled past. Gibson dropped whatever tools he'd been sorting through in favor of rushing to the glass to absorb the view.

Shiro's mouth twisted into a bitter smile.

Notes:

"You sure you're okay, sir?"

"I'm fine, Gibson. I just remembered something, is all."