a/n: this is the prologue, written in present tense. the rest of the fic will be written in past tense. rated T for violence/torture/mentions of torture, as i'm not sure how graphic things will get. also possibly eventual sexual situations idk.
anyway, hope you enjoy!
LOSING YOUR MEMORY
Prologue:
"I am not leaving you!"
"You have to!"
Shiro ducks out of Allura's grab, his galra arm glowing as he helps her seal the door. The guards are straining against Allura's strength, if he can just move faster they can both get out of here. As he rises from a crouch to his feet, her body framing his, the melted metal wielded together finally making a difference, Allura successfully wraps her fingers around his arm, hoists him over her shoulder, and throws him like a ragdoll. He hits the closing doors of the escape pod with a painful crunch, and then crumbles to the floor, but quickly forces himself to his knees.
Allura's eyes are flashing as he staggers back over to her. "Shiro, you don't understand what you've done! Now the paladins can't form Voltron and―"
"I know," he wheezes, and her eyes soften. She lets the severity of the situation slip away for a moment, and worries about something other than the Galra on the other side of the door.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asks.
He curls an arm around his side for a moment, assessing the possible damage. "I'm tougher than I look, princess." He moves forward to the door, his hand glowing as he works his way further up the small opening, determined to finish the job and buy them just a little more time. Once he's done, he steps back and glances at her. The escape pod is gone, and so is their means of escaping, but he's not going to go down without a fight.
"Maybe I could use my arm to go through one of the walls," he says hurriedly. "Get to another chamber with an escape pod."
"Shiro." Allura grabs his arm again. "The walls are too thick; you need to conserve your energy―"
"I need to get us out of here," he says, but then his attention leaves her worried face and goes to the door. There's the sound of metal scraping against metal: the galra guards are beginning to break down their makeshift barrier. He shakes his head, still wanting to go to the wall, to start trying to carve a path to freedom, because he can't be captured again not again―but Allura's firm grip on his arm grounds him, the warmth of her hand even through her gloves and his armour.
Her fingers slide down to his wrist and then his hand, gripping it tightly. He doesn't know if he wishes he was alone or not, because as scary as it would be to be by himself, at least she would safe.
"We're staying together." His voice drops to a whisper. "They're not separating us." Which may not be true, he knows. He and Pidge's family, the Holts, had been separated fairly quickly. Most of the time he had been kept in isolated cells, except when he had gone to one of the secondary, much more crowded prisoners, two to a cell. After earning a reputation as the Champion, he had been left alone again. The details of day-to-day life is blurry at best, and he can already feel a headache building, so he simply squeezes Allura's hand.
He wonders what's going through her mind, thoughtfulness whirring behind her deep blue eyes, her brow slightly furrowed. She slowly lets go of his hand, curling her fingers into fists, and he falls back into a defensive stance, his galra arm humming with faint energy, emitting a dim purple glow, remembering her advice of not wasting his strength.
The doors are already beginning to creak open, the sealed metal beginning to crack apart, small shards of it littering the floor as the galra begin to fight their way in.
Allura glances at him, and he finds an odd comfort in it. "I am not leaving you," she whispers.
It's a promise they're willing to bet their lives on.
