Chapter 2: A Hand To Hold

He pleaded. "Shiro, it's going to be okay."

"Yes. It is."

He all but begged. "We just have to get back to the castle."

"We… are not going anywhere."

Keith didn't get the chance to struggle further. He didn't have a second to reattempt his appeal, because Shiro was charging at him with great, leaping strides that ate the distance between them in moments. He had the barest second to snap his shield to life before Shiro collided into him, his fist swinging, his weight smacking and throwing Keith backwards into a tumble, into a backwards leap, into the capsule behind him.

It was all he had time for. Keith grunted, his shield shattering and dissipating, before instinct took over and he threw himself sideways in the face of Shiro's fist swinging towards him.

Shiro didn't slow at his dodge. With the speed and agility that Keith had known him for, that he'd fought alongside and fought against countless times if only in training, Shiro was leaping after him. His fist swing again, streaking in a flare of the vibrant pink light it emitted and leaving a vivid afterglow burning into Keith's eyes. He ducked. He dodged again. He caught the blows he couldn't avoid with the gauntlets of his suit, and the force behind them nearly threw him backwards again each time.

Again.

And again.

And again, in a flurry of strikes that were too fast to follow, too fast to do anything more than react to.

Throughout it all, Shiro's eyes flared with that alien light, and Keith was wrought with desperate horror that somehow pervaded his reflexive evasions. It was that light, that horror, that slowed him enough to take the blow that collided with his chest and threw him over the edge of the bridge.

The fall was a blur. Twisting, tumbling, the platform beneath Keith approached at a speed that promised a smacking collision. He righted himself just in time to throw his thrusters into gear to catch him. Not enough that it didn't hurt when he landed. Not enough that, when his feet slammed into the platform, the impact resounding with a metallic thud, he didn't nearly collapse to his knees, gasping as volts of pain shot through his heels, his ankles, his calves.

Only for a second, though. Keith could only allow himself to feel the jarring pain for a fraction of a second before Shiro was upon him. Leaping from the bridge right after Keith, not even slowing in his attack, Shiro shot straight for him. His eyes flared, his fist swinging in violet ferocity, and Keith threw himself down the steps from the platform in a flying leap that left his breath torn from his chest.

The BOOM of the impact that followed… It was terrifying in the promise of its force. Terrifying that a metallic arm could create such an explosive eruption. That it had come from Shiro, that Shiro had attacked, had struck with the intent to kill…

Spinning at the base of the steps, panting heavily with his heartbeat thundering, Keith drew his dagger from its sheath. He watched as, through the pluming outburst of smoke, the eruption from Shiro's impacted landing, dissipated enough to silhouette and then reveal him striding towards the edge of the platform. Keith's teeth clenched, a flick of his wrist extending his blade with a smooth snick. In retaliation, face hardened, Shiro raised his own arm still glowing and smoking from the impact of his punch, and a violet sword fizzled into conjugation from the back of his wrist. There was no care, no mercy or kindness, in his flat stare.

Shiro. Keith almost hissed, because it wasn't right. It wasn't him. What did they do to you?

He didn't ask. He hadn't the time to. Without forewarning, Shiro launched himself at him and, in a sweeping flourish of his conjured sword, he attacked.

It was a fierce battle. A mindless battle. The exchange of blows that held none of the consideration that 'exchange' entailed was too fast for thought. Keith dodged and blocked. He swung to disarm and sprang backwards when his attempt failed. In retaliation, Shiro struck – again, and again, and again – and there were no provisions for the disjointed plane of their attack. No slowing to allow for steady steps down the stairs of the multi-levelled platform as Shiro chased Keith along the brig, no momentary pause for recovery as he was forced backwards into the railing, his breath blown from him time and again. Keith simply struggled through the ensuing moments in a fit of rendered breathless.

Down another flight of stairs, sparks of violet light flying from their clashing strikes. Keith was driven into a corner, barely dodged out of it, and took another strike with the flat of his blade. A swipe, a thrust, a block – Shiro's sword swept towards him, and with a deflecting slash, Keith dodged around it to swing a fist at Shiro instead.

He missed. Shiro didn't.

The retaliating blow caught Keith under his chin in a reverberating smack. His helmet was flung loose, but Keith hardly noticed. Blood flooded his mouth, but he barely noticed that, either. Swallowing the metallic burst, abandoning thought of catching his breath again, he rolled away from Shiro's strike, darted along the railing, and spun towards him to take another strike.

He was too slow. Again. Shiro wasn't any gentler when he crashed into him with enough force to send them flying over the railing end over end.

Keith hurt. He hurt in more than just the places he'd been struck, the punches that had pounded his gut, the sting of his tongue from where his teeth had pierced it. He hurt in more than just his arm that had deflected blow after blow. The weight in his chest, aching and heavy, sobbed as he fell, struggling from Shiro's hold that was as far from the familiar embraces they'd exchanged in the past as possible. He hurt, and it hurt even more when, as they were flung into a strung cable that snapped beneath their weight, Keith kicked himself away from Shiro. He sent him flying backwards to tumble like a flung doll across the hangar floor a level below.

Clinging to his own swinging end of the cable, Keith soared in a frantic whirl. Enough, he thought desperately, fiercely, the single word burning more than he could have imagined and sending the weight in his chest into enraged sobs once more. I can't… I can't go easy anymore…

Keith flew at Shiro. With the broken cable his rope, he soared across the gap between platoforms, arcing towards Shiro feet first and swinging with a double-footed push kick. The force was enough to send Shiro flying once more, crashing through the railing of the platform he'd landed upon and further backwards to the wide level below. Keith sprang after him, a cry of pain as much as rage torn from him, and with a strike, a swipe, a connecting blow, he forced Shiro back.

Again.

And again.

And again, until the echoing clatter of blades resounding in a final, crashing block.

Keith panted heavily, every ounce of force he could muster pinning Shiro to the railing upon which he'd driven him into. His arms trembled, but Shiro's did too. The battle, of resistance and defence, as fierce as their chase had been.

Fury. Rage. Hatred, even. Keith hurt, because this wasn't his Shiro, and he wanted that part of it gone. He wanted it fixed and ended. Sparks flew from the point of their blades' connection, and Keith growled with the effort of pushing the clone who wasn't wholly, couldn't possibly be Shiro back further, further, further -

"That's the Keith I remember."

Keith's breath caught. For a split second, the trembling force of his strike faltered. For just that moment, the rage withdrew, and a rush of memories flooded forth to take its place.

Shiro…

Shiro took it. He took that pause and he used it. With a twisting wrench, he tore their stalemate apart, and then it was all Keith could do to keep himself afloat in the flurry of blows that rained upon him once more.

A fist caught him on the chin, throwing his head back and snapping his neck painfully. Keith staggered backwards a step, but even as his head swam with dizziness and his vision momentary blacked, he launched himself at the boy who had just struck him. His own fist drew back, feinted, and curled upwards in a fierce uppercut.

A satisfying "oomph!" met his ears, and Keith instinctively leapt backwards again and aside as he blinked rapidly to clear the blurriness of his vision. It was admittedly less of a jump and more of a stagger. Struggling to straighten, he planted his feet wide, raised his fists in a guarding stance, and readied himself for the next attack to strike.

Three on one wasn't fair, but then no one ever said that schoolyard brawls were supposed to be fair. That two of those three boys were bigger than Keith wasn't fair either, but he didn't expect any of them to go easy on him. To expect as much was to sign himself up for defeat. Whether he faced an adult twice his size or another child half his age, if they attacked him first, he would retaliate with full-force and full expectation of imminent threat.

The three boys – Olaf, Pedro, and Dean – staggered around him in a loose circle, at a distance not retreated but enough to avoid the darting attacks of close proximity. The shadows of evening stretching across the ground, the Garrison building and the back shed that was far too big to be a shed in Keith's experience, mixed with those of the boys but did little to hide the bruises on cheek and forehead and jaw that were rapidly blossoming. Nor did it hide the blood dripping from Pedro's nose, or the black eye already swelling Olaf's.

Keith knew he wasn't much better, but he didn't care. He was used to it, and not only because he'd gotten into countless fight at the foster home, and even some when he'd still lived with his father. Fights seemed to find him, and he would be a fool to let every passing blow debilitate him into being incapable of properly retaliating.

You can't rely on anyone, he'd taught himself years before. That's why you've gotta do it yourself. You can't expect anyone to step up and protect you.

Dean spat what could have been blood or might have even been a tooth onto the ground at his feet. His uniform was mussed, but it was the glare he affixed Keith with that held Keith's attention. That, and his edging around behind him, as though he thought that such a movement was subtle.

"Think you're so tough," Dean grumbled. "Just 'cause you know how to hit."

Keith eyed him, scowling but otherwise unresponsive. I'm not tough. You're just stupid.

"Just 'cause you're fast," Olaf added, edging sideways slightly to offset Dean's placement.

It's not because I'm fast. I'm just faster than you.

"You know," Pedro said, sniffing as he took a swipe at his bloody nose and wincing as he did so. That wince faded into a glare as he refocused his gaze onto Keith. "You're gonna regret being all high and mighty in a few year's time."

Keith didn't respond. He didn't lower his defensive fists. He couldn't risk leaving an opening, because for all their unskilled attacks, the three boys would notice it. They were being taught to do just that in their self-defence classes, after all. That was the crux of the matter. Keith had been caught up in fights before, but they were growing only more frequent as noses remained out of joint with his ostracism and their developing skills.

It sucked, but Keith couldn't do anything about it. He'd just stand up for himself as he always did.

Drawing a slow, deep breath, Keith shifted his stance. His face hurt from the blow it had taken, both that which had clipped his chin and Olaf's from earlier that had caught him on the cheek and sent him staggering. His ribs twinged from a hook punch that still hurt despite its sloppiness, and his fists were skinned from punches of his own.

But he could handle it. He could. He would.

Dean darted forward from behind him. Keith caught the movement from his periphery. He spun towards him, dropped to a knee, and caught Dean in the gut with a fist. An instant later and Olaf leapt forwards, Pedro a second later, and Keith was springing to his feet to block, to dodge, to strike back with a quick jab-cross that smashed into Pedro's nose once more and sent him reeling back with a gurgling yelp. Not before Olaf flung an arm around Keith's neck, however. Not before he threw his whole weight onto Keith from above, leaning upon his back locking him in place as he forced him down. His choking hold all but completely cut off Keith's airways.

He gasped. He struggled and sunk his fingernails into Olaf's arm, tearing the skin. Olaf cursed, his arm trembling, but he only squeezed tighter. Bent double, Keith could only stutter for breath, staggering as Olaf bent him further and constricted his arm more and more like the unrelenting coil of a constricting python.

Tighter. Tighter. Sparks danced across Keith's eyes as he squeezed them shut, struggling to twist and writhe and claw, but to no avail. He flailed an arm sideways, fought to wedge the other into Olaf's side and spear it up into his kidney, but he couldn't – he couldn't quite –

"What's going on here?"

Keith collapsed. As Olaf abruptly released him, he crumpled to his knees and drew in a ragged, wheezing breath. It deteriorated into coughs and splutters instantly, but Keith didn't slow in rolling away from Olaf, scrambling across the dirt and into a defensive crouch. Only when he had eyes on the other three boys did he allow himself to raise a hand to his throat and focus on the trial of breathing.

But boys weren't looking at him. They weren't looming, a threat awaiting to strike when the interruption had passed. It didn't take more than a split second for Keith to drag his attention towards where they'd already focused their own. White faced, edging backwards with their fists abruptly tucked awkwardly behind them, they stared wide-eyed at Shirogane where he stood just on the edge of the main Garrison building.

The main building was a labyrinthine network with enough turns and sectors that the fragments of grounds between were easily overlooked in passing. Beside the shed where Keith had been chased by Olaf, Pedro, and Dean, the shed that was as tucked away as any other. But somehow, Shirogane had found it.

The friendly, amiable mentor of Keith's class… Standing in the doorway of the main building, he suddenly didn't look so friendly.

Keith hunched his shoulders, edging backwards even further as he kneaded his throat with palpating fingers. He watched, eyes darting between his three classmates and Shirogane. His expression was stern, unsmiling, and the square line of his jaw was made sharper by its visible tightness.

"I said," he repeated, eyeing them each in term as he slowly folded his arms over his chest, "what's going on here?"

Olaf and Pedro exchanged a glance. Dean shuffled from foot to foot. Keith sniffed, coughed once more, and all but ignored the lot of them. Even in the seconds since Olaf had released him, since Shirogane had interrupted them, Keith's taut nerves and pumping adrenaline had whirled down to next to nothing as though pushed from a drop-off. He knew he didn't have anything to worry about anymore. There was a point, he'd realised long ago, when kids and even some adults reined themselves in. A point and a presence of authority whereby they would no longer continue to fight but would instead withdraw into the subjugated, apologetic cowards that they were.

I'd never do that, Keith thought with another muffled cough. If I ever had to start a fight, it doesn't matter who was watching. I'd finish it to the last punch.

"It's…" Olaf finally spoke up, breaking the ringing silence that met Shirogane's words. He audibly swallowed. "It's nothing, Shiro."

Shirogane's expression didn't flicker. He didn't even glance towards Keith but instead saved his not-quite glare for the three boys in a clear accusation, an indication of disbelief. It was satisfying to see, Keith thought. At least Shirogane wasn't an idiot; a whole lot of adults took one look at the situation, saw that Keith was involved, and instantly assumed he'd been the one to start the fight. Granted, he didn't usually avoid one should it arise, but Keith hadn't started a fight in a good long while.

"It didn't look like nothing," Shirogane finally said.

"It was…" Pedro's voice stuttered and broke, piping several octaves higher than usual as he cast a glance towards Keith. "We were just practicing, Shiro. It was just practice."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, edging forwards between his friends and nodding fervently. "We were only practicing a bit. Our defence instructor – Miss Matthews, she said it was good to practice –"

"In a safe environment," Shiro interrupted, his voice snapping like the crack of stone on stone. Dean almost cheeped as he was silenced. "In a safe environment, with supervisors and instructors to make sure no one gets hurt."

More shifting between feet. Keith wiped absently at his chin, swiped a thumb over his lip that he hadn't even realise had been split, and settled back from his crouch onto his haunches. He set about systematically deducing if he was injured enough to necessitate a visit to the Garrison nurse. He didn't think any of his teeth were knocked loose, which was good, but his ribs really did hurt. Each breath tugged at them painfully, so they were probably bruised.

"We didn't mean for it to get so – so far," Pedro stuttered, scrubbing furiously at his upper lip and only managing to make more of a mess of the blood still smeared there. "Really, Shiro, we didn't mean –"

"Yeah, it was just for fun," Olaf interrupted him. "Just for fun, and we didn't mean to hurt anyone."

His ribs were unlikely to be broken, Keith thought. Olaf hadn't the skill to manage that when Keith had half dodged out of his way. But it still hurt. He pressed absently along the swelling bruise, barely listening to his classmates' excuses.

"It was sort of an accident, actually –"

"Yeah, just an accident."

"- and it wasn't like we wouldn't have stopped –"

"We would have. Promise, Shiro, we would have stopped before anything… before anything happened."

Was it bad enough to see the nurse? Keith frowned down at his chest, kneading his fingers a little more firmly and frown deepening with the pressure. Probably not. Maybe he could give it a few days to see –

"Before anything happened? It looked like it was already happening. Choking someone in a headlock like that can be really dangerous."

- and then decide if it was necessary. Keith wasn't above ignoring a little bit of bruising, but it would be annoying if disregard made it take longer to heal. It would probably start to hurt more down the track, too –

"Sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, we're really sorry, Shiro. We – we made a mistake 'cause we thought that –"

"It was just for fun. Right, Keith?"

At his name, Keith glanced up. He met the stares of each of the boys, each turned towards him intently with eyes meaningfully widened. He regarded each of them in turn, saw the guilt and fear spreading across each face, and couldn't help but snort, shaking his head.

"Whatever," he muttered, and returned to his assessment.

Shirogane chewed them out after that. Not like a teacher would; not with fierce reprimands and blatant threats of punishment for a repeat performance. Words like "it's really disappointing to see" and "as future pilots, I would have thought you guys would know better" were used instead, and from the way the three boys cringed and shuffled in place, Keith thought that maybe Shirogane's approach was better. It was kind of funny, really. If Keith wasn't becoming increasingly aware of just everywhere he'd been hit that he'd previously overlooked in the heat of the fight, he might have even laughed.

Eventually, however, the boys scampered away. Shirogane's firm warning chased after them. "Don't let me hear of it happening again. I'm going to have to report it to Discipline, but it would be a real shame if you guys would up in this situation again, wouldn't it?"

The boys fled with vigorous nods of their heads. They didn't even attempt to plead with Shirogane for mercy, or to lighten the tale that would be told to the Discipline Head. If anything, as Keith watched them throw a final glance over each of their shoulders before disappearing inside, he thought they might have even been grateful. How did Shirogane do that?

"Are you alright?"

Flickering his attention from the door up to Shirogane, Keith shrugged slowly. "It's whatever."

"It didn't look like whatever." Shirogane's arms dropped from their stout fold over his chest as he strode across the distance between them. He squatted down before Keith, and Keith didn't even bother to hide that he instinctively drew away from him. "Do I need to take you to the nurse's office?"

"You don't have to take me anywhere," Keith grumbled, though he felt more like a cornered wolf than one aggressively attacking. He didn't like it when people noticed he was in a fix. "I'm fine."

"Really?" Shirogane cocked his head, his face softening a little. It was strange how it did that; Keith couldn't pinpoint one feature in particular that shifted, but he seemed abruptly far less angry, far less disappointed. "You don't need to hide it, Keith. It probably sounds a bit pompous to say, but I'm your class mentor. That means I'm here to help you in every aspect of school that I can. Even the stuff outside of the classroom."

He was right; it did sound pompous. Keith's eyebrow twitched. "I'm fine, Shirogane," he said, curtly. Then, because it felt right and might actually help to get him to go away, "Thanks anyway."

Shiro frowned slightly, but it cleared almost instantly into a small smile. "You're welcome. And please, call be Shiro."

Keith opened his mouth to reply, closed it again, and pursed his lips. He shrugged once more. "Whatever."

"Does this sort of thing happen often?"

"What sort of thing?" Keith asked, swiping his thumb over his bottom lip again. At Shiro's pointedly raised eyebrows, he relented with a roll of his eyes. "Fine. What, those guys?"

"Those guys in particular," Shiro said with a nod. "Or anyone else."

"So what if it does?"

"Do you like getting into fights?"

Keith snorted. "Fights like getting me."

"So you don't like them?"

"I didn't say that."

Shiro's lips quivered slightly before his expression smoothed. "You know, you're a bit infamous in the senior classes," he said mildly, settling backwards onto his rump and crossing his legs before him. His hands draped casually over his knees. "We all saw your first simulation."

"I know," Keith said, edging backwards slightly before mirroring Shiro's seat. He was under no allusions that Shiro would let him get up and leave until he was finished with him. "You told me."

"Last week, you mean?"

Keith nodded.

Shiro smiled. "I wasn't sure if you remembered. You didn't seem all that keen to stay and chat."

Keith lowered his chin, dropping his gaze to his boots. He resisted the urge to rub his ribs once more, plucking at his laces instead. "You seemed like you had a big enough group of admirers. Why should I join in?"

"Admirers?" Shiro chuckled.

"Well, aren't they?"

Shiro reached a hand to scrub awkwardly at the back of his head. "I guess so? It sounds embarrassing if you say it like that."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

"Does that annoy you?"

Keith glanced up with just his eyes. "What? That you've got admirers?" At Shiro's nod, he frowned. "No. Why would I care?"

Shiro's hand dropped slowly from the back of his head, sliding down to clasp the back of his neck for a moment before flopping into his lap. "No reason, I guess. I suppose I might have just thought that was why you didn't want to approach me for help."

"I don't need help," Keith said shortly. "My grades are fine."

"You don't need help with anything at all?" Shiro asked, a curious lilt to his tone.

"No."

"Not even with the kids who are supposed to be your friends?"

"I don't have friends."

The words slipped out before Keith could smother them, and he winced as Shiro's eyebrows snapped upwards, his blinks fluttering rapidly. It wasn't because it was necessarily untrue – Keith didn't have friends, after all – but to admit it to his class mentor was a little embarrassing. And unnecessary. And would likely provoke interference.

Keith almost expected pity. Or sympathy, maybe, as seemed more suitable of Shiro. But as Shiro visibly composed himself, he only smiled affably and cocked his head once more. "Would you like them?"

Keith blinked. "Would I… what?"

"Because I'd be more than happy to be your friend," Shiro continued, smile widening. "When I was your age, there was no one else who was quite as good at flying as me." He chuckled a little bashfully. "And that's not as arrogant as it sounds. Or maybe it is, but it's true. It kind of sucked, to be honest."

Frowning, Keith stared Shiro dubiously. He didn't reply as Shiro visibly paused for response before continuing. "So I just thought, if you'd like… Well, maybe you'd like to come on down to the Garrison hangar some time to have a bit of a look around? You can't go down without a supervisor or a senior with a pass – which is me." He chuckled again. "What do you think?"

Keith's frown deepened. What did he think? He thought Shiro was weird, for one; who invited a stranger down to a secure location at the drop of a hat? "I…"

"You like flying, don't you? You seemed to, from what I saw."

Liked it? Keith pursed his lips once more. He didn't know how much 'liking' had to do with it, but he supposed it was sort of fun. The most fun of just about anything he'd ever done. And ships were interesting; even more interesting the more he learnt of them. And he didn't simply have 'a knack' for obtaining such knowledge, either, which made it even more interesting. He had to learn it, because that kind of knowledge? It didn't just come naturally.

Drawing his lips to the side, Keith darted his gaze up to Shiro once more. "I guess," he said slowly.

"It can just be the two of us, if you'd like," Shiro said casually. "As I said, I'm allowed, so it's not like the whole class has to come along too. How does that sound?"

Keith blinked. Alone? Just with Shiro? Without any of the glares and whispers and deliberate shoulder bumps of his classmates when it didn't progress to something more? Keith didn't know Shiro, but he found he suddenly almost wanted to at that moment. No one else had noticed. No one else had offered him an out like that.

"Okay," he found himself saying. He kneaded his ribs absently once more. "Okay, I – yeah. That'd be cool."

Shiro's smile spread to a full grin. "Great! I'll book in a time slot, then. But not today." Rising to his feet, he extended a hand towards Keith, wriggling his fingers suggestively. "Today, I'm taking you to the nurse's office, if you don't mind. Better to get anything fixed up before it gets worse, right?"

Keith almost protested. He almost smacked away Shiro's hand, because he didn't need the help. He didn't need the support or the assistance of such an offering. But he paused, and he frowned, and tentatively, as though Shiro's fingers might burn him, he accepted his hand and the tug to his feet.

No one had ever offered him a hand before. No one had cared enough to bother.