Day 5 - Free Day
They kept a firm line between their professional and private relationship. Until they couldn't.

Shiro caught him in the lower passageways of the Atlas, just beyond the orderly sign that pointed the way to the Lion Hangars. Keith stopped as that hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. It was a friendly, familiar gesture; one that had followed him since those early academy days when Shiro had been both a friend and mentor.

"Good job out there. Though it looked like you were cutting it a little close at the end there."

It had been a straightforward, though no less harrowing, mission. Infiltrate the Galra battleship, recover plans for the superweapon that had rumors flying hot all over the galaxy, and above all else, return home in one piece. The mission should have been a simple one. But then again, when was anything they did ever simple in the end? A hidden fail-safe, and one unfortunate Paladin triggering a self-destruct sequence.

Shiro could still feel the ghost of his heart in his throat. The Captain's Console held the evidence of the death grip his artificial fingers had dug into it.

He made a mental note to apologize to maintenance for having to get the dents out. Again.

Keith - because this was Keith - merely shrugged, his helmet tucked under one arm. "There was enough time. I had Kosmo with me. Besides-" The younger man's hand slipped into the storage compartment at his waist, and pulled out a small black chip. "Whole mission would've been a waste without this."

Shiro huffed out a breath through his nose, lips pressed tight together. He glanced up as a pair of engineers walked down the hall, one with his arms full of a box of supplies. "Captain," one of them said, throwing Shiro a sharp salute. The second man, his arms full, nodded respectfully in his wake. Shiro's own salute was swift and jaunty in return.

His gaze dropped back to Keith as the men passed, giving the paladin a small smile. "Take that to Sam. He's been dying to take a look at those blueprints." Keith nodded, and curled his fingers with care around the chip, hand dropping to his side. Shiro's palm lingered only a few moments longer over Keith's shoulder, before breaking away.

They both had tasks that needed their attention.

Later, Keith would let himself into Shiro's private quarters, his fingerprints already keyed to the access panel on the wall.

Shiro didn't look up from his position, leaning over his desk, eyes drawn, expression haggard. The man dragged a hand back through his hair as he scrolled down on his tablet, pausing every so often to tap something out. Keith slipped up behind him, silent as a ghost, as he wrapped his arms around the man. One hand slipped easily into the unbuttoned breast of Shiro's jacket.

"You scared me today." Shiro's attention wasn't on the tablet anymore, an open weariness in his voice. One that he no longer had to hide away underneath an air of confidence and responsibility.

"I know," Keith murmured, pressing his cheek into Shiro's hair, wishing he could pour all the warmth he held into the man. Wished he could find a way to lighten his heart. "Never wanted to scare you. But I was too close to scrub the mission." Shiro closed his eyes, and he could feel that small smile growing on Keith's lips. "Besides, you should've seen the look on Pidge's face the instant she saw those schematics. It was Christmas all over again."

Shiro couldn't help the small chuckle, a tired smile blossoming on his lips. "You escaped before they started going on for hours about it. I swear, I could only make out every other word."

All it took was a push off of his feet and Shiro spun his chair around, catching Keith in his arms. He cradled his boyfriend's jaw with a gentle hand, gray eyes studying the man's face, before dropping down to follow the tracing of a callused thumb over his lower lip. Shiro released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding and tugged Keith in, their lips just brushing.

"Bed?" Keith breathed out, fingers finding the man's other hand, gently tugging him back.

"Bed," Shiro agreed, letting Keith pull him from that chair.

The rest of his paperwork, his responsibilities, that line of professional separation between Captain and Paladin, could wait until morning.

It worked for them. They were best friends, comrades, confidants. They were the captain of the Atlas and the leader of Voltron on the bridge, in passageways of the Atlas, or sitting around a table for a debriefing. Their relationship was far from a secret. Even if it had been one, it would have made for a poorly kept secret. The lingering looks, the soft touch to a shoulder, or an easy smile when they caught the other's eye - it all served as a beacon. One that rang out loud and clear long before Shiro and Keith had heard it themselves.

"Finally," Lance proclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. That had been that one afternoon he'd caught them leaning close at a table in the mess hall. "You guys have been making googly eyes at each other forever."

"I've been holding Lance back from playing matchmaker with you two," Hunk chimed in, placing a plate of something that looked vaguely squidlike in front of them all. Keith's mouth twisted, nose wrinkling, though whether it was from the idea of Lance as his matchmaker or the weird squid meal, Shiro still wasn't sure.

"You're welcome," Hunk supplied helpfully.

Turns out, there had been several betting pools going among the crew of the Atlas as well. All variations of 'will they, won't they' or 'who will confess first' or 'how long will it take for us to catch them making out in one of the many supply closets'.

Nobody ever did find them in a supply closet.

They saved their intimacy for those precious moments they were both off-duty, whether it was in the rec room, passing each other in a corridor or their own private quarters. But when on the clock, they were nothing but professional.

Strictly professional as Keith stood, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders stiff as he laid out the plan for the Paladins to infiltrate the base where intel told them the Galra weapon prototype was being housed. Shiro stood to the side, overlooking the proceedings, arms crossed over his chest.

Strictly professional as hours passed, Coran's brow wrinkled, worried, as he gave the same answer he'd given for Shiro's last three requests for an update. "Still no word from the Paladins."

Strictly professional, except for a soft touch to the small of Keith's back when he stepped out of Black, blood still dripping from a gash over his eye. His cheek looked puffy, swollen. Shiro caught the man's shoulder, catching him as he faltered and stumbled on that last step.

Strictly professional as Shiro grit his teeth, swallowing back his frustration as he listened to Lance, Pidge, and Hunk frantically retell the events of the failed mission. The disabled lions. Keith's unseen entry with Kosmo. Pidge and Lance following later with the space wolf's help to find Keith on the floor of a science lab, beaten and bleeding and still somehow holding off three Galra soldiers. He'd been as fierce as any wolf, wild and deadly, his sword angled defensively in front of him. Hunk's eyes snapped to Shiro's artificial hand. Shiro started, eyes dropping down to the grip, wrought with tension, he had on the briefing table. One by one, he pulled his fingers away, leaving the warped metal of the table behind.

That professionalism fractured as he stepped into the infirmary not even an hour later, his heart cracking as he saw Keith lying there. He looked so small and still, breathing labored, bruises blossoming on his swollen face, bandages pristine and white and wrapped clinically around his left arm and shoulder. That thin cotton blanket drawn up his chest covered the more extensive damage the doctors had found upon cutting his armor away .

Keith slept and Shiro ordered Coran to take the bridge, voice too steady, eyes distant. They would call him if needed. For now, the man returned to Keith's side and dragged a chair up by the bed. He sat there, studying Keith's face, stomach twisting in guilt at the swelling over his cheek bones, along his jaw, black and blue bruises risen strong. Butterfly stitches ran up his brow - perhaps another scar to add to a growing collection.

Now, in the quiet of the infirmary, without a thought for the single doctor still on duty, Shiro let his guise as Captain tumble away, until it was only Shiro. He slumped forward in the chair, normally pristine uniform rumpled. The man's hand reached out, unable to resist that inexorable pull, taking Keith's gently in his own. He clasped it reverently between his own, fingers stroking callused fingers and palm, committing each line to memory.

It was unnatural, seeing a man who burned so bright, that fire hot and wild, lying so still. There had been times Shiro had feared Keith would burn himself out completely, but the man had learned to hone that blaze. He'd found a way to direct and focus it.

Now?

Now he looked small and fragile, embers burning low. Shiro pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, leaving a silent prayer behind.

"I should have been there," he whispered to the silence. There was only silence in return.

Shiro woke up to a hand brushing against his, searching. He groaned softly as his eyes fluttered, struggling to push exhaustion away. There was a crick in his back, the man slumped awkwardly back on the chair. It pinched at his muscles, lips twisting into a grimace as he pushed himself up with care.

All he had to do was lay his eyes on Keith, and the pain fell away. Shiro sat up straighter, hand drawn like a magnet's to Keith. It looks so small, engulfed by his artificial hand.

"You look awful," Keith mused, voice thick with sleep, raspy from disuse.

Every single day, Shiro strove for that firm, commanding presence. But you couldn't command with a rumpled uniform or unbuttoned jacket. Disheveled hair that fell over shadowed eyes only stole from the respect and example he strove to inspire in his crew. And it had been years before he'd let himself go enough for the beginnings of a 5 o'clock shadow to make itself known.

But right now? None of that mattered. Nothing mattered but the wry grin that graced the younger man's lips, quivering and shadowed with pain, but undoubtedly Keith. It chased away the horrifying stillness that had left Shiro reeling with fear.

Shiro laughed softly and reached out with one hand, brushing unruly strands of black out of Keith's brilliant eyes. "Welcome back, love."