Chapter 5: Try Again
Cables snapped. The hangar groaned. The spotlight overhead, glaringly white-pink and abusively bright, tumbled from the column to soar down past into empty space.
It was falling apart – the hangar, the entire asteroid – and there was nothing Keith could do about it. Nothing but fling himself towards Shiro as the disc-floor they stood upon tilted and wavered before upending entirely.
A maddened scramble. A frantic slide. A desperate grab for something, anything, to slow their fall. As the hangar crumbled, the floor tipped vertically and hanging by a thread, Keith was dropped into empty space himself with only his hold upon Shiro and his knife to steady him.
He swung a wayward strike. That was all he could do. As they slid down the floor, Shiro limp and unresponsive in Keith's grasp, he swung his knife and struck the floor, piercing the metal in a jagged slash. For a moment, they still fell. Debris tumbled around them, past them, spraying Keith with painful yet negligible flecks of metallic shards. He paid them no mind. He clung to Shiro, grasping his remaining arm with as much single-minded dedication as he did the knife that jerked to a stop and held them against the tipped floor. It wasn't much, but it was enough to stall their descent.
Keith panted, gasping for breath that didn't feel like it had eased even once throughout his entire fight. Squeezing his eyes closed, he struggled against the stretching pain that seemed intent upon tearing his arms from his shoulder sockets as he held both his own and Shiro weight suspended dangling in thin air. Shiro's weight hung limp and heavy beneath him, and the screaming pain of clinging to the knife where it stuck into the wall above him was just as heavy.
When Keith finally dragged his eyes open again, it was to behold the dizzying openness of empty space beneath him, interrupted by the distant, shapeless pieces of disembowelled hangar and formless ash drifting into nothingness. Glancing upwards at his knife, the only thing holding them from following after the hanger that was little more than a linchpin, Keith fought the urge to readjust his grip. He struggled with the same as he glanced down towards Shiro, his hand twisted awkwardly and so, so close to letting go.
Through clenched teeth, Keith drew a deep breath and hauled – upon Shiro, upon the knife, upon the possibility of somehow, in any way, climbing back onto stable ground. His struggle lasted for barely seconds before the knife gave out, sliding with a groan and another jagged slice through the metal of the suspended floor and dropping them a jolting foot lower.
Keith couldn't withhold his cry, torn loose as much by anger as fear. He could feel sweat dribbling down his face, cold and clammy against his cheeks. He hissed through clenched teeth, sparing another glance towards Shiro's unconscious body.
His heart had somehow clambered into his mouth. That was how it felt. It was what Keith thoughts as need voiced itself in his mind. We've been through so much. Memories played before his eyes in rapid succession, blotting out the wreckage around them, demanding and reminding, incessant. So much, Shiro. So much, and you've always been there for me. I have to… I have to do this. I have to save you.
The hangar groaned. Then it fell.
The cables holding the tilted floor strained. Then they snapped.
Keith's knife gave out, and in a merciless fling, he was cast away from minimal stability into open air. It was terrifying, in a way. Somehow more terrifying than it was to be alone and suspended in space without a ship. Somehow more terrifying than to be alone and running for his life.
It was more terrifying because Keith had Shiro clasped in hand, and he wasn't letting go. He never would. No matter how far they fell or what battles they had to fight through together or even in opposition, Keith wouldn't let go.
As they fell through the tumbling wreckage, Keith stared down at Shiro's unconscious form falling beneath him. His face was softened from their lines of hatred, softened into the pain that Shiro wore so well and so often. It was a reflection of everything that Keith felt within him in that moment, and it was almost too much to behold.
So he closed his eyes. He blinded himself. But even so, in the silence of his own mind, as they plummeted to their deaths, he opened them once more and he made a promise. I'll never let go, Shiro. Never.
Keith didn't look at the boy sitting beside him. He knew that Gabe was glaring, that he'd been glaring ever since they'd been planted at opposite ends of the short line of seats by a firm word and an even firmer stare. Keith didn't care. Gabe could glare all he liked; it wasn't like it would do anything. Gabe didn't hold any significance to him, anyway.
Keith didn't look down the empty hallway either. He didn't glance up at the sound of voices from the distant corner. He didn't lift his chin to turn when a door opened in the distance of the opposite direction, either. He didn't fidget in his seat, nor slouch and mutter a curse or huff as soon at the assistant principal closed the door into her office with a sharp snap like Gabe did. Keith didn't even glance towards the door or the window behind him in curiosity or guilt or apprehension, not to behold what was taking place just a room away.
His cheek throbbed a little. A cut on the corner of his mouth stung. His knuckles were bruised, peeling on one hand where he'd torn through the skin. The back of his head felt like it was swelling with a growing lump, the bruise already arising. Spots of further bruises dotted him all over, his muscles grumbling in protest to their familiar abuse.
But Keith ignored them. He ignored them all in favour of frowning at his knees and struggling to further ignore the murmurs seeping through the door. It didn't work. He heard them only too well.
"Troublemaker," Assistant Principal Kendell said. "Troublemaker" and "a problem". "Need to do something," and "has become a real issue" and "good grades can't erase bad behaviour". Keith didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear it, but he couldn't help it. Why did Kendell have to speak so loudly? What was the point of a door if she did?
Maybe the disapproval should have stung. Maybe Keith should have been slumping with the same guilt that had Gabe's shoulders sagged and chin lowered, despite his persistent glare. But even after years at the Garrison, after realising, and understanding, and agreeing that it had given him so much, had allowed him so much, had enabled so much, Keith couldn't care. He was frustrated, and for no particular reason. He was upset, and he didn't know why. He was annoyed – by his teachers, his classmates, his schoolwork – and if asked, he wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the exact reason for being annoyed except for the fact that he was. He just was.
Shiro said he gets it, Keith thought to himself. He said he understands why I'm 'acting out' or whatever. I wish he'd tell me, 'cause I have no clue.
Thought of Shiro had Keith wincing internally. He might not care about Kendell's disapproval, but to have it coming from Shiro… that was different. Frown deepening, Keith's hands curled into fists on his thighs. Shiro shouldn't… he shouldn't have to…
"… the only reason he's still here is because you vouched for him." Kendell's voice picked up slightly, almost as though she was ensuring her words filtered through the closed door. "You need to make sure this doesn't happen again."
Jaw clenching, Keith shut his ears to Shiro's reply. He didn't want to hear it. Not from Shiro. He didn't care about Kendell, but if he'd made Shiro angry – or, as was more likely, resigned and just a little upset - Keith didn't want that. It made him feel sick to his stomach to consider.
Why? Why did Shiro have to make sure 'this doesn't happen again'? Why did Shiro have to take the blame, bowing his head in acquiescence and obligingly claim that he would do his best to 'tame the troublemaker'? It wasn't his job. He shouldn't have to take responsibility for Keith. He shouldn't have to step up as he had done countless times over the years – to the commander, to Keith's teachers, even to his classmates – to ask for permission, or to apologise, or to tamper down the aggression that arose from the stupid kids that Keith had to learn alongside. They were all jerks anyway. Why should Keith have to pander to their grumbling complaints, let alone Shiro?
And yet he did. Time and time again, ever since Keith had met him, since he'd first spoken to him and had gradually become something that was sort of like a friend but was also sort of something more, Shiro had done it. He didn't complain, didn't sigh as though he begrudged lending Keith a hand as no one ever had since his father had died. He just did it. Shiro didn't even attend the Garrison as a student anymore, or a mentor as he'd once been to Keith's class. He was swamped beneath his own work, traveled further and for longer in his trips, and barely had a moment to himself -
So why? Why should Shiro be responsible? Why, after everything that had happened, would he still bother? Keith was frustrated, and upset, and annoyed, and he couldn't understand it. Even if Shiro was something more than his friend…
He shouldn't have to deal with me, Keith thought, his fingernails digging into his palms in a sharp pang that didn't really even hurt all that much. He should just leave me alone. I don't even know why I get angry all the time, or why I always get into fights even when I don't want to, but… he should just leave me alone.
Keith didn't listen to Shiro's reply in Kendell's office. He couldn't. He didn't listen to what Kendell said in return either as he frowned down at his knees, ignoring the throbbing of his bruises and Gabe's glares equally. He didn't glance up at the shuffling of steps within the office either, or when the door opened and Shiro stepped out. Not even when the door hissed in a sliding close again and Shiro stepped to his side with a murmured, "Hey."
"Look, I know I messed up," Keith said through his teeth. The words tumbled forth almost without his behest, and though they hurt to speak aloud, he knew he had to say them. He should have said them a long time ago. "You should send me back to the home already. This place isn't for me."
The home. The home would suck. It would suck so much that Keith almost cringed to consider it a possibility. But the Garrison? School life? The rules and restriction, his classmates who'd never liked him and never would, his propensity for landing himself in fights – it wasn't for him. Keith knew that. He thought he'd known it for years, even if he hadn't quite let himself accept it.
Shiro's graduation had changed that. In the years since, Keith simply couldn't deny it anymore.
"Keith," Shiro said, his voice low but nonetheless emphatic . "You can do this. I will never give up on you." The barest pause, and then even more firmly, "But more importantly, you can't give up on yourself."
Keith was fighting the urge to tear his palms open with his fingernails for how tightly he clenched them. It hurt, Shiro's words. It hurt to be spoken to so kindly when he knew he'd done the wrong thing by the Garrison's rules. It hurt that when Shiro spoke, Keith always felt it as though the very words struck a resounding chord within him. It hurt because when Shiro spoke to Keith, he always sounded like he meant every word he spoke. He always had.
But what hurt most of all was Shiro's confidence. It was his final, utterly certain words that resounded and all but dragged Keith's gaze towards him. I will never give up on you, was something Shiro had told him before. It was something that Keith knew, and even if he couldn't accept it for the eternal uncertainty for the fact that no one ever really meant 'never' and 'forever', when Shiro said it he felt it too.
But more that that… You can't give up on yourself.
Giving up. On himself. It was something that Keith hadn't considered. Giving up… on himself? Giving up what? What was there to give up on? After all, despite what Shiro said and what his senior classmates had jokingly praised him for years ago, despite what his flight instructor begrudgingly claimed and what his grades might say, Keith knew he was nothing. He was nobody. He was a foster care kid who'd lucked out by fluking the Garrison exam, and he would almost certainly end up back in the system because –
Keith blinked. His whirring, insistent thoughts drew up short. Oh, he thought, feeling his shoulders sag and slumping as he hadn't allowed himself to for the entire hour he'd been sitting outside Kendell's office. I get it. So that's what he meant.
Giving up on himself. Giving up on the thought of stepping forward. Resisting the resigned, begrudging, but ultimately promising words of his teachers that said he would be a good pilot, might even be great if he could smother his rebelliousness and apparently insatiable urge to pick a fight.
You can't give up on yourself.
Keith wasn't giving up. Or at least he hadn't thought he was. But when Shiro spoke, and when he stared up at Shiro's determined face set into nothing short of open confidence in Keith as he'd always held, Keith realised for the first time that giving up - wasn't that kind of the same as not trying at all?
Keith didn't know what to think about that. He didn't know if he could really try, or if he even wanted to. Being signed up to the Garrison was a decision that had been made for him, not by him, and although he'd found flying nothing short of addictive despite sinking into a familiarity that erased the euphoria a little, he hadn't wanted it. Every part of Garrison life, from the dormitory living, to the classes that hadn't really piqued his interest in all the years he'd attended, to teachers and their rigid guidelines didn't fit him... none of it was particularly enjoyable.
But not even trying to fit the system – wasn't that the same as giving up?
Keith didn't know if he cared. He wasn't sure there was anything particularly wrong with not trying for something he didn't even want. Who wanted to become a pilot all that badly anyway? Being a pilot for the Garrison wasn't necessarily synonymous with flying planes, and Keith didn't care enough about titles to warrant pursuing it. But if Shiro wanted him to, and if Shiro was going to stand by him each step of the way, Keith could try. For that at least, he could try.
He couldn't speak, but Shiro must have somehow realised Keith's train of thought, for his concern faded the longer Keith sat in silence. Finally, as Kendell appeared at the door and swept past them in disregarding strides to all but scoop Gabe from his seat and haul him away alongside her, Shiro half-turned and tipped his head in a gesture.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here."
Keith swallowed thickly. Rising to his feet, he took his place at Shiro's side as they left Kendell's office behind them. He kept his head bowed, but any residual anger for Gabe and the fight, for being called out and blamed when Gabe was responsible - because he was being an ass and it was his fault, even if Keith had thrown the first punch - had faded. He could only glance sidelong up at Shiro when Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder and drew his attention.
"Are you okay?" he asked, eyes skimming over Keith's face in a swift assessment. "Do I need to take you to the nurse's office?"
Keith immediately shook his head.
"You're sure?"
A nod.
Shiro assessed him for a moment longer before nodding himself in reluctant acceptance. "Okay, then. But you tell me if you're not feeling up to anything, okay? I was thinking we could take a trip down to the hangar today since we haven't been since last Monday, but…"
"The hangar?" Keith raised his head in spite of himself. "You're taking me to -?"
"Sure," Shiro said with a smile.
"Now?"
"Did you have somewhere else to be?"
Keith opened and closed his mouth for a moment, struggling for words as they rounded the corner. Finally, chewing the inside of his bottom lip, he frowned. "I'm pretty sure Kendell expected you to discipline me," he said.
"I assume so," Shiro ceded, dropping his hand from Keith's shoulder to step forward and lead the way down the short flight of stairs to the ground floor. "But from the look of Gabe, I suspect it was his fault."
"Maybe," Keith muttered.
"And I don't really believe in reactionary punishment," Shiro continued, just as Keith had anticipated. He'd spoken those very words in exchange of a scolding countless times before. "Better to talk it out when everyone's cooled down a little, don't you think?"
Keith couldn't argue with that. Not when he knew very well that, after they'd 'cooled down' at the hangar and after Shiro joined him for dinner as he still did every so often even thought he wasn't a student anymore, they really would talk. Or have 'The Talk', as Keith had come to think of it with more than a little exasperation. He wasn't particularly phased by The Talk, and could almost predict what Shiro would say word for word. It wasn't like it would make him change his attitude. He wasn't the only one responsible, after all; it took two people to fight.
But maybe… maybe this time Keith might listen a little more attentively. I will never give up on you, Shiro had said, and it struck Keith more fiercely that day than he would have thought possible.
As Shiro continued to talk over his shoulder, chuckling to himself with a worded, "Don't think I'll forget. I'll get you when you least expect it," Keith hastened after him. He didn't know if he could stop getting into fights when it was justified, or when someone picked a fight with him. He didn't know about 'not giving up on himself', or if he even could. But he would try. If Shiro asked it of him, he would try.
