I'm getting Amy/Laurie feels, so here's a #sheith fic thread. If you know what went down in Europe, you know what happens

Anyone who sees Shiro knows exactly who he is, so he's taken care to attempt to remain incognito -- or as much as he can with a floating robot arm. He's worked with the Holts to make it more compact and less glowing, which has distracted him more than he would like to admit.

It still floats, but a cloak -- which has become stylish recently, thankfully -- thrown over his shoulders takes care of that. He also buys an over-the-counter hair dye, making sure not to miss his eyebrows.

He lets the Garrison knows of his plans, fuels up a ship (Atlas is too conspicuous, and the Holts want to make some upgrades anyway), crams everything he thinks he'll need in a duffel bag, and leaves without a goodbye.

So when he lands on Oria, there's no newscasts on Admiral Takashi Shirogane, former paladin of Voltron, or crowds of media or well-wishers (or enemies, though that's trickled off) waiting. He knows Earth will be buzzing about his departure, but he can't help that.

Shiro takes one quick glance in the reflection of his datapad before going outside. No one bats an eye at a new ship; this is a port planet of sorts, and arrivals happen every day. He breathes in the air that reminds him of rising yeast, tasting salt and newly-soaked earth.

Travelers and traders and civilians jostle, some exchanging polite greetings. Shiro strolls past them, looking around for the ship he'd memorized for two weeks.

He's gotten more confident in his anonymity, with a few stops on uninhabited planets and one trial run in a bustling, population-laden moon. But this is the first one where he'll likely have to interact with people -- even though he's just looking for one.

The streets are paved with a marble-like stone that somehow cushions his step. He stops by a stall and grabs a package-wrapped lunch, something that reminds him of Hunk's sticky barbecue sandwiches. A few children are laughing, kicking around a ball.

It suddenly flies past his head and smacks into the back of someone's head. He hears several gasps and one nervous giggle, but the ball's flies back in a slow arc and an unbothered "here you go."

Shiro turns.

Keith's giving them a reassuring smile, which immediately vanishes when he sees Shiro's face.

"Keith!" Shiro exclaims, nearly dropping his food, and steps forward with his human arm out.

Keith stiffens in the embrace. He smells like sweat and something sugary, his hair braided in a line down his back, wearing the Blade uniform that has a sash draping over one shoulder.

But arms do come around his back and squeeze once, almost carefully. "Shiro?" he breathes into his ear.

"Yeah," Shiro says, smiling. "It's so good to see you. I hoped I wouldn't miss you."

"Well, you caught me," Keith says, then pulls away. Shiro sees dark circles underneath his eyes, wonders how Keith's been sleeping, if he's had the same dreams as Shiro has.

He pushes that thought away; he isn't meant to think about these things on this trip.

"Do you--are you busy?"

"No," Keith says. His eyes go to Shiro's hand. "I see you got lunch. Let me grab something and we can...catch up, I guess."

Keith buys a series of kabobs nestled in a convenient paper-like bucket, and they head down the road to the trails this planet is known for, all lush green hills dotted with sweet-smelling flowers with a view of the crystal blue ocean.

It lights up at night and is supposed to be beautiful; Shiro's put it on his list since he heard of it from Veronica, who'd returned from her honeymoon with a collection of hats and a wide smile that went on for weeks.

Keith talks about his mission, how he's supposed to stay and observe how the ports are faring after a raid by space pirates (and not particularly nice ones). They'd doubled security and all seemed well, but Kolivan wanted to be sure -- he suspected an inside job.

"You're doing it alone?" Shiro asks.

"Yes," Keith says, "but there's reinforcements if needed. Acxa and the others had to go to another planet to help resettle some refugees; I volunteered to stay." He takes a bite of one of his kabobs. "How's your trip going?"

"It's nice," Shiro says. "Better without having to dodge gunfire or attend meetings. The Garrison still loves them, by the way."

"I figured," Keith replies. "Nothing gives Iverson quite a thrill like them."

Shiro smirks. "He likes his visual aids. How's Krolia?"

Keith lights up. "She's been working with Kolivan at Daibazaal. The wolf's with them; he's had space puppies." He digs out his datapad, and holographic images pop up, of tiny blue bundles of fur.

Shiro cooes over them. "Are you keeping all of them?"

"Maybe." Keith shrugs in a way that suggests yes. "He's pretty protective. But Mom's been telling me stories of vanishing pups; some have been going into people's homes."

Grinning, Shiro tries to imagine a mini-wolf wagging its tail at a heavily-armored Galra soldier. "Any complaints?"

"No, but it won't be cute for long," Keith says. "Trust me."

Shiro laughs again; he can't remember the last time he's laughed so much. They update each other on the paladins, on old friends and allies, on interplanetary happenings. They get into a light-hearted debate about a terraforming conflict, and end up people-watching at the docks.

Dinner is several plates of dumplings stuffed with things that taste like green onions and tilapia, a few rounds of nunvil, and a large slice of a purple-berried tart. Keith excuses himself to do patrolling, and Shiro reluctantly heads back to his ship.

The rest of their time is filled with mostly walking -- or taking hoverbikes -- around the planet. He sees the glowing ocean, specks of silvery jellyfish-like creatures swimming in the shallows, with ships coming into port with both familiar and unusual cargo.

He buys himself a sun hat and a few trinkets; Keith doesn't get anything but politely nods through a meandering story from a merchant and plays a quick game of catch with some of the kids Shiro saw on his first day. He smiles more, Shiro at first thinks.

But he comes to realize there's a weight in Keith's voice, his eyes, something serious that hasn't been there. He misses Keith's spark of temper, eyes passionate and fiery, but everything's changed. They're all growing up, moving from war to peace, tempered into starting anew.

Keith can be serious, Shiro knows, but this is a different sort of serious -- not tense, exactly, but quiet and restrained. He has a new habit of putting his first finger to his chin in brief thought, or winding his braid absentmindedly while talking.

His strides are slower, too, that remind Shiro of a jungle cat. His shoulders are broader, the scar on his cheek slightly faded, and hands slender and calloused. His Blade uniform makes him look taller and more dignified, but he's always willing to bend down to talk to a child,

or chat with some of the residents.

He hasn't seen Keith, really, since the wedding.

How did they lose touch, he wonders as they take a boat out. How did they drift apart? How long had it been since they were able to interact like this? He's ashamed to realize it's been longer than he thought.

"Keith," he says, when they're out in the middle of the water. "How have you been doing? Really."

Keith looks at him. "You know what I've been doing."

"I mean...more than that. It's just...I haven't asked. And I'm sorry for that."

"I've been doing fine," Keith says. "Same old, same old."

"But what's that mean?" Shiro presses.

Keith turns away. "Nothing's changed, Shiro. Not with me."

"Your hair's longer," Shiro says, trying for some levity.

"Yeah," Keith says shortly. "That."

"And I heard talk that you might be next in line -- or nominated, really, when the elections start."

"I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not going to be emperor, Shiro. That's not me."

"It might be you. You just don't--"

"Shiro," Keith says, with a bite so sharp and sudden that he's startled. "You don't know me."

Shiro's silent for a moment, stung. "I do know you," he almost whispers.

"No, you don't," Keith says. His hands clench around the steering controls; he's no longer looking at Shiro. "Not for a long time."

"Keith..."

"Do you really want to know how I am, or are you just being polite? Your due diligence as a /friend/? Do you expect an honest answer?"

"Of course I do," Shiro says, still startled. He hasn't heard this vitriol from Keith the entire time, for years, even.

"I despise you."

"What?"

Keith laughs, harshly this time. "I mean I want to. Because, really, you're on this trip, and for what? Some bullshit recovery trip? One last hurrah, then you stay home forever? Everyone knows what you're doing."

Shiro's throat tightens. "That's not it."

"You and your husband are separated," Keith says bluntly. "This trip was your idea. You told him you needed space. Something isn't working out, and you need to find out on your own? Am I right?"

"That's not--"

"And now you're on this...I don't know, 'Eat, Pray, Love' thing, hoping you can find a solution and go back and be happy. While /he's/ home holding down the fort -- or out of your hair."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't? Which part is wrong?"

"The trip was my idea, but he's the one who told /me/ he needed space."

Keith's grip loosens a bit.

Shiro stares down at his hand; he hasn't worn the ring for disguise purposes, or so he said to himself. "I love him. I know I do. But I've--" He shakes his head. "I can't. I can't seem to fix things, with him. With us."

"He's kind," Shiro says, "kinder than I deserve. And he's smart and handsome and can be so funny -- don't do that, he can be -- and his family's so warm and accepting."

"So you married him," Keith says.

"I've always wanted to marry someone," Shiro admits.