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The fever was like a betrayal.
Suddenly and all too much against his will, something sinister was in control of his movements and actions, thoughts and desires and he had nothing whatsoever to do with it.
Back on Earth, a few nights sleep and a couple popped aspirin would knock back symptoms adequately enough to keep on fighting. Keith was good at not listening, even to the better judgement of his own physical limitations. Water. Sleep. Maybe a cold shower if the nights got too uncomfortable but that was the Kogane methodology and had been the day Keith realized that, when it came to being sick, he was very much on his own.
This was different.
Time played tricks, sounds equally untrustworthy. His eyes would close and open again to find the daylight had disappeared. His head buzzed like a battalion of locusts were at work on his brain. Voices wavered in and out, sometimes with alarming intensity and other times the merest suggestion of a whisper. Words warped. Colors melded. He felt like he’d been slipped some of the good stuff on an empty stomach.
His shoulders ached. His back seized in painful spasms. Not the typical burn of training and overexertion. A raw, cutting soreness took his limbs, making basic mobility seem impossible. He was so hot. No, he was too cold. Red’s thermal settings weren’t responding. Why wasn’t she listening?
Something was definitely wrong. Or had been. Or...still was?
Reality drifted back in phases, like the in and out ebbing of the tide. Keith felt grounded one moment, half-formed and dubious the next. Hands were on him. Checking him, holding him up when he could not will his knees to lock on their own. His last remembered thought had been of panic, a need to get out from somewhere. The Lion? Red’s soft presence thrummed in the back of his mind, reaching out to him, seeking him.
His delirium made him panic, heart racing. How could Red possibly be here in this too-small space with him? The parameters were wrong! She would combust!
Keith woke and when he did, the first thing he realized was that he was soaked. The second was a dark face swinging like a pendulum above his own. He wasn’t moving, why was the face?
When had he been lying down?
“Keith? Hey, you with me this time?” Hunk’s concerned voice, low and rich. Keith shut his eyes again, not trusting his friend’s presence to linger but, to his vague surprise, he did not melt away. A moan met his ears from somewhere. From him?
“That bug really knocked you on your ass.” Hunk commented dryly. Keith tried to respond but nothing happened. His inflamed throat blocked then backfired into a strained wheeze.
“No, no, no. No talking.” Hunk quickly shushed him with a click of his tongue. “You’ve done enough of that. Don’t you remember?”
Keith blinked weakly to show Hunk that he did not. He was confused and managed to groan out his frustration despite the grating discomfort.
Hunk was peeling something lukewarm from his forehead that he hadn’t realized was ever there before. His skin? Why was Hunk removing his skin and why was--?
The firm back of Hunk’s wrist against his temples, held there a moment. He felt more than heard Hunk’s sigh wash over him like a calm breeze.
“Guess you don’t.” New coldness accompanied the gentle press of Hunk’s large hand under his bangs. Keith shivered beneath it. “We practically had to wrestle you into bed, you weren’t making much sense. Red threw you out. You were burning up!”
He was still burning.
Keith’s sluggish brain desperately wanted to recall these things but all he had were fragments, shards that he didn’t have energy to put together into recognizable form. He grunted, tried to make words again.
His voice, when he finally produced it, sounded foreign to him.
“Hunk...g-gotta...” He jerked, tried to move. Hunk placed a firm hand on his chest.
“Woah, not yet dude. You’re not out of the clear.” Keith couldn’t be sure if Hunk had actually spoken real words or his hand had translated the message into his body somehow. Hands could talk, right?
“I’m…I’m fine…Just--” Keith found that breathing his thoughts was much easier than fully speaking them. Hunk refused to yield.
“Nope.” A straw pressed to his lips, Hunk clearly hoping to distract him from his desperate, albeit futile attempts to make a break for it. “Here. Drink.”
The water was chilled and felt beautiful down his abused throat. Keith sipped slowly, a little at a time, until he felt his head clear. The fog gradually receded from his brain. He lay back down, feeling better with the next deep breath. Hunk’s shape was more solid, and he was relieved to find he could think again.
“You’re sick. It’s ok, just admit it.” Hunk assured him easily.
Keith coughed, closing his eyes. “Sure…”
He meant to say more, tried to voice his next thought but the coolness on his brow and the steady warmth of Hunk’s hand on his chest proved too much. Without meaning to, he was asleep again.
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Waking again proved much easier on the second…third…whatever round.
Experimentally, Keith moved his head and found that agony did not follow.
He took a deep breath and found he did not choke and his chest did not seize up with violent shudders. The deep breath he took felt so good that he inhaled deeply again. The extra noises were gone. He felt cool if not a little sticky from…
Keith growled and sat up too quickly, feeling his head spin a little.
His shirt was sticking to him uncomfortably and he peeled it off, grateful for the fact that his muscles only twinged slightly as he raised his arms above his head. A sudden noise made him turn his head and he gave a lopsided grin to find Hunk (he had not been imagined) snoring in the chair at his bedside.
Good ‘ol Hunk. He’d probably been there the entire time.
Keith shifted his body and planted his bare feet against the floor, willing himself to rise. He felt a little shaky but otherwise perfectly sound in mind and body. The showers weren’t too far away, perhaps he could dash in and take one before—
“Hold it!”
Keith froze, gulping in guilt.
Hunk’s mass was in front of him before he could dart past the door.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Hunk inquired, fists on his hips.
Keith licked his dry lips, hoping to appear as well as he felt. “Uh…felt gross. Was gonna hit the showers?”
Hunk’s hand on his chest had him seated back on his bed with a firm thud. “No ya don’t. Not until you’re checked out. Shiro's orders.”
Keith opened his mouth to deny the necessity of that but found his tongue quickly occupied by a digital thermometer. Keith scowled around it while Hunk fussed.
“Hold that there a sec.” He grasped Keith’s wrist and examined his watch, speaking the entire time in an endless prattle. “No more rabbit pulse! Awesome! And hey, you’re back to being Keith-colored and not chalk-colored. Geez, where’d you dump your shirt?” He wrinkled his nose at the heap of crumpled material. “Is it cool if I burn this and just buy you a new one at the next trade post? Gah! This thing is rank!”
“I’m ok, Hunk!” Keith's insistence became a growl, grateful when the thermometer blipped. Hunk took it out and held it up to examine it.
“Mmmm…” He narrowed his eyes doubtfully. “Technically, you still have a temperature.”
Keith could not check his frustration at the door even if he was tired and, he had to admit, ravenous. "Ungh! Come on Hunk! Half a point doesn't count!"
Hunk nodded in empathy but stayed firm. "Well, it's not a large margin as temperatures go, especially considering the last couple of days. But I'd stay put if I were--"
“I feel fine!” Keith's impatience was morphing into his typical rage. “Look, I’ll take some painkiller or something, drink extra water. I’ll go crazy if I have to spend another day in bed!”
“Well…” Hunk chewed his lip.
“Please Hunk? Just lemme shower and eat in peace! I’m not sick anymore, yeah? No fever, right?”
He grabbed Hunk's hand and pressed it to his forehead for emphasis. Hunk jerked his hand away.
“No more DEATH fever but—“
“Hunk!”
Hunk’s shoulders lowered in defeat.
“Well, alright. But don’t blame me if you wind up right back here.” Hunk busied himself with stripping the Altean sheets and finding clean bedding.
“Thanks, Hunk!” He snapped a towel over his shoulder, eager to rid himself of grime.
“Don’t thank me that quick…” Hunk muttered to his retreating back.
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Keith felt completely rearranged after the shower. Structurally and mentally, he was amazed at just how invigorated he was being clean again. He felt whole, solid and steady on his feet. His eyes no longer played tricks and the pain in his head had numbed to near nothingness. His limbs felt slightly shaky but other than that, he felt normal. He could speak without misery, breathe without repercussions and his energy levels were on overload. Keith hated sleep, never needed much of it under normal circumstances and now all the pent up fuel within him was ready to burn.
But first, he needed some food.
He hadn’t felt hungry in a while and he told himself the giddy shakiness in his arms and legs was from low blood sugar. A trip to the commissary would fix that. He could hardly wait to hit the training deck and get back to performance levels. So much time had been lost, his stomach burned with frustration at how long he’d been out of commission.
“Hey, glad to see you up and about!” Pidge brightened when she saw him, eating from a plate of chilled food goo. Shiro stood up from his seat in alarm, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Keith, we were worried! Are you alright?” Keith shook free of Shiro’s grip and grinned.
“Better than alright. I could eat a ton right now!” He was hoping the energetic front would erase the tight line of Shiro’s mouth and the prominent creases in his face.
“We saw you collapse.” Shiro explained quietly. “Hunk didn’t leave your side even once.”
Keith took a deep breath, trying to mask his frustration. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? There were more important things to do than stress about his health.
“Well, I’m fine now.” He stepped back. “In fact, I’m ready to hit the training deck and make up for lost time.”
“Sure that’s a good idea?” Lance piped up, eyeing him suspiciously in a way that made both of Keith’s fists tighten. “You just came out of Death Flu.”
“I said, I’m FINE.” Keith heard his voice rise higher than he meant to. “I’m sorry for the setback but we gotta get back on track. I’ll be there for training sessions this afternoon, Shiro.”
Shiro shrugged a bit uncertainly but acceded.
“Copy that.” Shiro stepped away and sauntered into a seat beside Pidge, tearing the wrapper away from an energy bar and offering it to him. “Power up then. I don’t intend to go easy on you.”
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Adrenaline soared through his veins, his blood pumping like liquid nitrogen throughout his body. Shiro had opted for hand to hand as opposed to weapon sims, partially to welcome Keith back to the fold and partially to re-condition him to performance battle levels. Keith relished in it, body and mind slipping back into combat mode as easily as a rehearsed dance.
Shiro kept him on his feet, his movements sharp and barely predictable as he took Keith through an advanced combination, taking it slower for Pidge and Lance to catch up. Hunk rolled eyes at the display, hand-to-hand being his least favorite use of training time, but he didn’t complain once.
“HA!” Shiro dodged a roundhouse kick, springing back on the mat to shift his body and cut across with one leg, trying to knock Keith off his feet. Keith stumbled back but held his ground, stance firmly planted and breathing hard.
“Too slow, old man?” Keith grinned.
“Slow? You’re the one with the delayed reaction.” Shiro countered, pulling Keith close to his chest by the wrist to prevent him from escaping. Shiro’s touch was firm but practiced, not aiming to injure but to educate. Keith huffed, chest heaving, attempting a last minute evasive tactic but Shiro blocked him with a powerful forearm shove, knocking him against the floor mat onto his back.
“Smooth, Shiro.” Lance complimented from underneath Pidge, who had successfully pinned him in a firm grappling maneuver. “Ow!” He cried out when Pidge ground her elbow into his lower back a bit too forcefully. “Careful Pidge, I bruise like a peach!”
“Sorry!” Pidge laughed, easing up her hold. She bent down to offer her wrist to Lance, helping him to his feet before retaking her fight stance.
Keith dragged his hand across his eyes. He was sweating like crazy again. He licked his lips, tasting the tang of salt. He wasn’t through just yet. His blood was racing, adrenaline urging him onward.
“Ok guys, time for a breather.” Shiro called it.
“Wait!” Keith moved from his crouch and stood. “One more go.”
“Your face is kinda red, Keith.” Hunk noted uneasily.
“Zarkon won’t care what color my face is! Again! I gotta be ready for next time, I gotta—“
“Woah, ease up kiddo.” Shiro placated him, patting him on the back. “You want me to deliver you another whupping, I’m glad to comply.”
“Another? Keith my man, you really don’t look too good.” Lance stated from the sidelines. Keith growled incoherently at him but it was Pidge who echoed the voice of doubt this time.
“I dunno Shiro. Maybe you should—?"
“Again!” Keith shouted, silencing her. Shiro met his gaze and waved her away.
“It’s fine Pidge.” He faced Keith, cracking his neck and then his knuckles. “Keith wants another round? Another round he’ll get.”
That was all Keith needed to hear. His heart was beating violently against his ribcage, urging him to push harder, think sharper. His thoughts were a whirlwind, faster than he had time to organize when Shiro came at him again.
“HA!” His wrist moved up automatically to block Shiro’s ankle aimed at his head. He ducked down, darting forward to land an open blow at Shiro’s chest. Shiro dodged, arching his back to evade in a handspring, up and away from Keith’s blind punch.
“Yer outta bounds, kid!” He warned, breathing easily as he caught Keith by the back of his sweaty neck, slamming him down against the mat. Keith writhed, twisting away to roll on his side and regain his footing. His legs were trembling but he’d just been training too hard, the muscles were readjusting to the exertion. Shiro was out to prove something, he just wasn’t sure what.
He charged again but Shiro met him again, blocking his punches with an open hand, deflecting them back and forcing Keith into the wall. Keith’s growl of frustration sounded genuine but Shiro’s calm face did not waver.
“Do you yield?” Shiro panted.
“Not yet!” He snarled.
Shiro let him go and stepped back, waiting. “Ok. Once more. Come at me.”
Keith tried to center himself but it was hard to focus and…since when had it become this hard to breathe? He’d felt pumped and energized mere moments ago but a wave of sudden dizziness washed over him. Strange. He’d eaten breakfast. Why was he so winded? He placed a hand against his chest and wheezed.
Hunk heard it. So did Lance because he rushed forward.
“Woah, Shiro? Shiro stop…!!!”
It was too late. With a roar, Shiro leapt high, aiming his blow directly at Keith.
A few things happened all at once.
Keith barely had time to raise his arms in defense when a sudden wave of violent nausea gripped him and he crumbled to his knees. The buzzing was back, that awful buzzing…
“HYAH!” Lance barreled ahead, throwing himself bodily in the path of Shiro’s arc, blocking Keith from the attack. Thrown off course, he and Shiro rolled off the practice mat in a jumbled heap of panting limbs.
“TIME!” Hunk bellowed.
Pidge was at Keith’s side in an instant, her cool hand on his sweating forehead.
“Keith, you idiot…” She muttered. Keith silently concurred.
Keith closed his eyes and breathed as though it were the only thing he could do.
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Burning. He was burning.
How could anything be this hot and survive?
Shiro’s voice swung in and out of consciousness, somewhere on the sidelines of his sleep. Water cold and clear flowed into him and he swallowed reflexively, coughing and choking when he lost his focus.
He felt terrible.
The many disjointed voices around him were all on the same page.
“Fever spike…”
“I thought you said—“
“He was!”
“Evidently not.”
“Man, he looks even worse than before!”
Dreams filled his vision and, just as before, the line dividing lucidity and unconsciousness blurred. The clang of metal echoed in his ears, making his heart race. Angry shouts, the hyperkinetic blast of laser fire. They were under attack! Orders rang out and he swung blindly, trying to break free of the thing confining him.
“Hey, I got you…” It was Shiro. He was with him. But how? In the Lion? Keith's mind whirred.
“Shiro…” He moaned. “Shiro…h-help me.”
“Sssshh. You’re safe. You’re safe.” Shiro repeated over and over, like a mantra. Safe? From the fire? But it was still so hot! Panicked, Keith reached out with a groping hand, desperately seeking to touch something, anything real.
“Be still.”
“No…Shiro!”
“Be still!” Shiro commanded, rougher this time.
Keith tried to obey, tried to breathe through the blazing heat, but it was like a desert and—
--home. He was home. Back in the canyon.
Keith’s eyes fluttered open, a low moan meeting his ears. Was that him? Was he even awake? He could not be certain what was real and what wasn’t. The room looked different. The shack, its peeling paint fluttering in the breeze like old flesh, the canvas covering up the cracks bellowed in and out with the dry wind. The floor hadn’t been swept in a while, coated with a fine dusting of reddish grit from the outside. Keith licked his lips. It smelled musty.
“Keith, you’re awake. Thank goodness.” A relieved voice breathed beside him. Keith blinked uncertainly, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
“Shiro?”
It was actually him seated there, gazing at him in the dim lamplight with concerned eyes. Looking down, Keith recognized his old army issue comforter which he’d carried with him from group home to group home, wrapped tightly around his middle. The government-grade weave was heavy, rough and not very comfortable if he were honest but it was familiar and something that had once belonged to his father so he’d kept it close. Anything from his father that he could touch was better than nothing at all.
“Hey, welcome back.” Shiro grinned. He was sitting easily in a metal folding chair next to the bed, dressed down in fitted black T-shirt and jeans. A flannel shirt was wrapped around his middle. His face looked fatigued and drawn, as though he hadn’t slept in days. His voice sounded as gritty as the floor.
“Wh-where am I?” Keith stammered uncertainly, not trusting his senses. “Is…is this the castle?”
“Yeah.” Shiro answered. “Think you can sit up for me?”
Limbs creaking and aching, Keith complied, feeling the very real touch of Shiro’s firm hand on his back as he sat up. The pillow behind him was propped up and he leaned back against it with a grateful sigh. The old metal fan was clacking away somewhere on the nightstand next to him, evaporating the sweat on his upper lip. That noisy fan was the only sound he slept to most nights in summer. How had it been found so far away up in space?
Shiro, it seemed, had more purposeful questions.
“You should eat something. Think you can handle some food right now?”
Keith’s stomach gurgled and it was then he noticed the covered white dish in Shiro’s lap. He gazed at it blearily.
“Whuzzat?”
“Okayu.” Shiro replied, whisking the kitchen towel away to reveal the steaming soft porridge. Now Keith really didn’t trust his senses.
“Ka…yu?” He repeated the long-forgotten word dumbly. “H-how did you--?”
“Pidge phoned up the Olkari. They engineered a genetic equivalent to shirokome rice found on Earth terra just for your sorry ass.” Shiro explained. “Hunk could hardly contain himself! He cooked it up with my cultural notes of course.”
Keith stared in disbelief at the white bowl in Shiro’s hands. Okayu. Japanese rice porridge. He hadn’t tasted it since…at least five foster homes ago, five false grandmothers ago, all Japanese-American agricultural workers who’d watched him devour it happily as a toddler for breakfast. The simple food had been merciful on his queasy stomach when he’d been laid up for days in bed with chicken pox. Ideal food for the sick, he hadn't tasted it in years. He'd never quite learned how to make it himself, always making some mistake with the water and rice ratio. Whenever he tried it was always either too thick or too bland.
But this porridge looked just right.
This wasn’t real, couldn’t be…
He was mumbling those same words aloud, making Shiro frown uncomfortably. Keith paused, blinked hard. Pidge. Shiro had mentioned Pidge’s name. Pidge did not match with these walls. She wasn’t supposed to be here. And the Olkari? This dream was confusing and his head was beginning to ache again.
“Are we…?” Keith panted, scanning his present surroundings—the rusted radio box, the cork bulletin boards-- with mistrust. “Are we…still in space?”
“Yes.” Shiro replied impossibly as though he could not see what Keith was seeing. “ Here, I think it’s cooled down now. Egg and leek, the way you like it.” Shiro dipped the white plastic spoon into the watery rice, stirring it around. He blew on it gently before offering.
Keith hesitated. As long as he was somehow seeing Shiro in this alternate reality, he might as well eat what dream Shiro was offering. He let Shiro place the spoon on his tongue and closed his lips around it, swallowing the savory broth. It tasted perfect. He closed his eyes and sighed in exhausted relief.
“Good?” Shiro’s eyes crinkled with his smile.
“Oishii…” Keith responded automatically.
“More?”
Keith nodded, opening his mouth. Shiro complied.
“Okayu…” He sighed on the next spoonful, the wonder of it still on his tongue. “No way.”
Keith managed a few more mouthfuls before he became too tired. Seeming to sense this, Shiro covered up the dish again and placed the unfinished bowl on the night table.
“Get some sleep.”
Keith’s head buzzed with questions even as the warmth of the rice porridge glowed in his belly, making him feel heavy and sleepy. He took one last glimpse around the desert shack, at the posters on the wall and metal ceiling, before his eyes settled on Shiro’s calm face. As his eyes slipped closed, he hoped against hope at least one of them would be there when he opened them again.
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A too-loud tired stretch and drawn out sigh stirred him back to wakefulness. A sharp clean scent hit him. No more desert grit, no more earthy smell of residual baking heat. With some regret, Keith knew it had all been a lie.
Except Shiro.
Keith’s eyes snapped open to find Shiro flexing his arms over his head, working out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. He arched his back, finally noticing Keith's sluggish movements.
“Morning sunshine.” He groaned.
Keith blinked, weakly sat up. Memory hit him in a rush, a weird sickening sense of Deja-vu making his stomach clench. The training, Shiro’s attack, the unbearable dizziness. It all came back in a rush of guilt-tinged mental snapshots.
Keith breathed out slowly.
“Did I…pass out?” He frowned, uncertain. Shiro huffed a tired laugh.
“Could say that.” He said, standing up tiredly from his chair and stretching again with a loud groan. “Man, I’m getting old.” Keith watched him, feeling somewhat distant from proceedings. He now noticed he was dressed in a clean gray shirt he didn’t recognize as his own and the bed felt too big to be his. Shiro’s? Had Shiro brought him here? As for Shiro, he was out of his training gi and back in uniform.
“You weren’t ready yet, Keith.” Shiro said, striding casually to the bathroom sink to pour a glass of water. “You pushed yourself.” The thud of his army boots sounded heavy and painful to Keith’s sensitive ears as he returned to hand him the glass. Keith cast his eyes downward, face flushing even hotter. He could barely look Shiro in the eye.
Keith’s face fell into the glass instead, sipping the cold water quietly in shame. He sighed. He was getting pretty tired of this scenario. From the drained look on Shiro’s face, he could tell he was not the only one.
He murmured, lamely. “Just…didn’t want to…fall behind. I couldn’t—“
Shiro shut him up by pressing his lips against his forehead.
“Hm. Still warm.” He noted, pulling away. “Well, unfortunately for you, that means you’re stuck here while the rest of the team and I go out on shore leave to hit up Planet Yelanx tonight.”
Keith groaned miserably, tossing himself back into his pillow with a growl.
“Awww man!”
“You did this to yourself, kiddo. Now you have dehydration to add to your troubles. Congratulations.”
Shiro’s voice held very little sympathy even as he placed a folded damp washcloth across his forehead. Keith flinched, irritated by the gesture and how correct Shiro always ended up being.
“Stay in bed.” Shiro ordered, pausing before he passed through the door. “Oh! If you get hungry, there’s still some okayu left on the night table.” With a mock-cheerful salute, he vanished through the portal.
Keith paused, bloodshot eyes traveling to one side.
On the night table, covered with a dish towel, was a white bowl.