Busy #Fictober18 (Voltron FanFic)
#Fictober18 Day 17
Prompt: "I'll Tell You But You're Not Gonna Like it."
Voltron Fanfiction. S07 spoilers. Angst.
Keith pov, Garrison Days, Post-Adam/Shiro split, Post-Kerberos
Rating: T- some language, discussion of same sex relationship, mentions of foster care, death, illness, broken homes, grief.
Adam was asleep on the couch when he got home. His briefcase was lying on the floor beside his shoes, his coat draped over the counter of the little island that separated the kitchen from the living room. Keith could see in his mind the exact path he'd taken when he'd gotten home. It was a short one. Maybe 15 feet. Door, drop bag, shed shoes, step, shuck coat, step step, drop tie onto coffee table, step, collapse on couch. This was pretty much par for the course now.
As far as the Garrison was concerned, ex-fiance's didn't qualify for bereavement leave. Neither did 'foster kid of ex-fiance'- because technically that's what he was. Shiro had failed the medical assessment to foster or adopt, but Adam had passed. So, on paper, he was Adam's legal responsibility, not Shiro's. So, when the news had come in about the mission being lost- leaving a smoking crater in the center of their lives- they'd discovered that they didn't qualify for the supports in place for bereaved families. Adam had quickly exhausted all his sick days, vacation time, and banked personal time. Keith had run out of allowed absences from class even faster.
Once that had happened, it was back to 'normal' life in an abrupt shift that left them both reeling. So now, Adam pushed himself through a full day of teaching class and attending staff meetings and making sure he got his requisite hours of flight time and continuing education, and the second he walked through the door, he pretty much collapsed.
Keith, on the other hand, was more hardened to the SHIT that life liked to throw at him. So, he went to class, did his best to keep his head down, then came home and kept busy. That was easy to do, really. There were still meals to be made, dishes to wash, laundry to do, dust to wipe down, homework to be completed, bills to pay, bathrooms to scrub, and vacuuming to be done, after all. Plus, he had to feed Adam, keep him on task while he did lesson prep and graded papers, keep him AWAY from the wine and photo albums (he wasn't a drunk or anything, but even one glass of wine combined with the photo albums meant the night was lost to the bottomless pit of grief that seemed to reside in every picture of Shiro), and then herd him into his own bed before he crashed on the couch.
Keith didn't mind. Honestly, he didn't. Busy was good. Staying still was his problem. Because if he stopped moving for even a moment… BAD things happened. He never really FORGOT. Shiro's loss was always right there, lurking around the edges of his brain, dimming everything into pale, washed out colors and muffled sounds. But most of the time, he could avoid thinking about what the loss actually MEANT. It was when he stopped moving, stopped doing STUFF, that the meaning crept in and devastated him.
No more hover bike races. The last one they'd been on was it. That was the last time he'd ever hear that laugh on the wind. Hear that proud cheer as Keith overtook him. See that competitive little smirk as he watched Keith pass him and then buckle down to put the 'kid' in his dust. No more quiet, dusty conversations watching the sun set before heading back to base in a much more leisurely and companionable ride. Done. That part of his life was closed away forever now- just like hanging out at the firehouse while his Dad was on shift was done and closed off.
No more stupid sing-alongs while they cleared the dinner table and washed the dishes. No more chasing a laughing Shiro out of the kitchen as he protested that 'it's just toast! Even I can make toast!" because, no. He really could NOT make toast, and no one wanted to fill the house with smoke from burnt bread. No more overhearing weirdly flirty arguments about coffee vs tea, or crosswords vs sudoku that always seemed to end in someone giggling and someone else shushing and then a bedroom door shutting just as Keith cranked his stereo and found something else to think about. No more REAL-but-not-scary arguments about wedding planning and place settings and guest lists. No more threatening Keith with having to give a toast or throw a bachelor party. No more surreptitious thumbs up of encouragement when Iverson cracked down on him at school, or affectionate shoulder grabs when he blew up at fucking Griffon, or quiet hugs when everything seemed to pile onto him all at once and the world seemed huge and hostile.
All that stuff was in his past now, and it was best if he just… put it out of his mind and stayed busy. So, he set his backpack on a chair and started digging through the cupboards for something to put together for dinner. They were almost out of produce, and the pantry supplies were running a little low. There would need to be a grocery trip soon. He hated those, because Adam insisted on coming and when people saw Adam they stopped to offer condolences, to check up on them- which made him remember what it all meant, and sent Adam into a downward spiral again. He wished he could just take the list and do the shopping alone, it would be so much less painful.
Still, for today, there was enough to choose from that he could feed them. Beef, stir-fried with mushrooms, onions, garlic, peppers, and carrots. Soba noodles in some jarred ginger sauce he found way in the back of the cupboard. Tinned peaches for Adam, mandarin oranges in cherry jello for him. Nothing fancy, but hot, and kosher, and more or less healthy. All with enough left over for them to pack up lunches for the next day, too.
"You cooked?" Adam's voice was sleep rough, his glasses askew from having fallen asleep with them on.
"I mean, it's not restaurant quality, but it's edible," Keith answered, dishing up the food.
"You shouldn't have to do that, Keith," Adam sighed, "I'm the adult, here."
"You needed rest. I needed to keep busy. Win, win," he replied, setting one plate in front of Adam and gesturing for him to sit. "Besides, I'll be 18 soon enough, right?"
"Right," he flashed Keith a smile, weak but genuine. "Which reminds me, your worker should be dropping by soon, I got an e-mail the other day." He pulled out his phone, clearly intending to check, and Keith's heart sank.
"You should eat first," he prompted, "before it gets cold."
"This will only take a second- I don't want to forget about it. Just let me… Keith? Why do I have an e-mail from Iverson flagged urgent?"
"Ummm…" he fidgeted, "I mean, I'll tell you, but you're not gonna like it. So, maybe we should wait until after dinner?"
"Mmmhmm… that's not going to happen. You tell me now and I won't read the e-mail until after dinner. How's that sound? Orrrr, I'll read Iverson's version of events FIRST."
"Alright, fine," Keith grumbled sitting at the table across from Adam, "I'm suspended. For fighting. One week."
"Dammit, Keith! What happened?" Keith had thought Adam looked exhausted before, but he'd been wrong, because right before his eyes Adam sort of… withered… like the strength and energy had just been sucked right out of him.
"I don't even really know. We were in the simulators today, and I screwed up. I don't even know HOW, I've aced that particular simulation so many times, but today… I just couldn't get my head in the game. So, I was already in a shit mood, and then fucking Griffon…"
"Language," Adam chided, earning a scowl.
"FREAKING Griffon," Keith corrected, "started crowing about beating my score and got in my face and the next thing I know, we're being hauled off to the office."
Adam sighed, "alright, first things first. Are you hurt? Does your uniform need cleaning or repairs?"
"No, everything is fine. He bloodied my nose, but I bled on him, not myself. I have like, a bruise on one of my knuckles from when I socked him in the jaw, but that's about it."
"Let me see."
"Adam, it's nothing."
"Keith! Let me see your hand," he insisted. Reluctantly, Keith held out his hand. The bruise had spread, covering three of his knuckles now, but it was obviously a minor injury. "We'll put some witch hazel on it after we eat."
"That's it?" Keith asked, more than a little shocked.
"Do you think there is anything I can say to you about getting into fights at school that hasn't already been said?"
"No, probably not."
"Right, and I'm smart enough to know that if Takashi couldn't get through to you about this, I'm sure as hell not going to be able to. So. Suspended for one week. Consider yourself grounded for the same duration… and you will be completing all of the class work that you are missing here at home… AND writing an apology to James Griffon."
"What? But he's an ASS!"
"And YOU have to learn how to deal with assholes without resorting to violence, Keith! I know you are aware of the fact that there are assholes EVERYWHERE, but you are almost 18 and there are going to be very serious consequences for you if you can't get your temper under control. He was an ass, but YOU threw the first punch, so you apologize. Be glad I'm letting you write it instead of giving it face to face."
"I can't believe this," he muttered, pushing food around his plate.
"Listen, kid," Adam said, his voice soft, "I'll fight for you, you know I will… but I'm not Takashi Shirogane." He choked on a sob, but pushed through, "I'm not the darling of the Garrison, the star pilot poster child. My words and opinions don't have the same weight as his do… did… as his did. I can't protect you as well. I need you to work with me."
"Fine," Keith couldn't even look at him. He knew if he lifted his eyes for even a second, he'd see how broken Adam was, and he could not cope with that right now. So, he did the only thing he could, kept himself busy with eating and tried not to think about how things used to be.