Chapter Text
Water.
The first lucid thought in days comes as a wave of relief, followed by the cold realization that he is wholly unprepared.
Careless. How could he be so careless?
Keith isn’t one to be so… so foolish. To take off into the desert, with nothing but clothes and books. No plans for food, for water; what had he been thinking?
Well. No use beating himself up about it now.
With a weary sigh, Keith peels himself off the small cot and takes stock. He’s hungry and thirsty and empty in a way he’s never felt, but he is alive. The shack is just as empty as always. There are books strewn about, the coffee table flipped over against a wall. But everything seems intact.
He stands, bone and muscle straining from disuse, and pulls back the window curtain. How many days has he been here? He’s a little worried that he can’t quite recall. But, thankfully, he knows what he has to do next
In another hour or so, the sun will finish sinking into the horizon, and then Keith would make his move. For now, Keith settles on trying to clean himself up as much as possible. Which basically means changing his shirt and combing his hair back into a ponytail.
The shack he once called home is in horrible shape. Red sand covers everything in a fine layer of dust. There’s no running water, no electricity. But it had been a roof over his head once, and it would be so again. After all, he has nowhere else to go.
He doesn’t have time to dwell on that.
The sun has set and it is a clear, moonless night. Keith shrugs on his jacket as he makes his way towards his hoverbike. Along with the poor excuse of a shack, this bike was the only thing of value his dad had left behind. Keith cared for it as much as he could, keeping it in near pristine condition. It was easier when he was at the Garrison, since he’d finally had a garage to keep it in, with tools and resources. But now…
With a rev and cloud of dust, Keith speeds off into the night. The nearest town is miles away, but he uses the long drive to clear his head of any remaining haziness. If his sense of time isn’t completely fucked, then it’s most likely a Tuesday or Wednesday. All Garrison personnel should be on base, so the town should be safe. Not that the Garrison would be looking for him or anything, but he’d rather not see another uniform anytime soon.
Memories of the last few weeks still burn behind his eyelids, too much potential still to blind him, so he shoves them back. Back and back, to be dealt with later or never, he doesn’t care.
Keith leaves the bike parked by a boulder, about half a mile away from town, and heads the rest of the way in on foot. Best not to draw attention. He hopes, maybe a bit naively, that without the bike and without the uniform, without… that on his own, people won’t recognize him. And if they don’t recognize him, then they can’t ask questions; questions that he still can’t answer.
He knows he has enough money in the bank, but he still only buys the bare minimum. A couple gallons of water, some canned food. A cheap fan to keep him cool until he can build something permanent. That’s what this is about, getting what he needs to survive, so he can prepare for the permanent. This is his life now.
For a brief moment, Keith considers going to a different town and completely withdrawing the meager savings he has. If he deals in cash, then he won’t leave any sort of trail. Then he remembers, no one is looking for him. He’s just another kid that washed out of the system, that’s all. He doesn’t have a connection to anything anymore. The thought leaves a bitter taste, but it’s oddly reassuring in this moment.
Maybe all he needs is to be alone.
He makes his way through town, arms heavy with supplies. He passes a hardware store, already closed for the night, and makes a mental note.
Tomorrow, he’ll start fresh. Conduct a full sweep of his desert shack, make a list of repairs, come back for more supplies, and then get to work. He can’t hope to live in the shack the way it is. He has a lot of work ahead of him. The thought is oddly comforting.
As long as he keeps moving, he’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.
Water is still the first thought on his mind when he wakes the next morning. The water he bought last night will last him a couple days, if he rations it right. But he can’t be making weekly water trips for the rest of his life. He remembers, remembers back when he was a kid, running around the endless desert of his front yard, his dad chasing him with a water hose as far as he could reach.
A quick inspection of the shack proves that, yes, it was definitely equipped with a plumbing system, as well as electrical. The trick was going to be in making it work again.
The task of inspecting every inch of piping through the house, checking out the well tank, and surveying the aquifer… well, Keith isn’t surprised when he pops out from the storage tank room and finds that the sun is almost fully set. He doesn’t want to call it a night, not yet. But he only has one flashlight that he found earlier, and no replacement batteries. The moon doesn’t rise until late in the night, so he can’t work by moonlight.
With a weary sigh, Keith rises and dusts his clothes off. He frowns. He only has a few pieces of clean clothing left. He’ll change before heading into town tomorrow, but then he has to get the water working. He needs a shower, bad.
Dinner that night is a can of cold ravioli. He grimaces after the first bite and contemplates lighting a fire to heat it up. It’s not worth the trouble really. But definitely after he fixes the water, Keith needs electricity.
He doesn’t really think about it, the next day. Keith heads into town in the late morning, fully focused on the mission ahead. Meaning, his mind is occupied with the mental list of all the supplies needed to get his water system working. Last night’s worries with being recognized are put on the back burner.
But of course, it’s always when you’re least expecting it. Of course.
He’s not paying attention, all his focus on making sure he has all he needs rather than where he’s going. So no, he doesn't think to look at who’s at the register. The thought to check didn’t cross his mind until it was too late.
“Oh, Keith! Hi.”
His head snaps up at the familiar voice.
“Hey, Mira.”
He fights not to frown as he greets the woman. Mira is a mild lady in her mid-40s. She’s married to the owner of this hardware store and has always been so kind to him. To him and to…
“It’s so good to see you Keith. How’re you doing dear?”
Her voice is so sincere, the soft brown of her eyes shining with questions. Keith clenches his fists. This is the exact interaction he wanted to avoid.
Eyes forward, cadet. Answer me clearly.
It’s through grit teeth and an iron will that he responds.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
He loads more of his items on the conveyor belt, as if that could end the conversation before it begins. It doesn’t, of course, but at least it gives him something to do while Mira keeps talking.
“Oh honey, I know you can’t be just fine. It was a horrible thing that happened, downright awful.”
Cadet, you’re slipping. Reel it in. Now.
He looks up. She’s waiting for a response. He gives a tight nod and reaches for his wallet.
“What’s all this for anyhow, Keith? New school project?”
“No.”
And she looks at him so earnestly, he almost continues. Almost lets it all spill from his throat, lets himself tell someone, anyone, about everything rumbling just below his rib cage.
“How much is this all, Mira?” Is what he asks instead, waiting for her to finish ringing him up.
“Oh, right. I’m taking off your usual discount honey.”
She gives him a total and he pays.
“Don’t be a stranger Keith. You know I always loved when you and Shiro would stop by. It’s so sad, what happened. After all that, to say pilot error…”
Keith doesn’t hear the rest of it. He just walks away.
Walk away, cadet. That’s an order.
It’s not until he’s on the hoverbike, hands tight on the handles, that he realizes he’s shaking.
He’s angry. But then again, Keith has always been angry. All this anger, and look where it’s gotten him.
He heads home.
Keith hangs out on his porch later that night, when he’s finished work for the day and decides he can’t sleep just yet. While repairing the pipes and ransacking his dad’s old tools, he’d found a box of cigarettes. Funny, he can’t remember ever seeing his dad smoke, but the smell always lingered in the house anyways, soaked into his clothes.
He studies the box and sighs.
“After all that trouble you went through, and I still got booted from the Garrison.”
His voice is a soft rasp in the night, lost under the cold light of the stars.
If he were being technical--which he wasn’t, there was no point--he’d left the Garrison before they could formally expel him. But the result was the same.
He always knew his temper would get the best of him, eventually. He didn’t imagine it would go quite this way, but he’s stopped trying to predict where his life will lead. Best not to get his hopes up, only to be disappointed.
Keith leans forward on the porch rail, reaches a hand up to block out the countless stars. Closes it into a fist, watches the veins strain against the bruised skin. He’s actually surprised that after so many days, the knuckles are still bruised. He’s always been a quick healer for some reason. He must’ve done more damage than he thought.
Not surprising, considering he’s done his best to block the memories. Until now. He unclenches his fist and slumps against the railing. The minute he opens his mind, it all comes rushing in. A flood he couldn’t hope to hold at bay for too long. Best to be washed away sooner rather than later.
It’s been weeks now, weeks since the crew was reported missing. Since they were… since Shiro was… Keith keeps his head down and makes his way through the hall. It’s been weeks, and although the whispers are quieter, they’re not any less abundant. But he’s become a master at tuning them out.
Just keep moving, that’s all he can do. It’s all he can do, all he’s been doing, until he can’t. He can’t…
“What did you say?” Keith’s own voice surprises him, in its harshness.
A group of cadets turn to him, confusion turning quickly to smugness as they take in Keith’s presence. It’s no secret among peers his year that Shiro is his friend. Was his friend. Keith doesn’t recoil at the thought; there’s a fire burning in his veins, one he hasn’t felt in a long time.
“I asked you a question,” he hisses, drawing closer.
Two of the boys turn wary. It’s been a while since Keith’s been in a fight, but rumors never die, not at the Garrison. Either this guy is new or he’s not afraid, or he’s just plain stupid, but he steps forward into Keith’s space, smile still in place, and answers.
“I said, I always knew Shirogane was full of shit. Too bad it took a deep space crash for everyone else to see it.”
Keith sees red.
He’s not sure what happens, but the next second he’s being pulled away by instructors, and the cadet with a smart mouth is covered in blood. Keith’s chest heaves and he has the horrible feeling that he might cry. He hates crying, especially in front of people. But he can’t stop it, can’t stop something from breaking inside of him. So he does the only thing he can: he wrenches out of the instructors’ hands, and he runs.
The movement clears his head, enough so that he can fight the stinging in his eyes.
He hides away in a storage room of all places. It was the first door he saw that wasn’t locked. Inside, he struggles to catch his breath. At the very least, the urge to cry subsides.
His hands are still shaking. There’s blood on them. Footsteps ringing in the hall outside. He’s fucked up. There’s no taking it back, and he doesn’t want to take it back. There’s no one left who will defend him. Keith takes a steadying breath and steps out.
Keith blows a puff of smoke into the night. The gray cloud blocks out the stars for a moment, the burn in his lungs different in a way that’s almost relief. He tucks the rest of the pack in his pocket. What’s one more mistake, after all.
Progress is slow, but steady. When his dad built the water system, he sure built it to last. There really wasn’t much work to be done on the actual well system, and the water storage tank was in good condition. Replacing the old pipes wasn’t hard work, but it was tedious.
It takes two days to finish changing the pipes and to install new filters. When Keith twists the knob on the shower and sees the first spray of water spurt out, the rush of pride is tangible.
The water is freezing, but he doesn’t care. It’s refreshing to have a real shower after so many days. He watches as the red dust swirls in the water and washes down the drain. He shudders. Never again.
He doesn’t have any towels, and all his clothes is soaking in the sink. Keith pulls on his last clean set of boxers and heads outside. He can air dry while building a clothesline.
An hour later, he’s sitting on the porch, eating another canned meal and watching his clothes dry. Now that he has running water, electricity was next on the list. Keith frowns. He’s been avoiding looking at the battered generator since he got here. Fixing it isn’t going to be easy, or cheap.
But it’s something to do.
Nothing was worse than sitting around; too much space for his thoughts to get the best of him. Keith doesn’t wanna think about anything right now. And so it’s with that resolve that he pulls on his now dry pants and heads to the generator.
He works through the night, choosing to use the flashlight batteries rather than rest. But even with his hands busy and mind racing with solutions, memories still manage to creep in. Worst part is, they’re distracting him. On the third burn mark from a particularly violent spark burst, Keith is forced to call it a night.
Instead of making his way to bed after washing up, Keith finds himself on the porch, messing with the pack of cigarettes. He doesn’t want to make a habit of smoking, not really. Yet, he pulls one out, lights it up, and lets the sky grow cloudy with smoke.
It’s not that he enjoys the taste, or craves the burn. It’s just… there’s something about it that gives him the courage to remember. He takes another drag. Maybe… maybe the night feels a little less lonely this way.
He blows the smoke out his lungs and closes his eyes.
He gets sent to Iverson’s office, of course. The stern face of the commander does nothing to quell his anger. Of course. The fire is still fresh in his veins, blood still caked on his knuckles. Iverson doesn’t look impressed. Keith doesn’t care. Not anymore.
“I’m surprised, cadet. Do you know why?”
Keith stares at his hands, flexes them rhythmically in his lap. He maybe mumbles an answer, he’s not sure. There’s a ringing in his ears, growing louder every second.
“Eyes forward, cadet. Answer me clearly.”
Keith grits his teeth and looks up, nothing short of a vicious glare on his face. Iverson scowls.
“No, sir. I don’t know why the hell you’re surprised,” his less than respectful answer comes as a hiss.
Iverson leans forward, a dark glint in his eyes.
“I’m surprised, cadet, that it took you this long to finally snap.”
Keith damn near snarls at that. He knows, he knows Shiro is the only one that believes in him. Shiro is the reason he’s still here, why he lasted two whole years with only minor infractions. How ironic then, that Shiro is also the reason he’s leaving.
“You know damn well that shuttle didn’t crash because of pilot error, sir.”
Iverson narrows his eyes, but otherwise sits back, nonplussed. Keith continues, the heat under his skin screaming for release.
“You’re not following protocol. Where’s the flight footage? The crew records? The flight logs? All of that is uploaded directly to the database in real time.”
“Technical error, cadet. It’s in the official report,” Iverson drawls, having the nerve to sound bored.
Something snaps.
“Bullshit! You’re lying, you know you are!”
“Cadet, you’re slipping. Reel it in. Now.”
Keith is out of his seat, chair toppled on the ground. He slams his hands on the desk and finally, that gets a reaction from Iverson.
“Someone hacked your database. I know you and the Garrison are full of shit.”
The anger is potent, a white hot stab in his ribs. Yet, his voice is dangerously even. He can’t imagine what he must look like, to have Iverson looking nervous.
“Shirogane is the greatest pilot of our generation. I’ll die before I let anyone say otherwise.”
They’re silent for a long moment, staring each other down, unblinking. And then, Iverson leans forward. And then…
“Was.”
Keith blinks, breath caught.
“Was, Keith. Shirogane was the best pilot we had, but he’s gone, and now you—”
Iverson doesn’t finish that sentence. Or maybe he does, and the shriek or fury shooting through Keith drowns it out. Keith swears he blacks out for a second. Because he can’t remember moving, can’t remember making a fist.
Can’t remember laying a punch on Iverson’s desk, so strong that it splinters the wood.
There’s fresh blood on his knuckles, but this time it’s his own.
Iverson stands over him, panic quickly giving way to controlled fury. Keith stares back at him, feeling unhinged for the first time in a long time.
“Walk away, cadet. That’s an order.”
Guess he was never really good at following orders.
The generator takes a lot longer to fix than the water system. But by the end of the week, he’s gotten it patched up enough to jump start it with his hover bike. The wiring throughout the shack is patched up where possible, but at least half the wires had to be replaced.
Keith feels like modern man discovering fire.
Now he’s got water, he’s got electricity, and that means he has air conditioning. It’s not perfect. The AC unit is old but it’s functional. At least, it lets out sporadic bursts of cool air throughout the day. The electric fan Keith bought picks up the rest of the slack.
That night, he works in the bedroom, under the glow of the now functional lamp. He makes a list of all he’s spent and how much money he might have left. It isn’t a lot, he knows that much. Well, Keith might not be able to afford a new AC unit, but a mini fridge?
That he can do.