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Shiro remembers hands.
Clawed fingers roughly tossing him into a room far too bright a far too loud. He does not know what he did in this room; only that when he came out, he was draped in a sheet of blood.
and…
Calloused palms gripping the back of his neck, forcing him into severely uncomfortable positions while the Masked Ones adorned his arms with needles and decorated his belly with tubes. They took and they took and the took and yet they never gave back. Not until the arm, at least.
as well as…
Caressing. Soft, almost, against his bruised face. Shiro remembers the way this person cooed to him, made sure that he was all right. And yet Shiro cannot recall the stranger’s voice. He remembers the way that they held him tightly against their own chest, trying to squeeze out every nightmare from Shiro. Tried to make them stop, just for one night.
And yet Shiro remembers nothing. Not a face, not a name, not even a minimal recollection of who this gentle stranger was or who they could have been. Shiro only remembers that, whoever they were, they were the only thing that made his imprisonment bearable.
And whoever they were, Shiro was going to find them.
“Ulaz!” Shiro pleads. “Ulaz, you can still make it; just put on your oxygen regulator and eject from the ship, I’ll come get you.” The Black Paladin’s fingers shake against his lion’s controls as he fights to maintain composure. However, it is quickly slipping from his mental grasp. Ulaz. Shiro knows Ulaz. He needs to talk to him, and Shiro cannot do that if he needlessly sacrifices himself. “Please, Ulaz. Voltron still needs you. You’re a valuable asset and our only link to-” Shiro falters. To my past, to what really happened during my time with the Galra. “-to the Blade of Marmora.” He finishes, lips tightening as he holds back the words that ache to spill free.
Ulaz’s face shifts, wrought with indecision. The vessel that houses him is currently caught in a trajectory aimed straight for the Robeast’s mouth; Ulaz plans to give himself up to save Voltron. To save the universe. But perhaps there is another way, as Shiro suggests. Ulaz sets his jaw and drowns out Shiro’s pleas, allowing himself a moment to think. Nothing to lose, he supposes. He reaches for his mask -which is, thankfully, equipped with an oxygen regulator- and makes his way to the airlock of the ship. He takes a deep breath, screws his eyes shut, and opens the airlock, launching himself out into open space. Ulaz spins wildly for a moment until he regains his bearings and watches as his ship, along with the cloak generator, soar into the mouth of the Robeast. After a few tense moments, the Robeast begins flying forward once more before it halts and begins to compress in on itself. The bits of metal that make up its armor begin to crush and contract as the space pocket opens inside of the monster. As it vanishes into the pocket, Ulaz breathes a sigh of relief.
That is, until the leftover energy from the consumed xanthorium crystals surge out of the pocket and explode.
The blast sends Ulaz, as well as bits and pieces of crystals, flying in all directions. He is sent spinning once more, this time more quickly and more erratically. A crystal chunk roughly the size of his fist smashes straight into his mask, shattering the front and cracking the sides of his regulator. Ulaz’s eyes widen in panic as the oxygen leaves his lungs and the cold seeps into his flesh. A Galran body may be more durable than that of a human’s, but that fact still does not make Ulaz immune to the dangers of the vacuum of space. He is reminded of this when black spots begin to fill his vison. His head feels too light and too heavy all at once and his tongue feels far warmer than usual, almost boiling. The last thought that occurs to him is that perhaps dying alongside the Robeast would have been far less painful than this.
It is then that he blacks out.
Shiro watches as the xanthorium explosion tosses Ulaz through the vastness of the Thaldacon system. His heart stops as he watches the Galran man bear the brunt of the explosion, body thrown violently through the surrounding space. Shiro slams on the controls of his lion, separating from Voltron and speeding towards the listless body of the Galran informant. The Black Lion’s maw parts and catches Ulaz inside, his body thumping on the floor near the cockpit. Shiro scrambles frantically with the main controls as he sets his lion to autopilot before rushing to Ulaz’s side, chest heaving in panic.
Shiro grips Ulaz’s shoulders and turns him over. His breath catches in his throat.
Bits of hardened holo-glass stick into Ulaz’s cheeks from the shattered helmet, drawing rivulets of blood from his paling face. Shiro rushes to pluck them out and his gloved fingers quickly become slick with blood. He removes the mask entirely and begins smacking Ulaz’s bleeding face with his human hand, leaving the mechanical one tucked securely under Ulaz’s head.
“Ulaz,” Shiro yells. “Ulaz, wake up.” Tears begin to prickle at the edges of Shiro’s eyes. He does not understand why, but some sheltered part of his heart aches terribly at seeing the Galran stranger like this.
Finally, Ulaz’s parted lips twitch and his eyes fly open. He sucks in a breath, coughing in ragged fits as his lungs fill with air. His clawed hand unconsciously grips onto Shiro’s forearm and he squeezes every so often to ride out the spasms that wrack his body. When he finally stills, he looks up blearily at the paladin hovering over him.
“Sh…Shiro?” he croaks, voice barely above a whisper. Shiro’s relieved expression is the last thing he sees before he groans and goes limp in the paladin’s arms, eyes rolling up into his head.
Shiro cannot pinpoint it, but something about Ulaz is familiar. It is as if Shiro’s body has already been accustomed to the feel and the weight of the other man’s form. His hands seem to remember the texture of this stranger’s skin. His ears have heard the song of Ulaz’s breath, slow and deep, all before. But Shiro does not know when and he does not know why. It is maddening, really.
So he waits, slumped in one of the pearl-white chairs of the med bay, for Ulaz to awaken. It had been quite the chore for Coran and Hunk to carefully remove all the shards of glass from his face. Even more of a chore to properly regulate his breathing and his blood circulation after his whole system nearly shut down. But it had all worked out in the end and, now, Ulaz sleeps behind the shimmering wall of a healing pod.
Soft footsteps approach behind Shiro and a tentative hand makes its way to his shoulder.
“Here,” Keith says, handing a wrapped dish to his teammate. “Hunk says you hadn’t eaten since…” Since the morning of their battle with the Robeast. Since two days ago. Since…
Keith plasters a weak smile onto his face as he encourages Shiro to start eating. And, to the Red Paladin’s relief, he does. Shiro picks at the dish slowly at first, as if uninterested, but as soon as the substance hits his tongue, he begins eating more feverishly. Like a starving man.
Oh, wait.
Keith’s brows draw up in concern as Shiro lowers the now-empty dish into his lap. Well, he thinks, that was fast.
“Shiro…” he begins, unsure of how to start. “Why?”
The Black Paladin sucks in a breath. He knows immediately what Keith means.
“I don’t really know, Keith. Ulaz is- well,” he pauses, hands fiddling in his lap. “Something tells me he knows more about my past than even I do. And that’s something I need. I need to know what happened to me. What happened in that Arena and what happened behind those walls.” His voice catches and his fingers tremble, violent memories clawing their way to the surface.
But a gentle face interrupts the anguish, blurred and out of focus. Fingers graze against the sides of his scalp, drawing lazy circles into the buzzed hair. Petting him, Shiro realizes. A mere impression, though. It is not real.
He frantically searches for the details of the face, the shape of the hands. But it vanishes all too quickly. Shiro is left bent over in the chair, sweat beading on his brow. The memory leaves him more shaken than the nightmares he often gets.
“Shiro?” Keith’s hand is back on his shoulder. Always the shoulder, he thinks offhandedly. “Are you all right?”
He nods, composing himself.
“Y-yeah. Sorry about that.” he says, smiling shakily at Keith. “I just- I need to be alone when he comes out of there.”
Keith frowns but nods in understanding nonetheless. He reaches for the empty dish in Shiro’s lap and tucks is into his arms.
“Just let us know if you need anything, Shiro. I’m here for you; we all are.”
He walks out, then, leaving Shiro alone with only the glaring lights of the med bay and his own personal Sleeping Beauty. He would laugh at the thought if it were not for the heavy grief clouding his mind.
He slumps back in his chair and sighs, eyes screwing shut.
When consciousness tugs at Ulaz’s mind, the first thing he feels is the chill. It is a pleasant cold, one that encompasses his feverish mind and soothes his panicked breathing. The cold rushes forward, suddenly.
And so does Ulaz.
The sense of falling does not last long, though, and soon Ulaz finds himself wrapped in a pair of arms, the grip firm yet hesitant. As if whoever is holding him is unsure of how to hold him.
Or perhaps they do not remember how to hold him. That is the thought that comes to Ulaz when he opens his eyes and sees Shiro. Shiro.
Ulaz indulges -just for a moment- and allows himself to sink into those arms.
“What happened?” he asks, tongue heavy and head still clouded with the residual fog of unconsciousness. His words are slurred. Ulaz is too tired to be embarrassed by this. Instead, he sags into Shiro’s arms as his legs wobble.
“You, uh, you still don’t look too good,” Shiro states with a grimace. “I’ll tell you what happened, but you should probably rest for a while, okay?”
All Ulaz can do is nod and hold on as Shiro helps guide him to one of the spare rooms of the Castle. They exit the med bay, leaving behind the sterile walls and the bright lights. Thankfully, they do not encounter any of the other inhabitants of the ship on the way to Ulaz’s new room. Shiro sighs with relief as they pass through the threshold. He lays Ulaz down gently onto the bed, taking extra care to not cause the other man any discomfort. The Galra, although sleepy-looking, stares at Shiro expectantly.
“Oh,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Your helmet broke when you ejected from your ship. I got to you before, well, before your system totally shut down. When I got us back into my lion, your face was full of glass and you weren’t breathing. I thought you were dead.” Shiro’s teeth pinch his lip nervously. A habit he only developed after his fourth fight in the Arena, Ulaz notes. But he does not say this aloud.
“Shiro, may I ask you something?” the Black Paladin nods, granting Ulaz permission. “How much of your captivity do you remember? Forgive me for not asking this earlier; I had wanted you to have an opportunity to speak with me in private.”
Shiro takes some moments to collect his thoughts. What does he remember? And what parts of those memories are even real?
“I…remember bits and pieces. Harsh lights. Being strapped down and thrown from cell to cell. Masked faces…” he trails off. The Masked Ones always left the worst impressions on Shiro’s mind.
“Druids,” Ulaz supplies. “Haggar’s personal sect of magic users. If someone is brought before a Druid, it is never a good thing. They are the ones that run the experiments on the Zeta Floor. I was an advanced medical officer on the Gamma Floor, so I never had to assist them with her work. But they are likely the ones that developed the schematics for your arm.” One day you just showed up with it. Blabbering and sobbing at the furthermost edges of your cell. I held you so close as you cried in my arms. You shook so hard I could barely hold you still. By the Lords, I will never forget how you trembled.
Ulaz’s throat tightens as the memory tugs at the forefront of his mind, begging to be acknowledged further, pleading to be voiced. He does no such thing and instead pushes it away.
Shiro only stares at the Galra, his gunmetal eyes widening as his own memories unfold.
“What else can you tell me? I remember you helping me escape. And I remember some of the bigger opponents that I fought in the Arena. There are also…impression of people, but I never remember the person themselves. But there must be more, there has to be more.” he insists, voice teetering on the edges of panic. Ulaz attempts to soothe him.
“There really isn’t that much more, Shiro. You were the Empire’s prized Champion. You took down every opponent in the Arena with ease; men, women, even children. But the thing that made you so famous among the prisoners, made you such an enigma amongst the Galra, was that you always made it quick. Champions before you were more, how shall I say, sadistic? They tore their opponents limb from limb, let them bleed out slowly, gave their audience a show. But you never did, not once. And so, whenever a fellow prisoner was forced into the Area with you, there was never fear; only respect. And gratitude, of a sort. They knew their death would not be painful, so long as it was with you.” Ulaz finishes, his tired eyes fighting to stay open.
Shiro is visibly shaken, skin pale and hands trembling. He couldn’t have…Children? Shiro does not understand how Ulaz can talk about a morbid matter like this with such ease. The Galran almost sounds used to it. Numb. Like he has done it all before.
“One more question.” he squeezes out, voice hoarse. “Do you know anyone who may have been by my side during my imprisonment? A fellow prisoner that I was close to? I get…flashes of them, sometimes. But I can’t remember anything about them; their voice, their face, their name. Do you know who they might be?” Shiro looks almost hopeful. As if Ulaz is a treasure trove of answers. In a way, he is. But Shiro does not need to know that.
So Ulaz clenches his jaw and lies.
“Not that I know of. I only met you once and that was during the escape. The Blade of Marmora had contacted me and asked me personally to be the one to help to find the Lion of Voltron on planet Earth. My position was of no consequence; I was no lieutenant or commander. As a Gamma Floor doctor, the only thing I could provide the Blades with were medical and prisoner files. So, they chose me to free you, the Champion. I am sorry, Shiro. There is not much more that I know.”
Shiro frowns.
“Right…Thank you for telling me, Ulaz. You should rest; one of us will come by later with dinner.”
He leaves feeling more unsatisfied than when he came in.
Ulaz tries to sleep the guilt away.
Days pass by and Coran is the first one to suspect things. Shiro and Ulaz have fallen into a sort of tense silence. One always leaves the room when the other enters. Opposite ends of the table have become their favorite sitting places. The other paladins take it with a grain of salt, suspecting it must be because Ulaz is Galra. He wears the face of Shiro’s captors, after all.
But the Mark is what makes the older Altean suspicious about the whole situation.
Coran first saw it when he stripped Shiro of his paladin armor and stuffed him into a healing pod after their first encounter with Zarkon.
A bite. Composed of a ring of dull scars right in the hollow between the neck and the shoulder. Coran would know a marking like that anywhere; a Galran mating mark. There was no mistake. The Altean man had blustered at first, face growing red and mouth twisting down at the corners. What Shiro did during his imprisonment was his business. Or what others did to Shiro, he thought grimly…that was also still his business.
So, Coran never brought it up. Likely Shiro did not even remember the event that had caused it and assumed it was just yet another battle scar.
But now… Now Coran knows differently.
And by the Weblum, he is going to get to the bottom of this.
So, he does what any sensible, middle-aged Altean would do; he tackles the problem head-on by confronting Ulaz, who is holed up in the rec room alongside a handful of the other paladins.
“Ulaz? Please accompany me to the med bay; I must have a word with you.” Coran says as he enters the rec room, hands clasped stiffly behind his back. Ulaz is stooped over in his chair in the corner, reviewing a bundle of Imperial weapons files sent to him via holo-pad by the Blades. Hunk, Lance, and Keith appear to be engaged in an Earth game of sorts, using colored cards picked up from a galactic market. Despite being engrossed in the game, the trio still flicker their gazes to Ulaz and Coran every few seconds.
Ulaz perks up, ears flicking curiously at the tips. He sets the holo-pad down beside him and shifts to his feet, rolling his ankle to disperse the pins and needles that have begun to build up in the nerves.
“Of course.” he says with a curt tilt of his head before following the Altean out of the room.
As they stroll on down the halls of the castle, Ulaz begins to let his mind wander. He falls into the steady rhythm of his own footsteps, blanking out for a moment and almost missing a turn around the next corner. The Galran does his best to shake off the feeling of guilt that shrouds his shoulders. The very guilt that has been building for the last few days. With a frown, Ulaz narrows his eyes and attempts to focus. There is a task at hand that the Altean must have in mind. He must be at full mental capacity for it, otherwise he will be caught off guard.
And Ulaz hates being caught off guard.
Which is quite unfortunate for him, because that it exactly what Coran plans to do. Ulaz discovers this the moment the med bay doors slide shut and the inner mechanisms hiss as they lock. Ulaz whips around to stare incredulously at the now-closed entry.
“So,” Coran begins, plopping down in a chair seated next to the medical computers. “Care to explain where this came from?” he asks, fingers tapping against the smoothed surface of the med-bay’s data screen.
Ulaz suddenly finds himself face-to-face with a holo-shot of Shiro. A very naked Shiro, at that. Coran zooms the picture in on the right shoulder.
“These photographs were taken for medical reference right after we found Shiro and Keith on the Teggaba planet. I noticed the mark right away; a Galran mark of mateship. I want you to tell me who did this, Ulaz. And with the way you and Shiro have been acting around each other lately, I have a feeling that I already know the answer. But I want you to tell me anyway.” He says darkly, arms crossed tightly against his chest. Ulaz’s voice croaks and his chest tightens.
“I did.” the Galran admits, eyes downcast.
“Did you hurt him? Did you force him in any way?” Coran presses.
“No.” he swears, shaking his head. He would never. Could never. That is the whole reason he has been keeping the origins of the mark a secret from Shiro, after all.
Coran relaxes, leaning back in his chair and blowing air out from his puffed-up cheeks. What a mess, he thinks. It all almost reminds him of the shenanigans he had to deal with when it came to Alfor and his own trysts, before he settled down with his wife. He smiles faintly at the thought, but frowns once more when he is reminded that he is not yet done here.
“What happened between you and Shiro, Ulaz? You two get along like a pair of axlottzs and ghemlins, which is, to say, you don’t.”
Ulaz’s ears flatten against his head and sorrow drips into his voice.
“Shiro doesn’t remember me.”
Shiro remembers Ulaz.
It happens so suddenly that he, for a moment, is not even sure if it is real. But the memories dripped, trickled and then, finally, flooded. Ge gasps for air as it all rushes within him, as if someone has opened up the door to a room filled with water.
Ulaz, sagged against the wall of Shiro’s cell, legs sprawled out. Shiro’s head rests in the Galran’s lap. Tears streak wetly through the dried blood on his face.
Ulaz, wincing as the Druids drag Shiro away, kicking and screaming until Ulaz is asked to administer a sedative.
Ulaz, promising his lover freedom, they just have to wait for the right moment, no, it isn’t the right moment yet, please don’t cry, please don’t cry.
Ulaz, Ulaz, Ulaz- His head is screaming.
Tears flow freely from Shiro’s widened eyes. He leans against the slickened walls of the showering room, legs trembling as they threaten to give out beneath him. All those gentle touches, all those whispered words, all those moments of safety and security he felt whenever Ulaz held him. Everything. Shiro remembers everything. As the paladin rushes to retrieve his discarded garments, pain engulfs his heart; the Galran never said anything. Never told him. Why?
Shiro needs answers.
He needs to find Ulaz.
Ulaz seats himself next to Coran. He might as well get comfortable, since he figures that he will be here for a while. Ulaz turns his head to find the Altean staring at him morosely. At least he is not angry anymore, Ulaz notes. But a small part of him would rather take anger over this pity. The Galran does not want anyone to feel sorry for him, not when it is his own fault. His shoulder sag and, with a sigh, Ulaz starts.
“I do not know how or why it began. I just- I felt immense pain at seeing Shiro become Haggar’s new fixation; her new play toy. Most prisoners only suffered from starvation, loneliness, and labor. But Shiro? Haggar put him through Hell. Torture, isolation, experimentation…I guess I just wanted him to have a sort of outlet. Just one small ray of light within his horridly bleak life. First it was just words. Then it was food and medicine being snuck into his cell. And then it was the touches. He began to crave those the most. No one had ever touched him kindly or gently since he was first put into captivity.”
Ulaz shuts his eyes, scrunching his face in grief.
“I don’t remember when I fell in love with him. It just happened. Before I knew it, the whole thing had spiraled out of control,” he breathes, throat tight with remorse. “And then came the incident. They threw Shiro into the ring with a Telviian mother and her newborn child. It was kill or be killed, but he still wouldn’t do it. So Haggar used the arm,” Ulaz’s fingers shake from where they lay fisted in his lap. “It broke him, shattered the last shard of sanity that he had kept preserved. When he came out, he was so incoherent and unresponsive that they had to sedate him. He screamed himself hoarse the very next day. Haggar had broken her favorite toy and she needed him fixed. So, she came to me.”
By now, Ulaz has tears fat with anguish stumbling from his golden eyes. His lips tremble. His shoulders shake.
“It was me. I stole the memories from him, I took the pain away, but I never knew that the drug I had given him would take me away, too. He woke up and didn’t even recognize my face. What was I supposed to say?” he yells, then- not at Coran, but at himself. “Give him nothing but a, ‘Hello, Shiro. By the way, I know you just woke up with no recollection of the past six months, but I’m your mate and we love each other.’ How could I?” He hiccups past the sob stuck in his throat and bites at his knuckles to stifle the grief.
“I couldn’t,” he cries. “I couldn’t hurt him like that, not again. I am Galra. I was his captor. He didn’t belong with someone like me. The least I could do was contact the Blade of Marmora in the hopes of speeding up the process that it would take to get Shiro back to Earth. And it worked; he was safe. But now he is a Paladin of Voltron. He is in more danger than ever and I could never bring myself to interrupt his already frantic lifestyle just because…because I miss him. I won’t do it.”
The Royal Altean advisor leans forward suddenly and wraps his arms around the quaking Galran.
“I am so sorry,” he whispers, arms tightening as he comforts the man before him. “I understand. What you did…was the best thing that could have been done, given the situation. Do not blame yourself. All you can do now is be there for Shiro when -and if- he needs you.” he pulls back, watching solemnly as Ulaz sniffles and wipes at his moistened face.
“Thank you, Coran.”
“Shiro? Are you all right?” Allura asks, fingers brushing hesitantly against his arm. When the Black Paladin had stormed into the control room, face flush with panic, Allura had assumed the worst. But when he had requested to use the castle’s surveillance to find Ulaz, she had been caught off-guard entirely. Had Ulaz done something wrong? Had he been missing for a considerably long time? With how little attention Allura has been giving the Galran resident, she would not be surprised if his lack of presence slipped past the forefront of her thoughts. So, with her lips quirked in confusion, she pulled up the holo-screens and flitted through each one until they had found the person in question. Ah, the med bay. The door to the room he was in had registered as locked, though, which immediately piqued the princesses’ curiosity. What had been even more curious was the fact that Coran was there, too.
So, without a second thought, the princess smiled impishly at Shiro and turned up the volume on their little ‘private’ chat.
If she had known what lay ahead, she would have never done it. She realizes that now as she squeezes Shiro’s arms in an effort to pull him back into reality after hearing everything they said. He jolts, skin prickling under her touch.
“I…I need to go,” he croaks, mouth dry as he scrambles to his feet.
He rushes out of the room before Allura can even draw in the breath needed to protest.
Ulaz is curled between the folds of his blankets, eyes drooping just upon the edges of sleep, when he hears a knock at his door. Grumbling, he untangles himself, thinking that it must be Coran with more questions about the Black Paladin's captivity. But upon opening the door, he is more than surprised to see a bleary-eyed Shiro, whose brows are drawn tight in anger.
"I saw you. I went looking for you and I saw you and Coran through the surveillance cameras," his fists ball at his sides and he looks Ulaz straight in the face, mouth stretched in a grimace of silent, seething fury. "You didn't tell me. I know why you did it, but I- I'm still so angry." fat tears drip from Shiro's eyes and onto his flushed cheeks, catching at the top of his trembling lip, which sits clenched between his teeth. Ulaz cannot stand the sight.
Surging forward, he wraps Shiro into his embrace and begins carding his claws through the tussled patch of white hair on Shiro's head. He tenses his shoulders as he leans down to meet his lips at Shiro's ear.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, throat tight. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." again and again until Shiro has stopped shaking, his hands now fisted tightly in the fabric of Ulaz's suit, fingernails diggings painfully into the flesh of the Galran's chest. Ulaz bears it -all of it- for Shiro. The paladin cries himself ragged as Ulaz holds him, comforts him. Shiro is still angry, that much Ulaz can see, but there is also a longing there. He feels it in the way Shiro’s fingers loosen against his chest, coming down to twine against his own clawed hands. He sees it in the way that Shiro presses himself more closely against Ulaz, as though he cannot bear to be even an inch away from him. And he hears it in the way that Shiro sighs, the exhale much akin to that of a dam breaking, leaving nothing but relief in its wake.
“I missed you.” three simple words have Ulaz’s heart both fluttering and clenching simultaneously. Shiro tilts his tear-stained face up towards Ulaz, meeting his gaze. Unclasping his fingers from the Galran’s, Shiro instead snakes his arms up and around Ulaz’s shoulders, fingertips grazing the tensed muscles of his back. With the help of his tiptoes, Shiro is leaning up towards Ulaz’s face, and the Galran is suddenly met with the all-too familiar press of the paladin’s lips against his own. He smiles against the kiss and lets his eyes flutter shut.
It is then that a thought occurs to him.
Shiro remembers how to hold him.
Ulaz could never be happier.