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Post S6: Shiro’s immune system is crap, Keith is a mama bear, and Krolia does not do the “mom thing”. A Voltron drabble. 

“He does not look well.” Krolia frowned at the massive figure curled up in a shivering ball on the cot just outside the cockpit. There wasn’t a lot of extra space in Black and therefore, not a lot of privacy.

“I know,” Keith grit through clenched teeth. His shoulders were hunched and his fingers kneaded anxiously into the meat of his biceps. She belatedly realized that she’d simply stated the obvious and had not helped in the slightest.

“It’s the damn fever,” Keith said. “It’s kicking his ass.”

“We should be landing soon,” Krolia offered. Her son was worried. She’d never seen him this worked up about, well, anything. “You said Coran knows medicine. He will help.” It wasn’t what Keith needed to hear, but it was the best she could do. It was odd, having someone else to care about. Remembering that her words carried precious weight.

Shiro had contracted a virus four days in to their journey. Something Krolia wouldn’t bother batting a lash at, but that seemed to affect humans far more seriously. Shiro, who had already been in a weakened state and slept most of the time anyway, hadn’t left his cot in almost twenty-four vargas. He was prone to sudden bouts of sickness, and when he wasn’t shivering to death, lay tossing in the throes of fever-induced nightmares.

Krolia administered an elixir and did her best to keep fresh linens on hand. But human’s bodily functions were horrifying. When Shiro had first fallen ill, she’d assumed he was dying. But her son had been adamant that it was only a fever. They were always bad. Shiro would be all right.

Keith believed so stubbornly that Krolia couldn’t help but indulge him, even if she feared the worst for this man that her son loved so dearly.

Keith had barely left Shiro’s side. He was there when Shiro woke in the middle of the night, disoriented and emotional and rambling about things that Krolia could only vaguely decipher. He was there to clean up the blankets when Shiro worked himself up into a coughing fit and made himself sick. He was there when Shiro didn’t know what he needed, to pet his hair or stroke his back when Shiro simply couldn’t calm down.

Up until now, Krolia hadn’t realized how acutely humans relied on the sensation of touch. These two, at least, seemed to require constant contact with each other. She noticed that Keith became anxious and snippy when he was away from Shiro for longer than half a varga.

It was fascinating, and a little disheartening, how well they knew each other. How undeniably deep that trust ran. She knew that was something that could only be earned.

“Shiro?” Keith was saying.

Krolia jolted back to their present circumstance. Shiro was writhing on the cot, bare limbs splaying akimbo as he struggled to kick off the blankets. Keith was already kneeling beside Shiro, looping one arm underneath his shoulders to sit him up. When the absence of the blankets wasn’t sufficient, Shiro began tugging at his damp undershirt, trying to pull it over his head. But his movements were ineffective, clumsy.

“’S too hot,” he complained, frustration furrowing his features as he looked to Keith for help.

“Okay. All right,” Keith placated. He ran his hands over Shiro’s arms, up and down until some of the tension ebbed. Then he worked the shirt over Shiro’s head and tossed it aside. 

“Better?” he asked.

Shiro nodded gratefully, then his face screwed up and he curled over his lap as a wet cough wracked his entire frame. Then he couldn’t stop. He gasped between each hack, hand scrabbling to clutch at his chest, fingers scraping mindlessly over his collarbone as he sought relief.

“Easy,” Keith soothed, patting firmly between Shiro’s shoulder blades. “I’ve got you. Just slow it down.”

Shiro’s eyes were leaking by the time he finished, gagging on the last few expulsions before he could inhale without choking.

“Thanks,” he gasped hoarsely, throat shredded raw. It sounded like it hurt to speak. “Sorry.”

Krolia watched Keith easily running his fingers through Shiro’s limp bangs. Shiro closed his eyes and swallowed, humming sleepily while Keith continued petting his hair out of his face. The small gesture spoke of a tenderness Krolia rarely glimpsed in her son.

In fact, those rare occasions had almost exclusively been reserved for Shiro.

“How’re you feeling?” Keith asked.

Shiro pulled away, blinking slowly as he considered. He settled on, “I—don’t know.” His throat bobbed with another thick swallow and he winced, dropping his forehead onto Keith’s convenient shoulder. “‘m dizzy,” he slurred, voice muffled in Keith’s neck.

“You’re still really warm,” Keith murmured. He reached up to cup his hand against the back of Shiro’s neck. “Ready to try some more medicine?”

“Keith,” Krolia interjected. She cleared her throat and spoke a little quieter. “He has not eaten. The elixir should not be ingested on an empty stomach,” she warned.

“His fever’s too high, Mom,” Keith countered. “Do you have another solution?”

It only took a second for Keith to realize he’d practically been snapping at her. “I’m sorry,” he lowered his eyes with the apology.

“No need,” she shook her head dismissively. Then added more gently,” I know how hard it is to watch your loved ones suffer.”

Shiro coughed into Keith’s shoulder, muscles arching and trembling with the effort. Keith rubbed his back a few times. When he looked back at her, Krolia saw his fear.

“He’s getting worse,” Keith whispered. “Please. Just to help him sleep.”

She assessed the pair for a moment. Shiro, barley conscious and slumped over Keith’s shoulder, and her son, slender arms trying their best to envelop every square inch of Shiro’s broad back.

Krolia noted with amusement that Keith resembled a mother bear protecting her cub. She figured Shiro wouldn’t appreciate the analogy, but then again he was in no position to protest.

She unfolded her arms, sighed, “Very well,” and did not comment on their dwindling supply of clean blankets. She administered a small dose and Shiro swallowed it obediently, followed by a few sips from a hydration pouch before he fell back in his spot against Keith’s chest. He was shivering again, so Keith pulled the blanket back up around his shoulders.

“He should sleep for a while,” Krolia hoped it was true. “You should, too.”

The purple bags beneath Keith’s eyes scrunched up at the suggestion. “I need to stay with him.”

“Keith—“

“Mom.”

If nothing else, he had certainly inherited her stubbornness.

They both froze when Shiro groaned, keening softly as he wrapped his arm around his stomach. He jolted with a breathy burp, slurring an apology into Keith’s shoulder.

“Mom? He’s—”

“I was afraid of this,” Krolia sighed, pulling over the designated bucket and positioning it within easy reach.

“Help me sit him up,” was all Keith said. They propped Shiro upright and eased over the bucket just in time for him to retch.

“Le’go,” Shiro protested, coughing harshly as he tugged out of their grasp. He pulled the bin to his chest on his own, hand clenching around the rim in preparation. His lips parted and he belched again, spitting up a mouthful of watery saliva.

“Oh, Shiro,” Krolia cooed, hand covering Keith’s as they both supported him through the bout of nausea. Despite only knowing this man for a short time, she did not feel that he deserved this sort of indignity. She felt his muscles contracting beneath her hand, massive shoulders hunching nearly to his ears as he buried his head in the container and began retching in earnest.

A wet splash echoed in the bottom of the bucket, Keith cringed and pressed his nose against Shiro’s shoulder, grinding his teeth.

“Shiro, take a breath,” Krolia instructed calmly. She adjusted his grip on the bucket and helped him hold it steady.

Shiro coughed roughly,  throat contracting with a noisy clicking sound before he lowered his head to burp up another mouthful of stomach bile.

“Almost forgot how— much this sucks,” he gulped, saliva spilling messily over his bottom lip as he sagged over the bucket.

“Are you finished?” Krolia asked. She watched Keith smooth back the snow-white tuft, securing the longer portion behind Shiro’s ears.

“I’m tired,” he murmured. “I don’— don’t want to drink anymore.”

“You need to rehydrate,” Krolia observed, stabbing a straw into a fresh pouch.

But Keith pulled Shiro back against him, tucking boneless limbs against his own and wiping his own sleeve over Shiro’s wet lips. “It’s all right. Sleep,” he whispered into Shiro’s hair. “You don’t have to drink anything else right now.”

“Keith,” Krolia warned. “He needs fluids. We’re still more than a quintent out from landing.”

“Mom, I’ve got him,” Keith said, his voice was steady and did not waver. “He can try again in a little while.”

“His situation is dire. His body does not seem to be acclimating.”

“S’okay,” Shiro slurred, patting clumsily at Keith’s chest before his fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt. For some reason that made Keith smile.

“He’ll make it. I’m not letting him go anywhere.”

And that made Shiro smile, sick and exhausted as he was.

Damn Keith’s stubbornness. And yet, despite her irritation, Krolia couldn’t help but believe him. For her son’s sake, she would do everything in her power to make that true.