takashi shirogane (spacedad) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-07-08 21:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, pidge gunderson, takashi shirogane / shiro |
WHO: Shiro and Pidge
WHAT: Shiro gets memories from season 6 of Voltron
WHEN: Backdated to last Friday
WHERE: The Holt residence
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, limb loss
Shiro woke up and ached.
He stumbled out of the room that he had claimed as his own at the Holts and to the bathroom down the hallway. He collapsed on the floor, peripherally aware that the caliber of his body was off. That only reinforced his roiling insides, and he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet until he was retching up stomach acid.
He sank weakly back against the bathroom floor, aware of each and every way he hurt. Blearily, he looked over at what was left of his arm -- it was gone. What the Holts, especially Pidge, had spent weeks working on was gone.
Which meant the memories were real.
He didn’t know how to begin working through them. So many of them were tattered or incomplete. Hardly any of them were actually his. There was too much horror in so many of them. He -- and had it really been him? Did it count? If it was a version of him that had been made and controlled, but had loved his paladins the way that he had loved his paladins? He had almost killed his paladins. He -- they? It? -- had tried with everything he had.
He had been alone for so long, helpless to do anything to stop it -- the fake him. The almost him. He had died, and he didn’t know how that wasn’t even remotely the worst of it. That had been easy. The powerlessness afterward that had followed was what had been hard. Being barely able to keep himself together as he watched himself come back in and undermine everything.
But they had found him. Keith had found him. Keith had stopped him and saved him.
His paladins were here. His paladins didn’t know.
Without righting himself, Shiro leaned his head against the bathroom wall and cried.
...
Dressed in pajamas, Pidge made her way to the bathroom at some ungodly hour only acceptable had she been up coding or hacking or gaming. Having instead been responsibly asleep at it, she walked half blind down the hallway with the ease of habit, of years of having lived in the same house. Nothing remarkable happened until her hand reached up to flick on the light in the bathroom.
An initially nebulous shape was on the floor near the toilet becoming part of the wall. One hand grabbed a toothbrush from the sink, and the adrenaline in her system jerked her mind awake. It did not help bring the person - that was definitely a person, if oddly shaped - into focus. Their hair was white and short, and they were curled up. A moment later enough was in common that Pidge identified him as Shiro. Which was fine, safe. No reason to stab him with a toothbrush.
Another moment made Pidge aware that he was missing an arm, something that took longer in the dark with her blurred vision. It was not, generally speaking, meant to come off. No easy attach unattach feature. And while she couldn’t see everything in detail, it didn’t look right for any healthy way Pidge imagined his arm coming off. Also, his hair was all old now, not just a tuft of it.
There had been no explosions, no gunfire, no sounds of a fight, and there was no other body, so Pidge concluded it was something portal related. Which meant future. Which meant anything was on the table. Anything where Shiro lost an arm and aged like a decade, at least with terribleness. Whatever Pidge may have wanted to offer Shiro, whatever she was capable of drawing from the stores in the house (PB&J? If he wanted food?), Pidge was not going to abandon Shiro in the bathroom to do it.
Instead, she poured a cup of water and grabbed a towel from where it hung on the wall. The towel she somewhat wrapped around him like a blanket, and the cup she held up in offer, as she sat next to him against the wall. “Shiro,” Pidge said softly, in case he hadn’t really noticed her.
…
The last thing that Shiro wanted right now was to be seen by anyone else, but it didn’t really matter. The paladins had seen him -- then, back in their real world. They knew.
But here they didn’t, and Shiro’s mind ground to a half in trying to figure out what to say. He was just too tired. He knew he had felt relief in the memory from being beside Keith again, warm and tangible, but he didn’t feel that anymore. He was jumbled together from the onslaught of memories and from the physical abuse this body had taken.
“Pidge,” Shiro answered roughly, letting her maneuver him.
All her work, he thought. All that work she had done on his arm was mostly gone. He was glad of it, though. He knew that she had done everything she could to make that arm safe, but just the thought of it -- mutating, blasting after Keith. He couldn’t. If he’d still had any variation of that thing, he would have needed it gone, no matter what Pidge did.
…
She sat there with as much patience as she could muster. Pidge was curious about the future - even if it were only that Lotor was a huge dick and they all died crashing down in flames, except for Shiro who (she didn’t know?) was now a grandpa, except it was mostly his hair that was old, not particularly more face wrinkles or anything (nix the grandpa future) - but also still felt the need to pee. Neither of those issues mattered as much as how Shiro was doing just then.
“Knew it wouldn’t all be shits and giggles,” Pidge commented. Not that it had entirely been so, before, with what Pidge had heard from Lance. But the main news had been finding and rescuing her dad. So the takeaway had been good. This time, it didn’t look as hot. But Pidge hadn’t expected better.
Seriously, though, Pidge hoped some people still had enough mithril to scrounge for an arm or the big arm scavenger hunt would start season 2.
…
It wasn’t.
And sitting there, cold, on the ground near her, he became aware again that the others were going to expect him to explain, but he didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t like this. He knew from the others it hadn’t exactly been pleasant, but the duality of it all was almost torturous -- to know that he hadn’t really been anywhere other than here for months now, but to so vividly feel what it had been like inside the Black Lion, trying to keep what was left of himself as a human together if only to protect the others.
And that had all been for nothing. They’d done it all themselves, which made him so proud of them, but also so scared, because he had been weaponized against all of them.
And he’d also been here having Lucky Charms with Pidge at 2 in the morning last Saturday.
...
Shiro not talking, especially because something was not okay and not okay for him and with him, was not particularly surprising. More often than not, it seemed his answer of “fine” held little to no correlation to how Shiro was actually doing. Pidge considered asking him anyway, if the question would somehow ground him. But at this time of night, there was nowhere they needed to go and nothing they had to do, urgently. And Shiro was clearly not fine.
Trying to say that in a way that communicated it was okay how not fine Shiro was stumped her just then. It could sound like Pidge was saying she (and they) didn’t need him, which just wasn’t true. But neither did he have to hold them all together by holding himself together. There was no team interest in Shiro carving himself out to nothing from the inside. Pidge had gone to Shiro multiple times, when she was not okay. And he had always known what to say. But she couldn’t ask him on advice for how to advise him.
Instead she settled for inspecting what remained of his Galra arm on his body. It had been a clean cut, but everything still connected to his flesh and bone was essentially detritus. Pidge hadn’t planned on removing his arm any time soon, but she had considered the possibility Shiro would want it gone someday, when Keith had his arm and when they had the means of giving him a new arm. “Do you want me to remove the rest of it?” Pidge asked. Her hand reached near the fresh amputation in question. If nothing else, it was perfectly good metal on there. Once it got stripped of any remaining code and melted down, it would be just that. Not an arm’s worth of metal but something.
…
Shiro flinched when Pidge started inspecting what was left of the arm, but there really wasn’t anything left, to be fair.
“Please,” he agreed, because there really was no sense in metal being there any longer and she would likely need to do it eventually if she was going to build him a new arm.
“I think I have memories from further along than anyone else,” Shiro tried.
...
“Someone would have mentioned this,” Pidge agreed, not quite distracted because anything Shiro said was something to go off of just then. But she had already started thinking about the arm. She stood, looking down at Shiro, glancing back down the hall, then looking at him again. “Okay, gimme a minute to grab my things,” Pidge said.
She then quietly made her way down the hall, down the stairs, with ease. A quick stop in another bathroom. Then she found what tools she needed and one laptop and scurried her way back upstairs and to the bathroom where Shiro sat waiting for his amputation.
“Just sit there, I have this,” Pidge told Shiro. Then she knelt in front of him, connecting the cable first to the laptop, then out toward what remained of the arm. “It won’t be entirely comfortable,” Pidge warned.
…
Shiro tried to sit up a bit more after Pidge left the bathroom. He knew having his center of gravity shifted was going to take some getting used to. Still, it helped that he was accustomed to a physical form. He couldn’t forget what it had been like being distilled back into a body again -- breathing again for the first time in a long time.
He rinsed out his mouth a little and finished off the water that Pidge had brought for him.
And then he breathed, trying to focus a little bit more. Some of the initial panic was beginning to wane. He still didn’t know what he was going to tell Pidge right now or what he would tell the team later.
“Don’t--” Shiro said sharply when she returned with the laptop to hook his arm up. He didn’t know the entirety of what was wrong with it -- only that there was something wrong with the coding.
...
Pidge glowered at Shiro, unimpressed. “This computer has never seen the internet and physically is disabled from networking with anything besides that Galra arm there,” Pidge told him. “I’ve got a ‘welcome to hell, n00b’ message if it tries anything. And at worst it fries a laptop. It gets anywhere else, I got a kill switch for that too. Trust me, I know it better than it knows me.” Pidge trusted Shiro with her life. The arm, especially after it showed coding of another mind, not so much.
After waiting an appropriate number of seconds, Pidge connected what remained of the arm to the laptop (it wasn’t much, honestly), sent the kill command to get rid of anything running anything on it. Then she started carefully but confidently to detach it from his arm. The main trouble simply was that not everything was dead there, nerve-wise. Or else the arm wouldn’t work. But the Galra had done a good job of making sure Shiro wasn’t about to bleed out from his amputation or anything, so it was easier than it could have been.
…
“It’s dangerous, Pidge,” Shiro snapped right back at her, not about to be quite as cowed by her determination in regard to the arm as he had been weeks ago. “And it knows you better than you think it does.”
...
“It’s dead,” Pidge replied. She turned back to the laptop and sent a ping request out, something simple enough. If the arm received anything, it would reply back. It earned silence. Just to make sure it was not playing dead, Pidge brought up one of her tools, an old school multimeter and connected its ends to a few different points to check.
Then Pidge nodded. “Doesn’t matter how well it knew me, it’s definitely dead. And once we get it off you, we can melt it down to sludge, and you can sleep again sometime,” Pidge replied. She sighed, figuring there was a reason Shiro was on edge about the thing, a reason it had been sliced off. “No matter what it did there, unless you tell me I’m dead or everyone else is dead while I was gone, I was better prepared for it than it was me.” She had planned for some contingencies since she had first dug around in its code. Pidge hadn’t expected to do anything with her preparations. But there were calm spots. And when people left secret messages in code, it made her be like a boy scout. Always prepared.
…
Shiro’s throat went tight at her words. She wasn’t wrong. The team had been ready. Had gotten through every obstacle that Lotor and Haggar had simultaneously thrown their way, including him. But still, it had hurt them, and that was made all the more frustrating by having an incomplete set of memories when it came to what had happened back at the castle.
The team is already dead.
…
Shiro didn’t say anything. But he also did not look as though he was battening down the hatches, readying himself to tell her than someone or more than one someones had died. Not that Pidge knew exactly what that would look like. It had probably been close. They had all almost died more times than she bothered to count. “Really, until you’re standing over a corpse, you cannot be entirely sure someone’s dead,” Pidge declared.
Her mouth grew tight at that, memories of crying over Matt’s grave when she had followed his beacon. For a few moments, just a few of them, Pidge had thought he had died, had really gone and died. And she hadn’t known what to do with that. Fortunately, that had been a test, a way to throw everyone else (except their dad, potentially) off his trail.
…
Shiro turned his head away from her at the comment. He didn’t know what to say to that. It was true, a sort of perverse wisdom. But it was true in a deep painful way that not everyone would learn. And he certainly wished that Pidge didn’t know that.
As it was, he couldn’t agree with her, because that felt far too morbid, but neither could he argue with her, because that would be a lie.
...
Unsure what further to say after that, Pidge focused her attention to the dead tech she was removing from Shiro’s arm. It had been mapped over months, including connections. That had helped them connect Keith’s arm successfully. Now it was put in the opposite direction. She worked precisely, not drawing it out in pointless measures to prevent Shiro from building any pain. But Pidge wasn’t callus to that either. Just kept Shiro’s likely preference to get it off rather than wait for something further. Anything requiring arm slicing called for doing what made Shiro feel in control of his own body again as quickly as possible.
But then Pidge finished her pile of arm pieces on a washcloth on the floor. It made her smile, a little. Thank the Galra for changing their prosthetic arms like they went in and out of fashion. At least, it had made it easier and safer to remove this one. “Just you again,” Pidge declared. “Any future arms will be a Hol-t shebang.”
…
Shiro was relieved to have the spare bits of metal gone from his arm. He had never seen it like this, not really. There had never been a time when he remembered going without the prosthetic. He didn’t know if he had the words for how weird it felt.
Pidge couldn’t have known it, but just you again plunged Shiro back into the sharp reminder that this likely wasn’t even really his body -- was it? Not really the one he had been born into, but one that had been molded from him as a tool for destruction. One that allowed Haggar to freely roam its mind. How much of it was really his? How much of it was really Galra? He realized how naive he was to think that the arm was the extent of what they had done -- all of him was. Every single part of him was forfeit.
He leaned over and threw up the little bit of water he had drank.
...
Not the best response to a pun. But Pidge figured it had little to nothing to do with the pun and more to do with whatever bad shit had happened to Shiro that she didn’t know about. They had never much talked about what had happened to him between his disappearance and Keith in the black lion finding him again. And there was a whole stretch of future with little shape to it of further monstrosities.
She reached up for another towel, a hand towel this time, and offered it to Shiro. Then a raggedy towel was produced from under the sink and used to clean up the… recycled water, so to speak. There wasn’t enough else with it to call it vomit, honestly. “Whatever you need, we have you,” Pidge said. “Whatever the Galra did, we will do everything we can.” Even when it took visiting other worlds to learn what it took to help. No matter how many action items were required to reach the point where Shiro felt free, was confident in his agency over his own body… they would do it.
“We can do a lot,” Pidge pointed out. And if something got so magical on their asses they couldn’t handle it themselves, there was Allura. Or someone else here. Pidge wouldn’t sit still until Shiro was happily, confidently himself. Heck, she had already started designing him his own arm, anticipating he would want one one day.
…
She had no idea of the truth she was speaking. It was a kind of comfort. He didn't want any of them to go through any more pain, but there was only so much he could do to protect them. But time and time again, they had all prove that they had the capability to protect themselves and each other.
Shiro managed to smile faintly at her.
It was an echo of what he had told Matt when he had arrived: that he had been sure he was done fighting. It felt that way more than ever now.
“You have no idea how true that is,” Shiro said.
…
That smile felt good, a small victory eked out of a blind conversation. Pidge wrapped up the bit of towel the arm bits were on. Melting them down could wait until the morning, proper morning, when there was sun and all that. Perhaps Pidge would visit Rocket in the coming weeks, too, to see what spare bits he had scrounged up that could help. She could also check with Anakin. They had options, opportunities.
So Pidge sat back down, closing the laptop and removing that source of light. Just the two of them again on the bathroom floor. A small shrug gently accepted what Shiro said - that she didn’t know what had happened, what they had needed to do, what had happened to Shiro. But Shiro still being here was what mattered. They had been careless about losing him too many times now. “A future where we have each other,” Pidge commented, “...it could have been a lot worse.”
That was what she had, what they all had. And they had time here. No entire universes needing saving.
…
She wasn’t wrong, and the longer he was sitting here with her, the more grounded he became in the fact that he had been here for months. They’d had their trials here, too, but they were, relatively speaking, safe. They were here together. They would figure this out.
His stomach still tightened uneasily at the idea of having to explain to them what he now knew. He’d have some time, but not much, because he suspected it was relatively easy to see the change in him.
“How hard is this going to be to hide?” Shiro asked, gesturing at his hair.
...
Pidge raised her eyebrows, not sure this was the time to be worried about things like how old Shiro looked now. The missing arm stood out a whole lot more. Less oddly now that Pidge had removed the rest of it. But still, it would raise a lot of questions why Shiro was suddenly lacking an arm. Sure the same arm he had lost before, but it was a notable amount of body real estate.
Shiro had never been particularly vain, so Pidge figured he had other reasons. There would be questions either way, but there was not much Pidge could do on short notice about the arm. “How long are you wanting to hide it?” Pidge asked. Because there were 24 hour convenience stores that sold hair dye. Black was fairly basic. Shiro could buy some time, if he really didn’t want to talk with anyone about anything for some time. But he was still going to have to talk because people would have questions. Pidge had questions. She just hadn’t asked them yet.
…
Shiro had been mostly joking, because he knew there wasn’t going to be any way to hide both the hair and the suddenly missing arm from the paladins.
But he was amused (and touched) by how quickly Pidge’s mind went to planning. He wouldn’t have expected any less.
“I don’t think hair dye is going to hide everything at this point,” Shiro answered.
...
Pidge shrugged. She had known as much. Had he needed it, she even would have been willing to lie to the team, well, to everyone except Matt. Shiro could handle Matt knowing even if no one else did, if for no other reason than he would have had to because Pidge didn’t keep secrets from her brother. She didn’t think secrets were a great plan amid the team, but Shiro had been through a lot, and he had just gone through a lot more all of a sudden. If he needed a day, two, seven, Pidge would have found a way for it.
“Could be you just don’t want to look old,” Pidge pointed out. Sure her dad had grey hair, but he was dad age, which was even older than Shiro. It was exceedingly rare that grey hair was natural at Shiro’s age, that was for sure. And Pidge was not convinced that this was natural.
…
“Pidge, you treat me like I’m 100 years old,” Shiro answered dryly, which had been true well before all of his hair had turned white, which was perhaps the only reason that her comments now didn’t entirely sting. Although he supposed he did look very old now.
...
If she judged by his hair, Shiro’s life experiences were aging him at an accelerating rate compared to everyone else. Even not old!Tony had mostly brown hair. It took a fair amount to leach the color out of hair, and usually it was a sign of aging. Shiro also had the habit of bearing every burden on his shoulders, to spare everyone else. If that didn’t age a person, Pidge didn’t know what.
“You’ve been through enough for a hundred years,” Pidge replied. She crossed her arms, honestly concerned about him. Not because of how much older he looked. But worn down, exhausted, all sorts of emotional haywire. It was concerning. “You’ve already started carrying this too, whatever it means, not just for you, but for all of us, too,” Pidge added. “It’s no surprise it shows through somehow.”
She uncrossed her arms, not trying to be hostile, and reached out to squeeze Shiro’s hand. “It’s not all on you,” Pidge said.
…
Sometimes it was disconcerting how easily she could read him and both call him out. He wasn’t used to that, to be fair. For most of his life, there were few times when he couldn’t pull rank to get out of explaining himself in an uncomfortable situation.
It was ironic, though, too, because as she spoke, he also felt quietly sad, because she was speaking with a wisdom that was well beyond her years.
“I know, Pidge,” Shiro answered, but his tiredness came through in his voice.
…
They got through everything together, as a team. It had been far easier and probably better for Pidge working with Voltron as a team than it had been on her own at the Galaxy Garrison. She hadn’t contacted their mom much, to protect her identity, and Pidge hadn’t told Lance or Hunk anything. The same was likely true for Shiro and Keith. Lance and Hunk had been welcomed to “there are issues” at the same time everything else started, so they’d only had it the better way.
None of that stopped Shiro from trying to bear as much as he could for the rest of them, acting like a shield. Thing was, shields took a heavy battering, whether the energy barriers around the Castle of Lions or a physical shield in hand to hand combat. Everything was hard enough already, without hurting more. Shiro had his own pain and whatever happened to him, just as they all did.
They did everything they did because they believed in something, in freedom, in science, in the universe not living under a yoke. Because they could. No matter how tired they got, it wasn’t hopeless. “You know you make things better, just being around,” Pidge offered. It didn’t take him doing anything. He was their friend, their teammate. That was enough.
…
Shiro looked at her for a moment, not entirely sure what that comment was meant to do. He was half-tempted to self-deprecatingly say that was better than making things worse, but he was well-aware that she wasn’t going to put up with that tonight.
He wondered, again, if she knew how close to the truth her comments ran. Based on what he had seen, he wasn’t likely to be doing any heavy lifting in Voltron or any other efforts anytime soon. Keith had taken control of the Black Lion beautifully -- just like Shiro knew that he one day would. And Shiro didn’t want to displace him. He’d been enraged when he’d realized that was Kuron had done to Keith -- a deceptively and masterfully done move. One that made it harder to forgive Kuron even if Kuron had believed he was working to better Voltron.
Instead, much to Shiro’s discomfort, he couldn’t really think of anything to say to that.
...
Pidge shuffled around to the same side of the bathroom as Shiro, sitting shoulder to… bicep. Her head leaned against his shoulder, and she rested there a little bit. She wasn’t honestly sleepy. Too much adrenaline still flowed through her at seeing Shiro, losing an arm and his color, at knowing so much stuff had happened, even if she didn’t know what. In the unlikely event a portal disgorged some opponent then and there with them, for some kind of domestic cage match, she was well ready for it.
As it was, she hoped that she was doing the same for Shiro, making it a little better by being there, by not leaving him to himself in the bathroom in the middle of the night after experiencing a ton of shit in an accelerated moment. It was a quiet moment before everyone found out, and before her life started revolving around artificial limbs with the sense of urgency that had made her come to the bathroom in the first place.
…
Shiro remained quiet as she came to sit beside him, although her presence was reassuring. Still, he knew they couldn’t stay there for the rest of the night. Nor did Shiro really want to.
When he was calmed enough that he thought he stood a decent chance of going back to sleep, he quietly asked her, “Will you help me up?”
…
Her mind tumbled over arm schematics, Shiro’s, Keith’s, changes she had already considered making to any future Shiro arm… It was all arms. Oodles upon oodles of variations of them. Thinking into some of the nitty gritty features, such as the way the Galra had inherently made his original arm not his because it obeyed algorithms and commands that had not come from Shiro were to be avoided but also protected against. Ever more fiercely.
When Shiro spoke, Pidge blinked a couple times and rocked forward to get her center of gravity over her feet and stood from there. “Sure,” Pidge replied. As such, she stood facing him and offered one hand down to his, ready to pull him up to his feet. Just that. Shiro had the rest, Pidge was sure, much as she would have fireman carried him down the hall had he needed it. She would likely open up another laptop, so her thoughts could spill out into it and begin to get modeled. But Pidge could see Shiro off to bed first.
…
Even with her helping him, he felt off balance. His natural instinct was to push one hand against the floor and offer her the other. That, of course, wasn’t going to happen, and he worried about pulling her over by making her hold up too much of his weight.
He braced his legs the best that he could and then gripped her hand to pull himself upright.
“Will you also write the others and let them know?” Shiro asked. He knew this was perhaps the biggest favor, but Shiro needed some time. “And I’ll talk to everyone about it in a few days?”
...
Pidge pulled on Shiro with her bodyweight and then some. She had adjusted her feet so as to get the most bang for her buck. She transitioned, once he was mostly upright, to providing a little more balance in the mix. Sure, it was easier in outer space, where little movements went a long way. But Pidge had it there.
“I can write the others,” Pidge agreed. That much was easy to understand and agree to. But the rest of it raised questions. “Just… how much do you want me to let them know? Or do you want me to choose? And yeah, I can bodycheck people from you for a few days, as need be.” She made a note to ask Comfy to spend some of that time with Shiro, to offer what aid Shiro cared for.
…
Shiro also had to adjust in a way that was unfamiliar as he got to his feet. With her help, though, he steadied quickly.
“You can tell them anything,” Shiro said, because he was aware that he hadn’t really told her anything -- he had new memories, less black hair, and one less arm. He knew the others would worry and be scared. He was reminded of how swift their reaction would be when Pidge had revealed that things had gone awry when she had been working on his arm.
He knew he wouldn’t have much time, but he at least needed a little.
...
Pidge nodded. They could flail as much as they wanted. But Shiro would get his privacy, Pidge guarded. Caring for Shiro, wanting to help him, they all wanted that. But the way to help Shiro was to give him a couple days. Whatever happened in their universe, they wouldn’t be able to do any more or less about it for waiting a few days. So beyond some personal anxiety, there was nothing to waiting.
“Don’t you worry about them then,” Pidge said. “I got it.” She would be waiting just as much as the rest of them. If her curious brain could handle that, they could too. But it still was mostly the middle of the night. That post could wait until morning, which gave her four or more hours to work on Shiro’s arm before posting.
“Frozen breakfast buffet in the morning,” Pidge promised. “Whatever you wanna zap.” It was the extent her hospitality could reach.
…
Shiro didn’t doubt she would. He already felt the slight need to manage how the paladins were going to react to this, but he decided to trust that they would figure it out amongst themselves. They would be okay without him for a few days.
Shiro smiled faintly at the promise of breakfast.
“Thank you, Pidge,” he said quietly. He leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
...
Being able to help made Pidge feel a little better about the situation. Here in Texas was the only part she could influence yet. So it was the part that needed doing right by. Even if she didn’t see him much the next few days, that was fine. Pidge wouldn’t be surprised, even if she didn’t ask questions, if Shiro needed that break from the whole team basically. “You’re welcome,” Pidge replied.
Then she motioned for Shiro to go ahead. He was the one hopefully going to sleep. Or at least meditate on things in a comfier location than the bathroom. “Go, sleep, relax,” Pidge said. She would clean up and get to work. The usual 3am antics.