takashi shirogane (spacedad) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2017-11-29 22:53:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log/thread, pidge gunderson, takashi shirogane / shiro |
WHO: Shiro and Pidge
WHAT: Shiro takes a break from being a space dad to have a hangover; Pidge takes care of him
WHEN: Nov. 19
WHERE: Holt home
WARNINGS: None
Quietly, as though training with Keith, Pidge navigated the living room and deposited a water bottle next to the couch. There hadn’t been too much to do, waking at her normal time, but she avoided going back to her room to study (she had her own desk, and it was a good space) because then it was possible to miss everyone else in the morning. In Shiro’s case, it was already company, sleeping company, but company. Quiet company was good, and she sat on the floor, leaning back against an armchair, with a notebook in her lap.
Time coordinates had been simple (simply a fourth location point, and the Altean and Galra systems already accounted for a whole universe); any chosen time medium could be converted to any other, as preferred. The multiverse was more complicated, or at least… it challenged her more because she did not quite grasp a universal (ha) way to think about them. Sheets of paper stacked up one next to the other? Perhaps even books of them arranged in a library of multiverses, with each book of related universes in whole sections of somewhat related universes. If they were not trees branching out in an ever more tangled web upward and outward. Or like solar systems and galaxies. There were many ways to think about a multiverse. Other than anchoring one end at this end of the portal, where everyone was delivered, she wasn’t sure where to place the rest.
She and Matt were working on that, together. Navigation was essential to actively achieving anything with the portal. Perhaps she should study string theory and its multitudes of dimensions, she mused. Just as a starting place to bounce off ideas. Her scratched drawings of multiverses were hardly eloquent, but Matt certainly had had good ideas the night before. Pidge just wasn’t about to pull off the blanket she had cloaked Shiro in late last night to see them again. Sighing quietly, she started idly deriving math about connecting two separate spatial and temporal coordinates together; perhaps it was where universes brushed more closely together?
…
Shiro had not meant to fall asleep at the Holts. It had just been awhile since he had been drinking, and he got a little more drunk than he meant to and, well, after playing Mario Kart into the small hours of the morning, he had been relaxed, and here he was. Sprawled out on the couch like he and Matt had done a bender just before graduation. They were both too old for this. But Shiro figured they had their excuses.
All the same, that didn’t stop the quiet ache in his head when he opened his eyes. His neck was stiff from sleeping on the couch, too, and he groaned quietly, and draped his human arm over his eyes to block out some of the light of the room.
Yes, Matt was back.
...
The sound drew Pidge’s attention away from a gravity well, something lesser than a black hole. She hadn’t figured out the depositing shit on the other side. But it made sense if things were mostly attracted one way. There wasn’t that much cross-pollination between universes. Shiro looked something akin to awake - conscious.
“If you reach down, there’s a water bottle on the floor, maybe six inches down from your head,” Pidge spoke softly. While she hadn’t ever drunk enough to feel lousy the next day, the Garrison had been full of plenty of people who did. Though Pidge had avoided them more than aided them, some lessons had rubbed off. She stayed put otherwise, in no rush for anything to happen. That was the luxury they had here. That and she could think about physics wherever.
…
Shiro started slightly at the sound of Pidge’s voice, soft as if it was. He was now quite good at telling how many people were in a room with him, and it had thrown him off to not know that she was there now. Once he processed it was her, he had the good grace to be a bit embarrassed, because he tried to set a good example for the younger paladins, and he knew that Pidge wouldn’t even hold this against him -- like, say, Lance or Keith would.
That feeling quickly passed though as he eventually processed what she had said.
He dropped his prosthetic hand down to find the aforementioned water bottle and brought it up. He drank half of it one go before slowing down.
“You’re a saint, Pidge,” he told her.
…
“Just a scientist,” she murmured, but Pidge smiled. She stopped attempting pictures (which still looked like she was in elementary school) and instead graphed frequencies. They were in small segments, layered. But she liked it. It felt right that universes would be able to take up the same space, simply at different frequencies. Possibly a simplification, but it was like the messages they used to send, the code she had cracked on Galra communications, like so many other parts of the universe. Even like walkie talkies found in this era.
She stopped drawing, at all, and simply looked out from the page. Even if she were wrong, it was beautiful how many parts of the universe it fit.
…
The response came as no surprise and brought a small smile to Shiro’s lips as well. He knew better than to even teasingly question her -- she could probably very scientifically tell him all the way the alcohol he had drank last night was wreaking havoc on his body.
“What are you working on?” he asked instead.
...
The question took a couple moments to filter in. She had wondered, briefly, if perhaps rather than having one frequency, a universe’s frequency was a function of multiple frequencies (like p orbitals from chemistry), perhaps on a much larger scale. But she looked over, then considering that they possibly vibrated at a different frequency down at a smaller level than they could obverse in this universe than their native one. “Pondering the shape of the multiverse,” she replied.
With a small sigh, she looked up from her notebook, which made less sense than the drunk drawings Shiro wore somewhere. “It’s mostly theoretical or imagination right now,” Pidge admitted. Possibly somewhat a similar exercise to imagining what the inner makings of an atom was like before there had been much research on it. Many revisions to go. But even imagining was amazing.
…
Shiro smiled quietly at the brevity of her response. He suspected that was about the extent of what he would be able to understand when it came from Matt or Pidge anyway. They had all met because a love of space, but Shiro’s knowledge was vastly different from the Holts. He had been at the top of his classes, but when Matt and Pidge truly got going on something, Shiro knew well enough to just let them go.
“Well, you’ve only had a couple of days,” Shiro replied.
...
Pidge looked up at the couch, at Shiro, and smiled. It had been longer since she found out alternate realities were real. But she had not put much thought into them until she came here. So it was a fair assessment. “Feels like one day and months all at once,” she admitted. Short and long. The days were mostly filled with science, one after the rest, with getting supplies for science, with Matt going to work and coming home to discuss things. Not a battle or mission or any possibility of such.
“It’s harder to feel each day passing when it doesn’t mean a day has to pass in our universe,” she added. For her dad, she meant. When they were in the same universe, she felt each turn of the clock, each hour, each day, each month. She wondered what happened to them. Here she was in a hurry, as ever, but it felt different.
…
“I know,” Shiro answered, because he did understand that plight. He had worked hard to figure out how to get back to the team, but he just hadn’t known how. And in the end, everyone kept saying, again and again, that it didn’t make a difference anyway.
So Shiro had tried to use some of the time to get his head back on straight.
“Maybe we can use the time to try and hone some of the theories or work we haven’t had time,” Shiro suggested, even though he wasn’t entirely sure how they would transmit that knowledge back into their universe, but that could be a part of the learning process.
As he was talking and becoming more awake, though, he became more aware that underneath the blanket, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He did remember taking it off for Matt last night -- which came as a surprise, because he was fairly conscious about covering himself head to toe to hide his array of scars, but he had been drunk and Matt, when on a science rampage, could be oddly convincing.
Luckily, it seemed as if his shirt hadn’t gone far.
He cleared his throat.
“Pidge, can you hand me my shirt?” he asked, having a feeling he was never going to live this down.
...
The whole mountain of work surrounding the portal, the multiverse, a clear expansion of physics beyond what she had ever concerned herself (a thought went out, again, to Slav, who would likely have been helpful on all this)... it topped her to do list. They fell into the category Shiro mentioned, just possibly not the one he meant. Pidge wasn’t about to give up on her priorities simply for being in another universe.
But she did still live the day to day, which - today - meant handing Shiro his shirt. Hadn’t ever happened in their last universe, but he and Matt hadn’t had time simply to hang out. Mission mission mission.
So she scooted her behind a little closer to the couch, so she could reach Shiro with his shirt. “Has Matt taken photos? You shouldn’t shower until he’s written it somewhere else,” she looked at him then glanced away so he could put it on. “So it was like times at the Garrison, last night?”
…
Shiro gratefully accepted his shirt from her and tugged it back onto his frame, feeling marginally better once all the scars and the weighted stories that accompanied them were hidden away.
He sat back on the couch so that he could see Pidge a little more easily and finished off the bottle of water that she had brought him.
“I don’t know if he did,” Shiro answered. “I solemnly swear to not shower until Matt has reviewed his work.”
He paused at the second question, though. How like the Garrison had their night last night been? That was certainly what they had been trying to recreate, Shiro thought. At least from his perspective. They had been trying to recapture those moments that were more carefree and imbued with more aspirations than worry. Hand in hand with that was the understanding that they would never have those days again -- not in quite the same way. They had both been held prisoner and changed on account of that.
“It was good to pretend for a little bit that we were back there,” Shiro said. That hadn’t been the entirety of the night. Some of the night had been devoted to working through some of the very real issues they had, but he also thought that Pidge could understand what he was saying and imbue it with the right understanding.
“Where is Matt?” Shiro asked.
...
Her filial and scientific duties served, on that issue, Pidge let the matter drop. The science itself could wait until Matt was awake and it was in a more readily reviewed location. The next question held a lot more to it, for her. The two of them had resembled something like video game nights she and Lance had, something like spending time with Hunk in the kitchen when he cooked, something like what she had seen other students doing while at the Garrison (and possibly something like the nights which Lance had invited her out to that she had always declined). That last part felt the furthest from certainty (she had never gone, she could not be sure), but surely the farthest from her reach.
Pidge nodded at Shiro’s answer. It had been something like that, but something not too, then. None of them were Garrison students. Pidge had never been one like Matt and Shiro had. Friendship had never been a top priority for her, with regard to the Garrison, but she had long since shelved it. Pretending something like it (with whom? She and Lance would have a harder time of it and Matt and Shiro) sounded… fun. But it was a half empty equation.
“Asleep, still, I think,” Pidge answered, “I left him some water too.” There had been no sounds of him getting up, at least. But being able to leave him alone, knowing he was there and would continue being there, had been its own comfort.
But her pencil tapped her page. “How did you make friends here?” she asked.
…
Shiro glanced over at her, considering for a moment, the question about the Garrison. He had assumed that she was asking more out of a curiosity of how he and Matt had behaved at the Garrison. They certainly hadn’t raised the raucous that many of the cadets did, but they’d also had a good time throughout the Garrison.
And he supposed he had never really thought about, at length, how his paladins’ experiences would be different, particularly Pidge’s. She hadn’t come purely for her own aspirations. She had come to find Matt and her dad. Keith had never finished, and Shiro knew all too well the struggles he had likely gone through. Hunk and Lance, while veering closer to the average curve, he figured, also had been robbed of their opportunity to graduate. Shiro felt a little bit bad about this, because his own memories of the simplicity of his education had comforted him greatly during his capture.
They’d all had to grow up more quickly than they should have, and Shiro mourned for the Pidge who would never have all the wide possibilities in front of her if she had had her entire family’s support and hadn’t had to pick up the search that the Garrison should have done.
But then she was moving along, and Shiro had to collect his thoughts to keep up. One of his temples throbbed.
“I talked to Alice on the network after she arrived,” Shiro said. “So, some through there. Some I’ve met through her.” He paused. “I’ve found it weird to how people can relate to your experiences even if they’re from an entirely different world.” That was certainly true of Alice. She was a magician, who had been turned into something other than human by her magic, and that was so wildly different from Shiro, who had been captured and tortured by aliens, but they both understood how it felt to be ill at ease in your own skin again, to be uncertain of how to bridge who you were with what you had been.
…
The network was an excellent tool; she had time to consider and to reply to people. It was more permanent, in the way (nearly) all things on the internet were permanent. Erasing something took a great deal of effort. So it was better not to need to (or to safely encrypt anything). Shiro using it to meet people, too, was reassuring since he was much better at meeting people, much better at people.
“Hmm,” Pidge thought about Shiro’s last statement. Her search for her family and their fight for universal freedom from a tyrant. Generalized, smoothed out into summarized experiences certainly. It hadn’t entirely been the same for any of them, on the second count. Allura and Coran had lost their whole people. Shiro and Matt had been enslaved by the Galra. Keith was part-Galra. And Pidge hadn’t thought of home, of returning, like Hunk and Lance because of missing her family. But still, for all that, it was experience that drew them all together, in common. And while perhaps on a larger scale, with particular technology, particular people, that fight was something easily seen somewhere else. And Pidge was far from the first person to lose her family (or the first to get them back).
All of that, however, did little to make it easier to talk to the living breathing people out there. “There are a lot of people interested in technology and science here,” Pidge said. She wasn’t sure about people interested in other people who were interested in those topics. Not everyone was Bill Nye. “At least a few engineers.” She sighed. The multiverse was easier.
…
“Honestly, half of the time I use the network, I’m trying to keep up with whatever the technology and science people are figuring out,” Shiro admitted. He’d asked questions more than once on there; he still remembered asking if they could shift through time and space through magic, and the answers he had received made it very obvious that that had apparently been a dumb question.
He also knew that there were quite a few people with prosthetic limbs somewhat like his own, but he hadn’t worked up the nerve to have anyone actually take a look at his.
“Is there anyone you’re going to start working with?” Shiro asked.
...
Pidge nearly shrugged immediately. But she stopped herself because that was giving up, and while it was certainly easier and more comfortable, in many ways preferable, it was possibly, probably, not the faster way to find her father. Which was the fastest way to get her outside her comfort zone. Instead she wavered the pencil in the air, as indecisive as she felt.
Matt was the closest thing to a lab partner she had truly ever had, and he was a good one. They were going to work together, either way. But there was plenty of knowledge outside the two of them and a multitude of minds here. Perhaps they had phased into this existence like Shiro’s arm changed from regular matter into energy (even growing hot was energy). “There’s a lot of possibilities,” Pidge said, with less of a shrug, looking at his arm.
“Some engineer types, scientifically or magically curious, even a few people with more experience with time or universes…” she hadn’t kept up with any of them as much as she could have. “I probably need to reach out to them again if I want to start really doing anything.”
She was still looking harder at Shiro’s arm. “I’m not sure we know even half the stuff you can do, really,” she declared. And it wasn’t even made from the reality transversing comet like Voltron was. If it were, well, there were a lot of ways that could go. But still. The robeasts adapted better than most Galra technology, and his arm? What if it could somehow get tied in with the portal? Or was, and that was why Shiro had come first? Too many questions.
And ones she was more comfortable with than talking with other people, so she stopped herself. “You can ignore that if you want,” she said quietly, “It’s easier than…” She waved one hand to signify other people.
…
Shiro was a little more comfortable with the idea because he had been here so long, becoming more and more aware that he had a piece of Galra tech hooked into his body and that he had no idea what it was doing to him or what to do if it broke or malfunctioned in anyway. It wasn’t a great realization.
He had already asked Matt if he would be willing to help, but he knew that Matt and Pidge were the people he would be most comfortable with. He had snatches of being on the table with the Druids when they had lopped off his actual arm -- on account of the fact that he kept breaking a few fingers, and they had been hungering, anyway, to take him apart as much they could; they wanted to know how humans worked better, and they wanted to start turning him from a human and into weapon for the Galra.
So, perhaps, it was naturally that his skin crawled at the idea of having anyone messing with the arm, even if he knew it was a necessity.
“You can look at it, Pidge,” Shiro said. “I trust you.”
...
Were she a better artist, Pidge would have drawn how the arm looked, the connections and parts coming together, the different ways to open it that she knew and those further ways that would remove it altogether. Most of that would not turn out in a helpful manner, so instead she pulled out her phone. “I already cordoned off part of its hard drive so it won’t be so easily hacked,” she explained, “That’s where I’ll save the photos.” Of his arm and anything else they wanted to keep more private.
Then she came closer and focused the lens for a series of shots: outside, inside, top, bottom. Just the basics. It wasn’t as smooth and seamless as the castle or much Altean tech, but the pieces fit together neatly. They likely could use some maintenance, to remove any little bits of crud that worked its way inward, but it was impressive. And the fingers moved just right.
“Despite the Galra mostly using this sort of tech for weapons, their prosthetics are advanced far beyond ours. It could help a lot of people,” Pidge pointed out, “Not that I’d recommend simply copying yours. We’ve already found a location hidden in the coding. Don’t know what else is here.” Yet. And his arm hadn’t been designed with him in mind, what Shiro would want. He hadn’t needed a new arm, except for them.
…
Shiro tried to hold still as Pidge went about starting to take pictures. He trusted that if she needed him to be in a better position, she would tell him -- or just move him herself.
He paused a little at the idea of using the design of his prosthetic to help other people. That wasn’t something he had thought of, if he was being entirely honest. He didn’t know why, but he’d always just thought of his arm as this very alien thing, when, in truth, at least part of was designed off his original anatomy, which meant that it had been partially designed for humans.
“You think you could build a prosthetic based on mine?” Shiro repeated.
...
She looked intensely at Shiro’s arm, staring off against the Galra and all their intentions for it. Those intentions affected how the arm worked for Shiro, right now, and if affected what adaptations might be necessary. Most people wouldn’t need to be able to break through metal with their hand. But the technology spoke for itself. So much more was possible, and with an actual functioning model right in front of her, it was hard for them to keep their secrets.
Pidge grinned. “Not tomorrow. It’ll take some work to get an idea of what adaptations we’ll need to make. Such as what we have access to here on earth, what functions it needs versus how to slim it down to need less maintenance. But… it’s all right there,” she motioned toward his arm, “Hardware. Software. Legs would take more work. It’s clearly something they can do, and there are some similar concepts. But…” She shrugged happily.
“Time seems to be one thing we have here,” she concluded. That, and Shiro had to be interested. Taking apart some technology on the training deck and using Shiro’s arm was not quite the same thing.
…
“How would you be able to interface with my arm without Galra tech?” Shiro asked. She was absolutely right in that this was one great benefit of having more time. They’d never really had the opportunity to really sit down and focus on his arm to the extent that they probably should have.
“How much do you think you’d be able to modify it?” Shiro asked, glancing down at it. It would be good to know just what it could, what maintenance was required, but Shiro also really liked the idea of being able to turn off aspects of the arm that he didn’t really like or need, or which the Galra could exploit.
…
There was plenty they lacked. Galra and Altean tech did not conveniently come with micro usb connections. So even what cables they needed (the cable itself not being too hard, it was the bit on the end) weren’t laying around all over the place. But the Castle of Lions was, in part, here. And it would likely be able to help. Pidge was more interested in figuring out how to make her own, so as not to depend on something that could disappear at any time (homes and vehicles copied from other dimensions felt inherently less trustworthy than their originals). But Pidge waved one hand. “Tech is tech,” she said, “Despite the Galra empire, there’s different tech all over the universe. And it has to be able to work together. It’s not so different. I’ll just have to build something.” If something like that were enough to stop her, she wouldn’t have gotten very far finding new purposes to Garrison tech.
But she eyed the arm again. “I wouldn’t want to remove it from your body,” Pidge said slowly, “Not for a long time and no help, for sure. That is not my area of expertise, and I wouldn’t want to risk damaging anything before I understand it. I will have to, if we’re going to help other people, but we have a ways to go.” That largest issue aside, she considered the rest of it.
“Software, I should have a lot of free reign. Code can be rewritten. It just has to be figured out. Hardware… we’ll have to find the best substitutions we can for anything there. Only have access to one planet’s stuff reliably and all,” but her smile came back. One planet was still a lot, and if they knew what materials they wanted, if they got the help of some engineers to make it easier, well, science was on their side.
“What do you want?” Pidge asked. If there was anything specific, she could start with that.
…
Shiro couldn’t help but smile at how sure Pidge was when she answered that tech was tech and she could easily build her own. Sometimes she reminded him so much of her father and brother that he felt truly foolish for not being able to spot the similarities (never mind the looks right off the bat). His memories had been jumbled, but he shouldn’t have been that blind to what was happening around him.
“How difficult do you think it would be to remove?” Shiro asked, because he couldn’t not. He didn’t really believe that he could comfortably go without the arm for a long time either, especially not if they needed to fight -- but other people adapted, and Shiro had to admit that there was some appeal to not being anchored by any Galra tech. It had never really been an option at all before, because Shiro had to fight, and also had no idea how to remove his arm or if it was possible for anyone beside a Druid to do. Galra soldiers upgraded their own Druid-made limbs, so he figured it had to be possible somehow, but he could also see the Galra implanting some nasty tricks to make sure that people like Shiro couldn’t be free of them or that other scientists wouldn’t be able to steal their work.
“I just want to know if it’s safe, Pidge,” Shiro answered honestly. “And then I want to strip away as much of the Galra as possible.”
...
She hadn’t really expected removing his arm to be the first place Shiro’s questions went. It worked well, really well, given everything they had gone through. And she couldn’t, personally, hold its origins against it. Tech was tech. It was what anyone made of it. Had there ever been time or the possibility to reprogram the robeasts, to give them free will, she would have wanted to try. She wasn’t sure how they were made exactly, but it didn’t seem like a barrel of laughs. But she considered the question seriously. Pidge wouldn’t strand Shiro without an arm. She wouldn’t take it off unless she could put it back on again.
Though she wouldn’t do that if Shiro didn’t want it back. But she didn’t know how to strip the Galra away from it. Convert the code to another coding language? Build substitute parts? If it were the same design, would that make it less Galra? He was going to have to explain that more clearly, so she could actually do it.
“I’m not sure,” Pidge replied honestly. “I don’t understand how your body and the arm communicate so efficiently and effectively. I have to figure that out first, then see if their design works for regular removal and attachment or if I’ll need replacements to get it back. Once I know more, I can answer that. But best guess is that off is doable. Sendak spoke about having the latest upgrade, so I doubt that was his first arm.”
How much had this been bothering Shiro? What was it like living with a part of his body being put there by someone else? By an enemy. “It won’t be like snapping my fingers, or they’d have taken it from you in battle, I’d expect. But I can figure out how to do whatever you want,” because the alternative wasn’t an option, not when one of her friends needed her.
…
Shiro knew that was likely going to be a lot of what Pidge and Matt would work on: figuring exactly how his arm communicated with his body. He didn’t mind that. He trusted the two of them. He hadn’t expected this to be the early morning conversation he and Pidge had while he was hungover, but he didn’t need much time to think about that part of at it least: He trusted his paladins implicitly, and he knew that there was no one more tech-savvy and innovative than Matt and Pidge.
But he also knew they had their hands full with a lot of other science and technology right now.
“When you have more time, that would be great,” Shiro said.
...
When had she ever had more time? Without missions, without battles, without any Garrison classes (or whatever ones these schools had), time for science that mattered was what she had most. That’s what her homeschooling, however much that was truly a thing, consisted of. And Shiro’s arm, everything about it, lived much closer to the areas of science she understood than anything with the portal. If anything were going to be faster…
“I’ll add it to my list,” Pidge nodded. Then she opened the panel on his arm that revealed the places to make connections, so as to start getting some idea on those. “It’s going to involve a fair amount of you sitting still and not moving. Just so you know.” Which was possibly the harder assignment. She - Matt too, certainly - had plenty to think about any time they did anything with the arm. Shiro simply had nothing to do but sit.
…
Shiro started his time of sitting still as soon as she opened the panel to his arm. He looked down at it. Sometimes, it still felt surreal that it was a part of him. Most days before arriving in Tumbleweed, he simply hadn’t had the luxury to worry about it or think about it. He just had to survive in the arena, and that meant accepting this hunk of metal and whatever weapons it entailed. Anything else -- especially trying to remove it on his own -- would mean death.
Once he was with Voltron, it had been more of the same with some small increments of time for Pidge to examine it.
“I can handle the sitting,” Shiro reassured her. “Though, for the record, I would prefer sitting to being on my back.” He said it lightly, and without clarification, but he very much didn’t want to be reminded of his time with the Druids while Matt and Pidge tinkered with his arm.
…
Pidge nearly quipped that he hadn’t handled standing still well the first time she’d asked it of him. Sure there had been an explosion-y death headed their way, but… well, it had destroyed all that information. If only they had had more time. That was the good thing about coming here, yeah? More time.
“Sounds good to me,” Pidge agreed. “That’s probably going to be a good way to have your arm at an accessible height, whether here” - she motioned toward the chair of the couch - “or in the dining room.” Both of which had something an appropriate height for working on things. They weren’t a hospital or med wing. She didn’t ask why he wanted that; whether it was simply a more bearable position with which to pass time or something more serious, she was fine going along with it. Shiro had been here longer than any of them, so he’d had plenty of time to think about all these things.
“We’re doing this for you, not to you,” she said. The images from his isolation chamber, the way the Garrison had treated him burned fresh in her mind. Tumbleweed had proven quarantine didn’t have to include tying people down, interrogating them, and treating them as suspect. It wasn’t terribly difficult for this military base to beat the Garrison. “I’ll see if I can make a good connection to your arm in the next few days. That’s how to get the ball rolling.”
…