FW09: Definitely hooked. Why? I don't know, but I'm definitely hooked writing this fanfiction.

While writing this chapter, I was pretty bogged down by how exactly Eighty-Four was going to fit into the gang. I know what talents and skills I want her to have, and what things she's lacking in, but man - it was tough.

Also, I just wanted to give shoutouts to my reviewers? lilnightmare17 and Ari, thank you guys, seriously! And for newcomers Crystal013 and exaigon, thank you, too! I hope you continue to enjoy the series as it progresses - and you will be rewarded, because there is some character building here, and in the future, you are NOT going to want to miss.

Warnings: There will be some SERIOUS INTROSPECTION and ANGST in this chapter. Like way more than I thought there was going to be. But hey, it's finally gotten to the two main characters, so...yay? Also, trauma will also be seen in this chapter. And...I kind of wish I could put angst in that genre box up there. yeh...

Disclaimer: I do not own Voltron: Legendary Defender or any of its sister series, but I do own this story and OCs.

Chapter 7

"The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant." - Salvador Dali

(At the Castle of Lions, in Hanger Bay 02, two days after the Sendak Conflict...)

"All right...tha' should do it," Eighty-Four huffed tiredly, sagging against the side of the small ship she'd borrowed from the castle. She looked out of the open bay and noted the morning sun rising, welcoming it eagerly after how cold the night had been. For the past two days, she'd been working hard through all hours of the night: salvaging and scrapping Galra wreckage for parts and barter. Salvaging her own ship, the Cutting Edge. Even hunting and foraging for fresh food and supplies on the planet's surface - something that she insisted on, seeing the "rations" that the castle housed even 10,000 years later.

The afore-mentioned..."food-goo". Eighty-Four took one look at its gelatinous structure and put a hand up. No. Just...no. Sorry, but it reminded her too much of prison food.

Upon remembering the foraging, however, Eighty-Four couldn't help but wipe the back of her hand against her forehead, wiping away the sweat that had collected above her brow. Her mismatched eyes drifted to the various food storage units, filled to the brim with various edible plants, herbs, liquids, and even game. The game was a pretty good way to let loose all the tension and worry she'd been feeling, but it was a pain when Allura and Coran both had sit her down like a child, explaining that she ought to take care.

What if the game she hunted were sentient? What if they were a burgeoning species on the brink of civilization? What if, what if, what if...

Eighty-Four had half a mind to tell them to go quiznak themselves and leave her be - but endured the lecture when Shiro and the other humans popped in for a listen. Damn base-2 primitives...always so curious. She attempted to sneak out, but Shiro just had to look at her like that when he caught her...and instead of ruining the mood, she sat back down with a sigh. It always unnerved her when bits of the Shiro she knew peeked out under the veneer, like a dementia-riddled patient coming to full awareness. Made her wonder if his memory was returning faster than she had predicted.

'If only. Then I coulda jus' kissed 'im an' he would've let me leave,' she thought, trying to amuse herself from how much of a headache she'd been suffering over that.

It was always tempting to use the mind-wipe device, to secure a better peace of mind that he wouldn't remember, but she'd lost it in the wreck. No chance for re-doing it, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it would've done more harm than good, yet again.

'...Well, nothin' I can do 'bout tha' now,' she brushed off the thought nonchalantly, 'All tha' remains is ta keep 'im safe...protect 'im fer as long as I can...'

Lethargically, she stretched and decided to take a much-deserved break. The nagging feeling of Coran walking through the door and chastising her for not parking the ship correctly did prod her conscience, but she just shrugged it off. She'd get to it later.

Speaking of the orange mustached man - try all he might, she knew that when Allura wasn't around, Coran was a bit intimidated by Eighty-Four. After the fading glow of their first victory was snuffed out, it seemed that he learned to be wary of her. Getting a gun stuffed in your mouth did that to you. Still, the brave little steward did try his best to keep a chin up whenever they were caught alone together, and he certainly wasn't shy when it came to Eighty-Four's attitude towards the others, especially Princess Allura. And...Eighty-Four could respect that, to a degree. So she made it a point to make peace with Coran when she could - provided he didn't annoy her too much.

'Speakin' o' disturbances...' Eighty-Four glanced upward.

Walking through the lit halls of the castle, she noticed the lights shaking and shuddering from time to time. No doubt from more repairs, ones that she would partake in once she finished getting one-on-one tutoring sessions on how to be helpful around the castle from Coran. These sessions were by far the most taxing on her patience, seeing as how he continued to insist meekly that Eighty-Four ought to recognize Allura as her princess. Pushing aside the long bunch of silver-blue hair, the Altean brushed one hand over the red arrow markings on her right cheek, then traced upwards to her pointed ear.

'"Mah princess", huh?' she flicked her ears at that, scoffing, 'We already got a Lord...this universe needs less monarchies, not more...'

As if he had heard her traitorous thoughts, Coran's head popped up at the end of the hall and his ears pricked when he spotted her. Eighty-Four clicked her tongue against her teeth sourly. So much for that break. All this work and no play was making her cranky.

"Ah! So, you've...returned..." the initial enthusiasm he had whittled down when he noted the frown on her face.

"Only jus'," she gave a half-lidded look, but her tone was a warning if ever.

"Well...we may need your help! The Paladins have been resting ever since they got here, and the princess and I think it's about time they got on with their training," he pulled up his digital pad, eyes a bit nervous as they darted from it to her face, "We'll be testing a lot of the castle functions today, and one of them will be the castle-wide alarm. If all goes well, the Paladins ought to be up and at-em within a queblant and ready to form Voltron!"

"Righ'...then wha's that got ta do with me?" she raised a brow, placing a hand on her hip.

"Training them!" he reiterated, then showed her the pad he was working on, "We figured that while our training regimen is one of the best in the universe, it may also be a bit...ancient, in comparison to modern-day techniques. We were hoping you could add a few ideas of your own, while keeping the theme of teamwork in mind!" A scrolling array of exercises and planned activities were listed in an itinerary-fashion, some of which made the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in mild amusement.

Really? He was asking a lone bounty-hunter/freelancer to teach the Paladins of Voltron how to hold hands and work together like a pack of Yellmores, joined at the ears?

...

Then again, the stronger his teammates were, the less she could worry about Shiro, right?

...

Eighty-Four made a mental note that love made people do stupid, tiring things. And think stupid, tiring things. And feel absolutely obsessed while doing it.

A long drawn-out sigh came out of her, surprising Coran, but she nodded.

"Yeah...I guess I can think o' somethin'..." she flexed her fingers towards the pad in his hands, "Give."

"Umm...what?" Coran looked down at his pad, then to her open hand, "...N-no, this is mine."

"Then ya got another?"

"N-no, not on me - "

"Then why don't ya get one fer me?" Eighty-Four leaned towards him with a bared, toothy grin, and despite their near-equal height, he seemed to shrink under her red and blue gaze. How easy it was to make him remember the way she manhandled him...how much stronger she was.

However, before he could answer, she backed off and chuckled, pointed incisors flashing in the light.

"Oh Coran...lighten up! I'm jus' messin' with ya!" Eighty-Four slipped back into her casual drawling voice, and slung an arm around his shoulders, "Ain't ya never had a power-convo before?"

"A w-what?" he asked nervously as she dragged him along.

"Power-convo? Like, markin' yer territory or showin' who's boss?" Eighty-Four bumped her hip against his, grinning when he gave a squeak, "An' I jus' owned yer scrawny ass. Ye need ta stand up, not shrink down, ya orange-haired fluffer-nutter!"

Upon hearing the ridiculous and disarming insult, and viewing the charming grin on her face, Coran's uneasiness fell and a shaky laugh formed on his lips.

"Oh yeah? Well this 'orange-haired fluffer-nutter' still has his pad!" he pointed at it, and she gave a snort, glad that the older Altean had seemingly gotten over his fear - at least for now.

"Yeah ya do...but not fer long!" she reached for the pad playfully, and he used his lengthy arms to keep it out of reach, going along with her game as they walked on.

(At the control room, in the Castle of Lions...)

The two fumbled and joked with each other for a good few minutes before arriving at the control room. The good-natured humor wasn't missed by Allura, and she smiled at the both of them as they entered.

She'd had doubts about the new Altean, for sure. Holding Coran hostage had been a terrible start, but the dedication and competency she'd shown afterwards...it was like a completely different person. Eighty-Four had picked up those prisoners when Allura had asked (and it was asked, not ordered), and stayed when the battle was all but lost. She could've run. She could've just left the prisoners there and ran off with the ship.

But she didn't.

Additionally, all the salvaging and gathering that she did, Eighty-Four did it on her own. She never asked for help, or pulled command, not even once - which was a bit strange, considering how it was probably the strongest requirement that was fought for. Instead she only requested a ship and a few containers to help carry things, and then set off to work.

Volatile and unhinged. Reasonable and level-headed. A mash between the pleasantness of sun-soaked plains and being at the bottom of a frigid toxic ocean.

Allura shook her head, deciding to focus on the Eighty-Four who was before her now: someone on their side. And someone who was sorely needed, considering the fact that the Castle of Lions was usually staffed by hundreds - which now dwindled down to single digits, even with Eighty-Four.

"Are you two ready?" she held up the communicator in her hand, meant to broadcast her voice to the entire castle, "Or did you want to continue playing?"

"My apologies, princess," Coran bowed his head respectively, "Let us commence the test!"

"Same," Eighty-Four raised her hands before shoving them in her pockets, "Ready when you are, princess."

Allura felt a small twinge of irritation - the paler woman enjoyed using her title as a way to grind on her nerves, rather than out of respect - and pressed the button to sound the alarm.

(An hour before the alarm rings...)

'...89...90...91...92...93...' Shiro counted his push-ups one by one, his muscles straining and his breath uneven.

It had been a peaceful couple of days since they'd taken down Commander Sendak, but while everyone had been celebrating or relaxing...he couldn't.

He couldn't sleep.

He couldn't rest.

He needed to move. And keep moving.

He wouldn't survive if he...didn't...keep...moving.

Shiro gasped suddenly when he felt the muscle in his right shoulder spasm, and gave him phantom twinges that traveled down his mechanical arm. How...why did it feel like he could still feel with something that wasn't his? And why only pain? Shuddering, he dropped to the floor of his room unceremoniously and closed his eyes, brow knit in thought and sweat.

If only he could remember...what they had done to him. If only he could remember why...

Shiro groaned when the pain returned, and curled up into a ball on his left side, clutching his nonhuman hand. His memories shifted to the sentries he'd mangled on Sendak's ship. The way his hand lit up in an unholy malevolent, purple hue. The effortless motions of his body. The way he seemed to phase out of existence, only to return with a concentration that required...no, demanded he destroy.

Destroy destroy destroy destroy destroy DESTROY DESTRO - !

...

His hair. Being brushed back. Tousled. Fingers sliding. Tugging gently. Nails scraping scalp. A kiss, on his forehead.

"Rein it in, Champ. You're getting heated."

Feminine. Definitely female.

And then another kiss...oh so soft, on his lips...

...

Shiro opened his eyes slowly, letting go of the breath he didn't know he was holding.

'...What was that...?' he wondered foggily, and he noted absentmindedly that the pain in his arm was magically gone. So, too, was the fervent need to move.

The white-haired teen unfurled his body once more on the cold, metal floor and sighed in shaking relief. Whatever that feeling was - he reached up to mimic the way his hair was touched, dragging the flat of his fingers upward through the thick patch of white bangs - it soothed him. And yet, brought about an ache in the center of his chest. It made him want to reach out, to physically grab the memory and drag them into this reality, but...he couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember the owner of the hand nor the sound of the voice. He could remember the words and the sensations...those wonderful sensations...but nothing else. He couldn't even remember the lips, even though he was so certain they'd been pressed against his forehead, just below his hairline, and then lovingly on his own. And there had been love in those kisses. Shiro moved his hand down to touch his lips.

Why did he know that? Why was he so sure that love had been there?

He had been stuck in a Galra prison ship for one whole year. How had he found love?! Was it another prisoner?

His panicked, confused mind turned and turned and turned - torn between wanting to remember and questioning the impossibility of it - until the feeling of pain and must move forced him to get back on his hands and feet. Shiro grit his teeth, pushing himself into the familiar, but torturous position. Wearily, he reached out with his mind towards the memory, hoping it would work once more and beat away the nightmarish urges, but it was gone. The soothing effect it once had waned, and the sensations faded out of his mind like sand through his fingers.

Shiro sighed, his arms still shaking as he tried to compose himself.

'...1...2...3...4...' he started his count once more, but stopped abruptly when he heard the alarm go off, '...Thank God...'

He pulled himself up and grabbed his helmet. No more restlessness. There was work to be done.

(In the control room, post-alarm...)

Shiro could only sigh internally. Of course. Just a test.

He listened to Coran and Allura talk of the importance of being ready, with Shiro as the prime example. He was in his uniform, ready to take the call, and was the first there. Voltron would at least have its Black Lion. One out of five, however, was not Voltron. And his teammates rolled their eyes or gave a not-so-quiet yawn to show that the obvious wasn't beyond them.

...Shiro was just glad they chose to ignore why exactly he was the first there, all suited up already.

Tired and unfocused, he tried to compose himself in preparation for the long day of training ahead, but someone caught his eye.

Eighty-Four.

The mysterious bounty hunter who'd allegedly freed him. Allegedly being the keyword.

With his memories still jumbled, Shiro wasn't sure if he could trust what she was saying, but the possibility that she had answers was high. He could feel it. Ever since he'd caught her stumbling over herself with that Commander Sendak, who was in charge of the very prison ship he'd been on, Shiro knew that Eighty-Four probably knew more than what she was telling.

His thoughts froze upon meeting her eyes.

He'd been staring at her, unknowingly, from behind the visor of his helmet and she caught him. Her right eye, luminous and a deep crimson, contrasted sharply against the light, haunting blue of her left. Pure opposites.

Shiro's eyes darted back to Allura and the conversation at hand, but he couldn't help letting his gaze drift back to her, taking in her appearance.

Instead of the dark blue spacesuit she'd donned on yesterday, Eighty-Four now wore a black tank top, covered by a loose, black technician jacket, with a pair of dark baggy jeans tucked into battle-ready boots. A pair of matching dark goggles rested atop her head, her bangs sticking up higher to accommodate the new look. He briefly recalled seeing her darting in and out of the castle nearly all day and all night yesterday, making several trips out to various places - including Sendak's wrecked ship.

Shiro hadn't been too concerned at the time, but he made a mental note to find out what she was doing later.

Again, she caught him looking, but this time...she averted her eyes first. Like she was the guilty one.

...Had she been staring at him?

Did she still want to follow through on that bounty? To take him and run? A possibility, but one that he was uncertain of. He felt strangely edgy and unnerved in her presence now, like an itch that was hard to place and needed urgent attention. Reflexively, he felt his hand twitch upwards to run through his hair and -

Shiro froze.

The memory.

Eighty-Four's actions three days ago.

Eighty-Four had ruffled his hair. And...it just felt so similar. But it couldn't be. The words didn't match. The insane laughter and her aggressive attitude, they didn't fit the touching scene at all. Then again...she'd echoed words of encouragement to him last time, and if he hadn't been so distracted...how did she sound then? What look did she have on her face?

He brought his gaze up and stared at her, willing for anything in his broken memories to return.

...No. Nothing. No memories. She was just as unfamiliar as she was when they first met. If she had been...if she was the one...surely he would've remembered something?

When Allura had dismissed them, and the others walked off, Eighty-Four glanced over at him one more time - but this time, he held her gaze. He watched her, forcing himself to stare into those unsettling eyes, and see what emotions ran through them.

...Nothing. Nothing but slight confusion and dismissal.

So it wasn't her.

But...why did it still make him wonder? As he walked away towards the middle of the room, giving the staring a rest, he felt confused. So...so confused. Shiro closed his eyes as the platform started lowering, the memory of the hand in his hair coming back stronger. Probably because he had a similar feeling he could pull from, thanks to Eighty-Four's actions earlier.

...If he had any free time today, he'd ask her. Get answers to his questions. Finally know something. And then, maybe he'd stop feeling like he was losing his mind...

(During Voltron Training Exercise #1...)

'...Quiznak, I should've been an actress on a space opera...could've really raked in th' money from that performance.'

Eighty-Four felt a deep shudder roll through her - from the tingling between her legs to her tightened abdomen, tickling up her rib cage and heart, and finally out through a long-held exhale. Damn...if she hadn't been holding onto the sink in front of her, she would've been on the bathroom floor already.

Why...why did he have to stare like that?! And it wasn't even sexual, came a little voice in the back of her head.

...Was she a little offended that it wasn't? Well...maybe a little. But it didn't make the exchange any less charged - forcing her to excuse herself after the Paladins had left, making up an excuse that she needed to use the restroom.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing on the bounty hunter's mind. Eighty-Four was so afraid that he had remembered...she had caught him looking her way multiple times, and then she had to be a huge idiot and stare at him in return. Like a couple of lovesick fools who couldn't get enough of each other. Could she be any more obvious? Could she have overreacted any more than she already had? Already doing now?

And yet, she'd pulled it off. She'd resolved to see this to the end, and when his eyes started searching hers - she put on her best damn face to say that 'no, I don't know know who th' stars ya are, stop staring at me, ya creep'. It was forced, but she'd forced worse. Well...maybe that last bit was a lie, but she would do anything to keep him from knowing the truth.

No matter how hard it hurt.

The pale Altean looked up into the mirror and grimaced, steeling herself and sorting through what just happened. That boy was curious, for sure, but he hadn't remembered. She smirked as she thought this - he would've done more than just 'look' if that was the case. She then remembered the awkward way his hand went up towards his helmet, stopped, then dropped to his side as if in realization.

...The hair thing?

...Quiznak.

Of course, it had to be the hair thing. She just got used to doing it whenever he was stressed, and she couldn't resist when his brow would knit upward in that familiar distressed pattern, and...ughh, that one slip-up! She was probably being too hard on herself, since it'd only been that day that Eighty-Four had wiped his mind, but she knew that this would cost her. Of course something like that would trigger a memory.

And he would come calling, looking for answers if it did.

Which...it looked like it did, if his inquisitive gawking were any indication. Just quiznakking perfect.

Eighty-Four took a deep breath through her nose, then breathed out through her mouth.

...So be it. If he had questions, she'd give him answers. Not the answers he wanted or expected, but the ones he needed. Anything to get him to stop being so damn curious. And who knows, if she nipped this thing in the bud, maybe he'd stop asking for good long while.

A slight sad, grimace passed her face, as though the thoughts and plans she were coming up with had a sickening taste to them.

At least until it was time for her to go...

(Just after Voltron Training Exercise #2...)

Shiro sighed as the Black Lion pulled into the central hangar, his head throbbing from the multiple nearby explosions and constant dodging. How long had they been doing that for? An hour? More? Less? He couldn't remember, but whatever had stopped the deadly barrage of Altean energy, he was glad for it.

Yes, after his conflicted thoughts about Eighty-Four, he might've been a bit distracted. Yes, he might've had a hard time forming Voltron with the rest of his team.

He never thought it would warrant Princess Allura firing off every defensive measure they had against them, though!

While the Hunk made a solid bee-line to the restroom, Pidge made his way to the med-bay to check on the prisoners. Lance and Keith, neither of them talking, went up to the main room to relax and try to forget that they were nearly smote by a hundred lasers. This was a really weird, and destructive start to the day for all of them.

But now, Shiro had an opportunity.

He clicked his intercom and worked an invisible circle over his temple. In turn, the digital readout from his helmet cycled through various names, one of them being "Eighty-Four". He was glad - apparently they'd set this up the moment they wrote up that contract, to have a line on her for the indefinite future.

"Eighty-Four," he called out, testing the channel. It should've been for her, and her alone, but he never was too sure about these things...

"...Y'ello," she drawled in that accent, which reminded him of a Western, "Speakin'."

"This is Shiro," he stated plainly, "I'm in the Black Lion hangar, and I need to talk to you."

"Sure," came the easy purr, and he stiffened at the way it crawled in his ear and nestled there like a cat, "Be down in a tick."

The white-haired teen clicked off the intercom and stood up, preparing his descent from the Black Lion. He wondered for a brief moment if Black could hear his thoughts, too...maybe even help him sort out the mess of fragmented memories he had. Luckily, before he delved further into that pot of mystery, the telltale signs of boots clicked their way across the floor, and he turned around from the lion to see her walking up to him in a casual gait.

"Ya need somethin', boy?" she asked, and he quirked an eyebrow - she enjoyed not calling him by his name.

"For the last time, it's Shiro."

"...Righ'," she gave a disinterested sniff, stuffing one hand in her jacket pocket and the other scratching her neck, "Sorry. Force o' habit. Don't usually call bounties by their names, makes it easier. Anyway, what ya need...Shiro?"

"I need answers," he pulled his helmet to get a better look at her, his eyes wandering to a pair of crates nearby, "And I'd prefer it if...maybe we just talk here? Without the others?"

She gave a wide-eyed look, looked around to confirm that they were alone, then fingered the zipper to her jacket with a smirk. The Altean shifted one of her hips to the side, highlighting the curve in the bright hanger bay light.

"Oh...well, we'd need ta know each otha a little better before I give ya those kind o' answers," Eighty-Four gave an awkward, but flattered chuckle, and Shiro's eyebrows shot up at the insinuation.

"N-No, not that - I, umm...uhhh," he grabbed the collar of his Paladin armor and tugged, feeling the heat spread under his suit, "Ahem, look, it's about the past. My past."

"...Oh. Well, why didn't ya say so?"

The way she just breezed by him nonchalantly towards the crates and plopped down on one...she'd been joking, hadn't she? Teasing him, the way she'd been doing to the rest of them? Shiro sighed, shaking his head.

"I just...after I escaped, I only have pieces...fragments of what happened," he decided to just move on, not very appreciative of having to struggle with her childish teasing on top of recuperating from a hailstorm of laser, "My memory's all over the place, and I think you can help me."

"...Kid, I'm was jus' yer escort," Eighty-Four leaned back as he took a seat on the other crate, one leg swinging carefree, "Paid ta get ya from point A ta point B. An' I don't ask questions."

"But there must be something...those aliens in the med-bay, they called me 'Champion'," he put his elbows on his knees, locking his fingers together under his chin in thought, "Do you know what that means?"

"..." she mulled over the word, and he eyed her carefully, "Th' Arena."

"What?"

"Th' Arena," she repeated, "A favorite Galra past time. Gladiators fightin' to th' death, or incapacity, in pits an' dens. An' if they were callin' ya Champion, it means ye've won a few matches against th' reigning Gladiator."

"I was a...Gladiator?" for some reason, the word caused his head to throb unpleasantly.

"Well, maybe...maybe not," Eighty-Four reclined fully this time, and he raised an eyebrow at her outstretched body, "Unwillin' prisoners were also thrown in, as fodder fer slaughter. Galra soldiers love themselves a bloodbath when things get borin'."

"So...I was a fighter," he spoke out loud, trying to piece together things that he remembered.

Before he'd gotten the mechanical prosthetic, he definitely remembered a prison, but it wasn't like the ones on Sendak's ship. The individual cells were cushy compared to the darkness and iron bars, and the smell of something spilled and rotten in the air. Sickening to think about, but he guessed it could've been alien blood from the fighting. He stopped breathing through his nose for a moment and closed his eyes, ducking his head into his hands as he tried to remember. At the same time, the silence that stretched between them was broken by the rustling of clothes.

"Ya fall asleep there?" came the mocking, drawling voice.

"No, just...piecing it together and - "

...

"Rein it in, Champ. You're getting heated."

...

He opened his eyes. The woman...

"Have we...ever met? Before that contract of yours?"

"Never heard o' that pick-up line, but nah," Eighty-Four replied in an easy fashion, and he groaned at the joke, "Pretty sure I would've remembered a base-2 primitive like you, tryin' ta be all civilized..."

"I'm trying to be serious, Eighty-Four," he wrenched his hands from his face in frustration, "I need to know what they did to me!"

Her current position was lounging on her side, stretched out on the crate languidly with one leg propped up, and the other continuing its swing. Her arm kept her propped up, situated under her torso, and she was picking at something in her hands - fruit? Where exactly did that come from? She peeled lemon and lime-colored skin off of it and plopped the insides into her mouth, frowning.

"Ye know...some things're better left in th' past," Eighty-Four suggested, and for once, she seemed serious, "Think of it as a blessin'. What if ya killed someone in there?"

While she'd encroached on the subject so casually, the chilling thought gusted through him. Shiro was a pilot, a full-fledged, graduating member of the Space Exploration Academy. He was trained to be an explorer, not a killer. Could it have been possible that he...

Destroy destroy destroy DESTROY DESTROY DESTRO-

"Then even more so!" his sudden shout drew her attention, and he felt a little guilty for startling her, "No matter how terrible, I need to know...it's the only way I might be able to make..."

Shiro cut himself off. He didn't need the bounty hunter of all people to know his problems, but the way her eyes followed him showed peaked interest.

"Make...what?"

Make it stop. The need to keep moving. Like some bloodthirsty shark.

"Nothing," he waved her off before standing up, sighing. So he'd gotten one piece of information. It didn't spark anything, only drew lines between the familiar and unfamiliar - prison to "Champion" - but he wanted...more. He especially wanted to know more about the woman, having his suspicions, but Eighty-Four's unchanging attitude and flat-out denial convinced him otherwise.

"So...you didn't know me, at all?" he asked again, and she peeled another fruit and slipped it into her mouth.

"Maybe I knew of ya," she acknowledged in small part, nodding, "New Champions don't come 'round often, but...actually knowin' ya? Well...ain't that what we doin' now?"

Eighty-Four lifted the swinging foot towards him, dragging her ankle up in an affronting manner along the outside of his calf to his thigh.

He started at this, staring at the surprisingly aggressive smirk on her face as she gave him a half-lidded look, and he backed away. Almost immediately, Shiro felt a schism occur in his mind - a separation between the woman he barely remembered and the pale Altean in front of him. They weren't the same. They couldn't be the same. This oily...greasy feeling? It was nothing compared to the memory. And if that woman was still out there, waiting for him...what would she think of him now? Letting this stranger, this bounty hunter attempt to seduce him?

That line of thinking - it had him reeling.

"Enough," he warned, and she swung the leg down in mock disappointment at his rejection, "I get it. You didn't know me."

Shiro sighed, seeing that he wasn't going to get anymore answers, and started walking to where he knew the rest of his teammates would be. He didn't bother a glance back this time.

"Sorry I asked..."

...

...

...Had she done it?

...

...Was it over?

Eighty-Four stood up slowly, feeling an odd combination of cold numbness and wrongness settling in her stomach. She'd used that trick before, in her old days, when her targeted partner for the night was drunk, willing, and the first to come onto her. She would never have used it on someone like Shiro - someone who had a sense of honor and pride that would cause him disgust rather than intrigue.

But this was an emergency. And she had panicked.

As soon as he asked point-blank if he knew her, the Altean was glad for her already-pale complexion. It was the hair thing. The quiznakking hair thing. She knew it, she knew it, she knew it...and she just had to do something. Persuade him beyond a measure of a doubt that someone like her wouldn't know someone like him. And that's when she knew what to do.

Bar-trash flirting.

It seemed juvenile, but hey - so was Shiro, in her mind. He treated sex as something sacred, something cherished, but 160 years plus experience made sex just feel like...sex. A way to blow off steam. A tallied strike in a record you no longer kept. It wasn't special anymore, with the need for pomp or circumstance -

But damn if he didn't make it feel beautiful all over again.

...

The unbidden thought caused her to freeze as she got off the crate.

...

'Stop it.'

...

'Don't think about it...don't think about 'im...don't think about us...'

...

'Please...don't...please...'

...

Slowly, but surely, Eighty-Four felt the memories ebb from her mind. A soft sigh left her lips before she pulled them into an easy grin. She almost felt like she was even getting better at it...which sounded insane, in of itself. But sooner or later, she'd have to leave him. Sooner or later, he wouldn't need her protection. Maybe he would even win this war, go home, live life on Earth safely, have a family with -

Eighty-Four slammed her fist into the crate next to her, causing the lid to dent considerably under the pressure.

Soon after that, gross nausea sloshed in her stomach, causing her to gulp air like a suffocating fish. The easy grin became that much harder to carry. Her free hand flew up to the personal log around her neck, grasping it from where it dipped below her collarbone, and gripped it tight like a lifeline.

Deep breaths...deep breaths...

...

'I'm gonna lose mah damn mind like this...' she thought briefly before composing herself, brushing away the bits of neo-plastic stuck to her knuckles.

Then again, many have claimed she was insane already, often said dryly and with a twist of wry humor.

'This is fer th' best...don't ya ever forget...this is fer th' best,' her mind echoed to her, fortifying her will, 'Remember what it did ta ya...don't let it happen ta him. This...is all fer th' best.'

With that bit of reassurance, she greased up a smile as best she could and proceeded to take the same elevator back up to the control room. She didn't want to miss the next training session, after all, not when she was one of the teachers.

(On the training deck, a few minutes later...)

'Where is she?!' Coran thought impatiently, pointing several glances at the elevator behind him. After the failures of the earlier Voltron-forming attempts, Coran had taken the initiative to suggest the Paladins try the training deck before exhausting not only themselves, but their Lions. Various recordings and documents were taken from the Royal Family data banks and old archives for study, then organized into a simple training regimen. However, Coran was uncertain - which is why he was so anxious for Eighty-Four to come in.

A worried sigh ruffled the orange mustache beneath his nose, his hand coming up to rub the corners of his mouth.

Coran was not a combat specialist. Sure, a few courses in self-defense and ship-to-ship warfare, but nothing serious. His main profession was stewardship - to serve the Altean Royal Family hand-and-foot. Additionally, his interests were xeno-biology and the sciences, partly inspired by his own grandfather and the Castle of Lions. Had he been more ambitious, he would've followed through with his tiny childhood dream of becoming a Paladin himself, but...again, his grandfather assured him that stewardship would be the best thing for little Coran.

He looked over the skydeck at the Paladins, who were stretching in preparation for the challenges ahead, and gave an apologetic, but determined look.

No. He may not have the proper combat expertise, but he would try his darnedest to help them become the cohesive unit he knew they could be.

"Hey, whatcha got there, fluffer-nutter?"

"Yeeeuugghhh?!" a blurbled-scream was ripped from his lips when he heard a husky voice whisper behind him, and the Paladins all cringed below at the sudden noise that shrieked over the intercom.

Coran clutched his chest and had catapulted himself against the window in his surprise, gasping for air. Opposite of him, Eighty-Four started laughing up a storm.

"Oh mah...Coran, yer too funny, ya know tha'?" she walked over and peeled him off of the window gently, "But yer a little wound up there, don't ya think?"

"Madam, at least I am on time!" his fury was felt in the bristling of his mustache, and Eighty-Four huffed with a reluctant, but understanding nod. Satisfied with her reaction, Coran turned around and saw the Paladins giving confused looks up at him.

"Oh, sorry about that! Just a little...hiccup, ahem," Coran coughed into his hand, and Eighty-Four couldn't conceal an amused grin, "Okay! Listen up guys! The paladin code demands you put your team members' safety above your own. A swarm of drones is about to attack!"

The steward pushed a button on the console in front of him and a swath of the castle's training spherical drones poured from the sides of the training deck.

"It's up to each of you to do everything you can to protect the other members of your team," he drew up his digital pad, and started a timer to record how long they could last against the drones, "Protect your teammates or no one will be there to protect you!"

Eighty-Four walked up to the window to observe, and Coran frowned when he noticed Pidge and Hunk go down within ticks of each other - the first casualties. He shook his head, but...according to the procedures, this was all going according to plan.

"Time to increase intensity," he announced further, and the drones soon became unrecognizable blurs as they whirled around the remaining Paladins - Shiro, Keith, and Lance. Coran popped out another headset and held it out to Eighty-Four, who raised a brow and grinned.

"Aww, shucks...remembered this time, huh?" she teased as she took it off his hands, and he huffed while covering the mouthpiece of his own headset.

"I am the Royal Family's steward and Chief Advisor," he reminded her, then nudged his head in at the Paladins, "So...what do you think? Picked this exercise myself!"

Eighty-Four watched as Keith and Lance started bickering, leading to the both of them getting shot, and leaving Shiro alone. A frown surfaced as Shiro fell shortly after, ending the exercise.

"...Well, it's interestin', that's fer sure," she responded as Coran stopped the timer, groaning and looking similarly displeased, "But if I may...?"

The male Altean nodded, gesturing for her to step forward to the console. For a couple of minutes, as the Paladins were brought back to the surface of the deck one-by-one, Eighty-Four adjusted the parameters of the exercise with Coran's help. She hadn't quite learned all the controls, and it was impressive to see the older Altean maneuver the technology with such ease. Once done, he gave a flourish and bowed, making her grin.

"All righ', testin' one, two, and-a three," she spoke into the mic finally, "This is yer other trainer, good ole Eighty-Four."

Shiro's head shot up first, and a look of thinly-veiled disgust appeared on his face. The female Altean felt a twinge run through her, but she shrugged it off.

"We're gonna switch it up a little, if y'all are willin'," she started the drones up once more, "Now, in real combat, a shot ta th' arm or leg'll hurt, but it ain't a vital area. So, this time 'round, we've given ya a...handicap o' sorts."

To demonstrate, Eighty-Four used one of the drones to shoot Lance in the leg. He gave a little yelp from the shocking pain and fell backwards, his arms bracing his head for the drop through the floor, but was left waiting when it didn't happen. The brunette gave a confused 'huh?' before looking around.

"Wha...nothing happened?" he started to stand, but fell over forward when his right leg refused to move, "What the cheese...? I can't move my leg!"

"Exactly!" she grinned into the mic, her right eye flashing, "You, mah boy, jus' lost a limb."

When the tanned pilot glanced over at his paralyzed limb, he noticed a small blue needle jammed into his armor. Touching it didn't seem to hurt, but pulling it out was next to impossible despite its thinness.

"Aww man..." Lance groaned, trying to still stand up properly, and Hunk came over to support him.

"Now, now," she clicked her tongue in admonishment, still holding that smart-aleck smirk, "This is a handicap, gentlemen. No more automatic outs. As long as yer head and chest're still free, yer still in th' game. Though...heh, ye might not be worth anythin' much if all yer limbs're gone. An' I mean all o' them."

Coran covered his mic and gave a pained expression, "Wait, you're not actually going to..."

He gave a point to his nether-regions, and Eighty-Four chuckled.

"I have seen warriors in wheelchairs still whip out what's necessary ta get th' job done," she replied, not bothering to cover her mic, "Trus' me, it ain't vital. It'll hurt like nothin' ya ever did feel before, but it ain't. Y'hear me down there?!"

An uneasy quiet settled over the group before Lance gave a startled cry once more, and a blue static explosion erupted from his right thigh.

"Okay, what was that for?!" he whined, and Eighty-Four rolled her eyes.

"Gettin' shot hurts, don't it?" Eighty-Four made a deadpan explanation, raising an eyebrow, "S'not like it's gonna stop hurtin' once it's gone, an' it usually hurts a lot more than that. Now ye remember that next time ya git hit."

The annoying needle disarmed itself and fell off his leg, and Lance gave it a kick in contempt before it rolled into a nearby slot, recycling the round for next time.

"All right boys, shields up!" the bounty hunter glanced over at Coran, who was taking notes on the event, "An' remember, protect yer vitals! Non-vitals, too, I guess - heh!"

(Five minutes later...)

"...Huh," Eighty-Four mused quietly, rubbing her chin as the exercise once again came to a halt, "At least they lasted longer than before, but..."

"They just need more practice," Coran supplemented hopefully, but his worry was still firmly etched in his forehead.

The whole exercise had started out well enough - almost immediately, the group had tightened their spread-out circle into a solid shape, and made sure to protect their individual sectors. Then, as the needles flew and mistakes were made, the formation snapped - and this time, it was Shiro who had gone down first, with a needle plunking directly into the back of his skull through an opening between Keith and Lance's shields. Coran flinched at the way his head jerked forward, and then plummeted head-first into the hole. Eighty-Four was surprisingly quiet, and all humor had left her face.

"Oh I don't disagree with ya there," she turned to him as she pressed the button to pull all five back up to the training deck, "I'm jus' wonderin' if there ain't somethin' we can do about those two in th' long run."

Coran followed her gaze to Keith and Lance, both of whom were brushing off the needles and shooting daggers at each other with their eyes. Hmm...that was a problem. He was able to feel the tension between those two even before the training had started. And with each failure, they only got more and more irritated, so quick to blame their problems on one another without looking at the real cause.

"Pidge an' Hunk did much better this time 'round," Eighty-Four continued, pulling up a screen to review the footage, "So it's jus' a matter o' gettin' them inta shape, an' maybe better placement. Shiro's th' best outta all o' them, but ya need five Paladins, not one ta make Voltron - an' th' group's too reliant on 'im. Ya saw how fas' everythin' fell apart when 'e was gone? It's jus' Keith and Lance I can't quite figure...I don't think a li'l rivalry's a bad thing - might even make 'em better - but even their smaller quarrels can mess up th' entire dynamic. They need ta be able to put aside differences in th' worst scenarios."

Seeing the laid-back female get so serious and thoughtful on the issue, Coran felt his ears wiggle in excitement and approval. He made the right decision to persuade Allura to have Eighty-Four help train them. Then he turned his attention back to the problem children, but for the moment...he couldn't think of anything.

"All with time, I suppose," Coran sighed, shrugging his shoulders, "Should we continue this exercise, or...?"

"Hmm, I'd like ta, but...I'm gettin' bored," Eighty-Four put the drones away and turned her mic back on, "All righ' fellas. Time ta switch it up."

Groans of protest and 'we just started!' floated up towards her, but she waved her hand dismissively.

"Grumblin' is fer belly-achin', an' it ain't lunch time yet, boys!" the Altean woman winked at Coran with a wicked grin, and he sighed. Maybe...this wasn't such a good idea...

'My apologies, Paladins...looks like today's going to be a rough day for all of you...' he thought, prepping the invisible maze next.

FW09: Yay! Another chapter done! And we're finally getting to character interaction - REAL character interaction! Mwah! My favorite! (If you haven't read the first chapter to 'In Another Life' from the Corpse Bride fanfiction, that should give you a BIG idea how much I love set-up, and it was done much better in that one than this one.)

That being said...I hope you liked the bit of Coran friend-fluff and the splurge of Shiro POV. It kind of hurt to put the both of them through that, but I felt like I hadn't done any decent Shiro scenes YET in this fic that is SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT BOTH OF THEM. Wow, that's a lot of caps. But! I finally did it. Freaking 7 chapters in, lol. And...this is going to be a slow-ish burn, since Eighty-Four reset their relationship (read as: set-back their relationship OTL) from her end.

Guh...I just really loved writing this chapter, guys. I really did. Freaking powerful stuff, fam, and a lot of this went from 0 to 60 for me, so my plot kind of got whiplash from all of that. Imma have ta lay down for a while after this one.

(Also this is now on Archive of our Own or AO3!)