Author's Note: This chapter centers on Shiro, and takes place early on in Season 1.

"You outdid yourself this time, gordo," Lance declares, shoving the last sporkful of the mashed potatoes Hunk had made into his mouth. The orange goop tastes more like French fries than actual mashed potatoes, but it's close enough to be comforting, and it's a heck of a lot better than Coran's cooking and the standard green food goo.

"This was a lot better than the goo," Pidge agrees.

"Shiro liked it," Keith adds, his gaze fixed on the eldest paladin, who had devoured his not-mashed potatoes in fifteen doboshes and spent the remainder of mealtime listening to the other paladins talk.

"I did," Shiro confirms. "It was—."

He's interrupted by the sound of his stomach gurgling. He blushes and rests a hand on his stomach, but the rumbling continues, and before he can get another word out, he clamps his other hand over his mouth and bolts out of the room.

"I should, uh, go… go check on him," Keith stammers, starting to get up from his seat.

"No, I'll go," Hunk decides, gesturing for Keith to sit back down. He doesn't. "He looked like he was about to puke, and I'm by far the one with the most experience when it comes to that."

Keith, still in his half-seated, half-standing position, shifts his gaze between the hall Shiro had run into and Hunk a few times, then, unable to argue with Hunk's logic, nods his assent and lowers himself back into his seat. "Okay."

Hunk nods, then walks out of the dining room, into the hall, and over to the communal bathroom. "Shiro?" he calls, knocking on the door.

He can hear Shiro retching even without being in the room, and he can't help but wince; he's a bleeding heart with a notoriously weak stomach, after all.

"Are you okay?" Hunk asks, even though he knows Shiro's not. "Can I come in?"

"… yeah," Shiro answers breathlessly after a couple of ticks.

Hunk, assuming that that was an answer to his second question, opens the door and walks into the bathroom. He's met with the sight of Shiro kneeling in front of the toilet just across from the door, gripping the edges of the bowl so tightly his biceps are bulging and the knuckles on his flesh-and-blood hand are as white as the bowl itself. The back of Shiro's neck is red, and as Hunk steps closer, he notices beads of sweat dripping down it and beneath the raised collar of his vest.

Shiro turns his head enough to look over his shoulder at Hunk, but before either paladin can get a word out, he whips his head back around and vomits again.

Hunk crouches down a bit behind Shiro, as the stall isn't wide enough for them to sit side by side, and lays a hand on Shiro's back to steady the Black Paladin's convulsing frame. He can feel his own stomach churning at the sight of Shiro heaving wetly into the toilet bowl, but he ignores it, knowing it's nothing compared to what Shiro's going through. He can see the acid bubbling up in Shiro's throat, and the way Shiro's chest heaves and muscles constrict and relax as his dinner is expelled from his body in bits and pieces does not look pleasant.

When Shiro stops retching after a couple of doboshes, Hunk helps him into a full crouch. Shiro blinks at the mess in the toilet, his nose scrunching up in distaste as he does so, and wraps his arms around his middle. Hunk takes it upon himself to flush the toilet, then tells Shiro he'll be back in a tick.

He walks over to the sinks on the opposite side of the bathroom, then grabs a hand towel from one of the hooks on the wall and holds it underneath the faucet. When the towel's damp, he walks back over to Shiro's stall.

He looks like shit, Hunk thinks as he kneels down in front of Shiro. He's no longer got his head buried in the toilet, but he's curling in on himself, clutching his stomach, and he's sweating bullets. This should help, though.

Hunk guides Shiro's head up so he can wipe the sweat off Shiro's flushed face, then positions the towel to fit inside Shiro's collar. He double-checks that the collar is keeping the damp towel wrapped loosely around Shiro's neck, then reaches into one of the utility pouches on his belt and pulls out a small vial the size of his thumb.

"I doubt you want to drink anything right now, but you should," Hunk states quietly, assuming based on his own experiences and on Shiro's staring hazily at the floor that Shiro's got a heck of a headache. "When Coran learned about my motion sickness, he gave me this," he adds, showing the vial full of fuchsia liquid to Shiro. "It tastes like strawberry yogurt, but it's a lot smoother; it goes down as easily as water. You should take a sip."

Shiro takes it in his left hand, and Hunk wraps his hand around Shiro's to steady Shiro's twitching fingers as he guides the vial to his lips and takes a small sip of the liquid. Shiro drinks about a third of it before he pushes it away.

Hunk screws the vial's cap back on, then shoves the vial back into his pouch. "How do you feel now?" he asks after a dobosh.

"… tired," Shiro rasps, his voice somehow both gruff and wet. "It feels like there's a fifty-pound weight in my stomach."

"Well, that's normal," Hunk assures him. "It'll go away after a while." He adjusts the towel around Shiro's neck again, then, as a self-blaming thought occurs to him, retracts his hand. "Do you… was there something wrong with the food?" he asks. "You said you didn't have any allergies, and I—."

"The food was great, Hunk," Shiro answers, lifting his gaze enough to meet Hunk's and loosening his grip on his stomach slightly. "The best I've had in a long time, actually."

"So what's with the…?" Hunk gestures to Shiro's general being and position in front of the toilet, then cocks his head at the elder man. "You're not bulimic, are you?" he half-asks, half-demands. He wouldn't have pegged Shiro as a bulimic, but after being unwillingly subjected to so many body modifications during his captivity, he'd understand if Shiro wanted to have some semblance of control over his own body.

"No, I'm not," Shiro replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. He turns his head toward Hunk and offers the younger paladin a small smile. "I guarantee you that if you find a way to make something even remotely resembling chocolate, I will shovel it into my face until I puke."

"Oh, good." Hunk lets out a relieved sigh, then blanches. "I mean, no, not good, 'cause puking is gross, but… I'm glad you don't have an eating disorder." He glances at Shiro again, this time with one eyebrow raised. "Do you think you just overate tonight, then?" he asks.

"Yeah… something like that," Shiro answers, his voice softer now than it was before. He shifts his gaze to the floor again and chews on his chapped bottom lip for a few ticks, then sighs. "I just… it was a lot to digest, figuratively and literally. When I was Zarkon's prisoner, I was fed only on days I fought, and even then, the rations were small, so I…" He sighs again, and doesn't bother looking up to meet Hunk's gaze. "I got used to… to not eating a lot, or often. It's gonna be a while until my stomach can handle three meals a day again."

"Oh, Shiro…" Hunk murmurs. He scooches closer to the Black Paladin and wraps an arm around his broad shoulders, and Hunk's heart constricts at the sight of Shiro blushing furiously. "It's not your fault. You know that, right?" he asks. "It's human nature to adapt to environments. It helps us survive. It helped you survive."

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, then gives Shiro a onceover. Hunk can easily see Shiro's muscles bulging from where he's sitting practically hugging him, which Hunk has a sneaking suspicion Shiro is only letting him do because he doesn't yet have the strength to move away. "You'll be okay again in no time," he asserts. "But, uh… is there anything I can do to help in the meantime?"

"I don't think so," Shiro answers, shaking his head no.

When he lifts his gaze to Hunk a tick later, the resignation in his eyes jumpstarts Hunk's ingenuity.

"What if I made you some light meals?" he offers. "There's something in the kitchen that seems similar to lettuce, except the leaves are pastel pink and there's a hint of something carrot-y in it…" He shakes his head in an effort to clear his mind and get back on topic. "Anyway, there are a bunch of different dishes I could make with it, and all of them would go down more easily than space mashed potatoes. What do you think?"

"That… would actually be really great, Hunk," Shiro decides, a small smile creeping onto his face as he considers the idea. "I would appreciate it. Thank you."

Hunk returns the smile, then helps Shiro to his feet. "Don't mention it, man. We've gotta look out for each other, don't we?"