Sam Holt looked on in horror, helpless to do anything but watch the screen before him. Once again, his eyes scanned over the names that flashed on the screen, the human beings who had been sent out to fight and inevitably die in a war he knew they could not yet win. Countless monitors throughout the room relayed the events live, but Sam's gaze was unmoving, fixed on the list of names, which slowly blanked out as pilot after pilot was hit. Each red line felt like a blow, and he winced with each one. Gradually, yet far too quickly, the list had been reduced to just 6 names.

"Bring them in," Sam muttered, his voice distant and sad. It was barely loud enough to be heard above the cacophony in the room, yet it seemed Admiral Sanda had been listening.

"What?" Her tone was harsh and accusatory, her gaze piercing into Sam. Even so, he didn't stand down, and instead turned to look at her, speaking to her directly.

"Bring them in." This time, his voice was strong and demanding. He met Sanda's deadly stare with his own, and they were momentarily locked in a competition that no one else seemed to notice. Eventually, Admiral Sanda simply turned away, returning her focus to the names on the screen.

But as another name flashed and died, the list now reduced to 5, Sam made up his mind. Marching up to the Admiral, he seized her arm, forcing her to face him. His gaze was deadly, poisonous, as he spat; "bring them in. Now."

Something that may have been panic flashed behind Sanda's eyes, but she was quick to regain her composure, brushing Sam off with practiced ease. She was used to having her orders questioned, and so knew how to handle herself in the situation. She resumed her monitoring of the screen, however as the casualty list began to grow even further, she realised that her decision may not have been the correct one. Still, she was furiously stubborn, and thus refused to call them back in. After all, they still had a chance, right?

Sam Holt grew beyond furious, unable to comprehend how a human being could simply watch as these people were being slaughtered, massacred, for absolutely nothing. He turned back towards the admiral, but, deciding it useless to try to convince her, faced the rest of the room, scanning the faces for anyone who may be able to offer some assistance.

"Do something!" His voice was rough, choked by tears he hadn't realised were slipping down his cheeks. "Help these people! These people with families, with friends, with people who love them and are waiting for them to come home. Help them!"

Silence descended upon the room, occasionally interrupted by the various screens and monitors around the room as another pilot encountered an error, or found themselves on the wrong end of a Galra blast. A ship was hit, a scream filled the quiet, and another name was blanked off the list. Only 3 remained.

Behind him, Sam heard Commander Iverson utter the words he had been praying to hear.

"Pilots, bring them in."

The entire room let out a collective sigh of relief. All, except Admiral Sanda, who quickly relayed her own message through to the pilots.

"No, keep fighting!" She turned on Iverson, fury burning in her eyes. As she marched up to him, Sam seized her from behind, struggling to keep her contained as Iverson sent another communication.

"Adam, bring them in, now!" He sounded frantic, panicked, and the expression on the pilot's face showed that he registered the terror in the commander's usually calm voice.

"Copy that, Commander Iverson. Bringing them in."

Sam was unable to hold onto Admiral Sanda for any longer than it took to send the message, but by that time it was too late. She dusted herself off quickly before turning on the two men, hurling empty words and insults at them. And even though she promised that they would be promptly removed from staff when this war was over, when the door opened, and the pilots walked in, they knew that they had made the right decision.

The Galaxy Garrison somehow looked both exactly the same yet completely different than when Shiro had last been. Of course, the fact that it was now locked in an intergalactic war against the Galra meant that some changes had had to have been made, but he still recognised the corridors and rooms from his time as a student and teacher there.

As Iverson led him down the twisting halls he had become all too familiar with, Shiro's mind wandered. It seemed to do that a lot lately, and he very rarely had control over where it would take him. Most often, he would be taken back to his time in the black lion, his consciousness trapped with seemingly no escape. He had been afraid then; afraid that he would never find his way out, that he would be forced to watch as a stranger, a clone of himself, joined his friends on their plight to save the universe. Sometimes, his mind would take him back further, forcing him to relive his own death. Another common one was his all too recent fight with Keith. He had never fully experienced it, but his mind pieced together enough from the clone's experience and Keith's retelling (which skipped over some of the details) to make it agonizingly painful to think about.

Now, however, he was thinking about something else, albeit something just as excruciating. Being back on Earth, back at the Garrison, had opened a floodgate of memories that he had fought desperately to keep closed all these years.

Shiro attempted to lace his fingers together, something he often did when nervous as a way of keeping himself grounded, before remembering that he no longer could, and his shoulder flailed uselessly. Even though his arm had been like this for several years, it still felt foreign- it still felt like his limb should be there, or at least a prosthetic replacement. He sighed, a terribly sad sound that made Iverson freeze in his tracks.

"Is everything alright, Takashi?" he asked, concern heavy in his voice.

Shiro looked up, caught off-guard at the sudden interest in his wellbeing. He brushed the question off, answering with a quick "of course, sir", which earned a raised eyebrow from Iverson.

"Just being in space for so long has been quite…an adventure." Shiro chuckled darkly. Quite an adventure, indeed.

Iverson thought for a moment, before continuing on his way, Shiro following close behind.

"Takashi, why don't you wait here. I'll be back shortly."

Shiro nodded, compliant in obeying the commander's orders despite effectively outranking him now.

It seemed to take an eternity for Iverson to return, which allowed Shiro's mind to travel through the repressed memories which had recently resurfaced. He was forced to relieve countless agonising memories, some good, some bad, all with a common thread running throughout. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get it out of his head- now that he was back, here on Earth, at the Garrison, where he had worked side by side, and fallen in love with, and promised himself to-

"Adam."

Shiro's jaw fell open, his entire world lurching violently. Iverson had returned, a few metres down the hall, accompanied by someone who Shiro knew all too well- Adam, who he had worked side by side with. Adam, who he had fallen in love with. Adam, who he had promised himself to.

Down the hall, it seemed that Adam's reaction to seeing the paladin again was no different from Shiro's. His entire universe seemed to shift, rendering him unbalanced.

Iverson chuckled, watching intently as the two boys just stared at each other from across the corridor.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it." He quickly made his way back down the hall, leaving them alone.

"Adam." Shiro's voice was impossibly soft, the walls only amplifying enough so that Adam could barely hear.

"Takashi?" Adam spoke as if he were asking a question, not knowing if he was really here or this was simply another sick trick his mind had decided to play on him. He had imagined this moment over and over again that now it seemed impossible.

"I'm here."

And with that, Adam was charging towards him, quickly closing the distance between them. He leapt at Shiro, throwing himself bodily at the black paladin and crossing his legs around his waist. Even with only one arm, Shiro was able to support his body, staggering backwards slightly from the impact of their collision. Adam clutched Shiro's face in his hands, cupping his cheeks and gently wiping away the tears with his thumb, before crashing his lips onto Shiro's.

Shiro teetered sideways, his back crashing against the wall. He groaned, partially from the impact of hitting the side of the corridor, but mostly from the feeling of being able to see, touch and kiss Adam again, something he had fantasised about since he had left.

Eventually, Shiro could no longer support Adam's weight, and he slowly slid down the wall so that he was now sitting with Adam in his lap, their lips still pressed together. Now that his hand was free, Shiro took the opportunity to lace his fingers through Adam's hair, relishing in the painfully familiar feeling. Adam also took the chance to unhook his arms from around Shiro's neck, opting instead to rake his fingers up and down Shiro's spine, sending bolts of electricity through his body.

"Takashi," Adam sighed, his words interrupted by his laboured breathing as Shiro planted kisses along his jaw. Shiro took this as a sign to continue, trailing kisses down his neck.

"Takashi." Adam's voice was still airy, distant, but this time it was firmer, and Shiro stopped. He glanced up at Adam, a silent plea in his eyes. Adam shook his head, quickly untying himself from around Shiro and getting to his feet.

Shiro felt as if something had shattered in him, sending a sharp pain through his chest. He stood up on trembling legs, reaching desperately for Adam's hand. To his immense relief, Adam took it, lacing their fingers together.

Shiro took this time to study Adam's face, one which he hadn't seen in years yet still recognised every detail of- his nose, his mouth, his glasses, his eyes. He found himself getting lost in those eyes, with no intention of finding a way out.

"Takashi." The sound of Adam's voice dragged Shiro back into reality. He looked at him then, really looked at him, and realised the immense concern in his expression.

"What's wrong?" Shiro reached out his other arm to cup Adam's cheek, but once again was unable to. His shoulder thrashed at his side. Adam seemed to notice for the first time that Shiro's arm was not where it was meant to be, and his eyes widened dramatically.

"Your arm," he mused, so quietly that it seemed he was talking to no one but himself. He reached out his hand and brushed Shiro's shoulder gently, which was still made up of metal. His fingers travelled up his neck and along his jaw to his hair, which had been bleached white due to various magical and alien reasons. Shiro revelled in the feeling of Adam's touch.

"And your hair," Adam's voice suddenly became much louder, almost angry. He took an unsteady step back from Shiro, drawing his hands back into his chest. "What happened to you?"

Shiro felt a sudden panic spike in his chest. He reached for Adam, but he pulled away. Dread pulled in his stomach, making him feel dizzy.

"I told you not to go, Takashi. You're sick, and it was far too dangerous a mission, and now…now…" Adam's words were cut short by a sudden fit of sobs that made him sink to the floor. Shiro, in an unusual feat of courage, knelt down besides Adam and planted a delicate kiss on his lips. Adam melted into the touch, wrapping his arms around him and burying his head in his neck. Shiro drew in closer, holding him tight and never letting him go.

"I was so scared that you weren't coming back…they said you were dead…but when Sam came back…he said…he said." Adam's voice was punctured by sobs and hiccups, his voice muffled. Shiro clutched him close, gently rocking back and forth and rubbing his back. Occasionally, he pecked the top of Adam's head, or his check or forehead.

"I know, I know," Shiro whispered. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, gathering at his chin. "But I'm back now. I'm back, and I'm never leaving again."