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Description
Coran found him quite literally staring out into space, muttering something under his breath.
The former Black Paladin was halfway between his quarters and the lift to the main deck, and had apparently stopped at the window. In one hand he held the ratty prison jumpsuit he'd been wearing under his makeshift armor when they found him, and in the other he held his old black vest.

"A groggery for your thoughts, Number One?" Coran asked, sidling up. The younger man twitched, but did not immediately stiffen at the sound of his voice. That was progress, at least.
Shiro wasn't as open as Hunk, and didn't confide in him the way Lance did, but Coran knew a young man in need of reassurance when he saw one.
He tried -- oh how he tried -- to think of anything but Garrett. To think of anything but his son and where the boy must have been when Altea fell.

"Huh?" Shiro blinked, then flushed slightly. "Oh. Sorry, Coran, didn't mean to bother you, I was just..." He stared down at the prison rags for a moment, eyes thousands of miles away.

"It's alright, lad. Take your time," Coran said. Slowly, making sure Shiro was aware of him, he reached out and put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Want to talk about it?"

After a few more seconds of silence, Shiro rasped in a deceptively casual tone, "I was going to burn this, actually. I was about halfway down the hall when it hit me: this is the most clothing I've owned in two years. I literally have nothing but this and the clothes on my back."

He tilted his head back and chuckled wryly. "Of course, that led to a mess of rabbit trails, and I may have had a mild existential crisis just now, but I'm okay."

Coran pursed his lips, not buying that for a moment. He had known the Earthlings long enough now to know that "I'm okay" very rarely meant what it said. But perhaps it was better to approach this from a roundabout way. If he was too direct, Shiro might shut down.

"Well why didn't you say so?" Coran affected a whimsical air and threw an arm around Shiro's shoulders. "Come with me, my boy, I've got enough clothing for half the ship!"
He paused and frowned. "Though quite frankly, you and Hunk are the only ones tall enough to wear most of it."

Shortly thereafter, Shiro found himself staring into Coran's closet in a mixture of morbid curiosity and sheer horror at the catastrophic array of colors spilling out. Coran himself had vanished into the wall of cloth and was nowhere to be seen. Shiro was pretty sure he saw at least three fluffy bathrobes -- oh that's where Lance got his! -- and something that looked like it came out of a mecha anime his younger brother Ryou used to watch with Keith back home.

"I know some of these old things are a trifle dated," Coran's muffled voice floated out of a stack of lace, "But I never throw anything out. The minute you do, you know, that's when it comes back into style."

Shiro bit back a snicker as Coran clawed his way back out, gasping like a drowning man. Under one arm he held a bundle of blue and white cloth that matched his uniform. It was, in fact, nearly identical to his uniform, save for the cloth being cleaner and softer, as if it had hardly been worn, and there was an insignia on one sleeve that was not on the one Coran wore.

"There we are!" Coran announced proudly. "Had to dig through my old scout uniform and captain's jacket to find it, but here! A field commander's uniform, albeit one meant for the parade grounds." He held it out to Shiro.

"Uh..." Shiro ran a hand through his hair -- grimaced at how short he'd cut the bangs, but he wasn't about to admit that his hands had been shaking while he wielded the scissors -- "I mean, don't take this the wrong way, Coran, but is this allowed? What I mean is, I'm...I'm not Altaen military. I'm not even a Paladin anymore."

Coran scowled at the discouraged tone he heard and his mustache twitched. "Oh yes you are! Once a Paladin, always a Paladin, that's what King Alfor used to say. Sure, the seating arrangement is a bit jumbled for now, but it may change again, you never know."

He sensed that this had not been as helpful as he'd hoped. Shiro gave a wan smile and muttered some half-hearted agreement.
Then, glancing at the uniform again, he gingerly asked, "Are there, um, are there any rules in your culture about non Altaen civilians wearing that?"

"First off, you're anything but a civilian, Number One," Coran said bluntly. "Second, to answer your question, no. At least, none that...that matter anymore."
This time his smile was more bitter than sweet, and Shiro picked up on it.

He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, then sighed and reached out for the uniform. "May as well try it on at least."

The jacket gave him a little trouble. It wasn't that it didn't fit him, though his shoulders were a little broader than Coran's, since the material stretched to fit him. The problem was that the clasps at the front were just needlessly complicated. After watching Shiro struggle fruitlessly for several seconds, Coran stepped in, hiding a grin.

"Here, lad, better let me do it."

"This thing makes no sense," Shiro complained. "And I've been around a little! This makes less sense than Slav!"
Coran bit his tongue and decided not to tell Shiro about the Paladins' experience with the "other Slav". Better to let the Paladins do that.

Instead he laughed and nodded. "It's almost a rite of passage, really, fighting with the jacket." His eyes twinkled with fond remembrance. "When I was your age, my father fought with my jacket for nearly ten kliks before we figured it out!"

He fastened the clasps and straightened Shiro's collar, adamantly refusing to admit the awkward silence that threatened to drown his words. He stepped back and gave the young man an appraising look. For just a moment his breath caught and he was seeing Garrett once more, graduating the Academy. Then he blinked and it was Shiro again, looking a bit bashful.

"Now there's a dashing young fellow," Coran teased, "Don't you look sharp! Why, I ought to find uniforms for all five of you, that's what I ought to do."

Shiro flushed pink and covered his face with his hands. Very muffled, Coran caught something that sounded like oh quiznak he sounds like Baachan. Then he cleared his throat several times.

"I should...ah...I should probably get up to the command deck." He started to take the jacket off, but Coran stopped him.

"After all the work we did to get the clasps done? Oh leave it on, Number One. Besides, I want to see the Princess's face when she sees you." For just a moment, it looked as though the royal advisor winked, but it was hard to tell.

He still didn't feel quite at home in the Altaen uniform -- more because of what it no doubt meant to Coran than because of the formality of it -- but Shiro decided to humor the man.
"Guess we'd better get going then," he said with a soft smile.

He looked back at the piles of clothes on the floor and realized he had no idea where the old prison rags had ended up. Shiro glanced over at Coran as they slipped out of the chamber.

"Hey Coran?" he murmured.

"Yes, Number One?"

"....thanks."

The ginger mustache quirked upwards with Coran's brilliant smile as he strode jauntily down towards the lift. "Anytime, son."

Description
Coran found him quite literally staring out into space, muttering something under his breath.
The former Black Paladin was halfway between his quarters and the lift to the main deck, and had apparently stopped at the window. In one hand he held the ratty prison jumpsuit he'd been wearing under his makeshift armor when they found him, and in the other he held his old black vest.

"A groggery for your thoughts, Number One?" Coran asked, sidling up. The younger man twitched, but did not immediately stiffen at the sound of his voice. That was progress, at least.
Shiro wasn't as open as Hunk, and didn't confide in him the way Lance did, but Coran knew a young man in need of reassurance when he saw one.
He tried -- oh how he tried -- to think of anything but Garrett. To think of anything but his son and where the boy must have been when Altea fell.

"Huh?" Shiro blinked, then flushed slightly. "Oh. Sorry, Coran, didn't mean to bother you, I was just..." He stared down at the prison rags for a moment, eyes thousands of miles away.

"It's alright, lad. Take your time," Coran said. Slowly, making sure Shiro was aware of him, he reached out and put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Want to talk about it?"

After a few more seconds of silence, Shiro rasped in a deceptively casual tone, "I was going to burn this, actually. I was about halfway down the hall when it hit me: this is the most clothing I've owned in two years. I literally have nothing but this and the clothes on my back."

He tilted his head back and chuckled wryly. "Of course, that led to a mess of rabbit trails, and I may have had a mild existential crisis just now, but I'm okay."

Coran pursed his lips, not buying that for a moment. He had known the Earthlings long enough now to know that "I'm okay" very rarely meant what it said. But perhaps it was better to approach this from a roundabout way. If he was too direct, Shiro might shut down.

"Well why didn't you say so?" Coran affected a whimsical air and threw an arm around Shiro's shoulders. "Come with me, my boy, I've got enough clothing for half the ship!"
He paused and frowned. "Though quite frankly, you and Hunk are the only ones tall enough to wear most of it."

Shortly thereafter, Shiro found himself staring into Coran's closet in a mixture of morbid curiosity and sheer horror at the catastrophic array of colors spilling out. Coran himself had vanished into the wall of cloth and was nowhere to be seen. Shiro was pretty sure he saw at least three fluffy bathrobes -- oh that's where Lance got his! -- and something that looked like it came out of a mecha anime his younger brother Ryou used to watch with Keith back home.

"I know some of these old things are a trifle dated," Coran's muffled voice floated out of a stack of lace, "But I never throw anything out. The minute you do, you know, that's when it comes back into style."

Shiro bit back a snicker as Coran clawed his way back out, gasping like a drowning man. Under one arm he held a bundle of blue and white cloth that matched his uniform. It was, in fact, nearly identical to his uniform, save for the cloth being cleaner and softer, as if it had hardly been worn, and there was an insignia on one sleeve that was not on the one Coran wore.

"There we are!" Coran announced proudly. "Had to dig through my old scout uniform and captain's jacket to find it, but here! A field commander's uniform, albeit one meant for the parade grounds." He held it out to Shiro.

"Uh..." Shiro ran a hand through his hair -- grimaced at how short he'd cut the bangs, but he wasn't about to admit that his hands had been shaking while he wielded the scissors -- "I mean, don't take this the wrong way, Coran, but is this allowed? What I mean is, I'm...I'm not Altaen military. I'm not even a Paladin anymore."

Coran scowled at the discouraged tone he heard and his mustache twitched. "Oh yes you are! Once a Paladin, always a Paladin, that's what King Alfor used to say. Sure, the seating arrangement is a bit jumbled for now, but it may change again, you never know."

He sensed that this had not been as helpful as he'd hoped. Shiro gave a wan smile and muttered some half-hearted agreement.
Then, glancing at the uniform again, he gingerly asked, "Are there, um, are there any rules in your culture about non Altaen civilians wearing that?"

"First off, you're anything but a civilian, Number One," Coran said bluntly. "Second, to answer your question, no. At least, none that...that matter anymore."
This time his smile was more bitter than sweet, and Shiro picked up on it.

He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, then sighed and reached out for the uniform. "May as well try it on at least."

The jacket gave him a little trouble. It wasn't that it didn't fit him, though his shoulders were a little broader than Coran's, since the material stretched to fit him. The problem was that the clasps at the front were just needlessly complicated. After watching Shiro struggle fruitlessly for several seconds, Coran stepped in, hiding a grin.

"Here, lad, better let me do it."

"This thing makes no sense," Shiro complained. "And I've been around a little! This makes less sense than Slav!"
Coran bit his tongue and decided not to tell Shiro about the Paladins' experience with the "other Slav". Better to let the Paladins do that.

Instead he laughed and nodded. "It's almost a rite of passage, really, fighting with the jacket." His eyes twinkled with fond remembrance. "When I was your age, my father fought with my jacket for nearly ten kliks before we figured it out!"

He fastened the clasps and straightened Shiro's collar, adamantly refusing to admit the awkward silence that threatened to drown his words. He stepped back and gave the young man an appraising look. For just a moment his breath caught and he was seeing Garrett once more, graduating the Academy. Then he blinked and it was Shiro again, looking a bit bashful.

"Now there's a dashing young fellow," Coran teased, "Don't you look sharp! Why, I ought to find uniforms for all five of you, that's what I ought to do."

Shiro flushed pink and covered his face with his hands. Very muffled, Coran caught something that sounded like oh quiznak he sounds like Baachan. Then he cleared his throat several times.

"I should...ah...I should probably get up to the command deck." He started to take the jacket off, but Coran stopped him.

"After all the work we did to get the clasps done? Oh leave it on, Number One. Besides, I want to see the Princess's face when she sees you." For just a moment, it looked as though the royal advisor winked, but it was hard to tell.

He still didn't feel quite at home in the Altaen uniform -- more because of what it no doubt meant to Coran than because of the formality of it -- but Shiro decided to humor the man.
"Guess we'd better get going then," he said with a soft smile.

He looked back at the piles of clothes on the floor and realized he had no idea where the old prison rags had ended up. Shiro glanced over at Coran as they slipped out of the chamber.

"Hey Coran?" he murmured.

"Yes, Number One?"

"....thanks."

The ginger mustache quirked upwards with Coran's brilliant smile as he strode jauntily down towards the lift. "Anytime, son."