Chapter Text
Despite his exhaustion and the sores in his body now making themselves known, kissing Pidge left Lance giddy and made it difficult for him to fall asleep. Even with her snug in his arms and drawing lazy circles into his back with her fingertips, his mind buzzed with the ups and downs of the last few quintants and with excitement about the next.
He must’ve slipped into slumber eventually, for between Pidge’s breathing evening out and his own eyes sliding shut, a loud voice burst the bubble of his dreams.
“All right, time to rise, sleepy Paladins!” Milo said, throwing the curtain to their borrowed bedroom aside without announcing herself.
Lance cracked open his eyes and groaned as he sat upright, but Pidge tightened her grip on his waist, her nose pressed to his hip.
“You’re opening your shop already?”
“Oh, I put off opening as a special favor to you two,” Milo said. She rounded the sleeping mat with a frenetic energy and stopped at the window’s curtain, twitching it aside to peer out onto the street. “Just doing my part for the Coalition, so no need to thank me!”
Lance raised his hand to shield his drooping eyes from the intensity of the sun. “Right, uh, thanks, Milo…”
“You’re very welcome!” Milo turned to face them with a strained smile on her face. “Now I’m going to say this nicely the first time, because I really do like you.”
Pidge sat up rubbing her eyes. “Why are you being so loud?” she grumbled, her voice rough with sleep.
(Lance tried very hard to remember they were technically still on a mission.)
“Two men - local by the way they were dressed - came by my shop a few doboshes ago.”
“I thought you said you hadn’t—”
“I closed it after. Now listen.” Milo marched around them and back to the doorway. “They showed me they were armed, and said they were looking for you.”
If Lance hadn’t been awake before, he was now. He stood, tugging a wide-eyed Pidge to her feet with him, and demanded, “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing,” Milo said. “I put them off, insisted they buy something, and they left after I frustrated them enough.” She smiled unkindly. “But they could be back - it’ll look suspicious that I closed my shop up again right after opening - and you need to be gone by then.”
They didn’t need to be told twice, barely affording themselves the time to freshen up and scarf down some leftover curry.
Milo gladly provided them with travel rations and canteens full of water, and when Lance shrugged on his jacket over the borrowed - now gifted - Shamsi robes, she grabbed his arm and suggested, “Keep that off. They’ll know you were wearing it.”
Lance reluctantly bundled it up and stuffed it under the robes alongside his stolen weapon.
“Thank you, Milo,” Pidge said at the door, a grin stretching her face.
“Yeah, thanks for everything,” Lance said.
“Like I said…” Milo smiled. “I’m doing my small part, but don’t tell anyone on Olkarion. If I have a reputation there, I don’t want to ruin it.”
Milo hugged Pidge, whose eyes widened in surprise though she returned it. Then she hugged Lance.
She muttered into his ear, “If it doesn’t work out with Green, you can always look me up.”
His face warmed. “What—”
Milo pulled away and clapped her hands on their backs. “Now go! And don’t die!”
Lance and Pidge slipped out of Milo’s counterfeit shop and followed the foot traffic towards the nearby markets. As they walked, Pidge took Lance’s hand - something fluttered in his chest at the gesture - and wondered, “What did she say to you before we left?”
Lance smiled sheepishly. “It’s, uh…I don’t think you’d want to know.”
Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “Try me.”
Lance rubbed the back of his neck and, fixing his gaze on a the blue awning shading a market stall ahead, muttered, “She told me to look her up if it doesn’t work out with you.”
He felt Pidge’s eyes on his face before he peered over. She scowled, but when their eyes met it softened and she chuckled.
“Don’t you hate that?”
“Hate what?” Lance asked.
“That as soon as you’re taken, that’s when someone tries flirting with you?”
Lance smirked and raised the back of her hand to his lips. “People just want what they can’t have.”
Pidge smiled almost shyly. “So you agree?”
“With what?”
“Th-that you are…taken”—she cleared her throat—”by me?”
Lance’s jaw dropped, his face hot and heart skipping a beat, but when he recovered he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “I’m pretty sure the taking is mutual.”
He leaned down and kissed her, something soft and sweet that left him wanting more. But they stood in the middle of a bustling street, intent on evading capture and escaping an alien world.
Pidge’s hand clutched at his robe when he pulled away. Her eyes fluttered open, her warm breath billowing over his cheek, and she said, “I want—”
Lance didn’t hear what she wanted, for his gaze slipped past her and landed on the bounty hunter goon he’d nicknamed Nat. A blue-stained bandage stretched over his face, and his horn gleamed with metallic paint.
Lance didn’t fancy discovering what, exactly, he used to decorate that horn.
He checked that the gun he’d stolen from Boris’ henchman was still stored inside his robes. “Yeah, me too,” he told Pidge, keeping a tight hold on her hand and dragging her away, “but later.”
The activity in the city never faltered no matter where and when they wandered, from the legitimate haggling at stalls selling fruits that teased the imagination to the shady deals that happened in plain sight at the entrances of shadowed alleyways. People jeered and called to each other from balconies, and children of different races kicked a ball through the street, weaving around pedestrians and small hovercraft alike.
“Do you think there’s even a kind of night here?” Lance wondered. “It seems like there’s always a crowd in this city.”
“Maybe,” Pidge mused, “but there are so many different types of people here - criminals and others who just want to disappear without a proper government - that it’s hard to believe they’d all agree even on something as fundamental as when everyone should rest.”
A part of Lance regretted not enjoying the colorful city so much earlier, but between Pidge pushing their mission and running for their lives while dead on his feet, he hadn’t had the chance until now. “This is the strangest first date I’ve ever had, by the way.”
Pidge laughed. “You’d consider this a date?”
“Sure, why not?” Lance teased her with an elbow to the side. “We may be running for our lives and alone and isolated from our team, and you may have the most epic sunburn I’ve ever seen—”
“Hey…”
“—but we are spending quality time together.”
Pidge raised an eyebrow. “And that’s your only criterion for a date?”
Lance grinned. “Maybe not, but it’s the most important one.”
Pidge’s lips turned up into a slow smirk. “I might be able to count many more before this. Are mutual romantic feelings required?”
Lance tapped his chin, pretending to consider. “Yeah, I think they are."
“Then I’d at least say this whole mission has been a date from hell, according to your criteria. But is it our first?” Pidge nudged him, a soft smile on her face that made his insides warm. “Let’s compare notes when we get back to the Castle.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
When they caught a glimpse of the shuttleport’s entrance, Pidge dragged him into a sheltered structure where they could spy for any familiar enemies. “We don’t know who’s watching for us,” she admitted with a worried furrow on her forehead.
Lance hummed, thinking, and said, “We’re dressed differently.”
“True, but we might still attract attention just by covering our faces.”
“Plenty of people do that here,” Lance pointed out. “You probably should’ve if you wanted to avoid sunburn.”
Pidge rolled her eyes but ignored his comment. “Well…”
“Or, we can play at their game and—wait, how much GAC do you have?”
Pidge frowned in confusion at him, but reached inside her robe and rummaged through a pocket. “I have…about two thousand left?” She pulled out a few bills. “What about you?”
Lance extracted his own cash. “A thousand.”
Pidge sighed. “Three thousand GAC doesn’t go nearly as far as three thousand U.S. dollars, Lance.”
“Maybe not, but it’s got to be enough to bribe the clerk to sneak us in, and if we sweeten the deal with something else—”
“And what’s going to stop him from accepting another bribe or just talking about us to the bounty hunter?” Pidge demanded. “By now Boris must have everyone in his deep quiznaking pockets.”
“I know, but, Pidge…” Lance rested his hand on her cheek, and when she looked at him he admitted, “I think that, no matter what, it’s going to be impossible to get into the shuttleport without anyone noticing and recognizing us, so the faster we get through and find a ship one of us can fly, the better.”
Pidge held his gaze for a long tick, Lance’s breath trapped in his lungs, but he relaxed when she nodded and said, “You’re right.”
“That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear,” Lance teased with a smirk.
Pidge snorted. “Just don’t get used to it.”
They approached the clerk’s counter, standing in line behind a few other travelers. He tapped his foot, impatient to be inside before anyone recognized them.
Pidge passed him her cash. “You’d better deal with him. If I do, I might not be so nice.”
Lance sidled up to the clerk when it was their turn. He put on his most charming smile and said, “Good evening, good sir. I was wondering if we might check in.” He slid the first thousand-GAC bill across the counter.
The Unilu clerk raised an eyebrow at it. “To what ship?”
“I’m not too picky.”
“And where would you like to go?”
“I’ll leave that up to you, but the more private the ship, the better, if you catch my drift.” He propped his elbow on the counter and winked.
The clerk grinned and clasped his upper hands together. “Oh, but that’ll cost you, sir.”
“Well, there’s more where that came from.” With his heart pounding, Lance slapped the second thousand-GAC bill onto the counter.
The clerk laughed. “That’s change, but let me make it worth both of our time.”
Lance leaned forward. “I’m listening…”
“Wait,” Pidge interrupted, shoving Lance aside and facing the clerk. “Is there, by chance, an old model of a Galra cargo ship that’s been here waiting for launch for at least a movement?”
“Pidge—”
She elbowed him in the side and muttered, “Trust me.”
So Lance shut up and did.
The clerk blinked at her, startled, but he typed furiously at his computer.
While they waited, Lance examined the courtyard between the shuttleport entrance and the market. The sound of rocket boosters met his ears as they faded, the ship shrinking far overhead, and people came and greeted friends and family arriving from elsewhere.
But in the midst of it all, he spotted Nat and another of Boris’ goons.
“Pidge…”
“You’re in luck!” the clerk said, grinning.
Lance sagged in relief. “Great, so—”
“But something tells me the ship isn’t yours,” he cut him off, “which means I can’t allow you to access it.”
“Of course not,” Lance grumbled. “That’s what this bribe is for.” He gestured towards the two bills already lying between them.
The Unilu clerk rested his chin in his hand and said, “Money doesn’t interest me, Paladin.”
Lance stiffened, and beside him Pidge clutched at his hand. “Then what does?”
A gold tooth glinted in the sunlight. “Perhaps something a little more…personal.” He looked at Pidge.
Her hand went straight to her glasses. “No.”
“And why not?” the clerk wondered. “Unless I miss my guess, you don’t need them.”
“They’re—”
Lance tugged his bundled jacket from underneath his robes and dropped it onto the counter before he could consider it. “How’s this?” He toyed with the zipper, sliding it up and down. “Vintage Earth wear, very sturdy, and a little worn. Might need a wash”—he sniffed at the armpit and recoiled at the ripe stench of his own sweat and body odor, wrinkling his nose—”but still serviceable.”
“Lance,” Pidge hissed, “what’re you doing?”
“Bribing a government official,” Lance retorted. “You know, like Paladins of Voltron do.”
“Oh, not much of a government here,” the clerk admitted. “That’s why I can get away with this.” He stretched a hand across the counter. “We have a deal?”
“Give us access to that ship first,” Lance insisted.
The clerk frowned, but shrugged and scanned a card with a sensor before passing it to them. “That’s yours to access the hangar, and don’t worry about returning it. The ship’s in Bay #4 by the way.”
“Thanks.” He took the Unilu’s offered hand.
The Unilu clapped the back of his hand. “I never much liked bounty hunters. They always looked down on us good, honest hagglers.”
“You mean thieves,” Pidge growled.
Lance grasped her elbow and dragged her away towards the entrance. She came willingly, glaring over her shoulder at the clerk, so he said, “It’s just a jacket, Pidge.”
“I know,” she admitted, “but it’s…”
“One of the few things I have from Earth.” He sighed, letting himself mourn it for a tick, his heart heavy.
“That and…I kind of wanted to wear it.”
Lance couldn’t help imagining it, his face warm and a silly smile stretching across his face. “Great, that makes me feel so much better about trading it.”
“Well, it did get us our ticket off this sunbaked rock.” Pidge laughed, sounding almost relieved, but then she gasped. “Wait, quiznak.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Lance, we need Galra DNA to unlock a Galra ship, even if it’s an old model.”
Lance stared at her, his heart plummeting. “Oh, and where are we going to find a severed Galra hand without facing down an angry bounty hunter again?”
Pidge brushed her hair away from her face and said, “I think I can figure out a way to circumvent it.”
“Are you sure, Pidge?”
“No,” she admitted, her shoulders hunched, “but what other option do we have?”
Lance met her desperate gaze and nodded in understanding. “Guess we’ve got nothing to lose.”
The shuttleport had no obvious security so speak of, nothing so much as a metal detector or a government agent waiting to inspect them for weapons. It made it easy to navigate while armed, but it made them more vulnerable too.
The hairs on the back of Lance’s neck prickled the tick before something hot skimmed his arm.
He hissed, clutching his injured arm.
“What happened?” Pidge demanded when he paused.
“Nothing.” He gritted his teeth against the pain. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Pidge tugged his hand away, her eyes clinical on the burn in his sleeve.
“Pidge, we don’t have time for you to play doctor now.”
She pinched her eyes shut. “The first thing I’m doing once we’re in space is taking a look at that.”
“Oh, please,” he agreed, already leading the way towards Bay #4.
They melted into the crowd, only for a horned goon carrying a gun to stand in their path.
Nat sneered under his bandage. “I owe you a crushed nose,” he said, voice nasally.
Lance snorted, their urgency and his pain somehow not enough to keep him from finding something funny. He pinched his nose shut and retorted, “Well, I owe you a burned arm.”
Nat grinned. “Oh, that wasn’t me.”
Someone fired a blast behind him, and the crowd of travelers screamed and scattered.
Their motion pushed Pidge into Lance. He caught her against him, determined to stick together even in the chaos, and with them connected at the hand, they fought the crowd, moving opposite it - and towards Nat.
He lowered his head, the metallic paint shining in the sunlight streaming in through glass windows in the shuttleport’s high ceiling. “This horn isn’t just for show.”
“He has brittle bones,” Pidge said, tone urgent.
“What?”
“Horned and antlered mammals on Earth usually have brittle bones because they grow the horns and antlers within a few seasons from their own skeletons,” she spoke quickly, fighting to get as much out as she could. “That’s how you broke his nose so easily.”
“Gee, thanks—”
“One good hit in a sensitive spot,” she advised…right as Nat charged.
Lance never had the misfortune of facing a charging rhinoceros, so he dodged instead, shoving Pidge out of Nat’s path and spinning her around him.
But Pidge had her own gun in her hand, and when Nat pivoted and raced against them again, she pushed Lance aside.
“Pidge!”
Pidge crouched and swung the gun around like a short baseball bat.
It struck Nat in the kneecap.
Lance’s heart pounded watching her head pass a hair’s breadth under his monstrous horn as a crunch echoed through the eerily silent atrium.
Nat screamed.
It was the angry bellow of an animal that knew it was defeated, but Lance didn’t want to stick around to confirm.
He helped Pidge to her feet, and together they sprinted away, evading the blaster fire raining down on them.
“They’re not sharpshooters like you,” Pidge observed breathlessly.
“One got me in the arm!” Lance retorted.
“It could’ve just as easily been your head!” Pidge said. “Just take the compliment!”
Lance laughed, despite the burn in his arm and the ache in his shoulder, despite the air that fought to reach his lungs as they ran. “I love you so much, Pidge!”
Pidge stumbled, catching herself on his uninjured arm when he paused the length of a heartbeat. “At least wait till we’re not running for our lives when you say stuff like that!”
“Why? What better time is there?”
“A time when I have the time to properly respond and kiss you after, maybe?”
“No time like the present!”
Pidge grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him down. Their lips crashed together, hard, her teeth scraping his bottom lip and making heat rise to his face. But then she shoved him away with a scowl. “Happy?”
“Unbelievably,” Lance said with a grin.
Pidge smiled and led him on a merry chase down a narrow hallway.
They found a small, outdated Galra ship in the hangar, just like Pidge predicted. The bay doors were closed, the hangar dimly lit by electronic lights lining the walls, and the only thing that stood between them and their ride was a card reader.
Lance swiped the card through it. “This is way more low tech than I expected.”
“This mission has been very entertaining,” Pidge quipped, “but not because of the tech.”
“Not even Milo’s stuff?”
“I…didn’t get much of a chance to take a look at her stuff.” Pidge cleared her throat. “I was a little too…busy.”
Lance wondered if, underneath that sunburn, she blushed.
(He knew for a fact he did.)
They stormed up the gangplank of the cargo ship, passing through the cargo hold, where they found…their pod.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Lance said, pausing just to gape at it.
“Never resort to theft, my ass,” Pidge grumbled. “Revenge will taste sweet.”
“Stupid bounty hunter…”
Lance led Pidge away from their pod and past a small airlock meant for trash disposal. They found the cockpit, and Pidge immediately took the copilot’s seat.
“Let’s see…” She examined the console meant to read a Galra hand print, then her eyes widened. “It’s already unlocked.”
“What?”
Pidge pointed. “It’s not red, so it’s unlocked.”
“Maybe Boris forgot to lock it?” Lance suggested, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t know…” Pidge shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
She radioed the shuttleport’s control center. “This is a spacecraft in Bay #4 requesting permission to launch,” she said, speaking into the handheld comm.
“Your identification, please?” a tinny voice said.
Lance settled into the seat beside her and buckled up, his feet tapping in nervous anticipation of their launch.
“It’s, uh—” Pidge cut herself off with a growl. “Look, we’re Paladins of Voltron and we need to get off Shamsi right now, so either you open the bay doors or—”
The bay doors groaned as they slid open beyond the cargo ship.
“Oh, thanks,” Pidge said, and she replaced the comm. She glanced at Lance while he familiarized himself with the ship’s controls. “As soon as we’re in space, I’m going through the ship’s files to see if we can figure out who hired Boris.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
With a smirk, Lance wrapped his hands around the controls. “Now, let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”
“I wish there’d been Popsicles,” Pidge grumbled. “Too quiznaking hot.”
Lance chuckled as the ship’s engines charged, its boosters pushing it off the ground. He steered towards the bay doors and out into the open desert beyond the city and shuttleport.
The boosters fired and propelled them into the air.
Pidge bounced in her seat with a startled yelp, and Lance said, “Put on your seatbelt!”
When her seatbelt buckles clicked shut, he asked, “Is it just me, or did you get deja vu?”
Pidge laughed. “Just don’t crash this time.”
They broke Shamsi’s atmosphere and escaped its gravity with a shudder, and Lance sagged in relief, his heartbeat slowing though he wasn’t prepared to put the ship on autopilot yet. “You going to call the Castle?”
Pidge nodded. “Yeah, but first…” She trailed off, a projection over her station showing a list of files with names in Galra script. She scrolled through them, muttering something under her breath.
Lance couldn’t resist quipping, “Not color-coded, huh?”
Pidge shook her head and scowled.
“Animals.”
Pidge laughed, then touched a file.
The projection shifted to a recording of a transmission, a deep, feminine voice filling the cockpit:
“…heard of your disgraced discharge from the military and of the reputation you’ve built of yourself since then. How would you like your position restored once I wrestle the Empire away from Zarkon’s whelp?”
Another voice, one that Lance recognized as Boris’: “I’m listening, General. What is it you want in return?”
“Deliver to me a Paladin of Voltron alive; I would prefer two, perhaps three, but even one is satisfactory. Dismember the whelp’s greatest ally, and I will return to you what you lost.”
“Why do you want them alive, General?”
“That’s none of your concern; just know that a Paladin of Voltron is a valuable bargaining—”
Pidge shut off the recording and turned to Lance. “So Lotor has enemies within the Empire.”
Lance snorted, unable to bring himself to feel too sorry for him. “What’s so surprising about that?”
“It’s affecting us too.” Pidge rubbed her face. “And Boris knew exactly how to lure us - or me, more specifically.” She sighed and added, “And we have no way to tell why this general wanted us alive either.”
Lance rested his hand on her shoulder. “Did you really think Lotor’s enemies wouldn’t target Voltron too?”
Pidge propped her elbows on the console and scowled. “I guess not. It’s just…what if next time they lure us with one of our family? What if they go after the Balmera to get to Hunk?”
“The Balmera’s a lot better connected than Shamsi,” Lance pointed out. “And Matt’s surrounded by other rebels. He’s about as safe as we are.”
“I know, but…what if someone with resources goes after Earth?”
Lance’s jaw dropped, his heart dropping into his churning stomach. “I don’t—we don’t—” He glared at the projection in front of Pidge. “That won’t happen while I’m alive.”
Pidge nodded, her jaw setting. “We’ve known it was a risk for a long time,” she reminded him. “This changes nothing, but…”
“What?” he prompted when she trailed off.
“You don’t think this escape was too…easy, do you?” Pidge wondered.
“Aw, Pidge, please don’t ruin this now,” Lance whined. “We already got stuck with an alien rhinoceros charging us, and I was shot in the arm. What’s left?”
“Oh, right, I…forgot,” Pidge muttered sheepishly. She reached across the space between their seats and carefully rolled up his sleeve. “Maybe I can find a first-aid—”
A blaring alarm cut her off, a red light flashing on the ship’s console.
“What does that mean?” he asked Pidge, spinning his head around and searching for a source.
“There’s an open airlock,” Pidge said, pointing to the blinking red spot on the console.
Lance sighed. “This is why my dad always said to never buy used cars.” He put the ship in autopilot and unbuckled his seat belt.
When he stood, Pidge demanded, “Where are you going?”
“To investigate. Go ahead and try to call the Castle; if I need your help, I’ll come back.” He smiled, and when she still looked worried, he reassured her, “It’s just an airlock, Pidge. I can handle a small mechanical issue, thanks to you and Hunk.”
“Fine,” she agreed.
It’s just an airlock, Lance told himself as he left the cockpit and wandered down the ship’s narrow hallway towards the rear cargo hold. His heart pounded, and he had to breathe deeply to keep calm. It’s not like I almost got sucked out of one once.
Red lights in the ceiling blinked, signaling his progress, and he found the airlock near the cargo hold with its inner door open.
“What the quiznak?” Lance muttered, stepping closer.
A crowbar held it open, wedged into the door’s track and with sparks flying as the airlock tried to slide shut over it.
He grabbed the crowbar, but before he could pull it out something inside the airlock caught his eye.
“What the quiznak?”
It was his jacket, what he thought left behind on Shamsi.
He glanced up and down the short hallway, unsure what, exactly, he looked for. His hands trembled, and a part of him wanted to yell for Pidge. But he could handle it; it was just his jacket and a broken airlock.
Lance stepped over the threshold and bent down, but when his fingers grasped the bundle, the scraping of metal on metal grated against his ears.
He shot upright, jacket forgotten as he fumbled for the gun hidden under his clothes.
“H-hey!” he shouted, right as the airlock’s freed door silently slid closed.
A tall Galra man wearing a respirator stood on the other side of the thick glass, watching Lance without expression.
“Not again!” Lance stumbled towards the door and kicked at it - uselessly.
A speaker inside the airlock crackled into life, and Boris’ croaking voice spoke, “I suppose I should apologize, but I have no need for you alive if I have your friend.”
Growing more and more frantic, Lance pounded on the door with his fists. “Pidge!”
“It’s not personal,” Boris said. “It could’ve just as easily been her in there.”
Hot tears slid down his face, the fear that Pidge would be at the mercy of Boris and the monsters who hired him overtaking the fear he had for himself. He found the button that would let him speak with his enemy and pressed it.
“I-I know the Empire abandoned you,” Lance said, fighting to keep the trembling from his voice. “Why should you work for them?”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Boris retorted. “You have your place; I’m still searching for mine.”
Lance swallowed, but he didn’t have the time to mince words. “Ha, maybe I understand better than you think. Sure, I don’t have a handicap, but I’m surrounded by people more talented than I am at some things.” He wiped his eyes. “And you know what? That’s okay.” He met the bounty hunter’s eyes. “They’ll make room for me, and I don’t even have to ask.”
“The Empire—”
“Oh, screw the Empire!” Lance said. “They’re the reason you’re here! First you sacrifice your health for them, then they abandon you! What do you owe them?”
Boris lowered his respirator, revealing the nasty burn scars crossing his face. “My loyalty,” he rasped.
“And for what?” Lance glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide as he imagined the yawning maw waiting for him just beyond the airlock. “But, you’re in luck,” he added, thinking fast. “That was the old Empire under Zarkon.” He grimaced and admitted, “Things are different under Lotor.”
He turned back towards Boris to see him replace his respirator.
“Lotor is nothing like Zarkon,” Boris said, closing his eyes.
Lance couldn’t bring himself to be relieved just yet. “Right, which means—”
Boris lurched away from the door.
“Wait, no, no, Boris!” Lance shouted, pushing all his weight into the comm button. “We can talk about this, man! But if you touch a single quiznaking hair on Pidge’s head—”
The speaker burst with static again, and a frantic voice said, “Lance, are you all right?”
Lance sagged against the airlock door. “Pidge,” he breathed. “I’m—”
“Hold on, I’m about to let you out.”
Lance fell backwards when the airlock slid open, laughing in breathless relief. He rested a hand over his slowing heart and grinned at Pidge when she stood over him.
“Look what I found,” he said, raising his other hand and showing her his jacket, which he’d forgotten in his panic.
Pidge rolled her eyes, but she offered him her hand. He took it and struggled to his feet, gasping in surprise when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled her tightly against her.
“The Castle’s on its way,” she whispered.
“Thank God,” Lance said, the tension leaving his body at the hope that soon he would reunite with the rest of the team and collapse in his own bed.
(Or Pidge’s. He wasn’t too picky, so long as she was there too.)
“Where’s our dear friend Boris?” Lance asked, stepping away from Pidge without letting her go.
Pidge nodded towards the floor, towards a crouching figure clutching at his elbow - a weak point in his old armor.
“Nice shot,” he told her, smiling.
“Thanks.” Pidge grinned.
They approached Boris, who knelt with his eyes downcast and his posture defeated.
“So…if you surrender properly, we can introduce you to Emperor Lotor, in the flesh.” Lance smiled hopefully at him.
Boris glared up at him, hatred in his eyes. “No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“Then you’ll be our prisoner,” Pidge said.
“That is not my preference,” Boris said.
“You’re not in a position to make demands,” Pidge retorted, crossing her arms. “You should’ve brought your goons if you wanted an edge on us.”
“They were locals,” Boris explained, tone halting and weak. “They weren’t obligated to follow me once I’d paid them. Only Mizer, who wanted payback.”
“Mizer?”
“He must mean Nat,” Lance guessed.
“Then what is your ‘preference’?” Pidge wondered.
Boris slowly got to his feet.
Lance stepped between him and Pidge, who pointed her gun around him at the bounty hunter. “Got any cuffs?” he asked her.
Boris reached behind him, underneath his cloak, and threw two objects down on the floor.
Their bayards winked up at them.
Lance stiffened, unsure what Boris attempted. “If this is another trap—”
“There is no more trap,” said Boris. He hobbled towards the airlock, a tight grip on his arm, and stepped inside.
Lance watched with a dawning horror. “No, man, don’t do that.” He lurched towards the door, but it slid shut in his face.
“W-what’s going on?” Pidge asked.
Lance yanked on the airlock’s door handle, stomach roiling with nausea at the reversal of their positions. “No, no, no—”
Boris tugged down his respirator. “Victory,” he croaked, drawing in a single, harsh breath, “or death.”
The airlock opened on the other side, and the vacuum of space stole another life.
Lance stared disbelievingly, waiting for their enemy to reappear inside the airlock once it sealed shut again. He finally yanked the door open and stumbled in, but nothing - not even the respirator - stayed behind.
“Lance…”
He rejoined Pidge in the hall and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Is it weird that I want to mourn him?” he whispered.
Pidge wrapped her arms around him. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but your heart’s bigger than mine.”
He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent, grounding himself in it.
But the moment passed, and Lance rested his forehead on hers. He smiled at Pidge - pleased that he meant it - and said, “Let’s go home.”
Pidge grinned. “But first a little piece of it…” She slipped away from him and picked up his discarded jacket. “This smells awful, by the way.”
“Well, nothing can smell half so sweet as you.”
Pidge laughed, the lightest blush tinting her red cheeks darker, and shrugged on Lance’s jacket.
A familiar and welcome voice burst through the ship’s speakers:
“Unidentified Galra craft, please state your intentions.”
“Are you sure that ship is Galra, Princess? It’s not one we’ve ever seen before…”
“Look at the colors, Coran. What else could it be?”
Lance raised an eyebrow at Pidge. “I thought you said you contacted the Castle.”
Pidge shifted her feet and confessed, “I might’ve forgotten to mention that we’re in an old Galra ship…”
Lance chuckled and took her hand, interlacing their fingers. “Well, let’s go reassure them before they blow us up. I think I’ve had enough action escaping that Sarlacc Pit of a planet without adding ‘death by friendly fire’ to the list.”