Chapter Text
Nothing feels right to Pidge.
Of course, nothing has felt right since the Kerberos mission, since she lost both father and brother at once. But lately, nothing feels even less right than usual, which is saying something.
First, Pidge is launched into space without warning, suffering the same fate as her missing family - at least from her mother’s perspective. Then she’s enlisted in a universe-spanning war - a war that’s lasted ten thousand years - against her will.
So Pidge hopes that this time her team can forgive her for leaving. She’ll come back, she tells herself, and it won’t be alone. But this time, she’ll be smarter about it.
Pidge packs a bag, stuffed with dehydrated military rations and pouches of water and emergency medical supplies and that fancy Altean traveling soap that makes hygiene easier to maintain without a real bathroom. Her computer is tucked in carefully, wrapped with a spare change of clothes for cushioning.
She waits until evening, when the only ones she has to dodge are the insomniacs like Shiro and Allura. The mice she thinks she can handle with the simple distraction of food goo ‘accidentally’ spilled on the floor. She doesn’t bother shutting down the security cameras, though; by the time Coran winds through the footage, she’ll already be gone.
Quietly, Pidge slides open her bedroom door. She’s wearing her armor, bag slung over her shoulder. Her footsteps sound too loud to her own ears, echoing eerily through the empty hallways. Never before has the Castle felt so tense, so haunted, not even when the AI of Allura’s father went haywire.
Pidge considers all the variables as she treads to the Green Lion’s hangar. If Hunk is awake, he’ll be in the kitchen, trying to bake his anxiety into a pie. Allura would either be pacing the halls around her room or into the bridge, where she and Coran might parse records or discuss Voltron’s next plan of attack - or diplomacy. Keith, the most predictable, would lock himself on the training deck. Shiro, perhaps the least predictable, could be doing anything from wandering the halls to meditating quietly in his bedroom. And Lance, well, he won’t be a problem, Pidge tells herself; Lance takes the importance of at least six hours of sleep per night to heart more than anyone else.
The Green Lion purrs at her when she walks into the hangar on silent feet. Pidge smiles as her presence envelops her mind in a warm, comforting blanket, like sunshine in the spring. She glances once more behind her, making sure she wasn’t followed, by human or mouse or alien. She exhales and faces her Lion, who happily lowers her jaw.
“Pidge.”
Pidge jumps, dropping her bag in surprise. She reflexively summons her bayard and spins towards the voice, but relaxes when she sees it’s only Lance, of all people, approaching her from behind the Green Lion’s massive paw.
He looks exhausted, eyelids drooping and skin wan. His hair is ruffled from sleep, and he’s still dressed, though without his jacket for once.
“What’re you doing here?” Pidge demands, lowering her bayard.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Lance crosses his arms, peering down at her with the slightest hint of a smile. But it disappears quickly. “You’re going after your brother now, aren’t you?”
Pidge blinks. “How many nights have you slept here?” Wouldn’t she have noticed, if he was sleeping in her Lion’s hangar? She’s pulled many an all-nighter working here.
Lance chuckles, fingers running through his hair. “Just answer the question, Pidge.”
Pidge grabs her bag off the floor and admits, “Yes. I know where he is now, unlike last time, so yes.”
She half-expects him to argue, to shout her down like Keith did last time she almost left, and her chest clenches with shame at the thought.
Instead, she sees something like understanding - like sympathy - in his blue eyes, and he smiles mournfully. “Okay,” he says. “Just…” He sighs, and before she can say anything else, he wraps her into a hug.
Pidge shivers when she feels his warm breath on her cheek.
“Be careful, Pidge,” he says, voice right by her ear.
“I will be,” she promises, returning his embrace. “I’ll come back, and I’ll bring my brother back with me.”
Lance steps away from her, and glances at her Lion. “You keep her safe, alright?” he says.
To her amazement, Green growls an affirmation, her presence in Pidge’s head tinged with affection and protectiveness.
Without another word, Pidge enters the Lion, but not without looking back over her shoulder at Lance, who again stands facing her with crossed arms. He’s not smiling, exactly, but there’s still something warm in his gaze as he looks at her.
There’s worry there too, she thinks.
“I’ll be fine,” Pidge tells them, though by now she sits in the pilot’s chair, and only Green can hear her.