Archive of Our Own

Pidge’s eclectic research notes covered every square centimeter inside Lance’s small apartment, making it a minefield to navigate. Yet somehow he managed it, stepping between an assortment of old magic texts and loose journal articles covered in complex equations while he paced, phone in hand while he again explained to his mother.

“I’m sorry, Mami,” he insisted, “but I already promised my girlfriend I’d spend the weekend with her family.” His heart skipped a beat on the word ‘girlfriend’, and he doubted the lie would convince his mother. No, he gambled, counting on—

“Ha, so Lance finally has a girlfriend?” his brother Marco interjected before their mother could reply. “And one he’s serious enough about to spend a holiday with her family? When do we get that honor?”

Lance covered his face, concealing a flush though no one was around to see it. “Maybe next time,” he said with a brightness he didn’t feel. He swallowed and added, “You’d like her, Mami; she’s smart .”

More than smart, Lance amended to himself. Pidge was a veritable genius , and had to be to get to where she wanted to go.

“I’m glad you found someone that you like so much, Lance,” his mother chided, “but why haven’t you told us about her before? And why not bring her here ?”

Lance flailed an arm, frustrated. “Because she’s really close to her family.” His stomach twisted into a knot at the truth in the statement, but anyone else would read something different into it.

“And you’re not close to yours?” his mother retorted.

He laughed, already feeling the lecture about the importance of family approaching, and amended, “I meant that…her family lives closer.”

A pause, and then she said, “Fine, but your family gets Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

If it was anyone other than his mother, Lance would think she was being unreasonable. And, well, he couldn’t say what would become of him and Pidge and this strange equilibrium they’d reached in four months’ time, so he agreed, “Yes, Mami. Thank you.”

His mother chuckled and said, “Have fun with your girlfriend’s family.”

“Don’t piss off her dad!” Marco added in the background.

“And take pictures!” said his mother. “Tell us everything later, okay? You need to make up for keeping quiet about this as long as you did.”

Lance suppressed a snort but smiled. “Yeah, okay.”

“I love you, Lance, okay?”

“Love you too, Mami.” He ended the call to the sound of his brother announcing to his younger relatives, already at his parents’ house for the holiday weekend, that Uncle Lance finally has a girlfriend . He rolled his eyes and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Everything okay?”

Lance jumped, spinning around at the voice. Pidge stood behind him, clutching a dark green binder overstuffed with papers, including a few that peeked out.; one of his sweaters - which she insisted on wearing despite the heat outside - hung loosely around her small frame, and her hair stuck up in tufts, making her look unkempt and like she’d just rolled out of bed.

The sight never failed to fill Lance with warmth, so he smiled at her.

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him, fingers tightening around the binder. “Lance,” she said, “why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?” He blinked at her. “I was just…” Admiring you. “…thinking.”

She snorted, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Careful you don’t hurt yourself then,” she said, brushing past him and towards the kitchen, where the bulk of her notes - or the ones she most often referred to - awaited.

Lance scoffed as he followed her. “Well, since you were so curious, I was just on the phone to my mother.”

Pidge nodded, encouraging him to continue while she rearranged a few things on the small kitchen table.

“I had to lie to my own mother , Pidge,” Lance proclaimed dramatically. “Do you know painful that is?”

“Yes,” Pidge deadpanned without missing a beat.

Lance gaped at her. For all of Pidge’s ‘family issues’, he never thought lying to her mother would be one of them. He licked his lips, trying to formulate a proper response, but Pidge beat him to it.

“What did you lie to her about?” she asked.

Though he wanted Pidge to confide in him, or to at least sate his curiosity, the subject change meant she was reluctant to talk. “I told her I can’t visit them for the Fourth of July because I’m spending it with my ‘girlfriend’s family’.” He laughed as he put inserted air quotes, but sobered when he caught sight of Pidge’s deer-in-headlights expression. “What?”

“I just…why?” she said. “You can go see your family, and I’ll stay here. God knows I have so much more work to do…” She sighed, plopping down in a chair and pulling a notebook and a strange, pyramidal device towards her.

Lance pulled another chair out, frowning when he had to move a stack of old scientific journals out of the way, and sat across from her. “I wouldn’t want to leave you alone, Pidge,” he said, “especially not on a holiday.”

“It’s a holiday?” Pidge tilted her head. “Since when?”

“Since…1775? Or was it 1776?” He grasped his chin, wracking his brains; Hunk would probably know…

“Lance,” Pidge said, interrupting his thoughts before he could follow them any further, “even if it is a holiday, it’s not one I celebrate, so you should spend it with your family.”

“And find my apartment wrecked by some disastrous experiment when I come back?” Lance chuckled. “No thanks, I’d rather help if I get stuck cleaning up.”

Pidge stared at him then pointed out, “But I’m not your girlfriend.”

“Yes, but my mother doesn’t know that.” Lance smirked at her, hoping he impressed her with his logic, but she continued to look doubtful and maybe a little…red?

“I could’ve used a weekend without you distracting me,” Pidge then said.

Lance snorted, despite the odd disappointment making his heart sink. “Well, too bad, because I can do you one better.”

“Oh, yeah?” Pidge said. She rested an elbow on the table, chin in the palm of her hand. “By making me celebrate a holiday I know nothing about?”

“Nope. Also, wait here.”

“And go where?” Pidge demanded.

Lance stood and darted out of the kitchen and towards the only bedroom in the apartment, which also looked like a tornado had blown through it. Clothes - Pidge’s as well as his - lay scattered over the floor, and his personal computer sat open on the desk, running another update - Pidge constantly insisted on those. Her notes even made it into here, despite his attempt to ban her from reading work stuff there - “The bedroom is for sleeping , Pidge, not researching !” - and he nearly slipped when his foot landed on a loose sheet of paper.

The very sheet of paper he looked for.

Lance picked it up, grinning at the flier, and returned to the kitchen. Pidge looked up from the pyramidal device when he entered, a question in her eyes, and she only looked more confused when he handed the flier to her.

“Is this… the Dr. Slav?” she wondered incredulously.

Lance grinned at her. “The very same!” he said cheerfully. “Since I obviously couldn’t take you all the way to Switzerland to see him, I figured this was the next best thing when I saw that he was coming to give a talk at the—”

Pidge didn’t let him finish. She stood so fast her chair fell backwards and launched herself at him, knocking him back a step with the force. Her arms wound tightly around him with surprising strength and, voice muffled by his shirt, said, “Lance, thank you .”

“I…” He relaxed into her hug, shocked by the force of her gratitude but pleased . “It’s nothing, but…”

Pidge looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. “What do you want in return?” she asked suspiciously.

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes while forcing a chuckle despite the heat on his face. “Maybe after the talk we could…go watch the fireworks?” he suggested, shooting her a sideways glance to gauge her reaction.

(For God’s sake, it wasn’t like he was asking her on a date .)

Pidge stepped away from him, arms crossed and eyebrows drawn together. “You shoot off fireworks on holidays here?”

“Do you not where you’re from?” Lance said, stunned.

“No,” she said with a shrug, “but I think I’ve read some historical accounts where it was done. Fireworks are mostly used for…war where I’m from.”

“Oh,” Lance said, for once at a loss for words. Sometimes he forgot how different Pidge’s home was to his, for all the similarities…

“I guess it would be an interesting experience though,” Pidge mused, and Lance’s heart soared until he noticed her frown. “But I’ll have so much more work to do on Rover once I’ve spoken with Dr. Slav.”

Lance squinted at the device, that strange object she protected like it was her child, the device that led to Pidge crashing into his life, that same object that would one day take her away again. And he said, “Can we just have one day for fun then?”

He knew he was being selfish, asking her to delay even if only for a day, but he couldn’t help it, not now when her impending departure hung over him like a blade over his neck.

Pidge bit her lip, picking the device up and cradling it between her hands. “I…want to,” she admitted, “but every day I postpone means another day my father and brother are in danger.”

Though his heart sank with disappointment, he forced himself to smile and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “All right,” he said.

Pidge smiled slightly. “Thanks for understanding, Lance.”

“No problem,” Lance said as he watched her return to her work.

He tried to distract himself from the reality and reason of Pidge’s rejection by making them lunch - he insisted Pidge join him after she admitted to skipping breakfast - and sitting in the living room with a game controller in his hands. From there he could hear Pidge still in the kitchen, intermittently flipping pages and grumbling under her breath about variables and quintessence and constants and others things too complex for Lance to begin to wrap his head around.

Apparently even the opportunity to meet Dr. Slav didn’t deter her from making strides alone.

“How did you know Dr. Slav exists in this reality anyway?” Lance called to her.

Pidge didn’t answer immediately, likely too absorbed in her work, but before Lance could do more than roll his eyes and turn back to the TV, she admitted, “Just a theory, really. And some of that…googling I did confirmed that he’s likely as much a genius in this one as in mine. Just more… balanced .”

“What do you mean by that ?” he wondered.

“He’s very paranoid in my reality,” she explained. “I guess it’s not really his fault; he just spent a lot of time in enemy captivity.”

Lance frowned; Pidge didn’t like talking about where she came from, but all the little hints she dropped painted a bleak, if ‘technologically advanced’, picture. No, when she’d first arrived here, she’d been constantly on-edge, as if wary of attack, but quick to dismiss most of his belongings as ‘primitive’.

It was a little disheartening for both of them.

But eventually she relaxed, and one morning he woke to find her sitting on the end of his bed with his computer in her lap:

“What…are you doing?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep. He rubbed his eyes, unsure if he imagined the flush in her cheeks.

“I updated your computer,” she said. “It should run better, and though I can’t do much without better hardware, it’s still way faster than it was.”

Lance stared at her uncomprehendingly, decided he hadn’t slept enough to deal with the sight of a nearly strange woman messing with his personal computer, and stuffed his face into his pillow.

“Well,” Lance said in an effort to change the subject, “the talk starts in an hour. Maybe we should go?”

“Sounds good,” Pidge agreed easily. “I just need to pack up some stuff…”

Lance turned off the TV and walked into the kitchen to see her wrapping her device in newspaper. “You’re taking that thing with you?” he asked, stunned.

“Well, yeah?” Pidge said. “I want Dr. Slav to take a look at it, since his theory helped me build it.”

“But you said yourself that it failed,” Lance pointed out.

“Yes, but my Slav relied on quintessence, and this one can’t.” Pidge stuffed the device along with a few notebooks full of charts and calculations into Lance’s school bag. “He’ll have a different perspective, and between his theoretical and my practical experience, we should be able to figure it out.” She smirked, pleased at her reasoning.

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Uh…what is it that your Slav has that the one here doesn’t? Is it just better tech?”

Pidge shifted her feet. “Partly?” she said. “It’s also a bit more than that; I can’t really explain it since it’s not my area of expertise though.”

Lance gaped at her. “Really? There’s something you don’t know?”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks darkened. “There’s a lot I don’t know,” she said nonchalantly. “I would be gone by now if there weren’t any gaps in my knowledge.”

“Ha, good thing then,” Lance told her, grinning.

Pidge furrowed her brow. “Maybe in some ways,” she conceded. “I just…” She trailed off with a frustrated sigh. “Let’s just go.” She shouldered the backpack, ignoring Lance’s offer to carry it for her, and padded off in the direction of the front door.

Leaving the apartment with Pidge was always an adventure. She rarely put much effort into her appearance, as distracted as she was by her objective, and she spent most of the time outside alternating between rubbing her irritated nose and commenting on how much time she wasted leaving her research to gather dust.

(When she and Hunk met, Hunk even went so far as to ask what hole he had to crawl under to find Pidge. Lance had blushed at the insinuation, and Pidge had simply deadpanned, “The hole between realities.”)

But this time, Pidge didn’t complain at all, instead practically skipping as they walked onto the college’s campus. She didn’t even grumble about the heat like she had the last time he convinced her to go out - when he pointed out she could take off the borrowed sweater like a normal person - and simply took everything in, eyes wide.

It was almost like watching someone drink in their surroundings, as if soon they’d be without them.

Lance’s chest ached at the thought, and only Pidge’s warm hand brushing against his helped.

They filed into the auditorium with more copies of the fliers taped to the doors, the interior large enough to hold over a hundred people but with most of the seats still unoccupied.

Pidge grabbed Lance’s wrist and dragged him to the front row, which wasn’t at all where he fancied sitting but he was happy to go along with her. Once they were seated, Lance’s co-opted backpack in Pidge’s lap, she commented, “I don’t think I’ve ever been early to anything in my entire life.” She paused and added thoughtfully, “Except maybe my birth.”

Lance snorted and propped his elbow on the armrest between them. “Oh, you’re one of those people.”

“Yeah, and now that we’re early…” She glanced at him and grinned. “What do you do for the Fourth of July anyway, other than the fireworks?”

“People usually have barbecues,” Lance explained with a shrug. “You know, outdoor things since it’s summer.”

Pidge tugged on the collar of her sweater. “Don’t remind me.”

“You’re the one who put it on,” Lance pointed out. “You could’ve easily worn a t-shirt, or a tank top, or whatever it is people from your reality like to wear.”

“No thanks,” Pidge said. “I prefer sweaters, even if I’m warm.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re weird.”

“Is it that I like wearing a sweater while it’s hot, or that I’m from a different reality?”

He laughed, but before he could reply both , the lights in the auditorium dimmed and sparse applause echoed, heralding a short man wearing glasses with rectangular frames walking onto the stage. Pidge grinned, leaning forward in anticipation, and her excitement enchanted Lance more than the theoretical physics talk about to be given.

Dr. Slav spoke animatedly and without referring to his notes, his lecture punctuated by chalk scraping on a chalkboard. And despite his odd mannerisms - constantly adjusting his glasses, dropping chalk or eraser, waving his hands in some incomprehensible shape - Lance couldn’t follow, the topic too advanced for someone that barely scraped a passing grade in general physics.

Pidge, on the other hand, hung onto his every word, nodding along with his points and grabbing Lance’s arm to get his attention and point towards Dr. Slav. Lance only shrugged and smiled helplessly, unable to add anything, but she seemed pleased enough with just that. Instead he found himself amused by her occasional sneezes, and when she complained about the chalk dust drifting through the air.

“You’re the one who wanted to sit in the front,” he reminded her.

Pidge sniffed, rubbing her nose, and retorted, “Worth it.”

To Lance it was a dull class, the kind he’d struggled to stay awake in during high school or in college, but to Pidge it must’ve seemed a suspenseful movie, especially when she took his hand and squeezed.

Lance stiffened. Distantly he could hear Dr. Slav’s lecture continuing - “…why we can theoretically travel to other realities rather than simply know they exist!” - but his focus shifted as he glanced down at their joined hands, heat rushing to his face.

Pidge appeared completely oblivious to his dilemma, simply holding his hand with her much smaller one. In this state, Lance didn’t even notice Dr. Slav concluding his talk until Pidge yanked on his arm.

“…need to talk to him before he leaves!” she said when his mind returned to the present.

“What?” he said, blinking at her.

“Let’s go, Lance!” Pidge reiterated, shouldering the backpack and dragging Lance behind her as she dragged him backstage.

Lance kept pace with her, and Pidge dropped his hand in favor of steadying the backpack while they ran. But they quickly caught up to Dr. Slav in the sterile white hallway in the basement.

“Is he even going to believe you?” Lance hissed to Pidge as they approached the physicist.

Pidge ignored him, instead smiling broadly when Dr. Slav turned to them and she met his eyes. “Dr. Slav!” she said cheerfully. “I’d like to chat with you about something important. See, I’m from another reality”—

Lance spun his head around and gaped at her, shocked she’d come right out and say that .

—”and I need some help getting back, and since I know the other you, I figured—”

“Wait, hold up!” Dr. Slav interrupted, holding a hand up, his eyes wide. “You’re from another reality?” Then, he grinned, looking positively gleeful . “Oh, you must tell me all about it! But, wait, are you from a different reality too?” He pointed at Lance.

Lance stared at him, jaw flapping uselessly while Pidge hissed, “ Told you so. ” To Dr. Slav, she said, “He didn’t believe me the first ten times I told him.”

“Ah, so multiverse theory is only a hobby to you,” Dr. Slav said, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Wait, what ?” Lance said once he recovered use of his tongue. “Not even—I only know what she told me!”

But Dr. Slav ignored him and told Pidge, “The university was kind enough to loan me an office while I remain here, so please”—he waved towards a nearby door—”come in.” He unlocked and opened the door, standing aside to allow them into a plainly furnished office ahead of him. “Take a seat.”

Lance sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, but Pidge remained standing, instead bouncing on her feet and watching Dr. Slav close the door and take his own seat.

“You were right, Slav,” Pidge told him without hesitation. “It is possible to travel between realities, and, well…” She shifted the backpack and unzipped it, reaching inside for her device. “This is Rover,” she said, carefully handing it over to Dr. Slav. “It’s the transdimensional device I st—I mean, you helped me build in my reality.”

Lance blinked. Pidge stole the device?

Dr. Slav took it from her and gazed at it reverently. “Am I mistaken in assuming it is not functioning as you intend?”

Pidge sighed and said, “Yeah. I…there’s something in my reality that allowed us to make faster scientific advancements than you have in this one, and your counterpart and I, uh, built that based on that.”

Lance stared between the two of them, bewildered by their talk. What was so different about Pidge’s reality that she’d thus far been reluctant to tell him?

Pidge finally sat, leaning towards Dr. Slav, and said, “Rover requires quintessence to function.”

“Quin-what now?” Lance asked.

Dr. Slav nodded and wondered, “What is this quintessence?”

“It’s the energy in all living things,” she said. “It’s not like glucose or ATP or anything biological , or even like entropy or - actually, maybe entropy or potential energy is the best thing to compare it to.” She frowned and added, “It’s a bit more nebulous and easier to measure if you have the right devices though.”

“So like…magic?” Lance guessed.

Pidge opened her mouth, closed it, then said, “Huh, maybe. Either way, this device was originally built to run on quintessence, but there’s none of that in this reality. So I’m stuck here while I search for a workaround… and improve the processing power since a calculation error is what brought me to the wrong reality in the first place.” She scowled, but when she glanced sideways at Lance her gaze softened slightly.

His chest warmed at the look, but he raised a confused eyebrow at her.

Pidge shook her head and returned her attention to Dr. Slav, who watched their interaction intently. “What I need from you is your… theory . You’re already working on a model for transdimensional travel, but since you’re operating without quintessence, it might be what I need to fix Rover and return to my own reality and eventually…” She trailed off with a sigh, but Lance heard her unspoken words.

…and eventually get my father and brother back.

“This is very intriguing!” Slav said cheerfully. “I always thought there was at least a 0.5 percent chance that someone from a different reality was in this one, and to see someone fit within such a narrow margin of probability…” He grinned at Pidge, who stared intently at him, waiting. “I will help you as much as I can, but first, please tell me…what am I like in your reality?”

Lance snorted, but he smiled at Pidge’s open relief.

At least until he remembered.

Lance then excused himself, unable to sit still and without anything worthwhile to contribute. He muttered to Pidge, “I’ll meet you outside in a couple hours.”

She didn’t acknowledge him except with a nod, and though it was less than he wanted - less than he hoped - it would have to be enough.

Lance wandered around the courtyard while he waited, kicking loose stones aside and watching them skitter over the sidewalk. He messaged Hunk to ask him how the holiday was going with his family and replied to messages from his own.

Does her dad like you yet? Marco texted.

Lance rolled his eyes and replied, He’s kinda pretending I’m not there. It was similar to how Dr. Slav treated him, but shame still sat in his stomach at the half-truth.

What would he tell his family when Pidge left? That he’d had a girlfriend but they split? That he’d never had one at all?

He whiled away the time by walking off-campus and buying an iced coffee, and by the time he headed back sunset approached, the horizon bleeding red into blue sky.

Pidge already waited for him just outside the auditorium, shifting from foot to foot while she scanned one of her many notebooks. But then she looked up and a smile stretched across her face.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi,” he said.

She only grinned wider, the sight making him go warm and all but vanquishing the last couple dismal hours from existence, and said, “I think I have everything I need to get home and find my family.”

And just like that, it was gone.

Lance was happy for her - of course he was - but that didn’t stop the knot from forming in his gut. “That’s…great,” he said.

“It is!” Pidge exclaimed. “And I couldn’t have done it without you!” She hugged him again, this time withdrawing before he could react. “I’m in such a good mood that maybe we can watch those fireworks after all?”

Lance swallowed, trying to dispel some of his negative feelings in favor of Pidge’s suggestion, and said, “That would be perfect.”

The fireworks display began about an hour after sunset, over the town’s biggest park.

Lance and Pidge leaned against a tree trunk at the edge of the field, a rare coveted spot, with their sides pressed together. “They’re not as nice here as they are at home,” he told her, his eyes fixed on the colorful sparks raining from the sky. “Over there we would go to the beach to watch the sunset and eat ice cream, then the fireworks would get shot over the sea…” He trailed off, sighing wistfully, but then a chance look at Pidge worried him. “Are you okay?”

Pidge had her hands pressed over her ears, but she nodded. “They just…remind me of home too.”

Lance gaped then said, “I’m so sor—”

“Don’t be,” Pidge said, but she stood and offered one of her hands - while keeping the other over her ear - to him. “Let’s just go do something else please.”

Lance took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet, and followed her away from the park and towards the tiny downtown. “I’m sorry, Pidge,” he tried again once the fireworks were nothing more than a distant whistle and pop. “I should’ve—”

“I haven’t talked much about where I’m from,” Pidge said, “so you wouldn’t have known any better. I just wanted to spend time with you and that was what you wanted to do.”

Lance was then aware that she hadn’t dropped his hand the entire time they’d escaped the park. Her palm was damp but warm, and he said, “You didn’t have to.” Then he admitted, “Some details might’ve been nice….”

In the early days, the first two weeks or so, he’d pressed for details, wanting more proof that she was really from a completely different reality, but she resisted and even snapped at him, frustrated, a few times for his nosiness. Eventually she started to speak unprompted, but she never gave up much except in the rare moments where she let her guard down.

“I’ll tell you some,” Pidge said, squeezing his hand. “You’re…a good friend. I don’t have very many of those at home.”

Lance frowned at her, noting her downcast eyes, but he tapped her chin, bidding her to look up at him. “I’m honored,” he said, “but maybe tonight we just try to have fun. So…” He scanned the surrounding shops, trying to find just one open, and smirked when his eyes lit on the best one. “Do you have ice cream in your reality?”

Pidge snorted but she rolled with the abrupt change in topic as he led the way to the ice cream parlor. “I’m from a different reality , not a different existence .”

The bell chimed when Lance pushed open the door. “There’s a difference?”

“Of course there is,” Pidge said while Lance waved at the worker behind the counter. “Existence is being or not being.”

“So ice cream either is or isn’t?” Lance guessed.

Pidge grinned. “Exactly!” She went up to the counter without waiting for him, peering into the display case. “I can’t say I know all these flavors though.” She pointed to a few. “Rocky road? Birthday cake ?”

“What’s so strange about birthday cake ice cream?” Lance wondered.

“I don’t know what that even means,” Pidge said, waving her hand at the label. “What the hell is a birthday cake ?”

Lance stared at her. “You don’t know what a birthday cake is?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

A suspicion crept over Lance, and he asked, “Pidge, do you celebrate birthdays?”

“We don’t,” she said with a sigh. “I guess that’s another holiday you have that we don’t.” She then turned to the utterly bewildered employee and said, “Can I get a scoop of birthday cake and another of peanut butter in a cone?”

“You don’t want to at least sample it?” Lance said when the employee worked on Pidge’s order.

Pidge shrugged and quipped, “I’m living life on the edge.”

“Well…in case you’re curious, my birthday’s at the end of this month,” Lance told her once they stood outside again, ice cream cones in hand.

“What do you do for it?” Pidge wondered.

“Visit my family usually,” Lance said with a shrug. He stuffed his free hand in his jeans pocket and meandered down the sidewalk with Pidge beside him. “My mother cooks my favorite meal and my younger nieces and nephews show off their artistry.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Maybe you can join in the revelry this year, Pidge,” he added hopefully.

Pidge smiled, but there was a regretful edge to it and her voice when she said, “Maybe.”

“What’s your family like?” Lance asked to change the subject. “You must get along well if you’re traveling between realities to get them back.”

Pidge said, “My brother is my best friend, and my father is…my father.” She glanced at him, and he noted with amusement she had a drop of peanut butter ice cream on the tip of her nose. “You’re close to your family; wouldn’t you move heaven and earth to bring them back safely?”

Lance considered her and the intensity in her question. Her brown eyes lit up with the same light he saw whenever she worked on her device, when she thought she was close to a breakthrough.

He’d always hated watching that light fade when she hit a dead end in her research.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think I would.”

“Look, Lance,” Pidge said, waving a hand as she searched for the words, “aside from my family, I don’t have much in my reality. I don’t have any other friends, and the war feels like it’ll never end sometimes.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell if you come from a paradise or hell,” Lance admitted. When Pidge quirked an eyebrow at him, he amended, “When you talk about the technology, you complain about how ‘primitive’ it is here, but then you say stuff like that .”

Pidge polished off her ice cream, wiping her mouth with a napkin but missing the spot on her nose. “My dad talks about what it was like when he was a kid,” she said, “and maybe then it was closer to a paradise. And the tech is powerful but so rigidly controlled by Zarkon that it might as well be as primitive as yours.” She crossed her arms and scowled. “ And we’re forced to be entirely reliant on quintessence for energy; all other power sources are illegal.”

Lance stared at her, slow to comprehend. “That’s…”

“Awful?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Then why not bring your family here?”

Pidge met his eyes. “It’s not that easy, Lance,” she said. “Even with the improvements Slav helped me design, Rover’s unstable and his capability is too limited; I can’t even figure out a way to transport more than three people!”

“You stole it,” Lance guessed, “didn’t you?”

“If I had,” Pidge said carefully, “will that change your opinion of me?”

Lance smiled slightly and remarked, “You said yourself that you’d move heaven and earth to find your family, so what’s a little theft?”

Pidge returned his smile, but then she sagged and rubbed her eyes. “Even if it was perfect, my family won’t give up the fight against Zarkon, and so long as they’re fighting, so will I.”

“So you’re fighting your evil dictator?”

Pidge smirked and said, “Of course I am. Why else would I commit treason and steal a rare technology?”

Lance laughed, actually amused despite the bleak conversation, and Pidge’s expression softened. He used his napkin to wipe the ice cream from her nose, and when her eyes widened he teased, “You missed a spot.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, turning away from him and mumbling something about getting back to his apartment.

Lance didn’t want to return, didn’t want the evening to end and for Pidge to spend all night improving her device. A part of him feared she’d disappear as soon as she finished, that one day she’d be gone and it would be like he’d never met her. All he’d be left with would be the ache in his chest and a computer with more processing power than he knew what to do with.

But to his surprise, Pidge didn’t even unpack the device from his bag. She only set it down in a kitchen chair and turned to Lance. “Do you want to play a game?”

Lance grinned. “Think you can take me at Mario Kart?”

Pidge scoffed and retorted, “Think you can take me ?”

He laughed as he set up the game, passing her the player two controller and sitting beside her on the sofa. She shucked her shoes off, pulling her feet up and crossing her legs while the title music played.

They played in the dark, with the screen’s blue light casting mesmerizing shadow’s over Pidge’s face, but Lance managed to not be distracted. At first they raced in silence, both focused on beating the other. Lance whooped in triumph when Mario evaded a blue shell and crossed the finish line, Pidge grumbling when Yoshi trudged in right behind him.

Pidge won the next race while they devolved into trash talk.

(”In college they called me the tailor,” Lance bragged, “because I thread the needle.”

“Thread this , Tailor,” Pidge said as Yoshi lobbed a perfectly placed green shell at Mario.)

“You hungry?” Lance asked after playing for over an hour. He lay on his back, Pidge snuggled against him with his arm pinned underneath her. She lay on her side, facing the television, with her back to him.

He couldn’t quite remember how they ended up like this, but the game was still on, the speakers softly emitting the title music.

“Maybe a little,” Pidge admitted after a hesitation.

Lance glanced sideways at her. “So you want to eat or…?”

“Not enough to move.”

Her soft, matter-of-fact tone made butterflies stir in his stomach, far stronger and more distracting than his own appetite. He turned his head, burying his nose in her soft hair, and said, “Fine by me.”

Eventually Pidge made the effort to grab the remote off the coffee table and turn off the TV, plunging them into darkness.

“The game’s still on,” Lance told her.

“If you think I’m letting you get up to turn it off, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Lance snorted despite the heat that crawled all over his skin. “Tell me, Pidge,” he said with a daring he didn’t quite feel, “what else should I have been paying attention to?”

Pidge shifted, and for one heart-stopping moment he worried he’d put her off in some way, but then she faced him. “Guess.”

Lance turned onto his side. “You miss your family?”

Pidge frowned at him. “Really, Lance?”

He shrugged. “That’s what I’ve noticed,” he pointed out.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “It’s not what I need you to see now,” she told him.

“Then—”

She interrupted him with a kiss, a faint pressure of chapped lips on his. Lance inhaled shakily, eyes slipping closed, but she pulled back before he could react.

He peered at her. “You…like me?” he suggested once he found the words, unable to believe it.

“I’m in love with you, you goofball,” Pidge retorted.

“Oh,” Lance said, his eyes wide with shock. “ Oh .” He turned onto his back, covering his face with an arm as he fought the stunned laughter bubbling out of his chest.

He felt more than saw Pidge sit up, so he peeked at her. “Wait, where are you going?” he asked.

“Maybe I was wrong to tell you,” she said, but before she could stand he grabbed her wrist and tugged her back.

Lance sat up beside her, taking both of her hands, and said, “Have a little patience, maybe?”

“You’ve known me long enough to know that I don’t have much of that,” Pidge said, though she smiled hopefully and met his eyes.

Lance finally allowed himself to laugh, so happy with this turn of events that his mind dismissed all thoughts of her impending departure. “Pidge,” he said, taking her face in his hands, “I love you. God, I love you.”

Pidge grinned widely, and the sight proved that somehow Lance could still feel fonder, his chest warm and fit to burst. His heart raced as she tilted her head back and leaned towards him, her breath sliding over his cheek before she clutched at his shirt and kissed him again.

Pidge kissed clumsily and more roughly than he expected, her nose and glasses bumping against his face, but Lance loved every minute of it, every minute of her and her taste. Her arms wound around his neck, fingers buried in his hair, while his hands found a home on her waist.

“Lance,” Pidge said when they parted for air, the sound of her breathless voice sending a shiver down his spine, “is it selfish that I’m happy now?”

He pulled her closer until she was almost in his lap and rested his forehead against hers. “Why?” he asked.

“Because my family—” She cut herself off, grimacing, but then she kissed him quickly. “I can be happy,” she told him, “at least for a little while.”

Lance frowned, uncertain if she should unload whatever troubled her, but her lips on his again distracted him. Swept up in the moment, he eagerly allowed it.

Lance woke to a well-lit bedroom. He raised an arm to shield his eyes, confused about the light source until he noticed he’d forgotten to slide shut the outermost layer of curtains before going to bed. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, sighing contentedly as he sagged into his pillow, and turned towards Pidge.

Predictably, she still slept soundly, facing him with her back to the window.

Since Pidge showed up and somehow turned them into roommates, their sleeping arrangements had been…inconsistent. Most of the time she slept - if she slept - on the sofa, but when she was especially exhausted (and after whining about him making too much noise in the kitchen after he woke up) she collapsed in his bed, with or without him present.

Eventually Lance lost track of the number of times he’d woken to her clinging to his back, except then they’d both been more…clothed.

Lance shifted closer to her, watching her eyelashes’ shadows shifting on her cheeks…and her eyes opening. “Morning,” he told her, voice low but cheerful.

Pidge rolled onto her back, yawning and stretching an arm over her head. He knew from experience that she wasn’t a morning person, and that it was earlier than she was accustomed to waking, so she surprised him by turning back onto her side and latching onto him with a muttered morning, Lance.

Lance smiled, more than happy to share her body heat despite the warmth the sun forced into his bedroom. He threaded his fingers through her mussed hair and focused on the sound and feeling of her steady breathing.

“I love you,” he told her.

She hummed and, with her voice muffled against his chest, said, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Lance laughed. “That’s impossible for me, Pidge.”

She chuckled, her fingers skating up and down his bare back. “There’s a lot I don’t know that you do, Lance,” Pidge said. “Something about you, maybe…”

“Well,” Lance said while his cheeks heated, “if you keep touching me like that we’re going to have a problem on our hands.”

“We solved it pretty well last night,” Pidge quipped.

“And what if it arises again?”

Pidge shifted and peeked up at his face. “Pun intended?”

Lance snorted. “Please, Pidge, what do you take me for?”

“Someone who would walk straight into a dick joke without meaning to,” Pidge said.

He considered that. “Are you saying dick jokes are a thing where you come from?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re cross-cultural.” Pidge pulled away from him, then took his face in her small hands. “Anyway, I wouldn’t mind making it a problem again.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance quirked a hopeful eyebrow at her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, very consciously pressing herself against him. Her cheeks were red but she sounded confident when she said, “Luckily it’s a problem with a pleasant solution…”

Pidge returned her attention to the device after taking a shower, and Lance leaned against the kitchen door frame, watching her push her glasses up her nose while scanning the notes she’d made while meeting Dr. Slav. She rapidly typed something on an ancient - yet somehow still functional thanks to Pidge - laptop, pausing occasionally to check something in a notebook.

Sometimes Lance just liked watching her work, and Pidge even welcomed questions so long as he was willing to listen to her answers. But the task absorbed her so thoroughly that he could start slamming doors and she wouldn’t even blink.

Lance, curious if now was such a time, crept up behind her and peered over her shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at the notebook; it looked like a…

“Is that a grocery list?” he wondered, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to glean some meaning in her messy handwriting.

Pidge flinched at the sound of his voice, turning her head and glaring at him. “Something like that,” she said. Then she tore a page from the notebook and added, “I need a trip to the hardware store.”

“Oh,” Lance said while she stood and pulled on her shoes after straightening her borrowed sweater. “Want me to come with you?”

Pidge glanced at him, then smiled and said, “Only if you promise you won’t get bored.”

Lance spread his arms and argued, “Pidge, I could never get bored with you.”

Her cheeks reddened and her gaze swiveled away from him as she straightened, but she said, “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Lance grinned once he joined her at the door, and as they stepped onto the sidewalk he dared to take her hand. “So,” he said when her wide eyes flicked up to his face, “that sweater looks really good on you.”

Pidge cleared her throat and noticeably fought a smile. “You only think that because it’s yours.”

“Nah. I think that because you’re wearing it, Pidge.” He shifted his hand in her grip, lacing their fingers together, and squeezed. “I mean,” he conceded with a sideways glance, “it does look good on me too. I can model it for you later, if you’d like.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Pidge snorted and tugged at the collar with her free hand. “I thought it was too hot for sweaters,” she said.

Lance tilted his head, leaning close enough to her ear that she shivered, and said, “Not if it’s the only thing I’m wearing.”

Pidge stared at him for a beat, but rather than flushing like he’d expected, she burst into laughter.

He halted, crossing his arms as she doubled over, and scowled at her. “Wow, Pidge,” he whined, “you’re really hurting my self-esteem here.”

Pidge held up a hand, and after she caught her breath she said, “I imagined it and it was too funny not to laugh.” She giggled, the sight of which, despite his petulant irritation, brought warmth to his chest. “Besides,” Pidge continued, walking past him and towards their destination, “I think I like you better without it.”

Lance’s face heated up, and he knew he couldn’t blame it on the summertime sun blazing in the sky.

Pidge led the way through the hardware store entrance and into blessed air conditioning, already making a beeline for the wires. Lance trailed behind her, absentmindedly waving towards the counter, but did a double-take when he spotted Keith.

“Hey there, Keith,” he said, sauntering up to the register and grinning. “You stuck working on a holiday weekend?”

Keith, eyes glassy and bored, blinked at him. He straightened from his slouch and quipped, “Amazingly people have repairs to make after messing with explosives.” He raised an eyebrow and asked, “That why you’re here, Lance?”

Lance’s smile turned sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Ha, that was a fun Fourth of July,” he said, briefly wondering if Pidge would get a kick out of a story involving him, Hunk, and illegal firecrackers. “But actually,” he told Keith brightly, “I’m here with my…roommate.”

Internally he winced at the designation. Pidge likely wouldn’t mind, but ‘roommate’ sounded too bland, too weak for their relationship. And ‘girlfriend’ wasn’t something they’d discussed at all, too busy voicing their feelings and fumbling their way through sex.

“Roommate?” Keith said, frowning. “Your apartment only has one bedroom.”

“Did I mention that I’m sleeping with my roommate?” Lance blurted…but the implication in his words didn’t register until Keith’s eyes bugged out. “I-I mean, not like that!” he tried to amend, waving his hands dismissively. “Wait, it was like that , but only once! Well, twice if you count this morn—”

Pidge blessedly chose that moment to drop a stuffed plastic red basket onto the counter.

“All done?” Lance said, seizing on her appearance and hoping she wouldn’t comment on his hot face.

“Yeah!” Pidge said cheerfully, pulling a coil of copper wiring from the basket and plucking at the end. “I mean, ideally I’d machine my own parts, but I’m low on time and resources, so this’ll have to do.” Then she glanced from him to Keith, a confused frown on her face…until her eyes blew wide, jaw dropping. “K-Keith?” she stuttered.

Lance turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “You know each other?” The way Pidge stared at Keith…his stomach twisted itself into knots, an old, irrational jealousy rearing its ugly head.

“I—”

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Keith said, tone cautious as he looked at Pidge.

Pidge nodded sharply. “Yeah, I just know someone who looks a lot like you.” She didn’t look at either Keith or Lance as she seemed to fold in on herself, eyes downcast.

Lance understood immediately.

“And he…has the same name as me?”

Naturally Keith didn’t.

When Pidge didn’t reply, too lost in her own thoughts, Lance dragged a finger over his neck and muttered, “Just scan the stuff. I’ll pay for it since…” He frowned worriedly at Pidge while Keith followed his suggestion after a brief shrug.

Lance sighed in relief when Pidge proved responsive enough to take one of the shopping bags and follow him out of the store without prompting. But they walked in silence all the way back to his apartment, the levity from earlier gone as if it never was.

Once back, Pidge quietly unloaded everything onto the overburdened kitchen table, but before she could make an attempt to work, Lance gently took her wrist.

“Pidge,” he said, voice low, “what happened?”

She sighed, eyes flicking up to his face, and said, “I thought I recognized him.”

“You know him - or your reality’s version of him - don’t you?”

Pidge nodded slowly, then allowed him to lead her to the sofa. She leaned into his side once they sat, sniffling.

Lance turned so Pidge could bury her face against his chest. He held her tightly while she cried, quiet but trembling, and his heart hurt for her.

He wanted to say something, but any words of comfort he could think of stuck in his throat, hollow and meaningless or just plain dumb. “Pidge,” he tried, hoping the sound of her name might ground her, “ Pidge .”

Small fingers clutched at his shirt in an eerie echo of their first kiss. “H-he’s not dead,” she said shakily, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Lance chuckled, though he didn’t feel very amused. “I…guess I’m relieved to hear that, even if it is Keith.”

Pidge snorted and commented, “You looked like pretty good friends to me.”

He rolled his eyes, but rather than elaborating on his and Keith’s admittedly childish history, he asked, “What’s he like in your reality?”

“He’s…driven.” She pulled away enough to meet his eyes. “He’s lost a lot to the war, more than I have, but it doesn’t stop him.” She sighed. “He looked so normal here; I wish he was like that in my reality too.”

Lance searched for something lighter, something to uplift her, and inquired with a smirk, “Does he have the same stupid haircut in your reality?”

Pidge laughed shakily and admitted, “Amazingly, he does. Maybe it’s one of those constants like ice cream’s existence.”

“Glad to know some things don’t change,” Lance said. He wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Slav calculated it once, actually,” Pidge said with a small smile. She caught one of Lance’s hands in hers and added, “According to him, in 80 percent of realities where Keith exists…his hair looks like that , regardless of actual fashion.”

Lance chuckled. “Is this your reality’s Slav then?”

Pidge nodded. “I doubt your reality’s Slav knows Keith either.”

“So…” Lance bit his lip, wary of upsetting Pidge again. “If there’s a Slav in your reality and one in mine, does that mean there’s a me in yours and a you in mine?”

Pidge adjusted her crooked glasses. “What do you mean?”

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little awkward about bringing it up now. “Pidge, do I…exist in your reality?”

She blinked slowly at him, a strange contemplative frown on her face. “I don’t know, Lance,” she admitted. “I’ve never met you in my reality. Plus, you could be dead or even never existed.”

“Oh,” Lance said, heart sinking. He didn’t even understand why he was disappointed, and which option he liked less:  being dead or being nonexistent . “Did you ever wonder if you exist here then?”

Pidge wrapped her arms around herself and said, “To be honest, I never thought further ahead than finding Slav.”

“So you weren’t curious if there’s some Pidge - wait, what’s your last name?” Lance ran his fingers through his hair and added, “I’m starting to think we have a very weird relationship.”

Pidge chuckled as she pulled her feet up and sat with her legs crossed, facing him. “You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Let’s see…” Lance held up a hand and stuck up his first finger. “First you fall on top of me out of nowhere as I’m walking home after a late class.” He put up a second finger. “Then you somehow convince me to let you spend the night at my place, and ‘one night’ turns into several months .”

Pidge leaned towards him and mockingly batted her eyelashes. “It’s because you can’t resist a pretty face.”

“Only if it’s yours,” Lance said, winking, but before Pidge could retort, he continued, “And after that you tell me you’re from a completely different reality! You didn’t know how to use a microwave —”

“I know,” Pidge grumbled, her arms crossed. “I was there.”

“— and y ou called my laptop primitive .”

“It’s processing power was awful ,” Pidge whined.

Lance gaped at her and pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m an anthropology major,” he said. “Why do I need all that processing power ?”

Pidge shrugged and said, “You may not use it, but it’s still useful. Just make sure you scan for viruses and malware often after I…later, okay?”

Lance could guess what she’d been about to say but let it go. Instead he quipped, “You mean you didn’t make it invincible?”

“Ha, Lance, what do you take me for?” Pidge scoffed. “Of course I did, but you still need to take precautions.”

“Against what?” Lance demanded. “This reality’s version of you?”

Pidge opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again, lip between her teeth. For a moment Lance feared he said something wrong until she replied, “Maybe.”

Lance wondered, “ Is there a you here?”

“I don’t know that either,” Pidge said. “I don’t really want to know, actually, and…” Her gaze met his. “’Pidge’ isn’t my real name.”

“Then…what is?” Lance asked, eyes wide with surprise.

Pidge wrapped her arms around her legs. “My real name is Katie Holt,” she confessed. “I’m…technically a wanted criminal in my reality, if I didn’t make that obvious.”

“You might’ve implied it,” Lance said, but then he grinned. “I live with a badass.”

She snorted, but her lips twitched into a half-smile. “Maybe I’m not in this reality.”

Lance threw an arm around Pidge’s shoulders, pulling her into his side. She relaxed against him, and he wondered if he might find his reality’s Pidge - Katie Holt - one day. He didn’t want to lose this intimacy they’d built, however strangely it came about.

But no, Katie Holt wouldn’t be like this Pidge, like his Pidge. She’d have a different history, different talents and motivations, a different personality…and be different from the strange young woman he loved.

“Lance,” Pidge said, freeing him from his distressing thoughts. When he turned his head to look at her, she asked, “Maybe it’s…selfish to ask, but you can come back with me.”

It took Lance several long seconds to comprehend her meaning, but when he did he gaped at her, at a loss for words until he halfheartedly joked, “I mean, if it means missing work on Monday.”

Pidge scowled at him. “I’m being serious.”

“I know you are,” Lance said. He withdrew his arm from around her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Pidge said when he hesitated. “I already know what you will.”

Lance glanced sideways at her, chest aching at the sight of her frown and downcast eyes - which he put there. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s like you said; I can’t leave my family either.” Even though he lied to his mother…

Pidge took his hand and squeezed. “Like I said, it was selfish of me to ask.”

“I’m glad you did,” Lance told her. He raised her hand to his face and brushed her knuckles with his lips, something soft entering her expression at the simple gesture.

“I wish it could be different, Lance,” Pidge said, reaching up with her free hand to rub her already red eyes. “I wish…” She growled and quietly said, “You wondered if I knew how painful it was lying to my mother.”

Lance stared at her, surprised at the change in subject. “I…did?”

Pidge nodded. “On Friday morning, remember? Anyway, I do know; I didn’t even tell her that I was leaving .” She buried her face in both hands and continued, voice muffled, “Even if I was here by some other accident that didn’t involve my father and brother, I’d have to go back, Lance.”

“You have to make it right,” Lance guessed rather hollowly.

“Yes,” Pidge said. She looked up at him again, now smiling slightly, and to his relief her eyes were still dry. “Thank you for understanding.”

“I…guess I understand, Pidge,” Lance said. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”

Pidge wrapped her arms around him, again pressing her forehead against his chest, so close to his steadily beating heart. “I know,” she said. “ I know .”

Lance buried his lips in her soft hair and muttered, “And yet, I’m still kind of…happy with you. Is that weird?”

Pidge snorted and replied, “What’s not at this point?”

Lance laughed, and she trembled against him with her own amusement. Then she shifted and leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“I love you,” Pidge said, “just so you know.”

Lance kissed her deeper, hands cupping her face, until his heart raced and they were both breathless. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he teased.

Pidge laughed, the sound a delight to his ears, and said, “I’m in the mood for some problem-solving.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her, confused. “What do you—oh!” He grinned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in before again capturing her lips with his.

“What are you drawing?”

Pidge sat between his legs, using his chest as a backrest, holding his right arm in one hand and a pen in the other. The tip of the pen tickled his skin, as did her hair brushing his chin, and she’d been silent for several minutes except for an occasional sigh of concentration.

“Guess,” she said, dropping his right arm and taking the other.

Lance peered over her shoulder, but all he saw were random marks in multiple colors of ink. As he watched, Pidge swapped the red pen in her hand for a green one. “I have no idea,” he said.

Pidge didn’t elaborate immediately, and Lance only heard his own strained breathing. He focused on steadying it, on letting her draw on him without her body’s heat or the feeling of her skin against his distracting him.

“Pidge…”

He exhaled as Pidge moved away from him, now facing him but with most of her attention on his right shin, a blue pen in her hand.

“I’m so confused,” Lance said.

It made even less sense when she started drawing on his face.

“If you’re going to mar my natural beauty,” Lance said, his lip twitching when the tip of a black pen touched his chin, “you could warn me.”

“With your extensive morning routine?” Pidge scoffed without taking her eyes off what she was doing, her  breath warm on one cheek with her hand on the other, holding his head steady. “All the ink will be gone by tomorrow morning.”

“Well, good thing tomorrow is Sunday,” Lance quipped. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to going back to work on Monday.”

Pidge hummed and moved the pen to his forehead. But after another few times dragging the tip across his skin, she smirked and leaned back to admire her handiwork.

“So…did you guess what I drew?”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Nope.”

“Fine,” said Pidge, “I’ll give you a hint.” She took one of his arms and traced the lines she drew, forming something like a spiraling flower. “They’re…explosive.”

He blinked at the red and green marks on his arms. “Fireworks?”

Pidge grinned, surprising him with a kiss on his nose. “Yeah,” she said.

Lance laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you draw fireworks all over me?” He frowned. “Now I’m going to get ink all over my sheets…”

“Well…” Pidge ducked her head with an embarrassed smile. “You wanted me to see the fireworks on the Fourth of July, and since I couldn’t really I…made it so that I won’t want to look away from them.”

“Oh,” Lance said, somehow left at a loss. He smiled, his face flushing when Pidge met his eyes. “That’s really…”

“Buttery?” Pidge suggested.

“Um…what?” Lance said, blinking.

Pidge waved a hand. “You know, when something is very sweet but almost nauseatingly so, it’s buttery .”

“In this reality that would be cheesy ,” Lance said, covering his mouth to hide his bubbling laughter.

She eyed him suspiciously. “That doesn’t sound right at all,” she said.

This time Lance didn’t bother hiding it.

Pidge squeaked in surprise when he hugged her, dragging her towards him. He pressed his face against her neck and breathed, “I love you so much.”

She buried a hand in his hair. “I love you too,” she said, her fingernails scraping pleasantly against his scalp. “But…can you not do that? You’re going to get ink on me.”

Pidge buried herself in her work the following morning, rolling out of bed almost as soon as she woke up. She only lingered long enough for him to kiss her forehead, her small smile disappearing within seconds.

Lance found her in the kitchen after he scrubbed most of the ink off his face. Her device sat, partially dismantled, on the table, a few wires poking out while Pidge picked through what she bought - or he bought for her - the previous day.

“Did you eat breakfast?” Lance asked her.

“No,” she replied without glancing up. “I’m not hungry.”

He crossed his arms and stared at her skeptically. “Then did you at least drink something?”

“Coffee,” she said. “There’s still some in the pot.”

Lance suppressed a sigh as he examined the pot’s contents. It smelled reasonably fresh, so he poured the rest into a mug. But when he opened the refrigerator for the creamer, he found it absent.

“I…might’ve finished the creamer,” Pidge admitted.

Lance sighed and said, “Guess I need to go buy some more food for the week anyway.” He looked towards her, smiling hopefully. “You want to come with me?”

“I’ll pass this time,” she said.

“Come on, Pidge,” Lance whined. “It’s still the weekend ; let’s enjoy it!”

“I can’t, Lance,” she said, most of her attention on the device. “I have to finish this soon; I’ve already wasted enough time.”

Lance crossed his arms, heart dropping into his stomach as a fear took hold, but to Pidge he said, “I…get it. Do you want anything?”

“No thanks,” she said.

“Then I’ll see you later.” He went to the door, intent on the errand to clear his head - or maybe for the heavy heat outside to distract him.

“Wait, Lance!” Pidge called from behind him.

Lance glanced over his shoulder and forced a smile. “I don’t think I’ve been wasting my time with you, Pidge,” he said, “even if we don’t have very long.”

Pidge stared at him, wide-eyed, and retorted, “That’s not what I meant . I-It came out wrong - of course I’m not wasting time with you. I just need…to finish this.” She pointed at her device.

“I know,” Lance said, nodding. And he did . “I still need a walk.”

“O-okay,” Pidge agreed after a long, tense pause. “I’ll see you later.”

When Lance returned later with a couple plastic grocery bags hanging from his arm, Pidge’s device was nowhere in sight, and she instead greeted him with a tight hug around his middle. Faint candlelight - he’d forgotten he even owned any candles - illuminated the small apartment, and Pidge said, “I don’t have much experience with romance, but I did some googling and candlelight is apparently very romantic.”

Lance laughed, dropping his bags, but when Pidge tossed him a reproachful look, he raised his hands defensively and reassured her, “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

Pidge snorted but said, “I’m glad.”

“Then what passes for romance in your reality?”

“I don’t know,” Pidge confessed with a frown. “There’s not much room for romance in the middle of a worlds-spanning war, and you’re…” She trailed off, face red.

Lance raised an eyebrow and tightened his hold on her. “What?” he asked. “What am I?”

Pidge scratched her ear and said, “You’re kind of my first love.”

Lance blinked as heat rushed to his own cheeks. He smiled, fumbling for something clever to say like of course or I knew that or why wouldn’t I be? Instead, he said, “Holy—”

Pidge kissed him, something quick and chaste but startling enough to shut him up.

“What was that for?” Lance demanded. “I’m trying to respond to you.”

She laughed and said, “You were taking too long. I was getting nervous.”

“Oh, well, you’re…kind of mine too.” Lance rested his forehead against hers, pushing the thought of any other girl he might’ve had a crush on out of his mind. No, what he felt for Pidge was far stronger, something that filled his chest with warmth when he simply saw her smile. “Maybe we should’ve talked about this sooner?”

“When?” she said, her hands resting on his shoulders. “This is… new .”

“I know,” he said. “I want it to be old too one day.”

Pidge hummed. “You know that means wrinkles?” She pressed her thumb against his forehead.

“You won’t mind, right?”

“That depends.” Pidge licked the pad of her thumb and rubbed leftover ink from his jawline. “Did I cause those wrinkles?”

“With that mess?” He nodded towards the cluttered kitchen table. “You might’ve.”

“You’re definitely giving me a few too,” she teased.

Lance touched her brow with a fingertip. “Because I won’t leave you alone while you’re working?”

“Clearly,” she said. “How else am I supposed to pay to put food on the table?”

He snorted and pointed to the grocery bags. “Between the two of us, I’m the one with a job.”

“There are other ways to get money.” She smirked, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Ah, you did mention that you’re a wanted criminal.” Lance laughed and kissed her forehead, making her giggle.

Somehow they wasted much of the rest of the afternoon talking about a future they wouldn’t have together, a fact that, as time passed, made itself keenly obvious to Lance. With every hypothetical, with every we’ll do it like this , his heart soared almost as much as his stomach twisted itself into anxious knots.

“…and we won’t set our house on fire every time we try to do something romantic,” Lance said as they watched a tendril of smoke rise up from a damp stack of papers.

Pidge laughed, but her hands flew up to cover her ears at the sudden keening of the smoke alarm.

“Hunk just texted to let me know he’s getting back tonight,” Lance said, glancing from his phone to look at Pidge.

She leaned against his side, a controller in her hand while she played through the story in a game he’d already beaten. “Did he have fun with his family?”

“Dunno,” he replied, “but I’ll ask him. You want to meet him tomorrow?”

Pidge frowned at the screen, her thumb furiously jerking the joystick, then said, “Maybe.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her, something in her hesitant tone setting him on edge, and asked, “Were you planning to work more on Rover tomorrow?”

(God, sometimes Lance really hated that device.)

“No,” Pidge admitted quietly.

He inhaled sharply, uncertain what she implied, if anything, by her simple answer, until the device’s absence came to mind. “Pidge,” he said cautiously, “are you finished with Rover?”

“I…yes.”

Lance stared at her, the video game’s sounds fading until he took no notice of them. “Did you test it out already?”

Pidge said, “I-I did while you were gone.”

“How—”

She paused the game, tossed the controller aside, and turned to face him. “I did the calculations,” she explained, “and found my reality without difficulty. After that…” She sighed and hugged herself.

Disappointment torpedoed his heart into his stomach. “Pidge, are you leave—”

“Let’s just enjoy the time we still have,” she interrupted with a slight, very forced smile.

Lance could pretend nothing was wrong, that her departure wasn’t imminent, that one day soon Pidge - his roommate, his friend, his lover - would disappear from his life.

He could, and he would .

Lance grabbed Pidge’s discarded controller and pushed it back into her hands. “Think you can beat my record?”

Her knuckles turned white as her fingers tightened around the controller, but she smirked and bragged, “Without a doubt.”

Pidge refocused on the game, getting further than Lance dared to expect, but he refused to let her win so easily. He poked her in the stomach, and when she only nudged his hand away, it encouraged him to launch his attack.

Lance tickled her sides, fingers sneaking in underneath her raised arms. Pidge gasped, bursting into giggles as she tried to push him away and hold onto the controller at the same time.

“Lance!” she said between breaths. “I’m busy !”

“You cannot win!” he proclaimed dramatically, still tickling her without mercy.

Eventually Pidge dropped the controller, falling backwards onto the sofa and dragging Lance with her. Her grip was strong on the collar of his shirt, and when he landed on top of her she kissed him.

It was sloppy and uncoordinated since Pidge was still laughing when she crashed her lips into his, but it was enough to startle Lance into surrendering.

Lance propped himself up on his elbows and glared down at Pidge. “That was dirty,” he complained.

Pidge ran her hands up and down his sides, making him stiffen, as she smirked up at him. “Look who’s talking,” she said. “Of course I can’t beat your record when you cheat like that.”

“Are you saying you didn’t like it though?” Lance waggled his eyebrows at her.

She snorted and said, “I’ll admit I like this outcome.”

Lance grinned and leaned down to kiss her…but paused when Pidge dug her fingers into his sides. “H-hey!” he said, already laughing. “Pidge, stop that!”

To his surprise, she did, but once he caught his breath she said, “I only stopped because I want to kiss—”

Lance pressed his lips to Pidge’s, heat rushing through his body when she immediately melted. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him down, as she stole his breath away with her enthusiasm.

When they parted, both gasping, Pidge asked, “Does it ever go away?”

“Does what go away?”

“This,” Pidge said, gesturing between them. When Lance only quirked a confused eyebrow at her, a hand slipped up his shirt, resting against his chest right over his racing heart and making him shiver. “Wanting you in…more than one way.”

Lance found her other hand and laced their fingers together. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t like thinking that far ahead.”

“I don’t either,” Pidge admitted, her smile sad enough to fracture Lance’s heart.

She sighed when he kissed her again, but he couldn’t tell if it was unhappy or pleased.

Maybe both, Lance mused once they finally stumbled back to his bedroom.

His alarm woke him Monday morning, a rude disruption of a pleasant dream that he forgot as soon as he opened his eyes.

Lance lay on his back, letting the alarm echo through his bedroom for a long moment, a part of him already knowing what he’d find once he dared look.

No one complained about the piercing sound, no one clung to his back, and no one shifted beside him.

He finally extended an arm to flip the switch on his alarm, leaving his bedroom eerily silent, his own breathing the only thing filling it.

“What the hell was I dreaming about?” he wondered aloud without expecting an answer. He strained to remember, even a single detail or color, but then his eyes caught on a red smudge of ink still left on his right arm. “We were flying.”

He laughed and sat up, unable to recall anything else, but his mind latched onto the idea that he hadn’t dreamed alone, in a bedroom empty of everything but his own thoughts.

Besides the cold bed, the first sign Lance noticed was how clear the floor looked. No clothes strewn about, no loose papers or half-filled notebooks or discarded wires, nothing obvious to indicate that, until this morning, one other person lived in this apartment.

“ God ,” Lance grumbled as he chanced a look at his clock, “I’m going to be late.”

He skipped a shower despite the ink that remained on his arms - he wasn’t sure he wanted it gone anyway - and, though he had no appetite, scarfed down a granola bar on his way out the door.

Work passed in a blur, Lance filling coffee orders mechanically while he wondered yet again why he didn’t simply go home to his family for the whole summer. His smiles felt more forced, but he still managed to plaster one onto his face when thanking customers.

It hadn’t really hit him yet.

After his shift, he met Hunk at the same park that hosted the Fourth of July fireworks. Lance grinned, pleased to see his friend, but it faltered quickly once they stood face-to-face.

Hunk noticed immediately.

“Pidge is gone, isn’t she?” he asked.

Lance stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at the ground between them, the observation making his eyes burn. He sniffed, nodded, and said, “Yeah.”

Hunk pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing him around the shoulders. Lance gladly returned the embrace, and somehow that simple comforting gesture loosened the dam he built to contain his emotions long enough to get through the day.

Lance cried like a child, like he was homesick at space camp again, like his grandmother died, like…

Like his heart broke, cleanly snapping in two with the force of it filling his chest with an unfamiliar ache.

“Let it all out, Lance,” Hunk murmured, rubbing his back. “Don’t be afraid to let it out.”

He inhaled shakily, pulling away to wipe at his nose. For once he didn’t care how he looked to random passersby, and said, “Thanks for understanding, Hunk.”

Hunk rested a hand on his shoulder, still frowning. “You’re heartbroken,” he pointed out.

“That’s not it at all,” Lance scoffed, hating the tremble in his voice. “I just hate Mondays, like the w-wise Garfield said.”

“Right, well.” Hunk’s hand slid down to his back, and he steered Lance towards a park bench. “I’m…surprised by this development.”

Lance sat. “What’s so surprising about it?”

“It was pretty obvious to me that Pidge was in love with you.”

Lance hiccuped and, absurdly, covered his warm face. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “She must’ve had a very good reason to leave, not that it excuses her.” When Lance glanced up at him, he scowled. “I’m angry at her on your behalf.”

Lance snorted, surprised to find himself amused, and said, “She did, and you don’t have to be.”

“Then why did she leave?” Hunk wondered.

Lance sighed. “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Hunk crossed his arms. “Try me then.”

Lance leaned back, hands resting on his thighs. He could just see faint traces of green and red ink leftover on his arms, and the sight of it helped clear his head.

He turned to Hunk and said, “I’m thinking of minoring in physics now.”

Hunk leveled a flat, skeptical look at him and said, “You hate physics.” Then he blinked and demanded, “What does that have to do with Pidge?”

“Wait, here me out,” Lance said, raising a hand. “She…kinda got me interested in it?”

“You don’t say,” Hunk deadpanned.

“And, well…you know the multiverse theory?”

“I’m passingly familiar,” said Hunk. “Wasn’t there a talk from a physicist on that on Friday?”

“Yeah, I told you I was taking Pidge, didn’t I?” Lance said.

“So…?”

“Pidge is from a different reality.”

Lance watched Hunk’s face to assess his reaction, spotting the odd ripples in his forehead as he went from incomprehension to confusion to doubt.

“Lance—”

“She is!” Lance insisted, flailing his arms. “She had this device that looked like a pyramid”—he shaped a triangle with his hands—”and she got stuck here when she went to find her missing father and brother in a totally different reality. And then she needed magic - well, not magic, but something like it - except she had to work her way around it because this reality doesn’t have magic, which is why she wanted to meet Dr. Slav.” Lance inhaled, nearly out of breath thanks to the long spiel. “Anyway,” he continued when Hunk just stared at him with wide eyes, “I know it sounds unbelievable, but it’s true, somehow. I woke up this morning and it was like she’d…never even been there.” Lance rubbed the back of his neck, awareness of the ache in his chest returning.

Hunk took a few seconds to reply:  “Amazingly the most unbelievable thing you said is that you want to minor in physics. You must be really hung up on her.”

“I love her, Hunk,” Lance confessed, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his legs. “And she loves me.” He smiled, that simple thought alone starting to fill the crack in his heart. “For some weird reason, she loves me too.”

“Of course she does,” Hunk said. “You’re a catch, and yet…” He sighed. “So her family’s missing. I guess I can forgive her then.”

Lance laughed. “I’m the victim here, Hunk.”

“Yeah, well, I can be angry and understanding.” Hunk patted his shoulder. “It sounds like you had a whirlwind of a weekend while I was gone.”

Lance ran his fingers through his hair, remembering every time Pidge did the same. “You can…say that,” he said. “We went and saw Dr. Slav, I tried to take her to watch the fireworks but it didn’t quite work out, and…”

Hunk narrowed his eyes at him. “You had sex that night, didn’t you?”

Lance covered his hot face, unwittingly recalling his and Pidge’s clumsy first time, and retorted, “It’s called making love , Hunk.”

“Please,” Hunk said, hands raised when Lance had the courage to look at him, “spare me the details.”

Lance chuckled, then said, “Fine! How was the weekend with your family anyway?”

Hunk’s eyes lit up as he started describing his niece’s latest scientific exploit.

Lance listened to Hunk talk about his family as attentively as he could, but between Pidge’s departure - disappearance, in truth - and his distance from his own family, his thoughts weighed too heavily on him. Exhaustion filled his limbs and his mind, and, for the first time in as long as he could remember, Lance just wanted to be alone.

“I think I’m going to head home,” Lance told Hunk during a lull in the conversation. He smiled slightly as he stood, extending his arms over his head. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Hunk said, standing and engulfing him in another bone-crushing hug.

Lance coughed, rather strangled, and said, “It’s been way too long since I could do that.”

Hunk laughed and let go of him, and Lance waved as he walked away.

No clicking of a computer keyboard or hums of concentration greeted Lance when he opened his apartment door, only silence and a clean kitchen table.

“I almost forgot what this looked like,” Lance muttered, amused despite himself. He ran his fingers over the smooth wood, but then something sitting in the center of the round table caught his attention.

Lance picked up the glasses and the folded pieces of paper they rested on. He stared at the round frames, then unhinged them and slid them onto his face.

“What…?” he said when he saw through them clearly. He took them off, examining them from all angles, and realized they were fake .

He snorted and said, “I guess this means you can afford to leave them, but…” He frowned and wondered if she forgot them or left them on purpose.

Lance carefully clipped Pidge’s glasses in the collar of his shirt, then sat in the chair she’d so often occupied. Between the glasses and the paper in his hands, she felt more real than she had when he’d spoken about her to Hunk.

He unfolded the papers, raising an eyebrow when he picked out the flier from Dr. Slav’s talk at his college, but he smiled when he saw that Pidge left doodles of fireworks in the margin. At the bottom she’d scrawled in her untidy script, “For when you can’t watch the other fireworks anymore.”

Lance set the flier aside and picked up the other sheet, his eyes widening at the sight of a handwritten note on lined paper. “How did you know I’ve always wanted a love letter?” he said, and read:

I already know I’m going to ramble, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.

How dare you, Lance? How dare you make me fall for you and make it so hard to leave? I was supposed to fix Rover quickly and move on, but then you kept distracting me - and I let you - and…I can’t give you all the blame, I guess, since it was mostly the fault of the gaps in my knowledge. I’m so grateful to you for taking me to Slav’s talk, but after that it just got worse .

I know I worked slower towards the end even before meeting Slav, and that hurts to think about, every minute that Dad and Matt are still lost, when I was selfish and tried to stay with you a little longer.

(By the way, that’s not your fault.)

Just so you know leaving you was the hardest thing I ever did. Funny, now I feel like I can do anything, so thanks for the practice.

I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye, but something about last night makes me think you knew at the same time I did. That doesn’t make it anymore excusable, but, well, maybe it would’ve been easier if I’d never told you about my feelings.

Well, no, I don’t believe that. I think the ‘what if’ scenario would’ve driven me crazy and I would’ve spent the rest of my entire life wondering what would’ve happened. And even in that case we would’ve both been heartbroken but without knowing that the other was suffering too.

(God, I sound like a melodramatic teenager from an old pre-war serial. YOU did this to me, Lance.)

Maybe I’ll look for my reality’s version of you when I get home, but I doubt I will. He won’t be you.

Instead, maybe I’ll be selfish again. Maybe I’ll find some way to make Rover more stable and efficient and come back for you. I don’t know what would happen after that though; I can’t think that far ahead. But let me tell you something you don’t know:

Slav told me that there’s a 99 percent chance that everything in both of our realities turns out fine.

I love you, despite the warning signs.

Katie

Lance put the letter down and rested his forehead on the table beside it when he felt the sudden lump in his throat. “Your handwriting,” he told Pidge’s letter, “is awful .” He laughed through the tears, somehow both upset and amused at the same time, and tilted his chair back to stare at the ceiling. “ Despite the warning signs .” He snorted and rubbed his face. “You’re ridiculous , and you’d better come back for me.”

Never mind that Pidge’s family was there, and his here; Lance just wanted to see her again, for however long they’d have. Even a single day, hour, or minute would be enough.

But he would get greedy, selfish , and so would she.

“Who am I kidding?” Lance said with a bitter chuckle. “A lifetime is barely enough.” He unhooked her glasses from his shirt collar and set them on the open letter. “Thanks for the souvenir.” He smirked. “Did you take one with you too?”

He’d meant it as a joke, something to cheer himself up, but his eyes widened when he remembered what of his Pidge used most often.

Lance searched his apartment for his favorite blue sweater, tossing clothes from his closet in a frenzy. His heart pounded wildly as he did, and when he couldn’t find it anywhere - no closet, no drawer, not even in the laundry basket - he sat back on his heels and laughed.

“You did take it. I hope it keeps you warm…or you overheat in it.”

Lance’s phone then vibrated in his pocket. For a second he considered ignoring it, but after checking to see who called, answered as cheerfully as he could, “Hola, Mami.”

“Lance!” his mother said brightly. “How was your weekend with your girlfriend’s family? Was it any better than it would’ve been with your family?”

Pidge’s note immediately came to mind. Everything in both of our realities turns out fine, read the final line.

Lance smiled and told his mother, “Better than I expected. I’m actually sad it ended.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “But I hope we’ll do it again.”