Work Text:
The thing about conquering a tyrannic empire and establishing a peaceful coalition across the knowable universe was that there was a surprisingly large amount of free time.
That’s what got to Lance the most: the downtime.
Downtime gave him the chance to be idle, for his body to get fidgety and his mind to wander. It would drift through distance space, journeying across galaxies to leave long since buried footprints in white sand beaches and to slap hard against a pathway made of hot concrete under a midday sun that led to a brightly painted square building he had always called home. Remind him of all he was now without, and the distance that separated him from reclaiming it as his own.
So Lance got busy.
He started by training more. That had been a good idea on his part, because his aim had never been better and his swordsmanship was slowly improving in skill. He’d even managed to successfully gain some muscle on his perpetually lanky frame for the first time ever. The only problem with it was that there was only so much training a body could physically do in a quintant. He was still left with vargas of unscheduled free time to occupy himself with.
Most of that time was taken up by Official Business: boring meetings that went on way longer than they needed to and confusing strategic sessions where every second word said flew right over his head. Some of it was spent taste-testing creations for Hunk, challenging Keith to races in the pool (once they’d finally figured out how to swim upside down that was), or hunched over a controller, button smashing vigorously in an attempt to beat the next level of Killbot Phantasm I with Pidge.
But that still left enough time for slinking around the Castle without a location in mind. Or laying on his bunk and staring up at his bedroom ceiling, thoughts spiraling, for longer than was preferable.
He needed to find a way to snap out of it. Something to focus his attention on that wasn’t how much he missed home. Something to distract himself with.
-x-
The solution came to him while they were visiting Vashta, a planet consisting almost entirely of the largest library Lance had ever laid eyes on. He’d been walking down one of the endlessly long rows, separated by unmeasurably high shelves of documents, only partially listening to a Nerada (the inhabitants of the planet) explain the technicalities of the facility when it clicked so perfectly in his mind he felt as though a literal lightbulb manifested above his head and came to life at the thought.
“So, you see, while the library holds physical copies of all informational texts of every known galaxy, it also is build upon a system of electronic storage networks. Meaning that any individual connected can access any document in existence via a portable source. For example, your tablets.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Hold up.” Interrupts Lance, holding up a hand to demonstrate his point. He ignores the other four pairs of eyes that have swivelled to look over at him at his outburst and instead focuses his attention on the Nerada. “You’ve got a copy of every document in existence here?”
“Well, yes.” It answers shortly, but not rudely. If anything it sounds enthused by Lance’s inquiries. So he barrels on, hesitating only slightly.
“Like, even from... Earth?”
“Why, yes of course!” Replies the alien. Then it starts moving briskly down the row of shelves, Lance and the other paladins hurrying to keep up with it’s long, fluid-like limbs. Down three more shelves and over two rows it stops abruptly, Lance skidding to a stop right behind it.
“Here we are.” It declares, looking down at Lance with opal-esc orbs covered briefly by two blinking membranes before returning its gaze to the wall of texts surrounding them. “Our Terra section.”
It’s huge, with what looks to be miles upon miles of shelves filled with everything from cook books to language texts to teen romance novels with brightly colored covers featuring hearts and stars.
Lance blinks twice, mouth gaping open. There’s a current buzzing under his skin with uncontainable excitement because this, this right here, is the first piece of Earth he’s found since he travelled through that foreboding wormhole what feels like half a lifetime ago. His fingers tremble slightly, eyes bouncing from one book spine to another, trying to decide where to start.
The Nerada is explaining how to configure his tablet to connect with their networks, but he’s not really paying attention because he’s still too distracted by all the possibilities. And honestly, that sort of technobabble sounds like gibberish to him anyways.
Then the alien, along with the rest of the paladins, continue on their way, leaving Lance behind in the large expanse of the closest thing he’s come to being home in a very long time.
He’s so absorbed in taking in every title he possibly can - the majority of which are not even in a language he can read - that he doesn’t even realize he’s not alone until a sharp elbow jabs into his side. He jumps at the unexpected attack before looking around - and then down - to find Pidge standing beside him. He’s a little surprised to see her lingering around, sure that she’d be completely invested in the Nedara’s tour of the unusual planet. She usually drank up that kind of alien advancement stuff like it was a cool glass of water after a long trek through the desert.
“I can program your tablet to link with the library’s servers if you want.” Offers Pidge, palm open and ready to receive.
A big, easy smile breaks out onto his face at that, uncontainable, and he feels his cheeks flush pleasantly.
“Really? Thanks, Pidge! You’re the best!” Reckless laughter bubbles up in his chest, and he reaches a hand out to ruffle the curls atop her head, pads of his fingers brushing against the soft strands.
She swats his hand away, which is expected, but she does it with slightly more aggression than the action merits, which is not.
“Just hand it here, would you?” She grumbles, and Lance is at a loss. He’s no idea what’s he’s done to cause her sudden change in attitude, but he’s also not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he quickly grabs his tablet from his pocket before passing it over to her awaiting hand.
It only takes a few doboshes for her to configure it properly. She programs it quickly with deft fingers tapping away at the orange tinted screen, brow furrowed and the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she works. It’s an incredibly endearing sight, and it causes a warmth to pool in his gut as he watches her.
Soon enough she’s done, handing back the tablet, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at her lips and a twinkle of accomplishment shining in her brown eyes.
“What would I do without you?” He voices softly, eyes roaming over the tablet to find the new database icon and taking a cursive swipe through the catalogue of titles found there. He doesn’t really mean it seriously, it’s more rhetorical in nature than an actual inquiry, but Pidge answers him anyways.
“I’m sure you’d find a way to manage.” She says, and there’s something in her voice, making it scratchy, that causes Lance to look up from his tablet to regard her. She’s pink cheeked, averting her gaze as she pushes her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose.
“What? Me, without you?” He says incredulously. “I’d be dead in the water.”
She rolls her eyes at that, choosing not to answer. She does bump her side against his later when they’re walking back to try and find out where the rest of their group headed off to though. No words are exchanged, but Lance gets what she means.
-x-
Lance starts by rereading things he remembers from before Voltron. Only that doesn’t go so well because they only serve to make his homesickness even more acute. He eventually decides he’ll have to try reading something new. He likes that idea though, because maybe he’ll even learn a thing or two while he’s at it. Find something that can be his niche so to speak. His area of expertise.
It feels like everyone else has something they’re especially good at - and he doesn’t.
Keith had once told him to leave the math to Pidge, and that made sense. Because Pidge was their technology expert. Hunk had his cuisine and his engineering. Shiro had his leadership. Keith, his fighting ability. Allura, her ancestors’ history and alchemy. They all brought something to the table.
Lance isn’t so certain he has anything to bring to the table. But maybe he could. If everyone else excelled at something, then Lance just had to figure out what was left for him to be good at.
He’s not ashamed to admit he mainly chooses the topic of psychology because there’s the small chance that understanding people better might help him out in the dating department. Maybe if he can figure out what makes these girls tick he can shape himself better to fit that mold. He might even be able to get a girlfriend out of this whole thing.
And if it wound up helping him assist his teammates, well then that would be an added bonus.
So he begins to read. At first he thinks it’s just a lot of gibberish and complicating concepts, but as he continues, he finds himself falling more and more into some sort of vague understanding. It’s then that he starts to notice it everywhere. Patterns and behaviours that always confused him suddenly making sense in light of what he’s been reading.
And that’s when his troubles truly begin.
-x-
“It’s weird seeing you with your nose in a book.” Notes Hunk one morning, voice teasing. “I don’t think you ever cracked one open when we were at Garrison.”
“I didn’t even know you could read.” Adds Pidge, a wicked smile flashing on her face between bites of cereal.
Lance looks up long enough to glare. He retaliates with an attempted kick to her shins beneath the table, but Pidge dodges it easily.
“Yeah, Lance,” says Keith, voice dipping. “You wouldn’t want to fry your brain. I’m not sure it can handle that much information all at once.”
Lance knows he’s being baited, and using the sheer will of God, resists rising to the heckling. Instead, flipping the simulated page displayed on his screen, he replies calmly.
“That’s rich coming from you, Keith. You can’t get a PhD in smashing through things with your fists, you know.”
“I’d be careful, Lance.” Snaps back Keith, easily angered. “Too much sitting around and you’ll get fat.”
“More like he’ll lose all his new muscle and go back to being a stringbean.” Snorts Pidge, piping in, legs swinging beneath her seat.
At that comment, everyone falls silent for a beat. That’s when Pidge realizes what she’s said, her eye widening and feet freezing in their path. It’s then that Lance feels a shit-eating grin spread across his face. He can’t help shooting Pidge a sly look from over his tablet.
“Oho, so you acknowledge that I’ve got gains!”
“What? No-!”
“Wait, what do you mean by 'gains'?”
“You,” Lance says, gesturing to Keith, eyes never leaving Pidge’s as he watches the color crawl up her neck to redden her cheeks. “Hush now. Pidge, go on, tell me more about my rockin’ bod.
“I-I didn’t mean-”
“Mhm, sounds plausible.” Lance cuts in over her stuttering - and ignores it completely. Makes a show of flexing his bicep. “Maybe I should do a shirtless photoshoot. Sell some calendars, what do you think?”
Pidge doesn’t reply. She’s got this pinched look on her face like she’s just swallowed spoiled milk. Except she hasn’t, because Lance just milked Kaltenecker this morning, so he knows that’s not it.
He catches Keith and Hunk rolling their eyes in his peripherals, but his focus is zeroed in on the green paladin and the almost alarming temperature radiating from her face. It’s usually so hard to goad Pidge. Lance is having too much fun to stop now.
“Bet I’m even bigger than Shiro.” He adds. “Lance McClain:” he declares, putting down his tablet to spread his hands out in the air. “The powerhouse paladin of Voltron.”
“What?” Splutters Keith. “There’s no way you’re stronger than Shiro, Lance. He’s like… huge.”
“Yeah, dude,” agrees Hunk. “I’ve got to side with Keith on this one. I didn’t even notice.”
Lance is honestly worried that if Pidge scrunches up her face any more it’s going to get stuck like that permanently.
“Yeah, but Pidge did.” He says smugly, sticking out his chin.
“It was just a slip of the tongue!” Cuts in Pidge, finally getting a word in edgewise. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Is that so?” Counters Lance, raising an eyebrow. He assumes the thinker’s pose with his index and thumb under his chin. “A Freudian slip, perhaps?”
The Altaen goo flies through the air too fast for him to dodge and smacks the side of his face with a wet slap.
Jolting at the unexpected sensation, he blinks dumbfoundedly. He feels as some of it drips into his ear.
His eyes widen as they take in the sight of Pidge sitting across the table from him, Hunk’s bowl of breakfast goo in one hand and upheld spoon in the other.
“Oh, it’s on now, Gunderson!” Cries Lance as he leaps over the breakfast table, hands plunging into the offending bowl to grab fists full of goo and giving chase.
Pidge shrieks humorously before she’s up and moving, trying to out run him. Her efforts are all for naught however, because Lance’s longer strides quickly close the distance between them and he manages to easily corner her against the wall. Using one hand to trap her there, he shoves the other into her face, covering it in the green jelly.
“Ha!” He gloats. “Now we’re even.”
Pidge grunts, spitting some stray goo out of her mouth and moving to grab onto his shirt. Lance freezes, breathing becoming shallow even though he’s practically panting from the previous bout of exertion as he watches the shorter hold onto the material and slowly wipe her face off with it.
“There,” she hums in a pleased tone. “Now we’re even.”
She’s grinning up at him with a cheeky smile. One that causes him to go slack jawed before shaking his head, his lips moving unconsciously to mirror it. She’s still got a bit of goo caught along her hairline, and he feels like he should let her know; but for some reason his voice isn’t working properly, throat too dry.
“Get a room, you two!” Shouts Hunk, hands cupped around his mouth.
Lance jumps at the unexpected noise - having forgotten the other two paladins were even in the room - and turns to flip Hunk the bird.
“Thanks, but don’t need it.” He shoots back.
“Yeah,” comes Pidge’s voice, and it’s so sharp it could cut glass. Lance whips his head back around to find her glaring over at Hunk. Blinks in surprise at the sudden change in her demeanor. “Shut up, Hunk.”
She’s got an angry flush to her cheeks again and she’s looking everywhere but at Lance aside from the few furtive looks she shoots his way as if she can’t help it. He wants to say something, anything, to cheer her back up. But when he opens his mouth nothing comes out.
Before he has a chance to say anything more Coran is rushing in, hurrying them all to clean up their breakfast and head down to the bridge as quickly as they can at Allura’s request.
For the rest of the quintant it seems like Pidge is avoiding him, and he never gets a chance to finally ask her what was bothering her. Eventually he concedes and drops the matter altogether. Tries furtively to keep the thoughts of concern from lingering around in his mind.
-x-
Space had adventure, intrigue, and glory. And those were all good, don’t get him wrong.
But space didn’t have a view of the sun rising over the Varadero coastline like his childhood bedroom did. Didn’t have the sound of his Abuela singing quietly while sitting out on their porch. Or the swell in his chest that he’d felt when his father sat him down to tell him how proud of him he was for making it into Garrison.
Still, Voltron had the sight of hundreds upon thousand of stars falling outside a window lit up in the soft glow of red. Had Hunk’s surprisingly good cuisine that somehow still managed to remind him of home. And that funny twist in his gut he got when Pidge laughed so hard at one of his jokes milk snorted out of her nose.
So maybe it wasn’t all that bad.
-x-
Lance had always liked the idea of romance.
His oldest sister Maria had been with her boyfriend - now husband - Chad for as long as he can remember, and they’d always just seemed so happy together. Even more so now that they had Silvia and Dominique. Lance had seen them back then and thought, huh, one day I’ll get a girlfriend and be just like that too.
He grew up in a large family, and so there was always someone going on about their relationship woes, and Lance loved it. He was the youngest, by a large gap in years, and so he often found himself feeling alone, separated from his other siblings who were more close in age. But talking about relationships brought them all together, and Lance savored every minute of it.
He’d listen with baited breath as Gabriella told stories about all the drama at the high school the rest of them attended while he was in middle school. Laughed raucously at the play-by-play of Luis’s failed attempt to ask out Samantha Perez at the Spring Dance. Sympathized loudly with Veronica’s complaints about there not being enough out girls in their school for her to date.
Before Maria moved out and Marco took over her old room, him, Luis and Lance all shared a room together, and Lance used to love listening to the two of them tease each other mercilessly over their crushes. Lance made sure to participate as much as he could, waxing poetically about any beautiful girl who caught his eye and claiming certainty that she was to be his one true love. A habit that he never really grew out of.
He knew most of the time he wasn’t taken seriously; by his family, by his friends, or by the girls he liked. But that was okay, mostly anyways.
He’d seen his siblings get shot down plenty of times and pick themselves up countless more. Still finding themselves in new relationships later on. So he did the same.
Eventually he’d find himself a girlfriend. And they’d fall in love. And she’d be perfect.
He remembers one time coming home from school to find his brothers - both of whom had a free period beforehand - huddled on Luis’s bed, hunched around a glossy magazine with scantily clad women on the cover winking back at them.
“Where’d you get that?” Lance can’t help asking as he drops his backpack by the door of the bedroom and making his way over to where his brothers were congregated to sneak a peek over Marco’s shoulder.
“Nicked it from Ronnie’s room,” says Luis, lifting the magazine up to show Lance.
“Now that’s what I call a woman.” Breathes Marco as he flips through the pages, each one featuring shots of different women with large boobs and big butts, pouty lips and heavy-lidded eyes. “Can you imagine being with a girl like that?”
“Can I ever,” mutters Luis, voice sounding forlorn as his eyes track the spread of models in their suggestive poses.
“Totally,” Lance feels the need to agree, piping in at the last minute, his gaze trailed on the flipping pages before him.
One day he promises himself he’ll get a girlfriend, and she’d look just like the girls in that magazine. With a curvy body and long legs, and when she looked at him it’d be with sultry smiles and bedroom eyes. She’d be pretty, and strong, and smart, and most importantly: she’d think he was incredible.
The only thing was that lately he hadn’t been thinking about girls in that way. At least, not like he had been before anyways.
When his mind began to drift off in that direction he wouldn’t picture nameless, faceless women with gorgeous bodies and silky voices singing his praises. Instead he’d find himself reliving memories that didn’t even make sense given the context. The way they caused a buzzing under his skin, a tight gripping in his chest, a heat pooling in his abdomen.
The image of Pidge, laughing at his jokes, head tilted back, mouth wide and eyes closed. The secretive smile she’d shoot him, warm and commiserative, when their gazes would meet over the boardroom table at long-winded peace talk meetings. The way her eyes would brighten, a twinkle of uncontained excitement catching the light as she demonstrated her latest discovery in a hurried manner, her thoughts racing ahead of her. Her feet, smacking him upside the head in retaliation for him beating her in a round of PvP on the Mercury Gameflux II.
And it’s not as if he had a foot fetish or anything. It was just… Pidge.
There was something about her that just stuck. And try as he might, Lance couldn’t seem to get her unstuck.
So he settled in, allowing thoughts of wide brown eyes behind round spectacles, an upturned nose littered with faint freckles and the hint of a barely contained lighthearted grin to flit through his mind unencumbered.
-x-
“Hey, Lance.”
“Lance!”
“LANCE!” Shouts a voice, warm breath hot against Lance’s ear as the headphones he had been wearing are unceremoniously snatched from his head.
“Wha-?! Oh, hey, Pidge.” He greets after jolting up in surprise and swivelling in his desk chair to face the unexpected intruder. “What’s up?”
The song he’d just been listening to is still cranked up to its full volume, and the sounds of a croaning voice over strumming guitars and cymbals crashing can be heard filtering out from where Pidge holds up the offending - technically her’s - device.
She’s got one hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised as she looks down at his setup: currently lounging in his room, feet propped up on his desk and hands tucked behind his head as he leans back in his chair.
“Listening to music that loud is going to overstimulate the hair cells in your cochlea causing acute oxidative cell death, you know.” Are the first words out of her mouth when she meets Lance’s gaze, tone judgmental.
“English, Pidge,” Lance intones, not impatiently.
“You’re going to go deaf if you keep listening to your music that loud.” She elaborates, shaking the pair of headphones to drive home her point.
She looks a little manic as she does it, but Lance can’t help cracking a smile at the display. There’s something comforting about Pidge when she goes into a state like that.
“Aw, Pidge. Could you be worried about little ol’ me?” Asks Lance, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“Wha-?!” Splutters Pidge, a dusting of pink coloring her cheeks. “That’s not- I just-!”
“Careful, Pidge.” Warns Lance, wagging a finger in her face. Her eyes cross trying to follow it’s movement. “Keep this up and I’ll start to think you care.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she replies, batting his hand away with a pout.
“Not sure I can help that.” He jokes half-heartedly, cracking a weak smile. He’s trying this new approach of leaning into the self-deprecation and he’s not sure if he’s quite mastered it yet.
Pidge just watches him for a noticeable time before rolling her eyes. He can practically hear her reprimand in his head. You’re not stupid, stupid!
She doesn’t say anything though, and they stay like that, the ticks passing by slowly.
“Okay, then,” says Lance, breaking the long, heavy silence and rubbing his hands together. “What’s it you needed me for?”
“Oh, right!” She says, straightening slightly. “This,” she explains, pulling out a cylindrical tube made of Altaen tech.
Each end of the tube is covered in a lightweight metal of some sort, the rest of it made up of clear glass. Lance catches sight of what looks to be a thick liquid glowing bright purple and bobbing up and down suspended inside the glass container.
He leans in, eyes squinting as he observes it. He has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to be looking at, but he tries anyways.
“Isn’t it cool?” Asks Pidge, barreling on without giving him time to answer. “Green and I stumbled across it when we were passing through the Balto Nebula. I’ve run some tests, and based on its properties I think it’s core might be made up of a quintessence-like alkaline that when in contact with…”
And with that she’s off, voice rattling off scientific jargon as if it’s going out of style and picking up speed with every word as if each one is racing to escape her mouth as quickly as it possibly can. Lance catches maybe every third word that tumbles out and comprehends even less of them.
Leaning his head on a fist, elbow resting on his desk, he can’t help the smile that pulls gently on the corner of his lips as he regards her. Excited energy bubbling out of her small frame as she prattles on. Weight on the balls of her feet as she bounces around and rotates the cylinder in her hands. A gleam of well-earned pride glittering in her eyes, her cheeks flushed brilliantly.
There’s a tight gripping in his chest that makes it a little hard to breath as she continues. A heat spreading through his insides that warms him all over. He feels like butter dropped onto a hot pan, all melty.
Her effect on him like a Pavlovian response at this point, unavoidable. He’s pretty sure just the mere mention of scientific analysis would get him going at this point.
“...and in that way act as a general antagonist on any kind of humanoid central nervous system.”
“Huh?” Asks Lance when he realizes she’s done talking. Sitting up straight, he swipes his thumb along the corner of his mouth to catch the drool that’s somehow managed to find its way onto his cheek.
“With a little bit of tweaking I should be able to fashion it into a knockout gas.” She explains, a sly look of accomplishment alighting her features.
“What, really?” Blurts Lance, practically jumping in exhilaration. His heart’s about to leap out of his chest. “Pidge - that’s incredible! You’re incredible!”
“Yeah,” she says, her ears turning a deep red. She looks away to adjust her glasses. “It is pretty cool.”
Lance wants to grab her by the waist and twirl her around the room in excitement, but he quells the urge. He doubts she’d be too impressed with him if he did that anyways. He makes due with tapping out an uneven rhythm with idle fingers on his arms instead. His knees bounce uncontrollably.
When she finally looks back at him her expression has soften out to a quiet smile. “Thanks, Lance.”
“For what?”
“Listening,” she replies, waving a hand in the air. “To me, rambling on.”
For not making fun of me for doing so. He hears her silently add.
Lance doesn’t really think that he merits much in the way of thanks for that though. Honestly, he doesn’t know why Pidge always chooses to talk to him about her scientific exploits at all. He’s certain there are other people available who’d be just as willing to lend an ear and even more understanding of the content spoken about than he could ever be.
But when he says as much to Pidge she just shrugs her shoulders. “That’s kind of the point,” she says, as if it’s obvious.
Lance has no idea what “point” that might be. He lets it go though, instead asking her if she wants to play a few rounds of PvP on the Gameflux with him. She shakes her head in reply.
“I’d like to,” she admits. “But I’d better get back to monitoring this specimen. I’m trying to keep the cryotank’s system stable to prevent any unintended deviations in my outcomes.”
And it’s then, with Pidge holding the cryotank up to her eyes, glasses squished up on her nose as she squints into the cylindrical tube, the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth - a not particularly unusual sight - that it finally clicks into place.
The realization of how deep seated his feelings for the girl standing before him are strikes him like finding out that the crust of Nexela is made almost entirely out of hexamite: explosive. But it’s also similar to Nexela in the way that absolutely nothing changes given that moment of revelation.
Space is still vast and endless. Stars are still being born and dying simultaneously within its expanse. And occupying a small speck of that infinite greatness, Lance McClain is in love with Katie “Pidge Gunderson” Holt.
And it doesn’t feel like a fleeting fancy, the type he’s entertained many a time before. No, Lance worries that he might be in it for the long haul. He doesn’t think he’ll be getting over the girl standing before him anytime soon.
It’s a little scary, to be honest. The weight of his emotions sitting heavy in his chest. This isn’t the type of love that can easily be brushed aside with a flirtatious wink and sardonic smile.
And while the descent may have been slow and steady, creeping upon him like an inevitability, the realization of such is not. It pounces on him unexpectedly, leaving him reeling in shock and unsure of what to do next.
The cognitive dissonance that had been simmering beneath his skin finally coming to a boil.
“Alright. Well, I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Huh?” Says Lance, shaking his head to clear it. The words spoken aloud snapping him out of his reverie abruptly.
He looks up to see Pidge in the act of waving him off as she makes her way to his door. “Yeah, of course. See you ‘round, Pidge.”
There must be something telling in his voice - how could there not be after all this? - because she shoots him an odd look from over her shoulder. His heart stops as he thinks she must have figured it out, figured him all out. But a moment later she lets whatever it was that was on her mind go, offering up a one-shoulder shrug before turning the corner, out of sight.
-x-
“Oh, nuh uh,” says Pidge when she sees Lance pull the telltale white plastic container out from his bedside drawer. “No way.”
“What? Come on, Pidge!” Complains Lance, shaking the container, eyebrows raised expectantly. “You should be grateful I’m willing to share. I’ve only got a little bit left, you know!”
“Keep it.” She says, voice monotone, expression flat.
“Aw, Pidddgggge!” Whines Lance, extending the middle syllabus of her name until she turns back around from the projection where Killbot Phantasm I’s start screen is flashing impatiently to face him. “Don’t be like that.”
“I am not putting that… gunk on my face.”
“It’s not gunk. It’s a face mask made of an antioxidant blend infused with cucumber and aloe extract. It’s great at minimizing pores!”
Pidge proves unconvinced if the skeptical look she shoots his way is any indicator.
“But, Pidge! If we don’t do this sort of stuff it’s just like any other night. The whole point of having a sleepover is to do stuff like this!”
“First of all, space doesn’t have nights.” Replies Pidge, ticking the points off on her fingers. “Secondly, who says that’s what has to be done at sleepovers? I don’t remember Matt ever doing anything like this with his friends when they used to stay over.”
“That’s because your brother’s a stick in the mud like you.” Retorts Lance.
“He is not!” Growls Pidge, her grip on the control tightening until her knuckles turn white.
Okay, so maybe insulting the older sibling wasn’t winning him any favors here. He tries a different tactic.
“And my sisters, that’s who. They’d always do stuff like this when they had sleepovers. Somehow I always got dragged into it. I think they had fun fooling around with me because I was the baby of the family.” He explains, voice doing a little dip at the end. Melancholy tinging the reminiscent words.
“Oh,” says Pidge, quieter now. She pauses to observe him before continuing on.
“What about your brothers? What would they do at sleepovers?”
Lance cracks a wicked smile. “Read nudie mags.”
“Wha-?! LANCE!” Gasps Pidge, face flushing vibrantly. She throws one of the pillows scattered on the floor - from their sloppy efforts to construct a blanket fort earlier - at him, but he easily deflects it, laughing.
“What? You asked!”
“Well- I didn’t think- ugh!” She stutters before throwing her hands up and groaning in defeat.
“Mhm,” he hums as he comes to sit beside her on the cushioned floor of his bedroom. “That’s what I thought.”
A few doboshes pass in comfortable silence before Pidge speaks again.
“Yeah, I’m still not convinced on the whole ‘face mask’ thing.” She says, hugging a pillow to her chest.
“Is that so,” says Lance, leaning back on his arms. He sneaks a peek at her from the corner of his eyes, a devilish grin lighting up his features. “Well, then I guess I’ll have to persuade you… by force!”
He raises his voice on the last two words before swiping at the girl beside him, who makes a noise caught between a shriek and a laugh before using her well-toned battlefield perception to dodge his attack and scuttle away on hands and knees. Only, Lance’s room is relatively small, and currently covered under piles of strewn blankets and pillows, so she doesn’t manage to get far.
A few breathless ticks later she’s caught, back landing on the cushioned floor with a soft thump, body pinned beneath his as he hovers above her. His hands grip her wrists in place, knees trapping her legs as they bracket her hips. He watches, heart feeling as though it’s both speeding up and stopping entirely, as she throws her head back and laughs, the lenses of her glasses catching the array of colorful lights that twinkle around them.
Her body shifts slightly, thighs sliding along his, and it’s then that he realizes the position that they’re in. Her hips are rotated open, her baggy shorts following the gravitational pull to slip down and expose the soft flesh of her thighs that brush along his clothed ones. The skin there looks pale bar a few freckles, untouched. It doesn’t seem to matter that his jeans separate their bare skin from actually making contact, because his flesh burns under the encumbered feel of them nonetheless.
And her face is right there. Nose just a hair's breadth away from his, lips only slightly further. He watches as her eyes travel from his own to settle on his mouth, a tongue darting out to moisten chapped lips.
The only sound he registers is the frantic beating of his heart as it pounds loudly in his ears. A soft whisper of his name as brown eyes look up to meet blue ones.
Quiznack.
Just because he slept through chemistry doesn’t mean he slept through biology, and Lance knows that if he stays like this for much longer he’ll pop the most obvious boner of his life and maybe do something stupid. Like make a confession he hasn’t thought through yet or find out exactly how chapped lips taste.
“I- uh- I got to go!” Blurts out Lance as he jumps up abruptly, feeling white hot heat explode across his face.
It only takes two steps before he’s standing in the doorway, looking anywhere but at Pidge, still sprawled out on his floor with a confused look on her face, when he realizes that this is his room and he doesn’t exactly have a good excuse to go anywhere.
“I forgot to grab the, uh...” He tries to explain before giving up midway and dashing out the room without finishing his sentence. Leaving Pidge alone to blink dumbfoundedly at the space he only just occupied.
Okay, Lance. He tells himself as he makes his way down the brightly lit corridors of the Castle. This is no big deal. So you got a crush on your best friend. That’s totally fine. Just do what you always do.
Except he can’t do what he always does. Because, for one, this is completely new territory, and two, this is Pidge.
He can’t just use the first pick-up line that comes into his head. Hell, he doesn’t think he can even use a pick-up line at all in this situation!
Pick-up lines are all well and good when there’s no pressure for them to work successfully. But getting rejected from Pidge is completely different than getting turned down by any of the other girls he’s ever asked out. If another girl turned him down then whatever, he’d be bummed about it for a day or two, and then he’d get over it.
If Pidge rejected him that would mean losing everything - his teammate, his confidant, his… best friend.
It would mean the end of adventuring around during downtime to discover unexplored parts of the Castle. Getting up to no good conducting meaningless experiments just for the fun of it. The end of late-night raids to make milkshakes and taking them up to the bridge to gaze at the stars while reminiscing about far away places they might never see again. It would mean Lance losing the one person who actually listened to him and took him seriously when he spoke.
Lance can’t fathom why it took him so long to realize how he felt about her, to realize that he loved her. Because of course he did: she was the most important person in his life as a paladin of Voltron.
Which meant he couldn’t mess this up.
“Ouch!”
He only realizes he’s wandered into the kitchen after he bumps his elbow on the island in the middle of it - the corner of the counter at the perfect height for knocking into, of course. Inspiration striking, he quickly gets to work before rushing down the corridors he’s only just meandered through to burst back into his own bedroom.
He’s somewhat surprised to find Pidge still there, sitting on the floor, head tucked into a pillow that she holds tightly to her chest.
“There you are,” he says, making absolutely no sense whatsoever since he was the one who’d fled like the awkward and inexperienced teenager he completely is.
“Hey, Lance,” she answers quietly into the pillow. She won’t look up at him and there’s a telltale burst of red blooming along her cheekbones making her freckles pop under the dim lights of his bedroom.
He really has to fix this - and fast. Or risk losing it all.
“Here,” he says, holding out the milkshake he’d just made for her. Condensation dripping from the glass onto his sweaty palm. “I thought you might be thirsty.”
“Oh,” she says, voice turning surprised as she looks up, eyes finally meeting his for what feels like the first time in forever.
She takes it gingerly from him, waiting until he’s seated cross-legged beside her to take a loud slurp.
“It’s good.” She admits softly. “Thanks, you didn’t have to.”
“Nah,” he breathes, gaze heavy as he watches her. A tight gripping in his chest. “But for you Pidge? I’d do anything.”
-x-
He’s pretty sure Pidge is avoiding him. Or he’s avoiding Pidge. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
Either way, it doesn’t really matter since the outcome is the same.
Neither one of them has spoken to each other outside of official meetings or designated training sessions for long enough that the rift between them is becoming noticeable to the others and everyone else has started picking up on it. Even Keith, which is saying something in and of itself since Keith notices practically nothing when it comes to other people’s behaviours.
“Man, what is up with you two?” He asks Lance pointedly as he places down a crate, whipping his hands on his thighs as he stands back up.
The two of them are on cargo duty, meaning that it’s their job to move all the new materials they’ve picked up from their time with the allied planets that were feeling particularly generous. It usually involves a lot of heavy lifting, and when paired with Keith, not a lot of conversation. However, it seems like his relationship with Pidge isn’t the only thing backwards today.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Replies Lance, voice smooth as caramel, feinting ignorance like it’s his second nature. Slipping easily into the performative skin that felt more worn in to him than his real self hidden underneath it.
“Don’t give me that, Lance.”
Lance blinks once, twice. Reeling at the tone Keith’s just taken with him.
It’s not as though he’s not used to having the odd spat with Keith every so often - it was a commonplace enough occurrence. But Keith had never sounded so… harsh with him before.
“What is your problem, man?” Spits Lance, defenses raised.
“You’re my problem! This whole act- or whatever- is my problem!” Shouts Keith gesturing at Lance from across the vast storage locker.
“What is that even supposed to mean?!” Cries Lance, slamming his crate down in front of him to throw his hands up in the air. His movements are stitled, anger pulsing through his veins as he breathes heavily, eyes narrowed and shoulders raised as he stares down the other teen.
“It means I know you’re lying to me, Lance!” Keith’s booming voice easily travelling across the large, empty space surrounding them. “I know you think you’re all slick about it, but you’re actually a pretty bad liar, you know.”
The accusation echoes harshly throughout the empty storage locker. Lance can only stand there as the words hit him over and over again, striking hard and direct. The damage left from their impact already irreversible even as the words finally fade away to silence. He feels as his fingers tremble, a lot more than just egotistical pride on the line.
“So you can just stop, okay?” Continues Keith, voice quieting as he continues, rage lessening as he takes a step forward. Chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath from all the shouting.
“Fine, whatever.” Replies Lance, tone clipped. He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Good.” Snaps back Keith, just as short.
They stay like that, watching each other, each standing their ground for long, silent doboshes before Keith relents, and with a sigh, rolls of his eyes and sits himself down on a crate. A moment later Lance does the same.
“Look, there’s something going on between you and… Pidge.” Keith manages to get out from between clenched teeth, obviously flustered. Lance has no sympathy for the other teen however - it’d been his genius idea for them to have this heart-to-heart in the first place. If their shouting match could even be called that.
“No offense, man.” Lance says, tongue clicking against his teeth. Arms crossed tightly over his chest. “But that’s not really any of your business.”
“Normally I’d agree with you,” says Keith, looking down, sweaty bangs falling to cover his eyes. “But if there’s something going on between paladins it could affect Voltron as a whole. We can’t keep fighting among ourselves anymore.”
Lance is arguing back before he can even think to stop himself. “We’re not fighting! It’s…” He trails off, catching himself. “More complicated than that.”
“Oh,” is all Keith says in reply. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself before adding, “does it have something to do with, you know, the crush?”
Lance blinks back in utter surprise. He never would have guessed in a thousand deca-phoebs that Keith would have been the one to figure out Lance’s feelings for Pidge. Or that he’d be sitting here, willingly talking to Lance about them.
He wonders when Keith had begun to act like the leader they had all - some perhaps unwillingly (alright, so maybe that had just been Lance) - expected him to become.
Lance puffs up his cheeks before letting out a large gust of air through pursed lips. “Yeah, it has something to do with that.”
Keith grimaces and Lance can’t help mirroring the expression. Quiznack, this is awkward. Neither one of them are especially good at talking out their feelings it seems. They aren’t too shabby when it comes to wielding their bayards at each other’s throats. But this? Not so much.
“I’m honestly kind of surprised you picked up on that.” Admits Lance, looking down at his feet. Fiddles with his fingers as he feels the telltale heat of a flush begin to creep up his collar.
“I mean, I didn’t right away.” Explains Keith, voice surprising calm. “But after awhile it was kind of hard to miss. Not exactly subtle, you know?”
“Yeah,” sighs Lance, shoulders slumping. “I guess not.”
Lance’s heart sinks at that revelation. Because if Keith thought it was obvious, then there was an extremely likely chance everyone else had noticed it too. Especially Pidge - she was the most observant of them all, afterall.
Quiznack. It seems like there really was no place left for him to hide.
“Like, how she always lights up when you’re around. Except when she gets irrationally jealous after she catches you flirting with someone. Even though I noticed you haven’t really been doing that as much as of late. And-”
“Wait! What?” Cries Lance, practically jumping out of his seat as his thoughts - which had only a moment before been racing at top speed - trip over Keith’s words and come to an abrupt halt, completely scattered. “What are you talking about?”
“Pidge’s crush on you,” replies Keith. “Isn’t that what’s caused the rift between you two?”
“Hold up. You think Pidge has a crush on me?”
“Well, yeah. What did you think I was talking about?”
“I thought- But why would she have a crush on me? I mean, I’m worth like... nothing compared to her."
“Lance,” Keith says, voice soft. Lance realizes a moment too late what he’s just let slip before hastily making to cover it up.
“Nevermind, ignore that last part. I’m Loverboy Lance, the sharpshooting paladin of Voltron. Of course she’d be into me. Who wouldn’t?”
“Lance,” repeats Keith, this time a little more exasperated.
“It would totally make sense- If she did, I mean! But she doesn’t! Right? Or… does she?”
“You really have to ask?”
“I don’t know!” Cries Lance, running a hand through his hair, pulling on the short strands. His leg starts bouncing insistently. “I mean, how am I even supposed to look for that sort of thing?”
Keith’s face goes beet red at that. “Well, I don’t know! There are signs, aren’t there?”
“What signs?” Askes Lance, heart pounding erratically in his chest.
“Oh, you know,” says Keith, gesturing vaguely. “The stuff that she does and says, I guess.”
“Wow,” deadpans Lance, eyebrows lowering to glower back at him. “Thanks, Keith. That was super informative.”
The other teen splutters for a few ticks before shouting, “you know I’m not good at this stuff!”
“Well, you were the one who wanted to bring it up!”
“Yeah! But only because you’ve been acting all weird around Pidge and then all mopey without her around. It’s throwing everyone off! It’s like you’re-”
Keith cuts himself off abruptly, eyes going wide with unspoken realization.
“Like what?” Questions Lance, frustrated at being left out; on edge and vulnerable.
“Like you’re lovesick.” Admits Keith after a pause.
Lance looks away, swallowing hard. Feels agitated energy pulsing through his veins, bubbling under his skin as tries to keep his self-consciousness at bay after being stripped bare by three simple words.
Now wasn’t the time or place for this. Lance had barely come to terms with these feelings himself - he wasn’t ready to share them with just anyone yet.
“Right,” he says after a long pause. “We should get back to work. These crates aren’t going to stack themselves.”
And with that he turns his back on Keith - perhaps a little too abruptly - to pick back up the box he had let fall from his arms not mere dobashes ago. It feels like a lifetime has passed him by in the blink of an eye. The weight of their conversation sitting heavier on his chest than any of the crates he lifts that day.
-x-
Lance is the one to try making amends between the two of them. That is, if swallowing his pride and bashfully challenging Pidge to a few rounds of PvP on the Gameflux while steadfastly ignoring the tension that lingers between them counts as a making of amends.
Lance isn’t so sure that it does. But Pidge agrees easily enough, so he figures it’s alright in the end.
In preparation, Lance moves the game console to the common area all the paladins share. It makes his stomach twist a little at the prospect of giving up his secure hold on the gaming device - growing up with siblings has taught him firsthand how to hoard things like a pro, lest he lose them - but he does it anyways for the greater good of getting back on good terms with Pidge.
The common area is neutral territory. Lance’s bedroom is… not. And it’s not like he wants the events of the last time they were there hanging over their heads now.
No, he thinks, it might be time to loosen up the unrelenting hold he grips so tightly onto certain things with. He can’t go on keeping it all tucked away, close to his chest, where no one else can ever hope to find it. Not now that it has begun pounding insistently against his ribcage, threatening to break free from it’s confinements.
The couch in the common area is way larger than anything in Lance’s room, and they make use of the additional space by each pressing themselves up against the armrests and as far away as physically possible from one another. The space between them so heavy and dense that when Lance contemplates traversing it he starts to feel like that one time he’d gotten caught in a surprise undertow while out surfing with Luis and Gabriella. Breath stolen harshly, innards all in a twisted mess and adrenaline pumping through his veins like a runaway train.
Their avatars fight each other on the large projected screen in front of them, but the true battle takes place elsewhere. In the distance separating their bodies; the stiffness they hold themselves with; the way their eyes won’t quite meet each others.
Lance can’t help over-analyzing every action of Pidge’s. Playing every word she speaks over and over again in his head; twisting each one around to examine from every angle. Trying to find the secrets they hide that everyone else seems to have already picked up on.
He’s acutely aware of every shift in her weight as she squirms, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable on the squeaky cushioned seat, her back ramrod straight. His heart stumbling over itself every time she glances over at him - briefly, but inevitably - whenever it seems as though he’s not paying her any mind (even though he always is).
Even as he hurriedly smashes the buttons on his controller, his pixelated avatar fighting for it’s life onscreen, his focus is directed solely on the girl sitting across from him. Looking for clues, subtle hints that might manage to give him answers to the thoughts and worries and potential possibilities that had been swirling endlessly through his mind at all waking vargas as of late, constant and unavoidable.
Any signs of evidence to prove what Keith had claimed was true or false.
Now that the practically impossible chance of Pidge liking him back was a possibility, well, he didn’t want to stop until he knew for sure one way or another.
Lance was supposed to be good at this sort of thing after all, wasn’t he? He was the “people person” of their little group. The one known for his charm. Being a right-hand man was literally in his job description. He was called Loverboy Lance, for crying out loud!
So how had Keith, who arguably had the social skills of an intergalactic snail, managed to pick up on something that had evaded Lance so thoroughly? Why was he the only one blind to what appeared to be so evident to everyone else.
So he kept his eyes peeled, trained on the girl before him. Looking for the evidence that belied whether she had feelings for him that surpassed that of simple comradery.
But the problem with his trying to observe how Pidge behaved around him was that the mere act of observation inherently altered the behaviour in question. He knew because he’d read a book about it: the Hawthorne effect.
It meant that while Lance was eyeing Pidge, Pidge was eyeing Lance right back. That the two of them were mirroring each other, cautiously side-eyeing one another, leaning in closer. Their bodies like magnets, the distance between them quickly decreasing; a silent challenge, easily taken, of who would crack first under the steadily growing anticipation.
And then suddenly Lance wasn’t watching Pidge from the corner of his eye anymore, but looking directly into her own up close and personal. He wasn’t sitting across the couch from her any longer, but instead with his side pressed flush against hers, head tilted down slightly to see her. Their noses practically touching, widened eyes roaming all over. Twin heartbeats racing loudly as their minds lagged behind them, trying to make sense of what was unravelling in front of them.
The video game they’d been playing all but forgotten in favor of the unspoken dare hanging between them.
Everything else falling out of focus, no longer relevant. Lance’s peripherals dulled; his perception overcome by the feeling of flushed skin being pressed so assuredly against his own. That twinkle in her brown eyes a provocation as they travel slowly over him to linger on his mouth. Sizing him up as if he were a new equation that needed solving. The determination in her gaze that told him she absolutely could.
And she would, of course she would. Pidge had effortlessly solved equations much more complicated than Lance before.
Her calculating eyes stripping him bare and leaving him with nowhere left to hide.
What with the way they were leaning in so close - heavy breathing intermixed, heartbeats in sync - it wouldn’t be hard for her to notice the shallowness of his erratic inhales, the quickening of his pulse, the telltale flush to his cheeks.
There was vulnerability in proximity, and Lance had never been more keenly aware of it.
The soft skin of her arms and thighs burned impressions into his own; anticipation rising as their bodies pressed together from shoulders to toes.
But that was the point after all, wasn’t it? Lance could go toe-to-toe with this girl forever.
“Lance,” breathes Pidge, voice no louder than a whisper. The words spoken into the hair’s breadth separating them. “What are you doing?”
His eyes waver, taking the way her hair, wavy and untamed, looks as though she’s just gotten home from spending the day sailing over the ocean. How the freckles that rest on the bridge of her nose escape across her cheekbones to linger near her temples. How he can’t get the sight of either out of his head. How it feels like they’re circling an inevitability that they’ve been avoiding for much too long.
How her breath hitches when he leans in infinitesimally closer.
“This,” he says before moving to cup her jaw in his palms, long fingers resting against the tender skin of her temples and pulling her to him. Eyes falling closed as he tilts her head, angling her lips to brush lightly against his own before pressing in again more firmly.
But Pidge doesn’t react to it. At all.
She’s not kissing him back, or shoving him away - or even punching him in the groin in retaliation like he had kind of expected from the feisty paladin. Nothing. She’s frozen still, unmoving.
A wave of anxiety crashes over Lance like a tsunami at the realization of what he has just done. He pulls back abruptly.
“Sorry,” he rushes to say, voice still breathless, words a jumbled mess. “I shouldn’t have done-”
Which is when Pidge pounces on him. Literally.
Throwing her entire weight onto him, arms wrapped around his neck and legs encasing his hips, she sits herself unceremoniously in his lap. Her lips find his as she begins to kiss him back in enthusiastic earnesty. And, oh, this is so, so much better.
It’s her first kiss. That much is obvious, because she’s biting and sucking a little too harshly, and it’s messy and uncoordinated like all inexperienced kisses are. But that’s okay, because Lance doesn’t really mind having slightly swollen lips in the morning if it means they get to stay as they are, his mouth pressed against hers.
His hold on her is steady as his hands begin to wander. Fingers heavy as they slide down her back, slipping beneath her sweater to brush against the sensitive skin of her sides before traveling higher. Feels as her body trembles beneath his touch as he mouths a hot, wet trail from the corner of her lips to the shell of her ear. Nips at it lightly when he gets there and is rewarded with a soft gasp that sends his own shivers racing all over.
This isn’t Lance’s first kiss. That had been with Jenny Shaybon back on Earth. He’d even managed to kiss a few others since then, so it wasn’t as if he had no experience. He’d kissed girls who were objectively better at it than Pidge was. But this one was still his favorite.
Because Pidge kissed like she piloted, like she did everything. With a single-minded determination and the will to put her whole self into it, each and every time. The precision of a well-trained cadet and the recklessness of a rulebreaker. With the perseverance she attacked her latest programming invention and the strength of her stance in the heat of battle. Fearless, demanding, breathtaking.
The last one quite literally.
“Quiznack,” She whimpers into his ear. “I’ve been waiting for you to do this since forever.”
And Lance has to laugh, breath huffing against her flushed neck. Takes in the birdsnest of hair atop her head, the redness to her wet lips, the rapid expanding and collapsing of her chest as she tries unsuccessfully to catch her breath. Knows he’s not faring much better.
Wonders if the simulated gravity in their cabin short-circuited, because he’s pretty sure he could float away right there.
“Me too, short stack. Me too.”
-x-
Later, back in Lance’s room, they find themselves tangled together atop his bed, alit only by the soft glow emanating from the stars outside his window.
Lance’s can’t help sighing contentedly, his hands behind his head as his back rests against the mattress. Pidge’s chin presses into the hands she has crossed over his chest, her legs slung haphazardly around his, wrapping them together.
Her eyes are hidden behind the glare of her glasses, but Lance can tell she’s just as relaxed as he is like this.
Tipping her head to face the window beside them, she quietly breaks the comfortable silence that had descended around them.
“I’m going to miss this.”
“Huh?” Says Lance, craning his neck to look down at her with an eyebrow raised. “Already thinking about dumping me, are you?”
She leans up to smack him exasperatedly. He manages to only wince slightly at the impact.
“Not us, you doofus.” She corrects, turning to gesture to the pocket of ever expanding universe glimpsed through the rounded window. “This view. That’s what I’m going to miss.”
And Lance gets it, because he’s always loved the night sky. But he longs for the way it used to look back when he gazed at it from down on the beach out behind his house. Framed by lazily lapping waves and a seasalt breeze. The twinkling stars jumping from their perch above the clouds to be reflected playfully on the beckoning waters below.
“Mmm, that does sound beautiful.” Pidge murmurs as she snuggles in closer, and it’s then that Lance realizes he’s said his entire train of thought out loud.
“Yeah,” he says, swallowing hard, his throat suddenly feeling inexplicably sore. “It is.”
“Will you go back there when we get back to Earth?”
He can’t help the way his breathing stutters at that. “To Cuba? Yes,” he replies immediately, no time needed to consider the answer. Then, more hesitantly, “I think I’ll be done with piloting after this. Might be time for me to try something different.”
“Oh?” She asks, looking up to meet his gaze, curiosity peaked.
“Yeah,” he deflected, feeling a clenching grip in his chest. Maybe I was never really cut out for it anyways. “How about you?”
“Staying earthbound sounds good to me.” She answers easily, not pushing the issue. He doubts he’s in the clear for long though. “I don’t know, I might look into designing robotics or something like that. Reprogramming Rover had been easier than I’d expected.
“I mean,” She continues, sitting up as her unbridled enthusiasm builds. “Imagine if Earth had access to technology as advantaged as Galra tech. Shiro’s arm for example. I bet I could replicate it if I got a peek inside. What if that quality of prosthetic could be available to everyone?”
Lance’s heart beats loudly in his ears as he sits up to meet her. Runs his fingers lightly through her hair. She’s incredible, this girl before him, and he wonders again how someone as amazing as her could have fallen for someone like him.
“If anyone can bring alien technology to Earth, Pidge, it’s you.”
Her cheeks redden at the compliment and her gaze lowers to the fidgeting fingers in her lap, bashfulness overtaking her demeanor. She pushes her index fingers together as she looks back up at him from under her eyelashes.
“You know, programming’s the sort of job I could do anywhere. It wouldn’t have to be at Garrison.”
“Oh yeah?” Asks Lance, eyebrows raising. “Where’d you have in mind then?”
“Maybe... Varadero. That is, if you’d have me.”
Lance thinks his eyebrows must disappear past his hairline at that. The gripping in his chest growing even tighter until it almost hurts.
“You’d want to come back, with me?”
“Well, I’ve never been. And the way you talk about it…” She trails off, gaze settling on his. “I feel like it’s something I have to see for myself.”
Lance can’t seem to hear anything over the insistent thrumming of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, but it doesn’t matter since neither one of them are speaking.
All at once he can’t contain it anymore, that pressure building within him that’s ready to burst. He throws his arms around her, head tucked in the crook of her neck as he chuckles even though absolutely nothing is funny in this moment. It’s more a sort of relieved laugh than anything else though, so maybe it’s not so out of place after all.
“You’ll love it, Pidgeon.” He emphasises, leaving a peck on her neck before lifting his head. A wicked smile breaks out across his face. “We’ll have to get you some sunscreen though. Two hundred GAC says you’ll look like a tomato after one week.”
Pidge sputters at that. “What- No I won’t!”
“Yup,” assures Lance, popping the p. “Burnt to a crisp.”
She lets out a huff at that, rolling her eyes.
She doesn’t move away from him though, so Lance counts it as a win.
He moves to tighten the hold he has around her, tugging her closer still until his next words ghost across her lips. “Don’t fret, Pidge.” He says softly, gaze heavy. “I’ll still love you when your hideously unrecognizable.”
“Ugh, Lance!” She groans, shoving a hand in his face and pushing him away. The movement catches him by surprise, and he falls back to land on the mattress, limbs pinwheeling before splaying out in the tangled sheets around him.
He looks up to see her above him, straddling his lap as her lips twist oddly. It almost looks as if she’s unsure, which is a look Lance has never seen on Pidge’s face before. This is all new territory for the both of them.
“So, the hunter becomes the hunted.” Lance says, giving her his best flirtatious look, complete with devilish smirk and a wink. Tries to quell the way his stomach flips at the unspoken implication.
This time when she rolls her eyes and huffs it sounds more playful than exasperated, almost like a laugh. Another win for Lancey Lance.
“What about you then?” She asks, voice returning to the calm seriousness from before, as she flops down on the bed beside him.
“What about me what?” He says, turning his head to face her’s.
“While I’m off programming, what are you going to be doing?”
Lance swallows, looking over at her as she watches him, lips turned down into a thoughtful frown, gaze weighted.
“It’s a stupid idea.”
He says it to the ceiling, and when Pidge doesn’t react, he turns back to face her. See’s that she won’t be deterred, and sighs before continuing.
“I thought I might try out the whole psychology thing, like officially. Go to school for it and get certified or something.” He admits quietly. After a few dobashes pass without either one of them speaking he lets out a laugh that feels only slightly forced before adding. “Yeah, I told you it’d be a stupid idea.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid at all.” Pidge says softly. Soft enough that Lance’s not sure he heard her correctly, which is likely.
“You don’t have to just say that to make me feel bet-”
“I’m not ‘just saying that.’” She interrupts him, voice almost a growl. “When have I ever ‘just said’ anything to make you feel better. I was being honest. I think you’d be great at it.”
And, thinking it over, Lance concedes that what she says may be true. Because while Pidge can be sometimes be a little too forthcoming with the criticism, she’s also always been quick to offer support when she believes in it. She’s always been open to seeing things from his perspective, even if at first she might balk at it.
“You do?” He can’t help asking. The insecurities in him revelling at the opportunity for praise.
“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I? You’re perfect for that sort of job.
“You’re actually really good with people, you know. Even if you act like an utter idiot around them half the time. When you’re not trying to put on a show for everyone you’re actually a really intuitive listener. You’re considerate, and thoughtful - a lot more than I think you like to let on.
“And you’re smart when you put your mind to it. I’ve seen you go through all those wordy psychology textbooks like they’re nothing. You’re obviously interested in it, and I bet you’ve got a pretty good grasp on it too. Why shouldn’t you study it officially?”
She’s worked herself up as she talks, arms crossed over her chest and eyes narrowed as she breathes heavily. When she finishes all Lance can do is blink back at her.
“Wow, Pidge,” he says around the lump caught in his throat. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”
“Shut up.” She replies, but it’s not as sharp as it should be. Her face is all red and blotchy, and she keeps switching from gazing deeply into his eyes to looking anywhere but at him. Lance feels like his whole body has been set on fire or plunged deep into turbulent seas, and he’s not sure which one of those two would be better.
And while he’d rather be lying in a field watching as storm clouds opened above him and let fall fat drops of fresh water to splatter over his face, the smell of rain on his nose, he guesses he’ll have to settle for simply floating through everchanging galaxies that twist and weave together in patterns made of beautiful colors that twinkle and glow for however long he has left.
At least he’s not alone on this journey.
He never really was.
“Do you think the garlic knots made in Italy really are better than everywhere else?” He wonders aloud.
Pidge just offers him a look as if to say obviously.
“I may have to check them out when we get back to Earth then.” He says, knuckles rubbing against her arm. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on what’s right under my nose, now would I?”
The End