Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

There are a lot of reasons someone might leave the Everglades. For a lot of folks there’s nowhere to go, no ‘upward momentum’, they call it. No high-rise buildings and office workers, not where he’s from at least. All that’s inland talk for the Disney types. For the less ambitious though it might be something simple like the bugs, or the heat. Both can get to biblical levels, he’d seen it himself nearly every summer. Tourists come around from all over the place thinking they found a little slice of heaven away from the city lights only to find their ocean-view bungalow infested with anything from mosquitoes to crocodiles.

He couldn’t blame them for it, even he got sick of it at times. Sweltering days where even if your laying stark naked on your bedroom floor, box fan pointed directly at your head, the coldest drink you could find in your hand, and your still suffocating. Days when you’ve gotta suit up to the ears in long sleeves, boots and jeans, gloves and hats just to walk outside without getting bit. God forbid those days coincide, because they often do. But even then, even on the worst of the worst of the worst days, there’s still something magical about it. Maybe that’s his crazy side talking, but everyone has a crazy side. It’s just most people never listen to it; but if there’s one thing Lance has learned over the years, it’s that life is more fun when you listen to the voice in your head telling you to do something a little bit crazy.

His momma called it his ‘screwy’ voice. ’don’t listen to that screwy voice in your head!’ ‘You’ll do something stupid if you keep listening to that screwy little voice.’ But it’s the screwy voice in his head that gave him the fuel to follow his dreams. He wanted to be a pilot, and the best pilot academy was across the states, up north in Seattle. The dreariest, most pitiful point on the map in his personal opinion.

There was nothing wrong with the rain itself. Lance loved rain. But there was something especially depressing about rain in a city. There was nothing drinking it in. No palm trees or mangroves, no frogs singing as they soak it in, just flat grey concrete and flat glass buildings. It was ironic the place had the best flying school since their skies were constantly overcast, but that never stopped him from doing his damndest in every class, on every test flight, and on his final exams.

His heart fluttered at just the thought of it, hand grazing the pocket of his jeans where his printed transcripts sat folded neatly into a square, ready to be shown to his mother when he arrived home. All his glowing, near-perfect marks. She was going to freak out the moment she saw him on her porch. Not only that, but then over dinner he’d reveal his biggest news yet: that he was joining the Air Force not as a Basic, but as an Airman First-Class. She might just faint with pride on the spot.

Yeah, he’d say things were going pretty well for him so far.

The airport terminal echoes with footsteps, the wheels of suitcases, and quiet conversation as he steps into the lounge awaiting flight 251 from Seattle, Washington nonstop to Fort Meyers, Florida. Meyers wasn’t home for him though. No, once he lands he’ll be heading further south, down to Alta. Now that was home-home.

He stops to one side of the aisle to look around, spotting a public phone just behind his gate in relief. He rolls up to it and fishes a quarter from his pocket to feed the machine, unhooking the phone and pressing it between his ear and shoulder as he punched in a number he’d memorized in eighth grade. He glances around, taking note of the time on a nearby clock as the phone rang, tapping his fingers impatiently atop the metal stand before finally—

[click] “…Hello?”

“Hey!” He cheers into the line, “It’s me. I’m at the airport. Just wanted to let you know the flight’s heading out on time, so I’ll be in Meyers by noon tomorrow.”

“Lance,” she whines, “you woke me up. It’s seven in the morning.”

He scoffs, leaning back against the wall, the phone’s cord pulling on him slightly until he scoots an inch closer to the box. “Don’t be a such grouch, we’re gonna get up at the ass-crack of dawn all summer long to get those good morning waves, right?”

“Riiiight...” She sighs, clearly only half-listening.

He rolls his eyes. “Look, you’ve gotta be up in an hour anyways in order to get into the city, get a coffee, find a place to park, all that shit right?”

“Right.” She mumbles again.

He chuckles into the phone. “Pidge come on, wake up. I’m counting on you here.”

“Oh, have no fear McClain, I’ll be there.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “Well, promise me you’ll be up in at least an hour, alright?”

He hears her sigh on the other end of the line, long and slow, the image of her picking her glasses up form her bedside table and squinting at the wall clock on the opposite wall of her bedroom clear in his mind as though he’s seeing it in real time. “…I’ll set a timer.”

“Good man.” He nods. “I’ll see you at noon.”

“I’m glad you’re coming home.”

His heart beats quicker, a stone forming in his throat that he swallows around, clearing his throat softly. “Yeah, me too. I’ll see you real soon.”

“Bye, Lance.”

“Bye.” He clicks the phone down solidly onto it’s metal handle, leaning hard against the phone box for a moment as his eyes drift closed.

Two years… It felt like forever. Forever since he’d had a face-to-face conversation with his mom, his grandma, his sister and brothers, his niece and nephew… and Pidge. God, what would she even look like now? Would her hair still be down to her waist, or had she finally taken the hacksaw to it like she always threatened to do every summer? Hopefully she hadn’t hit some sort of miracle growth spurt, he didn’t know what he’d do if she was any taller than his shoulder, as had been the case since his own high-school growth spurt. Though that was hardly something worth hoping for at this point, they were well past that age now.

Someone clears their throat behind him and he shoots upward, turning to see an older gentleman in a crisp grey suit with his fist to his mouth, a pair of tired eyes behind a pair of thin glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. He apologizes quietly and grabs his suitcase, rolling it toward the seats just a few feet away and plopping himself down onto navy blue, chipping pleather.

It wasn’t just Pidge though. Hunk, his best friend since preschool would be in town too. He’d arrived back from his own trip through Louisiana earlier in the year in January from a delicious culinary program Lance could never remember the entire name of, but that Hunk had been ecstatic to be invited to attend— on a full ride scholarship no less. And he’d deserved it to. Dear god, how that man could cook. Lance was good, better than good in the kitchen, but Hunk could cook circles around him without breaking a sweat.

He’d stayed in touch with Hunk and Pidge with frequent letters and occasional phone calls over the past two years, but it was only natural that time eventually got away from them, and it had been more than a few months since he’d heard from either of them, save for his setting up his surprise arrival home with Pidge just a week ago. Really he’d be surprising Hunk too, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on the big guy’s face when he came waltzing down the dock.

[Attention passengers of flight two five one heading for Fort Meyers, Florida. Your flight is now boarding. Flight five two one for Fort Meyers, Florida, your flight is now preparing to board.]

That had his heart really racing, the attendants at the desk buzzing about as someone opened the doors to the bridge, and people formed a half-baked line in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the tarmac, each holding their tickets in hand. He shoots up out of his seat, patting down his jeans until he yanks it out of his back pocket with a sigh, unfolding the ticket with his thumb. McClain, Lance. Seat C7.

If there was one thing he couldn’t stand about being trained as a pilot, it was flying as a passenger. It was as though he were a driving instructor, being chauffeured by someone whose possession of a driver’s license was debatable at best. But he did his best to shake himself out of it. Stowing his suitcase in the overhead compartment, and his backpack at his feet, he did his best to think about absolutely nothing, staring out the window at the overcast sky above.

Rain. Again.

———

It felt like pure energy coursing through his veins the moment he spotted the Florida coastline outside his window. Pure blue waters cut jaggedly by the emerald green marshlands, marred in a few spots by yellowed foggy cities, but for the most part perfectly intact. He held himself back from standing the moment the landing gear hit the ground, the need to be home, home, home hitting him all at once. He was very glad to be the first out of his seat, to be the first exiting the bridge into the landing area, quickly overwhelmed by the crowd of passengers behind him as he hesitated, searching for—

“Taylor!”

His head snaps in the direction of Pidge’s voice, eyes alight to see her waving her arms wildly above her head just a dozen yards away. He races over to her, dragging his suitcase behind him all the while and wrapping his arms around her waist, hoisting her into the air as she cries out, half-heartedly swatting his shoulder until he sets her gently back down, beaming.

She had in fact chopped her hair off, high enough that the back of her neck was exposed to the sun, and he could already see the red gradient of sunburn on her back and shoulders. Other than her hair, she was as Pidge-y as ever. Same old shortness, same old glasses, same old Pidge. “I told you to quit calling me that years ago.” He tells her breathlessly. “Nice haircut. You do that yourself?”

“Then you shouldn’t have begged everyone in our entire high school to call you Taylor, Taylor.” She chuckled, “And thank you, my mom did it herself, and you’d better tell her she did a good job when you see her.”

He scoffs, grabbing his suitcase once more and slugging his backpack over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Hey! Brought you this.” She bounds up to his side, offering him a plain white coffee cup.

“Aaah yes, lukewarm coffee, my favorite.” He teases, taking it from her and tasting it. Toffee Mocha. His favorite.

“Hunk offered to come with me, but I was worried about their being space in the truck for all three of us.”

He nearly chokes. “—The truck? You don’t mean your dad’s truck from the sixties, the one he refuses to admit is crumbling into dust, not that truck?”

“The very same.”

“Pidge, how old is that thing? I didn’t think it ran anymore!”

“Actually Matt got it working last summer!” She grins. “So the old girl’s still kicking.”

“That poor little chevy needs to be put out of her misery.” He shakes his head as he takes another sip of coffee. “Your brother is a necromancer Pidge, and that truck? A zombie.”

“The fuck is a necro-mancer? Did you play that nerd game in college, nerd?”

“Please, I know for a fact you know what Dungeons and Dragons is, you played it in middle school.”

“Lies, filthy ugly lies!”

As they exit the airport he raises his hand to shield his eyes from the intensity of the sun, squinting hard at the sea of cars parked around them. “Here.” He glances down to Pidge’s hand, where she was offering him a pair of plain black sunglasses. “I knew you’d either lie or forget your somewhere, so here.”

“You know it’s creepy when you do that.” He mutters, taking the sunglasses from her regardless, and setting them atop the bridge of his nose. “It’s like your psychic or something.”

“Ugh, it’s official, you’ve been poisoned by the city dweebs. First it’s necromancers, now psychics? When we get home the first thing I’m doing is dunking you in the ocean.”

“By all means, I welcome it!” He shouts, raising his arms up above his head. “God, the sun feels amazing. Pidge you would love Seattle, the sun is never out, you’d never get sunburned again.”

“Joy.” She deadpans, her keyring jingling as she pulls it from her pocket, keychains clattering together as she presses the key fob with her thumb. A tinny chirp sounds nearby.

“Oh, that wasn’t so far.” He mumbles, tossing his suitcase and backpack into the truck bed before climbing into the passenger seat, old foam sticking to his palms as he searches for the adjustment lever beneath his seat to give his legs more room.

Pidge climbs into the driver’s seat beside him, listening to the sound of the engine scraping itself to life as she turned the key, the radio sputtering a pop song out between them before she leans over to flick it off. “So, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get home?” She asks as she shifts the truck into gear, easing out of their parking spot as the truck creaks and groans.

“I was under the impression that had already been decided.” He turns, smirking at her confusion. “I’m being dunked in the ocean, for my crimes?”

“Oh! Right, right,” she nods, “but I mean really, what’s the first thing you wanna do?”

“See my mom and abuela.” He answers easily, settling back into his seat with a groan. “I told you, they don’t know I’m coming yet, so this is all a big surprise.”

She chuckles, thumb tapping idly against the steering wheel as they pull onto the main road. “You sure you wanna do that first? I mean, what if they turned your old bedroom into like, an office or something? A work out room for your grandma?”

“Eugh— thanks for the mental image.” He grimaces as she cackles, throwing her head back. “Momma wouldn’t do that, she knew I’d be coming back, it’s just that she’s expecting me in October. I got my mail routed to my apartment, so all the confirmations were sent to me. My family has no idea I’ve officially graduated, I’m telling them at dinner tonight.”

Her eyes blow wide as she glances between him and the road ahed. “Dude, are you serious? Wait— so what about your apartment? All your stuff in Seattle? Aren’t you going back?”

He shakes his head. “Everything’s locked up in a storage facility right now, I make one phone call, and a bunch guys go in, box it all up, and ship it straight here for me.”

“Damn…” She huffs out a laugh. “You think your mom’s gonna be pissed?”

“Oh, for sure.” He shrugs, “but she’ll get over it when she hears I got into the Air Force.”

“WHAT!” The truck wavers dangerously in the middle of the road for a second as Pidge turns toward him, brows furrowed together. “Lance, are you— you’re joking, right? You’re not serious?”

“What? I—“ He glances around, suddenly unsure of he should say what he wants to say. “Yes? I got accepted, they’re even bringing me in above base rank, I’m going in as an Airman First-Class.”

Pidge sighs sharply, one hand on the steering wheel, the other pressed against her forehead as she stares out the windshield. “Lance…” She winces his name, as though it causes her pain.

“Wh- I thought you’d be excited for me.” He mutters, voice soft, muddled with confusion.

“Is this, like, a done thing?” She asks sharply, shaking her head against her hand as she watches the road ahead of them. “Are you now, like, obligated to join the Air Force?”

His brow furrows as he looks down at his lap. “I guess… no? If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, no. I’m not conscripted.”

She sighs, her shoulders dipping as though a weight had been pulled off of her. “Do me a favor, and don’t tell your mother you want to join the Air Force in the same night you surprise her with your degree.”

“What’s going on here, Pidge? I thought you’d be happy for me.” He snaps, gesturing toward her with an outstretched hand. “Why are you pissed off right now?”

“Because! Lance! You just got back home from— you’re not even home yet, and you’re already talking about leaving again! And for the military?!”

“It’s not like I’m joining the army!” He defends, one of his legs popping up to rest on his seat. “Marco joined the marines, and everyone was happy to see him do it!”

“Yeah, but this is different.”

“How is this any different!”

“Marco didn’t finish high school!” She shouts, cheeks turning red. “And that is nothing against Marco. I love Marco, you love Marco, and everyone was happy to see him get into the Marines, but he did not have a lot of options.” She winces, taking a deep breath in the sudden silence of the truck. “Please, just… I know you think you’re excited right now, but please, think about this. At least for a couple more days before you do anything crazy.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he glares out the window. “Crazy… Joining the Air Force isn’t crazy, it’s—“

“Lance. Drop it. Please.” She snaps, open palms pressing hard against the steering wheel. “Just— let’s talk about something else, okay? Anything else.”

Silence spans between them, the truck’s creaking growing louder and louder the longer the silence goes on. He turns back toward her, leaning against his window with another sigh. “…I know Hunk got back in January.”

“Yeah, and he’s excited to see you too.” She says, though with hardly half the enthusiasm she’d had before. “He’s always down at the restaurant now though, we’ll have to try and grab him on an off day to come paddle boarding. All three of us, like we used to.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, though even to him it sounds somewhat hollow.

They continue riding in silence for another ten minutes before Pidge relents and flicks the radio back on to drown out the chasm that had formed between them, the tinny tones of some pop-country mash up muffling the truck’s complaints until they left the deserted city outskirts behind, and found the lush dark forests ahead of them.

The sight of it was like a salve to his aching wounds. Home. The cool, dank places. The creeks and the shallow still ponds, peat and moss covering their tops where dragonflies rest and frogs sing. Cicadas in the trees buzzing in the distance, and the cranes and whooping birds calling in the night. The creatures in the darkness, lizards, snakes, raccoons and possums. Home.

“We’re getting closer.” She cheers softly, sending a sideways glance toward him. “Come on, I know you’re excited.”

He tries and fails to hide the smile on his face, lifting his arm to shield it from her as he huffed through his nose.

“Noo, come on, I saw you smile.” She teases, reaching over to push him in his ribs, pulling a squawk of pain from him. “We’re here!”

The branches overhead cast shadows across their windshield, dappled light pooling in bright patches over his and Pidge’s clothes and skin. As they drove further in they slowed to a measly twenty five miles per hour, the road turning from asphalt to dirt as they continue down the path.

And— there. Through the trees, over a few rooftops. He could see it.

He clambers forward, unclipping his seatbelt and pressing his hands to the dashboard as he stares out the windshield before deciding that wasn’t enough and cranking his window open. He ducks his head out, sitting on the edge of the open window with his arms wrapping around the top of the truck as they pass over a small bridge covering the creek he and Hunk played in as grade schoolers. From there he could see it perfectly.

The ocean.

It sparkles in the sunlight, waves gleaming, perfect. There are a few boats out on the water, and even from his distance he made out a few surfers and paddle boarders closer to the center of the bay.

“Get your ass back in here!” Pidge calls, and he grins as he ducks back inside. She’s smiling too, and something heavy lifts off his chest as he looks at her, and she looks at him. “Welcome home.” She giggles.

“Thanks.” He laughs back, his hands anxiously fiddling with the fraying seam of his jeans.

“You’ve got some time before your big surprise plans, right? You should come say hi to Hunk at the boardwalk before I take you to your grandma’s house.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” He agrees, rubbing his palms flat against his jeans to stop his fidgeting. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen the big man, I need to give him a hug.”

She chuckles. “Believe me, I don’t think Hunk will be the one on the receiving end.”

“You don’t know how I hug!” He retorts, still grinning, “I can give one hell of a hug.”

“Oh, in comparison to that little squeeze you gave me in the airport? You must be misremembering Hunk’s hugs man, you can’t out-hug Hunk. He’s the hug-master.”

“You’re saying this like he’s not my best friend!” The truck screeches to a stop, throwing lance into the dash as Pidge snickers, shifting into park. “You did that on purpose.” He mutters.

“It’s an old truck Lance, jeez, blame the truck why don’t you.” She sing-songs as she slams her door shut. She pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes again, seeing Lance do the same as he rounds the truck to follow her down the dock.

“Oof—” He staggers to a stop, darting around the wast bin he’d just walked directly into.

“Eyes in front of you, McClain.” Pidge teased. “You can look at the ocean all you want after you say hi to Hunk.”

He blushes, embarrassed that he’d been caught daydreaming to blatantly. He shakes his head to clear it. ’It’s game-time, McClain. It’s Summer-of-Hunk Time.’

The boardwalk is a gorgeous sight, the same beautiful black iron railing that had been standing strong recently painted with a new sheen, groups of kids and families all out enjoying the mid-summer air and watching the sailboats and surfers out on the water in delight. It’s one of the best feelings in the world, being out on that water, knowing you’re putting on a show. All eyes on you as you coast, or cut a wave, even a wipe out is always a good time.

“Psst, go time!” Pidge hisses, shoving him out of the way as she calls excitedly: “Hunk!”

“Pidge! Hey!” He cheers her name, and Lance can’t help the pang of homesickness that hits him at the sound of his best friend’s voice. “You were up early this morning, I stopped by your place with some coffee but you weren’t around.”

“Oh yeah, dad had me up running an errand at the ass-crack of dawn this morning.” She says easily. He’s impressed, if he didn’t know better he’d believe her too with that smooth delivery. “But hey, I wanted to ask you something about dad’s truck really quick, can you come check this out?”

“Pidge, you know I’m not great with cars…”

They pass by him without a second glance, and he grins, jumping out from his hiding place. “Hey! Now just who do you think you are, waking down my board—“

“LANCE!!”

He’s suddenly interrupted as two large arms wrap around him, squishing him against a broad chest as his feet leave the ground, his best friend’s cheek pressed hard to his own. “Holy crow man what the hell! I didn’t know you were home yet!”

“Just got back my man, you’re the first person aside from Pidge whose seen me.” He grins, throwing his arms around Hunk’s neck. “It’s good to see you man.”

“You too, oh my gosh, I’m gonna, I feel like I’m gonna, y’know-” He starts sniffling, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he somehow squeezes even harder. “I just missed you so much! It’s so good to hear your voice!”

He takes the rib-crushing like a real champ if he says so himself, and once Hunk finds it acceptable to set him back down on the ground, he throw his own arms as far around Hunk as they’ll reach, squeezing him with all the might he’s got. “You’re my number one, y’know? I had to recruit Pidge for operation: Surprise! But I had to come by and see you first man, that’s just how it is.”

“Yeah, after I said we should surprise Hunk.”

“If you didn’t suggest it, Pigeon, I would have.” Lance huffs, sticking his nose up as he and Hunk decouple.

“Oh, and that hug? Didn’t even register on the Hunk-scale.”

He glares down his nose at her, just as she beams up at him. Hunk chuckles waving a hand between them. “Easy you two, while you’re here why don't I get you hooked up with some garlic knots on the house? Or are you waiting to fill up on abuela’s cooking?”

“Hunk! I could never say no to your garlic knots.” He shakes his head as thought the mere thought of rejecting Hunk’s cooking was a crime.

The restaurant itself was a cozy little spot, the largest building on the small boardwalk strip, but that wasn’t saying much when each shop was just about the same size as any other. Hunk’s kitchen though took up a majority of the inside space, leaving just a sliver of room for a handful of covered seating while most of the chairs and tables sat on the walk itself, strategically placed so as to not upset the flow of traffic or impede the gorgeous view. The building’s facade was plastered, painted in sunshine yellow and with a large hand-painted sign that read “Garret’s” in red and white hanging overhead, it’s paint peeling in places, but no less charming and warm.

He leans against the order window alongside Pidge as they waited, content to stand since they had plans to move one fairly quickly. A tiny box television sat on the corner of the counter, grainy black-and-white news footage bearing across the screen. He squinted at it, reaching over Pidge’s shoulder to fiddle with one of it’s rabbit ears until the picture cleared of most of its static, it’s audio more legible, if only barely.

“D’you think they’ll ever replace this crummy little thing?”

Pidge turns to glance over her shoulder at the tv, and shrugs. “Why would they? It’s not hurting anything.”

“I can barely hear what this chick on the news is trying to say.” He mutters, fiddling with the antenna further. “And they could use a bigger screen. And one in color.”

“If you want a color tv so bad, you can buy Hunk one yourself as a graduation present.” She mutters, tipping the last sip of coffee from her cup before tossing it into the bin beside the counter.

He sighs long and slow, collapsing partially onto the countertop with a whine when he’s shooed out of the way by Hunk’s hand, a plate of steaming garlic knots placed between them as his mouth begins to water. “Hunk, you have out done yourself. These are amazing!”

“Don’t you need to taste them before you call them amazing?” Pidge sneers, grabbing one of the knots before quickly dropping it, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth.

“Give ‘em a second to cool! No biggie.” Hunk offers her a napkin which she snatches quickly, rubbing the salt and oil from her fingertips as Lance grins maniacally from the opposite end of the counter.

“You’re a jerk.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“Yeah, well, its written all over your face.” She tossed the napkin against his cheek, leaving a dap of oil on his nose as he bends down to pick it up and throw it away for her, still snickering. “Pigeon is just too impatient, can’t wait for the garlic knots to cool before she’s chowin’ down!”

“Do you wanna go paddle boarding before you see your family?”

He chokes on another joke, surprised at the shift in conversation. “Uh… I mean, yeah. Of course. Any reason for the sudden urgency?”

She looks down, her expression suddenly vacant of any and all cheer it had just had. “I just… wanna hang out with you before you have to go anywhere else.”

He sighs, feeling his own mood deflating like a balloon. “Pidge, I’m not going anywhere else today, I promise. I’m going to be in town for at least a month. Trust me, you’ll be sick of me again after a week.”

“But how long will it be before I see you after this?” Her voice is suddenly tight, and his heart starts racing again. “It’s been months since we last talked, two years since we’ve been in the same place, and I just—” She pulls back, a shield of composure hiding what must’ve been oncoming tears. “I just… Want to spend time with you while you’re here.”

“Pidge…” He opens his arms, and he’s heartbroken when he sees her hesitate. But thankfully she reaches out in turn and latches onto him tight, his arms wrapping loosely around her tiny shoulders. “If I go anywhere after May you’ll know about it before I’m gone, and I’ll be way, way, way-way-way better about sending letters, and calling every weekend—”

“Just—” She cuts him off, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Just promise me you’ll go paddle boarding with me.”

He smiles, squeezing her once. “We could go paddle boarding right now if you want. I just don’t have any gear.”

“You can borrow Matt’s, God knows he’s not using it.”

That makes them both chuckle, and Lance breaks the hug to grab one of the garlic knots, handing it to her before taking another for himself. “Let’s eat, and I’ll steal Matt’s gear, and we’ll be out on the water in thirty minutes flat.”

She grins. “Yeah, okay.”

Chapter Text

Sand flies under his feet as he and Pidge run for the beach shore, paddle boards under their arms. She pops her left foot out in front of him in an attempt to trip, but he jumps over it, tossing his board in first and wading out into the shallows. She’s right beside him all the way though, excited giggles filling the air as they both mount their boards.

Matt’s board showed a bit of disuse here and there, a sunspot on the back half where the window in Pidge’s garage had shone on it every day for months and months, leaving the orange paint faded to an ugly yellow. But it was perfectly usable regardless of the paint job. His board shorts were one size too big for Lance, but the drawstring kept them sitting comfortably around his waist as he made to stand, paddle in hand.

[ssssh-click!]

He gawks at Pidge. A seltzer some how materializing in her hands before his eyes. “Where did you get that!” He snaps, a grin on her face. “And why didn’t you get me one!”

“Here!” She tosses a glinting aluminum can to him, and he catches it just a foot from his face and turns it to read the label: ‘Berry Sunrise’. “Augh, Pidge, it’s gonna be flat now that you shook it all up..”

“Be grateful I grabbed you one!” She laughs, pulling a few feet in front of him as they begin getting into deeper waters. “Dad had some left over ice in the freezer from our camping trip last month, and he leaves that cooler in the back of the truck all year round, so I decided to use it! And the seltzers are mine. You’re welcome.”

“Thank youuu.” He sing-songs before opening his own seltzer, cool mist and carbonated foam overflowing from the top of the can and down his knuckles as he sips off the rim. He pulls his sunglasses down with his other hand and sighs, paddling behind Pidge for another few yards as they left the ring of buoys defining the area designated for swimmers only, entering deeper water where they needed to keep an eye out for boaters and jet skiers.

Despite the crowded beach the water was calm further out, no need to keep a watchful eye for people swimming under his board or coming up for air too close. Out here it feels like the bay belongs to them. The rocky shores too small for building houses on that look like nothing more than a thin line from the beach turn into rolling hills that tower over them, casting a shadow across the shore below.

“It’s gorgeous.” He mutters, more to himself than to Pidge, but she still takes notice. She turns and looks over her shoulder at him with a smile, her own sunglasses shielding her eyes.

“I knew you’d miss it.” She laughs softly, dipping her paddle into the water to slow their approach to the far bay crescent.

“Of course I missed this, there’s no place to paddle board in Seattle. Or fish, or dive. There’s no place to do anything accept… drink, and… I don’t know, go to flight school.” That makes her laugh, and he beams at the sight.

They move away from the coast, not wanting to spend the entire day in the shade, and take their time as they head toward the center of the bay. Paddle boarding isn’t a race, no matter how much they might treat it like one at the start. Once he’s out on the water, he can only move so fast.

“Pidge, wait!” He cups his hand around his mouth. “I can’t keep up with you!”

Her voice carries across the waves, distant and barely audible, but he catches it: “Slowpoke!”

“You’re fifty pounds lighter than me, of course you’re gonna be faster…” He mumbles, pushing his paddle through the water with more force than necessary. She waits for him though, apparently satisfied with the location she chose.

“You’re out of practice!” She teases as he makes it within earshot. “How’s your swimming?”

“Fine.” He mumbles, huffing out a laugh. “What’re we doing here?”

“It’s the reef!” She beams, pointing downwards. “You can’t quite see it from up here, but you can if you stick your head underwater.”

That catches his attention. He hadn’t realized they’d gone out that far, the reef started near the middle of the bay and grew out into the ocean from there. They must bee floating directly over the first lip of coral. He takes another sip of his seltzer and sighs, setting the can down on his board, along with his sunglasses and paddle.

Pidge snickers above him, and he looks up to see her covering her mouth. “What?”

“You’re just— so resigned. You don’t have to.”

“Wh-! Resigned?! I’m not resigned, I-“ He shakes his head. “What does that even mean?”

She drops her arms limply to her sides and tosses her head back, sighing dramatically. “Ugh, Pidge! Don’t make me look at the reef, I don’t wanna get my pretty-pretty hair wet after I used all my mom’s moisturizers and hairsprays and—“

“Okay! Okay!” He cuts her off, chuckling himself as she beams. He balances the board carefully as he gets down on both knees, and then slowly, slowly, dips his head under the water. It takes him a moment to open his eyes, squinting at first, but finally staring down through the rays of light casting dappled spots like clouds on the coral beds below. He could see silvery schools of fish swimming across the top, a large starfish— it had to be at least the length of his arm for him to be able to see it from there —and most gorgeous of all—“

He yanked his head out of the water, splattering Pidge as he threw his hair back. “Sharks!”

She yelps as she gets sprayed, hands out in front of her in a poor attempt to block the water before processing what he said. “What, really?! How many?!”

“I saw two, but there could’ve been more. Looks like nurse sharks!” He grins, ducking his head back under the water for another moment. He hears Pidge doing the same, both of them staring down at the reef and spotting not one, not two, but—

He pulls back again, and hears Pidge gasp beside him as she does the same.

“Five sharks!”
“Five sharks!”

She exhales sharply, pushing her hair out of her eyes and looking out over the bay, perhaps for nearby boats that could pass over, spooking them away. Lance laughs himself as he stands, grabbing his glasses and seltzer bottle. “Man, I can’t believe— on my first day here!” He laughs, “On my first day here, we see five sharks on the reef!”

“They’re welcoming you back.” She says, smiling as she watches him attempt to discern the shapes of the sharks, even from above the waves. “Y’know, for a guy as determined as you are to spend the rest of his life in the sky, you sure like the ocean a whole lot.”

He looks up at her, his expression falling as he notices the frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Pidge, let’s not, talk about that right now. I don’t want to make this about that.”

“How can I think about anything else?” She huffs, pulling her paddle out of the water and leaning against it. “All I can think of out here is the fact that; This is the last time, y’know? You’re going off to the Air Force, and me and Hunk are just… here.” She shakes her head. “I mean, he’s got the restaurant to take care of, right? And my dad and Matt, they have their research here, and I help them with that, but you’re…” She sighs. “You’re a part of that too. And if you’re gone— when you were gone —it’s different.”

“Pidge…” He sighs through his nose, the sound of the waves lapping over the edges of his board ringing in his ears. “We can’t stay sixteen forever. You’re twenty three, Hunk and I are twenty five, we’ve all got… our own lives to live.”

“And you don’t want to live your life with us?”

The thought cuts him as it leaves Pidge’s mouth, and he can see in her face the moment she says it. She knows, that was a bridge too far. For a long moment he doesn’t say anything, and neither does she, they just stare at one another, an apology on the tip of Pidge’s tongue, and a retort on Lance’s. Eventually he gives, swallowing whatever malformed insult sat in his throat down, a shiver running up his spine. “Let’s just go.” He mutters. “I don’t want this month to feel like— like some kind of funeral procession for you.”

She sighs through her nose but doesn’t say anything more, following behind him as he led them back toward the southern beach.

Going to flight school had been his dream since middle school. His dad had taken his whole family to an air show in Fort Meyers, and when the jets flew over that crowd— he saw stars. Ever since then the only thing on his mind was getting through school as fast as possible so he could start preparing to become a pilot himself. And if he wanted to become a jet pilot, there was only one place that could teach him how to do that.

“Lance?”

“Pidge, I said I don’t want to—”

“What’s that?”

He whips toward her and sees her pointing to his left. He squints, confused when all he sees is clear water— until he spots it. Maybe ten feet down, floating stark against the darkness below. Something white.

“It’s a buoy.”

“Are you sure? It’s moving.” She takes a step forward on her board and leans closer, her paddle lent against the back edge of the board.

She’s right. He can see the buoy drifting in a slow circle beneath them, no doubt being pulled by something below the waves.

“Something’s caught on it.” Before he realizes it he’s already removing his sunglasses, his paddle discarded and floating in the water.

“What’re you doing?”

He kneels down on his board and stick his head under the waves again. Sure enough, there it was. A white buoy, paint flecking off it’s surface as it moved in lazy circles. He sat up and took a breath, wiping his hair back out of his face. “Wait for me a minute, I’m gonna pull it up.”

She shouts in protest as he slips into the water, her words cut off as he sinks down. The buoy hovers another five feet below so he swims for it, kicking himself forward until his outstretched hand brushed against it’s surface.

Pidge was right. A black tether connects the buoy to a dark shape maybe thirty feet below, obscured by the dark water separating him from it. He takes the buoy in both hands and kicks hard, fighting against the fish at the end f the line. Whatever it was, it was big enough that he could see it from the surface, which meant it was a better swimmer than him. But when a fish is caught on a line they wear themselves out quick, meaning even a huge fish can be pulled to the surface if it wastes enough energy thrashing around on a tether.

He breaches the surface with a gasp, buoy grasped firmly under his arm as he fumbles with his board.

“Lance! Lance, Lance, hand it to me!” Pidge paddles closer, their boards bumping against one another as she reaches out toward him.

He leans his arms over the side of his board, catching his breath for just a moment before he lifts the buoy out of the water and hands it off to her, freeing up his arms so he could mount his board once more. The black tether snaked loosely in the water between them, and he grabbed it easily in one hand, using his other to wind the rope around his arm.

“Careful.” She breathes, helping him pull more and more of the rope between their boards. “This shit is way too long to be a tow rope, what is this?”

“I dunno.” He gasps, pausing to wipe a hand down his face, pushing the saltwater from his eyes before he continues frantically winding the rope. “But something’s on the other—“

“SHIT!” She screams, dropping the buoy when a reef shark breaches the surface, it’s body wound and tangled in the black tether, like a constrictor around its prey. “Oh my god, it’s—”

He grabs it by the tail in one hand, lifting it out of the water with his other hanging onto the ropes around it’s middle. The first thing he notices is it was upside down in the water, heart hammering in his chest. It was tiny too, not a pup but barely fully grown. It’s eyes were wide and still, its mouth clamped down on a portion of rope that must’ve slipped down its throat.

“I think it might be…”

“No, it’s alive.” He mutters quickly, dismissing the thought before she had a chance to voice it. He pulls hard on the loop around it’s head, freeing its fins as he winds the rope further and further around his arm. It takes minutes, especially since he dips the shark back into the water a few times before finally, only one length of rope is left. The rope inside the shark’s mouth.

“Lance, careful!” She hisses.

He hoists the shark’s head out of the water by the remaining length of rope, it’s wide glassy eyes searching as something kickstarts it’s instincts. He examines it for a moment, brushing his fingers over a long, thick scar across the side of its head.

Pidge screams as it’s jaws snap against the rope, inches from Lance’s hand where he grasps the tether. He curses, using his other hand to tap the shark’s nose, once, twice, until finally it seems to get the message and opens it’s jaw, the remaining rope falling out of its mouth as it splashed into the bay.

“YEAAH!!” Pidge cheers, jumping to her feet as the shark darts through the water, swimming off in the direction of the reef.

“WOO-HOOO! There is goes!” He pumps his fists in the air, the black rope tumbling down to the board beneath him as he watches its dorsal fin disappear beneath the waves, even its shadow under the water dissolving completely.

He sighs in relief as he looks at her, hair half-wet with strands sticking to her cheeks, his own grin bright against the late afternoon sky. “Good eye, Pidge.” She beams at him, the ocean glow reflecting off their boards, casting flecks of light over their skin as the light begins to dim against the horizon.

———

“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Pidge glances across the truck cab to him for a moment as she flicks her headlights on, evening creeping up on them more quickly than he’d anticipated.

The truck rocks as they pass over another bridge, gravel crunching under her tires as they wind down an achingly familiar back road, the eyes of nocturnal animals glowing from the edges of the tree lines as they passed.

“No, not tonight. I want this to be special.” He smiles, pressing his hand to his heart. “I just hope I don’t, y’know, fuck it up.”

“You won’t, your mom is going to be thrilled to see you.” She laughs, shaking her head. “But she’ll be pissed you planned a whole plane ride without her knowing. Once you get through that it’ll be smooth sailing.”

He chuckles. “Right.”

They pull up at the end of his grandma’s drive, a simple dirt road leading to their two-car garage, and the stone steps the led to their porch. No one is outside yet, he breaths a sigh of relief.

“Hey.” He turns to Pidge, her glasses reflecting the lights from the truck’s speedometer, hiding her eyes. She tilts her head down, her shoulders tensed. “I’ll… see you tomorrow?”

He sighs through his nose and leans in, tucking his hand behind her head and bringing her close as he presses a brief kiss to her forehead. “And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.” He promises.

“Alright, get out of my truck.”

He snickers, slipping out of the truck and grabbing his suitcase and bag from the bed, still warm from baking in the sun during their paddle boarding trip. Pidge calls a soft ‘good luck!’ To him before she shifts into gear and rumbles away, tail lights disappearing around the bend after just a few seconds.

He hoists his suitcase up onto the porch, breaths deafening to his ears as he approaches the door one foot step at a time. It’s only been a few days, he tells himself. His momma is going to be excited to see him. He raises his fist, and knocks.

He can hear Veronica inside, a grin splitting his face as she shouts for someone else to grab the door. His momma calls from the kitchen for his nephew to get it, and his heart races as the door is pulled open. Silvio stares up at him, eyes wide as dinner plates as he gasps.

“UNCLE LANCE!!”

He yanks the screen door open and falls to one knee, opening his arms as Silvio crashes into him, his arms wrapping around Lance’s neck and legs around his waist. He stands, one arm pressed to Silvio’s back as he steps inside, pulling his suitcase in as the rest of his family rushes from all parts of the house, Veronica takes their stairs two at a time, Rachel hops over the back of the couch, and Nadia throws the back door open, running across the living room and clutching his leg in excitement.

“Lance!” His momma cries, a tea towel in her hands as she cleans them, before dropping it to hug him, her grip somehow tighter and more comforting than even Hunk’s. “What are you doing here?”

“I did it momma.” He whispers into her hair, eyes squeezed closed before he leans back, pulling the folded paper from his pocket and unfurling it for her to read. He hands it to her, his heart hammering away against his ribs as her eyes fly across the page. “I’m a pilot.”

She gasps, her hand tightening around the paper as she leans back in, squeezing him tighter. “Oh, Lance!”

He beams, setting Silvio down and pulling Nadia into his arms, giving her a big hug as well.

“I thought— weren’t you graduating in September?” Veronica takes a step forward, opening her arms, and Lance easily hugs her, Nadia giggling as she’s squeezed between them. He sets her down, pulling his backpack from his back and setting it by the door.

“I graduated a semester early!” He smirks, shrugging. “All my stuff’s in a storage unit right now, I can get it sent here as soon as we can move it into, y’know, the garage. Wherever it’ll fit.” She laughs, pulling him into another hug before he’s inevitably passed around to all his family members for hugs, handshakes, and cheek-kisses.

He excuses himself from the living room for just a few minutes, just to take his bags up to his room, the sound of their voices reverberating from down the stairs yanking hard on his heart as hot tears press against the backs of his eyes.

He opens the door to his room, and is simultaneously surprised, and not surprised at all that things are exactly where he left them, right down to the folded towels he’d meant to set in his bathroom before he left, a thin layer of dust sitting over top the first towel. He chuckled, letting it unfold in his hand and tossing it into his laundry basket to be washed again.

“Uncle Lance?”

He turns toward the door, Nadia’s hand clasped around the edge of his door. He smiles, sinking down onto the edge of his bed. “Hey Nadi, what’s goin’ on?”

She steps into his room, the door hanging ajar behind her as she hops onto his bed, sitting cross legged, facing him. “You’re staying?”

“For a while, yeah.” He nods. “For the summer, but then I might need to go somewhere else to fly planes.”

“Why?”

He chuckles, ruffling her hair. “‘Cause there’s nowhere for me to fly planes here. I’ve gotta go someplace with an airport.”

“Like Fort Meyers?”

“Nadi…”

“You could stay, and drive to Fort Meyers in the morning, and come back at night!”

He sighs as he tosses himself backwards on his bed, staring up, out his window at the sky through the trees above. “Maybe, Nadi, I’m not sure. I’m not even sure if I’m leaving at all yet, okay? None of it is set in stone.”

“Set in stone?”

He looks across the bed at her, huffing a laugh through his nose. “It means I don’t know yet. No one knows yet. So don’t be worried. I’ll worry about it, and when I know I’ll tell you.”

“But what if I can’t help worrying?” She whines, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

“Aw, Nadi, come here.” He sits up, opening his arms to her as she crawls into his lap. “You know, when I’m worrying about something, you know what helps me?”

“What?” She asks, hiccuping softly.

“When I get really, really sad, or really worried, I sing a song.”

She looks up at him, her little brow bent together in confusion. “What song?”

“Any song, it could be anything. It could even be a sad song if you want.”

She takes a moment to think it over, her temple bumping against his collar bone. “…I don’t wanna sing a sad song.”

“What if it’s a happy song? Can I sing you a happy one?”

“Mm,” She nods, and he sits up straighter, rocking gently side to side as he begins to hum, and sing softly:

”When the wine stops working, and you’re all run out. When all of your high hopes have all headed south. When the song’s left the stable and they never came home. When there ain’t no forgetting that you’re out on your own.

Turned the scrub oaks to timber, and you’re left without friends. When you don’t put your book down, even after it ends. Smoke curls up from the table in your quiet little room, and your heart’s worn the handle of an old pushing broom.

Broken bottles shi-ine, just like stars, make a wish anyways. Just your smile lit a sixty-watt bulb in my house that was darkened for days. I’ve been thinking, you probably should stay.

When the goin’ gets long gone and the kick drum won’t kick. When you fumble with your fiddle, but you’re fresh out of tricks. When the horse flies are biting, but the fish never do. And you’re heart’s a thousand colors, but their all shades of blue.

Broken bottles shi-ine, just like stars, make a wish anyways. Just your smile lit a sixty-watt bulb in my house that was darkened for days. I’ve been thinking, you probably should stay. Yeah I think that you probably should stay.”

He sighs, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, her own leaned gently against his shoulder as he stares out the window at the quickly receding sunset. “Oh, Nadi.” He mumbles, chuckling to himself. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Is she distracting you?”

He turns toward the door to see the silhouette of Lisa outlined by the stark hall lights. “No, no, she just wanted to see what I was up to.” He slips off the edge of the bed and deposits her into her mother’s arms, her little arms wrapping around Lisa’s neck easily.

“You know when Hunk got back from Louisiana, Silvio and Nadia were so excited, they thought you were right behind him.”

“Oh no” They chuckled together, “I’m sorry, that must’ve been hard.”

“Oh, for weeks it was ‘when’s uncle Lance coming?’ ‘Is he coming tomorrow?’ They just couldn’t bare to wait until October to see you again.”

Warmth bloomed in his chest, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I am the world’s best uncle. Pretty sure I’ve got a mug somewhere that proves it.”

“I wouldn’t be too hasty, Marco’s been using that mug quite a lot.”

“Ugh!” He tosses his head back “That hound, I’ll teach him what it takes to be the world’s best uncle.”

Lisa chuckles at him, one hand against Nadia’s back as she turns toward the door. “Do you need any help with your bags?”

“No, I’ve got it, thanks Lisa.” He leans out the door, watching as she took Nadia down the hall, disappearing down the stairs into the warm yellow glow of the living room below. He ducked back into his room and flicked on the lights, turning toward his bag and suitcase leaned against the bed with another sigh.

Ten minutes later he padded back down the carpeted stairs, thrilled to see his whole family buzzing around the dining room table, plates piled with spiced meat, corn, watermelon and fried veggies set out for everyone to pass around once they were seated. He spotted Nadia sitting next to her mother, still sleepy but otherwise more content than she’d been when she arrived in his room, which warmed his heart further.

“If I’d known my youngest was coming I would have made your favorite dish, but you’re going to have to make due with what we had planned already, Lance.”

“Momma, if you’re the one cooking, then there’s no point in having a favorite dish, everything is my favorite.”

Laughter and chuckles all around the table as the passing of plates began, spoons and knives clattering against dishwater as servings are dished and drinks are poured in a flurry of movement that, if Lance wasn’t so accustomed to it already, would be overwhelming.

“Before we begin let’s say grace, shall we?” His mother announces from the head of the table, a hush falling over them as everyone bows their heads.

“Jesus, thank you for bringing Lance back home early to spend the summer with us. Thank you for the fresh air out on the bay and this gorgeous food from the market, bringing another day to a close surrounded by family. Amen. Now, let’s eat!”

He raises his head, looking around the table at the faces of his family, a gnawing feeling in his stomach. He reaches into his pants pocket, the corner of the Air Force acceptance letter digging into his hip as he pulled it out, staring down at the square of paper.

“Do me a favor. Don’t tell your mother you want to join the Air Force in the same night you surprise her with your degree.” She winces, taking a deep breath in the sudden silence. “Please, just… I know you think you’re excited right now, but think about this. At least for a couple more days before you do anything crazy.”

He sighs through his nose, tucking it into his back pocket, and taking his fork in his hand instead.

Chapter Text

“You didn’t tell them?”

He sat across from Pidge on her father’s back porch, their chairs swallowed by the shadow of her giant monstera and majesty palm that waved lazily above them in the breeze. The sun peeked through the trees below, casting ripples of light across the shallows just down the hill behind their house. He sets down his coffee mug on the arm of her hanging bench, white paint peeling under his hand. He picks absently at it, scattering flecks of white over the porch.

“Quit that,” she mutters, leaning across the bench to swat at his hand until he grabs his mug again, settling his hands in his lap. “You didn’t tell your mom?”

“No,” he stares down into his coffee as he swirls it. “It didn’t feel like the right time to bring it up. Marco was there, and after what you said, it just…”

She leaned back, her relief subdued but no less visible. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know Pidge—” He sighs sharply and looks past her at the road beyond, past the trees, the ocean, anywhere but her face. “I’ve always, always wanted to fly planes, ever since I was a kid. I loved flight school, and when I got the Air Force letter I was—” he swallows, waving a hand in front of him, “—I don’t know, relieved? I felt like, ‘Yes, I’m gonna be okay after this’, Like I’ve got somewhere to go.”

“Doesn’t sound like you were even happy about it when you got the letter.” She pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her chin over them. He looks up at her, pulling his own legs up onto the bench between them and resting his elbows over his knees. “You’re a smart guy, Lance. You don’t have to take the first job you get. You’ve got your whole family supporting you, and they’re clearly excited about the prospects. Hell, they seem more excited than you are.”

That makes him laugh. They each take a drink from their coffees, the silence between them filled with singing insects and bird calls. “I don’t know.” He rasps, clearing his throat against the coffee. “The Air Force is— it would be respectable, right? Imagine me:” He straightens up, sitting with his chest puffed forward, chin raised as he looks down his nose at her. “Lance McClain, Airmen First-Class. Expert Fighter Pilot. Pilot Extraordinaire!”

She scoffs, smiling up at him. “I’m just saying, you’ve never hit me as the military-type. You’re too…” she sighs, shaking her head, “ You’ve got more personality than any military guy I’ve ever met! And trust me, I’ve met a bunch.”

That gets his attention. He pauses, mug half-raised to his lips as he stares at her in intrigue. She rolls her eyes in reply. “Dad used to be in the Navy, he’s got a ton of buddies that come by every now and then, and they’ve all got sons in the army and shit.”

“Jeez, how’s Matt feel about that?” He asks into his cup.

She snickers, “Not great but also not terrible? It’s not like dad pressures him about it at all, he and Matt get along way too well over their zoology stuff for it to bother him. Whenever they come by Matt gets into it with them about like, boat ties and shit.”

He smiles, imagining Pidge’s lanky brother rambling enthusiastically to a crowd of army recruits about tying knots, all of them pleasantly entertained. She sighs through her nose, her chin resting over her knees once more as she stares down at the bench seat. “I just… don’t want to lose you, y’know? I watched people we went to high school with go to basic training and come back… I don’t know man, different. They’re different.”

“I’m not getting brainwashed.” He mutters, incredulous. But the look she gives him in return tells him she’s unconvinced. “Pidge, you know me. I’d never let some stingy military guys crush my spirit. I’m un-crushable.”

“You don’t even want to go.” She mumbles into her legs. “So why are you trying to convince me?”

He cuts himself off, any retort he might’ve had dying on his tongue as he sighs, his back hitting the armrest behind him. “I don’t know, Pidge. I just want…” He lowers his gaze to his lap, “…I just want to do something worth… be proud of.” He whispers.

“Your family is proud of you. They love you. No matter what you do next, they’ll be proud of you. They always have been.”

“Yeah, but—” He swallows, his shoulders slumping forward. “It’s more than that I guess, It’s just that— all my life, whenever I meet someone new it’s always been ‘Oh, Lance? You’re Marco’s little brother aren't you?’ Or Veronica’s, or it goes: ‘Oh, that’s Lance, don’t worry about him, don’t listen to him, don’t take him too seriously’”

“Who ever said that?” She snaps, cutting him off, her eyes a fraction wider all of a sudden.

“Uh…” He rubs at the back of his neck, heat rising up his cheeks. “Iverson? The old Gym Teacher, from high school?”

“Iverson didn’t know shit about you.” She shakes her head. “How long have you been holding onto that?”

“Since high school, clearly.” He scoffs, taking another drink, but she doesn’t let up, expression staying stubbornly irate. “Pidge, please, drop it—”

“No! No, this is serious Lance! Were you honestly considering joining the Air Force over something our high school gym teacher said to five years ago?!”

“It’s not just that! It’s every time I meet someone, every time I go anywhere, I’m alway’s someone else’s ‘Little Brother’, I’m… I’ve never been just me. Just Lance.”

“You’ve always been ‘just Lance’ to me.” She offers, smiling.

He chuckles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “When I was in flight school, I felt it for the first time. I was me. Not Marco’s brother, or my momma’s little boy, I was just Lance, and people liked me. Pidge, I—” He scoffs, raking his nails through his hair, “A guy asked me out.”

”WHAT!!” He winces against her shriek, a genuine grin spreading over his face. “Why didn’t I hear about this on the way back from the airport?! Spill!! NOW!”

“It wasn’t anything crazy! Just a couple drinks, We… danced.” He can feel his blush growing brighter, and presses his hands to his face, his mouth still split into a smile. “There was a sort of holiday party at my classmate’s apartment. They played uh, this Lola Young song: ’One Thing’?” He closes his eyes, swaying gently as he remembers the feeling of being in his arms, the evening sun glowing behind the horizon as the sky darkened into black and violet, the stars shining in the sky above them. When he spoke again it was hardly above a whisper: “He took me out on the balcony, we danced like it was just us, y’know? And when the song ended he pulled me in and, we kissed.”

Pidge’s squeals bring him back into the moment, grinning as her hands grip his shoulders, shaking him in excitement. “Laaaance! Oh my GOD!! Who is this guy?!”

“He was the top of our class.” He beams, “We had this sort of rivalry thing for the first couple months, or— I sort of did, I guess. You know me.”

“I do.” She mutters, rolling her eyes.

He scoffs, shoving her shoulder as she sits back. “Okay, so I get to this party, there’s maybe like twenty people crammed into this poor girl’s three bedroom apartment. I go to the kitchen to grab a drink and he’s in there talking to this other guy, and— I don’t remember exactly what I said? But is was something like: “I thought there were no plus-one’s allowed at this party” and, no joke, he says: “He’s in our class, you don’t recognize him because you’re always staring at me.”

She barks out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hands. “Lance!”

“Right?! In class the guy was super serious, but out of class he’s this massive flirt! He grabs me a drink and we hop up on the counter across from one another, he’s on the island, and he stretches his leg out and rests it on mine—”

“Oh my god, stop—”

“—we talk for maybe half an hour, and that’s when Lola comes on. He immediately hops off the counter when we hear it and starts dancing, lip-syncing this hot song at me. He pulls me out onto the balcony where we just dance. We weren’t impressing anyone or anything, but we were there and it was just us, and when it’s over he drags me in, looking into my eyes before we just—” He squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head, pressing his palms against his eyes as he groans in frustrated excitement.

“Lance.” Pidge pulls on his arms, yanking his hands away from his face until he’s looking up at her, her own face inches from his. “Tell me you locked that in.”

He breathes in through his nose, palms pressed together in front of his mouth as he takes a moment to compose himself, opening his eyes once more. “We talked about it… and decided neither of us could do long distance.”

Her jaw drops, staring at him for a good five seconds before tossing her head backwards, the muscles of her neck jutting out as she falls against the arm rest of the bench before she snaps forward. “Force him to move here!!” She throws her arms out, gesturing wildly. “Are you kidding?!”

“Believe me we both wanted it to work out!” He agrees, giggling at her clear frustration. “But he was from New York, he’s got a brother there and, you know, I’ve got my family here. I’ve got you and Hunk.”

”Laaaanceeee…” She groans, her feet tapping aggressively against the bench seat. “Out of all the reasons you could possibly give for leaving, you told me about your Air Force letter when you had this on the back-burner?!”

“Oh trust, we made the most of it when we were in the same place.” He chuckles. “After that party we kind of got insufferable to be around. We both knew it wouldn’t be forever, so we took advantage of it while we were in the same place.”

“Sounds like exactly what I’d expect from you.” She sighs heavily, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “I can’t believe you were going to try for the Air Force when you had a lover-boy like that on your tail! It would be more honorable to run away to New York for someone like that than ship yourself off to some random air base.”

He chuckles, letting his head fall against his knees. “It would’ve been nice, but… I could never ask him to leave his brother to move here for me, and if he’d asked me to move to New York? With momma, Veronica, Silvio and Nadia, and everyone else here? I would’ve said no.”

“But you would fuck off to an air base without us?”

He glares at her, though it’s rather toothless even to him. “…No, I don’t think I could.” He whispers. Suddenly the silence floods in as Pidge looks up at him with bright, shining eyes, her mouth pressed into a thin line, nearly hiding a smile.

Her hand darts forward, stealing his in her tight grasp. “What would you do without me constantly talking you down from all these ledges you keep stepping onto?” They both giggle, and he traces the shape of her knuckle with his thumb. The silence spans on as he stares down at their hands, the backs of her palms blushed red with sunburn, nails neat. His own hand spanning easily over hers, his callouses rough against her skin.

Rustling in the foliage below them causes Pidge to yank her hand away just as her father appeared on the opposite side of the of the porch railing wearing a large-brimmed sunhat that cast a warm shadow across his face. “Mornin’ Lance! How’re you two doin’ this morning?”

“I’m good Mr. Holt!” He calls after him as he trudges through the overgrowth toward the porch steps, hidden somewhere within the jungle below. “I’m bribing Pidge into coming with me to the boardwalk for more paddle boarding today.”

He barks out a loud laugh, one hand grasping the stair railing as he stepped up onto the porch. “Oh I’m sure she doesn’t need convincing. Katie was just over the moon after you called last week! She’s been chattering nonstop to Matt and I about your coming back ever since.”

”Dad.” She hissed, turning toward him with an indiscreet ‘shoo’ing hand wave. “Would you beat it?”

He snickers, winking at her as he walks inside. “You two have fun out there on the water!”

She huffs sharply and turns around to face him with a scowl. “You know you can’t trust anything he says, he still thinks I have a—”

“Pidge, it’s fine.” He snickers. “I know.”

She lets out a more relaxed sigh, the corners of her mouth tipping upwards. “Alright, well are you ready to go then? Or did you actually come over to steal Matts paddle board again?”

He shakes his head as he stands, offering a hand, which she deposits her empty mug into before following him in through the back door. “Matt’s board was alright, but now that I’m not hiding from my family, I’d rather use mine.”

“Understandably.” They pad into the kitchen and Pidge hops onto the counter across from the sink as Lance washes their cups, setting them in the otherwise empty basin. She grabs a banana from a basket in the middle of the island, peeling it deftly and taking a bite. “You gonna take me over to your place finally? I haven’t seen Silvie and Nadi in ages.”

He scoffs, nodding for her to follow after him as they head through the breakfast nook and out into the living room. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, I can’t understand a word you said.”

“I said are we going to your house?”

“Yeah, you’re coming with me.” He slips on his sandals before swinging open her front door and stepping aside, allowing her through first before following behind. They step onto the gravel drive and he pauses, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his board shorts. “Pidge.” She turns to him, brow raised. He raises his own in return and gestures toward her with one hand. “Shoes?”

She looks down, as if only just now noticing that she’s not wearing any herself before shrugging back up at him. “We’re going paddle boarding, I don’t need shoes.”

“You need shoes to drive.”

“Then you drive!” She shoves him in the shoulder. “When’s the last time you even drove a car? I know you didn’t have one in Seattle.” She gasps, staggering to a stop and nearly knocking him over as he narrowly avoids running into her. “What if you forgot how to drive?!”

He rolls his eyes, her voice clearly dripping with sarcasm. “If you don’t want to drive, then use your words to tell me that.”

She runs across the drive to her family’s detached garage, the tan truck’s silver mirrors gleaming in the morning sun as she giddily climbs into the passenger seat. He sighs through his nose as he stalks up to the truck and opens the driver’s side door with an obnoxious metallic squeal.

A wave of sun-baked air washed over him as he grimaces, throwing himself haphazardly into the seat and shutting the door behind him. They both wind the windows down instantly, not wanting to spend a single moment stuck inside the sweltering tin can without at least the possibility of a breeze. As he turns the ignition Pidge huffs out a breath, leaning heavily against her door with her arms thrown outside the window as they back down the drive and onto the road.

The sun shines through the trees above as they pass overgrown gardens and rusting mailboxes, the yellow lines on the road already fading. He flicks the radio on and sifts through the channels, backtracking to the one with the least amount of fuzz.

“Ooh, I love this song!” Pidge cheers, ducking back into the cab to crank up the volume, acoustic guitar filling the truck as she bops along to the rhythm. ”When you started off with nothing and you’re proud that you’re a self-made man! And your friends they all come crawlin’, slap you the back and say— Pleeease, pleeease!”

He chuckles, glancing across the dash as she crosses her ankles against the window’s edge, her fingers waving through the air like a lazy conductor.

”Trying to make some send of it all,” He chimes in, catching her off guard as her eyes snap up to his. ”But I can see, it makes no sense at all. Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor? Cause I don’t think that I can take anymore.”

”Clowns to the left of me—“

”—Jokers to the right! Here I am—“

”Stuck in the middle with you!”
”Stuck in the middle with you!”

She cackles, her ankles frantically thumping against the dashboard as they sing in tandem. ”Yes I’m stuck in the middle with you. Stuck in the middle with you. Here I am, stuck in the middle with you!” She squeals, her fists tapping his shoulder, “Yes!! Laaance!”

He laughs, pulling his arm out from between them to scrub the top of her hair. “I’ve been stuck with you since seventh grade, Pigeon.”

“Noo no no no, if one of us is stuck with the other, surely it is me with you.”

He bursts out a laugh, slapping a hand against the steering wheel. “What was it your dad said before we left? That when I called you you were, gosh, what did he call it—”

“Lance—”

“Oh right! I believe the term he used was ‘over the moon’? Ack!—” Pidge’s hand smacks lightly against his cheek just as he breaks hard, throwing each of them forward against their seatbelts. “Hey! No hitting above the neck when I’m driving!” He snaps, gesturing toward his head with a flattened palm. “C’mon Pidge!”

“Sorry! Sorry.” They both unbuckle and clamber out of the truck, slamming their doors shut. Pidge rounds the front and leans back against the hood as Lance stares up at his house. She follows his gaze, finding the second floor window standing open, white curtains fluttering in the soft breeze.

“Marco’s room?” She asks.

He hums, shrugging as he pushes himself off the truck, crossing the empty street at a lazy pace. “Did I ever tell you Marco and I swapped rooms?” She hums her own response, shaking her head. “Yeah, when I was around ten, I just got obsessed with the idea of us switching. His was bigger, plus he had his own bathroom.”

She scoffs. “There’s no way I’d give in to a trade that.” She mutters as they pass his mailbox, passing a hand over the top, only to pull it back as the metal singes her fingers.

“He didn’t! For years I begged and begged and begged for that room. The day he left for boot camp everyone was in the living room having a going-away party for him. He found me crying on the back porch, I didn’t want to see him go, so he sat next to me, threw his arm around my shoulders, and gave me permission to move in.”

“Aww, Lance.” She coos as they hop up the steps. He pops the screen door open and pulls out his keyring, jamming the key through the lock and swinging the door open.

“When I told mom she did not believe me at all. Marco forgot to tell her before he left, and she ended up calling him at something like five a-m at bootcamp to get confirmation before I was officially allowed to switch rooms.” They move easily through the living room and jog up the stairs to the second floor, passing a few doors before coming to his own.

“It’s too quiet in here, where is everyone?”

He turns back to her as he pushes his door open, shrugging. “Lisa took Silvie and Nadi to their summer camp this morning, and Veronica and momma are at work. ‘Dunno where Marco’s at, might be out with his friends.”

She steps in, a warm feeling of familiarity washing over her at the sight of Lance’s room, precisely as it was when she last saw it. It had been over two years, but his massive cedar dresser still sat against the far wall, the broad mirror sitting over it reflecting their faces, and the wall of mementoes behind her. She shuts his door softly and turns to get a better look at them all. Postcards tacked next to posters and photographs. One of Silvie’s childhood drawings was taped above his nightstand depicting a blue human-shaped figure ‘swimming’ alongside three black fish with a signature bright yellow sun casting rays down from the top left corner, and ’Silvio, 5’ scribbled in the bottom right.

Trophies littered the top of his dresser for everything from surfing to sand castle building to fishing, no matter the value. First, Second, Third, Fifth, Seventh. Whether it was junior league, or semi-pro. Lance disappears into his bathroom as she looks around, returning a moment later tucking something into his board short’s pocket. She raises a questioning brow at him.

He raises his own in turn, his gaze darting around as he searches for the subject in question before pulling his hands out, revealing— “wallet,” he says simply, slipping it back into his pocket. “Thought we’d stop by Hunk’s and pay him back for those garlic knots.”

“You know he hates it when you do that.” She warns, flopping back onto his half-made bed.

“Ingredients cost money, unfortunately.” He grabs a beach bag from the coat hanger behind his door, weighed down with every coat, hat, and bag that he owned, and began tossing in various beach supplies from across his room. “Until that changes I’m gonna pay him for the food he cooks me.”

She follows him around the room with her eyes as he tosses sunglasses, sunscreen, a half-empty water bottle and a lightly wrinkled beach towel into the bag before slinging it over his shoulder. He nods toward the door, turning to leave as she jumps up to follow after, closing the door behind them. “Your board’s already in the truck, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’d be pretty silly to have to run back to my place to grab it after coming here. Yeah, I didn’t take it out after yesterday. Matt’s is there too.”

“Alright, wait for me by the truck. Mine’s in the garage.”

She heads out the front door and he locks it behind her before going out the back, sliding the glass door closed as he hops down the steps into the wild foliage. It isn’t nearly as bad as Pidge’s place, but his back yard had always been a bit of a jungle. He assumed it must’ve been Marco or Veronica keeping it trimmed in certain spots for Silvie and Nadia to play outside. But that means the base of every tree is ringed with tall weeds of all kinds, nettles and crab grass. And beyond that, the forest made trimming anything untenable, the wilderness always negotiating with the yard over who will overtake who.

His sandals scuff against the outdoor mat at the garage’s side door, the knob jamming as he grabbed it. He held it firm and braced his shoulder against the door, tensing for a second before he leaned away and gave it a hard shove, stumbling into the darkness with a satisfied sigh. Cobwebs rounded every corner, his dad’s sixty seven chevy sitting in the center of it all, a cream tarp half-tossed over it that hadn’t been moved since the car was backed into it’s spot over fifteen years ago.

Veronica and Marco’s old bikes hung from the ceiling in storage above his dad’s old work bench, shimmering silver tools sitting over it’s surface, their reflections marred with black grease as though they’d been tossed their that morning. A shelf full of orange totes holding all Silvie and Nadi’s beach toys, along with his old baseball equipment leaned against the nearest wall, and Veronica’s golf clubs scattered against it’s side.

Next to those was, finally, his paddle board. He grabs it, yanking the door closed behind him just as Pidge’s truck horn honks impatiently from the road. He jogs around the side of the house with the board under his arm, waving his free hand above his head as she honks the horn once more. “I’m coming!” He shouts as he runs down the drive, slowing to a stop in front of her. “You have zero patience.”

“Whatever, it is too fucking hot out here. Let’s go before I start melting.”

———

The truck’s break’s squealed as he parked in a familiar spot, the sun blazing above them as Pidge hopped out of the car, and they headed down the boardwalk. “I still can’t believe you didn’t at least bring a pair of shoes with you.” He shakes his head, setting his sunglasses over his nose.

“Relax! The boardwalk is clean and so is the dock, and the beach.”

He yanks her out of the way just as a group of buttoned-up reporters rush past them down the boardwalk in the direction of the boat ramps. They watch them go, one degree from running and lugging a giant camera behind them. His gaze darts to Pidge, and he can see her doing the same to him before they glance back at their retreating forms, disappearing behind a beached boat.

“What was—?”

“—No idea.” She grabs his hand and drags him down the boardwalk. “C’mon, let’s find Hunk.” It doesn’t take long, there’s only one place Hunk would be on a day like this. They run down the boardwalk, skidding to a stop in front of Hunk’s restaurant, his back visible just over the metal counter.

“Hunk!!”

He snaps upwards, colliding instantly with a hanging copper pan. “Fuck!” He hisses, turning toward the order window with a hand rubbing the crown of is head. “Guys! What the—”

“Why’s there a news crew here?!”
“What’s with the cameras?”

“Woah, woah, what cameras?” He raises a brow, leaning out the window to glance either way down the boardwalk.

Pidge pointed down the walk in the direction of the boat ramp where they’d seen the crew heading. “A whole news team just sprinted past us! You didn’t see them?”

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “I uh, I’ve been kinda distracted this morning? I’m trying a new recipe, it’s got these little—”

“Sorry buddy, we’ve gotta figure this out first.” Lance cuts him off apologetically, placing a hand on the counter between them, his and Pidge’s eyes still glued on the empty space they’d last seen the crew. “Have you noticed anything weird today? Like news-worthy weird?”

“No, nothing crazy like that. There’s been some more foot traffic, but if something big is going down I haven’t heard about it.”

Pidge’s shoulders slump forward, her brow bent in frustration. “We should check it out! Lance, you and I saw were they went, we could catch up.”

“Aah, wait!” He reaches over her shoulder, flicking the tiny television sitting Hunk’s counter on. He flicks through the channels rapidly, dramas and cartoons flashing across the screen for fractions of a second before he catches a glimpse of the news reel and backtracks.

[“— ay the idilic small town of Alta, that Florida Governor and Presidential Candidate, Harris Sendak, is making his first big moves in regards to state-ordained wildlife preservation efforts.”]

“There!” The three crowd around the tiny screen, the image of a polished news woman jittering across the screen, standing in front of some lazy sailboats.

[“Sendak proposes that places like Atla are being underutilized when considering the state of Florida’s economic crisis. His suggestions would turn places like Alta with locally-owned businesses and open recreational waters into a bustling fisherman’s field, making way for even larger infrastructure changes that would allow Florida to increase it’s fishing yields from the projected seventy-two percent, all the way to eighty-four or higher.”]

The broadcast continues, though the reporters voice echoes in his mind, feeling further and further away. He leans back, fingertips clutching the edge of the metal counter. “What the hell are they talking about? They want to make the bay into a— a fucking fishery?”

Pidge wrinkles her nose. “Guys, that would reek to high heaven. Dead fish everywhere… Do you know how bad fishing trollers smell? There’s a couple that linger around the docks, they’re gross.”

“Yeah, and they’d kill all the fish.” Lance seethed, “There’s a gigantic reef under the bay, I’ve gone diving there dozens of times! They literally, legally can’t drive fishing trollers here, they’d rip the reef to shreds in days.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to Governor Sendak.” Hunk mutters, shaking his head. “If he gets his way with our bay, well then… This’ll be the last good summer to spend in Atla.”

[“Proposals like Governor Sendak’s are growing more abundant with ever quarter passed. Already this year three other counties just outside Orlando have put forth similar legislation that, if put into action, would transform our coastlines in monumental ways.”]

Lance’s breath was sucked from his chest, staring out over the clear, crisp ocean. The blue sky, the ends of the bay that gently curve in at the tips like a crescent moon. The surfers, the boaters, the paddle boarders, the divers… the boardwalk. Hunk’s restaurant—

Everything.

“That can't happen.” He mutters, taking in a sharp breath. “No. No, I won’t let that happen.”

Hunk glances up at him, his gaze darting toward the ocean for a moment before turning back to Lance. “…Whaaat do you mean? You gonna run for Governor, buddy?”

“No,” He scoffs, looking back at Hunk with a conflicting expression, his resolve warping with hesitation. “…But we’ve gotta do something, right?”

Pidge and Hunk share an apprehensive look, “…Like what?”

———

“Your dad and Matt can do something, can’t they?”

Pidge lifts her head from her paddle board where she’s lounging to look up at him over the rims of her sunglasses, paddle balancing across her stomach and arms pillowed under her head while Lance idly circles her on his own board.

They were floating near the boat docks, far enough away to steer clear of any launching boats but close enough to see the reporters from their

She sighs through her nose, unfolding her arms to let her head tip back against the board as she grabs her paddle. “I don’t know off the top of my head, I’d have to ask them.”

“We should…” He trails off, biting at his bottom lip. “I dunno, there should be someone we can call about shit like this right? A government office for complaints, or— opposition?”

“I mean, yeah, but the only guy you’re gonna get in contact with is this Sendak guy, or his secretary.”

“That’s not so bad! I could convince him.”

She snickers, her legs splashing into the water on either side of her board as she sits up. “If anyone could do it, it’s you. But politicians don’t change their minds based on one letter from one guy, no matter how convincing you are.”

“So we tell more people to write letters!” He throws his arms up at his sides, “How many people even know about this? I bet if more people knew, there’d be zero chance of it going through.”

She turns over, laying on her stomach as she watches him over her shoulder, circling around to her other side. “Just how serious are you about this?”

“Extremely.”

She huffs out a laugh, tipping her sunglasses up on her nose. “Alright, let’s think through this: How long do you think it would take to convince someone to write a letter?”

“Seconds.”

She rolls her eyes. “Lance.”

“Fine, fine. Maybe like… I could probably explain it in like, three minutes?”

“Okay. So it takes three minutes. We add two more minutes to add the time it would take to walk from house-to house and end up with five minutes. I’ll be generous and assume you’re work at peak efficiency. That’s six people convinced per hour. If you work for eight hours, with zero breaks, that’s forty-eight people per day.”

He slums forward. “Okay, well maybe—”

“Hang on! Let’s be generous again and say you work really

hard and get every person you talk to to send a letter, that’s—“ She rolls her eyes as she calculates, “—about under fifteen hundred people in a month.”

He blinks in surprise, lifting his chin from his chest. “Hey, that’s not so bad. Fifteen hundred people is a shit ton!”

“Ah-bup-bup, but here’s the thing: You’re not gonna convince everyone you talk to. I know you’re a charismatic guy, but out of the people you do convince, only one in ten is going to actually write a letter. And I know you Lance, you’re not gonna work at peak efficiency one hundred percent of the time, no one can do that. Plus you need to eat, and rest.”

He raises a brow at her, dipping his paddle into the water to angle himself around the front o her board. “How do you know all this?”

“I told you, my dad was in the Navy. Pretty high ranking before he retired. I learned a lot about politics from him, and Matt’s a bit of a politic himself. Plus, I ran a door-to-door campaign for the community college when I was a sophomore.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that…”

“Try the radio!!”

Pidge snaps up as Lance slips on his board, barely managing to catch himself as he yelps in surprise, frantically looking around for the source of the voice.

“Up here, lad!!”

He shields his eyes against the sun and leans forward, the gleam of something reflective casting a white shine over his eyes from the direction of the dock, blinding him. He turns to Pidge in question, the two of them shrugging before paddling cautiously closer to the end of the dock. The glimmer eases slightly as he moves out of the sun’s ideal angle, revealing the familiar shape of—

“—Coran?”

“Ahoy you two!” He cheers from the end of the dock, waving a hand high in the air.

“Coran!” Pidge cheers, pushing her paddle through the water more quickly as they grew closer. She reaches up, grabbing one of the wood posts and hoisting herself onto the dock with the ease and grace of a dancer, the black ankle tie attaching her to her board tugging on her leg slightly, but she anchored it to the spot. Lance simply braced his paddle in front of him, using the first dock post to slow his approach until he could anchor himself to the dock with a hand.

“It’s good to see you out enjoying the water!” He beams at them from over the edge of his tanning mirror, casting glowing sunlight against this neck and chin. “Now, you both know how I hate to eavesdrop—”

Pidge and Lance share a knowing look.

“—but I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion of sales tactics! And as you know, I’m somewhat of an expert in sales.” He grins, twisting the end of his bright mustache in one hand.

Coran was rather infamous on the Atla boardwalk for a wide variety of tourist trap attractions he’d attempted over the years. The last one Lance could remember was his caricatures and face painting, which had been… somewhat successful, though he ended up stopping after getting too many complaints about the ‘arguable quality’. Some of those portraits really belonged in an abstract museum.

“You mentioned the radio.” Pidge pointed out, leaning against the post beside her.

“Exactly right! If you’re selling something, the radio is the way to do it.” He sits up, lifting his sunglasses to reveal a stark-red sunburn across his nose and cheeks. “I myself have a thirty-second slot on the afternoon broadcast. To do it right though you’ll need a good jingle! Something snappy so it sticks in the head. You see, mine goes: ‘Coran-coran, the boardwalk man! Find him on the shore to see-what’s-in stoooore! 755-059—”

“Oh yeah! I know that jingle!” Lance slaps his hand against the dock. “Pidge, we could totally make that work. Coran, how much does a radio ad cost?”

“Eugh…” He frowns, the twisting of his mustache growing less enthusiastic. “It depends, lad. If you want an afternoon slot it’s about a hundred dollars for a thirty second ad.”

“A hundred bucks?!” Pidge balks, her jaw dropping. “You paid a hundred dollars for a radio ad?!”

“Not paid my girl, pay!” He corrects, “It’s a weekly sum.”

“Shit.” Lance wipes a hand down his face, rubbing at the back of his neck where the sun was beginning to singe him. “That’s four hundred a month… mom, Lisa, and Veronica don’t even make that much in a month combined. It took me a year to save that much money in high school.”

“Have you ever considered offering scuba diving lessons?” Coran offers, gesturing grandly toward a signs at the end of the dock. Lance leaned over his shoulder to glance at it: It was maybe five feet tall, leaning against the first post of the dock with bold orange lettering declaring ‘CORAN’S SCUBA EXPERIENCES’ with silhouettes of blue fish and pink seashells decorating it’s border. “It’s ridiculously lucrative!”

Lance’s brows furrow, looking back at him skeptically. “Coran,” He deadpans,“do you have a license to sell scuba diving lessons?”

“Don’t need one!”

“Coran. Yes, you do.”

“Nope!”

“Coran—”

“He doesn’t need a license!”

His gaze snaps upward once more as an unfamiliar voice answers him from down the dock. His eyes blow wide, mouth hanging slightly open at the sight of the angel walking toward them.

She was tall. Taller than him, a gorgeous white braid of hair waving behind her that fell to her ankles. She wore a pair of bright clean white sneakers, and a black and pink full body wetsuit, a pair of goggles pulling her hair back from her face. She smiles at him, and he feels his face light on fire.

“Are you here for lessons?” She asks, resting her fists on her hips.

“Lance, Pidge! I’d like you to meet my niece Allura.” Coran beams, gesturing toward her pridefully. “She’s staying in Atla with me this summer!”

Allura offers a hand do Pidge, which she shakes casually. “My uncle requested I assist him with his summer ventures here, and I was delighted at the opportunity to see the gorgeous reef under your bay!” She takes a step forward, gracefully moving around Coran’s lounge chair to offer Lance a hand as well.

He stares up at her for half an hour second too long before accepting the handshake, his throat tight as he swallowed. “Ah, n-nice— nice to see me— meet! You! To meet you. Me. Meet you.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Pidge snickered at him, and he glared at her over his shoulder as Allura stood up straight, completely unaffected by his stammering. She smiles as she looks across the bay, the glare of sunlight glimmering against the waves sparkling in her eyes. “It really is a perfect day to dive. I assume that’s what we’re all discussing?”

“Well—“

“—Yes!”

Pidge glances back at him in confusion, but he ignores her, cooling his excitement to aim for a more composed, charming vibe. “Yeah, that’s what we’re here for. Me and Pidge, we love diving.”

“Lance.” She hisses, gritting her teeth. “I wasn’t planning on going diving today.” He leans in, offering up the biggest puppy-dog eyes he could possibly muster, but she only glares in response. “You know that doesn’t work on me.”

He slumps onto the dock with a whine, his back against the wood planks and arms sprawled above his head, feet falling into the water with a dramatic splash. “Piiiiidge!” She groans, rolling her eyes at him. “Piiiiiiidge!!”

“Fine!” She snaps, kicking him lightly in the side, earning another whine. “Fine, we’ll go diving.”

“Excellent!” Allura cheers, clasping her hands together in front of her chest.

“Yeah,” Pidge mutters, glaring at Lance’s grinning face. “Excellent.”

Chapter Text

“I’ve decided I’m going to marry her.”

Pidge choked as she stepped into her wetsuit, doubling over with her hands pressed to her knees. Lance grinned at the sight, watching with muted amusement as she regained her composure and once again stood. “You— you what?”

“Allura.” He specified. “I’m thinking a Winter wedding, what do you think? Would Spring be better? It’s more traditional.”

They stood a handful of yards from Coran and Allura where they stood on the docks, presumably observing the location they planned to dive from. She and Lance were tucked discreetly out of sight and, apparently, out of earshot as he snickered in her ear.

“You have never, not once in your whole life so much as mentioned the word marriage to me.” She sputtered, pulling the wetsuit up around her midsection as Lance pulled his arms through his sleeves. “What the hell?”

“Nothing, Pidge. She’s just hot.” He chuckles as he zips his suit closed and motions for her to stop her fumbling, untangling the fabric and opening it like a jacket for her to slip into, the fern-like pattern of her long sleeve suit disappearing under a thick layer of black neoprene. “Have I seriously never even said the word ‘marriage’ in front of you? I joke about marrying girls all the time.”

“Must be something you picked up in flight school.” She rolls her eyes. “I seem to vividly remember you visibly gagging at the idea of marrying anyone for any reason in high school.”

“My disgust has transformed into humor!” He boasts, grinning as she again rolls her eyes.

“Whatever. Come on Lover-boy, let’s go.”

The provided suits were reasonably sized for each of them, thankfully Allura had multiple to choose from, all mismatched in color but with an overwhelming trend of black, which as typical. His suit was nearly completely black accept for the shoulders, which were cerulean, the thread sticking the whole piece together the same color. Pidge’s actually had some patterning to it, a green and purple marbling over the chest and stomach and outsides of her thighs.

“I have a dive suit at home, should’ve brought it with me.” he mutters in disappointment as they walks back toward the dock.
Pidge squints up at him, confused. “You had no idea we were going to do a drive, why would you have brought it with you?”

“I’m just saying! I look good in my dive suit.” He shakes his head, waving a hand in front of hi as if to erase the statement. “I look good in any dive suit.”

They pause, Pidge grabbing his shoulder as she turns to face him, her eyes dragging over his form. “Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?!” He squawks. “I look good in a dive suit!”

“Ready to head out?” Allura’s gentle and excited tone caught them off guard as they spring apart, his face dangerously red already and growing redder simply in her presence. She simply beams at them, standing tall with her fists pressed to her hips. Her preferred pose, apparently. Pidge wonders absently if it’s comfortable or not.

They follow her down the dock, white braid swinging behind her like a snake, or maybe a tail as she walked. “I’ll need to see some proof of your scuba diving certification before we begin.” She says over her shoulder as they make it back to Coran, who was now standing in giddy silence beside his lounging chair, reflective fan absent from his hands.

While they were getting suited up one of the two must have brought around a small craft, a shiny-looking motorboat just large enough for four people idled in the water beside the dock, their paddle boards leant sideways against the post at Coran’s feet.

The two scramble for their IDs, showing the small badge etched into the corner of the certification logo. Satisfied, she nods for them to step closer. “Alright, I’ve got some equipment for each of you here that you’ll be familiar with, while I help you gear-up I’ll explain how and where we’ll be diving, sound good?”

They nod, her expression brightening as Coran hands her two B-C Devices, offering one to Lance to hold while she fits the other around Pidge’s waist. “I’m used to entertaining slightly bigger crowds, so you’ll have to excuse the language, but let me see a show of hands if anyone has been diving off this dock before?”

Lance and Pidge both chuckle softly and raise their hands in tandem.

“Excellent! Then you’re well aware that there is a positively gorgeous reef system just about forty meters below sea level here in Atla Bay. That reef is called Monument Reef, in case you didn’t know! Now let’s see a show of hands for whose done any diving outside of Atla Bay, anywhere outside the bay area?”

Lance lowers his hand, while Pidge’s stays raised in the air.

“Tell me, where’d you dive at love?” She poses the question as though she’d asked it many times before, and given the deftness with which she was handing their gear, Lance had no doubt she had. As she tightens the strap to fit snugly against Pidge’s side before moving toward him. He raises his arms partially away from his sides, allowing her access to his chest and midsection.

“Miami Beach, and I dove at the Great Barrier Reef with my dad and brother.” Pidge grinned at his compromised state, face growing beet-red as Allura’s arms wrapped around his back, purely in a utilitarian fashion. “Careful Lance, you’re looking a little green in the gills.”

“Shut up Pidge.” He spits, glaring daggers into her as she beams.

“Are you sure? You look close to passing out.” She quips.

Allura’s hands still around his midsection as his heart begins to hammer, her gaze meeting his with calculated concern. “Don’t listen to her, she just likes to pester me, I’m fine.” He reassures in a rasp, glaring back at Pidge once Allura had resumed her work and sharply miming the ‘zip-it’ motion at her.

“Well, if you’d ever done a dive just outside the bay, you’d be aware of how vast it truly is.” She finishes tightening his Buoyancy Device and stands back, taking one of the small compressed oxygen rigs from Coran’s outstretched hands and motioning for Pidge to turn around. “This bay holds a portion of the reef, that much is true, but over sixty percent of it is located past the crest in the ocean! Most diving teams wouldn’t take tours past the bay anyway since it acts as a landmark for the inexperienced, and ocean dives are more dangerous compared to an enclosed area like Atla Bay.”

She finishes with the tank and offers Pidge an oxygen mask, which she trusts her to put on herself before taking the second tank and gesturing toward Lance to turn as Pidge had, attaching the tank to his back with straps and buckles. “There’s also a large wall of coral that marks a sort of underwater barrier around the bay, you can even see it sometimes during an especially low tide! During that time, Atla Bay may just be the world’s largest tide pool.”

Pidge chuckles, adjusting her gear slightly to sit more comfortably over her frame as Allura continues: “Here are the specifics: we’re going on a limited dive fifty meters out and forty meters down. We’ll have an hour of compressed air to dive, but I’ll be giving you both a twenty minute warning. Once we reach the surface I’ll signal to Coran to pick us up!”

“Sounds good to me.” Pidge smirks, glancing across the dock to Lance, raising a brow at him. He turns away from her in a huff, following behind Allura and Coran as they step down into the boat. Though he does reach back to offer her a hand down from the dock, pulling her into the boat with them.

“Onwards and Outwards!” Coran cheers, the boat lurching forward sharply as they dart toward the open bay. Pidge yelps as Lance catches her by her waist, digging his heels into the dirty floor of the boat to keep them grounded and on board. Allura simply cackles in delight, resting a hand on his shoulder as her braid whips behind her in the wind. Coran’s Hawaiian shirt billowing behind him like a technicolor flag.

He grins. It’s impossible not to when they’re out on the water like this. Dappled sunlight sparkling off the peaks of each wave, the water clear and bright and blue. An electric giggle bubbles up from his chest as Pidge looks up at him. He meets her gaze, the grin on his face nearly maniacal with glee.

“You’re enjoying this way too much!” She shouts over the motor, though she couldn’t hide her own beaming smile.

It takes a matter of minutes for them to reach the designated dive spot by boat, Coran’s ginger hair whipping behind him in the wind, a pair of thin dark sunglasses sitting atop his nose. As they slow to a stop Allura guides them into position, sitting on the boat’s edge. One hand on Pidge’s shoulder, the other on Lance’s. “Alright, you two will dive first. I’ll be following behind once you’re clear, wait for me and we’ll go down together.”

“You’ve got it!” He chirps, winking at her.

“Oh my god.” Pidge rolls her eyes.

They’re pushed off the boat in tandem with one swift shove to the shoulder, heels tumbling overhead as they plunge into the chilled bay water. It wasn’t ice cold, especially not right at the surface, but it was cold enough that Lance felt a whole-body shiver race under his skin. He turns to Pidge and catches her as she’s tucking the mouthpiece between her teeth. She pauses for a moment when she notices his eyes on her and spits the mouthpiece out, baring her teeth at him in a wide grin.

Allura dives between them, a flurry of bubbles accompanying her decent. She adjusts her goggles, fits the oxygen mask over her mouth, and signals to both of them that they should dive deeper.

They follow her down, a solid wall of blue slowly giving way to the rainbow of colored coral below them. Schools of shimmering fish dart wildly around the surface, silver and black, wide unblinking eyes staring at them as they approach. He smiles against his oxygen mask as he takes in a slow breath.

Pidge swims past both him and Allura, turning back toward him and pointing toward a crevice in the coral. ’She found something already?’ He thinks, following her gaze. He drifts down toward her, peeking through the gap where a purple octopus wriggles, hiding away from what dappled sunlight makes it through the water’s surface.

He turns to her, catching the crinkle around her eyes behind her goggles. He grins back, holding the index and middle finger of his right hand up to his chin and curling them down a few times.

Cute.

She nods, pushing off the coral to explore the rest of the reef. He checks to see where Allura is, and sees that she was hovering a few feet above him, keeping an eye out for him and Pidge no doubt. He swims toward her and points over his shoulder to see if she’d also like to see the octopus, but before he can break away from her she grabs his arm, holding a palm flat and tapping her thumb against her forehead.

Shark.

His eyes widen, heart rate spiking as he turns around to see it, and again she grabs his shoulder, this time pointing below them toward a grey shape slithering through the corals. He crosses his wrists in front of him, his hands balled into fists, and uncrosses them, holding them at his shoulders before pointing at the shark.

Safe?

She nods, guiding him by the arm toward the creature. Her grip is loose enough that if he wanted to he could easily break away as they slowly approach it. He realizes from the shape of its nose that its a nurse shark. He relaxes at that, allowing Allura to pull him along as they follow her path through. When she finally stops Lance jolts in surprise at the sight of five other sharks, all nurses, tucked under the cool shadow of a shallow cliff, the top decorated with long shelves of flat lavender-colored coral. She takes her spot amongst them, their yellow eyes watching lazily as he and Allura observe silently a few feet above.

She breaks contact with him, her hand falling away from his arm and he looks away from the sharks to watch her leave, presumably to check on where Pidge swam off to. Leaving him alone amongst the nurses. He turns back to them, content to watch them idle for a while longer.

Sharks have always, always been his favorite. Nurses, Reef sharks, Great Whites, Tiger and Leopard Sharks, even Hammerheads, despite how funny-looking he finds their elongated faces. As a kid he’d been thoroughly terrified by movies like Flipper and Nemo, movies that showed them as blood thirsty predators that go into a frenzy with a single drop of blood. But his momma couldn’t abide that. She worked at the zoo, and she knew first hand what sharks were like.

The first time he accompanied her to her job he’d been ecstatic. A whole weekend of feeding penguins and watching Jellyfish from behind the scenes? Nothing had sounded cooler. But when she did bring him, at seven years old, to the edge of the atrium to feed the sharks, he ran down the hall in fear. Sharks were scary, after all.

He hovered closer, gently gripping the side of the reef and reaching down, passing the back of his palm over the head of one of the sharks.

His mom had led him by the wrist back to the aquarium, telling him gently but sternly the whole way that he could not run off. That sharks were sweet, quiet creatures. It took a few tries, several weekend, before he was finally able to work up the courage to sit cross-legged at the edge of the pool, watching the slithering creatures swimming below. He learned their names: Leafy the Leopard Shark, Ghost the Tiger Shark, Label, Sable, and Mable the Nurse Sharks.

Something bumps against the back of his neck and he spins around, eyes darting across the corals and weeds behind him. It had been slick, definitely not a hand. As if Allura or Pidge could swim fast enough that he wouldn’t at least see them in the act. He pushes off the sea floor toward the surface, rising above the reef to get a top-down perspective. A dozen yards away he spots Pidge and Allura, her white whip of a braid like an eel in the water. She turns, spotting him easily over her shoulder and sending him a quick thumbs-up, which he returns.

A new shape drifts through the water below him now. Grey, lithe, but sharper around the edges than a Nurse would be. Moving faster than one too. Without thinking too much about it he follows its trail through the reef as it bends around shelves of coral, disappearing and reappearing between pops of orange and green. It was heading in the direction of Allura and Pidge too, and he wanted to meet up with them anyways.

It couldn’t have been for more than a second. The shark was over five feet long, it couldn’t have hidden easily in the fairly open environment of the reef, but despite all of that he manages to lose sight of it. A jolt running down his spine when he sees its face peeking out from behind a field of anemones. He wants to laugh, a playful sheen in the reef shark’s eye as it shuffles forward in front of him, as though to say ‘You found me!’.

He shakes his head, drifting closer as the shark swims past his face, tilting left to circle above him. Long scars cover its back, gaps like chips in a china cup litter his fins and tail. The sight of it breaks his heart a little, the history of the sharks young life on display. It swings around, dipping lower and nudging his hand with its nose, his palm grazing across its side as it glides past.

Wait, is that?…

No way. No fucking way, it is.

He swims across the reef toward Pidge and Allura, tapping the top of her head as he passed by. She looks up at him in annoyance just in time for him to point out the shark’s approach, tapping his flat palm against his forehead and pointing with his other hand just as he swims past, Allura and Pidge’s eyes fixed on its white underbelly.

He pulls himself down in front of them, taking the index finger of his right hand and dragging it down his cheek, pointing at the shark again. He grins when he sees Pidge’s eyes widen in recognition, pointing toward the shark herself. He nods.

Between them Allura glances around, confused, shrugging her shoulders toward them both. They try to explain, but Lance’s sign language isn’t advanced enough to communicate effectively what is so special about this particular shark. Still they try, pointing toward the retreating shark’s form with emphatic, bordering on frantic motions. A shrill digital alarm breaks the silence around them, and he has to fight the instinct to reach up and cover his ears at it. Allura quickly taps at the watch on her wrist, the sound disappearing as she points toward the surface. Their time was up.

No! Not yet, they were only just getting started…

Regardless of his own desires he follows Allura upwards with Pidge beside him, the sun rays glinting off the waves growing brighter until they blind him, his vision gleaming and white. And then the wind hits his head and shoulders. He spits out the mouth piece and takes in a sharp breath of clean, clear oxygen.

“Looks like you three had a good time!” Coran shouts from above them, offering Pidge a hand, hoisting her out of the water as she steps easily onto the back edge of the boat.

“That was the same shark?!” She grips the edge of the boat and leaning hard against the edge at the waist. He huffs out a laugh at her, wanting to warn her against falling right back in, but not quite having the breath for it. He takes Coran’s offered hand after he helps Allura onto the boat, surprised at the older man’s sheer strength as he heaves him straight out of the water.

“That was the same shark.” He repeats, nodding to her with his own grin. She cheers, pumping her fists in the air, her voice echoing off the water around them.

Allura discards her gear on the floor of the boat behind them and brings her braid over her shoulder, wringing it out between her hands like a kitchen towel. “What are you two talking about? What do you mean the same shark?”

“We saw that reef shark it near the beach yesterday! All wrapped up in this oily black rope with a buoy on one end.” Pidge explains, dropping down to lean against the shallow back wall of the boat, still catching her breath. “Its got this big fighting scar on the right side of its head. You can’t miss it.”

“He’s a pretty big one, over five feet if I had to guess.” Lance added, nodding toward her.

Pidge scoffs, rolling her eyes at him. “You would know, you were practically cradling it in your arms.”

Allura looks to Lance in surprised, white brows shooting toward her hairline. “Is that so? You… lifted it out of the water?”

“I had to.” He sighs, squeezing his eyes closed and wiping a hand down his face to rid it of salty sea water. “He was tangled up in it like crazy, some of it even went down his mouth. Maybe he thought it was an eel before he realized how long it was?”

“He nearly tangled himself in it while he was freeing the shark.” Pidge mutters, smirking at him when he sends a side-eyed glare in her direction. “Nearly bit his hand off too.”

“Pidge!” He hisses, shoulders hiking up toward his ears. He turns toward Allura, who was now looking at him apprehensively. “He’s not a bad shark, he was in some kind of a daze when it happened. I think he kinda… thought it was all over, you know?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” She mutters, a soft lilt to her tone. “If a creature like that gets caught in a line or a net, they’ll fight violently for the first few minutes until they run out of energy. Sharks especially can become can become erratic. I have no doubt it was terrified.”

Silence then. Waves ripple against the sides of the boat as Allura looks between Pidge and Lance, their expressions downcast. Without comment Coran moves to the boat controls, the engine roaring to life behind them as they begin to tread water. Pidge moves away from the back or the boat, retreating to Lance’s side to get away from the noise.
“Hey.” Allura kneels in front of them, and for a moment Lance is struck with a strange sense of nostalgia. The familiarity of the situation sharp and intense. He remembers moments like this in his past, his older sisters or even his mother kneeling before him and his siblings. She smiles gently at both of them, “It’s a great thing, what you two did. Saving an animal like that. A very brave thing. Not everyone has the strength to save a shark.”

Memories flash through his mind. Running from the atrium at seven years old, being pulled back, scolded by his mother, sitting by the water’s edge as the head of a leopard shark raised to meet his tiny hand. He smiles down at himself. Pidge’s hand reaches across her lap, resting over his own. When he looks up he sees a matching smile on her face.

“Yeah.” He whispers, looking from Pidge to Allura. His eyes widen, face falling as another thought suddenly strikes him. “Allura, have you heard about what they want to do to the bay?” She blinks in surprise, and he supposes there might have been a gentler way to bring it up.

Pidge gives him an odd look, but he doesn’t turn to her, instead keeping an intent gaze on Allura’s face as she thinks back. “…No, I haven’t heard any news. No big changes at least, why? And who’s this ‘they’?”

He takes a breath, his heart suddenly racing for an entirely different reason. “Florida wants to turn Atla into a fishing farm. They’re gonna bring in trollies that’ll rip through the reef in days. No more diving. No more sharks.”

Her face falls in horror, so much so that Lance worries if he should hold her up, fearing she may pass out. But she holds steady, glancing between the two to them with a newfound sense of seriousness. “Where did you hear about this? And how long ago?”

“Two days ago.” Pidge responds before he can, leaning forward onto her elbows. “We’ve been trying to come up with some way to stop them, but… it’s just us.” She mutters, shaking her head, “We’re not politicians, and I’m only a marine biologist by technicality. We have nothing to go against these guys with.”

The buzz of the engine turns to a hum as they near the dock. Lance turns to look over his shoulder at the approaching beach, following Allura’s gaze toward a group of college-age men waiting by the sign advertising Coran’s excursions.

They turn toward one another in tandem, an apologetic smile on Allura’s face. She knows he knows that their time has suddenly been cut short. “Listen.” She says, grabbing his hands and holding them between her own. “I need to know what you’ve heard about this. Come back tomorrow and we’ll talk, yes? In the meantime I’ll be watching the news, see if I can’t find out more about this myself.”

She leaves them to tether the boat to the dock, Coran leaving his post by the controls to help her, leaving them to pull off their gear together. Relief flooded his system at the thought of having more people on their cause. It couldn’t just be him, Pidge, and Hunk. They wouldn’t be able to do anything without a little help… and he supposed they could do a lot worse than kooky old Coran and his hot scuba-instructor niece.

———

The dock had always been his favorite place to go when he needed to think. The beach was gorgeous, but it was too open. If someone came by and spotted him he could get him in trouble for being down there past a certain hour. Not the dock though. It was open twenty four hours. As long as his family owned a boat in the harbor, he was allowed to be there.

In Seattle there was nowhere for him to go and think. The only places at his disposal were his apartment, the school, and whatever bars or coffee shops were open late at night. If he was anywhere outside his room he was never alone.

That wasn’t a foreign feeling to him, his house was and always had been a maelstrom of motion. No matter what time of day it was there was always someone to run into. Someone to overhear, or to do the overhearing. But at least in Atla there was always somewhere else to go. Somewhere outside the house, somewhere secluded and quiet where it was just him and the bugs. There had been no place to hide in Seattle.

As he’d crawled out his bedroom window he’d noticed an unusual chill on the air. A gust of strong wind sending a deep chill through his bones. He considered the pros and cons of staying for a moment before reaching back in and grabbing a discarded hoodie off his bed, and sliding down the roof into the shrubbery below.

He balls the ends of the sleeves in his fists as he crosses the empty boardwalk, falling against the chipping wooden post beside him, the water rippling softly below. Out past the bay a fog horn cries, but from its distance the sound is hardly more than a mumble on the wind. Electricity hums above him and he looks up, the ancient lamp hanging over his head flickering to life with a deep yellow glow casting flecks of gold across the face of the water and attracting all kinds of moths and beetles to the end of the dock.

He stares across the water, dark enough that he could barely make out the line differentiating the sea from the sky miles and miles away. His legs drop into the water, the sea level low enough that it barely rose above his ankles, and he switches back and forth, splashing water out in front of him. The more he fussed with the waves the more the light from the streetlamp reflected off of them. A smile tugs at his lips as he kicks his feet straight out in front of him, water spraying several feet further than that, casting a shower of glimmering droplets across its surface before they disappeared into the waves.

He’d spent many evenings in just this same way as a kid, silently challenging Veronica and Marco into a challenge to see who could kick the largest wave while their parents and aunts and uncles all smoked and played cards on the boardwalk. They’d found all kinds of ways to entertain themselves out on the water wether it was skipping stones or playing tag, or hide and seek. Though inevitably someone would decide they couldn’t stand it anymore and fall into the shallows in their dry clothes. His momma would snap at all three of them about salt water in her washing machine as they were ushered inside, moths fluttering around the porch lights.

“Oh, momma…” He breathed, laying his chin in his hands. “What am I gonna do.”

Something touches his foot and he yelps, scrambling out of the water in the least graceful way possible, arms wrapping tightly around the dock post. He stares down into the water, a needles prickling the sole of his foot where something sharp and slimy had brushed against him. His pulse thrums in his ears as it rises above the water’s surface a few feet out, and he recognizes it as a… dorsal fin.

His breath leaves him, heart stopping dead as he realizes he recognizes it.

“You!” He hisses, falling to his knees at the dock’s edge. “What the hell are you doing?!”

There was no mistaking it, and on his seconds pass Lance catches sight of the stark scar across the side of its head. It passes by just a few inches below the water’s surface, white-tipped dorsal fin sticking out of the water like a signal tower. Yup, that’s the same shark alright.

“Before today I never would’ve guessed sharks can recognize people, but there’s no way this is a coincidence.” He pillows his arms under his chin, watching as he swims in slow circles, occasionally disappearing under the dock to loop around the posts before reappearing a few seconds later. He reaches a hand down, fingertips brushing against the edge of his dorsal fin as he passes by.

So that’s what touched his foot. The shark must have swam up and poked him to get his attention. “You must like sneaking up on people.” He jokes, remembering the feeling of something flat and rigid brushing against the back of his neck at there reef. That must’ve been a fin.

“I can’t keep calling you ‘the shark’ in my head if you’re gonna keep showing up around me.” The dorsal fin knocks against his knuckles as he darts back out from under the dock for the third time. “How about ‘Scar’? Since you’ve got a great one. The Lion King is like, my all-time favorite cartoon. I bet you’d like it too if sharks could watch movies.”

He pulls his hand out of the water and pushes himself off his stomach, brushing wood chips and salt from his hoodie and knees before kicking off his sandals. He grabs the side bars on the old emergency ladder attached to the end of the dock, descending the top three rungs and carefully turning himself around, settling on the lowest rung that still hung above of the water’s surface. The shark— Scar now, he supposed —circled anxiously as he moved, drifting through the water a few inches from his legs.

“Come here, now I wanna get a good look at you.” He whispers with a grin, reaching out in anticipation. A giggle bubbled up his throat as ‘Scar’ rises in the water, back breaching the surface to gently meet his hand. His fingers brush over his nose, his head, and down his side as he passes by. “God, you’re beautiful.” He beams, brushing his other side as he passes again in the opposite direction. He hums, trying hard to keep his smile subdued despite the pull in his cheeks. “Maybe I should call you speed-demon instead. Y’know, like a race horse? They always have crazy-weird names.”

He darts though the water, the end of his tail whipping through the water, sending a splash across his chest. He gasps, sharp and deep as he pulls his ice-cold sweater away from his skin. “Okay! Hah, okay, not a speed-demon. Scar is better.”

All at once the little creature stops his frantic pacing, hovering in the water in front of him, nose inches from the front of Lance’s pointed knees. He freezes too, hands tensed where they held firm to the sides of the ladder, eyes fixed open in curiosity, as the thing waits. Yellow eyes peering at him as he tilts his head to the left, and then the right, cat-like slits widening.

“You’re just like a, a weird little guy, aren’t you?” He mutters, chuckling. “What’re you hanging out with me for? No sharks you’d rather play with?” Scar stills in front of him again as he asks the question, a smile tugging at his lips. “Now that you’re not stuck to that buoy anymore you can go and, I dunno, find a shark girlfriend and have a bunch of shark babies. Right? That’s what sharks do?”

Seemingly in response to his question the shark raises his nose out of the water, smacking it against the surface to create a small splash that hits his ankles playfully. The ghost of teeth against his ankle has him shooting toward the dock before he fully registers what happened. He scrambles up the ladder and tosses himself onto the dock, clutching his foot in his hands as he checks for—

Nothing.

He lets outa sharp, shuddering sigh, raking a hand through his hair. The sensation of razor-sharp points against his skin still sending alarm bells ringing in his head. He’d never been bit by… anything before. Not a shark. Not even a fish. He traced his fingertip along a ridge of small indents on his heel. One, two, three, four, five, six… seven. There might not be blood, but that goddamn shark bit him.

“Fuck,” He curses, leaning over the edge of the dock to stare into the water. Clear. No sign that he’d been there at all. Not so much as a ripple. He leans back and sighs, lifting his foot and tensing his toes. Of course he’s fine, he’s not even bleeding but his heart still threaded wildly in his chest. Without another thought he darts to his feet and runs down the dock, heading home.

The water ripples silently behind him, the golden glow of the light post flickering ever so slightly.