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Chapter Text

“Well, how did it go?” Pidge Gunderson heard Hunk Garrett ask when Lance took his usual seat upon the long bench at the far end of the galley’s last dining table. The three friends had favored this table because it was nearest to the large starboard portals of the HMS Atlas, and the view from the airship at this altitude was spectacular.

“I didn’t ask her,” the young man replied. “She wouldn’t have said yes anyway.” Lance had removed his heavy brass-studded leather bandolier of ammo and set it beside him on the bench. He wore it nearly all the time when he was on duty. He seldom went anywhere without it or the twin double-barreled pistols that were holstered low upon his slim hips.

“You don’t know that for a fact,” the burly young mechanic replied. “She might not have rejected you. Anyway, we’re all expected to have dance partners for the Prince’s cotillion. You should try asking her after supper.”

Lance glared at his friend. “Hunk, have you forgotten that I’m nothing more than a poor farm boy and she’s a princess?”

Pidge shuffled nervously and adjusted the tweed newsboy cap and goggles that he always wore. It was warm in the galley that evening. Hunk had the sleeves of his sturdiest work shirt rolled up beneath his orange mechanic’s bib overalls, and Lance wore only a lightweight blue vest over his white high-collared work shirt. He had left his usual navy long coat in his quarters. Pidge, however, had taken to wearing his bulky, oversized grey coat over his dark green vest and mandarin-collared work shirt all the time, no matter the weather conditions. Hunk had often wondered if his young friend suffered from some ailment, but then abandoned that notion. Perhaps Gunderson was just an eccentric, the way many brilliant people often were.

“What do you know, Gunderson?” asked the lanky sharpshooter suspiciously.

“Yeah,” said Hunk, glancing down at their young companion, who was far shorter than most boys his age. “What is it that you’re not telling us, Pidge?”

“Lance,” the young boy began, “I’m not sure you want to hear this, but...”

“Out with it, Pidge,” said Lance impatiently.

“Princess Allura asked Commander Keith to escort her to the ball, and he said yes.”

“WHAT?!” Lance exclaimed.

“See, Lance? Commander Keith started out as a poor orphan but he had a chance with the princess—“ Hunk began.

“Were you listening, Hunk?” Lance asked angrily. “The princess asked him! That means she likes him! I never had a chance with her.” Lance huffed in annoyance, then crossed his arms and stared at his bowl of stew while his two friends ate in silence, knowing that Lance had been grappling with his unrequited infatuation with the Princess of Altea since the day they first met.

After several long moments, Hunk broke their silence. “Have you considered asking Miss Romelle?” He asked carefully, hoping that he wouldn’t further upset his friend. “She’s a real beauty, that one.”

Lance chewed upon a savory morsel beef stew before replying. “Captain Sven Holgersson has already asked her.”

“What about Miss Jenny Shaybon?” asked Hunk. “As I recall, you really used to fancy her.”

Lance frowned. “She made a complete fool out of me when we were younger. I was ready to lay the world at her feet, but all she cared about was taking advantage of my devotion to make all of her other wealthier suitors jealous.”

“You shouldn’t waste your time on women like that,” Pidge observed. “A manipulative minx like her isn’t worth your time.”

“Hunk is escorting Lady Shay of Balmera,” Lance said. “The princess is going with the commander, and everyone else we know has a dance partner except me.”

“And me,” Pidge said in a small voice. Hunk thought he may have been imagining things, but the boy seemed embarrassed by his own admission. When had their little Pidge cared about cotillions or romances? The boy seemed to have a mind only for alchemy and automatons, mathematics, and all of those mad scientific experiments he had set up in the airship’s laboratory.

Lance chuckled. “Don’t tell me that our little Pidgeon is finally starting to take an interest in the fairer sex!”

Pidge shook his head vehemently. “No, there definitely aren’t any girls that I am interested in waltzing with.” Pidge’s wide hazel eyes met Lance’s deep blue gaze for a fleeting moment, then the boy blushed and looked away. “I may know someone you could escort to the cotillion though,” Pidge’s eyes darted back and forth as if his brilliant mind was rapidly calculating the solution to a very complicated equation. “I’ll let you know for certain when we make port at the Garrison.”

*****

“Princess, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go through those before you give them to charity,” Pidge said as the strongest pair of the airship’s automatons picked up the battered old brass-bound trunk. The two metal men wore matching military-style caps and coats, similar in the style to what most of the Atlas crewmen wore.

“But those a girls’ things,” Romelle observed, commenting on the assortment of ruffled blouses, corsets, skirts, hats, and boots that the Princess had worn when she was a younger teenager. Some of Romelle’s old discarded things from her schoolgirl days were packed away in the heavy trunk as well.

“Well, there’s a market for clockwork girls these days, and I can’t sell my latest automata in public without a proper wardrobe. It would be decent” the young inventor replied. “Good day ladies! And thanks again, Princess.”

*****

“Pidge! There you are!” Lance exclaimed happily when he barged into the laboratory unannounced. There were cogs, wheels, springs, and tools strewn about on nearly every table and workbench, along with the torsos, heads, and limbs for half-completed automata. Beakers and tubes of brightly colored, glowing liquids from several alchemical experiments bubbled and fizzed, while clockwork miniatures ambled about on their little mechanical legs upon the lab tables, performing tedious, repetitive mundane tasks, such as stirring or pouring. There was an assortment of miscellany in every corner: leather bound volumes of facts and formulas, complex diagrams and schematics, a silver-tipped lion-headed walking stick, what appeared to be the handle and metal skeleton of an old parasol, leather belts and pouches, a beaded bag, shell casings, a few grenades, and several brass contraptions that emitted little puffs of steam as their tiny gears turned.

Pidge slammed the lid of the old trunk he had been rifling through with a muffled bang and a startled gasp. “How many times have I told you—“

“Not to barge into your lab unannounced? I’ve lost count,” Lance replied with a broad grin that only accentuated his handsome features. Pidge blushed when he saw that a fancy corset was hanging halfway out of the trunk, preventing the lid from fully closing. He lifted the lid hastily to shove the it back inside before closing and locking the trunk. “Coran already has the game board and dice ready. Come on, Pidge, you don’t want to miss Pike and Meklavar’s latest adventure.”

Pidge grinned impishly at Lance, then followed him as they exited the laboratory. The Monsters and Mana adventure game was one of the diversions that Lance and Pidge routinely enjoyed when they weren’t busy working. It was one of the few things that would lure Pidge out of the laboratory besides mealtimes or Lance presenting a dramatic reading from the latest issue of The Killer Phantasm penny dreadful.

Chapter Text

“Ay, she’s a looker!” Lance exclaimed when he barged into Pidge’s laboratory unannounced, as usual. “Don’t worry, Pidge. Your secret is safe with me.”

Pidge gave a startled gasp. Secret? What had Lance discovered?

The female automaton that Pidge was currently building was deactivated and standing as still as a mannequin, apparently one being used for modeling a ruffled lavender blouse and skirt, a fancy white embroidered bodice and apron, a few layers of white ruffled petticoats, silk stockings, and a pair of low-heeled white lace-up ankle boots.

“What secret?” Pidge asked while raising one inquisitive brow, trying to remain calm.

“You don’t have a date for the Prince’s ball, so you’re building yourself a secret clockwork girlfriend!” Lance grinned broadly, thinking his observation was quite hilarious.

Pidge glared at him. “This is an automaton, not a secret girlfriend, you dolt, though I could always build you a clockwork girlfriend to flirt with since you always seem so desperate for female companionship.”

Lance gaped at his friend, then snapped his mouth closed with a frown, pretending to be shocked into silence by the insult.

Pidge continued, “I’m equipping this female model with a proper wardrobe before before she goes to market as a lady’s maid. I made her a brand-new pair of silk bloomers to wear under her petticoats. Want to see?” Pidge grinned slyly. “She’s anatomically correct.”

Lance snorted. “How would you know? Have you ever seen a naked girl outside one of your anatomy textbooks?” He folded his arms and stared down at his young friend, smirking in satisfaction as if offering a challenge.

Pidge snorted, trying to hide a flushed countenance behind the automaton’s back. “I’d bet all the GAC in Fort Doom that I have seen more of the female physique au naturel than you have,” the young genius mumbled.

The heat rose to Lance’s face and his frown turned into a look of astonishment at his friend’s cheeky reply. Pidge was emboldened by Lance’s reaction. “Do you still have that medical treatise that you swiped from my library? You know, the one with the full color illustrations?”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re implying. I borrowed it for a bit of light reading before bedtime.”

“Or to stare at the illustrations, more like. It’s the only way you’ll get to study the female anatomy outside of a visit to the bawdy house.”

“Listen here, you impertinent, pocket-sized urchin! I am a gentleman, not some low class—“

Pidge laughed. “I know that, you clodhopper. Anyway, what do you think of her?”

Lance tilted his head. “She’s got a pretty face, and I like the hairstyle you’ve given her, but...”

“But what? Isn’t she lifelike enough?”

“Well, she’s a bit chicken-breasted. You could have given her a larger pair of bubbies.”

Pidge picked up a small wrench from a nearby workbench and threw it in Lance’s general direction. He ducked just in time; Pidge succeed in merely dislodging Lance’s derby hat.

“What’s got you so riled up? Are you trying to damage these fine looks?” Lance asked while straightening his vest and picking up his hat, placing it back on his head at what he hoped was a rakish angle.

“No, but I am having second thoughts about you escorting my cousin Kate to the Prince’s cotillion. She’s a proper young lady, not some dollymop for you to ogle or attempt to swive.”

“Pidge, I can assure you that I am a perfect gentleman and your cousin’s virtue is certainly safe with me. Has she been presented yet?”

“She’s come of age, but has not yet been presented as a debutante. Times have been...very difficult for my family lately,” Pidge admitted. Debutante balls were very expensive was the thought that neither of them spoke aloud.

Lance nodded. “I know that feeling.” For a long moment Lance sat in silence, watching his friend work diligently on an tiny, intricate mechanism on the nearest work table. He let his mind drift, pausing to ruminate upon the predicament they were in at present.

Lance’s reason for joining the Garrison Air Corps wasn’t just to pursue a life of adventure. He hoped to do something important, to be of some help the Coalition in their seemingly futile resistance against the Galra Empire. Maybe someday the foreign invaders would be driven away, and his family could reclaim their vast acreage instead of working as tenant farmers on their own land. Still, their situation was preferable to what had happened to Hunk Garrett’s family. They had mysteriously disappeared one day, and with help from the Coalition’s spies, Hunk had had recently gathered enough evidence to support his theory that they had been abducted by a Galra slave ship. As horrifying as that was, Lance felt even greater compassion for the beautiful Princess of Altea in exile, daughter of a murdered king and queen, and last member of her royal lineage. After the Empire’s attempt at an Altean genocide, what remained of Allura’s people were living as refugees among the Terrans, that is, the ones who hadn’t been taken by the Galra as slaves. So many Alteans had been murdered that the Terrans looked upon them with pity, as if they were an endangered species that might soon become extinct. It was not surprising that Allura kept Coran and Romelle close to her at all times. She clung to them as a kind of surrogate family. In truth, she treated all the members of the Atlas crew as family, and that was one of the qualities that Lance found endearing about their princess. It had been very difficult for him to let go of his longtime infatuation with her, but he was making painful progress, especially when he saw her making doe eyes at Commander Keith.

Ever an optimist, if sometimes a delusional one, Lance hoped that somehow they would find a way to defeat their foreign enemies and reunite broken families against the seemingly impossible odds of defeating a technologically superior foe. The Galra ruled the diverse nations they conquered through intimidation and fear. Their airships were more heavily armed and faster, and their fearsome robeast clankers—gigantic, heavily armed automatons—were known to literally crush rebel cells underfoot the way a man might step upon an annoying beetle.

Glancing at the clockwork girl in the frilly dress for a moment, Lance turned his thoughts back to the prospect of the upcoming ball, hosted by the rogue Prince Lotor, a man who seemingly despised his cruel father, Emperor Zarkon. The Prince’s mother had been Altean, so Lotor hoped to forge and alliance with Princess Allura and her Altean sympathizers in an attempted coup against his father’s tyrannical rule. Lance was certain the ball was ruse to cover for many clandestine meetings and information exchanges between the Prince’s supporters and Allura’s loyal followers.

Lance hated politics so he chose to consider the more pleasant prospect: the upcoming flirting, fun, and frivolity at the Prince’s cotillion.

“So your cousin Kate has had no formal suitors then? No jealous ex-beaus?” Lance asked.

“None,” Pidge replied. “She‘s a good girl, but she’s no man’s fool. She knows how to defend herself too, so if you are thinking of trying anything—“

“I know how to treat a lady with respect, Pidge. Why do you keep implying that I am desperate dunderhead or a rake? It’s insulting.”

“Well there was that incident with Miss Nyma, and that other time with Lady Plaxum, or that one time with the ambassador’s daughter from—“

“Don’t remind me! I still have scars from that.”

“Emotional or physical?”

“Both.”

“You are a bent cog, McClain.” Pidge laughed. “I don’t know why I ever thought letting you escort my cousin to the ball would be a good idea—“

“It’s a good idea because deep down inside that tiny little cruel heart of yours, you know that I am a decent guy who just wants a nice girl to love and be loved by in return. That’s the only happiness I have ever wanted for myself in this chaotic world.”

Pidge pulled his goggles down over his eyes, and for a fleeting moment Lance could have sworn that the boy genius was touched by his heartfelt admission. Lance surmised that Pidge had hoped to conceal his emotional reaction by using the goggles to cover his wide hazel eyes to conceal how watery they had become.

Lance pressed on. “Is this virtuous Miss Katie Holt fair to look upon?”

Pidge gave a barely perceptible shrug and then murmured, “There’s some family resemblance.” The boy seemed suddenly shy, but then after a brief hesitation he added, “I’d like to think that all of us Holts—and Gundersons—-are a handsome enough family.”

Lance tilted his head this way and that, peering at what he could see of Pidge’s face that wasn’t concealed by the ever-present tweed cap and brass-rimmed goggles.

“She’s got a great sense of humor,” Pidge continued, once more engrossed in minuscule mechanical workings.

“Well, that’s another good attribute. She’ll appreciate my jokes!” Lance said cheerfully.

Pidge chuffed. “Only if they’re actually funny.”

“Hey!” Lance exclaimed in mock offense.

“She’s also a very clever girl. She knows a lot about science and technology. The spark of genius definitely runs in my family, so I hope her high level of education and intelligence won’t intimidate you,” Pidge added, looking up from the work table to see Lance’s reaction.

Lance grinned and tipped his hat back.

“I’m best friends with a sassy little swot like you, so what’s the difference? I happen to like intelligent people, Pidge.”

Pidge snorted once again, but gave him a half-smile and a nod of approval.

“Katie sounds like splendid girl, really. I am looking forward to meeting such a paragon of maidenhood. Does she have any flaws at all?”

“Um, well, she is rather...outspoken. And she’s sort of small and slender, not...” Pidge traced an hourglass shape in the air.

“Ah, so she’s chicken-breasted like that clockwork girl you’re building?”

Pidge glared at him so hotly that Lance thought the lenses of the lad’s goggles might shatter or melt before his very eyes. He howled with triumphant laughter that echoed through the corridors of the massive airship. Annoying Pidge was one of his favorite pastimes, but he could not fathom the reason why he was so clearly adept at it.

Chapter Text

“Okay Coran, if I roll for Charm points, how much does Pike need to steal a kiss from the tavern wench?” Lance asked.

“Greater than six,” the games master replied.

The dice clattered in the tumbling cup before Lance cast them onto the board. He rolled a deuce.

Pidge howled with laughter. “Snake-eyes!”

“You should have gone for her purse, not a kiss,” Hunk advised but it was too late. The buxom tavern wench had given Pike a black eye.

“I thought Pike was supposed to be a Thief, not a Casanova,” Princess Allura commented.

“Well, maybe he’s not a very good Thief,” said Keith.

”He’s not much of a Casanova either,” Pidge added gleefully.

“I’m not a Thief!” Lance exclaimed predictably. “What’s a Casanova?” He asked sheepishly.

“Casanova was an 18th century Italian adventurer who was a notorious seducer of women,” Pidge smugly explained. “I really think Pike should stick to stealing treasure instead of kisses. He’ll get fewer black eyes that way.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed at Pidge’s comment. “I’ll have you know I’ve kissed lots of tavern wenches and left them begging for more,” he bragged. “Pike’s got some moves.” He rubbed his chin with one forefinger and showed Pidge what he hoped was his most smoldering glance. Pidge’s eyebrows lifted into thick light-brown bangs as he stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at his friend’s absurd expression before finally collapsing into a fit of giggles like a schoolgirl. Lance then turned to Allura and made an obnoxious kissy face while leaning toward her. The Princess shoved his face away with an expression of disgust. Keith, Pidge, and Hunk roared with laughter.

“All of you ruffians are going to need lessons in proper etiquette before we attend Prince Lotor’s ball,” Allura said primly. “Especially Lance. I don’t want any of you to embarrass me in front of the royal court.”

*****

Lance leaned on the railing of the Atlas’s broad observation deck, pretending to be only mildly interested in Keith’s lesson in swordplay with their captain, Takashi Shirogane, the white-haired samurai-in-exile who had lost his right arm during his days as a gladiator slave of the Galra Empire. His severed arm had been replaced with an automated construct of Galran and Altean technology, an “unnatural” appendage which had repulsed the more squeamish members of his crew but fascinated young Pidge, who always bombarded Shiro with questions about his mechanical arm and his days in captivity. Lance recalled Pidge’s fascination with Shiro’s story of how he helped a fellow captive escape. The other prisoner was a young Garrison explorer and scientist by the name of Matthew Holt. Lance hadn’t realized it at the time, but the young fellow’s surname meant he was probably a relative of Pidge’s.

Keith’s long black hair was tied back with a leather thong, and he was bare to the waist, clad in form fitting white trousers and high black boots as he sparred with the Galra Sentry clanker that Pidge had commandeered and reprogrammed. Lance noticed that the Princess, who was having tea with Romelle at a small table nearby, had been watching Keith with interest, her eyes following each of his graceful moves. Beads of sweat trickled down Keith muscular torso as he deftly parried every attack made by the huge automaton.

“I just can’t wait until the ball,” Lance heard Romelle say. “It will be so nice to wear something civilized again.”

Both young women were dressed in their usual garb of scandalous knee length skirts and petticoats, high-heeled leather boots that laced up to their knees, elbow-length ruffled blouses, and most shocking of all, bright colored bodices. The young Altean women of the rebellion had abandoned the wearing of proper ladies corsets under their blouses in favor of the the colorful laced-up bodices of a bygone era, a fashion which accentuated the bosom and showed a bit of cleavage in a most provocative manner. Lance, turning his attention to the ladies, was quite fond of this new style of women’s fashion.

“Do you think Captain Holgersson will propose?” Allura asked, not taking her eyes off of Keith’s bare back.

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Romelle replied. “But if I accept Sven’s offer, I will have to take up residence onboard the HMS Pollux. I will hate to leave you and all of my friends here.”

“You can always send us messages by clockwork pidgeon,” Allura replied, admiring Keith’s form and footwork as his blade clashed with the clanker’s practice sword, resulting in a loud bang and a shower of sparks. Allura was perched on the end of her chair, leaning forward to get a better view as Keith grunted and took a more offensive stance against his opponent.

“I think he knows that you’re watching,” Romelle added slyly.

“What?” said Allura in surprise. “That’s nonsense.”

“Well, in the past, he used to practice with all of his clothing on,” Romelle replied. “But since you invited him to the ball, Keith has been conveniently losing his shirt and forgetting to wear his union suit when he knows you’ll be watching.”

Allura had been sipping her tea when Romelle said this. The Princess sputtered, then picked up a napkin to wipe at the tea that had splashed all down the front of her clothing. “Romelle! You saucy minx!”

Romelle laughed. “You know it’s true. Look how tight those thin white trousers are. He’s giving you quite a show!”

“Well, I never—!” Allura exclaimed, red-faced.

“Yes, well, maybe Keith thinks you should,” said Romelle, half-laughing, and then both girls collapsed into a fit of embarrassed giggles.

A red-faced Keith, who had probably heard the last part of the women’s conversation, was momentarily distracted by their laughter. He received a shallow cut on his left forearm from the clanker’s practice blade as a result.

“Sharp work, samurai!” Lance crowed with a loud cackle.

“Oh no! He’s hurt!” said Allura, who ran to Keith and began tending to his wound with a clean lace handkerchief.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Keith said in a low voice. His face was flushed as Allura applied direct pressure to the wound.

“I’ll get the medical kit,” Romelle called to them as she left the tea table.

Keith and Allura sat on a metal bench that was bolted to the deck near the railing, exchanging soft glances and tender words until Romelle returned with antiseptic and bandages.

Feeling a pang of jealousy and a more than a bit of disgust with the knowledge that he still cared a little about who Allura fancied, Lance crossed his arms and pouted, wondering if Pidge was doing anything interesting at the moment.

Chapter Text

“So what’s this contraption? It looks like some sort of pistol.” Lance asked as he picked up yet another strange-looking object while Pidge continued to be enthralled by repairing an old piece of machinery.

“That one is a grappling gun,” the young inventor responded without looking up.

“Nice. And this one?” Lance asked before he examined another strange device.

“Grenade launcher,” Pidge replied, then gasped. “Ow!”

Lance saw that Pidge was bleeding where a sharp piece of metal made a deep cut on the side of his right index finger.

Although many Terran homes of the time did not have indoor plumbing or running water, the HMS Atlas had both. While Pidge cleaned the cut under a stream of cool water from the washbasin, Lance grabbed the Tincture of Iodine and a clean bandage from the laboratory’s first aid kit.

“Hold still,” he insisted after Pidge dried the wound.

“Ugh, I hate that stuff. It burns!”

“You don’t want that cut to get infected.” He applied the solution with a tiny brush. It left a reddish-brown stain on Pidge’s pale skin.

“You have really small hands, especially for a boy,” Lance observed as he bandaged the wound. Pidge made a sound of annoyance.

“I might not have cut myself if I wasn’t so distracted by a certain individual who barges in here unannounced all the time!” Pidge complained.

Lance frowned, looking hurt. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Pidge. Maybe I shouldn’t have—“

“No, no. It’s okay,” Pidge insisted. “You don’t have to go.” He returned to his workbench while Lance put the first aid supplies away.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Lance asked.

“You could read the latest issue of The Killer Phantasm to me while I work,” Pidge suggested with quiet hopefulness.

“We finished that issue already, remember?” said Lance. “But maybe I can find a good book around here somewhere.” He scanned the bookshelves, shuffled a few papers around on the lab tables, then looked through the pages of diagrams and formulas strewn about on Pidge’s desk. There was a small white leather bound book hidden beneath all of the stacks of paper. Lance picked it up and read the title aloud.

“The Young Ladies’ Guide to Flirting and Courtship by Countess Delilah de la Coquette,” Lance read with a chuckle. “Where did you get this?”

Pidge’s expression reminded him of a deer staring at the headlamps of an oncoming horseless carriage.

“Pidge?” Lance asked.

“Uh...”

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting a little weird lately. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I-I borrowed it from Romelle,” Pidge stammered at last.

“Sure. But the title says it’s for young ladies—“

“It contains valuable data,” Pidge insisted. Lance raised one skeptical eyebrow. “I need it to program the personality matrix of my clockwork girl.” Pidge was sweating.

“So, you’re building a flirty automaton?” Lance asked, not convinced that Pidge’s explanation made any sense.

“Yes. Yes, that’s it. I’m building a flirty automaton.” Somehow Pidge’s explanation didn’t sound convincing. “Maybe when she’s finished, you could practice with her, you know, pretend she’s my cousin Katie.”

Lance was beginning to wonder if his eccentric friend was beginning to lose his sanity. It could happen. After all, brilliant scientists did go mad sometimes—or at least the ones in penny dreadfuls did.

Lance, however, did not utter any of his private musings. He spent the rest of the afternoon reading aloud to Pidge about debutante balls, garden parties, calling cards, and how proper young ladies were supposed to behave in every social situation. They got a good laugh out of several of the more absurd passages about men. Pidge laughed even harder when Lance imitated all of the snobbiest noblewomen they had met in their travels, first reading in a British accent, then with French and Italian mispronunciations, finally settling on a dramatic reading on tea parties with the sour facial expressions and harsh demeanor of Lotor’s nurse, Dayak. The end result was Pidge collapsing into a fit of giggles and giving up on completing any more work until it was time for supper.

*****

After the evening meal, Allura insisted that they all have lessons in ballroom dancing. When most of the young men complained, the Princess would not relent, firmly insisting that they would all at least be able to learn the steps of the waltz before bedtime.

The Princess took Keith as her dancing partner for each demonstration, but she always took the lead, much to Keith’s embarrassment. Every time Keith tried to lead, he stepped on her toes. Then he blushed as red as his brass-buttoned coat as he apologized profusely.

Next, the Princess observed with a bemused expression as an apparently heavy-footed Hunk waltzed with a bubbly and distracted Romelle. The two had become bosom friends ever since Romelle had joined them on their most recent voyage. To everyone’s surprise, they waltzed effortlessly, not paying any attention to what the others were doing or what Allura was saying as they almost floated across the deck. They were too busy gossiping about how much Lady Shay fancied Hunk or making up scenarios about when and where Sven might propose.

Lance and Pidge watched the elegant pair nervously. When the music from the gramophone stopped they both knew that Allura would call on them next.

“Why can’t I dance with Romelle?” Lance asked.

“She’s already had a turn,” said Allura.

“Do I really have to dance with Pidge?” Lance whined.

“I can pair you with Keith if you prefer,” Allura replied icily.

“In that case, you can just toss me over the side of the railing,” said Lance.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Keith.

Allura sighed in exasperation. “Pidge?”

Pidge stepped forward and bowed deeply to Lance. Then, with raised double-barreled fingerguns, a double click of the tongue, and a ridiculous smirk, the young prodigy announced in a deep voice (which glissandoed up and down an octave a few times), “Mr. Lance McClain at your service, Miss Holt. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance after hearing so much about your astonishing wit, charm, and beauty.”

Not wanting to miss an opportunity to entertain his friends, Lance batted his eyelashes, curtseyed, and offered Pidge his hand. “Oh, the pleasure is mine, Mr. McClain,” he said in a high-pitched effeminate voice. “Please be gentle with me. This is my first time waltzing in the strong arms of such a handsome man. I fear I may lose control before the evening is over and yield to you my virtue.”

Pidge angrily stomped on his boot. Lance yelped and began to cry in earnest while hopping on one foot.

Everyone else laughed loudly except Allura who looked as if she needed a trip to the infirmary for a headache powder.

Chapter Text

“Okay, It’s my turn to lead,” Lance announced as Romelle dropped the needle on the gramophone. “I always thought you were too delicate-looking to convincingly take the part of the man, Pidge.”

“Do you want me to stomp on your other foot?” Pidge asked testily.

Lance laughed. “No thank you. I haven’t fully recovered from the last injury you gave me.” Lance’s right hand had been on Pidge’s shoulder blade but was now slipping lower as they twirled around the room.

“Hand position!” Allura reminded him from over Keith’s shoulder. She was finally allowing Keith to take the lead but he still kept staring down at his own feet. Keith had only stepped on Allura’s toes once this evening and was doing his best to avoid any further embarrassment. “You’re supposed to look into your partner’s eyes, not stare at the floor, Keith. The ground isn’t going anywhere.”

“Sorry, Princess,” Keith said with an embarrassed grin. He pulled her closer than was proper and stared deeply into her blue eyes while giving her a shy smile. The heat rose to Allura’s cheeks, but she refrained from commenting on how inappropriately close they were.

Pidge’s left hand on Lance’s upper arm rested near his shoulder. Lance gently clasped the fingers of Pidge’s right hand being mindful of the bandage around his friend’s right index finger. “How’s your injury doing?”

“It’s better. I probably won’t have to wear this bandage much longer,” Pidge replied.

“How did you get that cut anyway?” Romelle asked from over Hunk’s shoulder.

“Don’t tell me! Was it like how Keith got hurt?” Hunk asked as he twirled Romelle around.

“Keith got that injury because he was busy watching Allura watching him instead of paying attention to what he was doing,” Romelle said loudly. Hunk and Romelle exchanged grins when they saw Keith and Allura avoiding each other’s gazes. The pair lost their concentration and stumbled a little on their next turn. Keith caught Allura before she fell.

“So who has been distracting you these days, Pidge?” Hunk asked with a grin.

Lance saw that Pidge’s face turned pink, highlighting the constellation of freckles across the bridge of the lad’s upturned nose, but he said nothing.

“Maybe the answer is in Pidge’s diary,” Hunk teased.

“It’s not a diary,” Pidge said angrily. “My notebook is private, Hunk, so mind your business.” Light from the kerosene lamps flashed across the lenses of Pidge’s goggles making a glassy reflection that hid the fire in the boy’s eyes.

Notebook? What notebook? Lance wondered. Now his curiosity was piqued.

*****

The HMS Atlas made port at the Garrison the next morning. Pidge, who had been excused from the ball in order to visit relatives in the city, promised that Lance would receive a message by clockwork pigeon when arrangements for Katie’s attendance had been finalized.

After Pidge’s departure, Hunk had packed his meager belongings and taken an automated taxi to the Balmeran Embassy where he would be staying as an honored guest of Lady Shay and her family.

Allura, Romelle, and Coran had gone to an Altean-style spa hotel to prepare for the ball while Captain Shirogane stayed behind on the Atlas with Keith, Lance, and the rest of the airship’s crew. Keith spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon practicing his swordsmanship. Lance soon soon grew bored of watching Keith destroy one practice clanker after another, so he went belowdeck to visit the laboratory. He knew Pidge would not be there, and that fact made him feel strangely lonely.

The clockwork girl stood as still as a statue when Lance entered the lab. One of Pidge’s steamer trunks was missing but most of the books and gadgets were still there. He busied himself with straightening the place up a bit: stacking papers neatly, organizing spare automaton parts, and putting their growing collection of The Killer Phantasm back issues in order.

Lance was startled when the little brown leather journal fell off of the bookshelf and into his lap as if it wanted him to read it. He didn’t know what he expected when he opened the book, but it certainly wasn’t this. There were pages and pages of seemingly nonsensical lines of numbers and letters—coded messages, he realized—each dated, most with co-ordinates, and all were accompanied by a translation into the vernacular written in Pidge’s hasty scrawl. Some of the messages were marked “classified” and “top secret” and “for your eyes only” and such. Lance wondered who would be sending Pidge such messages, but then it dawned upon him that the messages may not have been for Pidge at all. His friend might have been intercepting and decoding messages that were really meant for Captain Shirogane or Princess Allura. Was Pidge some sort of spy?

Many of the intercepted messages were about determining the whereabouts of someone of great importance known only as “Daedalus” or “The Artificer” who had been missing for quite some time.

Someone calling himself “Icarus” seemed to have been sending messages to both Captain Shirogane and an “Athena.” It was all very confusing.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the nearest portal, and Lance nearly jumped out of his skin when the clockwork girl abruptly came to life, opened the portal and held out a mechanical hand for the clockwork pigeon, who with an artificial chirrup from its tiny metal beak, promptly dropped a message cylinder into the automaton’s hand with a little clang before flying away into the clouds.

The clockwork girl turned to him with an all too-lifelike stare, blinked twice, and then held out her hand.

“For you,” she said sweetly.

Chapter Text

Lance stared at the clockwork girl who had just handed him the little message container. When he finally accepted it, she did a little curtsey and tilted her head as if she were waiting for him to say something. Lance carefully opened the message cylinder and unfurled scroll from within it. He immediately recognized Pidge’s handwriting.

“Meet The Champion at the foot of the staircase closest to the West Tower at seven o’clock. He is an old friend of The Debutante’s family and will make all of the appropriate introductions. Don’t be nervous, Sharpshooter, just be yourself. Good luck!” Lance read aloud. The note wasn’t signed.

“Oooh! Loverboy has a date tonight!” The clockwork girl teased. She gave him a mechanical wink, then made a clicking sound as she pointed a pair of finger guns at him and grinned.

Lance rolled his eyes as he pocketed Pidge’s message. “If this is considered flirting, your maker needs to work on your personality matrix,” he said with a crooked grin.

The clockwork girl’s mouth formed a little “o” in response. “What a rude boy!” She exclaimed. “Maybe your maker needs to work on yours!”

Lance laughed. “Obviously, Pidge programmed you.” He bowed to the clockwork girl, then gave her his most flirtatious smile. “Good evening, Miss Automaton. It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a lovely contraption.”

“That’s better,” said the clockwork girl. She offered the back of her right hand, and Lance pretended to kiss the back of it. The automaton made a sound like giggling.

“If you think a girl is pretty, you should give her a kiss,” the clockwork girl said sweetly with a toss of her curls. Then she made exaggerated kissing sounds at him as she stood on her tiptoes and leaned toward him.

Lance placed his hands on the automaton’s shoulders, pushing her down so that her feet were flat on the floor once more.

“Sorry, Clanquette. I’m only kissing a girl if I am truly in love with her. I’m not that eager to get my heart broken again.”

The automaton looked at him for a long moment, her wide eyes reflecting the sadness that Lance was currently feeling. “Maybe Pidge can repair your broken heart,” she said finally, placing a small metal hand on Lance’s sternum. “My maker is good at fixing broken things.” She gave his chest a little pat.

Lance’s eyes watered as the clockwork girl awkwardly hugged him. He closed his eyes as he hugged her back, hoping that she was right.

*****

Later that afternoon Lance had gone to the men’s shower room to wash up before getting dressed for the ball. Keith was exiting one of the curtained stalls just as Lance walked in carrying his towel and grooming kit. The black-haired young man was clad only in a fluffy white towel which was wrapped around his slim waist. The single item of adornment Keith wore was hanging from a golden chain around his neck. It was an old-fashioned gold-plated key with a single black stone in its bow, a bow which was shaped like the head of a lion.

Lance gaped in astonishment, recognizing the key. He had one very similar to it, except that his key was his was forged of steel and contained a brilliant red jewel instead of a black one.

“If you recognize my key, then you know who gave it to me and why,” Keith said, staring at the open collar of Lance’s blue and gold dressing gown.

Lance drew forth his own key, which he wore around his neck on a leather cord. He kept it concealed in his clothing at all times. “Allura gave me this when I first joined the crew,” Lance explained. “She said that only those who were worthy could bear them, but until now I only knew of only one other person onboard the Atlas who was chosen to be a keeper of one of the Lion Keys.” He stared at Keith. “Why haven’t I seen you wearing yours before?”

“My key has been keeping itself hidden. I didn’t know for certain there were other Keepers on board, but I suspected that there might be. Allura said there were five of us. Who else has one?”

Lance, deciding he could trust a fellow Keeper, revealed his friend’s secret. “Hunk has the bronze key with the yellow stone,” Lance said quietly. “Allura used that jewel in her tiara to test Hunk and me when we were still cadets at the Garrison and she declared that both of us were worthy, whatever that means. She said we would know when the time is right.”

“Didn’t Pidge join the Atlas crew around the same time as you two?” Keith asked.

“Yeah, he did, now that you mention it.” Lance replied. “But I still don’t understand why I haven’t seen your key before. You had your shirt off when you were showing off for Allura the other day. Why didn’t I see the key around your neck then?”

Keith grinned. “Allura says her father’s alchemy makes the keys invisible in the presence of those who aren’t Keepers. Romelle was there, remember? She’s not one of the chosen ones.”

“Right.” Lance hesitated then asked, “Keith, do you have the feeling that Prince Lotor’s party is going to be a lot more important than any of us realize?”

“Yeah, I do,” the young man replied. “I haven’t been able to shake that feeling since Allura first told us about it. Everything is about to change.” Keith was at the mirror, combing the tangles out of his wet hair. “Whatever you do, don’t let anything happen to that key.”

Lance nodded before entering one of the shower stalls. He shed his dressing gown and stepped under the spray of warm water to lather his hair, face, and body with Castile soap, then stood under the relaxing spray with his eyes closed, trying to untangle his chaotic thoughts. Who were the other two Keepers? Was his friend Pidge a really a spy? If so, was Pidge a traitor? Why did he have the feeling that Pidge was hiding some important secret from him? Who in the world were Daedalus, Icarus, and Athena? And most importantly, how is a broken-hearted farm boy supposed to flirt with a gorgeous young polymath Debutante without becoming utterly smitten with her and getting his heart broken all over again?

He turned up the hot water in the shower and let it massage away the tension he felt at the base of his neck. The weight of the steel Lion Key he wore felt heavier than ever, but perhaps that was because it was made of the strongest of the five metals King Alfor used when he forged them. Lance stood there a long time just letting the water run down his bare back as he sang a tune whose words he could not remember, not realizing at that time that it was the melody of a forgotten love song from days of long ago.

Chapter Text

“I’m so nervous,” Lance said aloud to no one in particular, but of course, Keith was the only one there.

“It’ll be fine,” Keith reassured him.

“Easy for you to say. You already know your date for the evening,” Lance argued. “I’m supposed to make a favorable impression on a girl that I’ve never met before who happens to be the cousin of one of my best friends.”

“Pidge did send you a message that said ‘don’t be nervous and just be yourself,’ That’s good advice.” Keith reminded him.

“Yeah, I’m always myself, and look how great that’s been working out for me so far,” Lance complained.

Keith laughed. “Well, you better think of something fast because we’ve just arrived.”

The two young men exited the horseless carriage in front of the opulent Galran Embassy Hotel. Keith was wearing a black top hat, tailcoat, and trousers, a red silk waistcoat and matching bow tie, and a starchy white high-collared shirt. A red carnation adorned one lapel, and he carried a heavy, lion-headed walking stick to complete the ensemble. Lance was similarly dressed, but wearing a blue waistcoat and bow tie instead of red. He had a compact revolver concealed beneath his tailcoat instead of carrying a walking stick.

“They are going to check that weapon at the hotel entrance, you know,” Keith said.

Lance sighed. “I feel naked without at least one of my weapons.”

“In that case you’re going to feel naked tonight, because they are going to confiscate your piece at the door. There was really no point in bringing it.”

“Says the man with the sword concealed in his walking stick,” Lance observed with a sardonic smile.

“How exactly do you know about that?” Keith asked in surprise as they climbed the palatial staircase.

“I’m always in Pidge’s workshop, remember?” Lance sighed. “I’ll let them check my weapon, but I won’t say anything about yours.”

*****

As Keith predicted, the Galra security guards demanded that Lance surrender his pistol at the main entrance. Frowning, he watched as his weapon was deposited into a secure strongbox in the cloakroom. After tipping the attendant, Lance turned to follow Keith through the hotel lobby.

They walked past towering marble columns to an enormous ballroom which was decorated with golden streamers and lit by gigantic crystal chandeliers. A full orchestra on a raised platform was already playing a lively melody as the guests began to arrive. The men were clad in black tuxedos or in the somber tones of black, charcoal, or grey military dress uniforms. Lance’s lips parted slightly when he beheld the sight of the vast number of beautiful women in floor-length gowns of violet, emerald, azure, amethyst, turquoise, apricot, and amber. He smiled softly in spite of the little pang of jealousy he felt when he saw Keith bowing before taking the offered hand of Princess Allura. Her beauty was unsurpassed, even among so many gorgeous young ladies. The Princess was wearing a resplendent gown of rose colored silk, long white satin gloves, and the jeweled tiara that indicated her rank. A blue satin riband worn from hip to shoulder across her gown indicated that she was her father’s successor as the royal advisor to the Order of the Paladins of the Lion, but what exactly that meant few here could guess. She carried no accessories except the small beaded handbag that was dangling from her left arm. Glimmering gems adorned her wrists, earlobes, and throat, but their radiance was dimmed by the sparkle in her eyes when Keith kissed the back of her elegantly gloved hand and then escorted her to the banquet tables where a light meal was being served before the dancing began. Lance looked at them wistfully, wondering if any beautiful young woman would ever gaze upon him with such unabashed joy and undeniably amorous affection. He exhaled a little sigh and began to search for Captain Shirogane, who had been scheduled to arrive a half hour before they did.

“Meet The Champion at the foot of the staircase closest to the West Tower at seven o’clock,” Pidge’s message had read.

Lance checked his pocket watch. He had only minutes to spare. He saw Shiro, not dressed in the formal military dress uniform that most of his peers wore, but clad in traditional Japanese formal robes of black and white silk. The voluminous sleeves of his robes along with one black and white glove of fine leather concealed his mechanical arm and hand. Out of respect, Lance saluted his Captain even though they were both out of uniform.

“Lance, I have just received a message by clockwork pigeon that Miss Holt has been delayed. She sends her apologies and hopes you will enjoy the festivities until she arrives,” Shiro told him as he handed him the message scroll. Lance’s face fell as he read the message. He had been rejected by so many young ladies in the past. Would Pidge’s cousin be the latest on his long list of romantic failures? Maybe Pidge told Katie what sort of amorous fool his friend Lance McClain was and the young would-be debutante was having second thoughts about being seen on the arm of a young man with such a scandalous reputation, albeit an undeserved one.

Shiro squeezed Lance’s shoulder with his organic left hand to reassure him. “I’ve known her family for a long time,” he began. “If Miss Holt says she’ll be here, I am sure she means it and will arrive as soon as she is able. You should relax in the meantime. Enjoy the all food and the company.”

“I’m too nervous to eat, Captain,” Lance admitted. “You go on and enjoy the meal, sir. I’ll wait here until she arrives.”

After Shiro left his side, presumably to enjoy the banquet, Lance began to pace, checking his pocket watch every few minutes. Miss Holt had not arrived by a quarter past seven. He observed that the orchestra members were having a short break before the dance began. Servants offered them their final snacks and drinks before their long evening of playing endless waltzes.

It was half-past seven. Lance’s stomach rumbled, and he was a bit envious of the orchestra members who had devoured the last of the simple sandwich rolls and chilled fruit drinks the servers had brought them.

What could have happened to Katie Holt? He read and re-read the scroll that Shiro had handed him. It was written in Katie’s neat calligraphy that somehow seemed familiar. Her lower case g’s had an unusually large loop to them, and the lowercase e’s were slightly larger than her other vowels. In an odd way, the idiosyncrasies of her handwriting reminded him of Pidge’s familiar untidy scrawl.

The orchestra began to play soft, romantic music at a quarter to eight, and a few of the guests had drifted towards the dance floor. He spotted Romelle, looking radiant on the arm of Captain Sven Holgersson. Her blonde hair was arranged in a magnificent crown braid decorated with hair ornaments shaped like starflowers. Shining crystal earrings dangled from her lobes and the crystal pendant below her throat was suspended from a delicate silver chain. Sven’s simple black military uniform with its silver epaulets, braid, and buttons made a stark contrast with Romelle’s shimmering sky blue gown and white satin gloves. Lance smiled wistfully once more as he watched another happy couple walk arm-in-arm, chatting merrily and lost in each other’s eyes. It was nearly eight o’clock.

Just then Hunk arrived with Lady Shay. Hunk was carrying a tray with two glasses, a glass pitcher of ice-cold lemonade, and a dinner plate piled high with an assortment of ribbon sandwiches, miniature fruit and meat pies, and bite sized pastries. “Here. You need to eat,” his friend insisted.

Not forgetting his manners, Lance bowed to Lady Shay then greeted his friend.

“Thank you, Hunk. You’re the best!”

“I didn’t want you to starve,” Hunk said as he placed the tray on one of the small round tables that encircled the perimeter of the dance floor. “Miss Holt missed the banquet too, so I brought enough hors d'oeuvre for both of you.”

“He’s so thoughtful,” Lady Shay said sweetly.

“Yes, he is,” agreed Lance as he grabbed a fistful of Hunk’s suit coat. “Do you know what this is made of?”

“What?” Shay asked.

“Husband material,” said Lance. Shay giggled in reply and hid her blush behind her painted silk fan.

“I’m working on that,” a grinning Hunk replied in a conspiratorial sotto voce, unable to hide his own flushed face. “Katie will be here, Lance. Stop worrying. The two of you are going to have the time of your lives. I just know it!”

Lance watched as one of his two best friends in all of the world drifted off towards the dance floor with the gentle Balmeran noblewoman on his arm. Lance really hoped that Hunk was right about Miss Holt.

Unable to resist the temptation of the plate of savories that Hunk had brought him, Lance nibbled at one of the ribbon sandwiches as he poured himself a glass of lemonade. He chewed one of the tiny meat pies as he watched the dancers gliding across the polished ballroom floor, wishing he could join them. A few of the younger women who did not seem to have dance partners eyed him up and down and were apparently exchanging comments about his looks behind their fans. Once, he would have approached them with some wildly inappropriate flirtatious remark or ridiculous compliment. All of them were attractive young women. A few of them might even be considered beautiful.

Lance ignored all of them as he sipped his cold lemonade.

“Lance.” He heard Shiro’s voice from behind his right shoulder. “Mrs. Colleen Holt and her daughter Katie have finally arrived.”

For a split second, Lance panicked, wondering if he had bits of meat pie or fruit pastry on his face, or if he had spilled lemonade on his waistcoat. Lance wiped his chin with one of the fancy napkins from the little round table and turned around slowly.

At the top of the staircase closest to the western tower, stood two women. One was an attractive middle-aged woman with a trim figure who wore a widow’s black lace mourning gown and veil. She carried a small black beaded handbag and used her unopened black lace parasol as a walking stick.

Beside her was a vision in purest white, a slender, petite young woman who was probably only a little younger than Lance was. As the two women descended the staircase, Lance could not take his eyes off of the younger one, who was clad entirely in the most pristine silks and satins, from her elegant little white high-heeled slippers to the dual white plumes in her hair which indicated her status as a debutante. Her large hazel eyes were framed by long black lashes, and her wavy honey-brown hair was piled high atop her head in an elaborate hairstyle that left small ringlets of curls framing her pale, heart-shaped face. Her pink lips were softened by a beeswax balm and the pinkness of her cheeks was highlighted with just a hint of rouge.

The young woman’s broad, mischievous smile and the twinkle in her eyes when she finally saw Lance indicated a surplus of personality, intelligence, and charm that instantly made him feel weak in the knees.

He saw it then, the family resemblance. Mrs. Holt and her beautiful daughter looked so much like his friend Pidge that he would have recognized them even without Shiro there to make the proper introductions.

He bowed deeply to the two women as Shiro formally introduced each of them in turn. He kissed the back of Colleen’s glove of black lace first.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Holt,” he heard himself saying, and then, after kissing the back of her small, graceful hand which was gloved in white satin, “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Holt,” Lance said with what he hoped was charm and dignity. He caught an intoxicating little whiff of her rosewater perfume.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. McClain,” the young woman replied. “Please accept our most humble apologies for our tardiness.” She made a little curtsey.

“Of course, Miss Holt. Honestly, I didn’t mind the delay. You are without a doubt a young lady worth waiting for,” Lance said with a little bow. He hoped that sounded as smooth as it sounded in his imagination. “Unfortunately the banquet is over, but I do have refreshments for us here,” Lance said, indicating the plate of hors d'oeuvre.

“You two enjoy yourselves,” Shiro said. “I will acquire refreshments for Mrs. Holt.”

“Thank you, Captain Shirogane,” Colleen replied. “We have important matters to discuss, as you know.”

As Mrs. Holt took the captain’s arm, Lance overheard her say in a low voice, “Icarus is in town, Takashi. He believes Daedalus is being moved tonight.”

Lance’s mind was racing. Who were Icarus and Daedalus? What in the world was going on? He tried to hide his shock at hearing those two code names spoken aloud and then wondered if everyone in Pidge’s family might be in the espionage business. He tried to remember his manners as he pulled out a chair for Katie and poured her a glass of lemonade.

When Lance sat next to her at the small table, he felt Katie’s satin-clad fingertips brush against the back of his hand. “We have important matters to discuss this evening as well,” she said, looking at him intensely from under long black lashes with those beautiful hazel eyes of hers. As Lance felt her grip the back of his hand, his heart beat faster. He knew in that instant that if he allowed himself to fall in love with this intriguing young woman he might literally do anything for her.

He was lost in the intensity of her gaze for a moment, and then he gave a small nod.

“I’m listening,” he replied.

Chapter Text

”What do you know about Captain Shirogane’s time as a prisoner?” Katie Holt began. She had released Lance’s hand and begun to nibble upon one of the ribbon sandwiches.

“Well, the way I heard the story,” Lance replied after taking another sip of his lemonade, “Shiro was the pilot a small airship called the HMS Kerberos. He was flying a couple of scientists to do research in Antarctica when they were captured by a Galra airship. Shiro ended up in the gladiator pits after that.”

Katie touched his arm and gave Lance a flirtatious glance for the benefit of anyone who was watching them, but, of course, the topic of their conversation wasn’t in the least bit flirtatious. She continued. “And the two scientists who were his passengers? Do you know who they were and what happened to them?” she asked, not breaking eye contact with him.

Lance leaned closer to her, as if having a secret lover’s conversation. “Well, I was wondering about that,” he whispered to her, staring at how soft and pink her lips were. “When Shiro was a gladiator slave he helped another prisoner escape, a young scientist and explorer named Matthew Holt. Is he a relative of yours?” He stroked her forearm through the satin of her glove. Miss Holt blushed in spite of her focus on the serious nature of their conversation.

“Matthew Holt is my older brother.” She placed her free hand on top of his and gently removed it from her arm, which she withdrew from his touch. “Thanks to Shiro saving his life, Matt was able to escape and join the rebellion. My family owes Captain Shirogane a huge debt of gratitude for what he did for Matt.” They continued to eat, pretending to make casual conversation. They joined in a moment of applause for the orchestra after a particularly lovely waltz ended, then ate a bit more of their supper just before the musicians began playing the next dance number.

Lance waited until the music started again, hoping it would drown out the sound of their words. “What about that other scientist? Was he a relative of yours too?” He nibbled on another little meat pie.

Katie smiled sweetly, then tilted her head coquettishly before replying. “The other scientist was the mission commander, my father, Dr. Samuel Holt.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He remembered Colleen Holt dressed widow’s black attire. “Your mother is still in mourning after all these years—-“ Lance said, his facial expression indicating genuine sympathy.

Katie stroked the back of his hand once more and leaned in very close, as if to whisper in his ear. “Mr. McClain, my mother only wears a widow’s garb because she was told by Garrison officials that my father and brother died on that mission. I can assure you, both of them are very much alive.” Lance wasn’t sure if it was the shock of this revelation, her silken touch, or just her proximity that sent shivers down his spine at that moment. Katie was so close that he could smell the sweetness of her rosewater perfume once again. Did she have freckles underneath the makeup she was wearing? He couldn’t be certain. They were sitting in the shadow of several tall potted plants, so the lighting in this corner of the ballroom wasn’t as bright as it was on the main dance floor.

Lance put one arm around the back of her chair, as if to draw her in closer. “Does your mother know about this?”

Katie leaned as close to Lance’s ear as she dared. They were so close that a few of the onlookers were beginning to notice. “Yes. And she knows that the Garrison has been lying to us all this time. They’ve been lying to the whole world. The story was in all the papers.” She picked up a napkin and pretended to dab at imaginary crumbs on the front of his vest and tail coat. “My mother wears black all of the time to make them think she’s stupid enough to believe their lies. It’s quite easy, considering that some people have a difficult time accepting the fact that women can be clever.”

“I know how clever women can be,” Lance said, grabbing her hand once more and giving her a smoldering look. “I am having a conversation with an extremely clever young woman right now, one whose cleverness rivals her beauty. But what I want to know is, why? Why would they lie about a thing like that?”

Katie was blushing prettily again, her pupils dilating in response to his words and his touch. She looked away, trying to regain her composure before answering him in a low voice. “They don’t want to start a war, even though the rebellion has already begun. They are afraid that the Galra will send their giant robeast clankers to annihilate our cities. Innocent civilians will die. They also are afraid of what my father may have done to help the Galra create those fearsome weapons.”

Lance’s eyes widened. “Create? He’s helping them?” he asked, wondering if he had heard her correctly.

Katie could not mask the sadness in her eyes this time. “No one knows what secrets he may have revealed under torture.” She took another sip of her cold drink and swallowed before continuing. Lance rubbed her back in what he hoped was a comforting manner. She continued. “My father is the greatest artificer that ever worked for the Garrison. He designed most of the ships and automatons in our fleet, including the HMS Atlas.”

Artificer? Lance thought. Wasn’t that one of the code names in Pidge’s notebook? Then he remembered: it was another name for someone called “Daedalus.” Colleen Holt had said to Shiro earlier, “Icarus is in town, Takashi. He believes Daedalus is being moved tonight.” What did it all mean?

After mulling over her revelation and what realizations he had just made, Lance finally asked the question that he had wanted to ask her since she began this conversation with him. “Miss Holt, why are you telling me all of this? Why do you trust me with your secrets? We’ve only just met.”

Katie took another sip of her lemonade, then met his gaze with that intense look of hers. “Pidge Gunderson trusts you, so therefore I trust you. Even as we speak, Captain Shirogane is alerting Commander Keith and Princess Allura about the mission.” Lance looked across the room and saw that very conversation taking place. “My mother has already spoken with Romelle and Captain Holgersson. It is only a matter of time before Hunk Garrett and Lady Shay find out about the plan as well.”

“What plan? What mission?” Lance asked trying to keep his voice low.

Katie rested her gloved hand on the back of his once more. “There’s a prisoner transfer tonight. My father is secretly being moved from the HMS Daibazal to the HMS Sincline.”

“Prince Lotor’s ship?” Lance asked in surprise. “Isn’t he on our side?”

“My family doesn’t trust Lotor,” she replied. “Captain Shirogane and Commander Keith don’t trust him either. If they keep my father onboard the Sincline, it will only be to force him to create more super weapons for Lotor’s coup against the emperor.”

“But isn’t that what we want? To overthrow Zarkon?” Lance held her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze.

“Not if Lotor is only about seizing power for himself. He will use that power to continue what his father has already started. Shiro and my mother are hoping that the crew of the Atlas will help my brother tonight. Matt and the rebels are going to attempt to rescue my father, but in order for their plan to work, we have to keep the Prince and his forces distracted.”

“Of course,” Lance replied with a lopsided grin. “But I never really could resist a lovely damsel in distress. Pidge must have told you my weakness for beautiful women such as yourself.”

Katie laughed. “Pidge has told me more about you than you can imagine. I am going to make a little visit to the ladies’ powder room, and after that perhaps some handsome, charming gentleman will ask me to dance.”

“Oh, I intend to completely fill your dance card, Miss Holt, if I may be so bold,” he said this with a penetrating glance that made her blush crimson once more.

Lance gallantly offered her his hand as she rose from her seat at the little table. She then stood before him giving him that confident, daring smile that made him feel weak in the knees once again. “You may indeed completely fill my dance card, sir, if I may be so bold.” Lance felt the heat rise to his face. “I am most certain I will enjoy the experience of being held in your arms for the remainder of the evening.” Lance’s breathing quickened, his thoughts a tangled web of intrigue mixed with desire. He felt the light touch of her cool satin glove against his warm cheek. Then she guided his face closer to hers, as if to whisper another secret in his ear, but to his pleasant surprise, her only intention in doing so was to brush her soft lips against his cheek before making her way across the dance floor to the ladies’ powder room.

Chapter Text

Lance just stood there for a moment, his mouth agape as he watched Miss Katie Holt disappear into the throng of guests. His cheek was still tingling in the exact spot where she had just kissed him. Lance closed his eyes to engrave the sensation into his memory. He wanted the pure joy he had experienced at that moment to be etched there for all eternity so that he would never forget it, not in this life or the next.

It was just a kiss on the cheek, his rational self said to him. Perhaps it was just a gesture of gratitude and friendship. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

But, his incurably romantic heart argued with his rational self, she did agree to let him completely fill her dance card. “I am most certain I will enjoy the experience of being held in your arms for the remainder of the evening,” she had said to him. There was no mistaking the sentiment behind that.

At first he and Miss Holt were making the appearance of flirtation while discussing serious matters. They did so in order to deceive anyone in the room who might be an Imperial spy, but then, somehow, during the time they spent conversing they ended up flirting in earnest.

Lance considered the shocking conversation he had just had with Miss Holt: the talk of her father’s captivity and probable torture, the Garrison’s cruel deception regarding the fate of Dr. Samuel Holt, Mrs. Colleen Holt’s play-acting at being a widow, Matthew Holt’s allegiance to the rebellion, her brother’s desire to rescue his father during the prisoner transfer, and then the horrifying thought of giant clankers eventually destroying Terran cities if the rebel mission failed. Lance mulled all of this over as he made a quick visit to the men’s water closets, then quickly headed back to the ballroom. He scanned the crowd but saw no sign of the gorgeous petite debutante clad in white satins and silks.

He did see Captain Sven Holgersson dancing with the lovely Romelle, but instead of being lost in each other’s eyes as they had been earlier, both of them scanned the room warily as if searching for some previously unforeseen threat. He saw Hunk and Lady Shay in deep conversation with Captain Shirogane and Mrs. Holt. Lance exhaled in relief, happy that Hunk and Shay were apparently being briefed on the current situation. Princess Allura still waltzed gracefully in Keith’s arms, and for the first time since he had known the two of them, Lance felt no secret animosity towards Keith and no pang of jealousy when Allura gazed lovingly upon the young Commander. In fact, Lance was surprised to find himself smiling at them and wishing them the joy he felt earlier when Katie kissed his cheek. He was actually happy to see that Keith no longer stared at the floor, fearing to tread upon the Princess’s toes.

While his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the others, Lance felt a stab of guilt. He had not thought about his friend Pidge all evening, except in passing. He wished the boy had been here, even if he had no interest in dancing with the ladies. He could have at least enjoyed the food. He would be forever in debt to his young friend for coming up with the brilliant notion that he should attend the ball with his beautiful cousin Katie. Truly, the boy was a genius to come up with that idea. Lance had never met a girl who had been more perfect for him.

And then, as if summoned from a dream, the young lady of his heart’s true desire was standing before him. Lance beamed at her, and Miss Holt grinned back at him. He bowed to her, kissed her gloved hand, and led her toward the dance floor, but after only one too-brief turn about the room, the music unexpectedly ceased. This was followed by a sudden buzz of conversation which washed over the crowd in a wave of excited gossip. “Prince Lotor,” the guests murmured. “The Prince has arrived!”

Prince Lotor, the rebellious son of Emperor Zarkon, had arrived more than what would have been considered fashionably late for his own party. His tailored black suit included a great deal of antique lace at the collar and cuffs and a flowing cape lined with purple velvet. The tall man’s long white hair was held at the nape of his neck with a black velvet ribbon except for that one wayward lock that fell forward toward his pointed face. His vampire-like feral grimace revealed incisors sharpened like the points of daggers. Lance warily guided Miss Holt’s steps as far away from the Prince’s side of the ballroom as possible.

Lotor looked upon his guests disdainfully except, of course, for the most beautiful women in the room. First, he made small talk with a few dignitaries while sipping from a goblet of blood-red wine, then he took to the dance floor, first to whisk Romelle right out of Sven’s arms for several turns around the room, and then, when he grew tired of her failure to mask her thinly veiled contempt for him, he turned his attentions toward several other beautiful women before finally setting his lustful gaze upon Princess Allura. Lance and Katie observed this with wordless frowns as they danced on the opposite side of the room.

“The princess will be all right,” Katie reassured him. “Keith and the others are watching out for her. Don’t worry.”

“You’ve met Commander Keith?” Lance asked, taken aback by her familiarity with his fellow crew member and friend.

“Oh!” She said softly, as if she had made some error. “I have heard all about him from my cousin.”

“So Pidge has told you all about his crew mates then, Miss Holt?” Lance prodded.

“Please, call me Katie,” she said in a quiet voice, not meeting his gaze. “Is there some place more private that we can talk?”

“The courtyard,” Lance suggested. “Though I am not certain it is proper for you to walk about unchaperoned in such a secluded place with a young man.”

They spotted Colleen Holt in the most remote corner of the ballroom in a deep, serious conversation with Coran.

“I trust you,” Katie said quietly as she led him by the hand toward the darkened courtyard garden.

Lance half expected to discover a few couples in clandestine embraces among the exotic flowers, plants, and shrubbery that formed the courtyard maze, but it seemed that they were alone for the moment. They walked hand-in-hand through the semi-darkness.

“Katie,” he began, noticing that she gave a little start at the sound of her given name, “what is it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Lance, I really care about you a great deal, so I must to be honest with you. I’m not who you think I am...I-I mean, I am Katie Holt, but Pidge isn’t—“ she stammered, but whatever she was trying to tell him was interrupted when one of Lotor’s female body guards somersaulted down from a courtyard balcony above them and blocked their path. It was Ezor, the deadly acrobat, who was wearing some sort of mask that concealed her nose and mouth.

Lance instinctively stood in front of Katie to protect her from any attack while motioning to draw a pistol that, regrettably, wasn’t there. Katie grabbed his other hand to lead him back through the maze, but the way was blocked by
Zethrid’s threatening bulk. The massive muscular female was dressed for combat, not a ball, and she was masked exactly as Ezor was.

“Don’t you touch her!” Lance exclaimed, but the two assailants were armed and they were not. A gas grenade that Ezor had thrown exploded at their feet. He heard Katie making a choking sound beside him as he coughed and tried to hold her upright. She lost consciousness quickly.

As Lance’s knees buckled, he heard Zethrid say, “The stubborn old Artificer will surely cooperate now that we have his daughter.”

“What about this pathetic, skinny boy? I don’t think he’s worth much,” Ezor said as Lance collapsed to the ground, gasping desperately for fresh air. Katie lay unmoving at his side. His last horrifying thought was that they were going to torture her in order to force Dr. Holt build terrible weapons to use against the Terrans.

As if from a distance he heard Zethrid say, “Well if they won’t purchase the boy for the gladiator pits, there’s always the mines.” Her words grew fainter after that as Lance rapidly lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

The first thing that Lance was aware of when he began to regain consciousness was that he was lying uncomfortably on his left side, gagged by a silk cravat and bound at the wrists and ankles by metal cuffs.

As the fog in his brain began to clear, the second thing that Lance became aware of was that he had been stripped of his fine clothing by the kidnappers. He was clad in nought but his clinging union suit of soft white cotton. He was thankful that the magic protecting his Lion Key had kept it safely hidden inside of his underclothes.

In the chill evening air, Lance felt the heat radiating from another warm body lying close to his. Familiar rose-scented perfume filled his nostrils as he inhaled deeply, and opened his eyes at last. That was the moment when Lance became aware of a third and very important thing: his lovely dance partner, Miss Katie Holt, was lying on her side facing him, gagged, bound, and stripped down to her skivvies just as he was. His angel slumbered peacefully with a nimbus of light brown ringlets framing her sweet face. He could see that more of her hair had tumbled down from where it had been pinned atop her head. Her cute little upturned nose was so close to his face that he could count all of her freckles, which she had apparently attempted to conceal by a skillful application of powder and rouge. He studied the pattern of her freckles and noticed that they was nearly identical to—no, that was impossible! Even though Katie Holt and her cousin Pidge Gunderson shared an amazing number of similarities, no two people could have the exact same pattern of freckles, could they? Did such a thing occur in nature? He did not know.

Katie stirred in her sleep and her breathing quickened. Lance watched her chest move ever so slightly as she inhaled and exhaled, and then became pleasantly distracted by the sight of the slight curvature of Katie’s bosom just visible above the top of her satin-lined corset. He studied the subtle hint of cleavage revealed by her lacy white undergarments and then bit his lip as he luxuriated in the fantasy that Katie was his own innocent bride and they were sharing a bed because it was their wedding night. He was intrigued by the white silken cord around her neck which disappeared down the front of her corset, but her bare left shoulder was such another welcome distraction that Lance discovered that he was torn between pursuing the scandalous desire to kiss her soft, exposed flesh or the gentlemanly notion to politely slide the lacy strap of her camisole back into its proper place. He could do neither, bound and gagged as he was. When he tried to speak it came out as a muffled garble of indecipherable vocalizations.

Desperate to remove his gag, Lance began to rub his cheek against the pillow beneath his head, lowering his chin to his chest and then raising it again several times in an attempt to dislodge the cravat. If his hands had not been restrained behind his back, he could have just pulled it down without much effort. Instead, he had to twist his head about for several minutes until he finally managed to slide the gag below his chin where it hung loosely around his neck.

Outside of the small but lavish hotel room in which they had been imprisoned he heard the sound of Galra Sentry clankers on patrol along with a steady whir of wheels and gears from just outside of their door. By the sound of it there were at least two clanker guards posted.

“Katie,” he said in a soft, raspy voice. “Katie, wake up.” There was no response. Perhaps the knock-out gas that Ezor had used had a more powerful effect on the petite girl because she was so much smaller and lighter than he was. Hoping Katie would forgive him for taking such liberties while she slept, Lance positioned his lips very near to hers, as if he were going to steal a kiss from her. Looking at her fondly once more, Lance parted his lips, licked them, then seized her silken gag between his teeth. His moistened lips slid along her cheek as he tugged the gag below her chin. Katie’s eyes did not open, but she stirred, mumbling incoherently. He listened, trying to make sense of her words.

“Trying to steal a kiss,” accused the sleeping girl. Their faces were side-by-side on the pillow that they were now sharing.

Lance felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “No, no! I wasn’t—“

There was a soft, muffled giggle. “That tavern wench gave you a black eye,” Katie murmured, a satisfied smile upon her lips as she slumbered.

A black eye? What was she talking about? Then he remembered the last game of Monsters and Mana that he had played with his friends, and how Pidge had teased him about trying to steal a kiss from a tavern wench.

Lance’s heart began to beat faster as he looked at the attractive young woman who slept beside him. Katie or Pidge? Maybe they were one and the same. No. That was impossible. He knew his brilliant friend was eccentric, but...

The sleeping girl mumbled again. “Casanova,” she accused, a half-smile visible as she nuzzled the pillow. “Handsome,” she mumbled to herself, followed by what sounded like a little sigh of contentment. “Lance.”

Lance felt the heat rise to his face once more. Was she dreaming about him? His thoughts were a mixture of confusion, arousal, and panic. Pidge Gunderson and Katie Holt were...are...the same person? The girl whose bosom he was just admiring was also one of his most bosom friends? His eyes were as wide as saucers. He had loved Pidge Gunderson as a brother, loved him as a best friend in whom he had entrusted his most intimate secrets, and now he had just been thinking about...Well, he didn’t want to think about what he was just thinking about, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it!

He surmised that Pidge must have worn that tweed newsboy cap and goggles in order to conceal Katie’s femininity as well as her identity. He supposed she was thin enough to comfortably wear an adolescent boy’s clothing, but as she grew older, she took to wearing that oversized grey coat all of the time...

Lance studied her slight curves again and understood. The kidnappers had taken her white satin ball gown, petticoats, and gloves, but they had not disturbed her white silk stockings or bloomers. For the sake of her honor and what was left of her dignity, he was thankful for that. As his eyes traveled over her sleeping form, he noticed that her hips had a rather obvious curvature that not even baggy trousers could disguise. She was most undeniably a female.

Pidge had been a girl disguised as a boy all along, and Lance realized that he had been too dull-witted and self-absorbed to have noticed. As intimate and as constant as their friendship had been, she must have thought of him as the Father of Fools, the Master of Morons, the absolute Paragon of Idiots for not being able to see the obvious. He also knew his friend was a genius of the level that no intelligence test could quantify or classify. Surely, she must have had some reason for her false identity, but Lance could not guess what it could be, unless it had to do with the notebook he found that was filled with decoded messages. Was she a spy? A code breaker? If everything she had told him so far could be assumed to be the truth, then he knew her loyalties were with her family, the rebellion, and her friends. He knew that he was someone she trusted, one of her closest friends. That would not have to change, or would it?

Katie began to stir, mumbling more incoherent things in her sleep.

“Pidge—“ he began.

“Hmm?” She asked sleepily and her eyes snapped open.

“Pidge, we’re being kidnapped, and there’s a couple of clankers standing guard outside of our door, so don’t scream.”

“Lance?!” she said hoarsely. She was fully awake now and struggling with her bonds. Her brow furrowed as if she was recalling a half-remembered dream. “Did you just try to kiss me?”

“I—what?—no. No, I, uh, I was trying to remove your gag,” he tried to explain. “I had to use my teeth.”

“Your teeth?” Pidge asked, making an effort to sit up.

“Yes. My lips may have, um, accidentally touched your cheek,” he said while struggling to sit upright beside her. He stared at a design on the wallpaper behind her to avoid looking directly at her. Both of the lacy straps of her camisole were down, baring her shoulders completely, and revealing a little more of her bosom. He knew beyond a doubt that he was blushing.

“My lockpick is in my hair,” she announced matter-of-factly.

“What?” He asked, meeting her gaze at last. She looked as flushed as he felt.

“It looks like a hair ornament,” she began. “It’s between the two large pins that hold my veil and plumes in place. Maybe you can pull it out with your teeth.” She bowed her head a little, presenting the now-crushed white plumes that marked her as a debutante. Lance leaned down and was engulfed by her rosewater scent once more. He buried his face in her hair and discovered that it was just as thick and silky as he imagined it would be. Lance grasped the hair ornament between his lips and teeth and yanked it out along with her hairpins.

The white veil and plumes fell along with the rest of her elaborate hairdo. He dropped the lockpick on the mattress between them.

“This part will be tricky. We’ll have to sit back-to-back and I won’t be able to see what I am doing.”

They repositioned themselves on the mattress and Pidge began to search for the lock on Lance’s wrist cuffs.

Something poked him in the buttock. “Ow!” he exclaimed.

“That wasn’t me,” she snickered. “I think you sat on one of my hairpins.”

Her fingers brushed his, and Lance tried to steady his breathing as she worked diligently with her wrists securely bound. After several minutes he heard a click and his manacles were opened. He grinned, then turned to remove the hairpin from his buttock and to take the lockpick when she offered it to him.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he confessed.

She turned her body to face him again. “Let’s try your ankles first. I want to watch you and give you some tips.” She coached him, watching intently as he picked the lock on the cuffs around his ankles and hers. Then she turned her back to him as he made quick work of her wrist manacles.

“Thank you,” she said, rubbing her wrists and smiling up at him proudly. “You’re a natural at this.”

“Well, I am a Thief, after all, Pidge,” he said meeting her gaze with a piercing look. He was talking about Pike, of course, his alter-ego in the Monsters and Mana game. That was a topic that Katie Holt would know nothing about unless she and Pidge Gunderson were one and the same. “That’s the third time I’ve called you ‘Pidge’ this evening in case you’ve lost count.”

She gaped at him in astonishment, then she crossed her arms over her upper body in an effort to cover herself. There was a long silence between them, and then finally she bowed her head and said in a small voice, “Pidge was my childhood nickname.”

It was then Lance noticed that, without her gloves, the cut on the side of her right index finger had begun to heal, but the red-brown stain from the Tincture of Iodine had not yet entirely faded.

As Pidge repositioned the straps of her camisole and attempted to arrange her unruly hair, Lance also noticed that all of their efforts to free themselves from their restraints had revealed more than Pidge’s dual identity. The white silken cord that she had looped around her neck and tucked into her corset had been dislodged. At the end of the cord hung a lion-headed key which was plated with a pale grey metal and embedded with a vibrant green stone.

Lance unfastened the top two buttons of his union suit and pulled out the leather cord which held his own Lion Key. “We need to talk,” he said quietly.

Chapter Text

“You’re a Keeper!” Katie whispered excitedly. She was leaning very close to him, comparing her Lion Key’s green jewel with the red gemstone in his own.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Lance replied in his smoothest, most seductive voice, which was accompanied by a rakish grin, but she wasn’t paying any attention to his latest attempt at flirting.

“There are supposed to be five of us: Red is for the element of fire, and Green is for wind. Yellow is for earth and Blue for water, but Black is for the very Aether itself—“ Katie rambled as she held her lightweight Lion Key beside his heavier steel key, and Lance rolled his eyes upward, not daring to give in to the temptation to look down the front of her corset.

“Pidge—“ he began. She rambled on.

“King Alfor’s Alchemist’s Stone is the actual jewel in Allura’s crown. It detects which form of quintessence is strongest in a person’s spirit—“

“Pidge, not now—“

“—-along with a person’s worthiness to be a Paladin! Hunk is the Keeper of the Yellow Lion Key, isn’t he? I mean, Allura tested him at the same time as you, and he’s much more grounded and down-to-earth than either of us. I was thinking the Keeper of the Black Lion Key might be Keith, or maybe Shiro. But it’s Keith, isn’t it? I’ve noticed that he and Allura have become really close lately.”

Lance sighed. “Yes, it’s Keith.” Obsession with minutiae and thinking out loud...His lovely Katie was definitely the Pidge he knew.

“Then who has the Blue Lion Key?” she asked.

“We don’t know. Look, we have to get out of here.” He grabbed her bare upper arms and looked directly into her eyes. “Pidge, they intend to torture you in order to make your father co-operate with them. They are going to send me to the gladiator pits or the mines or someplace worse than that. We’ll never see each other again if we don’t escape together right now!”

Katie gazed up at him wide-eyed, silently taking in the meaning of his words. Lance did not know what his expression had just revealed to her, but it must have been something meaningful judging by the softness of her gaze before she finally looked away from him. He gently caressed the smooth flesh of her upper arms then let her go. She dropped her Lion Key back down inside of her camisole and corset, then placed his own heavy key flat against his sternum and then re-buttoned the fasteners of his undergarment on top of it. She gave his chest a little pat, right over his heart, exactly like the clockwork girl had done. There was something so tender about the intimate gesture that Lance suddenly felt as if he stood fully exposed before her. His face felt as if it were on fire.

“Maybe Pidge can repair your broken heart,” the clockwork girl had said. “My maker is good at fixing broken things.”

Katie’s (or was it Pidge’s?) mind was now focused on the problem they faced at the moment. “The dumbwaiter would take us straight to the kitchens. If I crouched down enough, I might fit, but I’m not sure you will. You’re too tall. Your shoulders are too broad, and it will barely support my weight, much less yours. No offense.”

“None taken. The window—“ Lance parted the draperies. “—there’s a ledge!”

“And a fire escape!” she added gleefully. She unlatched the window.

“Wait,” Lance said softly, moving over to the little bed. He began stripping off the covers.

“What are you doing?” She asked as he folded the plain white top sheet in half lengthwise and wound it around her torso, leaving her arms free.

“You can’t go traipsing about the Galra Embassy Hotel in your knickers, missy,” he replied with a smirk. Pidge blushed, remembering her state of undress and what a scandal it would create.

“What about you?” She asked, tucking the sheet around her securely. “That suit you’re wearing leaves little to the imagination.” She smirked at him in spite of her own embarrassment.

Lance’s face felt so hot that it must look as red as the gemstone in his Lion Key. He wrapped the blue tasseled, crocheted bedspread around himself like a Roman senator’s toga and struck a pose that made her giggle. Then he climbed upon the window ledge and stepped out into the cold night air. The stone of the ledge was icy cold beneath his bare feet. Pidge climbed out of the window and stood beside him. Neither of them dared to look down as they side stepped to the nearest fire escape, the wind ruffling their hair and makeshift outer garments.

Lance’s long legs cleared the gap between the ledge and the fire escape with ease, but Pidge had more difficultly with it and made a daring little leap, right into Lance’s outstretched arms. He caught her with a little “Whoa!” and then he grinned. By the light of the moon, stars, and a few gas lamps, her lips and cheeks appeared to be a little wind burned, but she was otherwise unharmed.

”If you think a girl is pretty, you should give her a kiss,” the flirty automaton had said to him.

Lance had replied. “Sorry, Clanquette. I’m only kissing a girl if I am truly in love with her.”

He could not take his eyes from Pidge’s rosy lips, wanting desperately to kiss her, but he still had so many questions that were unanswered.

“Why did you do it?” He asked quietly. They were alone on the fire escape and the alley below them was empty. He hadn’t let go of her. “Why the double identity?”

“At first it was because I wanted to be a Garrison scientist like Matt and my dad. I think you already know that women aren’t allowed in the Garrison Science Division,” she replied as he set her down. “Even though my mom has doctorates in botany and genetics, the civilian academic community barely tolerates her. Some of the most prestigious scientific journals won’t even publish her work under the name Colleen Holt, so she uses the pen name Colin Gunderson or C. G. Holt.”

“Gunderson?” Lance asked.

“Her maiden name. When Dad and Matt disappeared, Mom helped me with my disguise. She altered some of Matt’s old clothes for me and we stayed in touch by clockwork pigeon. We knew our theory about the government cover-up was right when Shiro turned up alive. The Garrison was quick to send him out on the Atlas and get him away from the press.”

“So you have been spying,” Lance said, feeling that his hunch had been right. Pidge led the way as they began descending the metal steps as quietly as they could. When they stopped on another landing, she turned to him.

“I’m a communications officer, among many other things. I’m a code breaker for our Captain, for the rebellion, and for the Altean Resistance. I’ve been keeping secrets for the Princess, and Allura has been keeping secrets for me ever since I first joined the crew.”

“I found your codebook and I know your work is important, Pidge, but what I don’t understand is why you risked being discovered tonight. It’s dangerous to appear in public as Sam Holt’s daughter!”

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice as she looked down. “I’ll never be a real debutante with all that’s going on. I just wanted to dress up and go to a ball as myself, as Katie. I just wanted my lovelorn best friend to finally see me as I really am.” She looked at him apologetically, as if blaming herself for the dangerous situation they had found themselves in ever since Ezor and Zethrid had ambushed them in the garden maze.

Lance moved closer to Pidge once again, brushing a wayward curl away from her cheek with his fingertips.

“I was trying to tell you, you know, before we got captured,” she said softly. “I was trying to tell you the truth about myself, and about...about how I feel...”

“Katie, I—“

He was holding her close again, drawn to her lips like a moth to a flame. Her eyelids fluttered and closed as he drew nearer. His eyes closed and his lips parted as they sought hers.

But just then, the fire escape was jostled by the explosion from the ballroom below them. They heard the sound of people screaming as the crowd came pouring out from every exit.

Lance grabbed Pidge and tugged her down the last few flights of stairs.

They heard the sound of fire brigade klaxons blaring up and down the block from the Galra Embassy Hotel which had apparently caught fire.

“We have to find our friends!” Pidge shouted, but Lance tugged her away from the direction of hotel’s main entrance.

“We can’t go back in there. We don’t even have proper shoes, Pidge. Think. What would Shiro order us to do?” Lance asked her.

“Regroup at the Altas,” she said. “But my mother—-“

Lance had to drag her away from the burning building and towards the airship docks. When Lance heard the sound of her violent sobbing as they ran he wondered if she would ever forgive him.

Chapter Text

“Lance! Pidge! Over here!” they heard a familiar voice exclaim. Skidding to a halt, they turned to see one of the horseless carriages used by the Balmeran Embassy. Hunk was sitting behind the steering wheel, but there were no passengers inside the vehicle that Lance could see. “Get in!” their friend exclaimed. Lance opened the passenger’s side door of the wide vehicle and helped Pidge up, then he lifted himself up into the seat beside her and slammed the door as Hunk drove away.

“Hunk!” Lance exclaimed. “Buddy, are we ever glad to see you!”

“What’s happening?” he heard Pidge ask hoarsely. She had finally stopped crying but was still visibly distraught.

“They’re calling it a terrorist attack. Someone set off a bomb at the embassy. But just before that, Lotor was getting too, um, inappropriately tactile with the Princess, so Keith got mad and challenged him to a duel. That’s when a lot of the guests started leaving—“

“What about my mom and the others?” She asked.

“Mrs. Holt is with Coran and Shiro. They are taking her back to the Atlas. She was frantic because she couldn’t find you anywhere. Honestly, all of us were. What happened?” Hunk asked as he turned down a side street, hoping to find a less congested route to the airship docks.

“We were going for a walk in the garden maze when Ezor and Zethrid ambushed us,” Lance began. “Ezor threw some kind of smoke grenade at us that knocked us out. They took our clothes and had us trussed up in manacles. They had me ready for auction at the gladiator slave market and—-“

“—they were intending to take me to the Prince’s ship to have me tortured. That’s how they were going to make my father cooperate, which is more proof that Lotor can’t be trusted. Where is he, Hunk? Have you heard anything about my dad?” Pidge asked.

“Shiro thinks your brother and the rebels were successful in rescuing Dr. Holt tonight, or at least that’s what he told your mom when they were trying to get her to evacuate. She wanted to run back inside a burning hotel to search for you—-but don’t worry, she’s okay, Pidge,” said Hunk. “Shiro told her that we are going to rendezvous with Matt in a few hours, and if they have your dad that means you’ll be seeing him again soon.”

Pidge covered her mouth to stifle a happy sob. Hunk handed her his handkerchief and gave her shoulders a little squeeze as he steered with one hand.

“How long have you known the truth about her, Hunk?” Lance asked coldly. There was an awkward silence amongst the three friends. Other than Pidge’s muffled sobs, only the sounds of traffic, the roar of the fire brigade engines, and the receding blare of the alarm klaxons could be heard.

After Pidge wiped her eyes a final time, she gave Hunk a little nod of encouragement and he finally spoke. “Several months. I figured it out when I accidentally found Pidge’s diary—-“

“Accidentally?” Pidge asked in a skeptical tone of voice.

“I was looking for Babbage’s Guide to Mechanical Engineering in your library,” Hunk explained as they drove the length of the massive airship docking bay.

“You’ve borrowed it a hundred times. Don’t you have it memorized by now? You were snooping,” she accused.

“Like you, my friend, I have a curious scientific mind. You know I can’t resist investigating strange, unexplained phenomena—-“

“You knew?!” Lance interjected. “You knew all this time! I thought you two were my best friends, but you’ve both been keeping secrets from me. Pidge has been lying to us for years, Hunk. Years!” Lance knew he was visibly upset. He could no longer hide how deeply hurt he was. “I guess you both think that I’m the world’s biggest idiot since I could be punked so easily, and for so long.” He gazed out of the window, turning his face away from both of them, afraid that they might see how close to tears he was.

Lance felt Pidge take his hand and give it a little squeeze. “It wasn’t like that and you know it. Please don’t be angry. I’ll admit that I had to deceive everyone, but you know that there was no malice intended by it. You know that I never meant for any of this to hurt you, and you already know exactly why I did all of it,” she said quietly.

Lance exhaled, trying to calm his temper. He rubbed angrily at his eyes before turning to face her again. “I know why Katie Holt pretended to be Pidge Gunderson. What I want to know is, why did Pidge Gunderson have to make an appearance as Katie Holt tonight? If your secret got out, the Garrison could have you hung for treason,” Lance said, reminding her that she had assumed the identity of a Garrison cadet and later, a Garrison airship officer under false pretenses.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, our whole crew is allied with the rebellion. Unless the Terran government makes an open declaration of war against the Galra Empire, we’re all guilty of treason,” Pidge said angrily. She let go of his hand. “We might all go to the gallows before this is over.” A pair of hot, angry tears slid down her cheeks as she glared at him.

Lance gaped at her. “You risked both of our lives tonight with your little debutante charade, you know. You got us kidnapped, and might have gotten us tortured, enslaved, or worse! Do you have any idea what Lotor’s guards might have done to you? The way they treat their male prisoners is bad enough, but what the way they degrade the women is unspeakable! You’re supposed to be intelligent, Pidge. Why did you put yourself at risk like that? Why did you do something so incredibly stupid?!” he bellowed at her.

Pidge seemed to become even smaller in stature when she folded her arms. Her jaw clenched as every muscle in her body grew more and more tense from anxiety and anger. Strangely enough, in that moment Pidge reminded Lance of a lesson he had learned many years before at the Garrison academy. In astronomy class, the cadets learned that the brightest stars always contracted just before they went supernova. Lance had never seen Pidge so filled with white hot rage before, not in all the years he had known her. He braced himself for the inevitable explosion.

But it was an explosion that didn’t occur, at least, not just yet.

“Pidge, look!” Hunk exclaimed as the borrowed vehicle pulled up to the Atlas’s docking platform. “There’s your mother and the others!”

Lance saw them then: Shiro, at the top of the boarding ramp, already shedding his outer robe and shouting orders to the crew; a angry and disheveled Allura in a torn ball gown, with Keith’s tailcoat draped about her shoulders; a feral-looking Keith in his shirtsleeves, wielding a sword coated in dried blood; an anxious Coran, with his hair sticking out every which way, his shirt collar askew and finest suit covered in ash; and finally, a furious Colleen Holt wearing a singed black lace ball gown. Her face was smeared with soot, her widow’s veil had been discarded, and her graying light brown hair had tumbled down from an elaborate pinned updo. Yet, somehow, Mrs. Holt looked more formidable than Keith did at that moment. She wielded her parasol like a shock rifle, which, Lance finally realized, it was. She looked as if she were ready to murder anyone who tried to keep her apart from her family again.

Lance opened the passenger’s side door as soon as Hunk stopped the vehicle. After exiting, Lance offered to help Pidge climb down, but she ignored him, shoving past him to race toward her mother in her stockinged feet, the hotel bedsheet still wound tightly around her.

“Mom! Mom, I’m all right! We’ve escaped!” Pidge exclaimed as she vaulted into her mother’s arms. “Lotor’s henchwomen tried to kidnap us!”

“Katie, Katie, my darling! My baby!” Colleen sobbed as she dropped her weaponized parasol and gathered her youngest child into her arms. “I was so worried about you!”

Lance watched them from a distance, afraid to approach Pidge and her mother after the spontaneous angry words he had just spoken. He regretted saying such insensitive things to her and wished he could unsay what he had blurted out simply because he was afraid for her. Pidge was sobbing against her mother’s shoulder like a lost child who had just been found after years of being far from home. It was in that moment Lance realized that Pidge had been exactly that: a lost and desperate child who was willing to risk her life, reputation, and future to reunite her broken family. She had grown up too quickly, but in doing so, had exhibited as much courage, cleverness, and determination as any soldier or scientist or airman the Garrison had ever produced.

Lance’s vision blurred as Coran, Allura, and even Keith greeted him with a welcoming embrace that, in that moment, he felt that he did not deserve.

Chapter Text

The Atlas was airborne soon after all the crew members were safely on board. Lance saw Keith enfold Princess Allura in a tender embrace before bidding her good night. Then, in spite of an instinct to turn his face away, Lance watched as the Princess gave Keith a brief but tender kiss before he stalked off to the men’s shower room. Keith’s fancy clothes, Lance then realized, were torn and covered in blood. Lance hoped that he had thrashed Lotor for whatever he had done to disrespect Allura.

Pidge’s clockwork girl had been given the task of sorting through the brass bound trunk of Romelle and Allura’s old things to find a nightdress and dressing gown that would fit Mrs. Holt, as well as gathering up Pidge’s pajamas, dressing gown, and slippers and bringing them to the women’s bathing chambers. In all the years they had been crew members onboard the Altas together, Lance had never seen Pidge make use of the men’s shower room. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? The eccentric young genius had access to hot and cold running water in the laboratory. There had been a small bunk, a sink, and a small water closet curtained off from the rest of the room. Was that how Pidge had been washing up all this time to avoid embarrassing encounters with fellow crewmen? It must have been. He felt stupid for not noticing all the trouble she went through to conceal her gender.

Lance decided that a hot shower before going to bed would probably make him feel better. His feet were cold and filthy and his muscles were tense from the stress of the evening’s adventures. He lost track of time as he let the hot water cascade over him to soothe his tired muscles, but not even that simple pleasure could take his mind off of the guilt he felt for snapping at Hunk and Pidge the way he had earlier. He was determined to apologize and make amends as soon as the opportune moment appeared. Lance had been in the shower long enough to hear Keith exiting a neighboring stall and some time later, to hear Hunk entering the stall opposite his. Hunk hadn’t spoken a word to him since Lance had lost his temper. He wanted to avoid his roommate for the moment, so he quickly toweled off and dressed himself in his pajamas, dressing gown, and a delightfully warm pair of slippers before heading back toward their shared cabin.

As Lance was walking past Pidge’s laboratory he suddenly stopped, listening to the faint sounds from within. Remembering his manners this time, he knocked on the door before entering. “Pidge?” he called softly, not wanting to anger her any further. “May I come in?” There was no answer. He opened the door just enough to peer inside. The clockwork girl was humming to herself as she sorted and folded clothing from the steamer trunk which had been filled with Romelle and Allura’s old clothes.

“What are you up to, Clanquette?” Lance asked cheerfully.

“I am putting together a new wardrobe for Mrs. Holt and Miss Holt,” the automaton replied primly. “My maker might have to wear some of her old boy’s things for now.” She was holding up a small green bodice, one of the corset-like garments the rebel Altean women wore as outerwear. “This one might do, if she laces it tight enough.”

Lance grinned, imagining Pidge wearing such a figure-enhancing feminine garment instead of a waistcoat. “Yeah. I think she’d look quite fetching in that.”

“You would,” replied a familiar voice from behind him. Lance turned around to face Pidge, who was smirking as she stood in the corridor wearing her usual boy’s pajamas and dressing gown. Her long hair, which was still damp from washing, fell way past her shoulders. Lance marveled at how long and thick it was. Her familiar freckles were clearly visible now that every trace of makeup had been washed away, and the sweet scent of her rosewater perfume had been replaced by the fresh smell of lavender scented soap. Whatever remained of the glamorous would-be debutante Katie Holt had been scrubbed away, he realized, but this Katie was unmistakably his Pidge—the one he knew, the one he had befriended, and now, as he was finally able to admit to himself, the one he loved.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you the way I did earlier. What I said to you was rude, Pidge. It won’t ever happen again, I promise. I’m really sorry,” Lance said sincerely, hoping she would forgive him. “I only said those things because I was worried about what could have happened to you.”

She looked up at him in surprise and then stared at the tiled floor, unable to meet his gaze. “I know. I’m the one who should apologize. My little debutante charade was really foolish and I should have never put us in danger like that.” She looked up at him pleadingly. “ And I want you to know that I really was trying to tell you the truth about myself when we were ambushed in the garden—-“

“I know, Pidge. There’s no need to apologize for any of it. Honestly, I’m glad you did all of it, in spite of the danger we faced. You set me up on a wonderful date with the most beautiful, brilliant, charming girl I have ever met.” He bowed and kissed the back of her hand as he had at the ball, and then met her gaze. Her eyes were shining. “Thank you.”

“I had a nice time, too. It was definitely the best date I’ve ever been on,” she admitted, wiping happy tears from her cheeks. “Well, it was the only date I have ever been on—“ she admitted.

“We should do it again sometime—-minus the kidnapping and the threats of torture and slavery, of course,” he said with a soft smile. He couldn’t resist the temptation to smooth her damp hair away from her face. She blushed a little when he did so, and turned even pinker when he caressed her cheek.

“Hopefully there won’t be any bombings or fires the next time we go on a date,” she said with a soft smile.

Lance swallowed. It was really happening. She actually wanted there to be a “next time.” He leaned closer to her, but just then there was a shuffle of slippered feet. They stood frozen in place for a moment.

“Hunk!” Pidge exclaimed.

“Uh, hey buddy!” Lance said, feeling awkward. “I’m sorry about—-“

“Don’t mention it,” their friend said, grinning at both of them. “I see you two have made up. So, when’s the wedding?” he teased.

Pidge muffled her amused giggles in the front of Lance’s dressing gown. He grinned.

“I’m still trying to figure out how to get her to go on a second date with me,” Lance replied, “but thanks for asking.”

Hunk chuckled and continued down the corridor. Pidge had hidden her face in Lance’s robe and was hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, closing his eyes and resting his cheek atop her head. It was nearly dawn. They were both exhausted and needed sleep, but neither of them wanted to move. They stood like that a long time until they were startled by the sound of the clockwork girl’s voice.

“If you think a girl is pretty, you should give her a kiss,” the little automaton said.

“Well, I guess you programmed her to say that,” Lance teased.

“Of course,” Pidge said smugly.

“Mr. McClain has promised me that he will only kiss a girl if he is truly in love with her,” the clockwork girl added.

Lance felt his face heat up. “I guess I—I taught her to say that.” He swallowed nervously, holding his breath in expectation.

When Pidge gazed up at him that same intense look he had seen on Katie Holt’s face in the ballroom hours earlier he knew there was no turning back. He knew what he had to do.

Lance exhaled, then took a deep calming breath before gently cupping her flushed face in his shaking hands. It was in that moment that Lance McClain gave a trembling Katie Holt her first sweet kiss. Her breathing was ragged when they finally broke apart, but she surprised him by suddenly pulling him closer for a second more passionate kiss that made him want to laugh and dance and fly and sing all at the same time. His heart felt as if it might just beat right out of his chest.

“My maker is very good at fixing broken things,” the clockwork girl observed candidly.

“Katie!” Colleen Holt’s voice was heard in the distance. “Katie Holt, why are you still awake at this hour?” Mrs. Holt was walking down the corridor in a borrowed dressing gown. “You should not be alone with a young man without a chaperone, young lady.” Mrs. Holt said this as if it wasn’t completely obvious what her daughter had just been doing. “Off to bed with you right now!”

“Yes, mama,” she replied. “Good night, or good morning, I think!” Pidge said to Colleen. Grinning like a naughty child determined to steal one last forbidden sweet, Pidge gave Lance a quick kiss on the cheek before dashing toward her bunk and closing the curtains behind her.

Chapter Text

Lance bit his lip and then grinned to himself as he removed his robe and slippers before pulling back the covers on his bed and climbing into it. In the bunk opposite his, Hunk was already snoring as loud as a locomotive at full steam.

As he lay in his soft bed, Lance’s head was filled with images of his romantic adventures with Katie Holt at the ball and the near-tragic misadventures that they had later experienced. He could still feel the manacles chafing wrists and the icy cold window ledge freezing his bare feet. He shut his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep, but all the unanswered questions plagued his mind, keeping him awake. What had Lotor done to Allura that had angered Keith so much? He wondered if he was correct in the assumption that there was a fight between the young Commander and the half-Galra Prince. Where was Romelle? He didn’t see her return with the others. Did she leave with Sven? Who had set off a bomb at the Galran Embassy Hotel and why? When would Pidge and her mother be reunited with Dr. Holt and Matt? Would Pidge’s family like him? He decided that he really wanted the Holt family to like him. After all, he was intending to marry Sam and Colleen’s daughter one day...

Lance’s dreams were filled with visions of sword fights, gun fights, and explosions. He felt the sensation of running hand in hand with Pidge, and felt the thrill of being the recepient of one of her sweet, sensuous kisses. He found himself separated from her, encircled by a ring of fire as a horrible, enormous robeast clanker destroyed another Terran city. He tossed and turned, then froze in both terror and wonder when he dreamed of an enormous red mechanical lion leaping into the sky from a pit of molten lava as a volcano erupted behind him. He was somehow seeing everything from the lion’s point of view, apparently because he was sitting in a pilot’s chair inside of its head. That seemed impossible to him. Everyone knows that lions can’t fly, not even mechanical ones. In his sleep he felt heat emanating from the red jewel embedded in the steel lion key that rested heavily upon his breastbone. Then he smiled to himself in remembrance of how Pidge had placed the key there so carefully, and had patted his chest so lovingly after refastening his garment. He relaxed then, dreaming of carrying her across the threshold of their bridal chamber to a canopied wedding bed with posts bedecked in green vines with fragrant white blossoms. Passionate kisses were exchanged before a blazing hearth fire as he helped his bride to undress.

Lance felt Hunk’s strong hand jostling his shoulder. “Lance, wake up,” he heard Hunk say.

“Pidge,” Lance mumbled. “So beautiful.” He was finally figuring out how to undo the fasteners of a lady’s corset. Why was Hunk telling him to wake up when he was having such a lovely dream about his wedding night?

“Lance, we have a meeting in the captain’s quarters in a half hour. Wake up!”

Lance groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What? I was having such a good dream,” he mumbled.

“You can dream about your girlfriend later. There’s been a declaration of war against the Empire. We’ve been chasing the Sincline all night. The Pollux is in trouble and they are going to need us as back up. Wake up!”

“War?” Lance asked as he sat up.

“Get dressed!” Hunk shouted.

“Okay. I’m up!” Lance assured his friend. He saw that Hunk was already dressed and was heading for the door.

“Okay. I’m going to check on the engine room before going to meet the captain. Oh-nine hundred sharp. Don’t be late!”

Lance was up and out of bed as Hunk closed the cabin door. He went to their small privy to relieve himself, then washed his hands and face, and hastily combed his short hair. There were dark circles under his eyes from too little sleep. He went to his footlocker and stripped off his pajamas as soon as he found a clean union suit and socks. He had just pulled on his uniform pants and shirt when there was a knock at the door.

“It’s open!” Lance called, thinking it was Hunk or one of the other crewmen. He hastened to finish buttoning his shirt, and was pulling up his suspenders when the door opened. He was surprised to see Mrs. Holt standing in his doorway.

“Good morning, Mr. McClain, I hope this isn’t a bad time,” Colleen Holt began. To Lance’s surprise, he saw that Mrs. Holt was dressed in the sort of attire that the women of the Altean resistance wore, though her blouse had a higher neckline and her skirt a lower hemline. Still, a woman her age wearing such a colorful outfit with a form-fitting bodice might be considered somewhat scandalous by the standards of the upper class members of Terran society. Lance could see by her stance that Mrs. Holt would strive to remain dignified even if she was clad in an outfit made of old potato sacks. He certainly respected her for that and pretended not to notice what she was wearing.

“Oh! Good morning, Mrs. Holt! Hunk just gave me the captain’s message,” Lance gathered up his boots, then sat on his unmade bunk to put them on.

“Yes. There’s been a declaration of war, at last,” she said, sounding relived. “The Princess and Captain Shiro have invited me to their meeting as well, but this impromptu visit does not concern that. This is about my daughter. What exactly are your intentions toward her, McClain?” Colleen asked, keeping her expression unreadable.

Lance looked up at her as he finished lacing up his left boot.

“I...uh...” Lance blushed in spite of himself, his mind flooded with images of the very realistic dream he had been having about passionately kissing and undressing Mrs. Holt’s lovely daughter in front of a blazing hearth. “My intentions are honorable, ma’am.” Much to Lance’s embarrassment, Lance’s voice squeaked at the end off that sentence. He couldn’t help the fact that he was blushing either.

“Honorable?” Mrs. Holt said with a slightly skeptical tone.

Lance hastily laced up his right boot, then stood, pulling on his Garrison uniform coat. “Pidge has been one of my best friends since we were both cadets. She’s one of the people I love most in all the world, Mrs. Holt.” He fastened up a neat row of brass buttons, then buckled on his weapons belt and twin holsters. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make her happy,” he said while drawing forth the twin double-barreled pistols from his nightstand and holstering them, “or to keep her safe,” he said, donning his bandolier of ammunition. “I hope to marry her someday—-with the blessing of you and your husband, of course.”

Colleen Holt’s stern expression softened. “Truly? You are both very young and impulsive.”

“Yes, ma’am, but if the world really is at war, I want to give you one less thing to worry about. In spite of how inappropriate our appearance was last night when we escaped from our kidnappers, I can assure you there wasn’t any sort of impropriety between your daughter and me, and there won’t be in the future either. I’ll guard her reputation as surely as I’ll guard her life.” He picked up his hat, and humbly held it in front of him. “I love her, Mrs. Holt. Katie is as precious to me as life itself.”

Colleen smiled at him. “I’m glad to hear that, young man, because you are all she has spoken of ever since the Atlas returned to port. She hasn’t ever fancied a young man before, and I wouldn’t want her naivety taken advantage of, if you understand my meaning.”

Lance’s cheeks were burning. “I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” he said in a small voice, hoping it wasn’t technically a lie since he had just been dreaming of their wedding night and not some lewd or forbidden assignation.

“Well, come along now,” Colleen said. “We don’t want to be late for the captain’s meeting.”

He followed her out into the corridor and hoped that Mrs. Holt wouldn’t mind if he at least kissed her daughter from time to time. Suitors were allowed to do that, weren’t they? And then it dawned upon him that he would have to make a formal declaration and receive her father’s blessing if her wanted to court Miss Katie Holt. Somehow that notion made him more nervous than facing an entire army of Galra sentry clankers.