Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something is wrong with the sensors in Pidge’s armor.

She keeps close tabs on her biodata - on everyone’s biodata, actually, just to be sure. She knows now, for example, that no matter how fast the Red Lion flies, Keith will always breathe 14 times a minute, inhaling and exhaling in perfectly even intervals. If she’d been paying closer attention to that kind of thing, maybe they wouldn’t have lost Shiro. Maybe she’d have noticed him slipping away. Maybe–

But there’s no time for doubt, not in war, so Pidge grits her teeth and tugs Green into a barrel roll, barely evading a direct hit from another Galra fighter.

“I got this one!” Lance sings out over the comms as her sensors register another impossible spike in her biometrics. The Blue Lion hits the fighter on her tail with its ice ray.

The Yellow Lion punches through the frozen mass, sending debris flying. “Mind if I break the ice?” Hunk quips.

Pidge cracks a smile at the pun, half-listening as Lance continues to brag about how many fighters he’s taken out so far. She can imagine the look on his face as he narrates his way through another dogfight.

They land, the enemy fighters disposed of. They debrief. Keith goes off on his own on another fruitless search for Shiro, comes back too exhausted to talk. Over dinner, Allura and Coran announce another planet is ready to join the Voltron Coalition. Pidge has more footage to sort through in her search for Matt. Days pass in an endless routine.

She doesn’t get around to checking her sensors until Hunk approaches her about them.

“Uh, I got a weird blip on my screen from your suit,” he says, obviously concerned, and it shows the same anomaly she’s been ignoring. “I know it’s kind of weird, but ever since what happened with Shiro, I’ve been paying more attention to everyone’s sensors-”

Pidge heaves a sigh. “I know about it. I think it’s some kind of glitch, it’s happened a few times. I feel fine, though.”

Hunk’s eyebrows raise at that. “Well, if it’s a glitch, let’s fix it.”

They hole up in his sleeping quarters (because everyone refuses to go into Pidge’s disaster zone of a room) to review the last few missions. The data show Pidge’s heart rate escalates and her body temperature rises seemingly randomly, just for a moment, then everything stabilizes. They pull up flight footage, cross-check against the others’ biodata. They hypothesize: Was the Green Lion in more danger at certain times? No, definitely not.

Hunk starts to pale.

“I think I have a theory,” he says.

Pidge snorts. Half their conversations can be summarized that way. They have theories about everything. It’s why they get along so well. Why bother leading with that?

“You’re gonna hate me,” Hunk continues miserably.

He shows her how the blips show up when they’re all together. They don’t occur on solo missions. They don’t occur when Pidge is teamed up with Hunk. But, Hunk explains, the second the Blue Lion shows up on the screen, there’s a corresponding spike. It’s not affecting Pidge’s performance, and it’s not slowing her down, but it’s there.

Pidge doesn’t follow.

“Is this a Lion thing? Like Blue and Green are having issues, or what?” she says.

“Nope,” Hunk says. “It’s just– you. Around Lance. Oh man, please don’t kill me.”

The implication hits Pidge full on. She can feel her face heat up. “WHAT?”

“I mean, you always snap at Lance when he’s flirting with alien space girls-” Hunk points out.

“WE ALL DO!” Pidge insists, which is true, but comes out much too loudly to be taken neutrally.

“-or when he’s flirting with Allura,” he adds, ignoring her. “It’s like you’re jealous.”

“She doesn’t like it either!” She wonders why she said ‘either’, as that implies his flirting does bother her, which it doesn’t. At all.

“And I’m not jealous!” she tacks on, lamely.

“You gave him your headphones,” Hunk says with sudden insight. “And you let him use your phone, like, all the time. That’s significant, isn’t it? Oh, my gosh, it’s so significant. It’s a sign. How did I not notice sooner?”

“He’s just borrowing them!” Pidge scowls. “He wouldn’t lay off about needing to sleep and needing to take photos and whining and-”

“You never let me borrow your stuff,” Hunk says, chin wobbling threateningly. “You always yell at me if I try because I might mess with it.”

“Not anymore, I don’t!” But she can’t figure out how to keep Hunk from crying, and oh, man, he’s already sniffling, and she doesn’t have tissues. Why doesn’t space have tissues?

In that moment, Pidge realizes three things:

1. Hunk is the scariest kind of genius
2. She’s going to make space tissues
3. She definitely has a crush on Lance and she doesn’t know how that happened.

She doesn’t know what to say.

“Hunk, I don’t have time for this!” is what comes out.

-

Pidge manages to make it through most of a day without talking to Lance even once. He doesn’t notice. That stings, a little.

When they all gather in the lounge she sits as far away from Lance as possible, just because being close to him is making her nervous and sweaty and it’s about to leave marks on her shirt. Hunk flops down next to her.

“You don’t look so good,” Hunk tells her.

Lance looks over casually. “You doin’ okay, Pidge?” he asks.

She stares at him and tries to figure out what’s wrong with her. Lance is too tall and too skinny and his hair sticks up strangely in the back and he makes the worst jokes. He can’t understand half the science or technology that comes so naturally to her, and he’s an incorrigible show off. Despite all of that, him just looking at her makes her feel happy.

Pidge is suddenly aware that she is now visibly sweating, and immediately thinks of a reason to escape, quickly, before she ends up saying something she regrets.

“It’s just warm in here,” she says, standing up abruptly, “or maybe that’s just me, because you look fine, I mean are doing fine, and oh man I have so much stuff on my mind today maybe I should just go okay bye.”

Lance cackles. “STAY COOL!” he shouts as she retreats, and he shoots finger guns in her direction, like a shot to the heart. Pidge despairs, and thinks: He is the worst.

“Lance,” Keith says in his best Shiro voice. “That was terrible.”

“Shut up, Keith! IT’S FUNNY,” Lance snaps. “Because Pidge is already cool. Duh.”

“Pidge,” Hunk says, alarmed. “The door. It’s the other way. I- okay, she’s gone. You know what, I’m gonna go check on her.”

-

Pidge is not in her room.

Hunk makes his way down the hall, then looks in one of the secondary workrooms on a hunch.

“Crushes are fine, Pidge,” Hunk says to the empty room, projecting in the direction of the nearest worktable. He’s pretty sure she’s hiding in here, although she’s gone invisible like she’s cloaked. “You don’t have to do anything about it. I mean, I wouldn’t. Oh man, it’d be so weird.”

And: “I’m not gonna judge you for having bad taste or whatever, Lance is actually a pretty great guy. I think space has been good for him. Space has probably been good for all of us, actually. I think we’re all better people now.”

And: “Look, you’re way cooler than any alien space girls, pretty sure. So you also shouldn’t let that worry you. If it does. Maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know.”

There is a deep sigh.

“You can never tell him about this,” says the worktable. “You know how insufferable he’d be? He can never know.”

“I’m so bad at secrets, though,” Hunk says nervously. He bends down to look under the table, where Pidge is sitting, knees tucked under her chin.

“Don’t tell me things like that,” Pidge sighs again.

“Why not?”

“Now I want to know what other secrets you know,” says Pidge. She grins up at him, all teeth and devious ideas.

“Oh, no,” Hunk warns, backing away slowly. “Don’t pressure me like that, not cool-”

They don’t notice the mice scurrying out of the room.

-

Allura is surprised when the mice burst onto the bridge, announcing they have big news for her, leaping into action before she's even put down her datapad. They act out Pidge’s reactions to Lance’s bravado, Chulatt imitating her pounding heart and sweating, and Pidge’s reaction to Hunk calling her out on her crush. They even show her Hunk’s attempts to make Pidge feel better, as in the background, Plachu-as-Lance continues to be clueless.

The mice think the whole thing is very funny.

“No,” Allura says, sounding strained. “I hadn’t noticed.”

The mice chitter away at her. Allura squares her shoulders, staring down at them haughtily.

“I’ve been a little preoccupied,” Allura reminds them. “You know, running a war effort. We don’t all have so much free time.”

The mice look disapproving. Platt offers his input on the matter.

“I certainly do not mind!” Allura says, shocked. “Why should I mind? Lance isn’t my-”

The mice scatter to act out another scene, commanding her attention. The devoted paladin, vowing to protect the beautiful princess (Chuchule, this time) forever. Then the paladin’s attention is drawn by someone else, and the princess is left without her follower. The princess cries, alone and lonely, and then, possibly, dies. They take a bow.

Allura frowns. “What are you trying to say?”

They leave her to figure it out.

-

Pidge is still adjusting to looking for Lance in a flash of red instead of blue. He doesn’t seem to mind the change. She wonders if she could handle Green telling her to move on, pushes those thoughts to the side as the team races through a starless sky.

“Pidge,” Keith barks over the comms, sounding tense. “Where’s Lance?”

Pidge reports automatically, then experiences a sudden, sinking feeling of dread as the comms are overwhelmed by a torrent of Lance’s emotions. Why does Keith not pay more attention to him to know where he is? Why not ask Hunk, who is his best buddy apart from the best Lions in the world?

“Because Pidge always keeps track of you,” Keith interrupts, clearly exasperated. “I’m not going to go to extra effort if I don’t have to–”

“I’m not the only one who keeps track of Lance!” Pidge protests.

But Lance is having realizations. Now they can all see his face on their visual comms as he goes through shock and awe and confusion and excitement in rapid measures.

“Oh no,” Hunk says in that small voice he has when something is extremely Not Good. Usually it means he’s about to throw up. But this? This is worse than throwing up.

“You watchin’ me, kid?” Lance says gleefully, specifically to Pidge, and his teeth are sparkling white. “You think I’m gorgeous! You want to kiss meee–”

“This is not happening,” Pidge practically yells, bolting upright in bed in a cold sweat. In their corner, the space caterpillars are startled awake, glowing questioningly at her before dropping back to sleep.

It was a dream.

Just a dream.

There’s a noise at the back of her mind like the rustling of leaves, but she ignores it, covering her head with her pillow.

-

Deep in space, Pidge is experiencing an unsettling sense of déjà vu as the Green Lion draws up alongside a very antsy Black Lion. They can all hear Allura muttering to the Blue Lion under her breath on the comms, alternating curses and compliments in rapid succession.

"Pidge!" Keith snaps. “Where’s Lance?”

“Beats me,” she lies, knowing full well the Red Lion is fast coming up on her six.

Hunk doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to look at her sensors to know they’re picking up a subtle change in her heartbeat, and she knows he’ll have noticed that, too.

“I’m RIGHT HERE, you jerks,” Lance says, pulling an ugly face on the visual comms.

“Lance, get out of the way, I can’t see my controls,” Keith says calmly, opening up his own visual channel.

Lance sputters indignantly. Keith cracks a rare smile. It makes them all relax, even Allura.

As their Lions fly in formation, Pidge takes all the feelings she doesn’t know what to do with and pours them into Voltron, where there is always room for the mysterious and unknown.

Chapter Text

Life in the Castle of Lions isn’t so different from being at the Garrison, Pidge decides. Sure, magic lions and giant robots and evil alien empires are a big step up from piloting a simulator and boring lectures, but some things stay the same; namely, Lance.

He’s a great asset to the team, but only if you can keep him focused. He’ll be deep in some fantasy scenario where he saves the day and wins ladies’ hearts and a Galra fighter will dive at him before he notices. Sometimes he’ll be too busy bragging to notice a sentry and one of them has to yank him out of danger. All too often Pidge finds herself and Hunk yelling at him to pay attention.

Most of the time, Pidge feels like she’s babysitting.

“Lance!” she snaps, hearing the stress seep into her voice and echo through the comms. “Get moving! You’re sitting ducks out there–”

“Okay, okay!” Lance yelps over the sound of laser fire and clanging metal. Keith’s with him today.

Plugged into a Galra terminal, Pidge watches the enemy forces vanish from the  map until only two colored dots remain in the area. She lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Area cleared,” Keith reports. “We’re okay, Pidge. Heading back to the rendezvous point.”

“Geez, Keith, I had that guy–” Lance complains before the comms shut off, and Pidge suspects Keith must feel a little like he’s babysitting, too.

Sometimes, though, Lance surprises her.

Shiro’s started drilling them on weapons, just in case something happens to their bayards. He tells them they should be able to pick up anything they find in the field and know how to use it properly. He stresses the “properly” part, looking directly at Princess Allura. She ends up joining them for training, no explanations offered.

Keith and Allura can handle just about anything. Hunk discovers he’s fairly decent with a staff, and it turns out that Pidge has a good eye for throwing knives. But Lance beats them all at ranged target practice. Only Allura comes close to besting his score. Keith trails behind him by a wide margin.

“Ah, could we have a sharpshooter on the team?” Coran says with enthusiasm, watching from the sidelines.

“There might be something there,” Shiro says appreciatively.

But Lance doesn’t notice the compliment. He’s too busy crowing about beating Keith, who is rapidly losing his patience.

Their next mission, Lance takes off to a high spot, claiming he needs a better vantage point. Pidge doesn’t like it. She can’t see him. The comms are quieter than usual.

She thinks about hijacking a drone just to send up to check on him when a sentry falls in front of her, electricity crackling from its useless shell. She realizes Lance shot it down before she even noticed it coming towards her. That’s never happened before.

“Nice one, bro!” Hunk says, flashing a quick thumbs up.

Pidge decides she doesn’t have anything to add. She doesn’t want to seem too sentimental.

They make quick work of the other sentries and finish the job. But Pidge keeps replaying the mental image of the robot collapsing at her feet, trying to make sense of it, even as they head back to the Lions.

She must look upset because Lance nudges her with his elbow. “Fighting really stresses you out, huh?”

Pidge considers the question. She doesn’t mind fighting. She’s surprisingly good at it. She doesn’t like seeing the people she cares about in danger, but it’s their duty as Paladins to constantly put themselves in danger. It’s a conundrum.

Lance doesn’t wait for her to answer.

“You’re always looking out for all of us. Try to relax a little.” He winks and hoists his bayard higher, striking a ridiculous pose that makes her want to laugh, but she doesn’t. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

-

Pidge wakes up to the feeling of leaves pulling away from her mind; a distant rumbling noise, almost like purring; a single word, echoing: Grow.

She balls her hands into fists, glaring at the ceiling. “What does that even mean?”

No one answers.

-

Whatever nebulous connection Pidge had with Shiro, the only other person there who knew her family, feels weaker than it used to. He’s barely talked to her since his return to the Castle, but she can’t take it personally because Shiro barely talks to anyone, preferring to keep to himself. If anything, he’s started acting like he’s their mission commander instead of their friend.

Even talking to Shiro about her plan to track down the rebels who took Matt feels strangely formal, especially once he calls Allura and Coran up to the bridge to review her latest findings with him.

“Well done, Pidge,” Allura says, poring over her data with interest, Coran reading over her shoulder. “I had no idea any of these groups existed! What a promising lead.”

“It’s interesting, but how does this help the Voltron Coalition?” Shiro asks. “I know finding your brother is important to you, but growing the coalition is our top priority right now.”

Pidge nods, adjusting her glasses. “So we’ve been approaching the coalition like we’re starting from scratch. But everything I’ve found indicates this rebellion has been thriving underground for a very long time. They’re hard to track down, but I’m confident that when I find my brother, they won’t be far behind.”

She sends a map of the galaxy to the main screen, highlighting all the planets where anti-Galra activity has been reported. The rebels have a strong presence on the outer edges of the galaxy. If they can join forces, it’s a clear tactical advantage.

“Tapping into their resources means we might be able to end this fight much more quickly,” Pidge explains. “We’ve all been looking at Voltron as a lifetime commitment. But if things work out, maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe we – I mean, the five of us – can go back to Earth. Not soon, but someday.”

Then Shiro says something odd. “Sometimes I forget how young you are, Pidge. Of course you’d want to go home.”

Pidge flinches. His tone is sympathetic, but the words seem dismissive. Even if she is young, she’s a Paladin, just like he is. “Yeah. Anyway. I’ve still got some leads to look into.”

“Please do,” Allura murmurs, looking strangely at Shiro, who doesn’t seem to notice.

“Let us know what you find!” Coran adds brightly. “I’m certainly not opposed to moving up our timeline.”

-

Heading out from the bridge, Pidge ends up behind Lance in the hallway. Right on cue, her heart rate increases. Lance is totally zoned out, hands jammed in his jacket pockets as he walks.

Pidge assesses the distance, then takes a running leap and yanks his hood up to jam it over his eyes. “Gotcha!”

Lance squawks indignantly, arms windmilling in an attempt to catch his assailant, but she dodges out of reach. The look on his face when he finally shakes the hood off and spots her makes the effort totally worth it.

She smirks. “Hey, goofball.”

Lance pulls a long face. “I wish you guys saw me as something a little bit cooler,” he grumbles, unsuccessfully trying to smooth his hair back down.

“What, like a ninja?” Pidge teases.

“Well, yeah,” he says. He gives up on his hair. “I’d rather be a ninja than me.”

“… why?”

Lance looks as if he’s about to give a serious answer, but then he deflects. “You’ve never wanted to be someone else, Gunderson?” he says pointedly, eyes narrowed.

Pidge grimaces. “That’s different.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums skeptically. “Well, while you’re here, I’ve been stuck in this one dungeon for literally days. Wanna help me out?”

“Sure, I’ve got time.” She shrugs and follows him back to his room.

Though inelegant, the solution she’d devised for the Mercury GameFlux 2 is functional, and that’s what counts. Lance had offered to store the bulky system in his room and invited them to stop by and play whenever they felt like it. (“My casa, your casa,” he’d said generously, to which Hunk had pointed out it was actually Allura’s casa and Pidge had added it was actually her game too, at which point a bewildered Allura asked what a casa was and why she needed one and they’d gotten way off track.)

They sit on his floor, legs crossed. Waiting for Killbot Phantasm to load gives Pidge plenty of time to observe that Lance is being unusually quiet. She may not be very good at reading people, but she knows Lance well enough to see that something is bothering him. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know him well enough to have any idea what it is.

Pidge ends up talking more than usual to make up for his uncharacteristic reticence as she guides him through the dungeon map, trying to remember the walkthrough she’d once read.

“You know, this was one of the reasons this game didn’t get a perfect review when it first came out,” Pidge tells him, watching his avatar try to unblock the secret passage she’d pointed out. “It was undeniably groundbreaking–”

“Wall-breaking is more like it,” Lance mutters, button-mashing furiously as he focuses on breaking through the wall.

Pidge grins. “Yeah, that. But it’s also counterintuitive, especially since most games back then didn’t prompt players to directly interact with the environment. Uncovering hidden sub-levels like this one usually summons a monster–”

“Now you tell me?” His party’s being attacked by a flock of giant vampire bats. He’ll be fine.

“–which sent mixed messages,” Pidge continues. “Players would instinctually avoid the monsters, rather than seeing them as a marker for success, not to mention all the traps disguised as puzzles which were already notoriously challenging to solve. Some reviewers thought the whole thing was just so confusing, it wasn’t worth giving it a chance.”

Pidge glances at Lance out of the corner of her eye. Monsters aside, he’s already gotten through the bulk of this level on his own. Ordinarily that would be cause for gloating, but today it’s like someone has put him on mute. She wishes she knew the right thing to say to snap him out of it.

“Hey, it’s probably none of my business, but is everything okay, Lance?” she ventures.

He shrugs, without turning his attention from the screen. “Eh, just having an off day. I’ll be fine.”

Tentatively, Pidge puts a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her, startled. “Want me to take over?” she offers.

Lance gives her a small smile and passes over the controller. And then he surprises her: “You know, sometimes I wish I were more like you.”

Pidge fumbles with the controller, nearly triggering a Game Over by careening into an endless pit of despair, but recovers before he seems to notice.

“I mean, you never seem to get sidetracked by dumb stuff,” Lance says. “It’s like nothing gets to you. I don’t know how you do it.”

Pidge has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“I’m very focused when I have a project?” she says. “Right now, finding my family is the biggest project of my life. While we’re busy saving the universe, my dad and brother are still out there. But if I can’t find them soon, that might not last much longer.” She pauses, the words catching in her throat. “Compared to that, yeah, not much bothers me.”

Lance flops onto his back, propping his legs up on one of the Altean capacitors powering the GameFlux. “Okay, so basically you’re unflappable because you’re preoccupied. Got it.”

While true, it sounds kind of bad when he says it like that. “Being preoccupied is good,” Pidge grumbles. “It means I don’t have time to second guess myself.”

He gives her a sidelong look. “What the heck do you have to second guess yourself about, Pidge? I mean, yeah, sometimes your technobabble sounds like total gobbledegook and you know way too much about this game, but you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You know everything.”

Pidge manages to stay focused on the screen as her party fights off another round of monsters, keeping her face neutral. It’d be embarrassing if he saw how much something like that meant to her. Gobbledegook aside.

There are still so many things she doesn’t understand. She thinks of the voice she’s been hearing in her dreams, telling her to grow.

“Being smart doesn’t mean I actually know everything, you know,” she says dryly.

The next dungeon looks like a simple puzzle room. Moving stones to hidden panels will activate the switch to open the gate, and all she has to do is find the right stones to move. Pushing one stone triggers cracks in the floor, so it’s obviously a trap. The next one seems safe. A few more moves bring her to the end of the puzzle, the final stone locking into place.

The gate to the next level unlocks and raises. She punches the air. Lance whoops in excitement, sitting up so quickly he nearly kicks the capacitor over.

“Level 9!” he hoots, high-fiving her. “We did it!”

“We did it,” she echoes, grinning widely.

-

Allura pulls Keith aside on his way to the training room. “Keith. Can we talk?”

“Sure,” Keith says, a little surprised. “What’s up, Princess?”

“Do you want to go home?” she asks.

Keith considers the question. “I don’t know. Right now, being here feels more like home than Earth ever did. I never really felt like I fit in there.” He smiles wryly. “Maybe it was the whole being part alien thing. Who knows.”

“Sometimes, I feel out of place here, too,” Allura confides. “The Castle is technically my home, but it isn’t the same…”

Keith nods, listening. He isn’t sure why she’s talking to him instead of someone like Shiro, who’s actually good at knowing what to say to people, and he has a feeling he may have said too much already. He may not want to go back to his own planet, but at least he could, if he wanted to. Allura’s loss is more than he can imagine.

Allura touches the wall of her ship. “I suppose I should be grateful to still have this much,” she says, looking around. “War demands sacrifices of us all. Do you think it’s juvenile to think about going home when so many cannot?”

“… not really,” Keith says. “I think it’s normal. But the way I see it, home doesn’t always mean going back to the place you come from. Sometimes, home just means being with the people you’re close to.”

“I see. Thank you. I appreciate your input,” Allura says. She smiles at him, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. His gut tells him that something has her worried about them leaving, specifically. It’s really none of his business. If she wanted him to know more, she’d have told him.

“If we do go back to Earth someday, I hope you’ll come with us,” Keith finds himself saying. “It wouldn’t feel like home without you.”

He excuses himself abruptly, continuing towards the training room.

Chapter Text

Shiro and Coran have left to greet a convoy of new recruits, leaving the rest of them to inspect the supplies to be shipped out from Olkarion to the rest of the Voltron Coalition. They’ve been working most of the afternoon. Hunk is elbows deep in a crate, repacking it neatly while Lance holds the lid up. Keith and Pidge are on labeling duty.

A group of young alien refugees passes by, giggling as they sneak a look at the famous Paladins of Voltron. Lance notices one of the taller girls waving at them, all-too-casually running a hand through his hair. It’s obvious what will happen next.

“Lance,” Allura warns, without even looking up from the inventory on her datapad. Now that she and Blue are a thing, they like to gang up on him when they feel he’s about to make a move. Hunk thinks it’s because Blue is overprotective and likes to get Allura to be bossy, but sometimes Pidge isn’t so sure.

Lance startles at Allura’s voice, his grip on the crate’s lid slipping. Hunk catches it just in time to keep the lid from dropping onto his head.

“Hey, just an idea, maybe you could not flirt with every girl you see? I kind of need you to hold this steady,” Hunk says, looking up at him pleadingly.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Lance mutters. He looks back up as the tall alien girl laughs.

“Lance doesn’t flirt with every girl,” says the voice of reason, sending a frisson of unease down Pidge’s spine.

They all turn to look at it.

“He’s never hit on Pidge,” Keith continues, pointing out the obvious, for no good reason but to rub salt in her wound. “And she’s a girl.”

“Nope, he never has,” Pidge says. She intends it to sound casual, joking, like it’s Not A Problem, but it just comes across as bitter. And the worst part is, judging by their faces, everyone notices. Even Lance.

She stands up, brushes off her armor.

“I have to–” she says, gesturing vaguely. “You know. I’ll be over there.”

-

“Man, you guys are totally throwing me off my game,” Lance complains, reluctantly abandoning his target as Pidge stalks off towards the nearest storage facility. “What’s with Pidge?”

Lance turns to Hunk for support, but he just shakes his head. “You gotta figure this one out for yourself, buddy. Move your hands.” Hunk closes the crate they were working on, lid slamming shut with a resounding thud.

Keith huffs impatiently, drawing their attention again. “Pidge doesn’t like when you flirt with other girls,” he says. “Probably because she has a crush on you.”

Lance stares blankly at him, clearly waiting for the punchline to some sort of lame Keith attempt at a joke, but it never comes.

He looks to the others. Allura is peering at Keith over the top of her datapad, wide-eyed with surprise. Hunk silently mouths something that looks a lot like ‘quiznak’.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?” Keith demands, arms thrown wide open.

Keith isn’t kidding.

Wordlessly, Lance goes after Pidge. Hunk waits until he's out of hearing range to step forwards, clapping a heavy hand on Keith's shoulder.

“That was not cool, Galra Keith,” Hunk says.

Keith glares at him, shrugging his hand off. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then don’t act like such an alien!” Hunk shoots back. His annoyance transitions into mild panic as he realizes how their other alien teammate might take that. “No offense, Allura. But seriously, Keith, did you not realize what you were doing?”

“Uh, pointing out a fact?”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you should talk about it! Pidge didn’t think anyone else knew. The whole crush thing weirds her out.”

“Weirds me out, too,” Keith says, still frowning. “Look, if it was a secret, she shouldn’t have been so obvious about it. Even you knew.”

It’s a very Keith thing to say. Keith is the King of Secrets.

Hunk groans. “Dude, you gotta learn some tact. Princess, back me up here-”

But Allura looks conflicted. On one hand, she’s trying very hard to pretend she’s still checking off how many crates they’ve inspected on her inventory list. On the other hand, she obviously hasn’t been doing that since Keith first opened his mouth.

“The mice told me, but Pidge’s feelings were rather… obvious,” Allura admits.

“See?” Keith points to her, clearly feeling justified. “Allura agrees with me.”

Hunk is not convinced. “Yeah, but you’re both aliens.”

Keith throws his arms up in the air in annoyance. “It’s not an alien thing– You know what, I give up. You want to talk about tact? How is letting Pidge be miserable around Lance tactful? His whole casanova act obviously bothers her. It has been for a while. Do you really think that’s better?”

Hunk frowns. Keith isn’t wrong. He takes a deep breath, exhales. “Look, man, I get your point. I don’t like seeing her bummed out any more than you do, but I still think you shouldn’t have said anything. It’s Pidge’s problem to deal with, on her own terms. If she’s not talking about it, we probably don’t need to either.”

Allura clears her throat, politely interrupting. “I think it’s clear that Keith intended no harm, but perhaps it would be best to clear the air with Pidge directly?” she suggests.

“Fine. I’ll talk to her later,” Keith grumbles. “The whole thing is weird, though. I don’t get why Pidge would even be interested in someone like Lance. They’re nothing alike.”

Keith looks pointedly at Hunk, like it’s his job to explain it, but he’s got nothing.

“How should I know? You’ve been in Pidge’s head literally as much as I have,” Hunk says. “But I don’t think she does either, so cut her some slack, okay?”

They are shamelessly gossiping about their friends, he realizes with the smallest twinge of regret. Probably it wasn’t good for morale, or something.

“Love isn’t something so easily explained,” Allura murmurs, completely derailing his train of thought.

“Whoa, hold on,” Hunk says, raising his hands. “No one said anything about love. That’s– that’s a little–”

“It’s bad for teams,” Keith says darkly. He sits down on the crate Hunk had just finished packing and crosses his arms, looking up at them. “Look, I’m serious. Shiro’s first crew at the Garrison nearly failed out because his engineer had a thing for him. She even thought his flight commands were some kind of hints about his feelings for her. Shiro ended up having to explain he was only being polite during their practicals, and she cried the entire time. Right in front of the entire senior aviation faculty.”

The mental image of a younger Shiro cluelessly leading on innocent cadets by being too nice is enough to make both Hunk and Allura snicker. Allura’s heard enough about the Garrison to appreciate most of Keith’s story, but Hunk actually knows the staff.

“Oh, Iverson must have loved that,” Hunk says, imagining his reaction. “That’s probably the greatest Shiro story I’ve ever heard. Wait, was it Iverson or Hedrick?”

“… Hedrick,” Keith says, with a ghost of a smile. “He called Shiro ‘heartbreaker’ for weeks.”

Hunk cackles. “Even better.”

“Just don’t tell Shiro I told you,” Keith says. “The only reason I know about it is–” he cuts himself short. “Never mind.”

Allura peers at Keith, analyzing his body language and correctly pegging it as embarrassment. “The same thing happened to you, didn’t it?” she says.

Keith’s eyes widen. “How did– What?”

“Oh, man, you totally did!” Hunk crows. He nudges Keith with his elbow. “Someone liked you, didn’t they? And just like Shiro, you totally missed it. That’s why he told you about it. That’s really cute.”

“History does tend to repeat itself,” Allura adds innocently.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Keith says through gritted teeth, but his ears are definitely turning red. Keith may be the King of Secrets, but his face is an open book.

Grinning widely, Hunk turns to the princess. “So what about you, Allura? You ever had a crush on anyone?”

To his surprise, Allura actually blushes. “Of course,” she admits. “But it was a very long time ago.”

“Altean, right?” Hunk says, settling in for the story as Keith pretends to be uninterested. He’s not very convincing. Even though they’ve known her for a while, Allura almost never talks about her past, unless it’s about King Alfor or Zarkon.

Allura sits down on another sealed crate, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Galadae was in the Castle Guard, but we’d known each other since childhood,” she begins. “He was my sparring partner. We used to sneak out of training to go race our claztoks - that’s a sort of small hovership - around the Cloven Mountains. I admired him greatly, but I never dreamed of telling him. We were already at war with the Galra, and I still had much to learn before I could be ready to take my father’s place.”

“So…. what happened to him?” Keith asks.

Allura shrugs lightly. “There was no need for a Castle Guard once the Castle of Lions was deployed off-planet. Galadae asked to be reassigned to the front lines, not long before Father put me in the sleep pod. He most likely perished when Altea fell.”

“Oh,” Keith says awkwardly. “Right.”

They lapse into silence.

“… y’know, back on Earth, kids our age talk about this stuff all the time,” Hunk says eventually. “Stuff like crushes and dating, I mean, not dying in an intergalactic war. But out here, it just feels kind of weird. Is it weird?”

“Very weird,” Allura and Keith say fervently, perfectly in sync.

-

Lance finds Pidge sitting on a locked hovercart behind the storage facility.

“Hey there,” Lance says, plopping down beside her. The hovercart rattles. “Are we okay?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Pidge says, trying her best to look indifferent. She gives up and turns her face to the side so at least she doesn’t have to look at Lance’s stupid face. It helps that he’s trying not to look at her, too.

“…. look, you know I joke around a lot. Are you really that bothered when I talk to other girls?”

“No, dummy. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.”

“Because Keith says it bothers you,” Lance presses, ignoring the jibe. “And if Keith notices something like that then I’m not sure it’s a small thing.”

Pidge refuses to look at him. “Fine. Yes. It does bother me. Happy?”

Suddenly, Lance’s face is much too close to hers. Startled, she jerks her head away, making one of those awkward wahhhghhsounds she doesn’t know how not to make around him. He’s squinting at her like she’s some kind of technology he doesn’t understand.

“Waaaaaait,” Lance says suspiciously, drawing out the word. “You want me to hit on you?”

“No!” Pidge protests, feeling her face heat up. She squirms. Does she? “It’s just. Sometimes, watching the way you act around other girls, I don’t know! It makes me feel inadequate. And that’s absurd, because I have you as a friend, which is the key thing, and I think we’re a good team so I don’t even know why it matters so much–”

Everything Pidge is saying sounds increasingly inane the more she keeps babbling, and she’s starting to realize it isn’t possible to actually put everything she feels into words. She can see Lance’s eyes widening in some unnameable, unplaceable reaction, and suddenly wishes she could suddenly drop into a hole, fly away in the Green Lion, just be anywhere but here.

“Pidge,” Lance interrupts, cutting her off. “I don’t ever want to make you feel–” he pauses, reaching for the word, “–inadequate. I know how that feels.” He laughs hollowly. “It’s the worst.”

“But you aren’t!” Pidge says before she can catch herself, and she knows she’s definitely blushing now. This is the worst. “When you’re not clowning around, you’re amazing, you know that? You’re kind, and intuitive, and good with people. You knew how to get through to Keith when none of us could. And you’ve become an incredible pilot, I mean, you can fly Red! And you-”

Lance holds up his hands as if to slow the barrage of words. “Whoa, whoa. Thanks, but I’m really not fishing for compliments here. I’m trying to say I’m sorry for making you feel bad.”

“Oh.”

They sit in increasingly awkward silence. Faintly, they can hear the others talking about– something. It sounds like they’re arguing, then turns into laughter.

“Sometimes, I just wish you’d see me,” Pidge says in a small voice, so small she thinks that maybe he didn’t hear it. She takes a deep breath, exhales. “Sorry for babbling. I do that when I’m nervous, and I’m kind of nervous now, because this is really awkward. I mean–”

Pidge realizes that Lance is staring at her, like he’s trying to figure something out. Like she’s a shot he isn’t sure he wants to take.

Lance shakes his head. “Okay. Here’s the thing. I’m so used to you being Pidge, it’s hard to think of you like any other girl,” he says, mouth twisted wryly. “It doesn’t make it better, but that’s the truth.”

Her stomach sinks. He’s right. It doesn’t make it any better. That’s exactly what she didn’t want to hear, exactly why she walked away earlier, because it means he’ll never see her as anything more than just the team nerd. She’d rather he have just made fun of her.

“Can we just pretend today didn’t happen?” Pidge blurts out.

Lance hums thoughtfully, then nods. “Sure, I guess. But I’m kind of glad it did, because there’s something you should know.”

Pidge buries her face in her hands. It’s the only thing she can think of doing so she doesn’t have to look at him.

Luckily, he isn’t paying attention to her.

“I might be a goofball, but I take Voltron seriously,” Lance says, staring up at the sky. “We’re at war, right? I knew what I was getting into when I went to the Garrison. If it wasn’t this fight, it was gonna be another. This is the priority right now, and some things have to wait until the war is over.”

Abruptly, Lance reaches out and pulls her towards him in a side hug. Pidge yelps as she knocks into his side, her glasses pushed askew. His arm wraps around her shoulders and she adjusts her position to fit more comfortably, scowling down at the ground as she leans in. He’s warm, and smells faintly of sweat and something like deodorant.

“You know, you kind of stink,” she says finally. “Like, you really need to shower–”

“Shut up, Pidge, we’re having a moment here,” Lance says, dropping his face into her hair for a moment as he pulls her closer. Hesitantly, she reaches around him to complete the hug. Their armor should make it feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t.

“Good talk,” she mumbles into his chest.

“Good talk,” he agrees.

-

“So we’re all agreed, right?” Hunk says, cautiously taking point. “Everybody’s gonna leave Pidge and Lance alone to figure their stuff out?”

“I think that would be the best course of action,” Allura says. She looks over her shoulder. “They’re coming back now.”

“So are they,” Keith says flatly, pointing out Shiro and Coran heading toward them.

Hunk’s eyes widen. “Okay. Everyone act normal,” he hisses, at a just-below-shouting volume of whisper.

None of them know how to act normal. By the time Shiro and Coran reach them, they all just look incredibly suspicious. Keith is sitting on a crate, arms crossed, and Allura has mirrored his pose exactly, right down to his apathetic expression. Hunk, for lack of ideas, ends up copying them. Lance and Pidge are standing as far apart from each other as possible. Coran doesn’t seem to notice anything, but Shiro does.

“Everything okay here?” Shiro asks, eyebrows raised.

“The inventory all seems to be in order. We were just going through some team-building exercises as a break,” Allura says primly. She winks at Keith and Hunk. After a beat, Lance and Pidge nod in agreement.

-

Later on, Keith apologizes to her for speaking out of turn. He even offers to shake hands. They do so, solemnly, and the vibes he’s giving off make the whole thing feel like a ceremonial apology, or a funeral for their friendship, which he has ruined for all time. He looks so excessively emo that Pidge just doesn’t have it in her to stay mad at him.

“Tell you what,” Pidge says, thinking fast. “Why don’t you make it up to me? Up for a round of Killbot Phantasm?”

Keith’s face briefly lights up at the invitation, then falls flat, returning to gloom. “I’m sorry, Pidge. I’m supposed to meet up with Kolivan soon. Maybe another time?”

Pidge extracts an IOU from him before he leaves. She even makes Keith pinky promise not to renege on it, just because he finds pinky swearing to be particularly embarrassing. She figures that makes them even.

-

Hunk manages to evade Pidge and her inevitable questions for most of the day, until she manages to corner him in the kitchen while he’s prepping for dinner. She’s got a glint in her eye that means nothing good can come of this.

He takes a step away from his cutting board.

“Oh, no. Stay back, you,” he warns her, pointing the knife in her direction. “I’m armed and dangerous and sworn to secrecy.”

“We’re all armed,” Pidge says gleefully. She waves her arms. “Get it?”

“I will not be defeated by your puns!” Hunk insists, but he’s starting to cave. He puts the knife down. “Although that was pretty good, actually. Ha.”

Pidge takes her chance and darts in, grabbing his vest and forcing him to look at her.

“Tell me!” she says. “Did Lance talk to you about what happened out there? Is everything going to be secretly awkward now? You have to tell me. I know you know.”

Hunk gives in.

“He totally panicked,” he tells her, grinning. “He panicked so hard. It was hilarious. He was all, ‘How did I not notice?’ and ‘What do I do now?’ and ‘Do you think Allura minds?’ and seriously, it was the greatest.”

“Was it worse than I was?”

“Nope,” Hunk says. “About equal. Maybe a little more. I really hope you guys don’t both keep talking to me about stuff like this, though, because I’m not going to be able to keep both your secrets.”

“Lance doesn’t hate me now, does he?” Pidge demands, letting go of his vest and taking a step back.

“I think he’s confused,” Hunk says cautiously. “But no. I think we’re all gonna make it.”

Pidge lets out a sigh of relief and beams at him with a wide, crooked smile.

Hunk feels something melting in his heart at the sight of it, like the chocolate at the heart of a freshly baked pain au chocolat, and promptly decides to ignore the feeling.

-

It happens while Coran and Shiro are going over their missions for the next movement.

Pidge looks out at her team and suddenly sees something that looks impossibly like roots, reaching out and connecting them all to each other. The roots grow into thin vines, wrapping around their legs and reaching up towards their arms, illuminated by something– something magical. Maybe it’s their quintessence. She files that thought away for later.

She can feel all of them. When they form Voltron, it feels like she’s part of something other, like she’s one tree in a forest as big as the galaxy. This feeling is different. It’s more like standing in a garden, like she’s just one step away from being home.

She watches as the vines connecting each of them to Shiro trail weakly around his ankles, fragile like honeysuckle in the autumn. Others are starting to produce new blooms. She can see them start to blossom along the vines connecting her to Lance, between Lance and–

“Number Five, do you follow?” Coran presses gently.

The Green Lion’s perspective abruptly vanishes. Pidge snaps back into the conversation, looks up at the map on the display. “Patrolling the sector. Got it.”

Grow, the Lion reminds her.

Chapter Text

The mice come to see Pidge. They crawl up on her bed, sniff around for food she might have forgotten about, then tumble into her lap.

“Hi guys,” she says, distracted by her computer. They chitter back. Chuchule runs up her arm and burrows in her hair. Platt is already starting to doze off, warm in the space between her knees and the blanket.

She pulls herself away from her work, realizing they’re planning on staying. “What’s up?”

The mice squeak and jostle each other. Platt grudgingly makes space for the other two, as Plachu pretends to be Lance, clueless; Chulatt, shy and awkward, is clearly her. The two act out a brief conversation, then Plachu and Chulatt freeze in place, like a paused video. Platt looks up at her expectantly.

“So this is about what happened with me and Lance the other day?” Pidge asks, frowning.

Plachu and Chulatt unfreeze, their charade finished, and nod.

Pidge takes a guess at what they’re trying to ask. “Um, we’re good. Nothing’s changed.”

Chuchule leaps off her head and joins the others. It reaches up and pats her knee, looking up at her with concern. It’s kind of cute, although she’s not sure why they care so much.

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” Pidge says, gently patting the pink mouse on the head. “Really.”

The mice seem satisfied. They all settle in next to Platt, making a nest for themselves in the blanket, and fall asleep.

-

She dreams of a jungle, of flowers slowly blooming on vines, of sunlight after heavy rains; centuries pass and the jungle dies, becoming a wasteland of petrified trees illuminated by a sunset so vivid it fills the whole sky. She dreams of the wind whistling through empty plains, of life continuing in a different form. It’s sad, but beautiful. To grow is to change.

She wakes up with the Green Lion’s presence lingering at the back of her mind, hears the scratchy echo of the wind on a distant planet. The string lights above her bed twinkle in a pale imitation of stars. It takes her a moment to adjust to how small her body is again.

“But I don’t like change,” Pidge says, frustrated.

-

Pidge is starting to resent the way her pulse still quickens when she sees Lance, the way her stomach flips and she starts to sweat when he smiles at her. She resents how even though there is literally no reason she should feel nervous around him, she still is. She resents the way every conversation they have has suddenly become strained and awkward, like she’s forgotten how to talk, and ends up trying to avoid him as much as possible.

Voltron is the priority, Lance’s voice echoes in her head. Just like finding her family is her priority. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s sound logic. Hearing that should have made her feel better about everything.

But just because something is logical doesn’t make it easy.

Part of her is starting to resent the way Lance looks at Allura; priorities aside, it’s obvious he still admires her. She knows her reaction is completely irrational, because they all admire her, even Pidge. Allura is amazing, and it’s not her fault that Pidge has feelings she can’t seem to get rid of. Part of her resents the way Allura keeps giving her these pitying looks when she thinks Pidge isn’t paying attention, like she feels sorry for her and how not-amazing she is. So she starts to avoid Allura, too.

She channels all her resentment and frustration into Voltron.

“Simmer down, Pidge,” Hunk tells her privately over the video comms, alarmed. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but-”

“I’m fine,” she bites out, cutting the comms off. There’s a knot in her stomach, but Voltron’s shield holds firm.

Pidge wishes she could always be a shield, blocking everything that could hurt them. No one should ever have to feel like this.

-

Keith leaves. The Castle feels emptier without him, and so does Voltron.

It reminds Pidge of the empty planet in her dreams. The image drifts across their connection before she can pull it back, hitting them all with a wave of loneliness.

“Focus,” Shiro reminds them.

-

Pidge is starting to suspect the space mice are checking on her. They go out of their way to say hi to her when they’re running through the halls, they bring her little pieces of junk, broken gizmos she doesn’t know what to do with and puts in a box. Every so often, they ask how she’s doing. Sometimes, they ask about Lance.

Pidge finds herself overanalyzing their interactions, coming up with increasingly improbable hypotheses for their motives. Doodling her ideas along the margins of her notebook, she narrows them down to the most probable scenario: The mice want Allura to reciprocate Lance’s crush and are only paying more attention to Pidge to make sure she doesn’t get in their way.

The space caterpillars look at her notes, bemused. She’s drawn Allura and Lance walking into the sunset hand-in-hand, the mice crying tears of happiness. The green one looks up at her and chirps questioningly.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” she says defensively. “The mice keep asking me if anything’s changed with Lance, and now Green’s talking about change? It’s suspicious.”

The space caterpillars seem to disapprove of this. They stare at her long enough that she caves and writes down a second hypothesis: The mice aren’t actually doing anything, and Pidge is overthinking everything.

“I hope you know this is peer pressure,” she grumbles. “Peer pressure doesn’t make for good science.”

-

Pidge finds her brother. As promised, Matt connects them with the rebels she’d been tracking. He patches the Castle directly through to one of their flagships so Allura can invite them to join the Voltron Coalition. They hang back to watch the negotiations proceed.

“That Princess Allura’s really something, isn’t she?” Matt says admiringly, watching her talk to Captain Olia, Shiro and Coran hovering protectively behind her.

Pidge really doesn’t want to talk about Allura. She tugs on Matt’s sleeve to draw his attention.

“I wanted to ask you about something you said before,” Pidge says quietly. “You said our Galra finder was the best in ‘this or any other reality’. When did you start being interested in other realities?”

Matt looks surprised. “I thought you knew. Dad’s research–”

“Well, yeah, but I always thought his stuff was very… theoretical.”

Matt shakes his head. “No. He was getting pretty close, but I don’t know if he knew how close he actually was. Our guys used to work with this super genius who specialized in reality probability, I don’t know if you’ve heard of him–”

“You mean Slav?” Pidge says, deadpan. “We’ve met.”

“Right, I keep forgetting it’s a small universe. So you know he’s…”

“Crazy?”

“Precise,” Matt specifies, but he grins. “Slav’s done some fascinating stuff. According to his research, the same events play out in every single reality, just in different forms. If you’ve got the brainpower, you can calculate the probability of events to determine the odds you’d face in each reality. It kind of makes you wonder what it’s all for, you know? Are we all fighting the same battles over and over, just with different faces?”

Pidge tries to envision other realities, other Voltrons fighting against Zarkon, versions of themselves as different as the other Shiro from their own. In another reality, it’s possible that Katie Holt enrolled in the Garrison, never knowing about the Galra or Voltron, and lived a normal life on Earth. In another reality, she might have actually been born a boy. In another reality, she might not even exist.

She looks over at Lance and Hunk, whispering together just out of the frame of Allura’s video feed. She isn’t sure she wants to imagine a reality without them. Life might be easier if she’d never met Lance, but she’s not sure it would be better.

“I don’t know about other realities, but I think this Slav might actually get along with Dad,” Pidge says finally, leaning into her brother. “If we ever find him.”

“Don’t give up yet, little sister,” Matt says, putting his arm around her. “But I think you should let me handle looking for Dad for a while.”

Pidge looks up at him, frowning. “But it’d be more efficient if we worked together.”

“Your team needs you more than I do, Pidge,” Matt says. “You’ve already given me a ton of new resources. It’s my turn to help you. Just focus on Voltron.”

Matt lets go of her, ruffles her hair. “Besides, the sooner you guys beat the Galra, the sooner we can go home and tell Mom all about it, right? Being out here is amazing and all but I kind of miss Earth.”

Pidge grins up at him. “Yeah, okay.”

-

On their way back to the Castle, the Green Lion makes it clear she wants to talk. They’re already lagging behind the others. Reluctantly, Pidge slows down a little more.

“Look, I know you’ve been trying to tell me something, but I don’t get what it is you want me to do,” Pidge says petulantly.

She gets a sense of amusement from Green. It isn’t doing, the Lion seems to say. Just seeing. Just feeling.

Pidge frowns. “I’m not very good at that, you know.”

But she gives it a shot anyway, resting her hands on the controls. She closes her eyes, tries to focus.

The answer comes in images when she closes her eyes. The changing of the seasons. Sunlight, then shadow; happiness and sorrow. A flower blooming, another flower still closed. A feeling of loneliness, a feeling of gratitude to have seen a flower bloom at all.

Growing can mean heartbreak, too, the Lion says gently. Hidden away in nature, the Green Lion had had 10,000 years to learn about life. Loving something did not mean it loved you back, but that didn’t mean you had to love it any less.

“Pidge?” Lance’s voice crackles over the comms. “You comin’?”

Pidge opens her eyes, sees the cockpit looking just as it always does, but the knot in her stomach has loosened. She blinks back tears. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

-

Shiro is on the bridge, reviewing a simulation of their last skirmish on the screens. The Galra had used a attack formation they hadn’t seen before, one Olia had reported facing more frequently in the outer reaches. They’ll need to figure out a way to counter it before they suffer too many more losses. His eyes are getting tired, and there’s a rising pressure in his head. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, Shiro,” Hunk says, tray floating behind him. Shiro hadn’t heard him come in. “You missed dinner again. I figured I’d find you here.”

“Sorry, I guess I lost track of time,” Shiro says sheepishly. He takes the bowl from the tray and tries a sporkful. “Thanks, Hunk. Delicious as always.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hunk says. He looks up at the screens, watches as the simulation reenacts their lions’ maneuvers. The Green Lion throws itself in front of the Red Lion, shielding it from a Galra blast; Red lays down cover fire for Green to avoid a second hit.

“So, I heard about what happened with Pidge and Lance,” Shiro says, watching the Lions interact. “That explained a lot. Seems like they’re handling it pretty well, though.”

Hunk shrugs. “Yeah, well, they aren’t exactly handling anything. More like avoiding the topic entirely. But whatever keeps the team together, right?”

“That’s true,” Shiro agrees. He eats another sporkful of food, chewing thoughtfully. “I know it’s been hard for Pidge, but crushes aren’t a bad thing. It’s good to remember there’s more to life than this fight. You’re all still kids.”

Hunk frowns. “We’re teammates. That kind of makes us equals, you know.”

“Yes and no,” Shiro says. “It’s not a matter of rank. Someday, you’ll get what I mean.”

“If you say so,” Hunk says, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

Shiro watches Galra ships cut through the spaces between stars in unpredictable patterns, wishing he had more intel, remembering a time when it was still acceptable for the universe to be vast and unknown. Back then, he could spend hours talking about nothing at all with his friends, dreaming of when it would finally be his turn to go into space. When he was a cadet, the most pressure he’d faced was risking detention for holding hands in the hallway.

His team gave up their chance for that kind of life to fight this war. He’d do anything to give them what he knew; give them a little peace, a little time. But the days when the stars still looked friendly and the world seemed peaceful are getting harder and harder to remember. Sometimes, Shiro feels like those days happened to someone else.

Coran joins him on the bridge. On screen, the Lions move into position, preparing to form Voltron. They watch as dotted lines converge together and spread out as Voltron decimates the simulated Galra fighters. The number of rebel ships they’d lost makes it a very narrow victory.

“Do we really stand a chance here, Coran?” Shiro asks quietly.

Coran smiles at him, eyes crinkling. “Fortune favors the brave, which all the Paladins certainly are.”

“That’s not exactly the answer I was hoping for.”

“I know,” Coran says. “But it’s the honest one. The fate of the universe depends on our success. We’ll do the best we can and see what happens.”

Chapter Text

It takes one round of tears, two jags of allergies resulting from a lack of human diplomatic immunity to an alien plant, and the Pepper Incident for Pidge to remember she’d once wanted to make space tissues.

It ends up being more complicated than she expected.

She’d never thought about it on Earth, but the whole process of making tissues really was wasteful. Up in space, there was almost no use for paper, and definitely no need to take trees and turn them into soft, disposable squares. She tries it with one of the Olkari trees just in case, thinking things like fibers and supple at it through her headpiece, and ends up with a smooth and slightly flexible piece of wood. Ryner tells her it’s perfect for polishing metal, so she saves it for Keith.

Sprawled out on her bunk, Pidge thinks despairingly about the sewing classes she’d suffered through at school; remembers endless complaints about how antiquated sewing was as she struggled with embroidering handkerchiefs for homework, her mom bringing her a box of bandaids for her bleeding hands. Wonders where to even find fabric, let alone needles or thread.

“There must be something in the Castle,” she tells the space caterpillars, thinking out loud. “I’m sure Coran would know, but he’s been so busy. I hate to bother him about something so small…”

The caterpillars stare at her, as if to question who, exactly, she thinks she’s kidding.

Pidge makes a face. They have a point. Being busy is not exactly why she doesn’t want to ask Coran. She’s just looking for an excuse to smooth things over.

-

She raises her hand and quickly knocks before scanning her hand on the door pad. Allura looks up at the sound of the doors opening.

“Pidge! I wasn’t expecting you,” she says in surprise, turning towards the door. She stands up from her vanity. Her hair is down, but she’s still dressed in her battle suit.

“Sorry to bother you, Allura, but can we talk?” Pidge says.

“Of course,” Allura says, motioning for her to enter. “You don’t have to stand in the doorway. Come in, please.”

Pidge shuffles in, the doors to Allura’s room gliding shut behind her. She twists her hands in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “So I know this is random, but I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about Altean clothes; how they’re made; stuff like that.”

Allura blinks. “Well, I’m no expert, but I can try to explain. You’ve noticed the paladin armor adjusts itself to your individual measurements?”

“Yeah. I’m guessing that has something to do with the type of metal they’re made from? Whatever it is seems to have strangely elastic properties.”

“Elastic?” Allura repeats, nose wrinkling in confusion.

“They stretch," Pidge explains.

Allura nods. “I see. While the paladin armor is designed to be uniquely responsive, the premise is drawn from standard Altean wear. Altean clothes are made to individual measurements, but must be flexible enough to allow the wearer to change shape with comfort. They’re temporarily adaptable to almost any size. Here, come look at this.”

She crosses over to the storage unit in the wall, pulling out her formal dress to demonstrate. Running her hands down the sides of the skirt causes the fabric to seal together as if invisibly hemmed until it’s become narrower. The skirt shakes out easily into its normal shape. Allura then tugs the skirt wide, the folds pulling apart to reveal more fabric.

“It’s relatively simple alchemy,” Allura says, shaking the dress back out.

“Can I?” Pidge asks, motioning to the dress, wide eyed. Allura lets her experiment, pushing the skirt up to make it shorter, then pulling it down to make it longer; tugging one sleeve longer, pulling another sleeve wide. Each time, a quick shake restores the dress to its original state. “That’s incredible! I wish we had technology like that. It’d make hand-me-downs way more useful,” she sighs.

“Hand-me-downs?” Allura echoes curiously, putting the dress back into storage.

Pidge tugs at the hem of her own sweatshirt. “That’s just what we call clothes that used to be someone else’s. For example, this used to be my brother’s. Now it’s mine. It’s a little big on me, though.”

She looks up at Allura. “So I get that they’re designed to accommodate Altean’ shapeshifting abilities, but how are clothes actually made? Where did the material come from?”

Allura looks faintly apologetic, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’m afraid I don’t know very much about textiles, though I suppose it’s a moot point as most of our former trading partners fell to the Galra. As for the process, Altean clothes were usually made with a garment machine.”

“Are there any garment machines in the Castle?” Pidge asks.

“Ye-es,” Allura hedges, trailing off. “I think Coran might…”

Pidge’s face falls. She tries not to show her disappointment. Maybe talking to Allura was not such a good idea after all. “Right–”

“… not remember, so I can show you now, if you’d like,” Allura says swiftly.

That’s a surprise. “That’d be great. I mean, if you’ve got time,” Pidge says, eyebrows raised.

Allura shrugs lightly. “I only came up here to fix my hair, and it can wait. Come on, the craft workshop is downstairs.”

-

The trip down to the lower levels is mostly silent, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallways. The Castle was built for many more people. They still barely use any of it.

“So, Pidge, why the sudden interest in clothes?” Allura asks suddenly. She winces, pushing a strand of hair behind one ear. “Sorry, I don’t mean to imply that you weren’t interested before, I'm sure you were. Why ask about Altean clothes now?”

“Well, it’s kind of a long story,” Pidge says. “I wanted to make something for Hunk. Originally, I was going to make tissues, but it looks like a handkerchief would be much more feasible, but I didn’t know what to make it with. That’s why I came to talk to you. Now I’m thinking it might be cool to make a handkerchief with the same properties as your dress. It’d be like a never ending tissue, but eventually you’d have to wash it or it’d just be really gross.”

Allura nods slowly. Pidge braces herself for her reaction, but it’s the kind of slow nod that indicates actual interest, rather than an acknowledgement that you’ve officially lost it. “What an interesting idea. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a handkerchief designed that way.”

“Would’ve been handy for the Pepper Incident. Not that I’m hoping for a repeat anytime soon,” Pidge says.

Allura’s face darkens. “Ugh, please don’t remind me. I swear, that smell still haunts my dreams.” She exaggeratedly imitates the choked expression they’d all had once they’d discovered that the pepper substitute Hunk had found was actually mildly explosive if exposed to heat, at which point it then smelled nothing like pepper. Cleaning it up had taken forever.

“You have to admit, it did spice things up,” Pidge says, straight-faced.

Allura thinks. “Even so, I don’t think I’ll ever warm up to it,” she says.

She grins at her. Pidge grins back.

-

The craft workshop is dusty. The garment machine takes up most of the back wall. An unfinished jacket sticks out the side of it, as if someone simply left their project for later, not knowing that they would never come back for it. It’s kind of sad.

“Well, this is it,” Allura says. Pidge watches as she pushes a button on the side, then another two on the front control panel. Nothing happens. She frowns, then pushes the same buttons in reverse order. Nothing happens, again.

“Maybe we should try something else?” Pidge suggests.

Allura turns to face her. “I’ve never actually used this before,” she says uncomfortably. “Alchemy was never my strong suit, not like my father. I never thought of learning how these things actually worked. I always took them for granted. And I never even thought about making my own clothes, people just always did things like that for me…”

Pidge abruptly realizes she’s never seen this side of Allura before. She’s seen her singlehandedly fight off an entire Galra squadron. She’s seen the way Allura’s speeches give people with no hope the courage to stand and fight another day. But she’s never seen Allura look embarrassed.

That’s definitely something she can relate to.

“It’s okay,” Pidge says. “We learned to sew in school, but I wasn’t any good at it. I mean, I was really bad. Nothing I made ever came out right. I finally got Matt to trade homework with me so I wouldn’t fail the class. He did all my embroidery for me and I finished his robotics project.”

She smiles shyly at her. “I’ve never made my own clothes either, but I am pretty good with computers, so I think I can figure out how to make this thing work. But I’d still like your help, if you don’t mind sticking around.”

Allura smiles back, clearly relieved. “Of course. I’ll help as much as I can.”

Eventually, they get the garment machine to turn on. The first thing they do is cancel the 10,000 year old order for a uniform no one would ever need, managing to tug the half-finished jacket out and carefully putting it to the side.

As it turns out, the garment machine is more like a 3-D printer than a sewing machine, connecting fabric together with no seams, no loose threads, no labels. Allura translates the Altean words in the machine’s programming that Pidge doesn’t recognize, things like the units of measurement specific to textiles, or the pattern names in the machine’s internal directory.

Pidge finally figures out how to create a new pattern for a simple, expanding square, adding a pleated fold. They discover an option to stamp symbols onto the fabric in what’s apparently the Altean version of embroidery and add it to the pattern. Their first attempt at a handkerchief unfolds four times, like a string of paper dolls, but the choice of fabric is all wrong. It feels rough like harsh wool. Their second attempt unfolds six times, but the fabric comes out like gauze.

Their final attempt at a handkerchief unfolds an impressive fifteen times in Voltron’s colors, using white fabric instead of black. A rendering of the Yellow Lion is stamped neatly on the bottom corner of the first layer.

Pidge pulls the handkerchiefs open, then pushes them together into what looks like a single piece of fabric. She flips through them like the pages of a book, marveling as yellow runs into blue runs into green runs into red and white. She definitely doesn’t understand how Altean alchemy works, but the results are pretty amazing.

“You did it!” Allura says, peering over her shoulder. “I think it turned out quite nicely.”

“We did it,” Pidge corrects, bumping shoulders with Allura. “And it’s perfect. All it took was a little teamwork.”

She holds her hand up for a high five. Allura slaps it, grinning.

-

They part ways at Allura’s door.

“Thanks again for helping me out,” Pidge says, Hunk’s present tucked safely in her pocket.

“Thank you for asking me to help,” Allura says frankly. She hesitates a moment. “Pidge, I think I owe you an apology. Lately, I’ve felt there’s been some tension between us. I didn’t know what to do about it… I’m afraid I’ve been avoiding you. I’m sorry.”

Pidge shakes her head, feeling a pang of guilt. “No, I’m sorry. It's my fault, I'm the one who made things weird. I’ve been overthinking things recently, and I kind of took it out on you. I haven’t been a very good friend.” She scuffs her foot against the floor, feeling sheepish. “I’d like to change that, though. Maybe we could hang out more often?”

Before she can register what’s happening, Allura hugs her. Pidge hugs back, a little awkwardly. She’d forgotten hugging was a thing girls did when they were friends. The guys weren’t usually so demonstrative.

“I’d like that,” Allura says, beaming at her.

-

Pidge finds Hunk in the lounge. He’s talking to Lance, who’s lying on the floor with his legs propped up on the couch.

“Heads up, Hunk,” she says, tossing her gift to him. “Happy unbirthday.”

Hunk grins, catching it. “You remembered!” he says. He starts unwrapping the ribbon she’d tied around it to make it look fancy.

Lance squints at it, then looks up at her, surprised. “You sew, Pidge?”

Pidge smirks down at him. “I have many hidden talents,” she says loftily. She sits next to Hunk as he gets his first real look at the handkerchief.

“The Yellow Lion!” he says happily, noticing the corner. “I hope you have like five more of these with you because I’m definitely gonna need ’em.” He dramatically pretends to wipe tears of happiness away with the handkerchief, a pleased look crossing his face as it brushes his face. “Ooh. Soft.”

“Got you covered, buddy,” she says in a passing impression of Lance, finger guns and all. “Open it up.”

Puzzled, Hunk does, gaping as another full handkerchief appears. He holds up two handkerchiefs. Lance scrambles to sit upright to get a better view.

“Whoa,” Hunk says, awed. “Did you make me a magic handkerchief? I’m pretty sure this is actual magic.”

“Do it again!” Lance interrupts, watching closely.

Hunk obliges. Soon, he’s holding out a string of handkerchiefs, all different colors, looking exactly like a magician. He figures out how to fold the strand back into a neat pile before Pidge can explain it. “This is amazing! Thank you, seriously.”

“Man, you should try to hide a dove in there, or something,” Lance says.

“Not feasible,” Pidge says. “Even alchemy has its limits.”

Hunk whips his head up, staring at her. “You made this with alchemy?”

After bluffing her way through answering his first few questions, Pidge finally admits her understanding of alchemy was entirely based on her and Allura pushing buttons to see what would happen. They end up discussing the theory behind the process as Lance quietly steals the handkerchief out of Hunk’s hands, dropping it open like a Jacob’s Ladder toy, again and again.

-

Pidge’s bayard is chiming. It sounds like a phone ringing. It shouldn’t be possible. She’s not even wearing her armor, she thinks in bewilderment, holding the bayard at arm’s length.

The chiming stops.

“Pidge?” Lance says tinnily, and she realizes he’s speaking through the bayard. It takes all her self control not to throw it away.

“… Lance?”

“This line is secure, right?” Lance says.

“Yes?” Pidge says, then frowns. “You’re calling my bayard. How are you calling my bayard?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lance says, in the too-confident way that means he probably doesn’t know. “Just get to the kitchen. Engage full stealth mode.”

The call cuts out. Baffled, she dismisses the bayard and heads to the kitchen.

Nothing seems unusual there. Hunk is starting to prep for dinner. His back is to the doorway. He’s wearing an apron and peeling something that looks a little like onions, if onions were blue and the size of a coconut. Pidge spots Lance crouching behind a pile of food crates, the top of his head barely visible. He motions for her to come join him, grabbing her wrist once she’s close enough to pull her behind the crates before Hunk sees her.

She starts to ask what’s going on, but Lance shushes her. He’s still loosely holding onto her wrist, his hand almost covering hers. The clinical side of her observes his hand is surprisingly warm and soft. The emotional side of her thinks she wouldn’t mind if he actually held her hand. Lance uses his other hand to point with two fingers, motioning a line of sight between them and Hunk. Clearly, they’re supposed to watch him.

A moment later, Allura joins them behind the crates.

“Shiro’s heading this way,” Allura whispers. She frowns. “Why are we all hiding?”

Lance shushes her, too, which clearly annoys her, but then she happens to notice Lance’s hand still resting on Pidge’s arm and that distracts her. She looks at her questioningly, eyebrows raised. Pidge blushes and manages to extract her wrist from Lance’s grip before Allura can say anything. Lance doesn’t seem to notice.

They watch as Hunk pulls out a chopping board, setting it up within sight of the door, and leisurely begins to chop the not-onions, tossing a few pieces into a pan. He looks up at the doorway then leans in to sniff one of the not-onions, quickly pulling back as his eyes water.

“Shiro!” Hunk calls. “Can you come in here? I need another pair of hands.”

Lance peeks over the crates. They follow his lead, watching as Shiro enters.

“Allura asked me to meet her by the hangars, but I guess I can spare a minute,” Shiro says doubtfully, a moment before the smell of the raw not-onions hits him. He winces. “Wow, that’s strong stuff.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Hunk says, visible tears in his eyes. He turns his back to Shiro. Pidge can see her handkerchief sticking out of his back pocket. She’s got an idea of where this is going. “Can you just grab that for me?”

“Sure?” Shiro says.

They watch as Shiro goes to pull the handkerchief out of Hunk’s pocket and another one shows up, then another, and another as he keeps trying. Hunk stands perfectly still, patiently waiting. Shiro’s expression shifts from confusion to frustration and back to confusion as he keeps pulling and the handkerchiefs just keep coming. Pidge has to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. By the time Shiro pulls out the last one, Lance and Allura’s shoulders are shaking with the effort to conceal their mirth.

Hunk looks over his shoulder at Shiro. “Did you get it?” he says innocently, a tear rolling down his face. Pidge is pretty sure the tear has more to do with laughter than the not-onions.

Shiro’s holding the handkerchiefs like a rope, staring down at them, uncomprehending. Hunk gently takes them all from him. “Thank you,” he says, carefully using one to wipe his eyes. The strand reaches all the way to the floor.

Shiro is still looking down at his empty hands. They can see his eyebrow twitch. Without a word, he leaves.

Hunk folds up his handkerchief and goes back to chopping, looking up at the door every so often. “Aaaaand he’s gone,” he announces.

Lance pops up like a meerkat and vaults over the crates, heading directly for the counter to rummage around. Allura and Pidge follow more slowly, leaning on each other for support. They’re both still laughing.

“That was amazing!” Pidge wheezes, tears in her eyes. 

Hunk’s leaning against the counter, clutching his chest, but he’s grinning. “I was so nervous. I didn’t think I could keep a straight face much longer.”

Without looking up from what he’s doing, Lance holds out his fist. Hunk pounds it; in unison, they mime an explosion.

“So that’s why you wanted me to call Shiro,” Allura says, poking Lance’s arm. “You should have told me you were planning a prank.”

“Loose lips sink ships,” he says distractedly, still rummaging.

Allura frowns. “What kind of ship sinks?”

“HA!” Lance is clearly not listening. He turns to face them, phone in hand, looking smug. He tilts the video so they can all see the screen. “Got the whole thing on tape.”

“Let me see!” Hunk says, taking the phone from him. “Oh, that is good. It’d be even better with some music in the background. We can fix that.”

That’s when Pidge remembers. She yanks on the sleeve of Lance’s hoodie to draw his attention and he nearly falls on top of her, yelping. She hastily pushes him back upright. “Sorry. What was with the bayards?”

Lance looks down at her, rubbing his arm absentmindedly. “Oh, yeah. I was thinking I needed to talk to you, but I knew I wouldn’t have time to set all this up and go find you. The bayard just popped into my hands... Pretty cool, huh?”

“Wait, what happened?” Hunk says, frowning as he looks up from the video. “You were talking to your bayard?”

“Talking,” Allura repeats, paling. “Oh, no. I was supposed to talk to Shiro, he’s probably still waiting-”

She rushes out of the kitchen without another word.

Lance sniffs the air. “Hunk. Buddy. My man,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Do I smell pepper?”

Chapter Text

Pidge is flying through a forest, but she can’t seem to focus on anything, she’s going too fast. It takes her a moment to realize she’s not just in the Green Lion, she is the Lion. This is a dream.

Smoke is drifting in the wind and she knows the world is burning behind her. Someone is crying. She thinks it’s a woman, but the sound is distorted. It reminds her of when her dad called home from a mission, the way she and her mom would sit at the table, each holding their own handset, and as her mom talked she could hear her voice coming through the phone and echoing right beside her.

You felt it too, didn’t you? the woman says sorrowfully, voice reverberating just like that. He’s lost his heart. He once loved the universe as much as we did, but now it’s like he sees it as something to control, to burn. What happened to him?

The Green Lion flies faster, away from the smoke and the wind howling through the trees–

-

Pidge can hear a rustling sound. It’s the same one she’s come to associate with her dreams, but she’s awake enough to realize it’s coming from somewhere else. She keeps her eyes shut tight and holds her breath, listening closely until she hears the noise again.

She opens her eyes, sits up straight in her bunk.

“I know you’re there,” she says out loud. “I can hear you.”

She waits until she sees something moving in the corner of her room. The space caterpillars poke their heads out, staring at her. The marks on their faces are glowing. 

Pidge motions them closer. “Come on, little guys. Let’s talk.”

Slowly, they amble over to her bunk, rustling like leaves as they cautiously climb over the mess on her floor. They’ve never been as comfortable moving around her room as they were in the trash nebula, but they seem to like having familiar things to latch onto. They move easily onto her junk sculpture of Hunk, and she reaches out to pick them up.

“You’re the reason I’ve been having all these weird dreams, aren’t you?” she asks them. “You’re doing something to connect to my Lion. How does that work?”

The caterpillars chirrup at her. She can feel Green’s presence in the back of her mind as she holds them. For a moment, she sees something connecting her to the caterpillars that looks a little like the vines she’d once seen from the Lion’s perspective. She can almost smell smoke, like in her dream.

The marks on their faces flicker. The vines fade away. None of it makes sense. But Pidge knows someone who specializes in knowing things that don’t make sense.

“I think there’s someone you should meet,” she says.

-

“Just look at you!” Coran puts out his hands, letting the caterpillars crawl onto his palms. He looks happier than Pidge has seen him in a long time.

“I guess you know what these are?” Pidge ventures.

“Of course I do,” Coran says, shifting so both fit on one hand. He gently scratches the blue caterpillar’s back. It makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a purr. “They’re Altean. Well, they originated on Altea, but most of them ended up off-planet once they discovered the space port. They had a very bad habit of hitchhiking. But how did they get here?”

Pidge scratches the back of her head, feeling sheepish. “Actually, they’ve been living in my room for a while. I found them when we were all split up by that wormhole.”

The green caterpillar chirps to confirm. She can see the gears whirring in Coran’s mind as he starts to wonder what else she’s hidden in her room since then, which means there’s a good chance he might start nosing around again.

“Anyway,” Pidge says hurriedly. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think they have some kind of connection with the Green Lion.” She tells him a little about her dreams, about seeing things from the Green Lion’s perspective, about how the caterpillars are always close by when she wakes up. “I think they’ve made our bond stronger. I can feel it even when I’m not actually in my Lion.”

“I don’t think that’s crazy at all. They could be affecting your bond,” Coran says thoughtfully. “The ancients used to believe these little ones were good luck because they seemed to inspire creativity. Later on, alchemists proposed they weren’t inspiring so much as expanding the innate connection to quintessence that exists in all living beings. Those theories were never proven, of course, but it does set a precedent for the idea.”

Pidge considers it. “So they could be acting like an amplifier for quintessence? Do you think they could connect to the other Lions, too?”

“I’m not sure, but we could find out. What do you think?” he says, directly addressing the space caterpillars. “D’you mind if we study you guys a bit?”

The space caterpillars stare up at them noncommittally. Their markings are glowing again.

“Beautiful sight in the evenings,” Coran says wistfully, looking at them. “Used to see clusters of them out in the fields and forests, glowing just like that.”

Pidge reaches out to let the green caterpillar crawl off of Coran’s palm and onto her hand. “I guess that makes them more like fireflies than caterpillars. I’ve been calling them space caterpillars,” she explains as it slowly inches up her arm.

“Caterpillars, eh?” Coran says, intrigued. “We called them-”

But Pidge doesn’t get to find out what they’re called. The sound of the door opening distracts him as Allura enters, clearly frazzled and already well into a sentence, “Coran, have you seen– sorry, Pidge, I– Oh!” She stops, staring at the caterpillars in wide-eyed surprise.

“Here, Princess,” Pidge says, gently lifting the green caterpillar off of her sleeve. She puts it into Allura’s hands, the blue one watching closely from its’ perch with Coran. Allura seems to relax instantly. She looks happy.

The caterpillars both seem just as happy to see her, their markings glowing even brighter. When Allura pets the green one, the marks on her own face flicker. She doesn’t seem to notice. Pidge wonders if it has something to do with quintessence, or the Lions–

Pidge feels a nudge in the back of her mind, like a subtle reminder that there was something she was supposed to do.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, feeling a little silly as she looks down at the caterpillars, “I didn’t actually introduce you, did I? This is Coran, and that’s Princess Allura. I’ve told you a lot about them.”

They stare up at her. Pidge realizes the problem.

“They need names,” she says, looking up at the Alteans. “I never got around to naming them, which, in hindsight, is weird for me because I usually name everything. And I think they’d like you two to do the honors.”

“You’d really let us?” Allura says, a pleased smile crossing her face.

“We’d love to,” Coran says. 

Coran names the blue one Alfor Junior, “If you don’t mind, Princess.” Allura nods her approval, declaring it perfect. She names the green one Galadae. Coran’s chin wobbles, and for one terrifying moment Pidge thinks he might cry, but he doesn’t.

The newly-dubbed Alfor Junior and Galadae chirp happily. In tandem, they jump off Allura and Coran’s hands and land on Pidge, crawling up her sleeves to perch on her shoulders. She gets a sense they want to go back to her room.

“Already?” she says, surprised. “But you haven’t even seen the rest of the Castle or met the others! And I bet Green would like to see you again, too…”

Alfor Junior opens its mouth and lets out a tiny, soundless yawn. 

“Looks like they’re all tuckered out! Better let them rest,” Coran says gently. He tugs on his mustache. “Take good care of them, Number Five.”

“Come visit anytime, little ones,” Allura tells them, leaning down to the caterpillars’ eye level, gently patting each of them on the head. They chirrup sleepily.

“They will,” Pidge promises for them.

-

Alfor and Galadae fall asleep on her pillow, too exhausted to move. It’s strange to think of them with actual names. She has a lot of questions for them, but they’ll have to wait.

In the meantime, Pidge decides to clean her room. And she tries, she really does, but she gets distracted by the small box of junk the mice have been bringing her. She ends up sorting it all out, sitting cross-legged on a free patch of floor as she pulls out bits and pieces of wiring, scraps of fabric, springs, broken vent covers and chipped glass, laying the pieces down side by side until a pattern emerges that catches her off guard. Suddenly, the mice’s actions make a lot more sense.

“Well, if that’s what you wanted, you could have just said so,” she grumbles, even though the mice aren’t there to hear her.

She starts putting the pieces together, sorting them by color.

-

Open your eyes, the Lion says.

Pidge is standing in the Green Lion’s cockpit. Looking out, she can see a woman on the ground, standing alone, small and fragile from the Lion’s perspective. The armor she’s wearing looks familiar.

“That’s your Paladin,” Pidge realizes. “The original Green Paladin. I heard her talking to you in my dream!”

Not a dream, the Green Lion tells her, low growl rumbling all around her. And neither is this. These are my memories.

Pidge watches the Green Paladin approach, resting a gloved hand on the Lion’s metal claws. “Whatever that thing is, he isn’t Zarkon,” she says, head bowed. Her voice sounds like it’s coming through speakers. “He thinks he’s gained power, but he doesn’t understand that our emotions give us strength. Logic may guide us, but without a capacity to feel, to love, we can never truly be strong. Never forget this, my friend.”

The Green Lion roars, the sound muted by time and distance. It feels like saying goodbye.

“Is this the last time you saw each other?” Pidge asks quietly.

The Lion doesn’t answer that. She taught me about love, it says instead. She said love is what makes us grow. She believed love is the strongest force in the universe.

Pidge frowns. She trusts the Green Lion, but that makes no sense. Love is more like a concept than a force. It’s intangible, immeasurable. You can’t run things on love the way you can quintessence.

“Even stronger than Voltron?” she asks.

A wave of amusement washes over Pidge as she realizes the Lion is laughing. The sound echoes like distant thunder.

What do you think holds Voltron together, Paladin?

-

There are eight mice outside of Allura’s bedroom door. Four of them are chattering excitedly at her. The other four are made of scraps and metal pieces, strange but recognizable caricatures. It takes Allura a moment to process what the mice are saying.

“Pidge made these?” she repeats, surprised. She sits on the floor to take a closer look.

The mice nod. They tell her how Pidge had assembled versions of all her friends when she was lost. Ever since they noticed the sculptures in her room, the mice had been asking Pidge to make ones of them as well, bringing her whatever supplies they could find to use. Now she finally had. The mice thought maybe Allura would like them just as much as they did, so they had carried everything up here to show her.

“I’m glad you did,” Allura says, admiring the rounded piece that was clearly supposed to be Platt. “These are lovely. That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to thank you for looking after Pidge.”

The mice squeak reproachfully. She holds up her hands, pacifying. “I know, I know. She’s your friend too, and you’d have kept an eye on her even if I hadn’t asked you to.”

The mice agree. Besides, the sculptures are proof that Pidge knows that they’re her friends.

“I’ve noticed she and Lance seem to be getting along better these days,” Allura says conspiratorially. “That’s an improvement, isn’t it? It was getting to be a bit too tense, don't you think?”

Plachu nods, but Chuchule studies her, looking unusually serious. She squeaks, and the mice all jump onto Allura’s lap and arms, running up to nuzzle her face in their approximation of a hug.

“Don't worry, I’m fine,” she tells them, laughing as their whiskers tickle her. “Really, I am. I just want everyone to be happy.”

All eight mice find a spot in her room.

-

Pidge goes to see Kaltenecker. She hasn’t visited in a long time, and Kaltenecker is clearly not happy about it. The cow ignores her at first, preferring to focus on eating. Slowly.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Pidge says. “I know it’s been a while. I was busy. It wasn’t personal.”

Kaltenecker chews, and chews, and chews. Finally, she swallows, looking reproachfully at Pidge out of the side of her eye. Pidge takes this as a good sign and moves in closer. She strokes Kaltenecker’s neck. “I know, I know. You get lonely, too. Living here is better than being stuck in that store, though, isn’t it?”

The cow moos balefully. Pidge sighs. “I know that guy let you fly a hoverboard, but you clearly didn’t know how to control it,” she says. “That’s why we don’t let you on it anymore. You nearly wiped out the holo screen last time. Coran’s still kind of mad.”

Kaltenecker helps herself to more grass. She chews, ignoring Pidge again, her tail swishing in annoyance.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “And you saw more people at the mall, yes. But we’re cooler people, aren’t we? Don’t you like us better?”

Slowly, the cow turns her head to stare at her, then leans in and deliberately licks Pidge’s face. Her tongue is rough and scratchy and there are blades of grass mixed in with Kaltenecker’s spit.

“Eww!” Pidge complains, using her sleeve to wipe off most of the spit from her face, but her glasses are still completely covered. Trying to clean them just makes things worse.

“You’re literally the only person she ever does that to, you know,” Lance says, amused. He's standing in the open doorway. “She must think you taste good.”

Kaltenecker moos, sounding much happier to see him than she was to see Pidge. He walks in and begins scratching the cow behind the ears. “Hi there! Who’s a pretty girl? You are.”

“I already told her no,” Pidge says, giving up on her glasses. She shoves them in her pocket.

“Oh.” Lance frowns, looking down at the cow. He waggles a finger in front of her nose. “Ah-ah, you heard Pidge. No hoverboard for you. Yet.”

Kaltenecker’s tail swishes again, clearly annoyed. She licks Lance’s hand, too, drooling a little for good measure.

“Aww, come on!” he whines, trying to shake the spit off.

Pidge laughs. “You must taste good too,” she says, smirking.

Kaltenecker nudges her, having resigned herself to being grounded but still wanting attention. Pidge throws her arms around the cow’s neck. “It’s okay. You’re kind of gross, but we’re still friends,” she says, hugging her. Kaltenecker moos loudly in agreement.

Lance finally resorts to wiping his hand on his shirt. “What was it you were telling Kaltenecker earlier? That we’re cooler than someone?”

Pidge lets go of the cow. “How long were you standing there, anyway?” she demands suspiciously.

Lance shrugs. Kaltenecker impatiently taps her foot on the ground, and he pets her too, just to show he isn’t mad at her. “Not that long. I just didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.”

He looks at her again, squinting. “… huh. You look really different without your glasses.”

“You’ve seen me without them before, you know,” Pidge says dryly. “I never wear glasses with my armor.”

“Yeah, but then you’ve got a helmet on, and stuff,” Lance says, waving his hands around in a vague imitation of a visor covering his eyes. “And there’s usually a mission or fight or whatever going on so I never really noticed?”

“What, that I have eyes?” Pidge says, batting them for extra effect.

“Forget it,” Lance grumbles, busying himself with taking care of Kaltenecker. Pidge pets the cow one more time before stepping aside to give him more room to work. She hops up onto the fence, settling down to watch him.

Lance catches her staring. “Something wrong?”

She shakes her head. Nothing’s wrong with her. Lance is still too tall and too skinny and they’ve been in space long enough that his hair is starting to curl where it hits his collar. The other day he actually laughed at one of Hunk’s nerdy puns. She’s mostly over being tongue-tied and sweaty, but Pidge is pretty sure she still has a crush on him, and she’s decided she’s okay with it. It actually makes life kind of interesting.

“I’m just happy to be with you,” she says.

“Oh,” Lance says, startled, the tips of his ears turning pink. “That’s cool.”

“It is,” Pidge says. She grins at him. “We’re cool.”

Waiting on love ain't so easy to do. 
- Jack Johnson