Plance One-shots

A Restaurant at the End of the Universe

If Pidge had blinked, she would have missed it.

The blade of the Osterillum bandit was guaranteed to hit her, until a force collided with her left shoulder and forced her to the ground. Dazed, Pidge placed her hand to her temple. Pain clouded her vision for a moment, the world spinning from her head's contact with the ground. Wide amber eyes were met by the sight of Lance on his knees, the bandit sprawled in front of him. Both swords had made contact with flesh, but unlike the bandit's, Lance's sword had pierced the chest.

The green Paladin scrambled to her feet, unaware of the glistening trails that ran down her face.

"Lance you idiot what have you-"

Her lips halted as she finally saw the damage. The iridescent blade protruded from his lower right side, blood slowly seeping through the material of his suit.

"Oh hey, Pidge." He said weakly, grimacing as he tried to look up at her. "Are you all right?"

"Am I all right?!" Pidge hooted, falling to her knees in front of him. She tried to keep her eyes on his face, but couldn't help but be drawn to the wound. "I'm not the one with a sword through me you dummy. Although... I might have been if you hadn't of... y'know."

"Well I couldn't just stand there and watch you get skewered," Lance laughed, hand dancing gently around his side to find the handle of the sword.

"NO!" Pidge yelped, holding out her hands to stop him. "Don't pull it out. Right now that swords the only thing stopping you from bleeding to death." Pidge lifted Lance's arm out if the way to inspect it further, pushing her glasses gently up the bridge of her nose. Lance winced at her touch, throwing his head back so it rested on his shoulders.

"Seems I'm pretty good at aiming with a sword too." He remarked, tilting his head towards the fallen bandit. "Guess you could say I put the 'sharp' in sharpshooter."

Pidge rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but smile at his comment, peering up at him over the top of her glasses.

"Hilarious. Now come Space Zorro, we need to get you back to the Atlas."

***

The hours seemed to drag past.

In the time it had taken them to reach the Green Lion and fly back to the Atlas, Lance had lost a substantial amount of blood. The journey had all but exhausted Pidge, her having to practically carry Lance part of the way back.

Still, she powered through.

Once they were on the Atlas, a team of medical staff swarmed them, bundling Lance onto a stretcher and rushing him off in the direction of the infirmity. Pidge almost struggled to keep up, her legs aching beneath her as she clung to the side of the stretcher.

On it, Lance's lay still, eyelids fluttering gently. He had passed out not long before they had touched down inside the larger ship, his hand still clutching the hilt of the blade.

Pidge felt her eyelids drooping, reluctantly pulling them back open to look at the Cuban boy.

He was a sorry sight.

His face and suit were spattered with red blood. His own blood. The sword still stuck out of his side at an awkward angle, glinting in the light of the Atlas. All the colour had drained from his face, making him seem almost transparent.

If they had been on the Castle, he would have already been in a heeling pod. He would already be on the road to recovery. Yet, here on the Atlas, the only thing standing between Lance bleeding to death and guaranteed survival was surgery.