Friday arrives, and it is a joyous day where thousands of students run out the school doors and out to make havoc.
But...
Pidge becomes more and more terrified at the notion of going back to the family home. Grandma was apparently hosting it this time.
"Grandma also says you and your boyfriend are to come round on Saturday and stay the night for Sunday, and Sunday will be the gathering. You can return to school on Monday," her mother says, seeming to be reading off from a phone text. "She's looking forward to meeting the person who finally 'tamed' you.
Pidge immediately wants to start screaming, and yelling into the phone.
But something in Pidge stops her from screaming. Maybe its because she can hear what lies behind her mother's words, that she doesn't really want Pidge to fall into the trap. But Pidge decides to forge on anyway.
"Tell her that I'm still as free as I used to be," Pidge snaps, her mother's breathing hitching. "And that so is my boyfriend."
Pidge clicks the phone off, thrusting it harshly into her pocket.
Well, Grandma was about to be in for a surprise.
~~~
"Pidgeeeeee, Shiro's on my back again about how we haven't given him a fundraiser plan and its almost the end of the weeeeek," Lance whines, repetitively poking Pidge in the back as she tries to read her manual, sitting at her desk. Pidge swats his hand away, continuing to read the manual.
"What are you even reading?" he asks, trying to reach his arm over to grab it. Pidge dodges, knocking his arm away again.
"I'm just getting ideas for Voltron."
"You're already naming it?"
"It's the best name I can think of as of now," Pidge responds. Her fingers traces a line on the manual.
Law #1: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
"Well, its not a very good one, considering its just the club name-"
Pidge doesn't listen, the line echoing through her head.
Law number one.
Law number one.
Do not allow a human being to ever come to harm.
She scribbles it down on a notepad, sticking it on her wall.
"Pidge?" Lance cranes his neck, waving his hand in her face. Pidge swats it away, making a face at him.
"I'm still alive, moron."
"Pidgeotto, you never did explain what's gonna happen tomorrow," Lance casually mentions, twirling a pillow on his index finger. Pidge watches him, blinking fast. She grabs a pillow, trying to imitate him (and sorely failing), having to hold herself back from whacking Lance after he laughs himself sore at her.
"Well, that's kind of because Mom really only told me what was going on today," Pidge defends. "And its a little more than what I asked you for..."
Pidge rubs the back of her neck, looking down at the bed.
"I'm basically hogging your whole weekend," she admits. "To hang out with my nutty relatives and pretend that you're in love with me." To her surprise, Lance smiles, shrugging.
The look that he gives her startles her, scares her, and stirs something within her, all in one.
"You say that like its a bad thing. Just tell me what I've gotta pack and I'll be there."
Pidge's eyes widen, and she grins wide. Then, all of a sudden, she throws her arms around Lance, pulling him in for a hug.
"Thank you," she whispers, her voice sounding vaguely like crying.
For a moment, he freezes, and Pidge wants to let go, but then he places his arms around her and squeezes tight too,
"You're welcome."
Pidge closes her eyes, reveling in the comfort of Lance's embrace.
~~~
"Hey, Lance?" Pidge says, calling him from the room phone. "Are you done packing yet?"
Lance, frantically trying to search for clothes that actually looked decent and didn't have some hipster slogan or cuss word on them.
"Uh-yeah, totally!" Lance exclaims, pulling out a flannel with triumph, hand clutching flannel and resting in the air for a while.
"I forgot to tell you to pack rebel kid clothes in case mom or any random family member pisses me off too much," Pidge says. "And hey, don't worry, it's only two days."
Lance can feel the beads of sweat rolling down his face. How the hell was he supposed to stand 'dating' Pidge for two whole days without growing even crazier than he currently was?!
"Mhhmm, yep," he responds, keeping his voice as level as possible
"When you're finished, and it should be soon, considering you've been packing two hours for a two day trip," Lance doesn't miss the jokingly suspicious tone in Pidge's words, "come back over to mine. I've got something to show you."
Lance can pretty much see Pidge, building an image based on what he could hear.
"Roger that, sir."
Needless to say, Lance finishes packing in five minutes, throwing in a baby blue button down, a pair of non-ripped jeans he didn't know he owned and a shirt with FUCK printed largely in red.
~~~
"Pidgeon, your knight is shining armour has answered your call!" Lance sings, returning to the conditionally-familiar door of Pidge's room. He hears messing about, noise.
"The door's open, Lance!"
Lance walks in, startled and bemused at the great change from what it had been just a few hours ago. (not like Lance could say anything, considering the current state of his room). Books, clothes, shoes, were all strewn messily on the floor of the room.
Pidge turns, facing him as her hands continue scrabbling through a box of material under her desk.
"And hey, don't worry, it's only two days," Lance mimes, making air commas. "What's with all the robotics junk?"
"Mom called me and said Matt was coming, so it's my opportunity to have some quality brother-sister robotics time," Pidge says, eyes alight and sparkling. Her hands eagerly clutch the same manual she'd been reading earlier. "Maybe he can give some pointers for Voltron, considering he's in a club in his college."
Lance nods his head, making an approving face.
"So is that what you called me over here for?" he asks. She shakes her head, expertly tossing the manual into her duffel bag.
"No, I need your opinion on something," she corrects. She stands up, going to the closet and rummaging some more. After a little while, she goes, "What rebellious shit did you pack?"
"Well," Lance starts off proudly, "I have overly-ripped jeans, multiple cuss-word shirts that would make Iverson faint, and I packed some eyeliner. Just in case."
"Did you go through an MCR phase or something? Cuz I thought that was only Keith," Pidge quips. "Aha!" She pulls out a hanger, quickly dashing into the bathroom.
"I did not!" he huffs, offended, in the general direction of the bathroom. "I just happen to have extremely good eyeliner skills, that's all."
He hears some shuffling, something falling, and a very eloquent stream of cuss words from Pidge.
She opens the door.
Lance nearly jumps back.
"Who are you, and what have you done with Pidge?"
Pidge hits him on the head with the anger of a lioness and making Lance fall , but suddenly, she retreats. Pidge rubs the back of her neck shyly, looking down at the floor.
"What do you think?"
Lance shakes his head, rubbing it, trying to ease the pain. Then, he looks up, looking properly at Pidge.
She wore a dress.
What the hell?!
It gripped her at the waist, gentle purple covering her midriff and billowing out in a longer skirt. Pidge doesn't look uncomfortable, despite the style of dress being extremely rare for her. Lance looks at her, then to the picture at her bedside, then back at her.
Lance couldn't stop the pink on his cheeks and the single thought of 'beautiful' going through his head over and over again.
"What do you think?" she asks again, sounding just a bit more irate, hands now on her hips.
"That dress looks great on you," Lance gapes a little, eyes scanning up and down. "But do you want to know where it would look better?"
Pidge's face falls a little, downcast. Obviously, he was going to say it would look better on Nyma or Allura, it was a fact of life. Pidge knows where her strengths lay.
"On my bedroom floor."
Pidge starts blinking rapidly, mouth parting a bit, heat rushing into her cheeks and red flooding in.
...definitely not what she had been expecting.
Lance doesn't expect her to rush back into the bathroom, change out of the dress and reappear in her boyish clothing, the dress on her arm.
"Come on!"
Lance is suddenly tugged on the arm by a bullet, speeding to his dorm room, the dress trailing the air.
He opens the door, Pidge immediately bounding in.
She dumps the dress on the floor beside Lance's bed.
In mock thought, she tilts her head to side and supports her chin with her hand.
"Nah," she concludes. "I think it looks better on me."
Lance flames red, because Pidge was completely right.
~~~
Shiro calls for a Voltron meeting in the afternoon, letting the gang pick the location. Lance immediately screams "Beach!", and Pidge ends up dragged off by a hyperactive beanpole.
With a hat on head, meme shirt over her one-piece swimsuit, Pidge sits in Shiro's stupid mini-van ("Ha, Shiro, this is definitely way too mini!"), grumpily plopped on Lance's lap without any say.
Goddamn, why did Lance have to pull her out of the room so fast that she'd only brought the robotics manual, a jar of peanut butter cookies, and sunscreen?
...why didn't she bring any other clothes, including no pants?
Pidge leans back on the right part of Lance's shoulders, surprisingly broad with plenty of space for her. She glances at the window, staring out of it, just watching the scenery go by. After all, the conversation going on was of no interest; something about the tacos in the new food place.
"Hey, Pidge," Lance whispers, Pidge nearly jolting of how close his voice was, right by her ear. She turns, again jolting because damn, Lance was a lot closer than she was really used to.
"What?"
"Are you trying to be an emo in a music video?"
Pidge, deadpan, blinks in a way that can only be described as judgemental.
"Okay, sure, eyeliner boy."
Lance pouts, reclining and leaning back again. Pidge shifts her legs, finding the position uncomfortable after Lance moved. All of a sudden, Lance gulps in air, eyes blowing wide, sucking in his lips.
"Are you okay?" Pidge checks, raising one eyebrow. Lance nods, throat tight, motions so small they were almost imperceptible. She leans in, poking her glasses as she analyses his face curiously.
"No you're not," she states. Keith looks over.
"Duh, Captain Obvious. Isn't it obvious why he looks like that?" he says, raising an eyebrow, as if Lance's troubles were the most clear-cut and visible things in the world. Pidge, forever the knowledge seeker, tilts her head to the side as a cue for Keith to continue. . "It's because yo-"
Hunk, not missing a beat, slams his hand over Keith's mouth.
"Look, Keef, that's unnecessary."
Keith removes the hand, glaring at Hunk, who immediately falters under his gaze.
"...did you just call me Keef?"
"KEEF!" Pidge hollers, cupping her hands over her mouth. Lance just bursts into peals of laughter, tears forming at the side of his eyes. Pidge quickly snaps a picture of Keith, fiddling so fast and shoving the phone in Keith's face.
"#KEEF."
"How did the conversation go from Rolo's Taco Truck to Lance's boner to Keith totally being a meme?" Shiro asks, squinting at the road. Lance nearly jumps up to wrangle Shiro, making a funny sound in the back of his throat, who immediately starts chuckling. Keith sniggers, Hunk shooting Keith a very un-Hunk glare.
"What? I'm not the one who said it."
"Could we maybe talk about the actual club now, maybe?" Shiro immediately realises his mistake, voice tinged with hesitation. "Like we're supposed to?"
The lack of response has Shiro clicking his tongue disapprovingly and irritably, continuing his driving at a considerably faster speed.
Luckily for Lance (and Keith, judging by the venomous looks on both Lance and Hunk's faces), Pidge conveniently continues to stare out of the window dreamily, looking a lot more distracted and uninvolved than usual. Lance proceeds to stick his tongue out at Keith mockingly, who rolls his eyes and continues tolerating Hunk and Shiro's odd conversation about how freaking terrible the tacos (and the creator, to everyone's agreement) really were.
Pidge watches the wind blow the leaves away, noticing every little detail with equal attention. It's always been a Pidge thing, really, seeing what others couldn't, noticing what other's didn't, doing what others never dared to do.
Saturday was going to be fun.
Sunday even more.
Pidge remembered the last gathering, where couples were constantly questioned, singles were also constantly question, and divorcees ostracised for their failure. Grandma's family was built on strict rules and traditionalism, doing everything the same.
So maybe, Pidge thinks, just maybe, her mother was a bit like her to have married such a man like her father.
She also remembers the dances that they had, Pidge being thrown around the room into the arms of random people, awkwardly maneuvering around feet and free arms, trying her best to glide like she was supposed to.
And fuck, she'd just realised that Mother would probably shove her in a room with Lance. Not that it was much of a problem, probably having to share a bed with Lance (she was literally sitting on his lap, give her a break), the bigger problems were:
a) The beds in Grandma's place were hard as a rock, even harder than the Garrison, for god's sake,
b)Grandma-and Matt, probably- would end up teasing her the next day, because god, she never had a boyfriend before (fake and real),
c)Mother was probably going to give her the goddamn sex talk again on Saturday.
"Uh, Pidge? You alive?" Lance waves his hand in her face, bopping her on the nose.
"Boop!"
Pidge does it back to him, unable to help the grin that appears on her face.
"Boop!"
And they hear the click of the camera again, the perpetrator this time being Shiro, pleased that the nightmarish drive was finally over.
Lance's face falls a little when Pidge leaps off him, eagerly grabbing the mat, holding her spoils, her large shirt fluttering as she laughs and runs to the beach.
"Okay gang," Shiro says, not bothering with the sunscreen for once, sun mostly covered by the clouds and tamed by the hour of day, protected by a well-positioned umbrella. "Now that we've indulged in teenage conversation, can we move on to actually finalising the fundraising?"
Lance and Pidge side-glance at each other multiple times, gradually growing more communicative each time.
LANCE: Dude, what did I tell you?
PIDGE: More like, what were you annoying me about!
LANCE: Still, same meaning
PIDGE: Any ideas?!
LANCE: I've got nothing.
PIDGE: ...fuck
LANCE: ...fuCK
PIDGE: We had a week and we did shit
LANCE: Sounds like us
PIDGE: True
"Are you guys going to talk out loud or do I need to continue interpreting your mental conversation?" Shiro asks, smiling with the innocence of a child at them. Pidge jumps.
"Ha...sure..." Pidge trails off, shooting Shiro her best smile, to no avail.
"So, Pidge," Shiro starts, polishing his arm as he talks. Pidge stares at it, for the millionth time admiring the workmanship of the arm. So well built, very different from many others. Pidge made a mental note to ask Shiro of its origins when he wasn't breathing down her back.
"Uh, yes?"
"Have you and Lance come up with a fundraising idea yet? Keith and Hunk showed me theirs three days ago," Shiro answers. Pidge huffs, side-eyeing Lance again.
PIDGE: THINK OF AN IDEA NOW I'M GOING TO DISTRACT SPACE DAD
LANCE: ON IT
"I bet that its a food truck," Pidge rolls her eyes, grinning at Hunk.
"Uh, no, actually, we're organising a fair," Hunk cuts in, eyes sparkling and fists placed over his heart. "So yeah, there are food trucks-"
"-ha!"
"But the focus is spread evenly between entertainment and food. So yeah, we were going to rent an area in the town 'cause its pretty cheap now, the place is like a freaking ghost town, yanno what I mean?"
LANCE: I NEED A BIT MORE TIME
PIDGE: on it
"Uh, entertainment?" Pidge questions, raising an eyebrow. "Like, I see where the food comes in, and I'm assuming Shay is helping out?" Pidge shoots a thumbs up at a nodding Hunk. "But entertainment?"
"Uh, we were going to have a couple of other friends (Pidge almost wants to question if anyone actually has 'other friends', but she keeps her mouth shut) man those cliche fair booths, like the cups and the ring-throwing and stuff," Hunk answers, "But we were going to also have a knife throwing show."
Slowly, every one turns to Keith, everyone looking apprehensive and terrified as ever.
"What?!"
"I'm not knife obsessed," Lance mocks, making air commas. Keith scowls.
"Just because I'll do one knife throwing demo doesn't mean-"
"Uh, yes it does."
"It does not!"
"Hey, Lance!" Shiro steps in, smiling that same pure face from earlier. "So what was your idea again?"
Lance smirks, jumping out and puffing his chest out with so much bravado and confidence that Pidge starts growing worried and genuinely terrified for what Lance was going to say. After all...he had the power to say anything, and she would likely have to go along with it for the sake of continuity. He swings out his arms, already starting to attract attention, the sun lighting up his tan skin.
"I present to you, dear members of Voltron...the cinematic and glorious experience that is the Mario Kart Championships!"
...oh shit.
Pidge can already imagine the state of her controllers.
"We hold this glorious tournament in the sanctity of the 'Ganes' room-"
Keith looks up at him with such a potent pissed off expression.
"Firstly, why my room! Secondly, what the fuck is-"
"Ah hush hush hush! I'm having a moment here!" Lance tuts, shoving a hand in Keith's face. Pidge hides her laughter.
"-where the most skilled and talented 'karters' compete in individual combat."
Shiro raises both eyebrows, both surprised at the interesting idea, but as a whole completely not surprised. Of course it was going to be gaming, coming from those two.
"And now, the best part. These players will be bet on by an audience, who place their money in betting pools to hopefully win big off the players. The winner takes-well, I would love to start singing Abba and say the winner takes it all, but we take a lot of it, the betters take some and the player gets...enough to keep him motivated," Lance shrugs. Pidge's eyes widen.
The idea was actually pretty fuckin' good.
Who knew something like that could come out of Lance's brain?
Maybe putting pressure on him worked best.
Pidge made a mental note to test that theory some time.
"So yeah, we hold it in Keith and Shiro's room because well, Iverson for the most part believes in you two pure angels," Lance says, probably being honest about Shiro but completely mocking Keith.
"Basically, we don't need to pay for anything other than providing snacks which we can sell at a profit," Lance explains, "And we make cash from them paying admission to get in the room, the players paying to enter, and quietly nicking a percentage from the betting pool."
"...that's actually a good idea. Good job, Pidge," Shiro pats Pidge on the back.
Lance freezes, eyes dimming and mouth pinching up a little, space between the eyebrows creasing. Pidge, almost imperceptibly moves away from Shiro.
"It was Lance's idea, actually," she shoots back, her words coming out a lot more cold than she had intended. Shiro immediately looks back up at Lance.
"Oh, god, sorry Lance," Shiro apologises. "That was...foolish of me to say."
"It's alright," Lance brushes it off.
To anyone else, it would have looked like Lance didn't really care, but this time, Pidge noticed it; everything about his face was still tensed up, disregarding the wide (and very fake) smile still on his face.
"So, Shiro, do we have the job or not?" Lance and Pidge both ask, almost at the same time.
"Can't we do it somewhere else, not my freaking room?!" Keith complains.
"You don't see Shiro complaining," Pidge points out.
"That's because Shiro's a nice person," Keith argues, "unlike me. Unlike him, I reiterate, I don't really like the idea of other people in my room!"
The whole team (minus Keith) side-eyes each other.
"You guys are different, okay?"
Lance shrugs.
"We can't hold it in Pidge's room or my room, because it's quickly becoming a hotspot for Iverson, and it's close to the teacher's lounge. Too easy to get caught," Lance reasons. "So if you can think of a place as convenient and free-of-charge as yours, then tell us later."
"Shiro?" Pidge asks. "Are we done yet?"
Shiro sighs, smiling at the group.
"Fine," he answers, and Pidge is already running to her peanut butter, "go have fun."
Hunk, Lance and Pidge run off to the shoreline, Keith staying behind and sitting with Shiro.
"Sometimes that age difference feels a lot bigger than it really is," Hunk says offhandedly. Pidge lays down another mat, closer to the shore, Lance's second favourite part of the beach. And of course, the minute she sits down, she starts shoving cookies in her mouth with no care for how much of a chipmunk she probably looked like.
"Aww, look, Hunk, Pidge is so chubby!" Lance pinches her cheeks, shaking his hand when Pidge smacks it away. Then, Hunk's eyes trail from Pidge to the food store on the horizon.
"Holy mother-is that a teriyaki stand?"
Hunk jumps up, bolting into the distance. The teriyaki stand is actually very, very far from where they were, still on the beach, but it was a large beach after all.
"His eyesight is truly remarkable," Pidge remarks, stunned. Lance shakes his head.
"No, that was his sense of smell."
"Ah."
Pidge turns to the shoreline, watching as the crystal-blue waves hit golden sand, breaking, the cycle going on forever and ever. For someone who usually doesn't appreciate the beach, Pidge sure does appreciate it now. Without the sun bearing down like a sauna, without an influx of noisy tourists and families, without anyone else but Lance around her...
It was pretty-pretty nice.
It's the first time that Pidge notices Lance's eyes are the same colour as the ocean before them.
"You know, back home, I loved the sea even more than I do now," Lance states, similarly enamoured with the waters and the rippling waves. Pidge makes a sound of disbelief in good humour, corners of her mouth tweaking upwards.
"Impossible."
Lance laughs, the sound of it as clear and entrancing as the ocean itself. Now that Pidge really thought about it, everything about Lance was like the sea, ocean, sands. From his sun-kissed hair and golden tanned skin, eyes as blue as the waters, physique built for swimming, everything really was sea-oriented about this guy. (Maybe that was why the guy dominated EVERY SINGLE beach course in Mario Kart)
"In Cuba, my family and I lived by the sea. And me, and my gazillions of sisters and brothers and cousins and nephews and nieces and aunties and uncles, we, would go swimming every day, kick up the sand, race and find the superior swimmer. Which, of course, was always me," Lance stabs his finger in his chest, much to Pidge's amusement.
"It just feels so strange."
Pidge, blinks, looking up. Lance's face is undeniably longing, and nostalgic, and sad, but there's something else that she can also place immediately, for it is something she feels too.
Homesickness.
"It's like my twenty person family suddenly shrunk, in-into you guys."
Pidge's heart beats a little faster.
Isn't that exactly the sentiment she'd mentally expressed, she thinks?
Maybe-maybe that had a little more in common than she'd originally thought.
"You'll get to meet my twenty person family too, and that's only one side," Pidge chuckles, Lance chuckling softly and rather half-heartedly along with her. Pidge tries to lie down, the advent of sunset also being the advent of her tiredness, finding not enough mat to lie on. Then Lance pats his lap, and Pidge smiles, placing her head there. She doesn't really notice all the little gestures he does after that, smiling down at her as she rants about cousin Lucia and how Matt was going to join them in being the homewrecker, playing with her hair, brushing back her bangs to see her face just that little bit better.
Neither knows how long they spend like that, watching the sun go down, the wind blowing by, the beating of the waves.