.

.

There's no clear-cut medical explanation for it — she's been to every available bio-professor and chem-professor and every highly trained scientist her Dad recommended for testing.

Ever since the Incident.

Pidge spent a lot of her childhood with one friend. A little girl who lived in the far neighborhood, who rode on a pastel-pink bike and who always had a smear of dirt somewhere on her face, like her chin or temple or right below her jawline. She called Pidge "Katelyn" and then "Lyn" and giggled on the swings, reaching out to hold Pidge's hand next to her.

Nobody ever talked about being in love with other girls. Pidge assumed it was as natural as breathing the air. During a warm, spring afternoon, her crush kissed her on the lips.

It had been nothing more than a peck. But… Pidge had felt incredible.

Alive.

That's why she didn't understand why her best friend went limp into the grass, turning blue, and with no heartbeat to be found when Pidge's little hands pressed over the other girl's dress.

Pidge understands now what happened — she died.

And then was revived, when a sobbing, hysterical Pidge leaned over and pressed her mouth over hers. Her friend woke up with a dazed, confused look, her bright blue eyes widening when Pidge sobs again and kisses her a third time out of relief, and then never blinking again.

On the coroner's report, they deemed it a sudden trauma-related brain aneurysm due to a clot. Pidge discovered it in some of the medical files she hacked into before turning eleven.

She wanted to believe that it was a coincidence, but… …

Her mom and dad had been kissed by her, by Pidge's own bare lips on their cheeks and mouths. She licked her brother to piss him off while they fought as kids. Nothing happened to him.

Were they immune?

.

.

Dwelling on it changes nothing.

Matt and her Dad vanish into space, and Pidge focuses on infiltrating the garrison to locate them through the secret and heavily guarded tech. Becoming Pidge. It's where she meets Hunk and Lance — the overconfident, flirty goofball. The guy always vying for her attention.

As now a paladin of Voltron, and with her family reunited, Pidge resides herself to not having everything she could ever want as a young adult. Even with Lance in the equation.

She doesn't know how it happened (the smiling, too-long gazes) or when exactly (the planet of Bavfora rains for hours, and Pidge finds herself wrapped snugly in Lance's arms when they're stranded outside their broken, visibly smoking escape-pod, drenched in their armor and shivering, nuzzling her forehead against his half-opened mouth through their wet, fogged-up visors).

What matters is never letting the past repeat itself.

.

.

"Huh!" Lance examines his garbage-replica in the corner of Pidge's bedroom, poking it and rubbing his chin musingly. "You know, you could have done more with the hair—"

Pidge glances up from one of her computers she's typing rapid-fire on. The blue alien-puffball tangled in her hair chatters softly. She sends Lance a faint scowl, itching her armpit through Lance's grey-and-blue shirt draping her. "Could you focus on anything other than yourself for two ticks?"

Lance pffts! and smiles broadly, turning his head.

The green alien-puffball on Lance's naked, brown shoulder warbles in alarm and begins to crawl.

Somebody's a grumpy Elderbug today," he teases, setting the critter down gently, flopping onto Pidge's sheets. Once they're hip-to-hip, Pidge feels Lance's hand slowly, purposely shutting her computer-screen, losing her distraction.

Instead of reopening it and continuing her work, or nudging Lance away, Pidge moves herself closer instinctively. She exhales and meets his eyes, touching her fingertips over the side of Lance's face.

Lance's own hands shift over her arms, rubbing them comfortingly, grazing up over Pidge's shoulders.

Her gut twists and leaps up her torso. Pidge backs up fearfully when Lance's mouth chases after hers earnestly. "Sorry, forgot," he murmurs sheepishly, letting go and watching her in concern. Pidge feels her body go into a cold-sweat anxiety, lowering her eyes, wiping her lips frantically with Lance's shirt-sleeve. "Don't think I've ever been with anyone who didn't wanna be kissed."

"You've never asked me about that…"

"I just figured you had something weird against kissing, or whatever it is," Lance explains, shrugging and not appearing offended. "Maybe you needed time. It's not like it's a big deal."

Pidge's mouth scrunches up.

"If I kiss anyone, something bad happens," she mumbles under her breath, drawing her legs up to her front and slinging her arms tightly around her knees. Pidge drops her head forward, relaxing slightly when Lance's hand cups the back of her neck, giving a brief, affectionate squeeze.

"Definitely a mood-killer."

"I'm being serious."

"Yeah, I know," Lance points out, tilting his head and attempting to get a moist-eyed Pidge to look at him. "You got the seriously serious Pidge face on." She sniffles, nodding and accepting a long, consoling hug, burrowing into Lance's chest. "We've been careful—now we'll just be extra careful."

It's pretty and empty words, Pidge thinks silently, deep down. But they're all they have.

.

.

"Lance, I need you to redirect the energy flow modulator into the terminal—"

"Uuuuh," he exclaims loudly, brows furrowed, "which is?"

Pidge spins around on her wheely-chair, frowning. The lights have been dimmed in the energy arc generator room, in preparation for disrupting the power-core to Allura's castleship for a short intermission of time for experimentation. "The terminal in front of you," she deadpans.

"I got that, Pidge," Lance replies exasperated, huffing. He gestures with the big, ion-padded tubing wrapped in his black armor-gloved hands. "There's four lines here to chose from."

She spins back around, tapping on her keys and re-checking her file.

"Give me a dobosh."

Lance sighs behind her, mumbling, as Coran enters the vicinity, rosy-cheeked and merry, resting his hands on his hips and grinning. "Greeting, young paladins! What a glorious—"

"—kinda busy, Coran," Pidge interrupts monotonously, Matt's glasses reflecting Altean-blue.

"Oh, don't you mind me! I'm searching for an item I left behind here yesterday—ha!—" Coran happily crows out in victory, snatching his mustache-comb off the nearby table. "There's the little naughty rofgarg! What a devil are you! Oh my, is that a particle accelerator to one of the energy flow modulators I overheard about? I've been wanting to see how it runs!"

In the corner of Pidge's eye, she sees Coran's index fingers grip over the switch.

"Wait!"

Lance's scream of pure agony echoes in her ears, and turns her body colder than her anxiety has ever done. Pidge quickly flips off the switch and races to him, shouting Lance's name, dropping beside him and witnessing the pulsing of amber-colored energy roll off Lance's body in waves.

He convulses uncontrollably and bleeds out of his mouth, staring up rigidly and apprehensively at Pidge. This isn't dying — this is suffering at a gruesome and so-slow pace, trapped within yourself.

"No," Pidge murmurs out is completely disbelief, gazing at Coran who appears just as helpless as she is. "No, we have to do something right now—Coran—" He says nothing, with his palms pressed flat to the generator's dirty floor, watching Lance's eyes consumed in that formidable amber light. Pidge's teeth dig into the tip of her tongue harshly. "CORAN!" she screams out, enraged, terrified.

"I'm not sure…"

Pidge's diaphragm tightens, pulling a gasping, high-pitched cry out of her.

She can't.

Do.

This.

But has to.

Pidge's lips smush down against Lance's warm, pliant mouth, holding there, until she yanks herself away. The energy overtaking Lance bursts out of him, evaporating into nothingness.

He dies, with not even a whimper, those blue eyes glossing over.

Pidge finally allows herself to cry, quivering and heaving for air, throwing Matt's glasses. She slams her hands against her own face as if punishing herself. Coran scrambles for the other man's wrist to confirm his vitals. She ignores him, grabbing Lance's head and kissing him over, and over and over. Her hot, wet and snot-covered mouth brushing his.

Lance wakes violently, choking on his own throat full of blood and Pidge's saliva.

"Did… you just kiss me?"

A hysterical, low laugh. Pidge shakes her head, inhaling and rolling Lance onto his side.

"I killed you…" she admits, croaking. "Then I kissed you."

"… Oh."

He grins boyishly-wide, placing his hand over hers cradling Lance's face, and she's never felt more…

Alive.

.

.


Voltron isn't mine. Hi guys! I'm so HYPE to share this fic for Voltron Rarepair Flash Bang! My artist Mori is incredible and so sweet and extremely talented. Please check them out on AO3 under Enikawa_Moriko and on Tumblr under dyinginjapanese! I've directly linked their Tumblr art post right here and also on the picture itself here! Direct click will lead you right to them. Please reblog and like and be sure to leave a nice comment! They worked so hard and I'm still speechless by their art! I wanna thank my friend Mel too for being my last minute beta lmao so that means any mistakes you see from this point are a result of ME, not her.

Hopefully my fellow Plance shippers get to see this and read this, and thanks for coming in! Any thoughts/comments are very much encouraged! Thank you!