An apology, in advance, to anyone who gets a great many e-mails as a result of my reformatting - there are a few stories I published on here as 'one-shots', mainly because I had no idea how to use this site, and I decided to divide them into chapters. ;) Thanks for your patience! :)

The blue paladin sat on the observatory deck, staring out at the stars. The ship was quiet at this hour of the night . . . or what passed for night in this far corner of the universe. Lance sighed, resting his head on his knees. He had removed his helmet, but still wore the rest of his armor. They'd finished their mission hours ago, but he had gone to the training deck to work off some excess energy, and then he'd simply been too tired to bother changing.

Lance glanced up, moving only his eyes. The rest of his face remained smashed against the cool armor. Okay, if he was being truthful with himself, he had actually gone to the training deck to work off a fair amount of annoyance and exasperation. The mission had been quick, easy – they should have had no trouble at all. In fact, they had only formed Voltron at all because it was quicker. The five lions could have taken down the two Galra cruisers easily enough.

Voltron, using the sword, had smashed through the ships' defenses and taken them down within five minutes. Trouble was, they should have been able to take them down within a much shorter time span – say, a minute and a half.

Lance didn't know if the others had sensed it, but there had been a lot of friction in their bond today. He had been able to sense Hunk just as always, and they worked together seamlessly, which was good, seeing as how Voltron really depended on them for balance and speed.

Shiro had hesitated three separate times in as many minutes over relatively simple things. . . which ship to attack first; whether the sword or the shoulder cannon should be used; whether or not to have Pidge scan for possible distress signals from the Galra – which had become almost standard procedure up until today; and when they had won the battle, he seemed reluctant to disband Voltron.

A thought struck Lance, and he sat up a little straighter. Perhaps Shiro hadn't wanted to disband because he realized something was wrong with their bond, and he wanted to figure it out. Maybe he didn't realize that he was a big part of the whole 'wrongness' thing.

Then there was Keith. He had been unusually aggressive today, at one point nearly throwing Voltron off-balance as he struck with the sword. Part of this, Lance was sure, was the fact that Keith had sensed that something was wrong with Shiro. . . but that wasn't all of it. Lance frowned thoughtfully, trying to piece together what had gone on.

The two cruisers had been prison ships – empty of prisoners at the moment, but still prison ships. Hey, maybe that's what had gone on. The ships, coupled with the fact that Lance knew Shiro hadn't been sleeping well, could account for Shiro's distraction and edginess. Keith would have been sensitive about it, too, seeing as how he was always aggressive towards anything that bothered Shiro. Yep, that totally made sense. And besides, Keith had been pretty grumpy the past few days, which probably meant that he was brooding over . . . whatever. It was always something.

And Pidge? Ooh, prison ships – same problem with her. She probably had thought of nothing but her dad and Matt during the battle . . . Which would explain why she had been so worried about whether or not the ships were actually free of prisoners, even after Coran had reassured her five different times. Her piloting had been erratic, and when Lance approached her after the mission, she had snapped something about being really busy.

Lance got to his feet, annoyance surging in his stomach. Those three needed help, and he should check with Hunk to see if he was feeling all right – he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that yet.

The paladins hadn't really talked in a few days now. Pidge had been working feverishly at her computer stuff, except during training times or when she was forced to eat. Lance didn't even know if she'd been sleeping more than a few hours a night. Definitely have to check up on her. He should have done it ages ago.

Keith, well . . . Hunk might have some ideas. Shiro? Again, talk to Hunk. He was usually better at helping people out. Maybe he could give Lance some hints.

With a determined nod, Lance marched to the doorway of the observatory and walked right into Coran.
The advisor raised an eyebrow. "Lance? What are you doing here?"

"Uh. I was thinking . . .?"

Coran hopped from the doorstep to the floor, looking as neat and dapper in the middle of the night as he did first thing in the morning. "Ah. Well, this is an excellent place to think. I was on my way to check our position. Care to join me?"

Lance trailed after him and caught sight of his helmet. "Oops, forgot this. Hey, Coran. Do you –?"

He hesitated. Coran pressed a few buttons and brought up the three-dimensional star chart. "Yes, paladin?"

"I was just wondering if you'd noticed anything . . . strange . . . about anyone lately. Y'know, unusual."

"Mmm – can't say I have." Coran made a few notes on his datapad and added, "Then again, I haven't had an actual conversation with any of you paladins for several days. Everyone's been so busy. Is something wrong?"

Lance shrugged. "I don't know." He followed Coran from the room. "I just feel like everyone's a little on edge lately."

Coran pulled at his mustache. "Hmm. There have been rather a lot of missions lately. I'll speak to Allura about it. See if we can take a few quintants off." "Thanks!" said Lance, brightening considerably. "And I'll see what else I can do to help. 'Night, Coran!"

"I suggest that you get a bit of sleep," Coran called after him.

Lance glanced over his shoulder. "That's what I meant. 'Good night.' You know, like – have a good night? Pleasant dreams? Sleep well?"

"Please do!" Coran replied with a friendly wave, as he turned into another corridor. Lance gave up.

The next morning found Lance barging into the kitchen, whistling loudly. Hunk looked up from the counter, where he was mixing a bowl of bright pink batter. Lance lifted his left eyebrow impossibly high.

"Hunk, what is that?"

Hunk lifted a large spoonful and let it drip back into the bowl. "Uh, I was trying to make pancakes, and they turned out this weird color, but I think they'll still taste good. Wanna try some?"

Lance perched on the edge of the counter. "Sure." He pulled a plate of cooked pancakes closer to himself and grabbed one. "Got any syrup?"

Hunk sighed. "No, but I wish I did. None of the planets we've gone to have anything like it. Well, nothing that tastes like maple, anyway. We've got jam. . ."

He shoved a jar over, and Lance slathered it liberally over his pancake. He pursed his lips, staring at it. A neon pink pancake with bright green jam. Yep, his life was officially weird, no use denying it.

Hunk watched him anxiously as he took a tiny nibble and chewed, eyes screwed up in concentration. Then Lance's face cleared, and he inserted the entire pancake in his mouth.

"The'th'r'ood."

Hunk frowned, confused, and Lance swallowed loudly. "These are good," he repeated, then grimaced and pounded his chest a couple of times. The pancake had taken up residence right below his collarbone. "Ugh."

Completely unsurprised, Hunk handed him a glass of water and went back to frying pancakes. "Good. I wanted to make something more traditional – you know, like we had back home."

Lance shook his head. "Buddy, these pancakes are 'way better than those cardboard circles the Garrison served."

Hunk looked horrified. "No, no, I meant like what we used to have at home."

"Yeah . . ." Lance sobered for a moment before perking back up. "Anyway, they taste just right. No one'll be able to tell the difference, once they get past the color, anyway."

The kitchen was silent except for the sizzling of Hunk's griddle. Lance quietly snitched bits of pancake until Hunk pulled the plate away.

"Leave some for breakfast," he ordered.

"Fine. Hey, Hunk – I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. Voltron . . ."

"You noticed too, huh?" Hunk scratched his head. "I guess everyone's just a little out of it."

"Well, yeah, and normally that wouldn't be a huge deal," said Lance, propping his elbows against the counter behind him. "But we were lucky it was only a couple of ships yesterday. We can't risk that kind of – of disunity when we're on missions."

He walked his fingers toward the plate, and Hunk slapped them away as he asked, "But how do we fix it?"
Lance pouted. "I was kind of hoping you had some ideas. If I'd paid attention to this earlier, like I should have, it wouldn't have gotten this bad. I mean, Shiro normally mentions anything we do wrong, and he didn't even notice this time!" He slumped a little. "I guess I'm really not doing a good job at supporting the team."

Hunk stirred the batter for a moment before replying. "Uh, Lance – we're all supposed to support the team. It's not all on you, you know."

Lance turned to face him. "Hunk, you and I form the legs of Voltron. We're all about support and balance! I mean, you did great yesterday, but we were like the only ones working together."

He paused, watching with a detached eye as a pancake near the edge of the griddle blackened and burned. The two paladins stood motionless in the kitchen, their minds almost visibly clicking, until the scent of smoke filled the air.

Lance pointed, and Hunk yelped at the sight of the pancake.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He chipped the disaster off of the griddle.

Lance continued to stare into space. Prison ships upset Shiro and Pidge; an upset Shiro made an upset Keith; upset head and arms of Voltron was an overall bad idea; therefore, it needed to be fixed. But they couldn't just avoid prison ships altogether – and he couldn't just order the others to not be upset near them. Then again, they'd been doing so much better . . . which meant that something else was wrong as well . . . The events of the past few days blurred into his head, and he realized, all of a sudden, that the problem was actually simple to fix. Everyone was simply overworked and tired.

"I've got an idea!" he yelled. Startled, Hunk spun to face him, and three pancakes went sailing from the plate in his hand. Lance leapt into the air and caught one between his teeth. The other two landed neatly in his outstretched hands, and he frisbeed them on the pile.

"Listen, Hunk," he said excitedly, leaning forward. "As the awesome balance and support of the team, you and I will be fixing this. Got it? Listen, I'll tell you what to do before the others show up. . ."