Written for the "surrender" drabble challenge on Hunk's Corner (thenewhrh dot weebly dotcom)
I close my eyes; focus on breathing steadily and evenly. The others berate Allura, pointing out the selfishness of her actions, the dangers of her impulsiveness. I try to tune them out. I need more time to think things through, to figure out how to handle the situation. Unfortunately, the princess has other ideas, pushes me to say something. I snap at her, my words sharper, more hurtful than I intended. She flees in tears, but I'm too angry to follow her and try to salvage the situation.
Hours later I sit before the control console keeping an eye on Lotor, trying to figure out what he's up to now, when I hear soft footsteps in the hallway. The air currents carry the slightest hint of her scent to me. I wait for her to approach, search for the right words to clear the air and undo the hurt I've caused her. But she turns and leaves, her footsteps growing fainter as she makes her way down the corridor.
Evening falls and I gather with the rest of the guys in the lounge, listen to them complain about Sven's continued absence, Allura's rash behavior, the very future of the team itself. I stand quietly, hearing them out, not commenting; simply letting them vent their frustrations. They need the safety and freedom to be honest, to process the situation on their own. But we're unaware that the princess is standing right outside the door eavesdropping on our conversation.
By the time the team finishes talking out their concerns, it's decided that Allura simply needs more guidance, more support, more training in team dynamics. We head to her room to clear the air, but we're too late. She's gone.
We race to Castle Control. Coran tells us that she's gone to surrender herself to Lotor. I blame myself. I shouldn't have said what I did to her, should have worked harder to keep things from escalating this far. I order the team to the lions, hoping we're in time to rescue the princess. Arriving, we find her already in Lotor's clutches. Within moments, we exit our ships; their keys resting in my palm. My slow approach to the prince is a signal to Coran; he sends smokescreen missiles. The keys fly through the air, landing in the outstretched hands of the other pilots. I race to Allura, urge her to seek safety in the Blue Lion. Fire races through my shoulder, Lotor's sword biting into my flesh. But he's too late, Allura's in her lion and we make short work of his robeast.
Foe thwarted, we head back to the castle. Lance and Allura insist on helping me make my way to the control room. I don't need the assistance, but don't stop them; the gesture refocuses the team, erases the resentment that had begun to take hold. And now, I sit enduring Nanny's ministrations, knowing that both my shoulder and the team are well on their way to a full recovery.