Anger was not Lance's forte, so when Coran reported the disappearance of one of the ship's shuttles, Lance stood, politely--if a bit out of breath--excused himself from the breakfast table, locked himself in his bedroom, and screamed.

Permeable walls be damned, he yelled and cursed and ranted until his voice grew hoarse and cracked; so when his voice gave out and the blood still roared in his ears, Lance punched the wall. Again. And again. And again, until his fingers trembled and his knuckles bled.

Hunk caught him in the infirmary after that, bandaging his bruised hands, but between the worry in Hunk's voice and the bile churning in Lance's stomach, the only response to Hunk' s "Are you ok, man? What happened?" was a barked and biting "I'm fine!" before Lance was shoving his way out of the med bay to retreat into his room.

Anger was a restless, abrasive itch that gnawed at the corner of Lance's every thought, that kept him wide awake and tangled in his sheets with an irksome amount of excess pent up energy.

In the end, he gave up on sleep with a low grunt, trudging out of bed to grab his bayard.

By the time the sixth bot fell to its knees, Lance's chest heaved as he fought for breath, sweat poured down his brow, his legs trembled from exhaustion, and his arms screamed in protest as they held his bayard to his shoulder, but the tight spring coiled in his gut constricting kept him standing.

He just wanted to sleep.

"Begin simulation." Every muscle tensed, sending a fresh wave of pain up his spine, as another bot droped the ceiling, staff in hand.

His next steps stumbled, and as the metal staff whizzed by his ear, Lance bit back a curse, aimed his rifle at the bot's chest and pulled the trigger; the bot dropped, but its metal limbs freaked as it began to straighten itself.

"Lance? What are you doing?"

He whirled to find Pidge leaning against the doorway, eyes bleary behind her glasses. He opened his mouth, but the only sound that tumbled out was a pained groan as the bot smacked him square across the back and clear across the arena.

"End simulation!" Pidge raced over to his side as Lance struggled to lift himself from the floor, but Lance batted her hands away with a growl, still on his knees. "Get off! Get off me!" She reached to steady him as he wavered, but drew her hands back when he scowled. "What the hell do you want?"

Podge recoiled. "I--I thought I heard the bots going and I came to see what. . . and you're never here so late so--"

"I'm fine!" There was no stopping the roar in his voice or the tremor of his fists. "I'm fine. All I want is to is train in peace! Just leave me the fuck alone!"

Shit. Lance slapped a hand over his mouth too late. Shit shit shit. Pidge stepped back, eyes wide and wet as her face flushed red. She was out the door before Lance could stop her; lead in his bones weighing him down, he didn't reach her door until well after she'd locked it.

"Pidge," he croaked, sliding down her door in tired defeat, "Pidge, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Her door remained resolutely shut, but the quiet sniffles from just beyond twisted his insides with enough guilt to flush away the anger as he pleaded for her to open the door.

The next thing Lance was acutely aware of was the gentle swish of a door opening and the sharp smack to the back of his head as he tumbled backwards through it. Pidge loomed over him, the devious smirk on her face not quite able to disguise the puffiness of her eyes.

Lance fumbled to his feet, catching her in a rib shattering embrace against his chest. "I'm so sorry! I am so so so sorry. I never meant to yell at you. I was angry and tired, and I know that's no excuse for what I said, but I really am so sorry, Pidge." She was too short to nuzzle his face in her hair, so he settled for squeezing the rest of the air out of her lungs. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Her arms snaked their way around his middle after a few breaths, effectively burying herself against his chest. "Yeah," She mumbled into the fabric of his shirt. "Yeah, I forgive you."

The wave relief didn't quite soothe the sting of guilt, but it was a start. They stood there, wrappes in each other's arms until the ticks flew by, until Pidge laughed softly, "Wanna go splatter Hunk with food goo while he's sleeping?"

"Hell yeah."