In the ten years since she had lost everyone and everything in her world, Katie decided that in order to deal with her grief and in an effort to keep living on somehow, she should say goodbye to herself. Gradually over the first three years, Katie Holt became Pidge Gunderson; relying on an old nickname Matt had bestowed upon her for a reason Katie had never really known, she became someone who threw herself into her work and hardly bothered with human companionship. Machines became her joy, her life. It was difficult to get by however; not everyone in the villages beyond the capital wanted a woman to work on their machines, still very much under the impression that the fairer sex would be incapable of comprehending the complexity of their precious machinery.

Even when Pidge would prove them wrong however, fixing whatever appliance that was broken, improving upon them at times, the door was still slammed in her face of her eyes so much as gleamed with a little too much pride. Sometimes she was even struck in the face in a so-called effort to wipe the smug look from her face. In fact, Pidge now had a scar on her full lower lip from it being split open so many times.

Really, the male ego was frightfully delicate.

The male libido was also frightening…in a much more real way.

Pidge was leered at quite often and not merely by men she either passed by on the streets or in taverns whenever she could scrape together enough for a meal. Married men tried making a move on her as well and she quickly realized that for several of her customers, their "broken" machines just happened to be located in their bedrooms. Pidge had shattered her first nose not too long after the first attempt after her innocence. Pidge had felt a grim satisfaction upon executing the action, but she fled immediately after; fearing for her virtue, her life, and for her sanity.

She was a child…well, she was twelve at this point and if Pidge was honest with herself, this was when girls were considered for marriage provided their dowries were large enough or if their families were well-connected. If Katie didn't have the parents she'd had, who cared more about her education and growth as a person, she more than likely would have started being paraded around for bridal prospects. Still, for men to try to get after her for their baser desires…it was abhorrent.

In an attempt to make her less of an enticement, Pidge changed the way she looked. She hacked off most of her hair so it fell to her shoulders, wore pants and shirts in favor of dresses and made certain to look as dirty and inelegant as possible—not that she was ever very elegant to begin with, admittedly. The last part was the glasses. She no longer wore the pair she had worn as Katie. Instead the spectacles sitting upon her small, freckled nose once belonged to Matt. They were a spare pair she had once stolen when life was still bright. She hadn't dared to remove the ones he wore the night he…her heart always bottomed out at those thoughts and hot, fresh tears flooded her eyes.

The change in her appearance worked for the most part…but every once in awhile she was still harassed by a man who wanted her for physical pleasures that she had no desire to take part in. She was armed. It was a dagger she had snatched from Keith's room and slipped into her sleeve before any looters could notice her. She didn't use it often, it was more of a bittersweet source of comfort over anything else, but once in awhile she did whip it out whenever she feared for her life, though she kept the gilded handle completely concealed by wrapping tight, dirty rags around it so it wouldn't become an object of keen interest.

Over time, though she was loath to admit it at first, Pidge found that she was quite lonely. Perhaps she couldn't completely stay away from the presence of other humans when she wasn't working like she had first adamantly believed. In the middle of one winter, perhaps during the fourth year after the fall of Altea, Pidge met Lance.

She had been walking back toward her little make-shift workshop and house, a conglomeration of wood, brick and randomly sized sheets of metal held together by mostly prayers and sheer willpower. Muttering angrily as she stepped through the snow drifts because once again, she had been denied payment for being a "sassy, smart mouthed little girl who could benefit from missing a meal because it would make her focus on being less of an imp." She thought all the time. Between the nightmares and the memories and planning all kinds of creations; Pidge practically did nothing but think.

Well, whatever. She had been denied food before, this was nothing new. No princes would come to her rescue this time however…

Pidge shook her head hard. No. There was no time for such memories. No time to deal with tears and misery. Not in this icy weather and all she wanted was the warmth of her house. Rounding the corner, Pidge heard a voice singing. It was high, silver and oh so sad. Of course she would end up tripping over the legs belonging to the voice. Pidge let out a small shriek as she came dangerously close to crashing onto the ground. Abruptly the singing stopped as the owner of the legs she tripped over sprang up and immediately steadied her, spouting apologies in a thick Spanish accent.

"I-it's okay," Pidge managed as she regained her balance. She quickly realized she was speaking to a chest and raised her gaze to meet wild, panicked blue eyes belonging to a teenage boy perhaps not that much older than her. Keeping her voice as soothing as she possibly could, Pidge told him, "it's alright. I tripped, but I'm fine. It's no big concern."

"You're sure?" Her savior asked in a voice that was cracked with nerves.

Pidge managed to infuse some warmth into a small grin despite the wariness that she felt. It was beginning to feel like this boy had been abused in the past for simple mistakes. "I'm sure," she confirmed with a nod. "I'm fine."

Taking a step back, Pidge scrutinized the boy with a quick look. Her smile faded as she allowed her concern to show. He had a tall frame that was far too thin that shook from the cold. His jacket was riddled with more holes than patches while his trousers appeared to be way too short for his russet legs. "Please tell me you weren't actually sitting out here with your legs lying in the snow like that."

Of course he was as his sheepish smile gave him away. "Right then," Pidge decided. "You're coming home with me." Her tone brooked no room for an argument.

He did try to argue however. "What?!" He squeaked. "Oh no. No no no no…I-I couldn't…I'd be a burden to your family!"

Pidge, who had already begun towing the boy back to her place—she should probably have asked for his name first—froze. She subtly tightened her grasp around his hand, though it was more of a way of grounding herself in calm rather than a show of anger. After a minute, she finally replied, "nope, just me."

"Oh…" the boy answered and Pidge couldn't quite shake the guilt she felt settling into her stomach at the disappointment in his voice. It was clear that he craved a family and probably just as deeply as she did, she just couldn't provide him with one. Sighing, Pidge pushed aside her sadness and kept marching forward until she reached her house, shoving the door open and planting the boy in front of her little stove that kept a merry fire going with logs made of metal that contained flammable fluids all kept on a timer so it would never burn out at an inconvenient time or get too hot and burn down her workshop.

It was a workshop…it was a house…Pidge doubted she would ever call it home.

The boy practically collapsed in front of the stove, sighing loudly and happily as he held up his hands to the warmth. "Thank you, thank you so much!"

Pidge bit back a chuckle as she shut the door and began to bustle about, gathering up blankets as she went. She picked up three, wrapping two of them around his shoulders and draping the third over his legs. He immediately snuggled into them and when he looked at her gratefully, she saw that his light blue eyes were much brighter causing her to feel a bit warmer.

"It's nothing," she deflected as she walked to her tiny kitchen. "I'll see what I can find for food," she called over her shoulder. "It won't be anything grand. I don't get paid often for my work."

"What? Why not?"

Pidge snorted. "Because I'm a girl."

The boy gasped loudly, his eyes widening as he put a hand to his chest, though Pidge could see none of this. "Whaaat? You are?!"

Pidge burst out laughing. "Oh good. You can be sarcastic. We're going to get along fine." She grinned wider when she heard the boy giggle in return. "By the way, do you have a name?"

"Sure do!" Then his voice turned sly. "Do you want to know what it is?"

"Well, I see we've thawed out your personality," Pidge deadpanned. "A name would be helpful, if you don't mind."

The boy leaped to his feet and bowed grandly, wisely making a sweeping motion with the side of the blanket that wasn't facing the stove.

"My name is Lance McClain, my lady and you are?"Pidge huffed out another laugh.

"Oh, I'm no lady," she brushed off, "But my name is Pidge Gunderson."

She turned back to assessing what little food she had. A small loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese both dangerously close to molding. There was also an apple and orange that was a little withered, but this would all have to do. At least she had clean water. Stifling a sigh, Pidge arranged all of the food on one of her least chipped plates and filled two cups with water, placing all of her dishes on a wooden tray. She took the tray over to Lance.

"It's not much," she admitted, more to the piteous meal than to Lance. "But it's all I've got."

"I can't eat all of your food!" he cried, alarmed that she would make such a sacrifice.

Pidge shrugged. "You're not. We're sharing."

"But you said you don't have much money," Lance pointed out. "And I'm afraid I don't have any to pay you back with."

"I said I don't have much money," she agreed. "I didn't say that I didn't have any. Besides, I have a client who needs my help tomorrow and I know she pays fairly. We'll be fine."

"We?"

"You didn't think I was going to let you back into the cold now, did you?" Pidge asked, actually looking at Lance.

"W-well…I can't stay…I'd be imposing!" Lance protested.

"Do you have any sort of skill aside from singing?"

Lance shrugged, his cheeks reddening as he looked anywhere but at her.

"I can sew," he said quietly.

"So that's something," Pidge encouraged. She looked at his legs and asked with a smirk, "Did you practice with materials from your own clothes?"

Lance stuck out his tongue at her. "No, I went through a sudden growth spurt." He finally reached for the apple and began to nibble on it.

"Lucky," Pidge sighed as she once again internally cursed her short limbs. She looked around her workshop.

"I think I have some bits of cloth you can use to sew together. Make some quilts, curtains…shirts…" she shrugged again. "Whatever you like. I can also set aside some money for you to have newer material." Seeing that Lance was about to fight her again, Pidge cut him off.

"Until you make your own money, that is. Then you can buy your own materials and maybe some food once in awhile, deal?"

"Deal," Lance replied with a firm nod. He put down his half-eaten apple, hesitated for a minute and then asked, "C-can I hug you?"

Pidge, whom had been taking a sip of her water, carefully swallowed so as to not choke. It had been a long time since she had hugged anyone, always making certain to project some kind of fierceness as a front, a silent way of snapping, "Keep away from me!" And here was Lance, easily knocking down those walls as she found herself answering, "Sure, I'd like that."

Lance hugged her and Pidge nearly cried at the tight embrace, hearing and feeling his sigh of relief as he was able to hug someone and she wriggled her arms free to hug him back. Oh, they were both so ridiculously lonely. Lance had to stay. He would never be another Matt…or another Keith. She highly doubted that he could fill the void in her heart left by Takashi. But he would be Lance and as far as she was concerned, Lance was enough.

They pulled away and finished their small meal. While Pidge was washing the few dishes that they used, Lance was wandering idly around her workshop, gently poking and lifting creations of hers that he was fairly certain wouldn't break under her touch, murmuring to himself as he went. He reached a small, hexagonal box that was silver and mirrored. Lifting it, he noted that it had a bit of weight to it and twinkled ever so slightly as he cupped the box with both hands.

"This is pretty," he called out to Pidge.

Pausing in her washing, Pidge turned to look at what her new friend was talking about. Her eyes widened and she gave a squeak of alarm as she suddenly dropped the plate she had been scrubbing and darted over to him, gently taking the box out of his hands, placing it almost reverently back onto the shelf he had been exploring. "Don't touch this one, please."

"I guess it's really special?" Lance asked sheepishly.

Pidge exhaled heavily as she did her best to keep her tears at bay. "Yeah, it's really precious to me."

"I heard it make a sound," Lance began tentatively. "Is it a music box?"

Pidge nodded as she finally spun around to look at him. "Mhm. It is indeed a music box. But it needs a key and I don't have it," her voice grew quiet. "It was lost years ago."

She could have made another key sure. Easily, in fact. But what interest did Pidge have in listening to her own voice? She heard herself all the time as she talked aloud, muttering as she worked and tinkered. As for the queen's song…it was not her song to listen to. She had no right.

"It's not even mine," she finally confessed. "Not really. I had made it for a friend of mine a little over four years ago." Her voice grew thick with tears. "He died not long after receiving it."

Actually, Pidge wasn't really even one hundred percent certain that Takashi had indeed died. She learned that Keith managed to escape that horrible, horrible night. But Takashi's status was truly unofficial as to whether or not he was alive or not. Rumors flew about Altea left and right that the elder prince was indeed alive; there was just no concrete knowledge as to where he was. And honestly there was no concrete conclusion that Takashi was alive.

For some reason, the pain would fester even more in Pidge's heart to know that he was alive out there somewhere. If he was, how could she possibly find and face him? For years until this day she'd always blamed herself for the ruin of the Imperial City and all of those lives lost. How she'd managed to survive that night, she hadn't a clue; but apparently someone somewhere was looking out for her and she always fervently wished that they had been looking out for someone else.

It was easier to think that Takashi was dead.

"I'm sorry," Lance whispered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and Pidge gave him a weak smile.

"It's in the past," she replied. "Please don't ask me how he died. I'm not ready to talk about it."

"Okay," Lance agreed. He looked about him for a way to change the subject when his eyes alighted upon a pile of scrap fabric of varying sizes, mostly green, blue, and purple in color.

"Can I use this for my first project to start making my own money?"

Pidge leaned around him and subtly wiped at her eyes, looking at what Lance had found and grinned. "Sure! What do you think you could make with it?"

Lance stepped away from her and moved toward the fabric; picking up the pieces and carefully assessing their quality. A few had some stains and holes, but they were still workable. Pidge had a fairly sizeable pile for him to work with.

"I think I can make a couple of kids' blankets out of this," he finally said. He poked at a hole, "my mom actually taught me how to sew flowers and vines, so I can make this look a little nicer."

Pidge looked at him curiously. "It's extremely rare to hear about a boy learning to sew. Did your mom not have daughters or did she hope that you would become a doctor and this was to help you closing wounds after surgery?"

Lance grinned, slight mischief entering his bright blue eyes.

"Oh, I have sisters alright," he told her. "I have five. I also have three brothers," Lance added with a widening grin. But Pidge's expression failed to deliver the shock he had been hoping for. She would have surely produced such an expression had her mind not snagged on a word Lance had used twice. Have. He'd said, 'I have sisters' and 'I have brothers'. That was in the present tense. Why had he been found on the street then? Did he get in trouble at home and run away? Was it too overcrowded in his house and he was forced to find his own way to help support his family?

She wasn't entirely certain if she should dismiss the latter notion while the former was easily disregarded. She remembered the disappointment in his voice when she had informed him that there was no family awaiting her at her house; and the tightness in his embrace that bled of his loneliness.

Lance seemed to catch on to the fact that her mind was working overtime with possibilities and offered her a wry grin. "Let's not discuss my tragic backstory just yet, okay?"

"Okay," Pidge agreed. Fair was only fair after all. She surprised herself with a large yawn that she hastened to cover, amber eyes darting to the window and noting the darkness that blanketed the sky. "Wow, I can't believe how late it is already."

"It was sunset when we met," Lance pointed out.

"It was?" Pidge asked in slight shock. She then blushed. "I don't always pay much attention to the time."

"I can keep an eye out on the time for you," Lance offered. "When you get really dedicated to a project, that is."

"Thanks," Pidge replied gratefully. She then looked about her house, trying to think of what to do for a bed for Lance. Hers was definitely not wide enough for two people and he was so much taller than her, she doubted his thin, lanky body would even fit the length.

Luckily for her, Lance had already moved toward her couch which did seem like it would fit his growing body and started clearing it free of her tools, sketchbooks and materials.

"I can sleep here!" He declared.

Pidge hesitated, feeling bad that she didn't have anything better to offer her new friend. "Are you sure?"

"Yup!" Lance replied cheerily, flopping out onto the couch. He let out a loud, happy sigh when he landed, stretching his muscles contentedly. "This is really comfy, Pidge." He looked at her. "Are you sure you don't want to sleep here instead?"

"Well, I have fallen asleep there several times before," she easily admitted. "But I think if I gave you my bed, not one of your limbs would fit there entirely even if you curled up."

Lance sat up and looked to where she was pointing at her bed. He laughed at its size. "Yup, you'd be right about that, Pidge." He flopped back down onto the couch, grabbing a blanket and snuggled into the cushions. "G'night!"

Smiling and shaking her head slightly at his antics, Pidge whispered a "good night" and headed for her own bed, falling asleep almost immediately, the day's tensions seeping from her muscles.

It was a mere three hours later that Pidge learned that Lance suffered from terrible nightmares just as she did.

As she groggily opened her eyes and looked about her, she first she thought the screams were a part of her own subconscious. Then she quickly realized that she didn't scream in Spanish. Fully alert, Pidge leaped from her bed and darted over to where Lance was sleeping, looking on in dismay as he thrashed and writhed in agony, his sweaty face tight with grief. "Mama…" he moaned. "Papa! Papa por favor! Esperame! Esperame! Ya voy!" Pidge swore her heart split in two when he whispered the last part. "Don't leave me…"

Taking a breath, Pidge carefully reached for Lance's hand and gently squeezed it. She wracked her memory for what little Spanish she gleaned from some of the palace staff. "Lance…Lance…Necesito tu despertar, okay?"

"Mama…" Lance whimpered and Pidge winced.

"It's Pidge, Lance. You're here in Altea, you're living in my little house, remember? You liked the couch? The bed is way too small for you."

"The bed is way too small for…" Lance began to parrot, then something must've clicked in his brain because he slowly opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a minute before looking over at Pidge.

She gave him a weak smile and gently squeezed his hand. "Hi."

"Hi," he rasped.

She helped him sit up, wrapping his blanket more tightly around his shoulders before moving away. "I'm going to get you a glass of water. You're probably dehydrated."

Lance nodded, not looking at her.

She was in and out of the kitchen in less than a minute, carrying a full cup of cold water. She handed it to Lance who took it and downed more than half of it with greedy gulps. Pidge sat down next to Lance. She took his hand in hers once again and used her thumb to stroke the back of his knuckles in a slow rhythm. It was a technique her own mother had used when either she or Matt would become overly excited or hysterical about something. She waited for his breathing to regulate and for his sniffles to lessen before speaking.

"So, is it tragic backstory time?" Lance hung his head and sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so." He hummed for a minute, wondering where to begin.

"Well, I am not from Altea," he finally said. "I'm from Spain. My family and I were here on an extended vacation visiting some relatives. Aunts, uncles, and cousins." He managed to crack a grin, "There were so many of us, we were spread out all over the place. I think we took up at least five houses, maybe six." He took a breath, continuing.

"It was so loud and colorful and exciting nearly every single day. Then…the siege happened. We were actually at one of the village celebrations; an open air event. I don't think I've seen so many stalls in one place, even at home. And there was so much food! But still I wondered if it would be enough for everyone. Music had filled the air and nearly every villager was dancing." Lance grew sober.

"Then the palace was under attack and Lord Zarkon's subordinates invaded the villages, just attacking and killing senselessly. My family ran, trying to find a boat that could take them at least out of Altea before finding a way to get back to Spain. One of my little sisters had tripped that night, and I remember picking her up and getting her out of the way of the stampede. My father came and grabbed my sister, taking my hand.

"All seemed to be well, I was so sure we'd make it out of there…but the panic got worse and the crowds surged, separating me from my family. I called and I called for them…but they were too far away to hear me and I've been stuck here ever since without any sort of way for getting back."

Pidge was frowning and when she spoke; her voice was thick with tears.

"But didn't you say you were visiting a lot of family? Surely someone would have found you."

Lance grimaced. "Whoever didn't escape died that night…and if they survived…" he shrugged. "They didn't want anything to do with me."

"Seriously?" Pidge whispered, her heart breaking for the boy sitting next to her.

Lance slumped. "Yeah."

Pidge couldn't help it. She burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Lance," she cried, burying her face into her hands. "I'm so so sorry!"

Startled at Pidge's outburst, Lance pulled her to him on reflex. "What're you sorry for?"

She shook with sobs. "It's all my fault," she choked. He frowned at her words.

"What's your fault? My family separating? The siege?" He scoffed. She was being a bit dramatic in his opinion. "Yeah right, Pidge."

"It's true!" she cried wildly. "I-if wasn't for me, your family would be whole and you'd be at home with them. If it wasn't for me, Altea wouldn't be suffering!" Her breath hitched, catching in her throat, and suddenly she was having a hard time breathing.

Lance's eyes widened in alarm; quickly realizing that Pidge was having a panic attack.

"Pidge!" He cried, "Hey! Hey, it's okay, Pidge! It's okay!" He caught her shoulders and gently swung her to look at him. "Eyes on me, Pidge," he instructed in as calm a voice as he could muster. When she obeyed, he continued, "It's okay…well, maybe not really…but it will be! You just gotta breathe right now, okay? Can you do that for me, Pidge? Take a nice, deep breath."

Pidge struggled to obey, the air not wanting to get out of her throat. She tried again and again; concentrating hard until her breathing matched Lance's who let out a sigh of relief when she managed to conquer her panic attack. He pulled her into another hug and stroked her short hair. After a moment he finally asked, "I guess it's time for you to tell your tragic backstory?"

She nodded and pulled away, shifting to face the window in the farthest wall. She stared out at the surprisingly clear night for a long moment before finally speaking.

"My name isn't Pidge," she said, her voice carrying years of exhaustion. "That's just a nickname from my brother. My real name is Katherine Holt. My friends and family called me Katie and I used to live in the palace."

Lance sucked in a breath at that, in slight awe that Pidge used to live in the palace. It also meant that she was right in the line of fire during the siege. He wondered what miracle it was that helped her survive. Still, he said nothing. This was Pidge's story to tell and he'd do his best not to interrupt.

"My parents were two of the palace's best architects and engineers," Pidge began. "My older brother Matt and I helped them practically all the time and if we weren't needed because a project has too many dangerous aspects; we would either be left to our own devices to create or go play. It was kind of a routine life, but it was still exciting and great. But then I did something stupid."

Pidge sighed loudly before allowing her body to slump completely in total defeat. Lance waited patiently for her to continue. "I befriended the Princes Takashi and Keith."

Despite his silent vow to not say anything, Lance couldn't help the loud gasp that escaped him.

"You befriended the princes?!" He asked incredulously. "H-how? How did you get to be that lucky? Oh my goodness, you met the princes. What were they like?"

A weak chuckle fell from Pidge's lips.

"They were the best friends a person could ever hope to have. They were feisty and adventurous dreamers who wanted to do the very best they could for Altea. As for how I met them…" Another, slightly more genuine laugh came from Pidge, "It was an accident, really. The princes could be very competitive with one another when it came to games and hide and seek was one of the most competitive.

"Prince Keith had been trying to outrun his brother when he stumbled down a staircase. I happened to be on that particular staircase returning from an errand for my mom. I tried getting out of Prince Keith's way, but he still knocked me down anyway. Prince Takashi helped me up and once he was certain we were both okay, invited me to come play with them."

She paused for a second, and then shook her head.

"Actually, it was Prince Keith who invited me to play with them. Prince Takashi did second the invitation though. At first, I wanted to refuse. I was a commoner child of palace staff and they were the princes. I didn't think we were even meant to be seen together. The princes didn't care about the difference in status and I learned not to really care either. We had a good, strong friendship and it seemed like we would be left alone about it…" her voice grew dark.

"But then Lord Zarkon discovered my bond with the princes and he adamantly disapproved. He believed that everyone should be within their own ranks; the royalty with other royalty and the servants with the servants. No mixing of any kind." Pidge took a deep, shaky breath. "He'd beat me often and strategically so my injuries could be easily covered by clothing. And he ensured that I missed meals. Both of the princes discovered the abuse I was enduring and got their uncle, the Grand Vizier Alfor involved. He quickly banished Zarkon and we all thought we were safe to continue living our lives the way we did.

"Needless to say we were very wrong."

Pidge hung her head once more and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Lance didn't say anything for a long moment. He wasn't angry with Pidge, he knew that for certain. When he first met her, he figured she was younger than him and when he took into consideration that the fall of the Shirogane reign was over four years ago, that meant that Pidge was definitely a child when everything went to Hell. Still, he had to know at least one thing…

"How old were you, when you met the princes?"

Pidge jumped slightly at Lance's question. It was the last thing she was expecting to hear from him. "What?"

Lance's expression was kind. "How old were you when you met Prince Takashi and Prince Keith?"

"I was six." She took a breath. "I was six when I befriended a pair of princes and I was six when a noble decided that he would put me in my place."

"Then how could you possibly think that any of this is or was your fault?" Lance asked. "You were six. A child. A little girl. The princes were little boys who found a new friend and if their parents never got upset with them for befriending you, then Lord Zarkon should have kept his nose out of matters. He was banished for hurting a child and for thinking himself above his station. Above humanity, really."

Lance wrapped an arm around Pidge's shoulders, resting his head atop of hers.

"If it makes you feel any better at all, I remember my abuela telling us that he was a no good pig and that lots of people, both nobility and commoners alike despised him for years." He nudged her gently. "So really, you were the unfortunate catalyst for this entire disaster because it's so easy to blame a child, but it's not your fault. I don't blame you for anything and I hope that one day you're able to stop blaming yourself too."

Pidge didn't respond at first, save for wrapping her arms around Lance in return. She squeezed him as tightly as she dared while she fought back tears. "Thanks, Lance," she croaked.

"Anytime, Pidge."

The pair stayed like that for a moment before Lance yawned loudly. "Oof, I dunno about you, Pidge, but I think I'm ready to try that whole sleep thing, again."

Pidge nodded and carefully extracted herself from her friend's side. Lance shivered without Pidge's warmth against him and wrapped his blanket about his shoulders once more before flopping unceremoniously back onto the couch. He stared up at the ceiling. "Not sure how easy it'll be to fall asleep after that conversation though."

Pidge grinned. "Some bedtime stories, huh?"

He laughed. "You can say that again!"

Pidge knelt beside him and began to gently stroke his hair. Lance immediately became pliable under her touch and he sighed happily, snuggling into the couch. "How'd you know to do that?" He whispered.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course."

"Prince Takashi used to suffer from terrible nightmares," Pidge explained as she continued her ministrations. "It wasn't a well-known fact to many, but I knew. As often as I could, which, actually was often…I'd sneak into his room and sing him to sleep while stroking his hair just like this."

"Can you sing me to sleep?" Lance asked sleepily. "Mi mama used to do it almost all the time."

"Sure," Pidge agreed before once again wracking her memory for what little Spanish she knew. She came across a snatch of a lullaby she once overheard a laundress singing to her own son. "Duermete mi nino, y duermete ya, que si no te duermes…"

Lance couldn't help it, he laughed. It wasn't mean spirited, it was just…"Pidge are singing me a lullaby or are you threatening me?"

She blinked, then frowned at the question. "What do you mean?"

"The song you were singing," Lance clarified. "It is used as a lullaby, but mostly to scare children to make them go to bed. You know, el Coco? It's usually from other Spanish countries though. "

Pidge scowled. "I didn't know that!" she huffed.

"Well now you do," Lance smirked.

Rolling her eyes, Pidge reached for an unoccupied pillow and gently whacked Lance with it. "Go to sleep!"

"Did you used to beat the prince with pillows too?" Lance asked in between cackles.

Turning from where she had been striding back to her own bed, Pidge looked back at her friend, fire in her amber eyes. "Yes."

He didn't need to know it was a lie, she told herself as she flung herself back onto her bed.

There were no more nightmares that night.