You say it's safer on your own

You'd rather sleep alone

Then grow to need me there.

But I hope now you can see

What my mom and dad showed me

I'm not going anywhere.

~Ben Platt "Run Away"

CHAPTER TWELVE

A Little Absolution

It was inevitable. Lance knew it was coming. But when the moment arrived, he almost wept.

He wandered into the cockpit, bored and craving the company of his favorite girl genius. Seeing that image, his image on the screen, he nearly tripped over his feet. It was that fucking photo—who'd taken it? He couldn't remember—of the ChemLore merc team, before New Lehi, when Elda was still alive.

Hearing him, Pidge turned. "Hey," she said, "tell me about…this."

I don't wanna. I don't want to lose you. Just got you back.

He walked over and toed the control that unfolded a retractable seat beside her. In his head, he constructed a lie, a pathetic evasion made of chewing gum and duct tape and then realized he was shit at lies. And this was Pidge. If there was any hope that they could be—could be what? —it couldn't be built on lies.

Every word burned his tongue, but he told her.

When he was done, she studied the image, silent for a time. "You know you might have been stealing from people like me, scientists, my life's work."

"I know."

In a very Pidge action, she grasped the earpiece on her glasses and moved them up her nose. "You should have come to us, your fellow Paladins. We would have helped."

"No. You couldn't help."

She broke from her scrutiny of the image and cut him with a sharp glare. "That's a load of hot, stinking quiznak and you know it."

"I blew you guys off, Pidge. Why you would help?"

"Because we loved you. Because we still do."

He flinched. "This wasn't about you guys. It was my family's problem."

"And we're not your family?" Her chunky, chestnut eyebrows climbed toward her scalp. "After everything we went through, we're, we're like more than family."

He broke eye contact, her statement pummeling him with guilt. "There's nothing you could have done."

"Shiro and Hunk would have lent you the money. And Keith has political influence. And I, I could have—"

"No!" he snarled, suddenly angrier than he wanted to be. No, not angry, exactly. More like frustrated, cornered by the truth in her words. He stood, hands fisted at his side. "I needed to do this myself."

She rose to her feet as well. "And that worked out well, didn't it?" Dark anger roiled in her brown eyes. Annoyed was often Pidge's default setting with him, but he'd never before faced her anger. They were closer in height now, but he was still taller. She struck him with her furious body language and he felt small in her presence.

"It worked out. I did what had to be done!" Old insecurities surfaced, then joined frustration and tore through him like a hurricane. "You wanna know why I didn't go to you? Because I didn't need to be reminded that I was the stupid, useless Paladin! I hadn't built a business, fed hungry refugees, or earned a doctorate from MIT. I was Lance McClain, goofball, the butt of every joke. Cargo pilot and farmer. Yeah, I know you thought I was stupid."

She took a step back, brown eyes wide as saucers. Guilt shadowed her face. The expression should have brought him satisfaction, but it didn't. He didn't want to hurt her. He just needed her to understand.

Shoulders drooping, she pulled off her glasses and set them on the cockpit's dashboard. She set the heels of her hands on her eyes for a moment. Her shoulders rose twice with deep breaths.

Lifting her chin defiantly, she stared out the window. "You weren't the only one trapped in a role. We all were like some kinda archetype. Do you think I wanted to be the quirky, tech genius who only talked to machines?" She faced him. "I know what they said in the feeds and the Net. 'Can't make friends, so she builds them.' 'Pidge Holt, ugly, little girl-boy with no tits.'"

That broke through the angry crust created by their fight. "Ugly? Pidge, you're beautiful."

"Stop it!" she snarled. "Stop flirting. Veronica says you flirt with everyone. And it's true. Do you hear yourself? You're even flirting with me."

"It's not flirting; it's the truth"

"Don't!" Her posture mirrored his, hands fisted, vibrating with frustration. "I may be socially awkward, but I don't need a complex algorithm to recognize bullshit."

"I've never lied to you!"

"Really?" Her eyebrows arched. She pointed at his scarred hand and made finger quotes. "'I met the wrong end of a pirate's blade'?"

"So?"

"You were shot while committing burglary. Not battling pirates. If it walks and quacks like a lie."

"What did you expect me to say? 'Hi, Pidge. We haven't seen each other in years, but let me tell you about the time I did some light breaking and entering'?" He lifted his hands, palms up, in defeat. "I lied. I'm sorry. But I'm not lying about…what I just said."

He swept a look up and down her body, realizing it was technically his flirty elevator stare, but whatever. "You're beautiful. Always were. Don't let anybody ever tell you otherwise." Somewhere out there, someone had run her down and he wanted to make them bleed.

The dark fury drained from her eyes, replaced by dumbstruck, deer-in-headlights. "No. Just…don't. Don't make me think it's poss-" She took another step back and collided—crunch!-with the wall.

Out of reflex, he started to ask if she was alright, but she spoke first. "I need…" She blew out a sigh. "To think. The helm's yours." She was gone before he could muster a reply.

The pilot's seat was still warm with her heat when he sat. He stared at the image, hating himself, wishing he could go back in time. And what? It's done. His parents were out from under their debt.

There were other ways to make money, Lance.

Not that kind of money.

ChemLore had come at him sideways, when he and his family were most vulnerable. The roof on the main farmhouse, where his parents lived, where he had grown up, was in need of expensive repairs, especially with the rainy season coming. The home's plumbing and sanitary systems were years behind badly needed upgrades. A situation more urgent since his brother and sister-in-law, thanks to the shit-show that was the Cuban economy, had both lost their jobs and moved their family back home. The farm's citrus crop, its most profitable, had taken a big hit thanks to an out-of-season hurricane. Money was tighter than a bull's ass in fly season.

Actually, the first predator drawn by scent of his family's lifeblood, the farm, was the deceptively named Banco Cubano, a multinational institution that operated under various names throughout the Caribbean and Central America. Their "No Hassle" loans came with volumes of fine print that could only be seen with an electron microscope and nasty surprises like periodic balloon payments. Lance's parents had been one balloon payment away from losing their home and livelihood.

Lance had been working in a ChemLore laboratory as a technician, supplementing his income piloting transports carrying high value payloads. When approached by Stephen Mancuso, who would become his team's "handler," Lance's initial response had been "No." First, because, despite all appearances, Lance wasn't stupid, and the morally dubious nature of the work was obvious. Second, because this first assignment took him onto a Galra-held planet, and his view of Galra remained mildly ambivalent. He wasn't a xenophobe; he genuinely believed in the capacity of all people to be good. But with so much of his youth having been shaped by Galra violence, the job had "PTSD trigger" written all over it.

The money, however, all those perfectly round zeros on the left side of the decimal point won out over any moral qualms.

He slumped in the pilot's seat, feeling like a knife has been shoved in his heart. A knife he had shoved there himself.

Pidge messed about with her code for a few hours, then scanned news feeds. She wiggled her nose, missing the weight of her glasses. She'd left them sitting on Athena's dash, but creeping back to retrieve them after angrily flouncing from the room, defeated the point of angrily flouncing.

As usual, she had no idea what to do.

Lance's revelation, though not exactly surprising—she'd expected as much—was disappointing. It made her angry and ashamed for him.

Yeah, well, you have New Aleppo.

What? That was self-defense.

Or was it murder? Slaughter?

Self-defense.

You don't even feel much remorse.

I'm a monster.

She would do anything for her family. Would you do that? Steal from your colleagues? Betray them?

I don't know.

But did Lance see scientists as colleagues? He used to tease her about her obsession with science. Typical cute, dumb boy bullying the smart kids.

He's got a degree. In science. He should know better.

But…he was used by ChemLore.

At lunch, Lance skulked into the room and made a couple of peanut butter sandwiches. He handed one to her, along with her glasses. "Thanks," she said without looking at him. He slunk back to the cockpit.

Glasses back on her face, she munched on the sandwich-a peace offering, she knew that much. Or maybe just Lance being Lance—kind.

"Yeah, I know you thought I was stupid."

Even with her tendency to be myopic about social cues, she got it. All the teasing; comments she figured were harmless, hurt him. Should she apologize? For being a bratty teen? Would it matter?

As for the other part of their exchange—"beautiful"—she won't touch that with laboratory tongs whilst wearing chainmail gloves.

Instead, she steered her mind back to the catalyst for their argument. What would she do for her family? To save my father and brother, I abandoned my own mother.

Just thinking about that pulled all the oxygen from her lungs. With a deep breath, she pulled up the folder where she'd kept her mom's files. She opened a message her mother had written a month before her death, but never sent.

Katie,

Two things. I'm writing them down to organize my thoughts.

First. I know everything about New Aleppo. I hate that you, Matt, and Sam withheld the details from me. Did you think I couldn't handle the truth? More importantly, did you think I'd reject you because you rid the world of a group of useless thugs? You and Matt are my heart. For you I'd burn down the world. I'll always love you, no matter what.

Second. I need to tell you about a dream I had. In it, I saw a man. He stood in the shadows and at first, I thought he was your father. Then his features resolved and it was Lance McClain. He was the skinny boy I remembered, but with those Altean marks on his face. He was looking at something on the ground, his face shell-shocked. Then you came out of the shadows, stood by him, and put your hand on his back. And I could feel the strong bond between you.

We Holts don't go in for superstitious mumbo-jumbo, but I awoke from that dream with the powerful conviction that you and Lance need each other. That conviction is still strong days after.

I know he broke your heart. As your mom, I'm more than a little angry with him for that.

But I'm convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that you two need closure. Talk to him. Go to Cuba, if you have to. I know he won't reject you this time.

For once my beautiful, strong and stubborn child, listen to your mother.

Love,

Mom

Finding that message, a month after her mother's passing, Katie still hated Lance too much to consider the idea. And why, she wondered, had her mother put the onus for reconciliation on her? "I know he won't reject you this time." She mulled that line over. There was something there; something about the timeframe; something she was missing. The answer eluded her and she went back to work.

After another hour of futile fiddling with the code, Katie rose and went into the cockpit. The spare seat was still unfolded. She sat.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey, yourself." Words, all the stuff she'd prepared to say, got bottlenecked in her throat and she struggled. Lance waited patiently.

"I'll never approve of what you did," she said. "Never."

"You shouldn't."

She studied his face, finding only devastating honesty in his blue eyes. "You said that ChemLore wasn't happy about you quitting the work. Have they tried to get you to do it again?"

He nodded. "They tried to lure me in again, last month. Insinuated I might not keep my legit job if I didn't do one more 'special project.' I told them if they played it that way, I'd go to the media, tell the press what ChemLore really hired me to do."

He rubbed the scar on his jaw. "I'd be burning myself, but ChemLore wouldn't like the optics. Hiring an ex-Paladin to do industrial espionage would at least temporarily hit their stock price." His mouth quirked in a goofy smile. "Word is I'm likeable. It's possible that people won't like that idea that ChemLore exploited my family's vulnerability to coerce me into doing their dirty work. Maybe."

"You are likeable," she said, rolling her eyes at the admission. "And, uh, not at all stupid. If you need a job, I can arrange something with PlentiHarvest."

"Thanks."

Katie licked her lips, took a breath and uttered the speech she'd prepared. "When my mom died, I learned something. Something obvious, but it took a funeral for me to realize." Removing her glasses, she nervously scrubbed them on her pants' leg. "Every moment…every moment spent with someone special is precious. And every second spent in anger, over something forgivable, is wasted. I can't delete all the stupid little fights I had with Mom, all the times I shut her out over something pointless. She didn't always understand, she wasn't perfect, but she was my mom and I'd give just about everything to get all that lost time back."

"Pidge-"

"What I'm trying to say is I expect better from you, from here on out. But I don't want to waste time being angry. I don't hate you, not for this and not for leaving us." She swallowed hard, barefaced honesty closing her throat. "I don't think I can hate you." True. He'd have to do something a Hel of a lot worse than corporate espionage to make her hate him. The boy she once knew and the man she thought he'd become, weren't capable of the kind of atrocities that deserved hate.

She continued. "Because no one is perfect. Especially me." She gathered herself and began to speak, telling him everything about New Aleppo, every gory detail, as much as she remembered anyway.

As he'd done following his confession, she lapsed in silence.

"It's not the same, Pidge," he said, "You were acting in self-defense. I was just…making money."

"I enjoyed it." She met his eyes. "I'd do it again, to protect Matt…," or you, "or Dad, or Yrta."

"I don't think that's a bad thing."

"I don't either and that's the problem."

"Pidge," he said, brushing a lock of hair off her face, "I can't offer you absolution and you can't offer any to me. All we can do is live and try not be so…flawed." Their faces were only a handspan apart.

She counted the faint freckles that patterned his cheeks like stars. "It's not about absolution. It's about me being…wrong inside."

His eyes swept over her face and back to her eyes. "I don't think there's anything at all wrong with you. Maybe…you need to forgive yourself."

As she watched, his expression softened and he broke eye contact, gaze moving down her face.

Heart suddenly hammering in her throat, she wished he'd just kiss her. Drawn by his magnetism, she leaned in toward him. Except Katie Holt, who feared nothing, was utterly terrified that he'd do just that—kiss her. When his eyes met hers again, they trapped her with flirty heat.

Breathless, she dragged her attention, kicking and screaming—Noooo! —down to his hands.

Funny how, now, as then, she could stare at his hands, exploring the shape of his knuckles, the length of his graceful fingers for hours. Maybe because no one notices when you stare at their hands. Or maybe because she thought his hands beautiful. "Did you ever get the nerves completely repaired?" she asked, voice husky.

Lifting his hand, he made a fist, sort of. "No. My pinkie and that side of my hand are still partially numb. I have mobility, but see," he demonstrated, "the pinkie doesn't bend unless my other fingers bend with it."

"I'll pay for it," she blurted. "Contrary to what this hopper might say, I'm not rich. But I can cover it. You need to get that fixed."

"I can't let you do that."

"Sure, you can. If you're gonna be my trusty lab assistant, you'll need two working hands."

He laughed, blue eyes sparkling and Katie felt her heart go all melty, the angst from their conversation draining slowly away. "Lab assistant. I like that. Do I get a white coat?"

She smirked, recalling a couple of high-larious images in his library. "Nah. You gotta earn the white coat. I was thinking something more along the lines of…a kilt." The comment and memory of the photos cost her a blush, but bought her the pleasure of Lance turning beat red, so…totally worth it.

Chapter Twelve. And these two crazy kids work out some of their anger.

Thanks you so very much for reading my story.