The mice come to see Pidge. They crawl up on her bed, sniff around for food she might have forgotten about, then tumble into her lap.

"Hi guys," she says, distracted by her computer. They chitter back. Chuchule runs up her arm and burrows in her hair. Platt is already starting to doze off, warm in the space between her knees and the blanket.

She pulls herself away from her work, realizing they're planning on staying. "What's up?"

The mice squeak and jostle each other. Platt grudgingly makes space for the other two, as Plachu pretends to be Lance, clueless; Chulatt, shy and awkward, is clearly her. The two act out a brief conversation, then Plachu and Chulatt freeze in place, like a paused video. Platt looks up at her expectantly.

"So this is about what happened with me and Lance the other day?" Pidge asks, frowning.

Plachu and Chulatt unfreeze, their charade finished, and nod.

Pidge takes a guess at what they're trying to ask. "Um, we're good. Nothing's changed."

Chuchule leaps off her head and joins the others. It reaches up and pats her knee, looking up at her with concern. It's kind of cute, although she's not sure why they care so much.

"Thanks, but I'm okay," Pidge says, gently patting the pink mouse on the head. "Really."

The mice seem satisfied. They all settle in next to Platt, making a nest for themselves in the blanket, and fall asleep.


She dreams of a jungle, of flowers slowly blooming on vines, of sunlight after heavy rains; centuries pass and the jungle dies, becoming a wasteland of petrified trees illuminated by a sunset so vivid it fills the whole sky. She dreams of the wind whistling through empty plains, of life continuing in a different form. It's sad, but beautiful. To grow is to change.

She wakes up with the Green Lion's presence lingering at the back of her mind, hears the scratchy echo of the wind on a distant planet. The string lights above her bed twinkle in a pale imitation of stars. It takes her a moment to adjust to how small her body is again.

"But I don't like change," Pidge says, frustrated.


Pidge is starting to resent the way her pulse still quickens when she sees Lance, the way her stomach flips and she starts to sweat when he smiles at her. She resents how even though there is literally no reason she should feel nervous around him, she still is. She resents the way every conversation they have has suddenly become strained and awkward, like she's forgotten how to talk, and ends up trying to avoid him as much as possible.

Voltron is the priority, Lance's voice echoes in her head. Just like finding her family is her priority. There's nothing wrong with that. It's sound logic. Hearing that should have made her feel better about everything.

But just because something is logical doesn't make it easy.

Part of her is starting to resent the way Lance looks at Allura; priorities aside, it's obvious he still admires her. She knows her reaction is completely irrational, because they all admire her, even Pidge. Allura is amazing, and it's not her fault that Pidge has feelings she can't seem to get rid of. Part of her resents the way Allura keeps giving her these pitying looks when she thinks Pidge isn't paying attention, like she feels sorry for her and how not-amazing she is. So she starts to avoid Allura, too.

She channels all her resentment and frustration into Voltron.

"Simmer down, Pidge," Hunk tells her privately over the video comms, alarmed. "I know you've got a lot on your mind, but-"

"I'm fine," she bites out, cutting the comms off. There's a knot in her stomach, but Voltron's shield holds firm.

Pidge wishes she could always be a shield, blocking everything that could hurt them. No one should ever have to feel like this.


Keith leaves. The Castle feels emptier without him, and so does Voltron.

It reminds Pidge of the empty planet in her dreams. The image drifts across their connection before she can pull it back, hitting them all with a wave of loneliness.

"Focus," Shiro reminds them.


Pidge is starting to suspect the space mice are checking on her. They go out of their way to say hi to her when they're running through the halls, they bring her little pieces of junk, broken gizmos she doesn't know what to do with and puts in a box. Every so often, they ask how she's doing. Sometimes, they ask about Lance.

Pidge finds herself overanalyzing their interactions, coming up with increasingly improbable hypotheses for their motives. Doodling her ideas along the margins of her notebook, she narrows them down to the most probable scenario: The mice want Allura to reciprocate Lance's crush and are only paying more attention to Pidge to make sure she doesn't get in their way.

The space caterpillars look at her notes, bemused. She's drawn Allura and Lance walking into the sunset hand-in-hand, the mice crying tears of happiness. The green one looks up at her and chirps questioningly.

"Well, what else am I supposed to think?" she says defensively. "The mice keep asking me if anything's changed with Lance, and now Green's talking about change? It's suspicious."

The space caterpillars seem to disapprove of this. They stare at her long enough that she caves and writes down a second hypothesis: The mice aren't actually doing anything, and Pidge is overthinking everything.

"I hope you know this is peer pressure," she grumbles. "Peer pressure doesn't make for good science."


Pidge finds her brother. As promised, Matt connects them with the rebels she'd been tracking. He patches the Castle directly through to one of their flagships so Allura can invite them to join the Voltron Coalition. They hang back to watch the negotiations proceed.

"That Princess Allura's really something, isn't she?" Matt says admiringly, watching her talk to Captain Olia, Shiro and Coran hovering protectively behind her.

Pidge really doesn't want to talk about Allura. She tugs on Matt's sleeve to draw his attention.

"I wanted to ask you about something you said before," Pidge says quietly. "You said our Galra finder was the best in 'this or any other reality'. When did you start being interested in other realities?"

Matt looks surprised. "I thought you knew. Dad's research–"

"Well, yeah, but I always thought his stuff was very… theoretical."

Matt shakes his head. "No. He was getting pretty close, but I don't know if he knew how close he actually was. Our guys used to work with this super genius who specialized in reality probability, I don't know if you've heard of him–"

"You mean Slav?" Pidge says, deadpan. "We've met."

"Right, I keep forgetting it's a small universe. So you know he's…"

"Crazy?"

"Precise," Matt specifies, but he grins. "Slav's done some fascinating stuff. According to his research, the same events play out in every single reality, just in different forms. If you've got the brainpower, you can calculate the probability of events to determine the odds you'd face in each reality. It kind of makes you wonder what it's all for, you know? Are we all fighting the same battles over and over, just with different faces?"

Pidge tries to envision other realities, other Voltrons fighting against Zarkon, versions of themselves as different as the other Shiro from their own. In another reality, it's possible that Katie Holt enrolled in the Garrison, never knowing about the Galra or Voltron, and lived a normal life on Earth. In another reality, she might have actually been born a boy. In another reality, she might not even exist.

She looks over at Lance and Hunk, whispering together just out of the frame of Allura's video feed. She isn't sure she wants to imagine a reality without them. Life might be easier if she'd never met Lance, but she's not sure it would be better.

"I don't know about other realities, but I think this Slav might actually get along with Dad," Pidge says finally, leaning into her brother. "If we ever find him."

"Don't give up yet, little sister," Matt says, putting his arm around her. "But I think you should let me handle looking for Dad for a while."

Pidge looks up at him, frowning. "But it'd be more efficient if we worked together."

"Your team needs you more than I do, Pidge," Matt says. "You've already given me a ton of new resources. It's my turn to help you. Just focus on Voltron."

Matt lets go of her, ruffles her hair. "Besides, the sooner you guys beat the Galra, the sooner we can go home and tell Mom all about it, right? Being out here is amazing and all but I kind of miss Earth."

Pidge grins up at him. "Yeah, okay."


On their way back to the Castle, the Green Lion makes it clear she wants to talk. They're already lagging behind the others. Reluctantly, Pidge slows down a little more.

"Look, I know you've been trying to tell me something, but I don't get what it is you want me to do," Pidge says petulantly.

She gets a sense of amusement from Green. It isn't doing, the Lion seems to say. Just seeing. Just feeling.

Pidge frowns. "I'm not very good at that, you know."

But she gives it a shot anyway, resting her hands on the controls. She closes her eyes, tries to focus.

The answer comes in images when she closes her eyes. The changing of the seasons. Sunlight, then shadow; happiness and sorrow. A flower blooming, another flower still closed. A feeling of loneliness, a feeling of gratitude to have seen a flower bloom at all.

Growing can mean heartbreak, too, the Lion says gently. Hidden away in nature, the Green Lion had had 10,000 years to learn about life. Loving something did not mean it loved you back, but that didn't mean you had to love it any less.

"Pidge?" Lance's voice crackles over the comms. "You comin'?"

Pidge opens her eyes, sees the cockpit looking just as it always does, but the knot in her stomach has loosened. She blinks back tears. "Yeah, I'll be right there."


Shiro is on the bridge, reviewing a simulation of their last skirmish on the screens. The Galra had used a attack formation they hadn't seen before, one Olia had reported facing more frequently in the outer reaches. They'll need to figure out a way to counter it before they suffer too many more losses. His eyes are getting tired, and there's a rising pressure in his head. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, Shiro," Hunk says, tray floating behind him. Shiro hadn't heard him come in. "You missed dinner again. I figured I'd find you here."

"Sorry, I guess I lost track of time," Shiro says sheepishly. He takes the bowl from the tray and tries a sporkful. "Thanks, Hunk. Delicious as always."

"Glad to hear it," Hunk says. He looks up at the screens, watches as the simulation reenacts their lions' maneuvers. The Green Lion throws itself in front of the Red Lion, shielding it from a Galra blast; Red lays down cover fire for Green to avoid a second hit.

"So, I heard about what happened with Pidge and Lance," Shiro says, watching the Lions interact. "That explained a lot. Seems like they're handling it pretty well, though."

Hunk shrugs. "Yeah, well, they aren't exactly handling anything. More like avoiding the topic entirely. But whatever keeps the team together, right?"

"That's true," Shiro agrees. He eats another sporkful of food, chewing thoughtfully. "I know it's been hard for Pidge, but crushes aren't a bad thing. It's good to remember there's more to life than this fight. You're all still kids."

Hunk frowns. "We're teammates. That kind of makes us equals, you know."

"Yes and no," Shiro says. "It's not a matter of rank. Someday, you'll get what I mean."

"If you say so," Hunk says, clearly unconvinced. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

Shiro watches Galra ships cut through the spaces between stars in unpredictable patterns, wishing he had more intel, remembering a time when it was still acceptable for the universe to be vast and unknown. Back then, he could spend hours talking about nothing at all with his friends, dreaming of when it would finally be his turn to go into space. When he was a cadet, the most pressure he'd faced was risking detention for holding hands in the hallway.

His team gave up their chance for that kind of life to fight this war. He'd do anything to give them what he knew; give them a little peace, a little time. But the days when the stars still looked friendly and the world seemed peaceful are getting harder and harder to remember. Sometimes, Shiro feels like those days happened to someone else.

Coran joins him on the bridge. On screen, the Lions move into position, preparing to form Voltron. They watch as dotted lines converge together and spread out as Voltron decimates the simulated Galra fighters. The number of rebel ships they'd lost makes it a very narrow victory.

"Do we really stand a chance here, Coran?" Shiro asks quietly.

Coran smiles at him, eyes crinkling. "Fortune favors the brave, which all the Paladins certainly are."

"That's not exactly the answer I was hoping for."

"I know," Coran says. "But it's the honest one. The fate of the universe depends on our success. We'll do the best we can and see what happens."