It takes one round of tears, two jags of allergies resulting from a lack of human diplomatic immunity to an alien plant, and the Pepper Incident for Pidge to remember she'd once wanted to make space tissues.

It ends up being more complicated than she expected.

She'd never thought about it on Earth, but the whole process of making tissues really was wasteful. Up in space, there was almost no use for paper, and definitely no need to take trees and turn them into soft, disposable squares. She tries it with one of the Olkari trees just in case, thinking things like fibers and supple at it through her headpiece, and ends up with a smooth and slightly flexible piece of wood. Ryner tells her it's perfect for polishing metal, so she saves it for Keith.

Sprawled out on her bunk, Pidge thinks despairingly about the sewing classes she'd suffered through at school; remembers endless complaints about how antiquated sewing was as she struggled with embroidering handkerchiefs for homework, her mom bringing her a box of bandaids for her bleeding hands. Wonders where to even find fabric, let alone needles or thread.

"There must be something in the Castle," she tells the space caterpillars, thinking out loud. "I'm sure Coran would know, but he's been so busy. I hate to bother him about something so small…"

The caterpillars stare at her, as if to question who, exactly, she thinks she's kidding.

Pidge makes a face. They have a point. Being busy is not exactly why she doesn't want to ask Coran. She's just looking for an excuse to smooth things over.


She raises her hand and quickly knocks before scanning her hand on the door pad. Allura looks up at the sound of the doors opening.

"Pidge! I wasn't expecting you," she says in surprise, turning towards the door. She stands up from her vanity. Her hair is down, but she's still dressed in her battle suit.

"Sorry to bother you, Allura, but can we talk?" Pidge says.

"Of course," Allura says, motioning for her to enter. "You don't have to stand in the doorway. Come in, please."

Pidge shuffles in, the doors to Allura's room gliding shut behind her. She twists her hands in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. "So I know this is random, but I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about Altean clothes; how they're made; stuff like that."

Allura blinks. "Well, I'm no expert, but I can try to explain. You've noticed the paladin armor adjusts itself to your individual measurements?"

"Yeah. I'm guessing that has something to do with the type of metal they're made from? Whatever it is seems to have strangely elastic properties."

"Elastic?" Allura repeats, nose wrinkling in confusion.

"They stretch," Pidge explains.

Allura nods. "I see. While the paladin armor is designed to be uniquely responsive, the premise is drawn from standard Altean wear. Altean clothes are made to individual measurements, but must be flexible enough to allow the wearer to change shape with comfort. They're temporarily adaptable to almost any size. Here, come look at this."

She crosses over to the storage unit in the wall, pulling out her formal dress to demonstrate. Running her hands down the sides of the skirt causes the fabric to seal together as if invisibly hemmed until it's become narrower. The skirt shakes out easily into its normal shape. Allura then tugs the skirt wide, the folds pulling apart to reveal more fabric.

"It's relatively simple alchemy," Allura says, shaking the dress back out.

"Can I?" Pidge asks, motioning to the dress, wide eyed. Allura lets her experiment, pushing the skirt up to make it shorter, then pulling it down to make it longer; tugging one sleeve longer, pulling another sleeve wide. Each time, a quick shake restores the dress to its original state. "That's incredible! I wish we had technology like that. It'd make hand-me-downs way more useful," she sighs.

"Hand-me-downs?" Allura echoes curiously, putting the dress back into storage.

Pidge tugs at the hem of her own sweatshirt. "That's just what we call clothes that used to be someone else's. For example, this used to be my brother's. Now it's mine. It's a little big on me, though."

She looks up at Allura. "So I get that they're designed to accommodate Altean' shapeshifting abilities, but how are clothes actually made? Where did the material come from?"

Allura looks faintly apologetic, clasping her hands in front of her. "I'm afraid I don't know very much about textiles, though I suppose it's a moot point as most of our former trading partners fell to the Galra. As for the process, Altean clothes were usually made with a garment machine."

"Are there any garment machines in the Castle?" Pidge asks.

"Ye-es," Allura hedges, trailing off. "I think Coran might…"

Pidge's face falls. She tries not to show her disappointment. Maybe talking to Allura was not such a good idea after all. "Right–"

"… not remember, so I can show you now, if you'd like," Allura says swiftly.

That's a surprise. "That'd be great. I mean, if you've got time," Pidge says, eyebrows raised.

Allura shrugs lightly. "I only came up here to fix my hair, and it can wait. Come on, the craft workshop is downstairs."


The trip down to the lower levels is mostly silent, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallways. The Castle was built for many more people. They still barely use any of it.

"So, Pidge, why the sudden interest in clothes?" Allura asks suddenly. She winces, pushing a strand of hair behind one ear. "Sorry, I don't mean to imply that you weren't interested before, I'm sure you were. Why ask about Altean clothes now?"

"Well, it's kind of a long story," Pidge says. "I wanted to make something for Hunk. Originally, I was going to make tissues, but it looks like a handkerchief would be much more feasible, but I didn't know what to make it with. That's why I came to talk to you. Now I'm thinking it might be cool to make a handkerchief with the same properties as your dress. It'd be like a never ending tissue, but eventually you'd have to wash it or it'd just be really gross."

Allura nods slowly. Pidge braces herself for her reaction, but it's the kind of slow nod that indicates actual interest, rather than an acknowledgement that you've officially lost it. "What an interesting idea. I can't say I've ever seen a handkerchief designed that way."

"Would've been handy for the Pepper Incident. Not that I'm hoping for a repeat anytime soon," Pidge says.

Allura's face darkens. "Ugh, please don't remind me. I swear, that smell still haunts my dreams." She exaggeratedly imitates the choked expression they'd all had once they'd discovered that the pepper substitute Hunk had found was actually mildly explosive if exposed to heat, at which point it then smelled nothing like pepper. Cleaning it up had taken forever.

"You have to admit, it did spice things up," Pidge says, straight-faced.

Allura thinks. "Even so, I don't think I'll ever warm up to it," she says.

She grins at her. Pidge grins back.


The craft workshop is dusty. The garment machine takes up most of the back wall. An unfinished jacket sticks out the side of it, as if someone simply left their project for later, not knowing that they would never come back for it. It's kind of sad.

"Well, this is it," Allura says. Pidge watches as she pushes a button on the side, then another two on the front control panel. Nothing happens. She frowns, then pushes the same buttons in reverse order. Nothing happens, again.

"Maybe we should try something else?" Pidge suggests.

Allura turns to face her. "I've never actually used this before," she says uncomfortably. "Alchemy was never my strong suit, not like my father. I never thought of learning how these things actually worked. I always took them for granted. And I never even thought about making my own clothes, people just always did things like that for me…"

Pidge abruptly realizes she's never seen this side of Allura before. She's seen her singlehandedly fight off an entire Galra squadron. She's seen the way Allura's speeches give people with no hope the courage to stand and fight another day. But she's never seen Allura look embarrassed.

That's definitely something she can relate to.

"It's okay," Pidge says. "We learned to sew in school, but I wasn't any good at it. I mean, I was really bad. Nothing I made ever came out right. I finally got Matt to trade homework with me so I wouldn't fail the class. He did all my embroidery for me and I finished his robotics project."

She smiles shyly at her. "I've never made my own clothes either, but I am pretty good with computers, so I think I can figure out how to make this thing work. But I'd still like your help, if you don't mind sticking around."

Allura smiles back, clearly relieved. "Of course. I'll help as much as I can."

Eventually, they get the garment machine to turn on. The first thing they do is cancel the 10,000 year old order for a uniform no one would ever need, managing to tug the half-finished jacket out and carefully putting it to the side.

As it turns out, the garment machine is more like a 3-D printer than a sewing machine, connecting fabric together with no seams, no loose threads, no labels. Allura translates the Altean words in the machine's programming that Pidge doesn't recognize, things like the units of measurement specific to textiles, or the pattern names in the machine's internal directory.

Pidge finally figures out how to create a new pattern for a simple, expanding square, adding a pleated fold. They discover an option to stamp symbols onto the fabric in what's apparently the Altean version of embroidery and add it to the pattern. Their first attempt at a handkerchief unfolds four times, like a string of paper dolls, but the choice of fabric is all wrong. It feels rough like harsh wool. Their second attempt unfolds six times, but the fabric comes out like gauze.

Their final attempt at a handkerchief unfolds an impressive fifteen times in Voltron's colors, using white fabric instead of black. A rendering of the Yellow Lion is stamped neatly on the bottom corner of the first layer.

Pidge pulls the handkerchiefs open, then pushes them together into what looks like a single piece of fabric. She flips through them like the pages of a book, marveling as yellow runs into blue runs into green runs into red and white. She definitely doesn't understand how Altean alchemy works, but the results are pretty amazing.

"You did it!" Allura says, peering over her shoulder. "I think it turned out quite nicely."

"We did it," Pidge corrects, bumping shoulders with Allura. "And it's perfect. All it took was a little teamwork."

She holds her hand up for a high five. Allura slaps it, grinning.


They part ways at Allura's door.

"Thanks again for helping me out," Pidge says, Hunk's present tucked safely in her pocket.

"Thank you for asking me for help," Allura says frankly. She hesitates a moment. "Listen, I think I owe you an apology. Lately, I've felt like there's been some tension between us. I didn't know what to do about it… I'm afraid I've been avoiding you. I'm sorry."

Pidge shakes her head, feeling a pang of guilt. "No, I'm sorry. It's my fault, I'm the one who made things weird. I've been overthinking things recently, and I kind of took it out on you. I haven't been a very good friend." She scuffs her foot against the floor, feeling sheepish. "I'd like to change that, though. Maybe we could hang out more often?"

Before she can register what's happening, Allura hugs her. Pidge hugs back, a little awkwardly. She'd forgotten hugging was a thing girls did when they were friends. The guys weren't usually so demonstrative.

"I'd like that," Allura says, beaming at her.


Pidge finds Hunk in the lounge. He's talking to Lance, who's lying on the floor with his legs propped up on the couch.

"Heads up, Hunk," she says, tossing her gift to him. "Happy unbirthday."

Hunk grins, catching it. "You remembered!" he says. He starts unwrapping the ribbon she'd tied around it to make it look fancy.

Lance squints at it, then looks up at her, surprised. "You sew, Pidge?"

Pidge smirks down at him. "I have many hidden talents," she says loftily. She sits next to Hunk as he gets his first real look at the handkerchief.

"The Yellow Lion!" he says happily, noticing the corner. "I hope you have like five more of these with you because I'm definitely gonna need 'em." He dramatically pretends to wipe tears of happiness away with the handkerchief, a pleased look crossing his face as it brushes his face. "Ooh. Soft."

"Got you covered, buddy," she says in a passing impression of Lance, finger guns and all. "Open it up."

Puzzled, Hunk does, gaping as another full handkerchief appears. He holds up two handkerchiefs. Lance scrambles to sit upright to get a better view.

"Whoa," Hunk says, awed. "Did you make me a magic handkerchief? I'm pretty sure this is actual magic."

"Do it again!" Lance interrupts, watching closely.

Hunk obliges. Soon, he's holding out a string of handkerchiefs, all different colors, looking exactly like a magician. He figures out how to fold the strand back into a neat pile before Pidge can explain it. "This is amazing! Thank you, seriously."

"Man, you should try to hide a dove in there, or something," Lance says.

"Not feasible," Pidge says. "Even alchemy has its limits."

Hunk whips his head up, staring at her. "You made this with alchemy?"

After bluffing her way through answering his first few questions, Pidge finally admits her understanding of alchemy was entirely based on her and Allura pushing buttons to see what would happen. They end up discussing the theory behind the process as Lance quietly steals the handkerchief out of Hunk's hands, dropping it open like a Jacob's Ladder toy, again and again.


Pidge's bayard is chiming. It sounds like a phone ringing. It shouldn't be possible. She's not even wearing her armor, she thinks in bewilderment, holding the bayard at arm's length.

The chiming stops.

"Pidge?" Lance says tinnily, and she realizes he's speaking through the bayard. It takes all her self control not to throw it away.

"… Lance?"

"This line is secure, right?" Lance says.

"Yes?" Pidge says, then frowns. "You're calling my bayard. How are you calling my bayard?"

"Doesn't matter," Lance says, in the too-confident way that means he probably doesn't know. "Just get to the kitchen. Engage full stealth mode."

The call cuts out. Baffled, she dismisses the bayard and heads to the kitchen.

Nothing seems unusual there. Hunk is starting to prep for dinner. His back is to the doorway. He's wearing an apron and peeling something that looks a little like onions, if onions were blue and the size of a coconut. Pidge spots Lance crouching behind a pile of food crates, the top of his head barely visible. He motions for her to come join him, grabbing her wrist once she's close enough to pull her behind the crates before Hunk sees her.

She starts to ask what's going on, but Lance shushes her. He's still loosely holding onto her wrist, his hand almost covering hers. The clinical side of her observes his hand is surprisingly warm and soft. The emotional side of her thinks she wouldn't mind if he actually held her hand. Lance uses his other hand to point with two fingers, motioning a line of sight between them and Hunk. Clearly, they're supposed to watch him.

A moment later, Allura joins them behind the crates.

"Shiro's heading this way," Allura whispers. She frowns. "Why are we all hiding?"

Lance shushes her, too, which clearly annoys her, but then she happens to notice Lance's hand still resting on Pidge's arm and that distracts her. She looks at her questioningly, eyebrows raised. Pidge blushes and manages to extract her wrist from Lance's grip before Allura can say anything. Lance doesn't seem to notice.

They watch as Hunk pulls out a chopping board, setting it up within sight of the door, and leisurely begins to chop the not-onions, tossing a few pieces into a pan. He looks up at the doorway then leans in to sniff one of the not-onions, quickly pulling back as his eyes water.

"Shiro!" Hunk calls. "Can you come in here? I need another pair of hands."

Lance peeks over the crates. They follow his lead, watching as Shiro enters.

"Allura asked me to meet her by the hangars, but I guess I can spare a minute," Shiro says doubtfully, a moment before the smell of the raw not-onions hits him. He winces. "Wow, that's strong stuff."

"You're a lifesaver," Hunk says, visible tears in his eyes. He turns his back to Shiro. Pidge can see her handkerchief sticking out of his back pocket. She's got an idea of where this is going. "Can you just grab that for me?"

"Sure?" Shiro says.

They watch as Shiro goes to pull the handkerchief out of Hunk's pocket and another one shows up, then another, and another as he keeps trying. Hunk stands perfectly still, patiently waiting. Shiro's expression shifts from confusion to frustration and back to confusion as he keeps pulling and the handkerchiefs just keep coming. Pidge has to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. By the time Shiro pulls out the last one, Lance and Allura's shoulders are shaking with the effort to conceal their mirth.

Hunk looks over his shoulder at Shiro. "Did you get it?" he says innocently, a tear rolling down his face. Pidge is pretty sure the tear has more to do with laughter than the not-onions.

Shiro's holding the handkerchiefs like a rope, staring down at them, uncomprehending. Hunk gently takes them all from him. "Thank you," he says, carefully using one to wipe his eyes. The strand reaches all the way to the floor.

Shiro is still looking down at his empty hands. They can see his eyebrow twitch. Without a word, he leaves.

Hunk folds up his handkerchief and goes back to chopping, looking up at the door every so often. "Aaaaand he's gone," he announces.

Lance pops up like a meerkat and vaults over the crates, heading directly for the counter to rummage around. Allura and Pidge follow more slowly, leaning on each other for support. They're both still laughing.

"That was amazing!" Pidge wheezes, tears in her eyes.

Hunk's leaning against the counter, clutching his chest, but he's grinning. "I was so nervous. I didn't think I could keep a straight face much longer."

Without looking up from what he's doing, Lance holds out his fist. Hunk pounds it; in unison, they mime an explosion.

"So that's why you wanted me to call Shiro," Allura says, poking Lance's arm. "You should have told me you were planning a prank."

"Loose lips sink ships," he says distractedly, still rummaging.

Allura frowns. "What kind of ship sinks?"

"HA!" Lance is clearly not listening. He turns to face them, phone in hand, looking smug. He tilts the video so they can all see the screen. "Got the whole thing on tape."

"Let me see!" Hunk says, taking the phone from him. "Oh, that is good. It'd be even better with some music in the background. We can fix that."

That's when Pidge remembers. She yanks on the sleeve of Lance's hoodie to draw his attention and he nearly falls on top of her, yelping. She hastily pushes him back upright. "Sorry. What was with the bayards?"

Lance looks down at her, rubbing his arm absentmindedly. "Oh, yeah. I was thinking I needed to talk to you, but I knew I wouldn't have time to set all this up and go find you. The bayard just popped into my hands... Pretty cool, huh?"

"Wait, what happened?" Hunk says, frowning as he looks up from the video. "You were talking to your bayard?"

"Talking," Allura repeats, paling. "Oh, no. I was supposed to talk to Shiro, he's probably still waiting-"

She rushes out of the kitchen without another word.

Lance sniffs the air. "Hunk. Buddy. My man," he says, eyes narrowing. "Do I smell pepper?"