Chapter Text
“Did I just see you type ‘aphrodisiac cupcakes’?”
Pidge looked up from her computer, pinky on the keyboard ready to erase the Word doc. It was just Hunk. She reclined in her chair, rubbing her eyes behind her big glasses. Gesturing to her late-night work, she said:
“It’s for these two fuckers”.
Hunk hummed in understanding like it explained everything.
“Running out of ideas?” he inquired.
“No, actually it’s the contrary. Too many ideas.”
In spite of her young years, Pidge had a million things on her mind, not only the regular let’s-spiritually-bond-with-angsty-teenagers-to-form-a-giant-mecha-in-order-to-save-entire-civilisations thing that she wasn’t even paid for, but also all the missions preparations, decoding Galra transmissions, making sure her undersuit was in the dryer, helping out Coran after a heavy attack on the castle, all the while looking for her family, still MIA in space. But nothing compared to the frustration and strain on her mental health that the situation (code name: Operation Purple) was putting her through.
“Let me see what you got so far”, said Hunk kindly, peering at her screen over her shoulder. “I think it’s safe to give up on the cupcakes.”
“Yeah, too much logistic.”
Hunk scowled, so she hurriedly added: “And it’s morally reprehensible so we won’t be doing that like ever.”
“Hum… oh, what do you mean by electroshock therapy?”
“Well, every time they say something mean to the other…”
“Okay, so none of that. Hey! that sounds nice: ‘Love Song persuasion’”
“Yeah, I thought we could blast in their rooms ‘What is love?’ in the middle of the night, so that they would be forced to wander the castle at night, together, alone and… What?”
Hunk was shaking his head, almost grief-stricken.
“Pidge”, her friend inhaled, hands joined under his chin, “What do you know about romance?”
“Lots! For starters, it’s…mmh… romantic?”
Hunk smacked his tongue, arms crossed.
“We need an expert; we need a connoisseur. We need a girl.”
“I’m a girl!”
“We need a girlier girl.”
Pidge’s furious glare was deflated by her big yawn.
“Fine. I’ll go get Allura”.
***
Fist raised, about to knock on the princess’s door, Pidge hesitated for a second. Was she really about to disturb the sleep of the last heir of an ancient and powerful people just because of her childish schemes? But she was resolved. The two fuckers had been dancing around each other for too long. All the bickering, the I-check-you-out-when-you’re-not-looking, the barely hidden blushes… It had been fun in the early days (Lance especially had turned out an extremely easy roast material), but as the months and missions passed, it had become increasingly infuriating. This weird ass mating ritual had to stop, or so help her God.
The Operation Purple was vital to the team, and therefore, to the entirety of creation.
Thankfully, Allura wasn’t asleep. She opened her door, a curious look on her face, curiosity morphing into surprise as Pidge declared:
“I need help to get these two fuckers to make out.”
White eyebrows frowned, the princess’s otherwise stately face contracted around the unknown word.
“What’s a … fucker?”
“A fucker is Lance, Lance is a fucker. Keith is too, Lance and Keith, fuckers.”
“I see.” Allura nodded sagely. “Come in”.
The princess’s room looked exactly like the illustrations in the storybooks of Pidge’s childhood, provided that the polished wood was replaced by metal panels and the gauzy dresses by armors.
“So…” Allura went to sit cross-legged on her bed, “If I understand you correctly, we are playing at matchmaking?”
She already looked way too invested in this, big blue eyes full of stars, like she had just been asked to organize the wedding. Perfect.
“Kinda” Pidge shrugged, also taking place on the bed, opening her computer between them.
She told her about her ideas, starting with the cupcakes (Allura disagreed with Pidge on the logistic aspect, but still agreed with Hunk on the moral one), and ending with the love song (Allura was positive the annoyance and sleep deprivation would end up in homicide). Mindlessly twirling her pearly-white hair in a vague braid, she mused:
“I think we need less violence, more romance”
“Or so I’ve been told…”, muttered Pidge for herself.
Allura started rubbing a finger on her upper-lip, an intense look of concentration settling aver her regal features. Pidge knew this face very well, it was the Scheming Face TM.
“What we need, my little friend, is practical thinking. I must confess my ignorance as to earthly romance. What is considered romantic on your planet?”
Pidge took her time to think. She remembered her brother whining about some lovey-dovey book his literature teacher had assigned them. She also remembered that he had read it in a single day, bought the complete work of the same author and forced her to watch all the movie adaptations with him.
“We have Jane Austen, you know, Pride and Prejudice and stuff.”
“And this Pride and this Prejudice, do they end up happy together?”
Pidge could not repress a snort. “Actually…” She then proceeded to tell the story as best as she could, weaving a patchwork of barely-read pages, isolated sequences in gazebos, and bits and pieces from the BBC. The result mustn’t have been half-bad, for Allura’s eyes were home to galaxies of love-struck stars.
“This is so sweet and inspiring and magnificent and – ”
“Yeah, it’s neat”.
“Despite all their differences, their bad judgement and rough starts…”
“And all their pride and prejudice and all that, yep. See, there’s still hope for our dumbasses.”
Allura whispered “But how?”.
Pidge joined her in her contemplation of the carpet.
Let’s see… how did Lizzie come from “tolerable” to “Mrs. Darcy”? Ah, there it was, the sensation of electricity tickling the meat of her brain, vibrating with spurts of warmth converted into ideas by sheer human willpower. How has Allura phrased it? Practical thinking? Yeah, she guessed you could say that.
“They just talked to each other!” Allura finally shouted, throwing her arms to the ceiling in frustration.
“No, no…” corrected Pidge, “They were forced to talk, like pushed together. Trapped in the same place and obliged to understand each other…”
She startled when Allura jumped to her feet, dancing in her excitement, “Pidge, I have an idea!”
***
The idea was nothing like Allura: it was unsophisticated, petty, and downright ridiculous. But it was exactly like Allura in the sense that it should be damn efficient.
Down a blindingly white corridor walked Lance, sporting blue swimming trunks and wearing a towel cape-like, flying unsuspectedly towards his fate. Also trapped in the hands of their personal foul ladies fortune, Keith entered the elevator. His trunks were, of freaking course, bright red.
In the control room, Allura snapped her fingers. “Oh so that’s why you call it Operation Purple!”
Pidge quirked an eyebrow. “You’re just getting that?” Much to her dismay, Allura flushed, eyes falling to the floor. “I still have difficulties to grab your humor.”
“Yeah, because we’re just that subtle.” Pidge patted the princess’s shoulder in a gesture she wished comforting, nodding towards the control screen she just hacked. “Watch and learn: this is what we earthlings call hilarious.”
Their original plan was actually less juicy than what was currently happening on the screen: 1) wait for them to be in the elevator, alone, 2) break the elevator, 3) prepare to shut down the screen when they’d start making out. It was beautifully simple, and at that moment, Pidge had been reminded why they had adopted Allura as their natural commander the second they met her. But the fact that the two fuckers were both in swimming trunks, well, call it divine intervention.
On the chair (stolen from the dining hall) next to hers, the princess was finishing her complex hairstyle, the alarm Pidge had set for their plan had caught her in the middle of her morning routine. She still had instantly fallen into battle mode, running to the control room like the fate of the universe depended on it. Maybe it did.
Eying the two teenage messes heading to the elevator, Pidge shook her head, slightly depressed, We are the universe’s only hope. What a running gag.
When Lance joined Keith in the elevator, pushing a button with a scowl (and, Pidge noted, a blush igniting the tip of his ears), Allura started having second thoughts.
“But what if they, hum, start to heat things up?”
“Then I’ll cut the livestream, leave the room and gouge my eyes out, no big deal.”
“Okay.”
Pidge fiddled with the controls a bit, still not totally used to altean tech, until two familiar voices started squabbling:
“ – just stay on opposite sides, no biggie.”
“As long as you don’t come bother me, we should be fine.”
Two bros, chilling in a hot tub…, singsang Pidge to herself. On her left, Allura was positively vibrating at this point. She whispered furiously:
“Do it! What are we waiting for?”
“Dramatic irony, princess.”
On the screen, the two boys had fallen in their usual flirting, sorry, fighting stance, mirroring arms crossed and furrowed brows.
“You’re the one that’s always bothering me for no reason, mullet! Everyone knows I am the poster boy of civility!”
“Yes, civil, that’s exactly how I would describe someone who’d put baby powder in my bed.”
“You deserved it and you know it.”
“God, you’re insufferable, I can’t wait to get the hell out of this elevator.”
Said elevator trembled, the lights flickered, it made the sound of a vinyl scratching, it went up a bit, went down a lot, before shutting down completely.
“Oh, I see what you mean.” Allura had never sounded so impressed.
Pidge let the two fuckers stew in the darkness for a few seconds, reveling in their panicked screeching, before tentatively turning the lights on. Blessed be Alteans and their control freak urge to manually handle any part of the castle.
“Lance, what did you do?”
“Hey! I don’t know what just happened but I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”
Keith simply sneered, arms crossed more firmly against his bare chest. Maybe Pidge could drop the temperature in there? Nope, that was going too far.
“Can you do something about the temperature” whispered Allura. Well, Pidge lived to serve.
“On it, my liege.”
In the elevator, the boys were looking everywhere but at each other, the growing awkwardness of the minimal-clothing-plus-minimal-space starting to dawn on them. Good.
“Look, I’ll be over here, you stay over there and maybe we’ll survive this.”
“Fine”, Keith shrugged, sinking in the corner opposite Lance’s.
They kept their bargain for the astronomical span of thirty seconds.
“Are you honestly humming the macarena right now?”
“A man gotta entertain himself.”
“Can’t a man entertain himself in silence?”
One more innuendo and Pidge was pretty sure they’ll be legally forced to fuck.
“Dude, we share a wall. You’re not that good at silence yourself, you know?”
There was no mistaking the furious blush invading Keith’s face. Pidge’s head collided with Allura’s as their noses almost pressed on the screen.
“I…I don’t see what you’re referring to” Keith all but stammered.
Lance flashed him his best dramático space cadet smile, and began softly:
“… when I was… a young boy…”
“Oh no you don’t.”
“My father took me…”
Keith jumped on Lance, trying to shut him up, but the other just pushed his voice higher.
“ – to the city, TO SEE A MARCHING BAND”
Suddenly they were a blur of arms flailing, insults ricocheting, until what was bound to happen happened. They fell on top of each other, and Pidge swore to God and Miss Pac-Man that she heard Allura squeal.
Lance and Keith froze, taking in the closeness, their noses almost touching, their bodies squeezed together, the sudden silence. They bolted, backs pressed on opposite walls, panting in horror and… something best left unsaid.
Pidge couldn’t help her forehead falling to the table.
“Do you see this shit, my liege?”
Allura nodded. Like Pidge, she had never felt such an urge to transcend the screen cosmic plan and to physically smash their faces together.
On the screen, Lance was doing what he did best, smoothing any inconvenient emotion under a flirty demeanor and an ironic eyebrow.
“So anyway, you ever seen The Emperor’s new groove?”
“… Maybe?”
Lance finger pointed the hatch in the ceiling, with a defying smile. Somehow, Keith understood immediately, and smiled back.
***
When Lance went back to the main deck, freshly showered after a mostly uneventful trip to the pool, with not a care in the world, he found Pidge and Allura sat side by side on the couch, back hunched, chin in their hands, eyes haunted like they’ve just seen their entire families thrown in the flaming pit of hell.
From the center of her burning inferno of anger and frustration, Pidge took the most solemn vow in fifteen long years of existence. It is on.