Plance One-shots

Parallels

Pidge felt every muscle in her body stiffen at the sight of him. There he was, bathed in the light of the trans-reality ship, his entire body hued purple by the cockpits glow.

Terribly violent aches ripped at her chest, and he stomach felt like she had just ingested a hot coal.

She watched him studiously as he removed himself from the ship, eyes scanning his being for any confirmation that it wasn't him.

It couldn't be. Could it?

"Lance?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Hey pigeon." His voice filled her ears, drowning out any other white noise in the hangar. A bitter taste climbed it's way onto her tongue.

"That can't be you..." She spat, her eyes still refusing to meet his gaze. The tall man removed his helmet, revealing his face. Pidge heard herself inhale, and could in no way hide the fact that she was staring at him.

The man's face was familiar and comforting, like the smell of her grandmother's cooking. His brows were thick, as was the stubble that resided on his strong jaw. His hair held flecks of grey and was a bit longer than she remembered it to be. When she finally met his gaze, he opened his mouth to speak again.

"I can confirm, I am in fact me." He said, his characteristic nonchalant tone making her heart skip a beat.

"But... But..." Pidge saw her hands flailing around in front of her, searching for the right words. Her lips pursed into a grimace, "You died 20 years ago, Lance. I saw you... I watched-" her own quiet sob cut her off.

Lance's brows hesitated, looking across at the small woman in front of him. Eventually, they furrowed, and he found his next sentence. "So I've heard. But here I am, in your reality."

"But you can't be."

"Please Pidge I-"

"But you can't be!" The woman argued, her trembling hands reaching up to her temples. Lance felt himself smile sympathetic, however hard it may have been to smile in this situation.

"Do I really have to explain to you the concept of an alternate reality? You've lost your touch, Pidge" he teased gently, putting his hands on his hips. Pidge tried to keep it together, she really did... but at the sight of Lance taking up his favourite stance, she snapped.

Hot tears flooded down Pidge's cheeks, accompanied by small whimpers. Both her hands clasped around her mouth, attempting to conceal her blubbering lips. They failed. She felt sick to her stomach, feeling as if she was going to drop to her knees and wretch. All from the sight of her dead husband standing right in front of her.

"I understand how hard this must be for you though..." Lance said softly, taking a step closer to her. Pidge flinched at his movement.

"Its funny, after 20 years... you're the level headed one out of the two of us." Pidge snivelled, her hands still held close to her face.

Lance let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Who would have guessed it?"

"Definitely not me," Pidge bit back almost too quickly, her gaze still unmoving from the man's eyes. They were still just as blue as the image that was burned into her mind, except they held more wisdom and age.

"I've missed that wit," Lance chortled, a smirk making it's way onto his lips.

"Oh shush." Pidge scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. They both chuckled nervously, avoiding eye contact for a few moments. Pidge inhaled, her breath quaking in her lungs when she met his gaze once more. "You look so much older, Lance."