Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Katie - no, Pidge - was in a bit of a predicament. She had rebuffed her team members’ efforts to hang out. Seeing as Lance’s idea of fun involved parties and girls (Pidge snorted derisively at the term), she doubted she would have had much fun anyway. But now Pidge was in a bind. She hadn't even gotten contact information from her team members, which was pretty shoddy work for a future communications officer, she supposed. Then again, she hadn't anticipated needing contact information for either of them. Lance was an air-headed prick, and his friend Hunk seemed like one of those follower-types, he probably just did whatever Lance wanted without questioning. That was a bit harsh, Pidge admitted, but then again she had a mission, and it didn't involve making friends. Although a friend would have been pretty convenient to have around right about now. She'd been up on the roof, setting up the equipment she’d ‘borrowed’ from a student lab and retrofitted to suit her particular needs, and she'd began to do what she'd been doing ever since the failed Kerberos mission. She was scanning space, desperate for something, anything, some sort of sign that her father and brother were still out there.

She hadn't expected Security to lock the door to the roof so early, and especially not without checking to make sure no one was currently on the roof. She hadn't heard the lock click, as she’d been focused on listening to the sounds of deep space, desperately looking for a message that just didn't seem to be there. Now the door was locked. She contemplated pounding on the door, but - would anyone even hear? She fought away that terrible strangling sensation, the panic that seemed only ever just at bay, an ever-present cloud of dread that followed her every waking moment.

Then her communicator beeped. A text message had been sent to her student communicator.

Hey, the message read, Is this Pidge?

A second message arrived with a “blip” before she had the chance to answer the first.

If it is Pidge, then this is Hunk, and I was just checking in. Because we're teammates now and teammates should worry about teammates sometimes. Especially when they're not in their bunkroom after lights-out.

Another “blip”, another message.

If this is not Pidge, then I’m sorry I bothered you. Unless you're also not in bed after lights-out, in which case I can worry about you too, if you want.

Pidge hesitated.

“blip”
Are you okay, buddy?

I'm not your buddy, Pidge thought irritably, typing in a quick reply. How did you get this number?

“blip”
Pidge!

“blip”
Are you okay?

“blip”
Where are you right now?

Pidge felt a tension headache developing. Did the man not know how to send multiple sentences in a single message? Ugh. How. Did you. Get. This number.

“blip”
It was on the information packet we got. You know, the one with our room and class assignments.

Pidge scrambled for the information packet she'd received, mentally berating herself. Sure enough, her number, along with the numbers of her new team members, were written there.

“blip”
So, uh, not to be repetitive but… where are you?

Pidge scowled at the message. I'm on the roof.

“blip”
What?? Why?????

Pidge didn't want to answer that. She paused, considering her options.

“blip”
??????

Pidge sighed. This Hunk guy sure was annoyingly persistent. I got stuck on the roof . She finally answered.

“blip”
Do you need help?

Grudgingly, Pidge typed her response. Yes.

“Are you always this… obsessively concerned with what other people are doing?” Pidge asked, walking alongside Hunk as the two of them meandered back in the direction of the bunkroom.

“Nah,” Hunk admitted. “I'm usually pretty chill.”

Then why were you so adamant about contacting me? Pidge wondered, her face crinkling in irritation.

Hunk seemed to sense her frustration and let loose with a belly laugh before clapping both hands over his mouth and whispering “Whoops, I forgot we were sneaking.”

Pidge thought it was hard to sneak with a girth as wide as Hunk’s, but declined to comment on the matter.

“Actually,” Hunk said, drawing out the ‘a’, I just figured with you being new this year it might be nice to make sure you didn't get lost or something.”

“In the future I'll be sure to let you know if I get lost or stuck,” Pidge said dryly, eyeing Hunk. Which won't be happening anytime soon. I just need to make something that will unlock that door for me when security locks it and I'll be good to go, she added mentally.

“I'd appreciate that,” Hunk said. “Also if you ever, y’know, need help with anything else, feel free to ask.” He grinned amiably, clapping a large, calloused hand on her shoulder. “I got your back,” he assured her.

Given time, I might come to appreciate the sentiment, Pidge thought. As it was, she simply nodded sharply.

Hunk drew up short before a bland hydraulic door sunken into the wall. “Well, here you are,” he said. “Home sweet home. For the next year or so, anyway.”

Pidge could already hear the sound of aggressive snoring through the door of the room next to hers. She winced, hoping the walls weren't thin. Hunk glanced at her sympathetically. “I have an extra pair of earplugs if you need them,” he told her, digging into one of his pouches and withdrawing a large meaty hand, carefully unfurling his fist to reveal a small earplug case nestled in the center of his palm.

Pidge considered the earplugs for a moment before plucking it from his hands, allowing herself a small smile. “Thanks,” she said softly.

“What are friends for?” Hunk asked rhetorically before theatrically ushering her towards the door. “Sleep tight!” he said, before glancing both ways and stealthily creeping back down the hall in the direction of his own room. He bumped into a corner and yelped, before realizing the wall wasn't out to get him. He scuttled sheepishly around the corner and was gone.

Pidge let her door slide shut and sank down onto her bed with a sigh. This was going to be a long year.

Chapter Text

“I knew they wouldn’t leave me as a cargo pilot! Not me, what with my superior reflexes! My intuition! My charm and good looks!”

“I'm pretty sure those last two aren't required for fighter pilots,” Hunk offered helpfully, though Lance barreled on as if he hadn't heard.

Lance took a deep drink of his coffee. “At least they’ve finally seen the light,” he declared magnanimously. “Honestly, Imagine! Me, a cargo pilot!”

“I’d rather imagine you not talking for once,” Pidge muttered under his breath, sparing a glance in Lance’s direction and wrinkling his nose. He took one last decisive bite, then pushed his tray back, food only half-finished. Pidge made a move to stand up, and Hunk decided it was time to capitalize on his new teammate’s mobility.

“Ooh, ooh, are you going for seconds?” Hunk asked excitedly. “Could you grab me some more bacon? And a blueberry muffin? They cut me off when I went back through.”

Pidge blinked owlishly, like he hadn't been expecting Hunk to speak to him. “I was just going to leave,” he said slowly. “I've got some things to take care of before my morning classes.”

“Oh, well in that case,” Hunk indicated Pidge’s tray, “Are you gonna finish that?”

Pidge replaced the tray with a somewhat disapproving look. “No, have at it.”

Hunk grabbed the lonely piece of bacon from Pidge’s plate and stuck it in his mouth before scooping up a forkful of Pidge’s remaining scrambled eggs and cramming them into his mouth, mumbling a quick “thanks” around the food before he began to chew.

Pidge looked vaguely queasy, but nodded to indicate he'd heard Hunk before he strode away quickly. Hunk wondered what was up with him, he seemed so… driven. Though Hunk couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was that Pidge was so dedicated to. The guy was notoriously closed off. Hunk considered himself a living crowbar (he was really good at prying people out of their shells with friendly humor and a lot of hugs), but he hadn't been able to make much progress with Pidge. So far the small bespectacled techie had rebuffed all of his hugs (which Hunk had to admit stung a little), and seemed totally unimpressed with Hunk’s usual charms. But Hunk wasn't planning on giving up so easily. Pidge seemed… off. Stressed. And, more than anything, lonely. Hunk knew what that was like. He hadn't had the greatest childhood, and being the “fat kid who's kinda slow” in school hadn't been easy. He wasn't great at taking tests, but he sure knew his way around a propulsion system. In time, he'd earned his peers’ respect, but the taunts still got to him sometimes, especially late at night when he lay awake in bed wondering what he was doing at Galaxy Garrison, had they made some sort of mistake? Maybe he really was dumb and they just hadn't realized it yet.

He hated the way every terrible thing would haunt you when you were all alone, and if he could somehow make Pidge feel a little less alone, well, he'd consider that a success.

Of course, he considered scoring extra breakfast from his teammates a success too. Maybe it was time for him to reevaluate his priorities. After he finished these eggs, of course…

Hunk did not enjoy flying. He had a weak stomach. He liked tinkering with things, loved the way he could make an engine sing beneath his hands. He was good with engines, electrical systems… he was not good with zero-gravity, shaking, or really motion of any kind. Patting the bulkhead, Hunk sealed the panel he’d been working on and moved down the shuttle, patching up another area that one of his fellow students had been attempting to fix.

He spotted a few mistakes and quickly redid them; it wasn’t a big deal, but this was a group project and he wanted to be sure they all got the best possible grade. Especially since he knew his grades would start slipping once they had to go into space training. Honestly, he wanted to be ground support, he hadn’t expected his grades would be good enough to get him anywhere near fighter crew.

Not that he wasn't grateful, he knew most engineering cadets would kill for the opportunity to be on board a fighter. Hunk just wasn't one of them. He wanted to be a part of something bigger than himself, yes. He just wanted to be a part of it on the ground. In a familiar location. With fewer explosions and chances of being lost in the vastness of space. He knew about Kerberos-- everyone knew about Kerberos. He had absolutely no desire to be the next statistic, didn't want his name to be the one whispered when people contemplated the dangers of space exploration.

He would be perfectly happy with both feet firmly planted on terrestrial soil. He loved the idea of space exploration, so long as he wasn't the one doing the exploring. But apparently the Garrison had other ideas. Hunk moved on to the next part of the shuttle, double-checking the repair and wincing. “Hey!” he yelped, “who connected the flux capacitor to the inductor? Are you trying to get your pilot killed?”

One of the other students looked up from the wing repair they were doing. “Why don't you just stick to doing your part and stop worrying about the rest of us?” Bryce flicked his welder’s helmet back, scowling at Hunk as he continued. “Or better yet, stop putting your grubby hands all over my work.” He flicked his helmet back down and resumed welding.

Worst. Shop class. Ever. Hunk thought glumly, reconnecting the parts properly this time, before shutting the hatch and moving on to the propulsion coils. He couldn't believe he was going to be stuck with these guys for an entire semester. Hunk generally tried to keep a positive attitude, but it was hard when none of them seemed to have a positive attitude about him. Galaxy Garrison was just one of many schools that publicly posted grades to encourage “healthy competition” among its students. Hunk had barely passed his classes last year and he was fairly certain he'd be maintaining a similarly sub-par performance in the coming year. It wasn't that he was bad at school - on the contrary, his teachers liked him. He paid attention in class, asked good questions, always turned in his homework promptly…

But Hunk crumbled under pressure. Tests were just not his thing. He would stare at the screen, and absolutely everything he'd ever learned would fly out of his head. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he'd calm himself down enough to get a few things down on paper before the room started spinning again.

Practical exams though? Those were another story. Hunk could feel the tension ease away with every twist of a gear, every carefully tuned piece of specialized equipment. Hunk knew every one of the Garrison’s ships, inside and out. He knew their quirks, knew which tools and replacement parts would be needed most, which things were most likely to go wrong.

Hunk knew machines, but he also knew himself. The last thing he wanted was to crumble under pressure in the middle of space, endangering not only his own life, but the lives of his crew members as well. Hunk couldn't stand the idea of someone getting hurt - especially if it was his fault. That was why he had to stay on the ground. He had to.

He just hoped that, when the decision was finally made official, Lance would forgive him for the betrayal.

At lunch, Hunk shoveled down two burritos and a pile of spanish rice before Lance so much as took his first bite. Admittedly, Lance had been otherwise occupied, filling Hunk in on why he was “so much better at piloting ” than all the other cadets in his program. Hunk just tuned him out - he did that a lot. Lance didn't really care if you responded to him or not, he would keep talking either way. Hunk considered Lance’s droning voice something like lulling background noise; an ever-present din, but not necessarily something you had to pay close attention to.  

Pidge hadn't learned the art of “tuning Lance out” just yet, so he was eating slowly, the crease between his eyebrows deepening gradually as Lance continued his ceaseless stream of babble.

“...don't you think, Hunk?” Lance asked, turning to Hunk.

Oh. Oops. “Sorry, I lost you there,” Hunk said.

“I was just saying that test scores shouldn't define your abilities! I mean, look at me! I'm an incredible pilot, but you would never know it, looking at my test scores!”

Hunk shrugged. “Oh, well yeah, I guess tests aren't everything ,” he began, but Pidge cut him off, speaking up for the first time since his short “hello” when he'd sat down.

“How else would you propose assessing someone's skill?” Pidge demanded irritably.

“If they would just watch me, they would understand in no time,” Lance declared. “No tests required.”

“That's ridiculous,” Pidge grumbled.

“You're ridiculous,” Lance shot back.

“Okay, guys, I appreciate a good debate as much as the next guy,” Hunk chuckled nervously, “but we're getting off topic.” He sniffed his taco. “Does the meat in these smell off to you guys?” he asked.

“Your appetite smells off to me,” Pidge shot back.

“Whoa, hey!” Lance leapt to Hunk’s defense in an instant. “That was uncalled-for!”

Hunk shrugged, waving a hand dismissively in Lance’s general direction. “Calm down, dude,” he said easily, “I’m sure he didn't mean anything by it.”

Lance took a few breaths, appearing to cool off slightly, but he still glared pointedly at Pidge, shoving his burrito into his mouth and chewing it vigorously. “Meat tastes fine,” he told Hunk around a sizeable mouthful.

They were bean burritos. Hunk gently set the taco aside, reminding himself that a grumbly stomach in class was better than food poisoning.

Pidge rolled his eyes and grabbed his empty tray, saying something about his next class, though he mostly muttered it. Hunk and Lance exchanged glances, then shrugged. Pidge walked off, still muttering.

Hunk eyes the taco, still weighing the pros and cons of consuming potentially contaminated meat.

“Dude, I'm not gonna judge you if you eat the taco,” Lance said after a moment.

“I know,” Hunk said. “I think I overcommitted with the burritos though.”

Lance ‘hmm’ed noncommittally, watching Hunk with concern. He finished his burrito. “What's your next class?” he asked.

“Fundamentals of pressure-regulated propulsion systems,” Hunk replied. “You?”

“Flight simulator,” Lance answered with a wicked grin. “I'm gonna kill it.”

“Sounds, uh, fun…?” Hunk couldn't imagine enjoying the sensation of even simulated flight, but he figured Lance would enjoy himself thoroughly.

“Oh, it will be,” Lance said, picking up his tray. “Our first simulator training as a crew should be scheduled for sometime next week!” He told Hunk. “Look forward to experiencing my superior piloting skills firsthand!”

“Oh, I'm sure I'll be experiencing something on that simulator ,” Hunk said ominously, but he grinned nervously at Lance to soften the blow.

Lance just rolled his eyes and muttered something about “weak stomachs” and a “lack of proper appreciation” for his piloting skill.

Hunk watched him go, eyed his taco one last time, then quickly disposed of it before heading to his own class.

“...That being said, if you don't pay close attention to the tension coil, you could just as easily be sabotaging your own ship rather than repairing it. In order to prevent this, I'd like you all to practice installing them four or five times before the next practicum.” The teacher clapped her hands briskly to catch the students’ attention before dismissing the class for the afternoon.

Hunk scribbled a few last-minute notes down on his digital notepad before packing it away in his pocket and standing up. He stretched his arms over his head, scowling at the tightness in his arms. He'd probably overdone it in the shuttle bay that morning, lugging around the replacement shielding for Kato. But Kato had looked really pitiful, his noodle arms stretched out uselessly, head thrown back, entire body tilted horizontally in a desperate bid to use his body weight to move the heavy materials.

Hunk had just sort of picked the stuff up - he'd always been pretty strong, helping his dad out in the shop after school for basically his entire childhood had not only given him firsthand experience with almost every kind of engine you could imagine, it had also given him something of an advantage in the heavy lifting department. He supposed he made up for it in study skills, which he sorely lacked. If something caught his attention, sure, he'd be all over that. But if he didn't care? It was a lot harder to focus. Most of the time he didn't even bother.

“Yo, big guy,” someone said from behind Hunk.

Hunk paused mid-stretch, craning his neck to glance over his shoulder at whoever had addressed him. “Yeah?” he said.

Bryce and Krestya were standing behind him with serious looks on their faces.

Hunk sobered quickly, turning around to face two of the four other cadets in his engineering practicum. “What's up?” he asked.

“Doctor Singh had a ‘talk’ with us after this morning’s practicum,” Bryce said testily. “She said there were some sloppy mistakes being made, and that if we really wanted to pass then we should be getting some extra practice.”

Sloppy mistakes would be putting it mildly, Hunk thought, remembering the three or four errors he'd discovered during the final once-over he'd done upon completing his own tasks. “That's not good,” he said mildly. “Did you want to arrange a practice session, or-”

“Actually,” Krestya interrupted, “We wanted to tell you to stop screwing us over.”

Hunk blinked. “What?”

“Everyone knows you had the worst scores in the entire engineering division last year,” Bryce said in a cold, matter-of-fact tone. “Word is you only made it through on the recommendation of a few of your professors.” Bryce narrowed his eyes. “Doctor Singh doesn't play favorites, Hunk.”

“You need to stop messing with other people's repairs,” Krestya added. “Just do your assigned portion and don't touch anything. ” She indicated Kato, who was hovering near the door of the classroom, looking decidedly like he didn't want to be complicit in what was going down, but also didn't want to incur the wrath of Bryce. “Kato, myself, or Bryce will look over your work once you've finished to make sure you didn't screw anything up.”

Hunk was speechless. He kept opening his mouth to say something and stopping, a dozen arguments whirling through his head at once.

“We aren't trying to be cruel, Hunk,” Bryce said placatingly. “But I'm not going to let the weakest link screw this up for the rest of us.” He glowered. “ Some of us would like to make fighter crew still. We can't all be teachers’ pets.”

Hunk felt his ears burning, entire face flushing with frustration and disbelief. He looked over at Kato, who shrugged sheepishly, giving Hunk look of utmost sympathy.  His face seemed to say ‘I tried to talk them out of it.’

Hunk couldn't find anything to say. Bryce patted him on the shoulder condescendingly. “Don't worry, buddy,” he said. “Together we’ll make the best of this.”

Hunk wanted to scream. Instead, he nodded mutely. Bryce and Krestya left, taking Kato with them.

Hunk sat down and cradled his head in his hands. This is going to be the worst semester ever . He thought glumly. He had no idea how bad it was about to get.

Chapter Text

Days since the disappearance of the Kerberos crew: 25
Diary entry number: 10

I've begun picking up some chatter on some subspace frequencies. I can't be sure of my findings just yet. Honestly, I thought it was background chatter at first, but the longer I look at it the more I’m convinced that this is some form of alien communication.

Something is out there. I've begun recording the data, hopefully I'll be able to get enough to start decoding the message. In the meantime, I'll probably be spending a lot more time on the roof.

Pidge glanced over the entry quickly, nodded, and stowed her journal back in her bag. She stretched, glanced at the clock and frowned. She still had an hour or two until lights out. She'd rigged up some door-unlocking mechanism and was eager to try it out from the inside, just in case it didn't work.

She had already finished her homework, so there wasn't much else to do. She supposed she could always get ahead on her studies, but…

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rapping on her door, followed by the door chime to indicate someone was outside. She felt her already dark mood turn a bit darker. “What?” she demanded, punching agitatedly at the intercom.

“Hey Pidge? It's Lance,” came the tinny voice through the room speakers. “We were wondering if maybe you wanted to study with me and Hunk for a bit before lights-out.”

Pidge scowled. “No, thank you, I’m actually quite busy,” she said. Not that I would probably learn anything from those two anyway. She thought derisively. Lance is living under the delusion that he's a great pilot, and Hunk only thinks about food. She had no interest with spending any more time with them than was absolutely necessary.

“Are you sure?” Lance tried again, and there was an unmistakable current of tension running through his voice.

Pidge opened the door with a sigh. “What's wrong?” she demanded irritably.

“Oh… nothing,” Lance said, following up his unconvincing argument with a nervous giggle.

“Where's Hunk?” Pidge asked, realizing the big guy was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, I'm sure he'll join us for studying,” Lance said with a hearty amount of false bravado.

Pidge felt herself losing patience. “You mean he isn't here?” She demanded.

“Nah, I'm pretty sure he's in the commissary,” Lance answered. “He likes to drown his sorrows in chocolate syrup,” he said by way of explanation, starting to move down the hall.

Almost unconsciously, Pidge followed Lance, wondering all the way what possible “sorrows” Hunk could be enduring and why he thought drowning them in empty calories was a good idea.

Lance burst into the cafeteria, not breaking his confident stride as he headed for the double doors leading to the kitchen. “Hunk!” he said in a voice that Pidge assumed was intended to sound authoritative. Really it just sounded shrill. In any case, it did the job.

Hunk froze, hand poised over a truly mountainous sundae, cherry dangling from the tips of his fingers. “Guys!” he sounded surprised and a little bit pleased, “What are you doing here?”

“Study group, of course,” Lance said, “Or did you already forget?”

Hunk scratched his head with his other hand, sundae momentarily forgotten. “Uhh, Lance? We aren't even taking the same classes anymore.” He sounded truly baffled.

“Well maybe not in our specializations, but the other subjects still matter.” Lance argued.

“Weren't you the one complaining that you'd never need to know the stuff we learned in Professor-”

“Yeah yeah whatever, not relevant right now,” Lance cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Point is, I need someone to help me with studying.”

Hunk’s face clouded slightly. “Are you sure you don't want someone more qualified?” He asked. “Someone with, I dunno, better test scores, maybe?”

“Dude, those guys are a bunch of nerds!” Lance complained, throwing a quick “No offense, Pidge,” in her direction. “Hunk, you speak my language. When you talk about this stuff I sometimes actually start to care about it!”

Hunk considered this. “I guess you did  start submitting your homework in Professor Harris’ class after starting that  study group last year…”

“Yeah, yeah! So how about it, Hunk? Study sesh?” Lance leaned forward, wiggling his eyebrows enticingly.

Hunk considered for a moment. “O...kay,” he said finally, “But the sundae is coming with us,” he said firmly.

“Fair enough,” Lance said, “So long as you bring an extra spoon for me.”

Hunk clutched the sundae protectively, then relaxed slightly. “Well… okay, I guess,” he decided.

“That’s my man,” Lance crowed, throwing an arm over Hunk’s shoulder and awkwardly leading him from the kitchens, starting to bicker with the heavyset engineering student over who would eat the cherry.

Pidge trailed behind, contemplating what she'd just seen. There was some sort of tension in the air, a topic Lance wasn't bringing up that Hunk also seemed to be avoiding. She watched the two of them moving down the hall, crinkling her nose thoughtfully. As dense as Lance seemed, he was very attuned to Hunk’s mood and seemed to know exactly what to say to cheer Hunk up. And Hunk had seemed genuinely upset about something, though what he could be upset about Pidge wasn't sure. That curiosity, and an increasing interest in the dynamic between Lance and Hunk, was what kept her from merely leaving the two of them to their ice cream study session. Maybe there was more to these two than she'd initially believed…

It turned out that despite his posted test scores, Hunk was actually quite adept at everything from linear algebra to matrix equations and various scientific fields. His interests ranged from theoretical mathematics to faster-than-light travel, and he was able to somehow explain difficult concepts in such a way that Lance actually seemed to be paying attention a portion of the time.

Lance’s interests seemed to range from cute girls (“You got your eye on anyone, Pidge?” “Not hardly.”) to hot professors (“I'm just sayin man, Professor Wright.” “I hadn't noticed.”) and also his flying skills. (“I'm a great pilot, so I won't need to know how to calculate a landing approach trajectory if the equipment malfunctions! I'll just wing it!” “That answer won't get you any points on the test, Lance…”)

She ended up enjoying the study session a bit more than she'd expected. Lance wasn't as dumb as he seemed, just too lazy to put in the effort needed to get top grades. And Hunk…

Hunk was actually really, really smart. He was able to talk with her on her level about a wide variety of scientific subjects, and yet phrase things in a way that didn't completely alienate Lance. She was having trouble rectifying the hasty image she'd constructed of the “lovable fat dummy” with the “lovable fat genius” Hunk was turning out to be. It made her wonder if maybe there was more to Lance, too. Maybe she'd been too hasty in her initial assessment. Pidge decided she might not mind spending time with her team as much as she'd feared.

“Yo, Pidge, did you want to get in on this?” Lance waved a spoon in Pidge's face. It took her a full ten seconds to catch on.

“Oh,” she said, eyeing the veritable tower of ice cream, “um…”

“Hunk makes the best sundaes, honestly you have to try at least one bite!” Lance insisted, swooping in to scoop a bite for himself. He shoved the spoon in his mouth and wiggled his eyebrows at Pidge as if to say ‘well? what are you waiting for?’

Pidge glanced at Hunk, who grinned and inclined his head to show his support of the idea. Pidge scooped a small bite onto the spoon and eyed it for a few seconds.

“Oh for-- come on Pidge, it's not a science experiment!” Lance griped, “It's ice cream.”

Pidge tentatively stuck the ice cream in her mouth. Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, ” she said around the spoon, “What did you-?”

“Homemade syrups, toffee and toasted nuts,” Lance interrupted her, throwing an arm around Hunk’s shoulders and beaming with almost paternal pride.

For once Pidge wasn't irritated by his interruption. She was in culinary heaven. She felt like her tastebuds had ascended to an astral realm. “Oh my god,” she said again, taking another bite and moaning, eyes fluttering closed. She hadn't had anything this amazing in… months? Years? She couldn't remember ever having eaten something like this. It was like the flavors were dancing on her tongue, a soft sensual vanilla effortlessly balanced by the sharp bite of dark chocolate, silky smooth caramel and a nutty toffee crunch coming together to produce a symphony of flavor.

When Pidge opened her eyes, Lance and Hunk were staring at her with strange expressions. “What?” Pidge demanded, instantly on the defensive.

“Nothing really,” Hunk said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

“You sounded like you were having an intimate experience with Hunk’s sundae,” Lance told her without pity.  “I mean, it's good and all but that was a little…” he shrugged awkwardly. “Anyway,” he said. “I guess that's another fan of your kitchen wizardry, Hunk.”

Hunk was blushing heavily, and he seemed unable to look Pidge in the eye. “Oh good,” he said. “Um, if you ever have any requests, I usually sneak into the commissary about once a week.” He grinned. “It'll probably be apple pie next.”

“Orrrr churros?” Lance nudged Hunk with his elbow and wiggled his eyebrows enticingly. “Eh? Eh?”

Pidge nodded to acknowledge she'd heard Hunk, taking another bite of ice cream and trying to suppress any awkward noises she might be tempted to make. It was so good.

“Hey, leave some for the rest of us!” Lance yelped, then took another heaping bite himself. “Oh man,” he said around a mouthful of ice cream, “Hunk, you missed your calling, you shoulda gone to culinary school.”

“Yeah well I'm better at fixing engines than cooking,” Hunk said modestly, though if that were truly the case Pidge figured it could potentially come off as bragging.

“You must be a genius on the engineering deck, then,” Pidge declared, and Lance and Hunk both froze, twin looks of astonishment on their faces, spoons protruding from between sealed lips.

Lance spoke first, swallowing hard and removing the spoon from his mouth before speaking. “Was that a genuine compliment?” He turned to Hunk. “Dude! I think Pidge just complimented you!”

Hunk ducked his head, shoulders hunching to hide his face. “Oh, that's nice, thanks,” he said, voice muffled.

Pidge felt like she was being mocked. “Yeah well don't expect me to make a habit out of it,” she grumbled. “And don't let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” Lance told her with a grin. “Hunk takes every bit of affirmation to heart -- as he should,” Lance added with mock ferocity, gently punching Hunk in the shoulder.

Hunk made a whining sound, saying “Ouch!” as he spun around. He didn't look particularly upset though.  His blush from earlier was mostly gone from his face, although the bright smile, while slightly dimmed, was still there. Pidge realized she liked that smile, a lot. Especially when compared with Hunk’s earlier smiles, which Pidge now realized had been forced, likely out of some misguided attempt to spare her from seeing his true feelings earlier that evening. But now, as Hunk and Lance fought over the last bite of sundae, Pidge recognized this was Hunk’s real, genuine grin.

She rather liked it. She hoped she could make him smile like that again.

Chapter Text

Hunk didn't want to admit it, but he was miserable. He hadn't been able to sleep well, as he'd been too busy stressing about failing the one class he actually had a chance of passing. He hated the helpless feeling washing over him, but he had no idea how to make it stop. He'd lain awake over half the night, his mind supplying him with increasingly ridiculous scenarios as the night dragged on. Now he felt sick to his stomach, and all he wanted to do was pull his blanket over his head and pretend he didn't have a six AM advanced propulsion systems maintenance lab that day.

Hunk’s alarm buzzed gratingly, reminding him that he hadn't slept and it was time to get up and dressed. Hunk took a deep breath, then launched himself from his bed, peeling off his pajamas and pulling on his cadet uniform as quickly as he could. He glanced thoughtfully at the stash of assorted snacks on his desk, but he didn't think he could stomach anything just yet. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair quickly, poking at the bags under his eyes with a sigh.

“You can do this,” he told his reflection with more confidence than he felt the situation warranted. He tied his lucky headband around his forehead and headed for the lab.

As usual, he was the first one there. Doctor Singh acknowledged him with a sharp nod, and motioned for him to get started. He nodded back, glanced over the assignment details, and set to work.

“Oh my god, why are you working without supervision?” A grating voice came from behind him about twenty minutes later.

Hunk turned around slowly to face a tired, crabby-looking Bryce. “Look, Bryce, some of us actually try to start our lab on time…” he shrugged. “I can't help it if you're late.”

“Kato, come check Hunk’s work, will you? I need another cup of coffee,” Bryce called.

Hunk realized Kato had slipped into the lab and was trying to surreptitiously get to work without getting involved or advertise the fact that he was late. Something Bryce would have done well to attempt, rather than make a scene in front of Doctor Singh.

Kato sighed and meandered over, adjusting his grip on his toolkit before setting it down (dropping it) next to Hunk’s. He crouched next to Hunk, eyeing the work for a few seconds. “What's this?” he asked, indicating one of Hunk’s own modifications that he'd developed in elementary school and perfected over the years. “I've never seen that before.”

“Well, it's the same basic principle as a Hakata coil, but instead of using ionized tension wire you use a few strands of nanocabling and introduce an induction sync. It's much more energy-efficient, and is less likely to overheat,” Hunk explained.

“Dude,” Kato sounded pained, “It's not in the textbook.”

“No,” Hunk said, confused, “It's my own design. But Professor Iverson-”

“Come on, Hunk. Doctor Singh isn't Professor Iverson. Just… fix it, ok? Stop trying to be creative. Do it by the book or-” Kato paused, looking uncomfortable, before finishing his thought. “Or don't do it at all,” he said finally.

Hunk felt his gut twist. By the book? The boring, dumbed-down text he'd been reading for fun in elementary school? His entire being rebelled at the thought. Internally, he screamed at the injustice of it all. Why should he follow a book he'd moved on from ages ago? But this was a team project. A team assignment. He had to support his team. Even if it killed him to do so. What else was he supposed to do, when they'd written him off? All he could do was his best - or, the best that they would let him do - and hopefully they would see reason.

Kato was still crouched next to Hunk, watching him. “We okay, man?” he asked.

We are not okay, Hunk thought bitterly. We're screwed. And as soon as this semester is over, I never want to see a single one of you ever again. Instead of saying this, Hunk forced a weak smile and began dismantling his modification. “By the book,” he promised, feeling his heart wither and die a little as he spoke.

Kato nodded sharply, and left Hunk to his “by the book” maintenance. It was tedious and dull, and the engines no longer sang beneath Hunk’s hands. Instead, for the first time he could remember, they felt cold and lifeless. He couldn't wait to get out of the lab. He still finished faster by far than his lab partners, and managed to subtly do some of their own maintenance tasks to help the lab move along faster. He also moved equipment around, noted each person's task and which tools they would need next and brought them over when necessary. Nobody noticed him doing this, they were occupied with their maintenance. Hunk willed them to work faster; breakfast was already being served, and Hunk did not want to miss waffle day.

Finally, at about 9:45, Bryce finally declared them “done,” and proceeded to commend Hunk for “not fucking anything up this time.”

Hunk felt he deserved a commendation for not “fucking up” Bryce’s face. He gritted his teeth and accepted the backhanded compliment with as much grace as he could muster, which, considering the morning he'd had on an empty stomach, was not much.

He got out of there as fast as he could, and made his way to the mess hall for a quick breakfast before his first lecture. When he got there, Lance was already finished with his waffles. Pidge was reading something intently, doing his best to display complete disinterest in whatever topic Lance was going on about. Hunk heaped as many waffles on his plate as he could get away with under the watchful eyes of the cafeteria staff, smothered them in butter, then doused them in maple syrup. He piled some eggs on his tray next, snatched a yogurt parfait made with fresh fruit and topped with granola, then found his way to the table, plopping down with a sigh.

Pidge glanced up briefly, visibly stiffened, and looked up again. His forehead creased in a frown. “What happened to you, Hunk?” he demanded then. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Normally I would jump right in and object to any criticisms of Hunk's appearance just on principle,” Lance began, “But man, I gotta agree. You look terrible.”

“Thanks guys,” Hunk said sarcastically, taking a bite of waffles and frowning. He was so upset even waffles didn't seem to be able to improve his mood.

“Did something happen?” Lance asked.

“Oh you know, just, probably going to fail all my classes this year and get kicked out of school and end up disowned and homeless by age sixteen. You know, the usual,” Hunk said, trying unsuccessfully to fake a laugh.

“Don't be so hard on yourself. With a mind like yours I doubt you could fail even one class, much less all of them,” Pidge said, “Although I suppose I understand the sentiment.”

Silence hung heavy over the table for several seconds as Lance and Hunk exchanged weighted glances. Pidge glanced between the two of them, growing more confused by the second. "Is someone going to tell me what the big deal is?" Pidge finally demanded, looking more frustrated than confused at this point. "What are you not saying?"

“Hunk can't pass tests,” Lance filled Pidge in on the situation with compunction. “The man's a genius, but put him in a room where he'll be graded on his answers, ask him a few simple questions and he won't be able to answer a single one.”

Pidge whirled back around to gape at Hunk. “Is that true?” he demanded.

Hunk scratched at the back of his head awkwardly, looking for the right words to say. He hadn't anticipated having this conversation so soon in the new school year. “Uh, I'm not sure about the genius part, but I'm definitely terrible at taking tests,” he admitted after a moment.

“Well everyone else is sure about the genius part,” Lance told Hunk.

Hunk barked a laugh- it was bitter and unhappy. “Yeah, well, not everyone, actually,” he said.

Pidge and Lance exchanged glances. “Are you going to tell us what's wrong or do I need to drag it out of you?” Lance finally demanded.

“Oh, just struggling with my group project,” Hunk said with forced nonchalance.

“If they're a group how have they not noticed your intellect?” Pidge demanded. “Honestly it's glaringly obvious once you study with someone that you're extremely gifted.”

Lance was watching the exchange wide-eyed.

“It's a lab, not a lecture,” Hunk explained. “So we sort of just do our own thing.”

“Obviously they can tell by your superior craftsmanship,” Pidge said.

“Pidge, my buddy, my pal, you haven't even seen Hunk’s work on an engine. Not that I think you're wrong, but engine work is really subtle. I mean honestly, the panels look like a large plate of really unappetizing spaghetti to me but Hunk knows what's up.”

Pidge frowned. “True. But I submit-”

“Dude. You know our scores are terrible. Do you think we would get teamed up with the cream of the crop?” Lance shook his head, clucking his tongue condescendingly. “They're probably not good enough with engines to recognize the superior quality of Hunk’s work.”

“You just said it looked like spaghetti,” Pidge replied with a confused look. “How would you know any better than his team?”

“Because I was there when Professor Iverson almost fainted while reading Hunk’s essay on recent developments in mini propulsion systems.”

“It was about micro-pulse containment fields and how recent developments could potentially have long-reaching impact on the development of future interstellar propulsion systems,” Hunk corrected Lance, before taking another bite of waffles. They actually tasted nice this time. Hunk felt a tiny smile creeping onto his face.

“Yeah, whatever, the point is Hunk’s essay basically made a grown professor weep, he was practically begging Hunk to intern with him.”

Pidge glanced at Hunk. “Why didn't you?”

“Honestly, I'm more interested in the work Doctor Singh is doing,” Hunk explained. “She's the one operating the engineering labs for second-year students.” He buried his face in his hands. “I’m...beginning to regret my decision,” he admitted. “I don't think she'll get the chance to see what I can do- at least, not with this team,” he concluded sadly.

Pidge scowled. “That's not fair,” he said, “Why don't you just do what you want and tell the rest of your team to shove it?”

“Pidge!” Lance gasped, putting on an  affronted act. He wasn't a very good actor, though, unable to hide his smirk. “Well said,” he added, somewhat offhandedly, with a glance of approval.

Pidge shrugged. “I'm just telling it like it is,” he said. “If you're that good you don't need anyone else's approval.”

Hunk flinched. “But we're a team!” he protested, swallowing his waffles, which were once again tasteless against his tongue. And I’m scared, he thought desperately. What if they decide to hate me? As it is now they at least tolerate me.

Pidge scowled. “Yeah, well a real team would know it's teammates well enough to recognize their skills and know when they're struggling!” Pidge stood suddenly, a look of frustration on their face. “A real team keeps everyone in the loop, and makes sure that every resource, no matter how useless it may seem, is utilized for the greater benefit of the team, all to ensure that at the end of the day, everyone makes it home alive.” With that, Pidge stormed out of the cafeteria, his fellow cadets giving him a wide berth as he swept through the double doors, presumably headed for class.

Lance watched Pidge go, making a small noise of interest. He turned back to Hunk, a gleam of mischief in his gaze, and took a deep breath. “Smell that?” he asked Hunk with a grin.

Hunk took the bait, sniffing the air delicately. “No,” he said finally, “smell what?”

Lance took another deep breath and sighed. “Smells like team spirit,” he told Hunk, grinning.

“Oh,” Hunk replied after a moment, returning to his waffles. “I thought it smelled like bacon.”

Chapter Text

Katie was fuming, not really caring where she was going, just needing to get away from the hypocrisy of the Garrison. For an institution that claimed to seek the best and brightest, it seemed to do a terrible job of recognizing and making use of valuable resources. She knew she was young and inexperienced -- it's why she hadn't been allowed on the Kerberos mission, after all -- but it frustrated her beyond words that she would be dismissed without a second thought based on an assumption about her skills based only on her age and experience. The garrison hadn't even tried to understand, hadn't even given her the time of day. And now she was beginning to see that it wasn't a one-time thing, that the entire world seemed to be full of people who would jump to conclusions based on superficial qualities, never taking the time to look deeper.

She stopped then, in the middle of the corridor. But hadn't she almost done the same thing with her team? She'd seen what she wanted to see, and if Lance hadn't bothered her into joining him and Hunk for a study group, she might still see them as nothing but the two “worst students” of their respective divisions. And that wasn't right.

She tucked that into the back of her mind to consider more deeply at a later date. It was nearing class time. As she glanced around she slowly realized that she had absolutely no idea which part of the garrison she’d wandered into. She glanced around, listening, observing, trying not to look lost and probably failing. She could hear whirring, metallic clunks, loud crashing, screeching drills…

Pidge was beginning to to regret having skipped out on the orientation tour. She had a feeling this was nowhere near the communications division. A group of five cadets entered the hall a few doors down, laughing and shoving at each other playfully. They were in various states of disarray, hair missed, streaks of grease on their faces and uniforms. As the group passed her, Pidge flattened herself against the wall to let them by. No one seemed to pay her any attention.

“Aww man! I can't believe we missed breakfast!” One of them was griping loudly. “Doctor Singh is a real hardass.”

“I couldn't believe it when Kato said his team had already finished,” another laughed, taking her hair out of a tightly wound bun and fluffing it lightly.

“Yeah well, that doesn't mean they did it right,” the first scoffed, mopping at his brow with the grease stained towel slung around his neck.

“I heard they got the big guy to stop touching everything,” A third chimed in, tugging their goggles away from their face and up onto their forehead. “Krestya said it made a huge difference in how quickly and smoothly the repairs went.”

“Good for them,” the first said condescendingly. “But I'm holding off on the applause until I see them actually do better in labs than they do in class.”

The second snorted, tugging her hair back into a loose half-bun this time. “That wouldn't be very hard for any of them,” she snorted. “Kato’s been telling me about the crap Bryce keeps spouting like he knows what he's talking about… it's hilarious. Well. Not to Kato, but I think it's funny…” As the group moved on down the hallway Pidge turned what they'd said over in her mind. Doctor Singh? Hadn't Hunk mentioned that name? She must be in the second-year engineering labs area then. Too bad she had no idea where that was relative to her own classes.

Pidge checked the time - fifteen minutes to get un-lost and get to class. With a sigh, Pidge weighed her options. On the one hand, she could stumble around for another ten minutes and hope she didn't get even more lost. On the other… well, Hunk had offered to help if she got stuck or lost or needed help, and she had absolutely no intention of ever asking Lance for help, as she had the feeling he would never let her live it down. Hunk didn't seem the type to make a big deal out of things. After glancing up and down the hall and realizing both directions appeared identical in almost every aspect, she sighed quietly and pulled up her communicator.

Hey Hunk? I need a favor.

A reply arrived with a “blip” mere moments later. Hey Pidge! Watcha need?

I'm lost.

The next message took a little longer before arriving. Okay, you're gonna have to be more specific. I could start running down hallways shouting your name, but I get the feeling that might attract unwanted attention.

Pidge flushed just thinking about how crippling the embarrassment would be. After a shudder, Pidge composed her reply. I believe I may be near the second year engineering labs?

The next message arrived with a “blip” mere seconds later. wow. how did you get down there?

Pidge scowled slightly as she typed, no idea. lost, remember?

“blip” I'm pretty sure your class would be in like the exact opposite direction. Are there any labs nearby with numbers?

Pidge glanced around quickly, her eyes alighting on a small plaque sitting next to a door a little ways down the hall. She shuffled down in the direction of the plaque. Laboratory 6-01-a? Is that helpful?

Ok, I'll be right there

Pidge felt a small flush of shame. She was inconveniencing him with this. You don't have to come, just give me directions

“blip” What if you get lost again? :0

...All right, that's fair. Just hurry, I’m afraid someone might get mad at me for being here.

They're open labs, so it's not like you're in a restricted area! stop worrying so much, I'll be there in less than a minute.

Pidge nodded to herself, feeling slightly better. She was about to move back up the hall to the junction again until she heard voices behind her. Feeling caught in a place she didn't belong, Pidge panicked, and without thinking, she dove into Laboratory 6-01-a, sliding the door almost shut. She wasn't sure why she'd done it, but now that she was inside, she didn't want to be seen leaving. If someone saw her leaving and started asking questions it might give her a case of terminal embarrassment. And imagine if Hunk showed up then! She would die right then and there. As the two cadets in the hall kept walking, she listened, hoping they would move away from the lab quickly. Unfortunately, they seemed happy to move at a sedate pace, more of a stroll than a walk. Pidge was starting to feel irritated at how slow they were, however, one of them said something that drew her attention from their footsteps to their conversation, and it was the word "Hunk." She pressed up against the door, listening carefully. What she heard made her blood boil.

“I don't know why Doctor Singh puts up with him, the guy is completely incompetent!” one complained. “He didn't even do anything but hover over all of us and almost screw up again.” whoever was speaking sounded exasperated.

“Look Bryce, I know you're upset,” Whoever it was answered. “But he did a good job doing his repairs.”

“Sure he did. After you told him to fix it,” The first voice, Bryce, replied. “But tell me this, Kato -- What good is doing something well the second time if you’re too stupid to know when something has gone wrong in the first place?”

“I don't know man,” The second voice, Kato, sounded uncomfortable. “Hunk seems to be pretty on top of stuff. He finished way before the rest of us.”

“Yeah, and then he just stood there watching us finish! He didn't even offer to help ,” Bryce grumbled.

“Weren't you the one who told him not to touch anything?” Kato said carefully, like he was navigating a verbal minefield.

“Whatever, shut up, the point is he's dragging us all down and I can't believe Dictor Singh wouldn't let us switch him to a different group!”

“She did say that cooperation was part of the grading system and that we needed to figure out how to work with difficult teammates. That makes sense, doesn't it?” Kato said placatingly.

Bryce snorted. “I'm telling you, the only way to work with Hunk is to- oh! Hunk! I didn't realize you’d be coming back down here after breakfast,” Bryce cut himself off, voice turning sickly sweet. No one could have mistaken that tone for genuine friendliness, it was patronizing and hypocritical all at once.

Pidge clenched her fists, instantly wanting to punch him in the face for talking to Hunk like that.

“Hey Bryce,” Hunk said, a weariness in his tone that she'd never expected to hear from someone as sunny as Hunk. “Did you see a pint-sized cadet running around here somewhere? About yea high,” he paused, evidently indicating her height with a gesture, “glasses, smart, with an even smarter mouth...?”

“Smart-smart or smart compared to you?” Bryce asked quickly, his mocking tone filling Pidge with so much rage she began to shake. How dare he? He had no right to treat someone like that. Especially not a... Katie paused. What was Hunk to her, exactly? A teammate? A study partner? A...friend?

Back in the hallway, Hunk sighed. “Brown hair,” he continued, “honey-colored eyes? Kato?”

“Sorry Hunk, haven't seen anyone,” Kato answered apologetically.

“Weird, he should be right around here,” Hunk mused aloud.

“I gotta get to class now,” Bryce said.

“I hope you find whoever it is you're looking for,” Kato said kindly, and the two moved on.

Pidge waited for several heartbeats before she heard Hunk stage-whisper outside the lab door. “Pidge!”

Pidge opened the door. “I'm here,” she said.

Hunk yelped, leaping away from the door before slumping in relief. “Man, don't do that!” he complained, clutching at his chest dramatically. He eyed Pidge with confusion. “Was there a reason you went inside ?”

“There were a lot of people out there and I was afraid they might ask what I was doing,” Pidge answered.

“I mean, you could have just said you were waiting for a friend,” Hunk said with a shrug. “Anyway, think you can find your way to class from the central hub?”

“Definitely,” Pidge answered.

“Great,” Hunk said brightly, turning to head down the hall, “Then follow me!”

Chapter Text

After dropping off Pidge (who had seemed even more withdrawn than usual - a feat Hunk had previously considered impossible), Hunk had to hurry to get to his own classroom, sliding into a seat and logging into the class system just moments before he would have been listed “tardy”. The way things were going for him, he couldn't afford even the slightest black mark on his academic records. Well. Besides the obvious one.

Hunk almost groaned when Doctor Singh, upon entering the classroom, activated a timed quiz on the touchscreens embedded in their student desks. “Ten minutes, ten percent of your grade,” she said, as if it were that easy.

It seemed to take years for Hunk to tear his eyes away from the timer in the top right of the screen, slowly counting down to zero. He would read a few words of the first question, and then his eyes would stray back to the timer.  7:56, 7:55, 7:54… Hunk turned back to the test. He couldn't breathe. All the words were swimming before his eyes, he couldn't make heads or tails of the question, was it multiple-choice or essay? 6:37, 6:36, put something on the damn page, Hunk. But he was paralyzed, stylus poised, unable to move, staring at the touchscreen like it was a venomous snake, coiled to strike. His fingers were beginning to get that telltale numbness, he knew he was panicking but it didn't matter because he couldn't just leave, he couldn't disappoint his family, how would he ever face dad after failing out? His dad had sacrificed so much for a son so useless he couldn't even use a touchscreen. Almost viciously, Hunk stabbed at the screen, skipping to the next question. Micro-pulse containment fields. He'd written an entire essay on the topic less than six months ago and he couldn't remember a thing. He was in full fight or flight mode, and Hunk was not a fighter. He skipped to the next question, eyes drawn to the countdown. 3:22. He stared at the question, and his panic faded into confusion.

Scenario: You are a member of a four-man team on a mission to an outer rim planet on an explorative mission, forced to land on a hostile planet. Your stabilizer sustained minor damage, and you don't think it would be safe to fly again until it's been fully repaired. Your fellow technician disagrees. Your communications officer has not been able to contact the base, and the ship's system registers no major problems. Your pilot, communications officer, and fellow engineer all believe it's safe to take off, but you have your doubts. You:

           a) fly anyway. You make decisions as a team, and sometimes that means compromise.

          b) refuse to fly until you've had a chance to repair the stabilizer.

          c) agree to fly, but under protest, loudly reminding your team that this is a poor decision.

Hunk stared at the question, rereading it carefully. He wasn't sure there was a right answer, which baffled him a tad. He was used to difficult questions, but not questions that seemed to have no answer.

0:33

Hunk stared hard at the three options.

0:25

His hand hovered over a, then b, then c. Which answer was the right one?

0:09

Hunk felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead.

0:04

Convulsively, Hunk stabbed at the touchscreen.

0:00

“All right,” Doctor Singh said from the front of the class, looking up from whatever she'd been pretending to read while she watched the students take their quiz, “Let’s begin.”

Hunk slumped bonelessly against his desk, sighing in relief. He didn't notice the two students seated behind him exchange loaded glances, too busy trying to breathe now that panic wasn't squeezing his chest like a vice.

The class was interesting, but Hunk was only half paying attention. A larger part of him still trying to understand what that third question on the quiz had been about. They'd had a small section in one of their Garrison Required Reading texts on the psychology of teamwork, but that was part of general studies, this class was all technical skills and becoming familiar with the science underlying the modern miracle of spaceflight. So why that question? Hunk was intrigued, and found himself observing Doctor Singh more closely. He hoped he hadn't missed something critical, and that's why no one else seemed confused by her test.

He was on his way to his next class when Doctor Singh called after him. “Mister Hunk,” she said, and the odd combination of first name and ‘mister’ might have made him chuckle under different circumstances.

“Yes, Doctor Singh?” Hunk froze, turning slowly.

“Remind me,” she said slowly, tapping away at her portable touchpad, sparing only a swift, almost dismissive glance in his direction. “Why should an engineer pay especially close attention to the warp cycle on an internal propulsion source distribution system?”

That was the exact part of the ship that he’d been doing his “by the book” repairs and maintenance on earlier that day. Hunk swallowed hard, throat tight. “It's really sensitive, especially the Hakata coil, and if it isn't adjusted properly, it could cause an overload that could potentially cause entire systems to go into emergency shutdown mode. Or it might cause an explosion. Or any number of smaller problems.” Hunk scratched at the back of his neck, wondering if he could leave now.

Doctor Singh wasn't done yet. “You think Hakata coils require a particular level of care?  Is that because of their instability?”

Hunk nodded jerkily. “They're notoriously tricky, I've seen more than a few cadets have them blow right in their face.”

Doctor Singh raised an eyebrow sedately, eyes lifting to meet Hunk’s. “If they're so distasteful to you, why not use an alternative system?” A bit sharply, she pressed, “Do you know of an alternative system?”

“Well, before the Hakata coil was developed there was the Liu/Zhang sync,” Hunk said slowly, ticking the alternatives off on his fingers, “and one of Hakata’s contemporaries, al-Ajlani, pushed for something he dubbed the “compression splice” system, but both of those have just as many inherent risks as the Hakata coil, if not more.” Hunk knew he was rambling but couldn't seem to stop.

Doctor Singh’s eyebrow seemed to climb even higher up her forehead, a feat Hunk hadn't realized was physically possible until it happened.

“Me, personally, I prefer the ‘fishing line trick’ which sounds really dumb, especially out loud, which I'm only just realizing now that I'm saying it to you,” Hunk couldn't seem to stop himself. “See, I came up with the idea in elementary school, and nanocabling under a micro-finder looks kind of like a fishing line-”

Doctor Singh lifted a single finger, capped with a perfectly manicured nail, as if to say “one moment.”

Hunk froze, any remaining words dying on his lips.

“Nanocabling?” She said, sounding doubtful. “How would that work, exactly?”

“Well, okay, it's not just nanocabling. And it follows the same basic principle as a Hakata Coil,” Hunk found himself telling her almost mechanically, half in shock. She wanted to hear about his system? “but the ionized tension wire in a Hakata coil is really unstable.”

“Also very energy efficient,” Doctor Singh said, not exactly reproachfully, but also not exactly encouragingly, either.

“Yes, well,” Hunk cleared his throat nervously, “If you use a few strands of nanocabling to introduce an induction sync, then suddenly the Hakata Coil doesn't seem so energy efficient or safe, by comparison.” Hunk shrugged. “The technology is as old as I am, it's long overdue for an upgrade.”

Hunk realized Doctor Singh was no longer looking at the touchpad, her dark eyes locked on him like she was trying to see under his skin. “Then why,” she asked, tapping her pad, “Did you use the Hakata Coil in your lab today?”

“Um,” Hunk felt his face drain of color. “The lab instructions said-”

“I wrote the lab instructions,” Doctor Singh interrupted coldly. “They said to perform all repairs to the best of your ability.” She watched him carefully. “Mister Hunk, is a Hakata coil the best of your ability?”

Hunk felt his shoulders slump. “N-no, Doctor Singh, it isn't,” he said glumly.

“Then you understand why I must deduct several points from your Team’s overall score,” she said coldly.

Hunk stiffened. “But-!”

Doctor Singh’s eyebrow was once again ascending. “Mister Hunk?”

“Never mind,” Hunk said, feeling sick. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so many waffles, he thought glumly. “Can I go?”

“I have just one more question,” Doctor Singh told him, tapping her touchpad meaningfully.

Hunk flinched.

“Based on what I've assessed your knowledge of Hakata Coils to be, mister Hunk, I am truly baffled as to why you would leave this question about them on today’s quiz blank.” Her eyes never left Hunk’s face as she spoke.

“I probably didn't get to it,” Hunk chuckled nervously. “I only saw the first three questions.”

“It was the first question,” Doctor Singh said. “Try again.”

Hunk opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He buried his face in his hands, shame flooding his entire body. “I froze,” he whispered between his palms. “I always freeze.”

Doctor Singh made a noncommittal noise. “I see,” she said, turning back to the tablet. “You did answer one of the five questions, and - hmm.” she paused mid-sentence, contemplating Hunk’s answer a few moments before speaking. “Mister Hunk, freezing has no place in the field. For your sake, and the sake of your team,” she looked up from the tablet then, eyes sharp, “You need to learn how to power through situations where you feel helpless.” Doctor Singh’s face softened slightly. “I have this, to help me focus when everything appears to be spiraling out of control,” she said, lifting her sleeve to show a small tattoo on the inside of her wrist. It was a quote, and it read ‘ It's only impossible because it hasn't been done yet. Get out there and do it!’

Hunk admired the words for a moment. “That's a great quote,” he said quietly, “who said it?”

“My wife,” Doctor Singh answered, tugging her sleeve back down. “Although she may have been paraphrasing.” there was a slight twinkle in her eye. “The point is, she believes in me. She thinks I can do anything. That's a powerful force, the belief of someone else.” Doctor Singh appeared to be watching Hunk with a mixture of concern and something almost maternal. “Is there anyone who believes in you, mister Hunk?”

Hunk found himself thinking of his father, barely scraping by, saving every penny to send him to a good school. He thought of Lance, who proclaimed him a genius without a hint of mockery. And Pidge, who had seemed genuinely shocked that there was something Hunk couldn't do. “I have a few people in my corner,” Hunk told Doctor Singh with a small smile.

Doctor Singh tapped the inside of her wrist meaningfully. “Then those are the words you listen to. Don't let anything out there,” she gestured around them, indicating an entire world in the sweep of her arm, “or up here,” she pointed to her temple with a knowing look, “tell you you're not good enough. Listen to the right words, mister Hunk.” She smiled, just a tiny quirk at the corner of her mouth, vanishing as swiftly as it appeared. “Listen to the right words, and do the impossible.” She glanced at her tablet then. “And you might want to get to your next class,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

Hunk checked the time. “Oh no!” he choked. Three minutes. He would need to run like he'd never run before.

“I'll send Professor Kim a note explaining your tardiness,” Doctor Singh began scribbling on her touchscreen, “Though you should still hurry.”

Hunk did as she suggested, throwing a quick “Thank you so much for the advice, Doctor Singh,” over his shoulder as he went.

“Don't thank me, mister Hunk,” Doctor Singh murmured to herself, rubbing at her wrist, a look of wistfulness crossing her face. “Use the advice I've given you.” She knew he hadn't heard her, and she shook her head slowly, looking at the only answer Hunk had marked on his test.

          a) fly anyway. You make decisions as a team, and sometimes that means compromise.

“Oh, Mister Hunk, I do hope you learn that sometimes it's more important to protect your team’s lives than their feelings and opinion of you.”

With a sigh, Doctor Singh settled down behind her desk, going over the lab results. The boy had potential…she hoped he found his voice, or a voice to shout out all the other negative voices filling his mind. The poor boy had walked into her class looking positively haunted, and if he could do this much with a monster on his back, she couldn't wait to see what he could do once he rose above his own fears and insecurities. Pushing the thought aside, she settled in for a long day of grading essay questions, a final thought resonating in her mind as she slashed red marks all over the quizzes.

You have the potential to do truly great things, mister Hunk, Doctor Singh thought. I hope you realize that before it's too late.

Chapter Text

“You guys, I just had the weirdest day,” Hunk said, slipping into his seat. His face was almost glowing with excitement. “I think Doctor Singh likes me.”

“No way,” Lance said suddenly, “She never likes anyone. It's like, her trademark.”

“Well she held me after class to talk with me about my academic progress and then she gave me some heartfelt advice-”

“Oh my god, she does like you,” Lance grinned, clapping an open palm on Hunks shoulder. “Well, if anyone has a winning combination of intellect and charm, it's you, buddy.” He shook Hunk's shoulder lightly. “What did she say?”

Hunk looked a little confused. “Well, she asked me about Hakata coils, and then she deducted points from my lab score and asked me why my test sheet was mostly blank,” he paused for a breath. “And then she told me I need to stop listening to the negative words in my life and focus on the positive ones.”

“Oh, so she wants you to ignore Pidge, then? Our resident little black raincloud?”

Lance was joking, but Pidge took offense almost on instinct. “Hey!”

Hunk glanced at Pidge, his gaze full of fondness. “Nah, Pidge is great,” he said, and Pidge felt her stomach do flip-flops. She immediately wondered why she felt that way. Why would she care what Hunk thought of her? She decided it must be because she held him in high esteem, and knowing the feeling was mutual pleased her.

“Wait, she deducted points from your lab?” Lance looked baffled. “And you're glad?”

“She said I wasn't doing my best - which I wasn't - and that she expected better. Or, well, she didn't actually say that last bit, but it was definitely implied.”

Lance looked like he was mulling over a complex equation. “So she deducted points and you're glad?” He sounded like a broken record, but Hunk didn't seem to care.

“She noticed me, Lance. She talked to me personally. That's huge! ”

“I mean if it were me I wouldn't be glad about my teacher deducting points from my lab over a technicality like ‘didn't do his personal best today’,” Lance said with a frown, before a small smile stretched across his face as he gestured to Hunk. “Still, if you're happy, I'm happy, buddy.”

Hunk grinned. “Thanks, Lance.” he turned to Pidge then. “Did you get to class all right today?”

Lance sat upright. “Oh yeah! You flounced out of here like a diva!”

“I do not flounce, Lance.” Pidge glowered. “And yes, Hunk, I got to class just fine, thanks for checking.”

“Oh good. I know getting used to this place, especially as a transfer student, can be pretty tough.” Hunk smiled gently, and Pidge suddenly felt incredibly grateful that he hadn't specifically mentioned her getting lost. Lance would've never let her live it down.

“It's hard enough for us old pros!” Lance agreed. “How are your classes, anyway?” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Any cute girls I should know about?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Not that I've noticed.”

Lance eyed Pidge suspiciously. “Why, you got your eye on someone else already?” he demanded.  

For some reason, Pidge found herself glancing at Hunk before quickly saying “No!”

Lance sat back suddenly, a look of surprise crossing his features. “Is it a girl?” he asked. “Boy? Are you into guys?”

“I'm not into anything,” Pidge said viciously.

“I'm into everything,” Lance responded casually, ignoring her venom, “although, I gotta be honest, I've been feeling the ladies lately.”

“Yeah you wish you've been feeling them,” Pidge muttered, face bright red.

Lance clapped a hand to his chest. “I'm hurt,” he said with mock-drama, slumping onto Hunk who held Lance in his arms, patting the cadet’s head with one hand.

“There there,” he said kindly. For some reason, Pidge found herself envying the melodramatic pilot. Hunk looked soft and strong, and Lance appeared to be pretty comfortable in his arms.

Pidge rolled her eyes at Lance’s dramatics, banishing the previous thought as she did so.  “You're ridiculous,” she told Lance.

“Hunk, make Pidge stop being mean to me!” Lance whined, hiding his face in Hunk's shoulder like a two-year-old.

“Pidge,” Hunk said, and the single word already sounded like a disappointed reprimand.

Pidge stiffened instinctively, ready to be rejected again, feeling the fury that constantly simmered beneath the surface begin to bubble up in anticipation of Hunk's next words. She’d known this couldn't last, no one could just welcome her, accept her so easily, not even the Garrison’s own misfits. She was angry, frustrated that Hunk was so willing to come to Lance’s defense, couldn't believe that something so simple as playful banter had the potential to create an impassable breach between them. Lance hadn’t even been right.  “What is it, Hunk?” Pidge spat, ready for a fight.

Seemingly unpreturbed, Hunk continued gently patting Lance’s head. “Stop telling Lance uncomfortable truths, he likes living in blissful ignorance.” Hunk’s eyes glinted with amusement, and Lance quickly extricated himself from Hunk’s embrace.

“Traitor!” he exclaimed, “I thought you were going to protect me!”

“I'm gonna be honest here,” Hunk said with a grin, “you pretty much brought this on yourself by asking Pidge uncomfortable questions.”

Lance huffed. “They're not uncomfortable!” he exclaimed. “We're all friends here!”

“That doesn't mean I want to tell you my life story,” Pidge shot back.

“I'll prove it,” Lance continued as though he hadn't heard, “Hunk. Any cute girls in your class?”

Hunk shrugged a little. “I mean, every girl is cute in some way,” he said. “So… yes? All of them are cute?”

Lance sighed. “Any cute guys?” He tried again.

Hunk shrugged. “I mean sure, guys are cute too. Yes. The guys in my classes are cute. And before you ask, yes, the agender and genderfluid and any other students are also cute.”

Lance looked like he was going to explode. “You mean you're attracted to every single student in every single one of your classes? ”

Hunk gave Lance an exasperated look. “You asked if they were cute, not if I was interested in them,” he reminded Lance. “You gotta be more specific.”

Pidge wanted to give Hunk a high five for that. Lance looked a little deflated, but he quickly bounced back.

“Fine,” Lance grumbled, “Is there anyone you're interested in? ”

Hunk blushed, suddenly very interested in his hands, which twined in his lap, twisting back and forth, back and forth. “Maybe a little,” he admitted.

Pidge felt a surge of an unfamiliar emotion. Jealousy?

“But don't worry,” Hunk grinned at Lance, “my heart still belongs to you.”

“Yeah unless Pidge gets in a good hit or two,” Lance grumbled.

“Shush,” Hunk told Lance affectionately. “It's not Pidge's fault he's right about your shortcomings.”

“Wow, now that was cold! If that had come from literally anyone else, I would have punched them so hard,” Lance grumbled, and Hunk wrapped an arm around Lance.

“Yeah, but you know I care about you not just in spite of your shortcomings, but because of them.” Hunk said, just brimming with affection for Lance. Pidge didn't like it, not one bit, and she couldn't for the life of her explain why.

Lance relaxed into Hunk's embrace, the look of irritation on his face fading to a look of fondness. “You better like them,” he muttered. “I don't act this obnoxious for just anyone.”

“Yeah, actually, you do,” Hunk replied with a grin, “For literally absolutely anyone. But it's okay. I like that about you. It keeps life interesting.”

Lance rolled his eyes, the melodrama creeping back into his voice. “What am I to you? A form of entertainment?”

“Twenty-four seven,” Hunk confirmed, glancing up. “Right, Pidge?”

“I was going to say he's a twenty-four seven nuisance,” Pidge smirked, “but I have to admit, you do have a certain entertainment factor to you, Lance.” Pidge turned to their previously forgotten lunch, adding in an undertone, “...guess that must be why I put up with you guys.”

“Aww, you love us!” Lance crowed.

A small part of Pidge wondered at how close to the truth that statement was turning out to be…

Chapter Text

By the end of the day, Hunk was exhausted. He collapsed into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. Sleep didn't always come easy to him, but this time it did, and he slept deeply until morning. Of course, once he awoke, nerves began trickling back as he realized if he was going to take Doctor Singh’s advice he would need to stand up to not only Kato, but also Bryce and Krestya, and they both seemed convinced that he was completely useless.

Hunk wasn't, he knew he wasn't, Doctor Singh knew he wasn't (and what a relief that was), but now he felt the pressure to succeed, as well as pressure to push back because that's what Doctor Singh expected. But Hunk wasn't like that, he didn't fight, whenever people had picked on him Lance had always been the one to come to his defense. He wasn't even sure he knew how to defend himself, or what that might look like in this situation.

Hunk felt a little queasy. He had fifteen minutes to get to the lab. Deciding to forego a shower until after the maintenance work (you just never knew how messy it was gonna get), Hunk splashed his face with water, brushed his teeth and tugged on his lucky headband before donning his maintenance suit and heading for the lab.

As usual, he was the first to arrive. Doctor Singh gave him a curt nod on his way in but otherwise made no sign that she even knew he was there. Hunk rather preferred it that way; if he could pretend she didn't  care about his work, he might be able to relax a bit more.

Hunk began by checking all of his toolkit equipment to ensure it was properly stocked. He checked the replacement parts he would be working with, then arranged them in the order he would need them to make the repair. He could feel Doctor Singh's eyes on him, even though he knew he wasn't the only student in the lab at the time, he certainly felt like it. Kato arrived not much later, about three minutes after Hunk had started his repairs.

Since Bryce wasn't there breathing down their necks, Kato ignored Hunk in favor of prepping his own station. His tools clattered on the table, and he scrounged through the part supply box with enough clinks and grinding that Hunk found himself wincing instinctively. Yes, the parts were designed to withstand a fair amount of abuse, but they still deserved to be handled with care!

Kato lugged his toolbox over to the other side of the five-man cargo ship. He dropped it with an unpleasant “clunk”, accompanied by a muffled “tinkle-tinkle” which sounded suspiciously like the breaking of delicate equipment that had been improperly stored.

Hunk did his best to ignore Kato and focus on his own work. He was on a different section today, so no Hakata coils to worry about, at least. It was a Class-M170 Armored Supply Barge, an older model. Hunk had only worked on them five or six times in his life. He doubted any of the others had even laid eyes on one before today, since they hadn't grown up helping out in a mechanic shop that doubled as an overflow repair station for nearby government shipyards.

Kato had his manual out, flipping pages frantically. Hunk didn't think he would find this model in the most recent addition. “Hey Kato,” he called over the ship.

Kato stopped flipping pages. “Yeah Hunk?”

“It's an M-170 ASB,” Hunk told him. “You probably won't find it in there.”

Kato made an exasperated noise. “Well where can I find it?”

“Probably an older edition,” Hunk said, turning to his work table, where his five-year-old edition lay open. “I have it here if you want.”

“You sure?” Kato asked, already coming over. He picked up Hunk’s book and squinted at the blueprint. “They're still using fragmented pulse cores?”

“Not these ones, they're not,” Hunk commented dryly, practically scraping the parts out of his section. “Don't leave me alone with whoever piloted this ship, I might get violent.”

Kato gave Hunk a disbelieving look as if to say “who, you?”

“Just look at this mess!” Hunk complained, pulling out a mass of wires that had melted into a malformed lump of plastics and metal. “they've burned it to a crisp in here!”

Kato winced. “Ew, there's no way of knowing which one goes where anymore.”

“Oh, I already familiarized myself with those details,” Hunk assured Kato. “I make sure I know what it should look like before I start yanking things out, otherwise I might end up trying to fix things that aren't even broken.”

For some reason, this seemed to come as a shock to Kato. “You can tell before dismantling it what needs replaced?”

Hunk nodded, then indicated a collection of parts that had been tagged with a small strip of brightly colored electrical tape. “Those are the ones I'll be needing for this particular repair,” Hunk explained.

“You're so organized ,” Kato marveled, “But also concise ? You got everything on less than one table!”

“Economy of space is important in a hangar,” Hunk explained, “The more spread out your things are, the easier they are to lose.”

Kato nodded, then did a double-take. “Wait, you've worked in a real hangar ?”

Hunk chuckled, “No way, man, they don't hire kids in fancy joints like that.” He chuckled. “Just spent a few summers working in my dad’s repair shop. It's...cramped.”

“Wait, worked as in… worked-worked?” Kato gestured abstractly, “Or worked as in sat in the corner and watched?”

Hunk laughed outright at that. “I've sat and watched for as long as I can remember,” he said. “Dad couldn't afford a babysitter, so he stuck me on a stool until I started figuring things out for myself.”

“So you work-worked ,” Kato clarified.

“I got a nice paycheck out of the deal, yeah,” Hunk said, not mentioning how the entirety of said paycheck had gone towards school supplies. His dad didn't even know that. He'd wanted Hunk to enjoy himself, spend the money on something nice, but Hunk just couldn't justify that to himself when he’d witnessed firsthand everything his father was sacrificing to send him to a place as prestigious as the Garrison.

Kato was staring at Hunk, a look of understanding slowly dawning across his features. “So yesterday, when you kept moving stuff around and it just happened to be the exact equipment we needed next…”

Hunk nodded slowly.

“When you did that thing with the Hakata coil…” Kato slapped a hand to his forehead suddenly. “Doctor Singh deducted points for ‘lack of originality’! Was that you? Was she expecting your weird thing you did instead of the Hakata coil?”

Hunk shrugged awkwardly, feeling his face begin to burn. “I think so,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Dude, that's one hundred percent on me,” Kato insisted, drawing both his palms up to his chest and tapping them twice at just about collarbone height. “I can't believe I listened to Bryce .”

Hunk shrugged. “He can be persuasive.”

“So you can fix this thing?” Kato changed subjects so quickly Hunk almost felt dizzy.

“Uh, probably,” Hunk said, not exactly willing to put himself out there considering  how Bryce and Krestya tended to react to his input.

“So if I had a question about something, I could ask you to double-check it for me?” Kato clarified.

“That's what teammates are supposed to do,” Hunk said with a confused frown.

“But you will?” Kato pressed.

“Sure,” Hunk agreed. This felt like progress.

“Do you mind if I take this manual with me?” Kato asked.

“Sure, just be careful with it,” Hunk said. “It's the only copy I have.”

“You got it,” Kato bobbed his head a little in thanks before hustling back over to his side of the cargo ship.

About ten minutes later, Kato called Hunk over. “Does this look right to you?” he asked.

Hunk glanced over Kato’s work. “Is that coupling supposed to connect there?” he asked, indicating the part in question.

Kato tilted his head, examining the wiring job for several long seconds. “...yes?”

“That's weird,” Hunk said, checking the manual and seeing that yes, that's where it was supposed to be. “It's gonna totally fry the internal regulators like this.” He glanced at Kato. “Do you have two polarized microcables with harmonic frequencies handy?”

Kato scrambled for his toolkit. “Oh yeah, right...here. No. Wait. Here. I just had them…” Something fell out of Kato's toolkit with a clunk.

“You know what, I probably have a set at my station,” Hunk said, ducking under the cargo ship and grabbing the small wires before heading back over to where Kato was still rooting around in his kit.

“So,” Hunk said, “if we run these around here and up under this, that should help average out some of the more taxing system functions. No wonder the pulse cores were fried!”

Kato watched carefully, nodding to show he was paying attention. “Wow,” he said, “You really do know what you're doing.”

Hunk scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Oh, well, you know…” he said, trailing off awkwardly.

“Thanks man, I think I can take it from here,” Kato said.

Over the course of the next hour, Kato called Hunk over to check every step in the process. Hunk would barely get one step started before Kato would ask for his help again . Hunk was glad to be heard, but felt like maybe Kato wasn't really putting in the same amount of effort that Hunk was. When he poked in to see Kato hadn't even bothered prepping his tools, expecting Hunk to lend him his own rather than dig through the toolbox, the sick feeling was back in his gut.

That's when Bryce chose to make his entrance, over an hour late to the lab, complaining of a headache and chugging at a cup of probably-overpriced chain-store joe. “Kato, why are you and big guy on opposite sides of the ship?” Bryce demanded.

“Oh yeah,” Kato said stiffly.

Hunk prepared for the inevitable blowout when Kato told Bryce the truth. Except…

“I've been having him come over here to see what I'm doing, then sometimes I'll check on his work.” Kato told Bryce.

Hunk blinked, sure he'd heard wrong. “Are you serious?”

Bryce sighed loudly from the rear of the cargo ship. “Pipe down, big guy, at least this way you're not screwing with our score.” He tore out some parts, and Hunk winced at the sound of delicate gears stripping. He hadn't even loosened them, and Hunk could tell from the sound that Bryce would end up needing to replace the couplings now too.

Hunk didn't like the way Bryce talked to him, and he especially hated the way Bryce called him ‘big guy’.  It wasn't a term of endearment, the way Lance might use it. It was passing judgement, disguised as an innocuous-sounding nickname and Hunk hated it. He hated that Kato would ask for his help one minute, then stab him in the back the next. He hated everything about this situation, and suddenly it felt like too much. He couldn't be near them right now.

Hunk knew that leaving without finishing would reflect poorly on his grades, and that was the only thing that kept him rooted to the spot, gritting his teeth and working mechanically. He hated this. He'd never felt so angry , so completely at a loss, the engines wouldn't sing for him, the hangar loomed ominously overhead like a judge handing down a sentence. Kato tried to call him over once more, but Hunk couldn't, couldn't answer, couldn't bring himself to check the others supplies, couldn't find the inner strength to be a good teammate. He was beaten and betrayed and hurt, and he didn't have it in him to be the better person. He wasn't good enough. Wasn't...strong enough.  Hunk put his head down and powered through his repair, and the moment he was finished, he packed up his toolkit and left.

Chapter Text

When Hunk didn't show up at breakfast, Lance shrugged it off as a busy day in the lab. Hunk was always complaining about it anyway. Lance was impressed that Pidge managed to put up with him without Hunk there to act as a buffer. It wasn't that Lance disliked Pidge, exactly. He just thought the guy could stand to take a break every now and then, and he failed to understand how being a reclusive nerd made you at all fit for duty as a communications officer (how are you supposed to communicate if you never leave your room, huh Pidge? Answer me that !). Pidge, for his part, seemed to think Lance was all talk. Admittedly, he hadn't flown with Lance yet, and he was pretty sure Pidge would change their tune after flying with him. Obviously Hunk couldn't appreciate his skills, Hunk had the weakest stomach ever. That thought brought Lance back to Hunk, who was now also skipping lunch, and while Hunk might occasionally skip a meal, missing two meals in a row was unprecedented.

“Is Hunk okay?” Pidge asked Lance quietly, probably the first civil thing he'd ever said to Lance. “He wasn't at breakfast either.”

Lance wanted to exude confidence and suave poise. He was usually pretty good at that. But today, he was worried about Hunk too. “This isn't like him,” Lance told Pidge, “not at all.”

“Should we go look for him?” Pidge asked.

“Do you think he's sick?” Lance asked a question of his own rather than answer Pidge.

“He didn't seem sick yesterday,” Pidge answered, wrinkling his nose in concentration. “Did anything happen after hours?”

“He went to bed early,” Lance remembered. “He said he was tired.”

Pidge frowned. “Maybe he is sick.”

“Should we try and find him?” Lance asked, concerned.

“Why are you asking me?” Pidge looked confused. “ You're his friend.”

Lance wagged a finger at Pidge to show his disapproval. “You're his friend too,” he replied.

“Maybe so,” Pidge said, “But you've known him a lot longer.”

“True,” Lance preened.

“So…” Pidge's left eyebrow was twitching in irritation. “Where would he go?”

“I… don't know,” Lance admitted. “I usually waited for him to find me.”

“You're useless,” Pidge decided, standing quickly.

“Where are you going?” Lance whined.

“Where does it look like?” Pidge snapped. “I'm going to find Hunk.”

“He's really good at hiding,” Lance called a warning after Pidge, who elected to totally ignore him. Rude.

With a shrug, Lance went back to his lunch. Hunk would show his face when he was ready, and Lance would be there for him. That's how it worked. Pidge just needed to figure that out.

Pidge wasn't about to waste time getting lost looking for a teammate who apparently didn't want to be found. But she couldn't forget how Hunk had tried his best to make sure she was okay.  At the time it had irritated her to no end, but she'd come to appreciate Hunk’s attentiveness...even if it did sometimes blur the line between concern and just being nosy.

With that in mind, Pidge got to work tracking down the elusive engineer. Her first stop was her room, where she snagged her laptop from its usual spot on her desk. Following that, she  made her way to the nearest computer lab. School-provided computers had security installed that kept students from accessing restricted material, and while Pidge could have broken through in short order, it was easier to just use her own laptop and skip the extra hassle.

One of the reasons Pidge seemed to be in a perpetual state of irritation had to do with the amount of sleep she was (not) getting. She'd been in and out of the Garrison computer systems more times than she cared to count, and it seems they really didn't know anything. They'd lost contact with the Kerberos mission before the ship had landed, and they hadn't been able to retrieve or even locate the craft. Pidge wondered at the incompetence - shouldn't there be some sort of black box? But apparently it had been damaged or - and this she found much more likely - disabled. There were also a lot of words that seemed to be euphemisms for other things. Phrases like “unexplained phenomenon” or “unfamiliar interference” that just screamed “Aliens” to her. She wasn't sure which possibility frightened her more - losing her father and brother to the empty void of space, or losing them to a hostile inhuman race. In any case, she'd been using her equipment, originally scanning for a message from Kerberos- to receive messages, to prove what she suspected - that aliens were out there, and they had her father and brother.

All that to say, she knew these computers like the back of her hand. With a few simple keystrokes, Pidge was in, scanning security camera feeds to figure out where Hunk might be. About halfway through her search, she realized neither she nor Lance had bothered to message Hunk. Or, well, she hadn't contacted him. She didn't know whether Lance had or not.  She was really not cut out for this “communications officer” business. Instead of pulling out her communicator, though, she continued scanning the security feeds.

She found Hunk not much later. He was sitting outside, on the roof, apparently unaffected by the hot desert sun, wiping suspiciously at his face. He seemed to be sweating… from his eyes and nose. Yes… definitely sweat…

Pidge felt her chest tighten, filled with a fierce protectiveness for her friend. She wanted whoever had made Hunk feel like this to pay , dearly. She also realized she was watching Hunk cry - ahem, sweat - through a security camera, and that was not only creepy but also very unlikely to help. She wondered if she should go to him, but worried that he might be embarrassed. Instead she messaged him, one eye on the security camera as she did so, trying to gauge his reactions.

When she sent the first message, Hunk glanced down at his communicator briefly, but otherwise did nothing. He kept staring out at the empty desert, arms wrapped around himself.

Pidge sent another message, and another. Hunk ignored them all. Pidge felt her heart rate wuicken. Why was Hunk avoiding his friends? What had happened? A sick feeling clutched at her gut, and she couldn't seem to remember how to breathe. For all this time she'd thought she'd been simply enduring Hunk, and she was only just realizing precisely how much he meant to her. She didn't want him to avoid her, she wanted to help . She wanted someone who wasn't going to leave her, who wasn't going to disappear in the void of space, or retreat into a little world in their head! She wasn't going to sit around wringing her hands - not about her dad, not about her brother, not about her mom, and certainly not about Hunk! She would go talk to him, she would find out what was wrong, and she would help!

Packing up her computer, Pidge slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out in the direction of Hunk and his pity party.

Chapter Text

Hunk hadn't been planning on skipping class when he stepped outside. He'd just needed a breath of fresh air before going on with his day, but the gulps of air had turned to sobs before Hunk could make a move to stop it, and then he was a big mess, tears and snot everywhere. He tried to stop, but sometimes you just gotta cry things out. The problem was, as soon as he managed to stop crying, his brain would find something else to stress about and then he was crying again and he couldn't go back inside like this, what would people say? What would they think?

Lance had messaged him nearly constantly for the better part of four hours, ever since he missed breakfast. Pidge had started messaging him not too long ago too, and they both seemed very worried about Hunk.

Hunk couldn't bring himself to answer - what was he going to say? “Sorry guys I've been crying and having panic attacks for four hours, I'll see you tomorrow”, “Sorry I suck”, “Sorry I don't actually belong here and Doctor Singh probably hates me for skipping her class”? He didn't want to burden them with his problems, he'd wait and come up with a good excuse later.

That had been the plan, anyway, right up until Pidge opened the door and poked his head outside. “Hunk?”

Hunk stiffened, wiping frantically at his face as he turned away from the door. “Yeah?” he said, voice quivering. Well. If the face-wiping and sniffle hadn't alerted Pidge, that wobble to his voice definitely had.

“Are you okay? Lance said to leave you alone,” Pidge added awkwardly, “But I'm not good at leaving things alone.” Pidge sighed, coming outside and sitting down next to Hunk, staring out at the desert, giving Hunk a chance to try and make himself somewhat presentable. Hunk scrubbed at his face with his jumpsuit sleeve - he hadn't even changed out of his hangar gear into his uniform, he was a mess.

“You wanna talk about it?” Pidge asked, almost gruffly.

Hunk sniffed hard. “Uh…” he said weakly.

“That's fine,” Pidge said. “I'll just sit here.” The silence stretched for several seconds, but it was strangely comfortable. “Oh!” Pidge exclaimed suddenly, and a candy bar leapt before Hunk’s eyes. “I got this for you, I figured you might be hungry.”

Hunk stared at the candy bar, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Oh, thanks,” he said weakly. He knew he should be hungry, but he still felt sick.

“I don't know what kind you like,” Pidge's eyes slid in his direction, then snapped away, returning to the desert landscape spread out before them. “I hope it's okay.”

Hunk didn't want Pidge to feel bad, so he took the candy bar and unwrapped it carefully. The first bite tasted like sawdust. He usually liked this kind, but everything felt so horrible he couldn't even enjoy it. He couldn't find the emotional energy to enjoy anything that might usually please him, like spending time with a cute friend or eating something sweet and delicious.

“Hey, um,” Pidge said after a moment, “I’m not great with awkward silences, so I'm gonna whistle.”

Inexplicably, this statement brought a small smile to Hunk’s face. “Okay,” he said, taking another bite, just to be polite. He still had over half of it left. It's flavor was comparable to styrofoam, and the way it crumbled apart in his dry mouth only added to the illusion. Hunk realized he wasn't sweating anymore. He realized that was probably a bad sign, it was really hot out here, the other half of the candy bar was starting to melt. Pidge’s face was coated in a thin sheen of sweat. A small drop rolled down his friend’s forehead, eased to a halt at the tip of his nose and waited there for a few seconds before Pidge swiped it away, beginning to whistle a nonsense tune.

Hunk squinted a little, it was getting later and the sun was getting more intense. He was tired now - he'd finally managed to stop  crying, but his head was pounding from the aftermath of his stress and sobs. Afterimages of the shimmering sun danced before his eyes.

It seemed to happen all at once then, a sick feeling squeezing at his gut, a blinding headache stabbing into his temple, and when Pidge whistled again, it sounded distorted, like his ears were plugged. Abruptly Hunk felt like he couldn't breathe. His heart was pounding even harder than his head. His stomach twisted, and for a moment he suspected food poisoning. Everything seemed to disappear in a haze of pain and pounding heartbeat, and when Hunk regained his senses he was bent nearly double and panting heavily.  Pidge was hovering over Hunk, hands fluttering nervously in indecision.  Hunk’s head was hanging, forearms braced on his knees, candy bar clenched in his fist, gasping for air. He was so dizzy.

“Are you okay?” Pidge was shaking his shoulder, Hunk tried to focus on what he was saying but it kept cutting out, and all he could seem to focus on was breathing in, breathing out…

“Hunk you’re really pale-” a cool hand touched Hunk’s forehead. “Oh my god are you running a fever? How are you not sweating?” Pidge sounded like he was on the verge of his own panic attack. “ You're not sweating,” Pidge repeated viciously, and then he was scrambling for his communicator, typing rapidly.

Hunk sort of faded then, and next thing he knew, Lance was there? He slung one of Hunk's arms over his shoulder, and Pidge sort of held onto his other side and Hunk really tried to stand up but his knees wobbled and didn't want to do anything, he could lock them, but as soon as he tried to move they would buckle. The first time this happened he nearly crushed Lance. He would have felt bad about that if he'd had the presence of mind to do so, but he was still trying to breathe despite the blinding headache now splitting his skull open.

Hunk dimly recognized Lance and Pidge tugging him down the hallway, then he was lying on a bed, cold packs under his armpits and around his torso, a needle in his arm and he was so tired, and Lance and Pidge were hovering over him and there were halos above their heads - maybe they were radiating, or possibly there were fluorescent lights somewhere behind their heads. Hunk wasn't really in a state where he felt capable of differentiating between the two.

His eyes fluttered shut.

 “Oh my god,” Lance was trying really hard not to freak out. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

 Pidge was silent as the grave, hands wringing anxiously in his lap where he sat in an uncomfortable clinic chair.

 Lance couldn't even bring himself to sit, pacing anxiously, his whole body fit to burst with nervous energy. He was still in denial that this was happening, but every time he spun on his heel Lance would catch sight of Hunk's face, pale, his chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly.

Lance was so incredibly grateful that Pidge had ignored him -- he didn't think he'd ever be glad about something like that and he hoped it never happened again. Pidge had found Hunk, and just in time, apparently. The doctor had told them Hunk had overheated, that he was severely dehydrated, had very low blood sugar, and needed fluids, rest, and a cool room.  The medical team allowed Pidge and Lance stay in the room as long as they kept quiet, which both of them were incredibly grateful for.

Lance was mostly struggling with the quiet part of the agreement, but whenever his voice rose above an urgent whisper, Pidge would reach over and tug on his hand, snapping him out of his funk long enough to quiet down.

“Come on, Hunk,” Lance whispered then, “You gotta be okay.” That afternoon has been their first scheduled training session in the flight simulator. It should have been a great day of teamwork.

Instead, Hunk had decided he couldn't even talk to his own friends about what was wrong, crying himself dry and baking himself alone in the desert sun. Lance scrubbed at his face, feeling like he was going to be sick. How had he failed so much as a friend that Hunk didn't consider him someone to turn to? He'd thought they could share everything, but apparently things had been a lot tougher for Hunk than he’d been letting on...

Pidge looked similarly shaken, which was impressive, because Lance and Hunk had been friends for awhile now, and Pidge had only just made Hunk’s acquaintance. Then again, Lance mused, it really didn't take much to realize that Hunk was a really great person. Who wouldn’t feel close to Hunk after even a very short time together? Only someone heartless.

Which is why Lance couldn't believe that things had gotten bad for Hunk. He couldn't imagine what it was. Hunk had always had test anxiety, but he’d never seen Hunk this bad before.

Lance muttered violently under his breath, and Pidge reached over, tugging lightly on his sleeve to remind him to keep quiet.

He knew Hunk had been worried about his maintenance lab partners, and seeing as Hunk hadn't even changed out of his lab jumpsuit, Lance had a feeling that was where the problem had started. It made his blood boil just to think of it, Hunk deserved so much better than however he’d been treated by those creeps. He glanced at Pidge, noting the communications cadet’s hardened features and sharp, focused gaze. Lance was upset, sure. Pidge looked ready to take on the whole Garrison on Hunk’s behalf, and Lance couldn't say he blamed him one bit. In fact, he rather wanted in on it.

A light rap on the door pulled him from his internal dialogue. Who could possibly-- had they called Hunk’s dad? Was it that serious? The door eased open, and Doctor Singh let herself into the room, her gaze landing on Hunk first before sliding across the small room to take in Pidge and Lance. She nodded curtly by way of greeting, moving a little closer to Hunk’s bed.

“He's sleeping,” Pidge said darkly from his chair. Lance would have never dared to use a tone like that with one of his professors.  Doctor Singh ignored Pidge, which didn't seem to sit well with the new cadet. “You're his lab instructor, right?” Pidge added, quiet enough to not be labeled ‘disruptive’ though his tone was anything but respectful.

Doctor Singh turned and looked at Pidge, her gaze stone cold. Lance suppressed a shudder. “I am,” Doctor Singh answered.

“Did you know he was being harassed by his teammates?” Pidge hissed, “Do you know how they talk about him? Talk to him?”

Doctor Singh frowned a little, turning to fully face Pidge. Lance gulped as Doctor Singh drew herself up to her full height.  “Is this an accusation or genuine curiosity?”

“It depends on your answer,” Pidge practically growled, and Lance had seen ‘im gonna flounce off’ diva Pidge before, but he'd never seen the raw,’don't you dare hurt my friend’ side of Pidge until now. It was more than a little intimidating.

Doctor Singh was not as easily flustered as Lance, though, gazing back at Pidge with a slow blink. “I knew there was some tension within the group,” she said evenly. “However, I do not condone the mistreatment of cadets, either by faculty or their peers.”

Pidge stood up, which would have been a lot more impressive if his head had been able to reach higher than Doctor Singh’s elbow. Lance contemplated suggesting Pidge stand on a chair to level the playing field, but he didn't want to risk getting caught in the crossfire of the Doctor’s icy stare and Pidge’s fiery one. Instead he watched anxiously as the tension ratcheted up second by ominous second.

Then Pidge’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose you're no more to blame than us,” he said weakly, gesturing to himself and Lance. “If he wouldn't talk to us, he wouldn't talk to a teacher.”

Doctor Singh eyed Pidge appraisingly, responding with a light, “Hmm.”

Pidge sat back down, all the fight gone out of his tiny body. “I’m gonna kill him when he wakes up,” Pidge muttered. “And then - I dunno.”

“Kiss him?” Lance suggested cheekily, only to be met by two unamused stares. He swallowed hard. “Uh…”

Doctor Singh handed Pidge a small access card. “Today’s in-class worksheet,” she said. “Tell mister Hunk it's worth ten extra credit points on the next test, due...” she glanced at his still form, lying on the bed, “...when he recovers,” she decided, moving towards the door.

“Okay,” Pidge said, turning the card over in his hands, looking for a moment like he wanted to throw it at her. “I'll let him know.”

“Oh, and cadets?” Doctor Singh added, pausing to glance over her shoulder at Pidge and Lance.

Lance felt like he needed to hide behind something to escape the intensity of her gaze. Pidge looked up from the floor at the professor, something in Doctor Singh’s tone catching his attention.

“Do give mister Hunk my sincerest apologies,” Doctor Singh said, her face clouding as she continued. “And rest assured, I will be looking into this matter.”

Chapter Text

The minute Doctor Singh left the room, Lance collapsed into an uncomfortable clinic chair with a gasp. “That was terrifying,” he decided.

Pidge had a pinched look on his face. “I just hope she really does do something about this,” Pidge said, adding in an undertone, “you can be damn sure I will be.”

Lance glanced at Pidge, not sure whether to feel concern or admiration. “Oh? Like what?”

“Like…” Pidge trailed off, “it's a secret,” he said finally. “I haven't decided for sure, anyway,” he added before Lance even had the chance to complain about the secrecy.

Just then, Hunk shifted slightly. Pidge and Lance froze. “Were we being too disruptive?” Lance hissed in an undertone.

Pidge shrugged helplessly, eyes wide.  Both of them turned to look at Hunk, but he only sighed lightly, eyes still shut, before quickly returning to a deep, even breathing pattern. Lance slumped back down in his chair. Both of them were finally chased out for lights out, although Pidge refused to leave until he’d secured a promise that he and Lance could come back and check on Hunk again as soon as the lights were back on. Lance appreciated Pidge’s tenacity. As long as it wasn't aimed at Lance, it was actually pretty useful to be around a guy like Pidge. Things sure got done, at least.

He was glad that Hunk had a friend like Pidge - Lance was good for hugs and stuff, but boy did Pidge ever have a sharp tongue. And he knew how to use it, too. Lance’s verbal skills were mostly limited to bad pickup lines and tactless ‘your mom’ retorts when someone made him mad. Pidge was a viper, all venom and fangs. Also melodramatic and very nerdy but hey, if Lance had proved anything it was that Hunk could handle melodrama.

He was glad to have someone like Pidge on their side. Lance almost wished he knew what Pidge had planned for Hunk’s lab partners, despite the knowledge that he would be better off not knowing. If for no other reason, he could plead ignorance when things went down.

The first thing Pidge did after lights-out was get out her laptop and find out who Hunk’s lab partners were. She actually recognized the names, from when she’d gotten lost the day before. She’d overheard people talking about Kato and Bryce and Krestya. She stared at the names, cementing them in her mind before looking up their student profiles and memorizing their features as well. She was going to find them and make them regret ever having looked sideways at Hunk. They were going to pay.

But first, Pidge realized, she would need the receipts to drop some hardcore knowledge on this pack of bullies. She went digging into Hunk’s academic record, finding his glowing recommendation from professor Iverson. She found his application, where it was noted that he’d broken the record for the practical skills exam by more than two and a half minutes. She found his employment records at his dad’s mechanic shop and shipyard. Pidge even found a note from Doctor Singh sent to Professor Iverson thanking him for recommending Hunk for her course and that she was impressed by his work ethic and creativity, also noting that he had defied all logic and expectations she’d held prior to observing him in her class. She'd also told the Professor that she considered Hunk to be one of her brightest students.

Once Pidge had scraped together every positive report on Hunk she could find, she set about scouring the others’ academic records. They were glaringly devoid of glowing recommendations and positive comments. In fact, the best thing any teacher had to say about Bryce was “at times I can almost be convinced that he has a rudimentary understanding of the concepts being discussed in lecture.” Kato was cited several times as being “lazy, incompetent, and criminally uncreative.” One professor had even said the young mechanic “Wouldn't know how to think outside the box if you drew him a diagram detailing the process.” Krestya didn't seem much better. Most professors had very bland, nondescript comments like “can complete the work adequately”. One professor noted with disdain that she “cares far more for how good at repairs she appears to be than actually caring to improve her actual mechanical skills.”

Ohhh, Pidge was going to utterly wreck them. They would be a bunch of blubbering, self-aware children by the time she was through with them. Hurt Hunk, would they? Well Hunk may not be the type to fight back, but Pidge had no such qualms. She was going to destroy his lab partners. Utterly and completely. She would break them down and wreck their self esteem, their self-worth, their confidence… whatever they'd done to Hunk, Pidge was going to unleash upon them tenfold.

Right after she checked in on Hunk and made sure he was okay. Because no matter how much she despised his lab partners, she knew it was more important to be there for someone than to concoct and execute a revenge scheme in their absence. Once Hunk was awake, though? There would be hell to pay. Hell. To. Pay.

Pidge grinned at her computer, shutting it slowly. She was going to enjoy this...