#soulmate au MUST be religious and believe in a higher power

[seeds-of-the-garden]

PLANCE SOULMATE AU PLEASEEEE

@ziawushere did you order angst with a side of bi Pidge? Cause uh, that’s what came out of the kitchen.

Happy New Year! Kicking off 2021 with an extra long seed to make things bright.

The ‘Might Be’s and the ‘Hasn’t Been’s

Tequila wasn’t her poison of choice — and drinking alone at the Garrison bar definitely wasn’t her thing — but today, maybe it was needed.

Isabella Anderson. The pale grey letters curled around her wrist, spelling out the name in a beautiful cursive Pidge could never hope to achieve herself. She’d traced the curve of each letter over and over every day for decades, wondering about the woman who wrote it, but they’d never met. Pidge had been in space, fighting a war, and Isabella had been on Earth...dying in it.

She should feel something, right? Heartbroken? Sad? As a paladin, Pidge was one of the few people who could stop the war, so technically it could be classed as her fault. Where was the sting of failure?

Another sip, and the burn made her wince.

Maybe she should feel relieved. She’d never been one for the whole soulmate thing, and it hadn’t stopped her dating in the past. Now she could throw herself into relationships judgement-free. That was a good thing, right?

Instead she just had this weird lump in her chest, and she didn’t know what it was.

“Pidge?” She glanced up in surprise to see Lance slipping on the stool next to her, surprise evident on his own face. “What are you doing here alone?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

He shrugged and signalled the bartender for a beer, settling in with a shrug. “I was meant to be meeting a date outside but got stood up. Was about to head home when I saw you.”

“Oh,” she said, furrowing her brow. She didn’t know who his date had been, but it must have been fairly important — he was dressed pretty nicely in slacks and a button-down, and Lance cleaned up good. Miss Flake didn’t know what she was missing. “Are you okay?”

“It was a blind date.” He took a sip of his beer, then grinned and nudged her elbow. “Besides, now I get to hang out with you.”

Pidge just rolled her eyes and took another sip, trying to hide the wince. “Awesome.”

Something in her voice must have given her away, because Lance’s expression immediately shifted into one of concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

Damn him and his perceptiveness. She shrugged, considering. It wasn’t like he’d understand — not when his own soulmate had walked away in front of them — and maybe it would just bring up old wounds? It wasn't exactly something talking about could fix, either.

"Pidge?" 

He touched her hand, gently, his sleeve cuff grazing her mark, and suddenly she needed to say it.

"I checked the database earlier," she blurted out, fingers tightening around her glass. "The soulmate one they set up after the war."

Understanding flashed in his eyes and he squeezed the back of her hand with a chuckle. "Finally," he said. "It only took you what? Five years?"

Pidge snorted. "Four."

"Still." He took a sip, then looked at her expectantly. "And?"

And? Good question.

Lance was quiet, watching her patiently as she lifted her glass to her lips and forced the liquid down. He wouldn't push her — he never did. In the years since his return he'd been there for every heartbreak, every setback at work, every passing crush on whichever guy or girl took her fancy. And he'd never pushed.

The lump in her chest was still there, heavy and choking, but having Lance with her made it feel more manageable. Stronger. Less alone.

Thank quiznak for his missing date.

When the glass was empty, she grimaced and put it back down on the bar with a soft thunk. “Dead. Died in the first wave.”

Lance made a sympathetic noise beside her.

“I’m not sure how I feel,” she admitted, her eyes trained on the bar-top but one foot absently knocking against his shin. His tap in response was immediate, and she sighed as some of the tension drained away at the contact.  “Am I supposed to contact her family? I should be sad, right?”

What would she even say to her family? 

A glass of water appeared in front of her and she glanced up, offering him a small smile. “Thanks.”

“No worries.” A moment passed and then he shrugged and lifted his own glass, draining the whole thing before slamming it back down on the bar. “Alicia Thornbottom.”

“What?”

“Alicia Thornbottom,” he repeated, avoiding her gaze and signalling the bartender for another. “She died in a camp not too far from here, about a week before we made it back. She was my soulmate.”

Pidge stared at him. “I thought Allura was your soulmate?”

“Nope.”

“But you always said Allura was your soulmate. All those years on the castle, you said it was Allura.”

It had been one of the reasons why she'd never asked him out back then. You don't ask your crush out when their soulmate's right there.

“I lied,” he said simply, apparently happy to ignore her internal blue-screening in favour of watching her over the top of his new beer with a glint in his eye. “You can check if you want.”

“I—” Pidge paused, suddenly realising that she’d never actually seen his soulmark. “Where is your soulmark, anyway?” 

A devilish smirk took over Lance's expression and he waggled his eyebrows at her. “I’ll let you see it if you really want.”

She lifted an eyebrow dubiously. She knew that look.

He winked, making sure he had her attention, then oh-so-slowly tapped high up on his inner thigh. “You only have to ask.”

“Lance!” Heat rushed to her face and he burst out laughing. “What the quiznak!”

He only laughed harder in response, a deep, warm sound, and Pidge found herself laughing along despite herself.  Nine years on and he was still as big of a pain in the ass as when she’d first met him. At least he was better at picking his audience.

“I like to think,” Lance said when he’d calmed down, straightening up in his seat again, “that a girl with a name like Alicia Thornbottom would find me much too crass for her tastes.”

The idea was irritating. “She’d have poor taste, then.” 

If anything, Lance would have been too good for her.

He tipped his glass in thanks. “Nah, she’d just be way above my station.”

“You dated a princess.”

“I did,” he said, nodding sagely, “but Allura would have thrown me across the room for cracking a joke like that. Lady Thornbottom would have had people to do that for her.”

Pidge snorted, her eyes falling on her own mark again. “I never thought that much about mine. Just that I like her handwriting.”

Speculating too much had always felt like a recipe for disappointment, and Pidge worked on facts anyway. The data points she had were few — Spanish forename, English surname, local to the area according to the database, and likely a master calligrapher. Extrapolation pointed to a mixed-race artist, but beyond that it was anyone’s guess. 

And now she’d never know. “I never liked the idea of soulmates, anyway,” she mumbled, eyes still on her mark. “It felt so…”

“Superficial?”

She raised her eyes to meet his, surprised to see understanding there. Though perhaps she shouldn’t be, given what she’d just found out. “Yeah, superficial. Love is supposed to grow naturally, not because some higher power decreed it.”

“Exactly," he said decisively. "My parents aren’t soulmates, either. Maybe I would have loved Alicia. Maybe not. I don’t get to find out, but that doesn’t mean I’ll never fall in love. It just means I’ll have to figure it out for myself.”

Pidge took a sip of water and considered his words. Figuring it out herself hadn’t been going well. “I don’t think you’ll get very far if your dates keep standing you up.”

“Eh..” He shrugged, flashing her a cryptic smile. “I told you, it was just a blind date. Nadia set it up. I’ve actually had my eye on someone else for a couple of months.”

She frowned. Since when? He’d taken up a good chunk of her free time in the last few months, and he’d certainly never bothered to mention anyone over 2am tacos. “Oh? Someone from work?”

“Yeah,” he said carefully, watching her over his glass. “I’ve been thinking about asking her out, though. Gave myself a deadline of next week.”

Pidge’s heart sank. She should be happy for him — she really should — but next week was her birthday, and that would mean he’d be too busy being lovey-dovey to spend it with her if his mystery girl said yes. 

Maybe she should get another drink.

“Why next week?”

Lance drained the rest of his glass and stood up, throwing a few notes on the bar. “Cause it’s her birthday next week. Come on.”

Pidge froze.

She had a mental file of most of the people they worked with, and she couldn’t think of anybody else with a birthday next week. Was there a new girl? No, he would have mentioned a new girl.

That meant he could only be talking about her.

“Come on.” He nudged her elbow, prodding her to stand up too. She lifted her eyes to his, heat blooming across her cheeks, and was surprised to see a blush darkening his own cheeks. “I’m all dressed up to take a pretty lady out to dinner, and there’s a pretty lady right here. Plus you probably really need someone to take you to dinner right now.”

“I, uh…” She was flustered, why was she flustered? This was Lance. “I’m...I’m not really dressed for a date.”

He held out a hand, then hesitated — nervous, she realised. Anybody else might have missed it, but she knew Lance well enough to know when the bravado was a front — and then dropped it with a sigh. “You just found out your soulmate’s dead, Pidge. I’m not going to ask you out on a date tonight. You need some comfort and a distraction.”

That made sense, but she couldn’t help but point out: “Dates are a distraction.”

Lance snorted as she slid from her stool and packed up her handbag. “And maybe I’d want our date to be more than a distraction?”

She looked at him, wondering. Maybe she wasn’t that far off figuring it out after all. 

“I guess I’ll find out next week, huh?” she asked coyly, a smile playing on her lips as they walked towards the door.

He beamed back at her.

“Yeah. You’ll find out next week.”