#I rarely draw forsaken with the in-game models but I do like how they look

[anchoredtether]

Still Got It

<-- Inspired by @honestlyprettychill's beautiful Fault in Our Stars artwork -->

Title: The Therapy Session in Which I Spoke

Author: AnchoredTether

Rating: T [mild swearing, dark themes]

Pairings: Plance [Lance x Pidge]

Series: Still Got It

Chapter: 1/?

Summary: "Everyone is useful in some shape or form, at some point in their life, to an insurmountable number of people. Everyone's existence affects the fabric of space and time whether they realize it or not, and this reality as we know it is affected by your very existence. So..." I waved a hand dismissively as if I just explained something rather simple. "Like I said... no one is useless."

Lance was dumbstruck for a moment, his jaw slightly slacked and his eyebrows lowered. "Holy crow." Then his bewilderment slowly turned into a wicked grin. "Aren't you something else."

<-- CHAPTER 01 --> 

THE THERAPY SESSION IN WHICH I SPOKE

Late in the winter of my sixteenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, played the same video game over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about death. But... I did all those things on a regular basis. Mom became pretty adamant that I go to this therapy group, and of course, Dad and Matt jumped all over me saying it would be good for me and that I might even make a friend. It's not like I'm some lonely girl with absolutely no friends. I have Hunk. I just prefer solitude and technology and video games over people. People are exhausting. Probably the only reason I tolerate Hunk and his extroverted nature is because we can talk about tech for hours on end, whereas everyone else in the universe just doesn't get it. It doesn't help that most people give me that pitiful look when they notice my nasal cannula. Oh yeah. I have lung cancer. I'm like a computer with low RAM. Translation: I have a hard time breathing and doing other basic physical functions such as going upstairs. I'm slow when it comes to anything physical and because of that, some people look at me like I'm a kicked puppy. Maybe... just maybe being around people with similar problems will be different. Ten percent of the reason I decided to go was out of sheer curiosity. The remaining ninety percent was to make Matt shut up. Although now that I think about it, Matt never did shut up, he constantly wanted details about each meeting as if he were expecting me to meet my soulmate in a therapy session focused on death. Woe is me. I went, and went, and went, kicking and screaming the whole way. Metaphorically, of course. Although between moody pouting on the car ride to the church and snappy replies when mom reminded me to get ready, I did consider screaming... often. The therapy sessions were depressing as hell. I didn't need to hear about how others survived their chemo or their surgeries or their twelve years of cancer when I already had a perfectly good role model. My dad and brother's colleague and friend, Shiro, was a survivor of osteosarcoma (also known as bone cancer). He lost his entire right arm, but thanks to modern technology he had a decent prosthetic. I will admit, a part of me loves it when he visits so I can examine the tech of his limb at work. Sometimes Matt has to swat at me and remind me to stop drooling over Shiro's literal cancer scar. I'm not much of a talker so I rarely share any stories or thoughts at the group sessions. I try to listen and give a damn to everyone's depressing problems, but usually I'm just thinking about what I'm going to make my character do in Skyrim when I get home. The only reason I've continued attending these sessions after two months is that it keeps mom happy. The last thing I want is to do something that will make her depressed. I'm already depressed, so a little more depression each week can't do me any more damage than what is already done. This week was different. A boy with deep blue eyes kept staring at me. As we went around with introductions, it was my turn before his. While everyone was staring at me because I was speaking, it felt like only the handsome stranger was looking at me and it was causing my face to redden. "I'm Pidge. I'm sixteen, almost seventeen. I had thyroid cancer but it got treated about a year ago and now I just have a satellite in my lungs. I'm doing okay." The words tumbled out so fast I wondered if newbie caught any of it. The regulars continued to introduce themselves but I still felt those blue eyes on me. He didn't stare at me unblinkingly like a creeper for ten minutes straight, but for whatever reason his eyes continued to gravitate towards me in the same way that your eyes kinda drift towards roadkill when you're driving. Although I'm pretty sure he wasn't staring at me because I was a dead animal. That was just a horrible analogy. "The name's Lance." Oh boy was his voice smooth. It rolled like the gentle draw and pull of the ocean's edge and it was pulling me in like the tide. "I'm seventeen and I just survived osteosarcoma about..." He counted on his slender fingers. "Eight weeks ago. I lost my leg, but none of my charm." Automatically my eyes fell to his legs, which was probably the rudest thing I could have done in that moment. He was wearing jeans and high rise boots so I couldn't discern which was flesh and which was metal. What were the odds of meeting someone who survived the exact same cancer as Shiro, and lost a limb because of it? I was itching to see how the tech differed for a leg prosthetic to that of an arm but it was probably rude to ask a stranger if you could examine their fake appendage. I barely noticed what today's subject was until the group session leader, Coran, called out Lance. Everyone else was prattling on about something while I was trying to avoid the fact that osteosarcoma-man continually drew his gaze toward me. Apparently we were talking about fears. "Lance, perhaps you'd like the share your fears with the group." Coran said in his trademark pleasant tone. "My fears?" "Yes." "I fear forsakenness." "Could you elaborate? Is it a religious forsakenness?" "No, not like that. I guess you could also call it abandonment." There was a soberness in his eyes that made me curious as to what kinds of scars he bore. "At times I'm nothing more than a third wheel. Some days it feels like a seventh wheel." He gave off a soft, nervous laugh. "l used to be on the swim team, was pretty good at it too. Now I've lost a leg. I'm useless to the team. I'm currently attending the Garrison and I want to be a pilot but... apparently piloting requires both your legs. I don't know how much longer they'll continue their cancer-kid pity and let me crash the simulations before they officially flunk me out. So yeah... I fear forsakenness. Being taken for granted and disregarded because of your uselessness. I'm already halfway there, so I guess the only thing I ought to fear at this point is fear itself." The room was quiet for a moment and despite the somberness in Lance's tone, he was smiling as if all of this was no big deal. I could see it in his eyes, however. The smile was a facade. I wondered idly how many times he faked such an appearance for the sake of others. "No one is useless." I'm not sure where my voice came from but I spoke up so loud it echoed softly in the vaulted space and Coran had to do a double take. All eyes were on me, again, and I could tell some of them were wider than usual because I rarely ever spoke in these sessions unless Coran yanked it out of me, but yet again I only felt the sincere stare of the boy with eyes the shade of the sky just before the stars came out. "My dad once said..." My voice started to crack but I pushed through it. "That everyone has a purpose. We may not see it or understand it, but everything in the universe is connected, much like the energy that flows through all living things or how everything in a computer is made up of the same series of numbers. You may feel useless to everyone and everything, including yourself, but you are useful to someone. Someone out there has been moved by the words you've said. Someone out there has been inspired by your actions. Someone out there has been cheered up by your spirit. Everyone is useful in some shape or form, at some point in their life, to an insurmountable number of people. Everyone's existence affects the fabric of space and time whether they realize it or not, and this reality as we know it is affected by your very existence. So..." I waved a hand dismissively as if I just explained something rather simple. "Like I said... no one is useless." Lance was dumbstruck for a moment, his jaw slightly slacked and his eyebrows lowered. "Holy crow." Then his bewilderment slowly turned into a wicked grin. "Aren't you something else." I raised my eyebrows at him in a silent question mark. Who said 'holy crow?' Wasn't the more common phrase 'holy cow?' Either way I'm pretty sure I just imploded his brain with my answer, and Coran is also looking a tad surprised as well as pleased. We continue on with the therapy session, neither Lance nor I contributing any more to the discussion. I quickly figured out which of his legs was prosthetic. He had a habitual bouncing of his left thigh, and it was a movement that was far too natural to have done with a recently amputated leg. When the session ended I stood up a bit too quickly and grabbed my oxygen tank to haul myself out of there as fast as I could. I didn't want to talk with anyone. I wanted to run home, hide in my room and play Skyrim on my laptop in the dark and immerse myself in distraction. But before I could leave more than five feet from the ring of chairs, there he was. "You said your name was... Pidge?" Doubt. Nervousness. And was that a bit of judgment? "Yeah." I didn't care to elaborate. I pulled on my oxygen tank and continued towards the door. "Want me to pull that for you?" He asked as he walked alongside me. There was a slight limp in his step. "It's not that heavy, Lance." Why was I being so snappy? Usually I wasn't this rude to strangers. "But it's a tank." "It's a tank of oxygen. It's not that heavy." He still seemed perplexed as he shook his head, but continued following anyway. "I just wanted to uh... thank you, for what you said back there." I wanted to reply quickly with something along the lines of 'it was no big deal' or 'glad I could help' and continue running away, but instead I stopped in my tracks and said nothing. I stared at the floor and felt like I couldn't breathe, which is saying something because ninety percent of the time I have trouble breathing. "Pidge?" His tone was concerned. "Do you want to come over for dinner?" Why did I say that. Why did I say that. "For dinner?" All I did was nod. I think that's all I was capable of, given the situation. I was still trying to calculate why my voice box made the impulsive decision to invite him over to my home. Lance seemed hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Well, I won't say no to free food. A-are you sure? You don't need to like… call your parents first and see if it's okay if I come over or anything?" "Nah." I finally gained control over my motor abilities as I grabbed my oxygen tank and started walking again. I was still working on trying to reboot my brain, however. "We always prepare a ton of food in case Hunk or Shiro decide to show up." "Shiro?" Lance's voice went up an octave from surprise. "You mean like Takashi Shirogane Shiro? That Shiro?" "Wait, you know him?" "We had the same cancer! He visited me in the hospital! That guy's my hero!" "Well I'll be…" I whipped out my phone and started texting Matt. "I'm going to see if he can join us for dinner too. Because why not?" When Lance laughed my brain realized why I invited him over. "Yeah, might as well!"

#plance #plance fanfic #flirtyrobot #pance #pidgance #voltron #vld #still got it #plance au #voltron fanfic #vld fanfic #my fanfiction