Phone Tag (Shidge/Klance)

Chapter 5

Every Wednesday night after close, Allura checked her employees' hours. Everyone was required to clock in and out with a computer program. Workers were paid bi-weekly—unless they desperately needed their check in an emergency situation. (Covering rent, insurance costs, or hospital bills.) In such events, Allura wrote them a personal handwritten check.

Allura prided herself on flexibility and diplomatic skills. Always willing to compromise—within reason, of course. She believed employees were not servants. They had lives outside of Altea Tech. For the most part, she tried to stay uninvolved. But that didn't mean she had her concerns.

One of them being the hour logs for "Holt, Katie" over the past two days.

Allura frowned. "She was on time today."

Coran took a sip of his coffee. (His own special homebrew, of course.) He had enough energy to fuel at least three emergency hospital generators—and that was without caffeine. "Astounding! Truly incredible! A punctual Pidge!"

"It gets stranger. She offered to cover more shifts during the day. Said she'll attend more meetings—even ones that aren't in her department."

Coran patted Allura's hand. "Now, now, m'dear, you're worrying about the wrong things. Why don't I go and get you a cup of chamomile tea?"

The offer was tempting, but now was not the time to be calm. "It's because of that suicidal vet that called yesterday. I'm glad she talked him out of it, but what if his calls stop coming in? Or what if he calls, and Pidge isn't here?"

"Allura, we run a tech support center, not a suicide hotline service," Coran said. "We can't help everyone with everything." He poured himself a second cup.

Coran was right—she wasn't equipped for this sort of situation. "I started this company because I wanted to help people, Coran. Like my father did. Nearly all his extra funds went to those in need."

"Ouch!" Steaming brown liquid stained Coran's hands. His china cup slipped out of his grasp and shattered on the floor. "Sounds great and all, Allura, but can we start with treating third-degree burns and cuts?"

Allura tried her best to smother her laughter. Oh, Coran. "I'll get the first aid kit."

Luckily Coran's burns were minor—nowhere near third-degree. Allura wrapped gauze tape over his cuts. (Again, minor.) "That hurts," he whined.

"Stop being such a big baby," Allura said. "Honestly, you'd think I'm the one who raised you."

"But look at what a great job I've done with you!" He ruffled her silvery hair with a bandaged hand, then pulled her into a tight, warm hug. Coran's mustache tickled her cheek as he whispered into her ear: "I'm so proud of you, Allura."

Sleep was a slippery bastard, constantly tormenting Shiro. He needed sleep, but to sleep meant to dream. And to dream was a dangerous thing.

It had been hard enough fighting off the flashbacks on the way home from work, but he did it. He escaped their clutches once again. But just barely.

He was tired, so tired of repressing the memories. Of not looking back. Of running away from his past.

Sometimes, Shiro wondered if it would be easier to tell someone the truth of what had happened. But just who could he rely on? Who could truly know and understand the horrors he'd seen? The things he'd done? The things he'd failed to do? "I'm the only one who..." Stop. Shiro, stop it.

He felt a vibration in his back pocket and dug out his phone. No one had called, but Hunk had texted him:

"sorry i went too far after closing and i understand if u cant work here no hard feelings i also wanted to tell u can talk to me about anything even if u decide to quit. this is prolly going too far again but i think it would be healthy for u to be xposed to this customer. Shes a friend of mine whos supersmart and understanding but shes super sarcastic and sassy too."

Shiro replied:

"Hunk: I'm still going to work. See you tomorrow."

Another buzz, another text:

"sure thing dude! we will take it nice and slow ok get some rest it's like 3am lmao"

Hunk was right. It was a little after three in the morning. That was the around time when he first called Pidge. He didn't know her official schedule, but if it was somewhat regular, she'd be working right now.

Pidge swore that if one more person called about a broken monitor that was just turned off, she was going to scream. Or throw her keyboard into the trash. For once in her life, maybe, just maybe she could have a client with a challenging tech-related problem? But no, she was stuck with the elderly in severe need of hearing aides.

Lance stuck his head over the cubicle wall. "Hey, Pidge, I'm transferring your boyfriend over to you."

Katie's golden eyes promised Lance a slow, painful death if he;d said anything. "He's not my boyfriend. If you've even insinuated anything like that to him..."

"Hello, is this Pidge Gunderson? It's Takashi."

Her murderous expression transformed into a radiant smile. "Yes, this is she!" She winced at her awkward phrasing. "U-um, are you alright?"

A sigh. "As much as I want to say I am... I'm not." There was something painful in his confession. "Had a rough day at work."

Katie considered empathizing with "I had a rough day, too." But instead, she asked, "What made it rough?"

He was quiet for a moment. "It's complicated."

Katie squeezed her eyes shut and took a shaky breath. It's complicated. A phrase she knew all too well when dealing with her father's depression and Matt's PTSD. They always used it when they didn't want to open up about their feelings or experiences.

"Pidge, are you okay?" Her silence must've concerned him. "Still there?"

"Just give me one moment. I'm not going anywhere. I promise." Katie reached for her box of tissues—just in case she might need them. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay. Say, what kinds of people call you?"

"Normally, a lot of old people. Like... seventy-five years and older." Her lips curled into a coy (if not sly) smile. "And if I'm lucky, I get the occasional veteran."

"Really? Where were most of them stationed? I might know some of them."

"Korea or Vietnam." That got a chuckle out of Takashi. Katie blushed—his laugh was cute. But now wasn't the time for such thoughts. "Why are you still awake? It's... late."

"I think you mean early. It's all about perspective, Pidge."

"Or avoidance," she countered. "You can't keep dodging questions forever. You're not invincible."

Silence. An uncomfortable, painful silence. His answer was slow, raspy, and raw. "You don't think I know that? If I have to go back and go through everything at once, there won't be much left of me."

"Don't open up all your wounds at once. Start with something small and go from there."

"Why are you helping me?" Takashi asked. He sounded small, lost, and confused—like a child.

She knew better than to say "because you might know something about my brother." But this whole thing was more complex than that. This wasn't her job. "Because I care about you."

It was true. She cared far too much for a complete stranger. To the point where she was changing her work routine. Bending over backwards to work with him.

"Good night, Pidge."  Beep. Beep. Beep.

She hadn't heard Takashi sound so defeated. Not even on the night he first called her.

But what she didn't hear was the spark of determination in his voice.

"Because I care about you." That's what Pidge had said. As much as he didn't want to believe her reason, it sounded true. And for some reason, he cared about her. Shiro cared about what she thought and felt. He enjoyed her sense of humor and sharp wit. And appreciated her bluntness.

He sent Hunk another text before going to bed.

"You were right about that customer. She does remind me of someone. I don't know if I'm ready to open up quite yet about everything. But you're right. I need to get used to her if she's a regular. Let's make a game plan tomorrow."