For some reason I looked at the lack of Pidge-centric fic and decided it was a good idea to write one. A multichapter one. Me. The person who doesn't finish anything.

Someone stop me before it's too late.

Female pronouns for Katie/Pidge. Rating might change.

It's a happy day - or, at least, it's supposed to be.

Matt's smiling at her from his seat, waving and nearly sending his drink to the ground in the process, and Katie nearly bumps into an old lady in her rush to join him and their family. Clearly, they're a very graceful pair, but it doesn't matter: on the other side of the road there is Matt and he's back from his road trip and there's only so long Katie has with him before his applications for the Galaxy Garrison are sent off.

"Matt!"

He's taller than she remembers - more tanned, too, with freckles peppering the bridge of his nose in a way that makes Katie jealous that she only burns in the sun. His limbs are longer, lanky in a way that tells her he hasn't quite gotten used to them yet, and it makes her worry.

"Katie!" He grins and twirls them around, nearly crashing a couple of chairs to the floor in the process. "Please tell me you left your room at least once this summer."

"I'm outside now, aren't I?" Katie can only hold her snooty look for a few seconds before grinning back. "I missed you, you nerd."

"You, young lady," he says as he pokes her nose like they're children again. "Have no right to call me nerd. You nerd."

She had missed him, she thinks, very much so. The house doesn't feel quite as full, quite as loud, quite as great as it had been when he had been there, and she'd taken to hiding in her room even more often than before in an attempt to escape the emptiness.

But she doesn't say all that. "If you ever stay out for this long again," she threatens instead. "I'm turning your room into my personal computer lab."

Matt fakes a gasp. "You wouldn't dare."

They both know he'll be away for longer than that. They both know that once his application is accepted and he passes the physical exams, the Garrison will keep him away for far too long.

But Katie doesn't want to break her brother's good humour. Instead, she laughs and grins wider and says, "try me."

It's a special occasion, and on special occasions the Holt family generally eats out. Only, it's Matt's homecoming that they're celebrating, and according to him even Mom's terrible home-cooked casserole is better than what four teenage boys can come up with in a van without any sort of cooking utensils. So Mom puts her apron on - the one they'd gifted her as a gag gift, patterned with goggly-eyed aliens making space puns - and kicks them out of the kitchen before they turn the casserole from terrible to radioactive.

A genius family they might be, but never let it be said that any of them were ever any good at cooking - or, at least, at cooking anything that doesn't have half a pack of sugar dumped into it.

Katie helps her brother carry his things back into his room. She's gotten stronger, though both of them still have some training to do - the Garrison doesn't make a distinction between genders when it comes to physical requirements, and though she still has some time before it's her turn to go, she wants to be ready.

She needs to know she won't get left behind when the time comes.

Matt huffs out a breath, collapsing into his bed. It's remained untouched since he left, gathering dust; the Holt household in general isn't too gifted when it comes to domestic duties.

Matt doesn't seem to care.

"I really did miss you, you know," she remarks fondly. "The house isn't the same without you here."

"I missed you too." He smiles, and then his expression becomes teasing. "It got too quiet on the van without the constant sounds of your robots exploding."

She laughs. "Do you want to go eat cake and ruin dinner like we used to?"

Ultimately, it's her fault, Katie thinks. The question turns to goading to see which one can reach the bakery first, which turns to a race which her brother cheats to win, and he's crossing the street and looking back at her to tease her - probably about her short legs, probably about how even though he's been skipping his training he's still faster than her - and neither of them see the car coming.

The driver doesn't see them, either - or, if they do, they don't stop in time.

Matt is sent flying.

And Katie can only watch.

She watches as the driver comes out, cellphone in hand. She watches as onlookers gather along the sides of the road, as Mom and Dad come rushing out of the house without knowing that the person who was hit in front of their house is their son. She watches as the ambulance rushes in, as the paramedics check for vitals, as they raise him into the vehicle - and she's only distantly aware of the denial falling from her lips, of the chorus of no, no, no and don't take him away spilling out with tears and desperation - and as Mom leads her to the car, as Dad climbs in with Matt in the ambulance.

The world only seems to rush back into focus with the words he's alive.

"He's going to be okay," Dad says, but the look on his face is grim. "But he'll have to take it easy for a few months."

There's broken bones and a concussion involved, but Matt is going to be okay. Matt is going to be alright, and healthy, and back to teasing and grinning and nagging as soon as he wakes up.

"Wait," Katie says, stricken. "You said a few months."

Dad nods.

Realization grips at her, tugs at the knots in her stomach until she feels like she's going to throw up. "But then," she says, slowly. Katie tests the words in her mouth, not willing to say them just yet. "The Garrison-"

"Oh," gasps Mom, and Katie knows that she's realized it, too. "Oh, no."

Since they were little, both Katie and Matt's dream had been to become part of the Garrison. To follow in their father's footsteps in researchers and explorers of the galaxy, to go where the naked eye couldn't see at night, to be lost amidst stars and planets and space.

But this is the last year Matt can apply to the Garrison - and if he can't do the physical exams, if he isn't there to be tested in...

"He won't be able to join," Dad concludes with a pained expression. "They don't make exceptions when it comes to admissions."

Katie curls her fist. "That's not fair."

It's my fault.

Mom shakes her head, but she looks resigned. "There's nothing we can do about it, Katie."

"There has to be something," Katie spits out. "Mom, Dad, you told us to never give up. Ever."

"Katie," Dad says, and he is too gentle. "This is beyond us."

And then - and then - Matt wakes up.

Katie waits until Mom and Dad are out of the room, off to buy snacks and water from the vending machines on the floor below. They've told her not to tell him - not yet, not while he's like this - but not to would feel like a lie.

Katie doesn't lie to her brother.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and watches as tears fall in the thin hospital sheets. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Katie," Matt croaks out, but he's crying, too. "I waited too long to join, anyway. This is on me."

"It's not," Katie snaps, and she's entirely too frustrated with the world, too frustrated with herself and with her parents and with the Garrison. "It's not on you, and it's not okay. How can you just go along with it?"

Matt laughs, but it's pained. "Tell me when you figure out a way to heal myself completely before the exams."

There are little half-moons carved into her palms from digging her nails in. "There has to be something we can do."

"There's not," Matt says. "Leave it."

Leave me, he means, but he's too kind to say it to her. Katie understands, though. She understands her brother better than anyone else.

Matt turns on his side, and Katie pretends she can't hear him cry as she shuts the door with a click.

There is something she can do.

Katie comes to this conclusion in the middle of the night, when the rest of the household is asleep. Matt has been back for a few days, but he's not himself - he's lost his dream, and has become too quiet, too withdrawn, too stoic. The only one who can force a smile out of him is Mom, who has taken to baking their favourite peanut butter cookies every day in an attempt at comfort.

Katie hasn't tasted a single one.

If she had, she's certain they would have tasted like ashes.

Ultimately, the person who had inspired her had been Grandma, who had swept into the house with her skirts and short white hair and an utter disdain for nonsense. She had forced the Holt household to sit down and have a proper dinner, properly cooked and not takeout, and before leaving she had had a talk with Matt that had him pretending to smile a little more often.

And then, to Katie, she had said this: you look just like him.

Katie looks in the mirror, where the recently cut tips of her hair are already starting to curl inward. And, as she puts her brother's glasses on, she has to agree.

Under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom, she looks just like Matt.

"Katie," Mom says slowly. "What on earth have you done to your hair?"

Matt is gaping and Dad is staring, and Katie feels a vindictive sense of satisfaction at catching them off guard like this.

"Dearest family" she announces, one hand on her hip as she uses the other to steal her brother's glasses. They fit well over her nose, but she adjusts them anyway because it's a habit Matt has never grown out of. "I have a plan."

And Katie grins.