"Stupid question," Shiro croaked out as the Jeep bounced along the unpaved road. Keith was sitting with his back to the coolers braced behind the driver's seat, using his body as a cushion for Shiro to rest against while his body fought to heal itself.
(more) "Shh," Keith said, brushing his fingers through Shiro's newly-short hair. They'd had to cut it pretty close to get the worst of the blood and tangles out, and then used clippers to even it so it looked something like an actual hairstyle and not a fifteen-minute hack job with a hunting knife. It wasn't unlike the sort of haircut he'd had when he first met Keith, too many years ago ... although now, instead of ebony black his hair was a soft, silvery white. "Don't talk, Shiro. Rest."
Shiro grunted a little as the Jeep hit a hole, and Lance cursed from the driver's seat.
There was a pause, and Shiro said, strangled, "/Lance/ is driving?"
"Lance is driving," Keith confirmed. "We're headed toward the Marmora base."
"No, no-" Shiro tried to push himself up from Keith's lap but he was weak as a newborn foal and Keith was many, many times stronger at the moment. "Hit the side of the house," he mumbled, and Keith remembered the proud new dent in the front panel of the battered Jeep and tried not to think about the fact that they weren't wearing seatbelts.
"It's fine, he's fine," he soothed Shiro, arms locked tight over his shoulders. Without thinking he kissed the top of Shiro's head, felt him still and smiled against the crown of silver hair. "Lance has got this."
Lance gripped the wheel tight with both hands, and tried not to dwell on the fact that it was Keith cradling his husband, and not him.(less)