Shiro gasped as he jolted awake, bashing his temple into the hard-plastic seat belt cover near his head. He then promptly proceeded to fling himself forward into the steering wheel, both out of shock from the excruciating pain and to avoid the bullet that was bound for his left shoulder for the third time that month.

"Are you alright?"

Drenched in sweat and feeling as if his heart were trying to shatter its way through his ribcage, Shiro was most certainly not alright, but his panic began to subside when he finally processed where he was: safe, in the front seat of his squad car, sitting in the empty parking lot of a closed Taco Bell. Not the first place he would have expected to be, but at least he wasn't in danger.

"Shiro?"

Shiro looked over to see Pidge's cheek pressed into the mesh partition on his right. The throbbing pulse in his head suddenly ached twice as hard as the night's earlier events flooded back into his memory. He covered his face and groaned.

"Are you—?"

"I'm fine." The words were muffled in his hand. "Don't worry about it."

"You don't look fine."

Shiro glanced at the radio clock. 4:43 AM. He popped open the glove compartment and grabbed the small pill container that he kept a few of his spare medications in. He swallowed his overdue nighttime meds dry, along with the ones for later that morning.

"You really had me worried for a minute," Pidge continued from over his shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay? I mean, you were yelling in your sleep about—things. I dunno." She paused, the hesitancy in her voice obvious enough for even Shiro to take notice. "I thought you were gonna hurt yourself with how much you were tossing and turning."

"I said I'm fine," Shiro snapped. He didn't mean to; he was simply overstimulated and still trying to calm down after everything that'd just happened; but every little sound was like water dripping from a leaky faucet, and Pidge's persistent yet oddly-concerned harassment was only adding to his frustration. To his surprise, Pidge didn't respond in her usual snarky fashion—or at all.

"What, so now all of a sudden you've got nothing to say? Really?" he sneered into the rearview mirror. Pidge furrowed her brows and looked away, turning her attention to the unkempt box hedges outside. As the minutes passed by without a peep from the defiant girl in the backseat, Shiro's agitation from being blatantly ignored soon turned to disappointment, and then, not long afterward, to guilt.

"I'm sorry," he apologized once his nerves had settled and his breathing returned back to normal. "That was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said that."

"If you're really sorry you'll let me sit up front."

"What? No."

"C'mon, pleeeeeease?" she begged, a completely different reaction from the one that he'd been prepared for. "I've been stuck back here for hours, my legs are killing me." Shiro ignored her. Pidge sighed. "Okay, fine. But can I at least get out and stretch for a second?"

Shiro had every intention of saying no. "You do know that you're back there for a reason, right?" was what he had planned on telling her when he chanced another look in the rearview mirror; but then he'd never seen those big brown eyes of hers look so sad and puppy dog-like before, and she looked so uncomfortable, and, well, she had been behaved for the last few hours…

…and then somehow she had wormed her way from being guided around the parking lot in small circles with Shiro's one hand secured tightly around her wrists behind her back and the false promise of a taser in his other, to sitting shotgun in the passenger seat next to him with her feet kicked up on the dashboard, asking if he ever watched movies on the laptop that sat mounted between them.

"No. Now don't make me regret this." He locked the car doors twice over and nodded at her offended sneakers. Pidge took the hint and dropped them back down to the floor without complaint.

"Sorry. It's just so roomy up here!" She sat forward, looking around in awe. The strangely-familiar curl of her lips made Shiro's stomach churn in a way that he couldn't quite understand. Where had he seen that before? "I mean, it's pretty roomy back there too for a squad car, but I haven't had the chance to sit up front in one of these newer ones yet."

"Wait, you've—?" Why was he surprised? "Hold on, I thought you said your legs were killing you?"

"Well, yeah, but I never said it was because I didn't have room."

Shiro stared at her. Pidge smiled back. Shiro hit the locks one more time, just to be safe.

"So," Pidge drawled, "what are the chances of you uncuffing me?"

"Zero."

"What about cuffing my hands in front?"

"Just as likely." Pidge opened her mouth to protest, but Shiro beat her to it. "Hey, I said no. Now stop asking," he told her. "I'm not letting you pull one over on me like that again."

Pidge deflated and fell back into her seat. "It's just that my arms really hurt," she said, voice quiet and small as she looked down at her lap. If making Shiro feel as if he'd just kicked a basket of helpless kittens into a river was what Pidge was going for, then she'd be pleased to know that she had succeeded.

Shiro sighed. "Alright," he began cautiously, already starting to second guess his decision; but he knew what it was like to have his hands tied behind his back for so long that his fingers went numb and his shoulders burned, and the thought that he was putting someone else through that same experience made him feel sick, especially with the memory still fresh in his mind. "If I do this, you have to promise to sit still. You can't move. Got it?"

Pidge nodded.

"I mean it. Not a single inch."

"I promise, I won't."

"Because if you do, I'll—"

"Taser, yeah, I know." She turned her back toward him and looked over her shoulder. She wiggled her hands when he took too long to think about how he'd go about doing this; he didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't want to get himself hurt, either. Having both of her hands free—even for a second—was not a risk he was willing to take.

In the end, it was an elaborate process that involved a second pair of handcuffs, the steering wheel, and a ridiculous amount of unfounded faith in a sneaky, manipulative criminal whose teeth marks were still deeply ingrained in his arm. But Pidge had kept true to her promise, and was only a little disappointed to learn that Shiro had no plans to indulge her first choice of uncuffing her entirely.

"Better?" he watched as she stretched her arms up over her head. He'd used the seat belt as a sort of makeshift post to handcuff her around; it wouldn't be much help to keep her from lunging at him if she wanted to, but at least it'd keep her from getting away if she tried to get out.

Pidge closed her eyes and slid down in her seat. "You have no idea," she said, tipping her head back with a relieved sigh. Her eyes shot open. "Sorry, I didn't mean—um, nevermind."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Shiro lifted a brow, but ultimately decided that it'd probably be best to just leave it alone. Pidge, for one reason or another, was being compliant and he didn't want to jinx it.

The silence they found themselves in was awkward compared to how it'd been before. Shiro watched her from the corner of his eye for any sudden movements. Though the strain only made the sharp ache behind them worse, he couldn't deny that he felt considerably less anxious having her sit next to him rather than behind him. Not because she was nice to look at or anything—which, sure, okay, she was—but because he never did find the saying "out of sight, out of mind" to be nearly as comforting as most people did; especially not when it came to a tiny, dangerous woman like the one fidgeting with her hands in the seat next to him.

Actually, he thought as he watched her chew her lip, if her hair were shorter—

"Can you put on some music or something?"

Shiro blinked. "Didn't I already say no?"

"But it's so quiet."

"Because I need to be able to hear if I get any calls from dispatch."

Pidge's skeptical gaze shifted to the radio, then back to him.

"But the radio is off," she informed him.

"I said no."

Shiro's ruling was observed for a total of four seconds before Pidge concluded that following it was optional and she turned it on anyway.

Oh, here she comes;

Watch out boy, she'll chew you up!

Oh, here she comes;

She's a maneater—

Shiro jammed his palm into the radio's power button, flustered.

"Central to 8-Castle-3-1, 8-Castle-3-1, do you copy." In his rush to turn off the radio, he'd accidentally switched it over to communications instead. "8-Castle-3-1, Officer Shirogane, do you copy."

"I think that's for you," Pidge said, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. Shiro glared at her as he snatched up the receiver.

"8-Castle-3-1, 10-20, do you copy."

"10-4, Shirogane here. I copy."

"Ah, Shiro! There you are!" The radio buzzed and cracked over Coran's chipper tone. "It's good to hear your voice. You seem to have gotten the department up in a bit of a tizzy worrying about you. Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," Shiro assured him. "Just—haven't been feeling well. Thought it'd be good for everyone if I took a few days off. You know, to clear my head." He frowned. Didn't Keith say he had told the captain that he was out sick? "Coran, how long have you been calling for me?"

"Not long! Only about six hours or so."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Between regular dispatches, of course," Coran elaborated, as if that made things any better. "Allura's been trying to get ahold of you, but apparently you haven't been answering your phone. Keith mentioned you were out with a cold, so she swung by your apartment to drop off some soup, but your neighbors said they hadn't seen you in almost three days! And none of the hospitals—"

"So you've been clogging up the channel for the last six hours trying to find me?" As flattering as it was to know that people cared about him, that was just ridiculous.

"I figured it'd be worth a shot since Keith said you had the car," Coran said. Shiro could practically hear the shrug in his voice. "Anyway, if you could give Allura a call at your earliest convenience—"

"It's five in the morning, Coran."

"—well enough to still help out with the charity ball. If not though, no worries! Kolivan's offered to step in and take over if you'd prefer. With the lifting, I mean—not as the guest of honor. That spot's still yours!"

Shiro suppressed a groan. On the list of grievances he had in regard to the department's annual charity event, hanging lights and moving furniture around was hardly one of them. But a promise was a promise, broken prosthesis or not. "Tell Allura I'll meet her at the hall later tonight. There's a few… errands I need to take care of first, but after that, I'm all hers."

"Splendid!" Coran beamed. "I'll let Allura know. Oh! And before I forget! Keith gave me a message to relay to you as well. Said he wants you to call him ASAP."

Shiro grimaced as he thought about all those unanswered voice messages. "Thanks, Coran. I'll do that."

"My pleasure, Shiro! Actually, why don't you hang on a tick while I have you on the line? I know just the recipe for homemade beef and applesauce stew that'll knock that cold right out of you in no time! Now, was it three pounds of sugar, or three pounds of—?"

"Sorry, Coran, but looks like there's an emergency. Bye!" Shiro blurted as he rushed to turn off the radio before Coran could delve even further into yet another of his potentially-deadly "family recipes." Having to put up with his well-meaning cooking at their Wednesday potlucks at work was already bad enough, but after last week's particularly hellish batch of peanut butter garlic bread? Shiro wasn't sure how much more he could take.

Shiro swallowed down the brief wave of nausea that washed over him as he remembered the weird, rubbery texture. He could feel Pidge's amused stare. "What?"

"Allura, huh? That your girlfriend?"

Shiro sighed. "Ex-partner."

"Ex? You work alone?"

"No, I still have a partner. Just not her."

Pidge thought about it for a second. "Keith?"

Shiro nodded.

"Then shouldn't he be with you?" she prodded. "Does he know what you're doing?"

Shiro, deciding he'd already said too much, opted to fiddle with an unfinished crossword puzzle on his phone rather than to answer. So naturally, Pidge took it upon herself to fill in the blanks with a bit of far-fetched speculation.

"Let me guess—you're one of those 'lone wolf' types, huh?" Shiro could feel her watching him, waiting for a reaction that he wasn't going to let her have. "Married to the force, probably got left by your wife, and now you're desperately trying to prove yourself or whatever."

Shiro hummed. Pidge perked up.

"Am I right?"

"What's another word for 'delinquent'?"

"Hmph." Pidge flopped back against her seat. Shiro couldn't help the barest hint of a grin that pulled at the corner of his lips. "I wouldn't be surprised if you even had a drinking problem," she continued. "Probably not a smoker since you don't smell like one, thank god, but maybe some tacky tribal tattoos—whoa!"

"Hey!" Shiro shouted, snatching his right arm away from the center console armrest. Too immersed in his crossword puzzle, he hadn't noticed Pidge pulling back the sleeve of his windbreaker.

"I knew it!" Pidge looked as if she'd struck gold. "Man, I was wondering why you were wearing a jacket in 85 degree weather! And earlier, in the alley with the handcuffs, and in the backseat… now it makes so much more sense!"

Shiro, whose eyes were burning from exhaustion, did not share her enthusiasm.

"Huh. So they really let you…?"

He lifted a brow. "Let me what?"

"You know. Like, be a cop? And drive?"

"I can drive just fine."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Pidge said, wincing. "And—and I wasn't freaked out or anything! Not that, uh, that really matters… I just kinda had a hunch, you know? After how weird you've been all night? And with the food? And—" Pidge paused. "Okay, for once in my life, I'm just gonna shut up before I make things worse."

"That's a smart idea."

"I was only joking about the drinking problem, by the way," she continued, disregarding her previous decision to not dig her grave any deeper. "But, um. Your arm… is there something wrong with it? You haven't used it all night, now that I'm thinking about it."

Shiro fixed his jacket and pocketed his phone. "I have your buddy Lance and his marbles to thank for that."

"Oh." Pidge's face fell. "That's—is it that bad?"

Shiro sighed. It was nearly six o'clock, and the hazy red and blue beginnings of sunrise were threatening to pass above the treeline at any moment. He yearned for his bed. The two-and-a-half hours of fitful sleep he'd managed to get was hardly enough to keep him awake for very much longer, and even if it were, it didn't seem like Pidge was anywhere near ready to crack. He figured he'd give it one last shot.

"I'm only going to ask you this one more time," he said, struggling and failing to hold back a yawn. Pidge must've been tired since she yawned, too. "Tell me about the other Paladins."

"Paladins? That's cute. Come up with that yourself?"

"Is that a no?"

"Why? Are you finally throwing in the towel?"

Shiro cracked his back as he sat up straight. He threw the car in drive, pulled out of the Taco Bell parking lot, and made a right onto the main road—the opposite direction, which Pidge clearly noticed, judging by the confused look on her face, of where the precinct was. He switched on the navigation and scrolled through his most frequent locations.

"Not yet," he said, and selected the route home.