"I beg to differ, do you even know what a brush looks like?" Because the state of his hair would say otherwise. Thranduil moves his hand from Bard's shoulder to his hair, tugging on a straggly lock for emphasis. The fact that they had just been in the jaeger and in battle mattered little to him at this point, though even his own hair was looking a little worse for wear. What mattered really, was that Bard was okay, and perhaps that was why Thranduil was so touchy; it was reassurance.

He took comfort in the solid form next to him, the heat radiating form Bard almost as calming as sinking into the drift. Almost.

Thranduil huffs, not quite a laugh, almost more of a forceful exhale, at Bard's heartfelt apology. "Just keep the self sacrificial tendencies to a minimum, shall we?" There is unease between them, Bard's words stirring up the water in a way that they had been able to avoid for quite some time. Thranduil would be lying if he said he knew how to handle it. He was never any good at this kind of thing. "Despite your stubbornness and horrible sense of fashion, I would have no other pilot as my partner. I hope you know that."

They were a mess outside the cockpit most of the time, but Thranduil was more than okay with that.