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Bradley’s fingers gripped hard onto the harness, knuckles white where his gloves were torn along the ridge of his fist and blood was sluggishly pooling in the seams of the fabric. Bits of hot twisted metal, now nothing but pebble sized shrapnel, rained down on him and his chute as he rapidly descended from altitude. Behind his visor Bradley squinted his eyes against the cold of the air around him and the brightness of the white snow on the ground reflecting the unyielding sun.
His blood rushed in his ears and despite the adrenaline, he felt himself swimming in and out of consciousness. The air whipped past him so fast he couldn’t focus and the primal fear that this was his final moments - burning in behind enemy territory - had his thoughts jumbling as he tried to pry his eyes open. His overwhelmed senses were playing tricks on him because he heard the tap of piano keys in his ears like the time he-
-sat next to his mother at the piano in the living room. Little moats of dust spiraled in the beams of light coming through the semi-closed blinds, the sun reflecting off his mother’s wedding ring. Her fingers were on the ivory keys, caressing them like they’re precious. He couldn’t remember the last time it was uncovered, not shielded from view under a pale sheet like a ghost haunting their otherwise warm home.
Sometimes, when Uncle Mav and Uncle Ice came over for dinner, he saw them look at the piano and he knew they were thinking about his dad. Mav especially got a look on his face and all his color drained away until Uncle Ice pulled him close so they could talk. But they never touch it. They laugh, tell jokes, barbecue, even tell stories about his dad but they never play the songs they used to.
He misses when they used to have fun, singing like crazy people and being silly. But he’s eight now and it’s been years since that’s happened. He’s the man of the house or that’s what Uncle Mav reminds him whenever he’s leaving for another assignment. Bradley’s got to ‘hold down the fort’ until he gets back which just means taking care of his mom.
His mom isn’t just moping around though. He sees how strong she is, even when she looks at him and he thinks she maybe sees his dad in his face. She still pulls him for kisses and snuggles and shows up to everything. It’s just these moments when her eyes are far away and her fingers linger on the keys that he knows he needs to step in, to be strong for her.
So he tapped on the keys, not any particular song or using any skill, just to make noise and break the gloomy silence. It’s clear the piano needs tuning but he doesn’t know how to do that so he just started doing anything he could remember his dad doing. The words won’t come to him because he doesn’t remember, but playing makes him feel good regardless.
When he looked up at his mom, she had tears in her eyes but a smile was tugging at her lips. Her fingertips danced over the keys before she joined in with a more unified tune. They played
together, letting the sound fill the room and it was like life had returned to the house. Suddenly the birds outside were singing louder, the colors were more vibrant and Bradley felt things might be okay. He could be strong for his mom.
------
What good is being fifteen if your best friend dies? It made no sense. It didn’t. Danny had been a good swimmer. They were on the swim team together and spent literal days lazily at the beach in the water. There was no reason Danny should be dead.
But he’d drowned. Yesterday, a Thursday afternoon, Danny had taken the bus to Marine Street beach by himself after Bradley had begged off to do his homework. They didn’t have cell phones, only the rich kids at school had their own, so he didn’t tell anyone else where he was going. But that was normal for them. They just had to come home for dinner. But Danny didn’t come home. He never would.
His mom had kept him home from school today. Got off the phone with one of the neighbors who told her what had happened because Mrs. Morano couldn’t be reached as she grieved her lost son and woken him up with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her soft voice said, “honey, I’m so sorry” and it was like he’d gone numb.
By now he thought he’d be pretty good at handling loss. His dad was a distant memory but he’d lost all four of his grandparents in the years since. It shouldn’t be so hard. But he’d rolled out of bed, shaken off his mom’s hand and run out the back door to grab his bike, his breath catching in his throat as he pedaled down the road. She was calling out for him from the back door but he didn’t turn back. He needed to be alone.
It was too far, even for him, to ride all the way to Marine Street so he settled for Coronado beach. His bike had dropped to the sand with a thud but he didn’t bother righting it as he stepped closer to the shoreline. He’d plopped down on a log, facing the sea and pulling his knees up to his chest. Where he sat now with sand biting into his skin.
An hour later, his blue summer camp t-shirt stuck to his skin with the heaviness of salt spray, his hair ruffling in the wind. An afternoon storm was building up in the distance but it wouldn’t roll through until long after he’d gone home. He watched gulls circle in the air and ignored the sounds of happy people milling about the beach as they went about their day like nothing was wrong. Like the fact that Danny Morano would never play bocce ball on these sands and go to baseball league games or host birthdays at the arcade meant nothing.
His stomach hurt and he wasn’t sure if it was hunger from sitting there for hours or anger at the unjust world he was forced to live in. At some point, a figure sat down next to him, his boots digging into the sand and jeans getting wet as the noon tide stretched further up the shore. Neither of them said anything and Bradley twisted his fists into the Hawaiian print cargo shorts he’d hastily thrown on earlier.
“It’s not fair,” he gritted out, not daring to look over at Maverick as the man stared out at the sea. Maverick sighed and Bradley felt a hand rest on his head, carding fingers through his hair. His eyes stung terribly and he wanted to pretend it was the salty spray but he knew it was all him, that he was crying not just for Danny but all the people who’d left him behind, that he wasn’t strong enough to keep tethered to the world. Those fingers stopped playing with his hair and he was pressed into Maverick’s side, his head being pulled to a solid chest until he was shielded from the bright midday sun and he could let out a shattered sob.
They sat there for an hour, or maybe longer but he couldn’t tell you, until he was all cried out and the tear tracks on his cheeks had long since dried into crusty patches. They were both roasting in the sun but neither complained as they continued to watch the unforgiving sea.
“Ready to go home?” Maverick asked and Bradley nodded, scrubbing at his face. He hauled himself up from the log and joined his godfather, shivering as the air pressure changed with the incoming storm. The winds changed, whipping his hair in the other direction and he suddenly longed for winter’s freezing-
-air. It’s frigid so high above the ground and it feels like he may never be able to break out of the tight pose he’s locked into. His chute was doing its job in arresting his freefall but it was never a pleasant experience to have it digging into your groin as you were stuck looking down at the ground.
Bradley desperately wanted to shove his visor back so he could see clearly but he still couldn’t unwind his fingers from the shoulder straps. Instead he looked out over the trees to the smoldering wreckage of the helicopter he’d shot down as it fired on what he desperately hoped was a still alive Maverick. The smoke twirled up towards the clear blue sky, an ugly contrast against the winter scenery. Flames licked at the nearby trees and he wondered how long it would be before soldiers were sent to investigate, to search for enemy survivors. If there were any to find once he landed.
He tried not to think about what waited for him but it was all he could do as he slowly floated to the ground. He knew that there was nothing-
“-that can be done, kid,” Maverick said, running a hand over his tired face. They stood in the kitchen of his parent’s house. Well, it was his parent’s house but that title had whittled away like his mother after her uterine cancer diagnosis. Now, at eighteen, it was Bradley’s house while Maverick and Uncle Ice paid the bills so he wouldn’t be burdened while going away to school. If he went away.
“How is there nothing that can be done? Can’t you, I don’t know, make some calls and at least find out why I didn’t get in?” Bradley argued, slapping his hands down on the kitchen island. Mav was leaned up against the sink, face lined with stress and Tom watched them from the stove where he was cooking dinner. He usually stayed out of these kinds of arguments, preferring to listen to both sides before adding in his two cents. It both infuriated Bradley and made him wish he could have just an ounce of that patience instead of inheriting impatience from his godfather.
“There isn’t going to be another answer, Bradley,” Mav said, teeth gritted. “You’ll just have to apply again next year.” Bradley let out a frustrated growl and looked over at Ice who frowned and fixed Maverick with an unreadable expression.
“Look, I-I’m not asking either of you to pull strings and get me into the academy, I just want to know why I’m being rejected. I did everything I was supposed to do - passed exams, stayed in shape, talked to admissions counselors, did a million extra curriculars. Why wouldn’t they let me in?” Bradley’s voice was starting to break and he looked between the two men who’d come to be his stand in parents. He was devastated, more than when Danny had died and or when he’d been dropped by his other friends because of his bisexuality or even when he’d failed his first pilot’s exam when he was sixteen.
There was one goal he’d been working towards since he’d been old enough to think long-term: join the Navy and be the best pilot there’s ever been - just like his uncles, like his dad would’ve been proud of. And it was being ripped out of his hands, taking his heart with it. Why didn’t they see that he had no future now?
“Bradley, listen,” Tom said quietly, stepping away from the stove and wiping his hands on a towel. “Even if we could do something, the Naval Academy would see it as interference and favoritism. You’re too smart and too motivated to let this be the end. Give it some time, go to a regular college, do things for yourself, join ROTC. You’re young. You can reapply.” His voice was gentle and something about that deflated Bradley’s anger until he simply felt a new wave of disappointment.
Maverick came around the island and pulled him into a hug. He couldn’t bring himself to return it, standing limply in the embrace. “I know you’re angry and need to feel what you’re feeling. Just…think about other options, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he agreed and he made the mental calculations about exactly how far he could go to get away from the feelings he was having. How far away he could get from his life.
------
His apartment off grounds at the University of Virginia took three days to pack up but it wouldn’t be a long journey to Annapolis. It would be hard to say goodbye to Charlottesville with its beautiful mountains and his favorite hangouts. As he sealed another box, Bradley said a mental goodbye to Bodo’s bagels and a silent prayer that academy food wasn’t as bad as he’d been led to believe.
He was still in disbelief that he’d made it in. He’s an older recruit at twenty-three but he wasn’t so ancient that it would be weird. At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself of considering it had taken several years to get in. But that…hadn’t been his fault.
None of it had. He slammed the box onto a stack of others, the sound echoing around the now empty room. His roommates had long since left, moving on to whatever programs they were pursuing, leaving him to pack up alone. “Fucking bullshit,” he muttered as he pulled the cap off a Sharpie to label his belongings.
Every time he thought about the reason he was entering the Navy so late, it made his blood pressure rise. He wanted to wail and gnash his teeth at the whole situation. He couldn’t decide who he was most infuriated by - Maverick overstepping and selfishly trying to pull his application or Ice for going along with it and using his influence to put a hold on the application itself.
Both of them knew - they knew - why he wasn’t getting in. Then gave him some half-assed advice about getting a normal degree and doing ROTC. He could’ve been at fighter school or on a carrier or just anywhere in his Naval career right now but they’d chosen to stunt his life.
But at the same time that he feels that icy anger clawing at his throat, there’s a deeper feeling of despair and hurt so painful he can’t even bear to address it. Hurt that no matter how he tried, how much he’d spun his wheels and gotten nowhere, it wasn’t because he wasn’t good enough, it was that he was being cut off at the knees. Hurt that Uncle Ice didn’t believe in him like he did his dad or his godfather. Hurt that Mav didn’t think he was enough or worthy of joining him in the Navy.
It made him sick, made him want to throw things or yell. But as he tucked away a postcard from Mav and sent Ice to voicemail again, all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut to prevent the-
-panicked tears from slipping down his face. He’s an adult, damn it. Yet he feels the despair welling up in his stomach. The reality of what he’s done has settled into him. He defied orders. Literally failed the one thing he was tasked with doing as a member of the armed forces. Maverick would be angry. Still might be if he’s actually alive and they see each other again.
He should’ve returned to the carrier and thrown a fit until they sent a search party. Would’ve screamed himself hoarse in Simpson’s face if he was refused. Instead he’d been shot down like an idiot, leaving himself a sitting duck in the air. The bandits had abandoned him, surely chasing after the other Daggers or maybe returning to survey the damage at the airstrip they’d taken out with the hellfire missiles.
He’s alone.
He’s alone and he’s sure this is going to be the end. He’ll hit the ground, would probably survive only to die in the wilderness when they refuse to send a rescue team to retrieve his stupid ass. They’ll hold a ceremony honoring him and Mav, talking shit about how they were great pilots even though they were both stupid enough to die at the hands of enemies with stolen relic tech and a handful of fifth gens they’d didn’t even have the money to maintain thanks to the oligarchs in charge. His thoughts were starting to blur together.
Bradley’s breath came quicker and he’d realized minutes ago that he was having a panic attack at the absolute worst possible time but he couldn’t stem the tide of anxiety washing over him as he drifted in the air.
He tried to remember the training for ejection. He’d done it plenty of times in the practice seat at the academy and had ejected twice in his career as a professional pilot but never had the stakes been so high. His thoughts were still frazzled and if he survived to tell the story he’d let everyone know that in the face of possible death your memories really do flash before your eyes.
His blood felt hot now, a complete reversal from the ice in his veins he’d felt when he first punched out. He feels his cheeks flush like the time he got out of his car at the academy, wishing he could crawl back into bed because-
-last night’s shift at the bar had been brutal. He’d made a hell of a lot of tips but the lack of sleep over the past few weeks was catching up. Not to mention the brutal amounts of training and homework. But he was experienced enough with juggling those things thanks to his years in civilian college so he made it work. With coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. He didn’t even like coffee…
He balanced his travel mug that had a gaudy Hawaiian print on it - hey, he was keeping his dad’s memory alive- on top of his stack of books, as he kicked the door shut on the Bronco. He probably shouldn’t be so rough on the antique but he didn’t have enough hands with the gym bag and supplies he was holding.
As he turned, tossing his head back ridiculously like a horse in order to slide his sunglasses back on his head, he was bowled over by another person. His coffee went tumbling to the ground, the metal clang sounding like a gunshot against the asphalt. He was about to start rolling out apologies but his mouth snapped shut when he recognized the face looking down at him in genuine embarrassment.
Jake Seresin was not really a stranger to him even though they’d never formally interacted. Bradley was aware of him, knew they ran in different circles but they’re both on the same path to flight school. He also knows that Jake is a cocky little shit and has the skills to back it up making him one of the most irritating kinds of people - the kind who were good and knew it.
He can’t even hold it against the guy and everything he knows is from late nights with Natasha ranting about that asshole in her classes but from what he understands, if you get on Jake Seresin’s list of friends he’ll hold onto you for life.
Bradley’s not looking for friends though so he just blinked up at Jake, trying to register what he should even do here. It’s hard to focus on anything but those lips moving as Jake apologizes and bends down to pick up Bradley’s scattered belongings. “Sorry ‘bout that. I only have eyes for the sky and wasn’t payin’ attention.”
His voice had a twang to it. Nat had said he was from some southern state, Alabama or Texas or somewhere along the Bible belt. His blonde hair is neatly arranged and his green eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled.
“No worries, man,” Bradley managed to choke out as he stood, scanning his clothes for coffee stains. Blessedly, his travel mug had remained closed and he was scot free but he still took a moment to check if Jake had gotten any on him. It was an effort not to let his eyes roam but he did a quick cursory sweep before landing on Jake’s face.
“Aren’t you in my Aero Attitude Dynamics class?” Jake asked, squinting his eyes at Bradley and cocking his head to the side. The blonde was a few inches shorter and had to crane his neck to make eye contact.
Bradley cleared his throat and mentally told himself to pull it together. “Uh, yeah. Professor McLean’s class.” He tried to force himself to relax. “Bradley Bradshaw,” he said, sticking out his hand. Jake eyed him with amusement now sparkling in his eyes and shook his hand.
“Jake Seresin, best pilot that’ll ever be.” Bradley scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Gonna be pretty difficult to claim that title from me,” Bradley said, chuckling. Jake grinned and turned on his heel. He was in uniform like everyone else but Bradley’s eyes strayed to the way they fit on the other man’s ass. Jake looked back at him and raised his eyebrows.
“Take a picture, Bradshaw, it’ll last longer.” Bradley gritted his teeth.
“Asshole.” His voice carried over the distance but Jake just shook his head and laughed, pulling open the door to the lecture hall. The other students that were milling around campus shot him strange looks and he fought the flush on his cheeks. He’s twenty-five yet he decidedly feels fifteen. Hopefully he’ll never run into Jake Seresin again.
------
He counted the packets of sugar piling up on the table, the little crystals scattering across the surface. Five, six, seven… “You’re going to give yourself diabetes,” he snorted, wincing when his head started to hurt from the movement. Jake looked at him from under his hoodie, slouched on the bench across the table.
“This is a sugar substitute, thank you very much,” Jake said, sticking his tongue out. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and he’s got a five o’ clock shadow from not shaving the night before. They were tucked away in the back corner of the only IHOP near the academy, all the way across the south river. It was the only option when they were hungover and didn’t want to be seen by any familiar faces at six in the morning on a Saturday. “I don’t need help being any sweeter.”
“You’re tooth rotting,” Bradley deadpanned, sipping on the shitty burnt black coffee in his hand. He was shaking, struggling to hold the hefty white cup. He marveled at how low tier the whole place was and how at home he felt sitting in a booth with the smell of floppy bacon and watery eggs invading his nose. “Get your feet off me, you jackwagon.”
Jake’s feet stretched across the booth under the table to rest on Bradley’s thighs and he grimaced. He wasn’t bothered by the familiarity, just didn’t appreciate the heel slipping painfully towards his groin. “You love my feet,” Jake said, sticking out his tongue before drinking the toxic sludge he’d created in his cup. He wrinkled his nose and slammed it back on the table. “That was less weird in my head.”
Bradley ignored him and forked a breakfast potato into his mouth savoring the greasiness. He might have let out a very unsexy groan and Jake stared at him unimpressed. “What?”
“I hope that’s not what you sound like in bed cause it would so take me out of the moment,” Jake said, lips twisting to the side. Bradley nearly choked on his food, beating his chest with a fist.
“Good thing you’ll never know,” Bradley countered, sipping on his coffee again. “Would hate to ruin your expectations.” Jake rolled his eyes and sat up, his feet slipping to the ground. He pulled the strings on his ratty old Texans sweatshirt tight until the hood was cinched against his head, making him look even more like an idiot. “Are you going to eat or am I going to have to carry your drunk ass home?”
“I am sober as a judge, dickhead,” Jake said, spearing a sausage and bringing it to his lips. He missed by an inch and the sausage popped off the fork, splatting back on his plate. They both paused, processing the mishap. “Okay, well, I’m not as drunk as I was so you can shut up.”
“So grumpy,” Bradley muttered but he was smiling. He watched Jake as he wiped off his face and tried again, squeezing his eyes shut as he chewed. He didn’t doubt the other man was suffering from a splitting headache as much as he was. Yet somehow, even here, sitting in this diner a year after they’d met, after celebrating Bradley’s twenty-sixth birthday, he still can’t look away. Just like the day Jake had knocked him on his ass in a parking lot.
He’d found his person. Like on Grey’s Anatomy or whatever sappy garbage show Nat and Javy made him watch. Jake Seresin had wormed his way into Bradley Bradshaw’s life and made a space for himself.
“Now what are you looking at?” Jake asked, eyebrow cocked and a spot of ketchup on his cheek. Bradley grinned, but it was hidden by the coffee cup’s rim and the mustache he was growing out to the complete dismay of all his friends.
“You.”
And when Jake made a face, he quietly promised himself that-
-if, no, when he survives, he will never let another opportunity go to waste.
He was nearing the treeline, eyes scanning surroundings to try and find a good place to land. Ideally, he’d prefer less branches and more of an open clearing but he couldn’t be too choosy when he’s got limited control over his options.
As he made tactical plans in his head he started thinking of the things he’d do if he made it home. He’d make up with Maverick. And Uncle Ice. They both deserved apologies and he wanted - he really, really wanted - to make amends while he could. Uncle Ice’s cancer had been in remission for almost a decade but he and Mav weren’t getting any younger. He’d make amends and maybe they’d be able to sit around the dinner table again like a family for the first time in years.
He’d take some leave, maybe look into buying an actual house and moving out of the one he’d grown up in. He needed a fresh start. He could find something near Coronado Beach and invite his friends over for a housewarming like a normal adult who doesn’t live out of a suitcase.
He clenched his teeth, bracing for the coming impact of the tall tree canopy below.
If he made it back alive, he’d never let Jake Seresin slip away again. He’d tell him he was sorry, he’d beg and plead and goddamn propose if it meant he got to go home to him.
Anything to keep him by his side so everyday he could wake up to-
-an arm wrapped around his waist. A warm body pressed against his back, a line of heat under the thin comforter he kept on the bed. His eyes had shot open a few minutes ago, and he’d peered at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. Four-fifteen. Too early to be up. He groaned quietly and pressed his face into his pillow.
Jake still snored beside him, his legs tangled with Bradley’s in a way that suggested getting free would take some negotiation. Bradley looked back up at the nightstand, reaching a hand out to run along the corner of an envelope propped up against a water glass. It was addressed to Captain Pete Mitchell in his best handwriting. He’d put the note there the night before, spent hours debating whether he should even send it when he ran errands later. Jake had told him to sleep on it, wrapping Bradley up in his arms the night before and pulling him down into slumber.
Inside was a copy of his soon to be graduation photo and an invitation to the ceremony. Other photos were shoved in as well from the past few years. He’d seen Mav off and on. Briefly for dinner during one of Ice’s rougher months. A few times when he was on leave and visiting. Things were tense and Maverick often made himself scarce. Ice said it was because he didn’t want to upset Bradley but he knew it was because the other man was scared he’d make things worse.
He felt old, at only twenty seven. It made him sad. And angry. But not the same angry he’d felt about the papers being pulled. This was anger at life. At the relationships he’d missed out on - with his godfather and his partner, with others his own age, with his parents who weren’t with them anymore. He thought grief might be the better term and he frowned as he flipped the envelope down so it was flush against the table.
He’d send it out. He hadn’t said he wanted to meet up in the letter. Just that he would appreciate if they came to the ceremony. Especially when they found out he was heading for Naval Weapons Fighter School with Jake, Nat and Javy. He was sure they’d be thrilled or at least want to know.
It was an olive branch. He would reach out because it was the right thing to do. It’s what his dad would want.
------
“You’re going to need more underwear than that,” Natasha said from her place on his bed, her legs crossed as she watched him pack bags. Her eyes followed him around the room as he prepared to ship out. She was heading for Lemoore with… well, it was going to be stateside but he was assigned to float off the coast of Croatia.
“How would you know how much underwear I’ll need?” he asked, yanking open a drawer. The rest of his belongings were being shipped back to California where Mav and Ice would hold onto them at their house. Just until he’s back from assignment. He hadn’t wanted to do that, still wasn’t totally comfortable with the tentative connection they had, but it was his only option when he found out how far they were sending him. He just had to specialize in flight mechanics and get himself sent to the middle of nowhere. Idiot.
“Because nobody packs only two pairs, you animal,” Natasha said, staring him down. “Are you going to be okay, Roo?” He winced at the nickname. He’d earned the callsign not too long into their tenure at Top Gun. If you asked, he’d tell you it was because he woke up early or he had a big cock - a joke he regularly leaned on. The truth was that he was known to show off and be hot tempered. Especially after…
When he and Jake had broken up, it made the rounds amongst their friends who were a mixture of confused and upset. That he could handle. It was the other people, the ones who didn’t know them, who didn’t know him , that set him off.
Bradley heard their whispers, their taunts, and he’d earned the nickname when he’d marched up to some newbie at the Hard Deck who thought he was brave talking out of his ass about shit he didn’t know. “Guess Bradshaw’s only skilled in the cockpit, not with his co-” He’d let his fist connect with the other man’s face and only barely restrained himself from breaking bones. The gush of blood from the other’s nose was satisfying enough but he didn’t stick around long, promising Penny he’d pay her back later and slipping out before she could protest.
It wasn’t long after that he’d been given the callsign Rooster and he’d decided to roll with it.
“I’m fine, Nat,” he finally said. He zipped up his bag and dumped the rest of the contents of his dresser into a box haphazardly. God, it felt like he was always packing boxes. As he scanned his nightstand to see if there was anything left, his eyes landed on a picture frame he’d tucked behind his alarm clock and a box of tissues, wedged against the wall. It was from a day in the desert when they’d finished a flight. It was him, Nat, Jake and Javy still in their g-suits and making funny faces like a bunch of lunatics. Jake was looking at him like he hung the moon and Bradley was looking at the camera with eyes crossed as he wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist.
He slammed the picture down on the nightstand, a little too hard if the crack of glass was any indication, and sat on the bed beside Natasha. She didn’t say anything, just rubbed a comforting hand on his back. “You deserve better than that asshole,” she said, but it had no heart to it.
Probably because it had been Bradley who’d broken up with Jake, citing that they would forever be in competition and it would ruin everything. It had been a piss poor excuse for breaking up with someone he loved more than flying but he’d had to protect himself. He didn’t know what triggered it - the anniversary of his dad’s death, his mom’s, maybe just that day at practice when he and Jake had been paired as wingmen and Bradley had needed to eject during a burn-in. He had realized that the closer he let Jake get, the more it would hurt, the more it would devastate him if they went on a mission together and one of them died.
He needed distance. It was the only way to protect himself from the loss and he really didn’t think he could take any more loss in his life. So three months ago he’d picked a fight and told Jake they needed to go their separate ways. He knew it would hurt the other man, that he'd be confused and demand answers on why this fight was different from any other normal squabble but like a coward he’d run away. Which left them in an ugly holding pattern filled with half-hearted sneers and jabs that neither of them truly wanted to dish out.
“I hate him,” he said quietly, face buried in his hands as he took a deep breath. And really, he didn’t know if he meant Jake, or Mav or himself at this point. Natasha sighed and pulled him into her side, leaning her head on his.
“No, you don’t,” she replied, kissing his temple.
“No, I don’t,” he agreed and let out a quiet sob, not sure how he’d-
-survive? Somehow, he’d managed to make it to the forest floor with little injury. His knuckles were still stinging but the blood had stopped. A few scratches from branches peppered his face but it was nothing compared to broken bones or worse, death. He laid his head back in the snow, shut his eyes against the fractal leaves in the canopy above, calming his frantic breaths. He’d survived.
But now he needed to move.
So Bradley opened his eyes and rolled up onto his feet as best as he could with the canvas chute weighing him down. The fabric wound around his legs like hands tugging him to the Earth and he had to fight with it until he could start packing it back into its bag. His fingers shook uncontrollably and he resisted the urge to tuck them under his arms.
His hot breath puffed into the air and he scanned the woods for any sign of movement. Sweat poured from beneath his helmet and he finally had the thought to push back his visor. The white snow blinded him as he fussed with the chute.
“Swear to God, this is bullshit,” he muttered, squinting. His left knee hurt like a bitch but he didn’t have time to think about it as he heard a loud squawk coming from his four-o-clock. He whipped his head up, searching for the source and quickly deciding what he was prepared to do if it was a hostile. He had a knife on him but his hands were shaking so bad he couldn’t fumble it out.
“You all right?”
The voice alone made his shoulders drop with relief and he leapt up. “Yeah I’m good-” His knee protested but it was nothing compared to the wind being knocked from his lungs a moment later. He blinked as he was once again face up to the sky, stunned. Maverick hissed out curses and Bradley felt anger well up in his chest. He ripped his helmet off, teeth gritted.
“What the hell?”
He was up and ready to shove Mav back, to unleash the frustration of the last few years but the look of relief and fear in his godfather’s eyes makes him hesitate. He heard himself argue back but it was like an out of body experience because he’d thought it was over . Mentally, he’d prepared himself for the event of losing yet another parent. His eyes scanned over the older pilot, noting any injuries, and a cursed cocktail of relief and despair overwhelmed him.
“Mav,” Bradley said, voice wavering a touch as he interrupted his godfather’s stream of directions. Maverick paused and looked at him. “I’m sorry.” The tears that had pushed at his eyelids as he ejected now left hot lines down his cheeks. It wasn’t the time and he’s fucking thirty-five crying in the middle of a warzone but he just couldn’t contain it anymore.
“Hey, hey,” Maverick called softly, placing both his hands on Bradley’s shoulders and giving him a gentle shake. When it did nothing to pull Bradley back together, Mav pulled him into a hug that was made awkward by their clunky flight suits. “Let’s leave apologies in the past. We have places to be but when we get home - and Bradley? We will get home. We will. - we’ll talk. Ice’ll make that pasta you like and we’ll have beers and laugh over the stupid shit we’ve done but…we can’t stay here, kid.” Maverick’s chest was heaving against his as he finished his speech and it was enough to bring Rooster back to the present.
“What’re we gonna do?” he mumbled against Mav’s shoulder before pulling away. “We’re a little shit out of luck, aren’t we?” Mav swiveled his head around, eyes narrowing at the plume of smoke rising above the treeline.
“The debrief said there were support vehicles at the airstrip,” Mav thought out loud as he strapped his helmet to his waist. “Think we left any in one piece?”
“After the hellfire? I’d be surprised if the valley is intact. Even it was, how are we going to get a foot in the -
-door to his Bronco swung open with a swift kick. He’d been sitting in the driver’s seat taking deep breaths long enough. It was starting to feel pathetic. It was just the Hard Deck; damn near a second home when he was going through NWS. Once, he’d actually crawled his way out only to wake up on the beach with Penny Benjamin pouring a bucket of seawater over his head. There was absolutely no reason to be anxious.
So, he stepped out and told himself to fucking get it together. Slamming the door shut, he blinked behind his sunglasses at the crowded bar entrance. Familiar faces swarmed the building along with some he didn't recognize given how young they looked. Beyond the windows he spotted the exact reason for his stress. Standing around the pool table with a stick in hand and a smirk plastered on his face was Jake Seresin. Not a hair out of place and as golden as ever.
It hurt to even look at him. Bradley grit his teeth and knew he was getting curious looks from younger recruits passing by but he couldn’t quite make his legs move. His fists clenched by his sides, knuckles white. “Get it together, man,” he muttered to himself. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he knew it was Nat asking what the hell was taking him so long to make an appearance so he forced himself to march forward.
As he pulled open the doors, he plastered a haughty smile on his face - channeling Jake at his feral worst - and whipped off his sunglasses so he could scan the room. It was overly dramatic but he had a call sign to live up to and it was a familiar routine to put on a show. His heart nearly stopped when he spotted a face he hadn’t seen outside of a video call in years. Maverick was doing his best to be unassuming but it’s hard when he’s nearly thirty years older than the general patrons. It made Bradley’s stomach twist but he decided to deal with one problem at a time.
Natasha’s face lit up when he walked over but it was nothing to the color now filling Jake’s cheeks as he spotted Rooster. It made him look alive and angry and beautiful in a way that made Bradley want to crawl on his knees and beg for forgiveness.
Nat elbowed him and leaned in. “Look less besotted, you idiot,” she whispered but he couldn’t help himself. He’d never really moved past Jake Seresin. Not in the years since their split. That final fight ached in his chest like an old bullet wound that never healed properly.
“Bradley Bradshaw,” Jake said, eyes flashing with something unreadable. “As I live and breathe.”
Rooster swallowed hard and let his eyes quickly scan the other man. “Hangman. You look…” Alive? Like a dream? Like he should never have fucking let him go? “Good.” He hoped his eyes conveyed everything he left unsaid but whatever came through made the other pilot’s face shutter. The color that was there drained and his expression tightened. So he was angry, then. Or trying to protect himself. It was both a relief that Jake hadn’t changed and painful that he felt he needed to put up those barriers. That Bradley had been the person to make him need them.
“Well, Rooster, I am good,” Jake responded but it had a viciousness to it that made the playfulness fall flat. Rooster barely heard the rest of the exchange even as he himself spat out insults, choosing to sit back and observe. He strictly avoided looking back at his godfather and instead suffered through Natasha pulling him off to the back wall.
“Are you going to be okay?” Her question was genuine and he was grateful all over again that she was the closest he’d come to having a sibling. She was looking out for him, for them all.
“Yeah. Yeah…I just. Didn’t expect him to…” He started but when he found he couldn’t finish the sentence he took a sip of his beer to stall for time.
“Be so obvious about how much you affect him?” She finished when he didn’t continue, crossing her arms. “When are you going to have your head surgically removed from your ass and actually get him back? I’m sick of watching you pine like a teeneager.”
“I know, damn it. Can you not pressure me, please?” he snapped, running a hand down his face. “I fucked it up. He’s not going to just let that go. I don’t even know if he wants to talk to me or if I’m just going to get my teeth kicked in.” Her face softened and she looked back over to Jake and Javy where they were shaking their heads at the other pilots. Bob was looking between Payback and Fanboy, calculating something judging by the constipated look on his face. They looked happy.
“One of the things I love about you is how much you care about others, Roo,” Natasha said, looking back up at him with dark eyes. “But you’re so in your head that you can’t see what’s in front of you. I wish I could help, I really do, and I’ll be there if it breaks you, but you’re gonna have to figure this out on your own.” She patted his cheek once before making her way back to the pool table, stealing a stick and butting into the game at the displeasure of Hangman and Coyote. He met her eyes once before turning to the piano.
------
Bradley sat at an empty table, painstakingly peeling the label off a Gatorade bottle until it was nothing more than strips of plastic. So focused on his mission to ignore the rest of the world, he neglected to hear anyone approach until the aluminum chair across from him scraped against the tile floor. He refused to look up, his eyebrows knitting together as he now folded those little strips into tiny accordions. “Fuck off.”
“No.” It was simple and it made Rooster want to grit his teeth but that would be showing he was bothered. “Rooster. Look at me.” He would rather rip his own eyes out because he knew the second he gave in and looked up all his anger would fade. A finger tipped his chin up and he was torn between biting it off and leaning into the touch.
Jake pulled his hand back across the table and dropped it into his lap. His mouth was twisted into a frown but his eyes were wide and earnest. “You need something?” Rooster asked, proud of how uninterested he sounded when he was desperately trying not to lash out. He didn’t need anyone else knowing he was scared and angry. No other excuse to be washed out. Jake sighed, picking at one of the plastic scraps.
“I’m sorry.” Green eyes met his and Rooster wanted him to leave if only to save himself the emotional pain. “I’m sorry I brought up your old man. I’m a total shithead and I shouldn’t have run my mouth.”
“Okay,” Rooster said, uneasily. It wasn’t that Jake didn’t apologize but they were on such unstable footing with each other that he didn’t know what to expect.
“Okay,” Jake continued, pursing his lips. “Okay. I just…shit, I don’t even know how to talk to you. I have so much I want to say and I just-” he cut himself off and Rooster sat up a little straighter. Jake looked out at the nearly empty cafe they were situated in. It was a corner rarely occupied at the naval station. They had no audience beyond the workers slowly closing down for the day, dimming the lights and wiping counters.
“I didn’t want to walk away from you,” Bradley suddenly blurted. The urge to go AWOL and start a new life in Mexico was getting stronger as he let himself be vulnerable but they were days away from the mission. It was bordering on too late to fix things. So he put his fear of chasing people away, of not being enough, and shoved it in a dark corner of his mind.
“What?” Jake looked at him with a neutral expression, the same one he’d thrown up in the Hard Deck when they’d reunited weeks ago. The face he used when he wanted to protect himself from emotional damage. Bradley would have to go all in.
“I left because I couldn’t take anymore people leaving me. It’s stupid. Fuck, I’m stupid,” Bradley spit out. His hands were balled into fists on the table to prevent himself from fidgeting further. “I don’t handle loss well.”
“So your solution was what? Leave first as a gotcha?” Jake asked, eyebrows raised. “Instead of talking to me? Or hell, getting therapy. Is this why you won’t even look at Mitchell? You cut ‘im off too?”
“Look, I said it was stupid. I’m owning up to that,” Bradley said, jaw tightening. It sucked having your mistakes thrown in your face. But he deserved it. He’d hurt people. Hurt Jake. “I just figured if it was my…my fault that we split you’d be angry and move on. You would be able to recover and I could just-”
“-wallow in self pity? Christ almighty, Bradley, that’s pathetic and selfish,” Jake snapped and Rooster flinched. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I didn’t move on. Everyone knows I didn’t move on. I still haven’t for some godforsaken reason. I want you, selfishness and cowardice included,” he continued, green eyes burning into Bradley’s like a brand. “But you have got to get some help. You don’t get to take on everyone else’s thoughts and feelings. It’s not fair to you or them. To me.”
“I-” Bradley struggled for words - to convey that he was sorry, that he would do whatever was needed, that he wasn’t a lost cause. “I know. But I don’t know if I can change. I don’t know if this is just..me. I’m such a pathetic a-”
“You’re traumatized, darlin’,” Jake said, rocking back in his chair. “You’re a traumatized kid in the body of a fighter pilot. You need to talk to a professional. And it doesn't make you weak,” he insisted, now leaning forward to grasp at Bradley’s hands. “You can’t go on like this.”
The soft, earnest words make Bradley want to choke. His eyes burn and he refuses to let tears fall so instead he clears his throat. “I…When the assignment’s over, I’ll…talk to someone.”
“Okay. I think that’s the most I can ask,” Jake said, pushing away from the table and standing up. “Let’s go get some actual food. Jav’s waiting in the car outside.” Rooster frowned at the scrape of the -
- fuel line against the hangar floor. They’re making an awful lot of noise trying to get back in the air. He doesn’t have time to think about it as he’s climbing in the backseat of the cockpit, tossing tags on the floor. The radar is non-functional and the dread already settled into his bones intensified until he thought it might collectively weigh them down on the tarmac. They cleared the hangar onto the taxi and he can feel the conflict in Maverick’s head even as he says nothing.
“We’re fucked,” Bradley groaned, face in his hands. “Mav, c’mon. There’s no runway.” But his words fell on deaf ears as Maverick extended the wings and prepared to use the taxi instead. He thought again about the things he’d do if he survives and sends up a silent prayer that he gets to step foot on that carrier again. And if not, he sends a second prayer to his parents asking them to wait for him and Mav.
Bracing himself against the g-force, Rooster shut his eyes and held on to whatever he could. They hit the open air, losing just their landing gear in a miracle that is probably better labeled as a freak accident. “See, knew we could do it. Easy peasy,” Maverick huffed out, his shoulders rising and falling with effort.
“Easy peasy, shit, Uncle Mav,” Bradley hissed sarcastically and he wanted to rip his tongue out when he noticed the slip.
“Uncle Mav? Haven’t heard that in a minute, kid,” Maverick said. He sounded like he was smiling and now was definitely not the time to be turning red in embarrassment, Rooster decided. “Get in touch with the boat.”
“Yeah, would love to but everything's dead back here.” He fumbled around the breakers, closing his eyes and trying to pull up information from his classes. He came up empty and growled in frustration. “I don’t know which switch to light up.”
“Me neither. That was your dad’s area of expertise,” Mav said, banking slightly to the left. “We’ll figure it out.” Disappointment - in himself and his failings as a pilot - pooled in Rooster’s stomach and he bit the inside of his cheek in frustration.
“Sorry,” Bradley bit out suddenly. He softened his voice and tried again, “Sorry, Mav, that I’m not my dad. I wish I could do more.” There was a heavy silence before Maverick said anything.
“Don’t. Don’t say that. I don’t want you to be your dad. You’re enough. I’m sorry if I- that I made you feel like you weren’t,” Mav said, voice tight. “You just do what you can. No more apologies, right?”
“Yeah, oka- Tally two, five o’ clock,” he replied, cutting himself off. They both watched the smooth glide of the fifth-gens below. “Fuck, what do we do?”
“They don’t know who we are or they’d be attacking. Just follow my lead. And…” Maverick paused and Bradley’s hackels rose. “If I give the word, grab those handles above you. They’re for ejection.” Rooster knew those words might have been the hardest Mav’s ever delivered to him. He wanted to reach forward and put a hand on his godfather’s shoulder but there wasn’t time.
“Okay,” he said instead, voice grim. “If you give the word.” He knows they’re at a major disadvantage and Lady Luck can’t spare much more. He feels their chance of survival slipping through-
-the doorway to the mess hall and out into the lonely halls of the carrier, he avoided anyone looking his way. He couldn’t bring himself to keep sitting there, pushing the food back and forth across his tray. He was grateful, beyond grateful, that his friends were trying to hype him and the others up before the mission but he wanted to be alone.
Not that there were a lot of places on a carrier to be alone beyond your bunk. But he was avoiding that too, as long as he could, because some small twist of fate saw him sharing with Hangman. But he couldn’t bring himself to face him just yet, not when there was so much unsettled between them.
So instead he wandered the corridors for a while, letting his body carry him along. He thought about finding Mav, talking to him and clearing the air before they were forced into a suicide mission that one or both of them may not make it back from. His feet carried him to Maverick’s quarters but he paused as he heard his godfather on the phone, his voice slipping past the slightly ajar door.
“I can’t do this, Tom,” Mav muttered on the phone. There was a pause. “I know. I-I just…what if he doesn’t come home? What if-” He cut himself off and for the first time in years, Bradley heard grief in his godfather’s voice. “I won’t be able to face them. When I die, if I send their son, send our kid to his death, what will I say?” Bradley clenched his fists at his waist, not wanting to hear more but unable to walk away.
God, he’d fucked up in every arena. He’d pushed Jake away, let Ice down and had Maverick reliving the worst trauma in his life. Maybe…he didn’t want to think about it, but maybe not returning would be a relief for those around him.
“No!” The exclamation caught him off guard, interrupting his thoughts. “No, I’m not going to do something stupid. On purpose, at least. I’m…we’re too old for that. I just want to come back to you, sweetheart.” The soft admission was enough to make him turn away and beeline for his own room, Hangman’s presence or not. He couldn’t bear to listen anymore to what was supposed to be a private moment of weakness.
He felt sick to his stomach knowing things were going to be left unresolved. His friends and family, if they still wanted to call him that, deserved better. Better than he could give.
Before he could throw the door to his bunk, it swung open and a pair of strong hands pulled him. The door slammed behind him and he was nose to nose with Jake whose lips were downturned, eyes shining with concern. Backing up, he pulled Bradley with him until they were up against the only cabinet in the tight quarters. “Say no,” Jake commanded before gripping Bradley’s shirt collar and dragging him into a kiss.
It felt like home. Rooster brought his hands up to cage the other pilot in against the cabinet, pushing their bodies together until there was no point untouched. He’d missed this. So much. Jake’s lips were soft and warm, moving against his with urgency. The anxiety didn’t go unnoticed and he pulled back. “I can’t. Not to you. You know that,” Rooster said, surprised at how true the words were even as he spoke them. He couldn’t say no to Jake Seresin. Couldn’t untangle himself and walk away. Not even when he knew it was just another selfish attempt to keep someone for himself.
“This is a horrible idea,” Jake said, thumping his head back against the metal. Bradley took the opportunity to lean down and kiss the other pilot’s jaw, leaving what he knew was probably a very obvious beard burn. He didn’t care and neither did the blond if the groan that slipped past his lips was any indication. “I don’t want this to feel like a last chance,” Jake continued, bringing a hand up and running it through Bradley’s dark waves. Fingers scratched at his scalp and it made Rooster want to curl up and never move from this spot again.
“Not the last chance, not by a long shot,” he reassured. Neither of them believed it. The looming threat of the suicide mission threatned to crush them both but Rooster refused to let that take this one moment from him. “Just don’t let go,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to Jake’s throat and moved back up to look him in the eyes. “Don’t write me off yet.”
With strong arms, he pulled Jake with him to one of the berths, thankful they were shoved away in one of the spare bunks since they weren’t regulars on the carrier. He wasn’t sure how much time they had, if the others would be knocking down his door to say their good lucks and go get em’s. “We’re not gonna fit on one of these sorry excuses for a bed,” Jake said breathlessly as he spread out in what little space there was. “And I don’t know ‘bout you but I’m too old to contort myself. I’d be a permanent pretzel.”
As much as he wanted to argue for the sake of urgency, Bradley knew the other pilot was right so he improvised, pulling the blankets and depressingly thin pad of mattresses off several bunks to pile on the floor. “Very romantic,” Jake said sarcastically but he was already unbuttoning his shirt with nimble fingers.
“Might not be romantic but I don’t care as long as I get to be with you,” Rooster said, flushing at how sappy that sounded. It was painfully true though. He wanted to put his hands on Jake’s body, feel him alive and warm and in his arms. He was sick with want and the fear that he’d never get to hold Jake again. So if it meant having sex on a fucking cold metal floor he would risk his knees and sanity just for this last moment. “Get down here, cowboy.”
“So demanding,” Jake whined but he was straddling Bradley’s waist in record time, spreading his hands over a bare chest and grinding down. They both gasped but Rooster didn’t let Jake have the upperhand for long, rolling them over so he could continue his path down the blonde’s throat from earlier until he was rolling a nipple between his teeth. “Feels good, Roo.”
Rooster sat up, maneuvering until he could kick off the rest of his clothes and yank the pants right off his partner. Jake chuckled at the clumsiness but he was soon keening when Rooster took the head of his cock between his lips. “Shit, warn a guy, Bradshaw,” Jake said, voice strained. His fingers snaked back down to grip into Bradley’s hair, his favorite pastime.
Bradley took what time he could, listening for the right sighs and grunts to know how he was faring. The muscles in Jake’s thighs flexed when he was getting too close to the edge if his memory was still correct and he wanted to get him right to the edge. He pulled off with a delicate ‘pop’ and paid attention to the base, savoring the messy whines coming from above. “Yes, baby, please. Missed this. Missed your mouth.” Jake was a talker, no surprise to anyone, though Bradley aimed to keep that specific knowledge to himself if he could help it. Nobody else deserved to hear Jake falling apart.
When he felt those fingers tighten enough to sting the roots of his hair, he pulled away completely and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand with a grin. He wondered if it came off deranged with how tense and desperate he was but he wasn’t given time to ask. Arms pulled him forward until he was caught in another searing kiss, Jake’s tongue brushing against his. When they pulled apart, Bradley leaned his forehead against the blond’s. “I, uh, don’t have anything with me,” he admitted, grimacing.
“Well aren’t you lucky I was a boy scout?” Jake said, smirking. Using a foot to kick his pants up, he rooted around in his pockets before producing a condom and foil packet of lube. “Standard issue from Sick Bay,” he grinned, waving them in Bradley’s face.
“Oh god, you asked them for lube?” Bradley asked, thunking his head on Jake’s chest.
“Yeah, now all of China knows I fuck. Of course I asked, I haven’t gotten laid in years thanks to you so I didn’t have any on me,” Jake snarked, tearing the packets open. He didn’t seem to register the admission he’d just made, the one that rocked Bradley’s world.
“You never…?” He began, taking the condom and lube in hand. Jake snorted and pushed Rooster up, snatching the condom back and rolling it on Bradley’s cock himself.
“No, you doofus. Because, as I thought I had gotten across already, I was and still am stupidly in love with you. It’s a disability at this point.” Bradley felt his heart beating so hard against his ribcage he wondered if it would simply burst out. “Never wanted anyone else.”
Bradley brought Jake’s arms above his head, pinning them there on the mattress. Jake looked like he was about to protest but he was cut off when Rooster leaned down and kissed him gently, like he was fragile. “Don’t want anyone else either. Love you.”
Bradley made fast work of prepping Jake, planting kisses on every available surface of the blond’s face like he could just map it out and never forget. He wanted to remember this, even if it was in the last moments of a burning wreck. The slide of their skin together, the tightness as he slid home and the strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. “I don’t want this to end,” he admitted as he thrust long and slow.
Jake’s hands ran up and down his back, tangling in his sweaty hair. “I know, darlin’, I know.” He rolled his hips up and Bradley grunted at the change of angle. He wished they had more time, that he could take this slow and feel every second of it but they were on a clock someone else had set. “It’s okay, Roo, you can let go,” Jake encouraged, somehow managing to wrap himself even further around Rooster to match his pace.
“Jake, baby,” Bradley panted, nipping at the other’s neck. He wasn’t going to last much longer so he reached down in between their bodies and took Jake in his hand, pulling him in long strokes as he nearly bent the other man in half.
He felt the muscle flex in Jake’s thighs he’d been waiting for and let him dive off the edge first, not so much as blinking so he could commit the other’s face to memory. Every crease by his eyes as he squeezed them shut, the curve of his mouth as he gasped out Bradley’s name, the flush in his cheeks. It was enough to send Bradley over as well and he felt his hearing give way for just a moment as he came.
As he came back to himself, he gently pulled out and reached around for his underwear so he could at least do a lazy clean up job on them both. The condom was tossed in their mediocre little trashcan and he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed that anyone would see it. As he kicked their clothes out of the way, he had to laugh. “What’re you chuckling at?” Jake asked, face smooshed into Bradley’s shoulder.
“Nothing. Just… Natasha once nagged me about never packing enough underwear and uh, that was my last pair.” Jake popped his head up, his all over the place like a disgruntled cat.
“You only packed one pair?” His voice was so genuinely baffled that it only spurred Bradley on in his laughter but it was taking on a desperate edge. “You can just borrow mine.” He rested his head back against the mattress and they were quiet for a few minutes, letting their breaths even out.
“What,” Bradley started, biting his lip. “What if I don’t come back?” He felt Jake stiffen against him and there was a heavy silence. “I want to come back to you.” The fear he’d been trying to stifle was welling up in his chest and he didn’t miss his own echoing of his godfather’s words.
Jake rested a hand on Bradley’s chest, right above his heart. He drew a lazy ‘X’ over it and balled his fist up. “You’ll come back to me because this time? I’m being selfish. You don’t get to die unless I say so… so just… stop walking around here like you’re already a ghost.”
Bradley wanted to say something more but he couldn’t find the words so he just pulled Jake-
- close, Mav,” Bradley yelled from the backseat of the F-14. “We can’t take much more. What do we do?” His hands itched to do something but they were out of options. No flares, no guns, just a game of who can outfly the other. For the millionth time that day, he wonders if this is his final moments but this time, as Maverick tries desperately to give them altitude and the bandit is chasing them down, he decides this may be the kindest way to go.
Maverick’s words to Ice the night before rang in his ears - I won’t be able to face them when I die, if I send their son, send our kid, to his death - and he spares a second to grieve for the father figure still stateside, wondering if his husband and adoptive son will leave him facing life on his own. He sends prayers out to every available listening deity but he knows nobody is going to intervene.
“Pull the ejection handles, Rooster,” Mav’s voice cut across Bradley’s thoughts and he reached up, yanking on the black and yellow ropes. Somehow, he’d known they wouldn’t work and he mentally resigned himself to the end. “Do it. Eject! Eject!”
“They’re not working,” he shouted over the alarms blaring and Maverick went silent, pulling them into a steep vertical climb. They were running out of time, running out of air and there was no crazy pilot shit to save them. He heard Maverick whisper apologies and instead of panicking, he reached forward, even under the weight of several g’s, to put a hand on Maverick’s shoulder. He just needed that small comfort and it reminded him of when he was a small child, not long before his father’s death. The alarms faded into the sound of piano keys, the melody one he-
-recognized. At least, he thinks he does. Daddy and Uncle Mav play it all the time and now he hears it on the tinny radio in the diner. Bradley kicked his feet under the table, a permanent smile on his face as he watched his dad and uncle up at the counter. His mom sat next to him, her perfume a comforting presence. He leaned into her arms, burying his face in her side and leaving his toy truck on the table.
It was the best day ever. He’d watched airplanes, played all day and now, as his mom snuggled him, he didn’t want anything to ever change.
“We come bearing gifts.” His dad’s voice rang out and Bradley peeked back at the table. Maverick slid into the booth across from them and grinned, pushing a sundae in Bradley’s direction. His dad was busy scooping up a cherry and trying to balance it on his nose. It delighted Bradley and he clapped.
“Dig in, B,” Goose encouraged, popping the cherry into his mouth. His dad’s word was as good as scripture so he picked up a spoon and scooped up vanilla ice cream. His cowboy hat that he perpetually wore was getting in the way so he pushed it back until it hung around his neck. “Is it good?”
“Oh yeah,” Bradley said, grinning with chocolate sauce smeared across his cheeks.
Goose and Mav laughed and mimicked him with their own ‘oh yeahs’, high fiving. Bradley wanted nothing more than to be like his dad and his uncle Mav. They could do no wrong in his eyes and he knew he’d grow up to be a pilot, just like them.
After they’d finished their ice cream and his mom had wiped his face - not without protest - they headed out to the parking lot. “Let’s go on down to the beach,” Carole suggested and there was a chorus of agreement. They weren’t too far off, just a couple of blocks’ walk.
He squealed when Maverick scooped him up, sticking him up on his shoulders. He gripped onto his godfather’s chin and kicked his feet. He never wanted this day to end. He wanted to hold-
“-on. Just hold on, Mav,” Bradley repeated as they tried to out maneuver. He knew it was too late, looking over his shoulder and seeing the fifth gen gearing up to fire. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact. But it never came. Instead he heard salvation across the comms.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman, this is your savior speaking. Please fasten your seat belts, return the tray tables to their locked and upright positions and prepare for landing.” Bradley felt the tension leave his body at Jake’s words and he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face.
Later, when they’d survived the rough landing, the long screech on the carrier tarmac ringing in his ears, he climbed out of the cockpit to the cheers of nearly everyone on board. He felt hands pulling him down and a million claps on the back. It was suffocating even if he couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t come down from the surprise of surviving. Over someone’s shoulder he spotted Mav surrounded by just as many adoring faces and he fought his way over. They made eye contact and Bradley saw the relief on those tired features.
Before he could open his mouth and say anything, he was pulled into a tight hug. He buried his face in Maverick’s shoulder, drowning out the sounds of those around them. “We made it back,” Mav whispered only for him to hear. Rooster squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, savoring being alive and on solid - well, floating - land. He pulled away, not removing his hand from Maverick’s shoulder.
“Tell uncle Ice I’ll make dinner when we get home. You two need a break,” he offered, smiling. Maverick laughed, joyous and genuine. He reached a hand up and ruffled Bradley’s hair.
“You got it, kid.”
Satisfied that they were on the same page, he swiveled his head around until he spotted Jake trying to push through the crowd. His chest clenched and he turned back to Mav who gave him a knowing smirk and jerked his head in Jake’s direction before mouthing ‘go’. With an even bigger smile, he parted the sea of well meaning comrades in his way and nearly tripped into Jake’s arms where they met in the middle.
They stared at each other for a moment, Jake’s eyes twinkling in the sunlight and Bradley’s sweaty face flushed with exertion. He was sure he looked like a disaster, covered in grease and fuel and who knew what else but Jake looked at him the way he always did - like Bradley had single handedly hung the moon.
“Hey,” Rooster said, breathless.
“Hey,” Jake echoed, lips pulling up in a grin. They stood there, chests heaving for a minute, until Bradley decided he couldn’t take it a second longer, regulations be damned. With surprisingly steady hands given his recent bout in hell, he yanked Jake forward and into a searing kiss. There was a chorus clapping and it felt like one of those stupid movie scenes he’s watched but he couldn’t bring himself to care because Jake was kissing him back. And he’s alive. They all are.
When he pulled away, Jake’s smile was megawatt bright. They got claps on the back from friends and he even saw Maverick turning a smile in their direction as he stood with Hondo. The high of victory and love seemed like it would never wear off but he could already feel exhaustion tugging at his body.
He was only in medical for a few hours, treated for cuts and bruises. He managed a small fracture in his knee which explained the pain when he’d landed in the woods but only rest would help with that so he elected to forgo the celebration that night. Natasha had promised she’d field any questions but he suspected most people would be too drunk to notice his absence. She’d given him a knowing look as he’d slipped away to his bunk.
He was in the middle of slipping on a clean shirt, groaning with the effort of raising his battered arms above waist height when the door opened and Jake slipped in. He looked tired as well and Bradley reminded himself that Jake had been in just as much combat as him, having yet another air-to-air kill under his belt. The blond slipped behind him to grab clothes out of the cabinet, letting out a sigh as he changed. Neither of them said anything, content to be in each other’s company.
Soon enough, Bradley was trying to reconcile the fact that they would just have to sleep separately this time if they were going to share the bunk with other people. Jake stepped past him, dragging the mattresses onto the floor like they had the night before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “What about the others?” he asked, tired brain unable to elaborate.
“Told ‘em to scram,” Jake replied, yawning. He pulled cushions out of seemingly nowhere and layered them on top before covering the whole pile with blankets. “Sucks we’re on a boat and not back at home where we can use an actual fucking bed. This isn’t much better than the bunk.”
“Where…the cushions?” Bradley questioned, peering around the room. His brain couldn’t compute and he didn’t resist when he was pulled down to the floor. Jake stood up only to turn the lights out before joining Rooster. He situated them until Bradley’s head rested on his chest.
“Our friends meddle but they probably, I think, mean well,” Jake said by way of explanation and Rooster simply ‘hmm’d in acknowledgement. Jake’s fingers returned to their ever present home carding through Bradley’s freshly cleaned hair and it was enough to send Rooster to that fuzzy place right before sleep. He wanted to talk. Hell, he wanted to be awake enough to take Jake apart one kiss at a time, but he could feel himself fading into sleep.
“Thank you,” he managed, voice low and rumbling. “For lovin’ me.” He pressed a kiss over the space where Jake’s heart beat beneath his ear. “‘nd saving me too.”
Nails scraped pleasantly at his scalp and Jake sighed. “You would have been a really annoying ghost. It was to protect myself, really.” They both chuckled.
“Mmm, full Swayze. But with less pottery and more homoeroticism,” Bradley agreed, curling closer. Jake laughed fully this time, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Maybe possess Admiral Simpson and make him do the dance from Beetlejuice.”
“I’m…too tired to outline how Ghost was already gay,” Jake replied. “Just wanna be here with you.”
“Yeah, well, wish granted. You’re stuck with me. Promised every deity out there I wouldn’t let you go again,” Bradley said, trailing off towards the end. Sleep and Jake’s body heat were tugging him under into blissful unconsciousness. He felt more than heard Jake’s quiet reciprocation and he knew that the next time - if there was a next time - he was at death’s door, he would remember this. Another precious moment burned into memory.