all that has passed

For the first time in a week, your headache isn't from alcohol but from tears. You cried yourself to sleep. Needless to say you're not handling your break-up with Scott very well.

You were together for two years before he decided he wanted to live his life fully before settling down with someone. In other words, he dumped you as if you were a dead weigh. Anger was the first emotion you felt, now, it's sadness.

With difficulty, you take your phone and see it's only 10:00 A.M.. At least, Scott chose the right moment, you're on holiday so you can deal with your break-up however you want. Actually, you had originally asked for two weeks off, you two had planned to go on a holiday but that's just a small detail.

You open Instagram and scroll through your feed. You only do this to waste time, you don't care an influence is renovating her kitchen or that a friend from High School is engaged or even that your cousin just bought his first house. You just keep on scrolling. Again, and again, and again. You keep checking the latest news by watching the stories from your following. You go through every story, uninterested.

Though, the thirtieth catches your attention, it's your ex's — yes, you're still following him, you haven't had the strength to block him — and you see him living his best life in Mexico. You should have been there with him. He shared some pictures from touristic sites, yet the story that catches your attention is one he reposted from his friend who went on the trip instead of you. It's a video of Scott dancing very close to a pretty woman and although the video cuts before, you easily guess he kissed her. Who would have thought living before settling down actually meant meeting other women?

Technically, you shouldn't be mad. You've also shrugged off the pain in the arms of some men, but just because he decided to leave you, otherwise, you would have never called your ex hookups or met other people whereas Scott really wanted to sleep with other women without any guilt. At least, you can't say he isn't faithful…

Violently, you take the pillow next to you, put it on your head and scream. You hate him. But you still love him. You hate this situation.

With difficulty, you get out of bed and go to the furniture in your dining room where the alcoholic drinks are. You take the first bottle you find: vodka. Today, happy hour starts earlier for you as you open the bottle and drink directly from the neck.

Slumping on your couch, bottle in hand, you think you're pathetic. You never would have thought a man would put you in such state. You never were the kind of person who opened up enough to have lasting relationships. Scott was one of the rare times you did. He had all the qualities of someone stable and he was for two years. You even thought he was going to propose. He really took you for an idiot. You don't know if you'll ever be able to open up for someone new.

You'll end your life alone.

This thought breaks your heart as you take another sip.

Just to make the situation even more pitiful, you send Scott a text. A simple 'I miss you' which you had to rewrite several times, you couldn't see the letters and you'll regret it once the alcohol will be out of your body.

You spend your day feeling sorry for yourself, staring at the pictures of you and your ex while listening to break up songs and drinking.

A perfectly healthy coping mechanism.

The moment the sun starts going down in the sky, you get ready. You've had enough of drinking vodka a few hours ago, the effects are starting to wear off, at least the effect that gives you strength to ring anyone.

Once you're ready, you take your car and drive to the Hard Deck. Alcohol and driving don't go well together, you know it, nevertheless, it's the closest bar and it's twenty minutes away so it'll be even longer to go by foot.

Upon arriving at the bar, you sweep the room with your eyes, searching for someone to spend the night with. Maybe the guy at the end of the room who is currently playing dart. Sure, you don't see his face, but you have a good look on his butt and you like it. You walk to the counter and asks Penny for a beer.

"I thought you were in Mexico with Scott," she says, confused.

"We broke up. I mean, he dumped me. That's more like it. I was expecting a ring on my finger and he just brought me to tears," you inform with a smile to hide your pain and drinking.

"What a dickhead! Wait, don't tell me you drove here," Penny exclaims after taking a good look at you.

"How did you want me to come?"

"Did you drink a lot before coming here?"

"If you really want to know, I stopped drinking about two hours ago so don't worry, I can drive."

"You don't look like it."

You shrug, not knowing what to tell Penny. You take a big sip of your beer and keep looking around you. The guy playing dare just turned around and no, not your type. You have to find someone else.

"You know it's not good to drink your heartbreak away," Penny resumes with a empathetic look which annoys you.

"That's my problem. You should be happy, thanks to Scott, I'll give you a lot of money. Besides, I'm not drinking my heartbreak away, I'm just drinking to call someone."

"Has it worked until now?"

"You have no idea," you state, proud, yet Penny doesn't seem to impress. "Go on, I know you're dying to lecture me."

"You're a grown woman, I'm not going to teach you anything."

Someone calls her, she leaves you while you finish your beer in peace. You're about to take out your phone when someone sits next to you. You turn your head toward the person and you like what you see. This guy is definitely your type. You give him a charming smirk and he leans towards you.

"Hey, I'm Josh."

"Hi, care paying me a drink?"

Josh grins at you then turns to Penny to order two whiskies.

Just in ten minutes you understand Josh is only interested in himself. He hasn't asked you a single question and he has talked about his achievement at great length. You pretend to listen to him, nodding your head and dropping 'wow, impressive' every once in a while. He hasn't notice anything, too happy to have an ego boost.

Thirty minutes of conversation with him and you can't take it anymore. You're not going to sleep with him tonight, you're desperate but you want to have a good time and if he already can't notice you're simulating during a discussion, what would it be like in bed? You have to find someone better!

At one point, you take your phone out of your pocket and pretend to receive a call. You claim it's urgent and you'll be back as soon as you're finished before leaving with your third drink of the evening. You stumble as you stand up from the stool and struggle to walk to the exit, bringing your phone to your ear and beginning a fake conversation.

Outside, the fresh air hits you and it feels good. You lean next to the bar entrance and drink. You look up and sigh. You're officially drunk enough to phone anyone.

You take your cell and go to your contacts. You scroll through the names and call John, an one-night stand you met six years ago. You saw each other several times, you had a good feeling about him. You wait for him to answer but get the voicemail. You hang up and search for another number. This time, you try Larry, your cousin's friend who has always had a crush on you. The second he answers, you smile, however, as soon as you hear a feminine voice, you frown. Oops, you forgot he got married a year ago. You just say you've typed the wrong number and quickly hang up. You try to call Ben, a childhood friend and you're directly transferred to the voicemail. You're appalled to realized he just ignored you. He was always the one ringing you. It even created some tension between you and Scott. He thought you were cheating on him but you swore nothing happened and that Ben just didn't get the hint. Annoyed, you keep searching in your contacts then you find Rooster. Your fingers linger over the contact, not daring to call him.

You met Rooster before getting with Scott. You had hit off with Bradley pretty well, but you panicked and pushed him away. You've always regretted it. That's why you've never dared to delete his number. After a few seconds and emptying your drink, you contact him. He's probably not going to answer or he's probably on deployment so it's not a risky call. There are three tones before Bradley picks up.

"Bye, it's me, it's been so long! Hows you been? What's up?" you ask, mixing up your words.

"I'm alright and you? I wasn't expecting hearing from you, I'm a bit surprised," Bradley states with a small laugh.

"Oh, just trying different numbers, didn't think you'd pick up! So, am surprised, too. Are you in town? I mean, in California, not there, no matter where that is," you resume, accompanying your words with gestures as if he could see you.

"Yes, I'm here. Are you alright? You seem drunk," he asks with a worried tone.

"Oh, just a bit tipsy, nothing too much. I might have double vision but that is irrelevant right now," you assure him before changing the subject right away. "Anyway, I've nothing to do tonight and if you don't have nothing to do as well, should we hooks up?" you question, before thinking back about your sentence and rushing to correct it: "Huh, I hook up! We hook up!"

"What about your boyfriend?"

"Oh, he's too busy making out with some women in Mexico to celebrate our break-up."

"How many drinks have you had?" Bradley questions, definitely worried now.

"I didn't count them. So, you want to? I can come at your place, unless you wanna come at mine."

"You're not driving while drunk!" Bradley retorts, firmly.

"I managed to drive to the Hard Deck just fine, can do it again."

"No!" he quickly says. "Do not leave the bar! Wait for me inside, stay close to Penny and don't drink anything else, except water." Bradley orders and you nod before remembering he can't see you.

"Okay. Penny doesn't wanna give me any more drinks anyway," you add with a sad tone.

"Good. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Can't wait."

You beam like a teenager about to have her first date when you hang up. You listen to Bradley and go back inside. You put your empty glass on the counter and sit on the stool. Penny looks at you with worry and you try to not appear too drunk.

You press your head against your hand and impatiently wait for Bradley, a glass of water half empty in front of you. You check your phone and find you've missed some calls from the other men, you don't care, though. You're about to spend the night with Bradley, you don't care about anything else.

As soon as Rooster appears, you jump from your seat and wrap your arms around his neck, screaming his name. He holds you just before you lose your balance, greets you before telling you to wait while he talks to Penny. He informs her he's bringing you home, but he's leaving his car on the parking lot and he'll pick it up with Jake tomorrow. She nods, tells him to take care of you and not to hesitate to ring her if needed. Bradley smiles then goes back to you and guides you to the exit.

You stay close to him, a flirty smirk on your face, as for Bradley, he's just focused on bringing you to your car. He opens the passenger side door and sits you down. As he fastens your seatbelt, leaning towards you, you take this proximity for a sign and try to bring him closer to you and kiss him, Bradley makes sure there's a distance between you as he gives you a friendly smile. He closes the door and sits on the driver side as you hand him the car keys.

Upon arriving at your place, Bradley keeps supporting you until you walk through the door. He never thought he'd be there again. Almost nothing has changed, except a piece of furniture or two and some pictures on the wall of you and your boyfriend whose name he forgot. You put your arms around his neck again and bring him closer to you.

"Do you me still love?" you question before repeating the sentence in your head to understand what's wrong with it. "Wait. Still do you love me? You know what I mean. 'Cause I still do. I shouldn't have let you go," you admit with a grieved face.

You try to lean to kiss him, Bradley turns his head before your lips can touch his. He's startled by your words, yet he has to keep his attention on you. You're drunk, you don't know what you're saying. He just have to put you to bed and makes sure you don't throw up all night then you two can go back to being strangers again.

"You're wasted. We're not going to do anything. It's best for you to go to sleep," he informs you and you pout.

"You knew how to have fun before."

"Come on, let's get you in your pajama," Rooster tells you pointing to your bathroom.

You stare at Bradley for a minute, trying to determine if he's serious or not. Once you see he's not changing his mind, you sigh in frustration and stumble to your bathroom then your bedroom while Bradley searches for a bucket, a glass of water and some medicine.

Once you're ready for bed, Bradley accompanies you to your bedroom to make sure you're settled down. He puts the glass of water with the pill on your nightstand, the bucket next to your bed and he's about to leave when you grab his hand to hold him back.

"Don't go, please. I shouldn't have let you go the first time so stay."

You're begging him with a weak voice and the look on your face is so miserable it breaks his heart. You look like a child who is scared to be abandoned by her parents. He comes back to you and sits on your bed while keeping your hand in his. Bradley softly smiles, how you've missed that smile! then he replies:

"I'm not leaving, I promise."

At his sentence, your body relaxes, reassured he's staying with you. You finally let yourself close your eyes. Bradley waits for a few minutes until he's sure you're sound asleep before walking to the easy chair in the corner of the room.

Once he's sitting down, he sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He didn't think his night would end up this way and he most certainly didn't think he'd discover you had feelings for him or rather that you have always had them. He was always certain you didn't. Then again, that's what you had affirmed.

When you were sleeping together, Bradley had come to see you and confessed his feelings to you and said he wanted more. He was full of hope, you seemed to be as interested as he was. However, you told him it wasn't the case and if he really had feelings for you, then you should stop seeing each other before he gets his hopes too high. Bradley didn't show anything , he just nodded as he left your place with his broken heart. Nevertheless, what hurt him most was the lack of responses from you when he tried reaching out with no ulterior motive.

Bradley grabs a blanket on the basket next to the chair, takes out his shoes and search for a comfortable position. Though, he doesn't fall asleep right away, he stares at the ceiling as he keeps thinking back about what you said. He doesn't understand anything anymore. He ignores if you meant it or not. Furthermore, you'll more likely forget about what you said the following morning or if you do remember it, you won't want to talk about it. Bradley sighs, shifts position and tries to fall asleep.

The following morning, you groan as you wake up with an awful headache. You try to fall asleep again but the pain is unbearable. You rub your eyes and yawn loudly. Looking at your nightstand, you see the glass and the medicine. You take it without thinking. However, once you're done drinking, you wonder when you brought this glass or even how you came home from the Hard Deck. You don't remember driving home.

You jump from your bed and immediately regret your action. You get out of your room and smell freshly baked cookies. You're more and more confused as you slowly walk to your kitchen where you find Bradley taking a batch of cookies out of the oven and putting another one.

"Oh, hi! You're finally awake. How is the hangover?" Bradley asks as your eyebrows knit together.

"Could be better, could be worse. What are you doing?"

"I thought you'd be hungry once you'd wake up and I remember you love cookies so I made some."

"Thank you, but I meant…," you start without finishing your sentence, too embarrassed.

"What am I doing here, at your place? You phoned me last night when you were drunk. Before you ask, nothing happened. I was worried so I picked you up.

"I really need to stop alcohol," you sigh as you sit on one of your kitchens chairs.

"Cookies?"

You nod your head as an answer. Bradley puts two cookies on a plate before putting it in front of you.

"Please, tell me I didn't make a fool of myself yesterday," you beg him after taking a first bite.

"No, it was okay."

"I know you're lying but for my own good, I'll accept your answer."

"So, why did you drink so much? It doesn't seem like you."

"Nothing important, I got dumped. I wasted two years of my life living with a guy who didn't see any future with me and I think I'll end my life alone. A pittance," you explain, nonchalantly.

"That guy is a dick, however, that doesn't mean no one is made for you," he affirms as he sits in front of you.

"Not so sure. I don't have the best relationship history."

"We should create a club," Rooster jokes and you wince.

"I apologize, Bradley. Not only for calling you yesterday but also for the way it ended between us. You didn't deserve to be ghosted."

"No need, water under the bridge."

"No, I insist. You were more than kind with me. You had zero reason to take care of me and you still did without thinking twice about it. After everything I did to you, I don't deserve your kindness, however you deserve an explanation," you start before taking a deep breath. "The day you told me you had feelings, I panicked. When we first met, we agreed on being casual and then it evolved. I thought it was only me so the day you said it was the case for you, too… I got scared. After all, everything was going well because it wasn't anything serious and you were here, but what if you met someone better when you'd be on deployment? What if you weren't as honest as I thought? What if it was too good to be true? What if you were my worst heartbreak? I know it doesn't make any sense but before you, I had only had one real relationship and I got cheated on. I knew that if I were with you, you could be either my best relationship or my worst break-up and I was too afraid to find out which one it would be. Pushing you away is my biggest regret," you confess, avoiding his gaze.

"Why didn't you ever reach out again, then?" he asks, looking you straight in the eyes.

"I was ashamed. You probably hated me so it was of no use."

"What about your ex? If I remember correctly, you met him shortly after me."

You can hear how hurt Bradley is because of this story. Although he doesn't seem mad at you, he's still in pain. You don't know what to do with yourself. You think for a few seconds about what you're going to say, making sure you find the right words.

"I knew I messed up what could be a beautiful relationship with you, I was scared to finish my life alone and I loved Scott, not as much as you, however, with him, I could stay in control of the relationship," you explain, trying not to tear up. "I mean, that's what I thought. I can't really be mad at him for dumping me, now that I think back about it, I wasn't entirely honest. It was doomed from the very beginning. The fact is, being alone, again, made me realize I missed the one and above all, I'm not made to be with someone, I can't seem to manage my relationships," you say with a weak tone as you quickly wipe a tear that fell. "I'm not saying all of this so you can pity me or to guilt trip you, I just want to explain what was happening in my head."

"I know, don't worry and I appreciate your explanation. It feels good to finally have the answers."

Bradley doesn't want to make you feel bad, you know it, nonetheless, you also know you made him suffer so much so you can't help but feel shameful.

"It's the least I could do after what you did for me yesterday."

Bradley stands up from his chair, takes the cookies out of the oven before looking at you.

"I should go and let you rest," Bradley suddenly announces. "Jake will pick me up soon. I had to leave my car at the Hard Deck to bring you home."

"Sorry," you exclaim, embarrassed. "If I can do anything for you, tell me, I owe you one."

Bradley gives you a pinched smile and walks to the exit and you follow him. Yet, before opening the door, he turns to you. You look at him, frowning.

"Did you mean it? What you said yesterday."

The second the question leaves his lips, he regrets it. He shouldn't have asked you. Not only because you probably don't remember your confession of the night before due to the alcohol you drank but especially, because no matter the truth, he's almost certain you'll be too ashamed to stand by it.

"Yesterday, you told me you still loved me," he specifies and you don't look surprised.

"I know, I remember. It's one of the few memories I have."

"So?" Bradley questions, as you stay silent he adds, "I just want to know, it doesn't have to mean anything."

"Yes, I meant it," you admit, gazing at him. "I told you, you're my biggest regret. I was never able to forget you. What about you? I remember you didn't answer my question. I just want to know."

"I came to take care of you when I didn't have to, so what do you think? I've never stopped loving you."

At his reply, you don't know if your heart breaks at the idea of having lost the rare gem or if it beats faster at the idea of maybe having the chance to fix your relationship with Bradley.

"Even despite everything I did?"

"You're hard to forget."

"And what about now? I let you slip through my fingers once, I'm not letting it happen again," you state, taking a step forward.

"I think you should recover from your hangover and your break-up first," Rooster starts with a small smile, "then we should have an open-hearted conversation to know what we should do. Though, you need to focus on yourself first. If we have to find each other again, I need to be sure this time you won't run away the second you get scared, that you're emotionally available. What do you think?"

Your heart warms as you realize he wants to do things correctly with you but above all, he's ready to give you a second chance. Never has a man ever tried to understand you this much before. After all, you never gave them the chance to do it. Bradley is the only who can see through your walls and he knows exactly what to do to reassure you. This time, you won't mess up your chance. You're going to listen to what Bradley told you.

"I think you're too nice for your own good, Bradley. I promise you I won't make the same mistake."

You gaze at each other, smiling. It's not the beginning of anything between you and Bradley yet, but at least, you lay down the foundation for a future one.

The sound of horn takes you out of your bubble. Jake is here and he must be impatient. You would love to hug Bradley to thank him for everything, nevertheless, he's right. You have to work on yourself first and then you'll find your way back. Besides, it'll make the reunion even sweeter. Bradley gives you one last smile then leaves your place.

You, he'd been unprepared for.

It'd happened at a gathering at Ice's place. Mav had dragged him along, even as Rooster had protested. While he'd always known who Ice was, he hadn't spent a lot of time in Admiral's close vicinity, and a family gathering didn't seem to be the right place. Little did he know that he'd be on the wrong end of a matchmaking attempt at both Mav's and Ice's hands.

You'd been a bit more aware of their machinations.

For the duration of the party, you stuck as close to Rooster's side as you could get away with. Not because you were necessarily interested in him. He wasn't so high on himself to think that about anyone. But because you genuinely seemed to hope this would put an end to their meddling in your private life. Something Rooster himself could get behind.

The fact the two of you even managed to hold a decent conversation throughout the party helped.

By the end of it, Rooster could even admit to himself that he genuinely liked you. He could even see why Ice and Mav had been so keen on getting you two together, but neither of you were in the best place for something deeper than an acquaintanceship. At least, that's what he'd been led to believe from the small bits of information you'd given him and he you in return.

While you hadn't exchanged numbers that evening, he thought about you on occasion, wondering how you were doing. He could well imagine Ice continued to try and find you someone. Mav had been doing the same with him. Not that he was all that interested. At least, that's what he kept telling himself anyway.

"So, do you know them or not?" Phoenix asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Yeah, I do."

"And…"

Rooster could feel the grin that slowly curved his lips. "I'd say Frigid's going to give Hangman a run for his money."

"Sooner than he might think." Phoenix motioned toward the front door of the Hard Deck where Hangman had just noticed the newest arrival.

Rooster couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for Hangman, who'd already moved through the crowd towards you. Hangman didn't stand a chance because your eyes had locked onto him. They didn't waver for a moment as you weaved through the crowd. You passed right by Hangman, who appeared quite dumbfounded.

Your careful yet confident movements held a grace that Rooster had grown to learn during Ice's gathering. It was something to behold, too. If not for the Navy's pilot uniform, he would've believed you were a dancer due your fluid motions. He really couldn't wait to see what you could do in a fighter jet. You'd surely be a sight to see.

"Hey," you shouted just above the din of the bar.

He smiled. "Hey. Long time, no see."

"Well, it seems we'll be rectifying that. I'm sure Ice is behind this somehow."

"I wouldn't discount Mav's involvement. He's been adamant I'd blown it with you after Ice's."

You shook your head even as your smile matched his. "Nah, I'd say you more than earned my respect that night. I get the feeling you're one of the good ones."

"Oh, he is," Phoenix offered before introducing herself.

He would be hearing more about this from Phoenix later if the look she sent him said anything. She wasn't going to let up, either, until she'd gotten all the details about you. Especially the ones on how Rooster knew you.

For now, though, he had no intention of passing up this second chance. A real chance to get to know you without either of your mentors watching your every move.

Because he had a feeling you were not only one of the good ones, too, but possibly the one.

And he couldn't wait to find out for sure.

"I was told to get lemon juice, but I didn't know I'd encounter so many. My friend isn't picking up, and I don't want to pick the wrong one. Meeting her friends for the first time, and I really don't want to make a bad first impression, you know?"

Stop. Talking.

The man standing in front of you merely nodded, his gaze sweeping over the row. He took his time, too, until he seemed to spotted the one he wanted. Holding it out to you, he offered you his own shrug, "Friend of mine likes this one. She uses it in all her recipes, so I know you can't go wrong with it."

You took it from his hand.

The way his fingers brushed yours was enough to have you jolting in place, but you fought the urge.

"Thanks."

He nodded, his grin peeking out.

It seemed like he was about to say something, but another called out from the end of the aisle, "Hey, Bradshaw, let's get moving, huh? Nat's going to be on us but good if we're too late."

Not wanting to keep him, you took a step back and waved the bottle he'd chosen for you. "Thanks again."

This time, it was you who didn't let him get the chance to say anything, moving towards the registers in the hopes of paying and getting out of there. You'd made yourself enough of a fool in front of the cute guy. No way did you want to make it worse if you could help it.

Fate had other ideas as said cute guy and his buddy ended up behind you in the lone register lane.

"Hello again," he said with a cheekier smile than you'd seen earlier. "Long time, no see."

His friend glanced between you two and shook his head. "Man, you've been hanging out with Hangman too much. Starting to sound like him around pretty ladies."

Now, it would seem to be this guy's turn to heat up. You could make a faint pink under his desert tan though his smile never quite left his face.

All was fair as you realized his friend called you pretty.

More heat suffused your cheeks though you managed to mumble out your name, hoping against hope to learn his as well.

"Bradley," he supplied after his friend elbowed him. "Friends call me Rooster though."

"Rooster?"

"His callsign," his friend explained. "We're Navy pilots."

His friend went on to introduce himself as Mickey, but he insisted on you calling him Fanboy. He not only seemed certain you would be friends, he said it outright.

You smiled at hearing that. "My friend's a pilot as well. She goes by Phoenix."

"You know Phoenix?" they asked simultaneously.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm headed to her party from here. I guess I'm supposed to meet you two and some others. She said she had someone she wanted me to meet, too."

Why couldn't you stop oversharing?

A speculative gleam entered Fanboy's gaze, but you couldn't quite make out the why for it.

Well, not until both you and them paid for your stuff and he said, "Hey, man, why don't you go with this sweet lady and make sure she gets there alright? You know Nat would never forgive us if something happened to her pretty friend here. Plus, seeing you together might keep Hangman from making his typical move."

"Mickey." The warning rang clear in Bradley's voice, but he softened as his gaze focused on you again. "Please, don't think you have to listen to this idiot. We're happy to have you follow us there or if you'd rather we just go our separate ways now. I swear we might act it, but we're not completely crazy."

"I don't know, man. You've grew up with Mav being a family friend. That dude is pretty crazy."

"Not helping, Fanboy," Bradley practically growled, which actually made you giggle.

You just couldn't help it. These two were proving rather entertaining, and you could now see why Natasha wanted you to meet them. For once, your mouth cooperated, keeping you from mentioning it was Bradley himself that Natasha wanted you to meet. Especially seeing as the names started to click once all the introductions had gotten out of the way. Said he was a great guy, and he was actually proving it right now.

"Actually, following you wouldn't be such a bad idea. I'm pretty bad with directions. As long as you two don't mind."

The two agreed and escorted you from the store, not satisfied until you'd been walked to your car. Bradley pointed out his truck nearby and soon had himself and Fanboy situated.

Following them proved easy enough as Bradley kept himself right around the speed limit. That was something you weren't necessarily used to with other guys in your life until then. Most wanted to see if you could keep up, even if it meant being unsafe in doing so.

Even when you pulled into the parking lot of the Hard Deck, you weren't left to your own devices. Bradley and Fanboy met up with you and insisted on carrying in the few bags you'd bought alongside theirs. They weren't about to let you lift a finger, especially Bradley. His only explanation was his mama had taught him right.

"There you are," Natasha cried out when she saw you. Her brows rose though when she noticed you had company. "I hope these two doofs haven't been messing with you."

"Oh, no, they've been really sweet. Even helped me make sure I got the right lemon juice for your party. Not sure what you needed it for though. You didn't exactly specify."

And she still didn't tell you.

Instead, she insisted Bradley take you around the room and introduce you to the others from what she called the Dagger Squad. Though, she was quick to warn, "Keep her away from Hangman, will you? He's charming, but he's the last guy she needs."

"I'm right here," you groused though it fell on deaf ears. Not that you weren't already aware, either, of her hoping you hit it off with Bradley.

She needn't have worried, either, as you ended up spending the majority of the night in Bradley's company. He proved quite charming on his own, especially when he played the piano. He quickly entranced you with both his playing and singing skills. Every new thing you learned about him had you a little more enamored if you were completely honest.

By the end of the night, you could only hope you'd made enough of an impression on him as well.

He didn't disappoint, either, in that regard.

Who knew needing lemon juice for a party would be the beginning of a classic love story?

Your old Mercedes-Benz 380SL rumbled into the gravel parking lot of the Hard Deck, the first bar your GPS had thrown your way. It had been years since you’d been back to Lemoore. Even then, memories of the place had long since dissolved beneath a haze of flight hours, classified missions, carrier deployments, and the relentless cycle of detachments that had followed your graduation from Top Gun. What little you did remember felt distant now, like recalling someone else’s life, but tonight that hardly mattered. All you wanted was a stiff drink, good food, and a reminder that you were finally home.

The place buzzed with the easy kind of noise only a military town dive bar could produce. Pool balls cracked against one another somewhere in the back, laughter spilled over the music pouring from the jukebox, and every other patron seemed to be wearing their khakis. Naval aviators were packed shoulder to shoulder around high-top tables, gold wings glinting beneath neon beer signs. 

The open barstool was your oasis in the desert as you slid into it, sighing happily to see the tiny menu laminated and stuck to the bar. 

The bartender, an older woman with the most beautiful skin you’ve ever seen, walked over. “What can I get you?”

“A cheeseburger,” you answered without hesitation. “The greasiest one you’ve got. Fries, too.”

She arched an eyebrow, amusement written all over her face. 

“And a double of your best whiskey on the rocks.” You smiled widely as she nodded. 

She placed the order and slid over a frosted glass for you before attending to someone across the bar. You took the time to check your phone, avoiding the real reason you were back here. You just wanted one night where it felt like you were you again, and not just property of the United States Navy. 

“A greasy cheeseburger,” Penny, you learned, had slid the basket of food over to you. 

If it were any other circumstance, you would have been embarrassed by the moan that left your mouth after your first bite. 

“Good?” She asked, her hands pausing from shining a glass as she watched you. 

You nodded, eyes nearly closed. “It’s perfect.” 

A sharp laugh escaped her. “You just get back?” 

Your eyes open, finally placing the burger down to take another drink. “How’d you know?” 

You’re in civvies, and even have makeup on for the first time in months. But you reckon she’s worked here long enough to see it in every person that steps through the doors. 

“Come on,” Her eyes are playful, “No one acts like that about those cheap burgers unless they haven’t had one in a while. How long?” 

“Two years,” You sighed, “Haven’t been home for longer than a few months in about 5.” 

She made a noise of understanding; her life had been so intertwined with the Navy for years, she knew just how much it takes from someone. 

“Well, we’re glad to have you back. Hopefully it’s for a little longer this time.” She smiled, “Burgers on me.” 

Your head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”

You were already reaching for your wallet when she held up a hand.

“My bar,” she said matter-of-factly. “My rules.”

“I can’t let you-”

“Tell you what.” She pointed toward the half-empty whiskey glass in front of you. “I won’t take your money unless you order another one of those. Then we’ll call it even.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Welcome home.” 

She gave the bar a light tap with her knuckles before disappearing toward the kitchen, leaving you alone with the comfortable hum of conversation surrounding you. 

By the time you finished, the basket in front of you held nothing but a few lonely fries and a crumpled sheet of wax paper slick with grease. You slid a crisp fifty-dollar bill beneath one of the coasters anyway, hoping she’d find it after you were gone, then tipped back the last swallow of whiskey. It burned all the way down, drawing a wince that settled into a satisfied smile as you set the empty glass back onto the bar with a quiet clink.

You slid off the barstool with a contented sigh, fishing your keys from your pocket as you prepared to call it a night. The burger had done its job. The whiskey had done its job even better. Maybe you’d save the third item on your list for another evening.

The front door swung open before you could take a single step.

A man ducked beneath the frame with the easy confidence of someone who’d been walking into the Hard Deck for years. Aviator sunglasses hung from the collar of a faded Hawaiian shirt, sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms. Sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders, and a mustache that made you stop in your tracks. He was navy, that much was obvious. He might as well have been a walking poster child for an aviator. 

He slid onto the stool beside the one you’d just vacated, where you stood still half in and half out. 

“You’re back,” Penny was already reaching for a bottle. “You’re here a few days before the crowd.” 

“You know me too well.” He says. “I just couldn’t stay away, Penny. You know me.” 

“Yeah, right.” She grinned. 

He grinned, all practiced charm, and accepted the beer she slid across the counter.

It wasn’t usually your style to go after other Navy pilots. Too many complications. Too many chances of crossing paths again in some hangar halfway around the world, or discovering six months later that you’d unknowingly hooked up with someone from your own air wing.

As a rule, you avoided it.

But rules had exceptions. And tonight that exception had a mustache that you yearned to feel against your skin, and muscles flexing with each rise and fall of his arms. 

Besides, out of the hundreds of aviators running through this town, what are the chances that he was one of the dozen who had been picked for this special assignment? 

You eased back onto your stool as though you’d never intended to leave, setting your keys back onto the polished wood.

“Penny, my dear,” you called, a devilish smile tugging at your lips. “Think I could trouble you for another whiskey?”

She didn’t even look at the register, or you as you tried to slide your card across the bar. Instead, she plucked the folded fifty-dollar bill from beneath the coaster and held it up between two fingers.

“I told you,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “My bar. My rules.” 

You sighed, snatching the card back. “I was hoping you wouldn’t see that until I left.” 

“Oh, honey.” Penny laughed. “I notice everything.”

She slid the bill back across the bar toward you before reaching for the whiskey bottle anyway.

“First refill’s still on the house.” Before you could protest again, the man beside you leaned an elbow onto the bar, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You can’t get one past Penny.”

You turned toward him. “That so?”

He nodded solemnly, though the grin threatening his mouth ruined any attempt at seriousness. “Trust me. You don’t want to end up on her bad side.”

”He’s learned the hard way.” Penny smirks, dropping off your drinks before she decides that she knows exactly what’s happening between the two strangers. 

Bradley turns to you, his gaze wandering from your boots to your jeans, lingering for the briefest second on the low cut of your top before finally settling on your eyes. There was nothing crude about it. If anything, it was almost appreciative, accompanied by the smallest lift of one corner of his mouth when he realized you’d caught him.

”So,” He starts, “What brings you here?” 

It’s such a cliché line; it almost makes you laugh. You hold up your glass, swirling around the amber liquid and the ice together. “This.” 

He clinks your glasses together, “Touche.” 

There’s a brief lull, the two of your eyes shamelessly on each other. 

“I’m Bradley.” He offers. 

You give him your name with a smile, and he immediately repeats it back after you. As if he’s testing the shape of it in his mouth, but not for the first time tonight he’s decided. 

The conversation moves easily after that, effortless in a way that surprises you. You don’t talk about work. Neither of you ask the obvious questions. You don’t mention where you’ve been, and he doesn’t ask why you look like someone who hasn’t slept properly in months. He doesn’t elaborate when he mentions not being home in almost a year, and you don’t express your same sentiments about it. 

You’re just two strangers sitting at a bar pretending, for a few hours, that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Music comes up first, some argument over whether old records are better than anything made now. He has strong opinions, the kind that make you laugh because he says them with complete confidence. 

“You’re very opinionated for someone I just met,” you say, resting your chin lightly against your hand.

He looks at you over the rim of his beer, which Penny silently dropped off.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’re usually right.”

A slow grin pulls across his face. “I usually am.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That might be the most annoying answer you could’ve given. God.” 

“And yet you’re still sitting here.”

The way he says it is cocky, but honest. There’s no malice in it, just the darkening of his eyes. It’s just an observation, and maybe that’s what makes it worse. He’s right. You could have left an hour ago. You had already gotten almost everything you came here for. The burger, the whiskey, the small piece of normal life you’d been craving since you stepped off that plane. But you were exactly where you wanted to be, with his eyes desperately trying not to look down your shirt with each flirty glance you threw his way. 

When last call came, you were shocked to look at the clock and realize it had been hours since Bradley slid into the seat next to you. The Hard Deck had slowly emptied around you without either of you really noticing. The loud groups of aviators had filtered out one by one, the music had been turned down, and the warm buzz of conversation had faded into the quiet sounds of closing. 

Somehow, through all of it, the two of you had stayed exactly where you were, caught somewhere between wanting the night to end and not wanting to be the one who ended it.

Bradley glances around at the emptying bar before looking back at you, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“I think we’re getting kicked out.”

You look around, pretending to be surprised by the chairs being lifted onto tables and Penny wiping down the counter.

Eventually, you slide off the stool, grabbing your phone and your keys.

“Goodnight, Penny.” You wave goodbye. 

Penny looks up from behind the bar, already knowing exactly what she’s looking at.

“Stay out of trouble, you two.” 

There’s something about the way she says it that makes you feel like she means more than the words themselves.

You smile. “Always.”

He bids her goodbye as well, before turning back to you. 

“Let me walk you to your car?” He asks, and it makes you chuckle. The two of you are circling it, both of you just itching and waiting for the other person to make the first move. 

The two of you step outside together, the cool California night air immediately replacing the warmth of the bar. The parking lot is quieter now, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes as you both slowly make your way out.

Your shoulders brush on the short walk, before you’re leaning against the side of your car. 

A low whistle escapes him. “No way.”

You glance back. “What?”

He looks between you and the Mercedes, impressed despite himself. “That’s yours?”

You smile, suddenly a little more proud than you mean to be.

“Yeah, I helped rebuild her a few years back.”

“God, you’re a dream. You, not the car.” He walks around the front of it slowly, appreciating the lines of the car. “But the car's great too. Gorgeous car for a gorgeous girl.” 

Your cheeks warm; before you can respond, your eyes drift past him toward the other side of the parking lot.

“And I’m guessing that’s yours?”

He turns, following your gaze.

A bright blue Bronco sits under one of the parking lot lights, standing out against the rows of ordinary cars.

“That obvious?”

You blow out a playful puff of air. “Yeah, kinda.” 

 His body is still only a few inches away from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him despite the cool night air. Close enough that you’re both very aware of the fact that neither of you has actually said goodnight, and that neither of you really want to. 

“Well, I guess I’m gonna-“ You go to turn, before he says your name in his deep tone. 

You turn back to face him, and he steps closer, your back pressing harshly against your car door. His body cages yours in, close enough that the space you’ve been carefully dancing around all night finally disappears.

“Can I?” The question is quiet, almost lost beneath the sound of the distant waves and the empty parking lot around you.

You answer by closing the distance.

The first touch of his lips against yours is everything you expected and somehow nothing like you imagined. Warm, certain, and long overdue after hours of pretending you weren’t both waiting for this exact moment. His mustache brushes against your skin, and the small laugh that escapes you is swallowed by the kiss because somehow that detail you’d been thinking about all night is even better than you had pictured.

Up close, he smells like sandalwood and something unmistakably him, a trace of the night air and jet fuel clinging to his clothes. He tastes like whiskey and heaven. 

You rise onto your toes, your hands finding their way around his neck and pulling him closer, though there’s barely any space left between you. His hand settles at your waist, steadying you, and for a few minutes there is no bar, no tomorrow, no reason to think beyond this moment.

The kiss is hot and messy. Two people who had clearly been aching for this moment for longer than they’d be willing to admit. His hands are roaming shamelessly, gripping your ass harshly through the fabric of your jeans. The touch has you mewling into his mouth, your hands reaching up to harshly grip at his sun-kissed locks. 

When the two of you finally pull apart enough to remember that you’re in public and the night eventually has to move forward, you give him your address. He repeats it back with that same little smile he had when he first said your name, like he’s committing it to memory.

He leaves you with one more kiss, alongside a wink that has your body shivering in anticipation. 

“See you soon.” He says, and you watch him jog to his car with a pep in his step. 

When you get into your Mercedes and see his blue Bronco following behind you through the quiet California streets, you realize you aren’t thinking about anything else at all.

Bradley is by your side the moment he steps out of the car, even as your hand is in his, dragging him up the stairwell. He’s making it difficult by pushing you against the wall every few seconds, his lips harsh against yours. His mouth moves down your neck to your collarbone, sucking and biting at your sensitive flesh. You’re so dazed by the sensation you nearly drop your keys. 

“You,” Your breath is not as steady as you willed it to be, “Bradley, are trouble.” 

“Yeah?” He pants, his hands heavy on your hips as he stands behind you. The press of his bulge in his pants presses against your back. He presses a little further, teasing as your hands fumble with the locks. 

“Yes.” You bite back a moan, finally getting the key inside of the lock. 

“If you were wearing a little dress,” He whispered with a soft kiss to your earlobe, “I’d take you right here against the door. Let everyone know just how good m’making you feel.” 

The whiskey has warmed your veins, but not enough to do something as reckless as that. Even if he makes it sound good. Even if the thought has you clenching your thighs together and dragging him into your now open apartment door. 

He slams the door behind him, stalking you through the hall as you both shed your belongings in various places. Keys are thrown on counters, shoes are kicked off god knows where, and you’re pulling his egregiously bright shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor. 

He bends down and picks you up in one swift motion, making you squeal. Your hands are clinging to those biceps you were drooling about earlier, your thighs wrapped around his waist. 

There’s no time before his tongue is in your mouth again, carrying you blindly across your apartment’s layout. It’s when he realises he has no idea where he’s going that he pulls away. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” He pants. 

You laugh; it’s ugly and loud, but it makes Bradley’s eyes sparkle at the sound of it.  

“Down the hall, last door on the left.” You giggle, and he takes you right there. Slamming the door with his foot, you’re amazed by his athleticism when you’re gently pressed against your mattress. 

You both take a moment, lost in the moment and each other's eyes before there’s a reminder of why you're there in the first place. Clothes are being tugged at, jeans discarded on the floor as you fumble around with your top. 

He helps lift the fabric off your shirkers, his eyes darkening at the sight of your lacy bra. 

“You know,” He whispers, mouth dry, “Been trying not to stare at your tits all night.” 

“I know.” You sigh contentedly, your hands running up and down his rock-hard abs. The small trail of hair leading into his boxers tickled your fingertips. “Why do you think I wore this shirt?”

“I’m really-” He unclasps your bra with one hand, lips trailing down your neck, “A respectful gentleman. But god. These are perfect.” 

Your giggle is cut off with a moan when his mouth attaches itself to your hardened buds, his other hand palming your tits harshly. The soft tickle of the hair above his lips makes you moan his name gently. 

“You know,” You start, copying him, “I've been imagining what that mustache feels like against me since the moment I saw you.” 

He pauses for a brief moment, his honey brown eyes flickering up to you, where your nipple was still in his mouth. 

“Really?” He hums, pulling away with a soft strand of spit attached to his glossy lips. 

You nod, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your thumb reaches out to wipe away the spit, softly petting his upper lip. 

“You’re so fucking hot.” You admit, as he takes your thumb into his mouth with a pop. 

“Says you.” 

Within seconds, you're pushed onto your back again, your head falling back into the pillows. His hands are traveling down your body, his thumbs hooked into the side of your soaked panties. 

“How do you feel about feeling this mustache against this sweet little cunt?”

He has barely touched you, and your eyes are already rolling into the back of your head at his words alone. “Fuck, yes. Please.” 

The barely there fabric is dragged down your legs and tossed somewhere far away as Bradley’s fingertips dig harshly into your thighs. His breath is hot and teasing as he kisses up and down your inner thighs before settling exactly where you need him. 

His tongue drags experimentally up your wet heat before his lips wrap harshly around your throbbing clit. 

“Oh god.” You whimper, your legs tensing in his hold as he took his time slowly lapping against you. It was slow, sloppy, and the hottest thing a man had ever done to you. His own moans were muffled into your cunt, as he devoured you like a man starved. 

As long as it had been for you, it felt like it had been even longer for him. He ate you out like he was relishing the fact you were even letting him. His mustache brushing against your sensitive skin, just enough to add more fuel to your already burning pleasure. You were a babbling mess, your hands alternating between tugging at his hair and gripping the sheets like a lifeline. 

With a frantic cry of his name and a harsh tug on his hair, you came against his mouth. It was glorious, as he coaxed you through your high, his frantic moans of encouragement spurring you on while his own hips ground gently against the sheets for the slightest bit of relief.

“You taste incredible.” Was the first thing he said when he came back up for air, his face wet and glistening from your release. 

Your chest was heaving, your stomach rolling at his words. “Come here.” 

Who was he to deny your beckoning finger? He pulled his boxers down swiftly, his hard cock slapping the skin harshly once it was free from its confines. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. It was long and veiny, a thick patch of curly hair at the base. 

You almost said a thank-you prayer to god, who was clearly not in the room. 

“Like what you see?” He asked, his voice thick with anticipation as he crawled back onto the bed in between your legs. 

“You know,” You sighed once his lips pressed gently to your neck, “Most cocky men aren’t always packing; can’t be too sure.” 

A giggle escaped you as he laughed against you, the damp hair tickling your neck. “Cocky?” 

“The cockiest.” You tease, wrapping your legs around his toned thighs, pulling him closer to you. “Now come on, give me your cock.” 

He shakes his head gently; he almost thinks he could fall in love with you right here.

“Yes, mam.” He presses his lips to yours again, your mouth opening instinctively for him. You could taste yourself against his tongue as he pressed against your weeping cunt. He pushed into you slowly, each of you letting out sighs of relief into each other's mouths. 

He was dragging himself inside of you once inch at a time, the hot drag making your body feel aflame. 

“God,” Your nails dug into his forearms, “You’re so b-big.” 

“Taking me s’well.” He spoke through his teeth, his eyes furrowed shut to avoid already finishing from how tight, warm, and wet you were wrapped around him. 

When his hips met yours, his thighs trembling. His lips kissing and sucking at whatever bare skin of yours he could reach as you molded around him. The first thrust took both of your breaths away, as he pulled halfway out of you before sinking back in. 

“Fuck.” You cried out, pulling him close as he began to fuck into you expertly. 

It had been a long time, too long, so any sex would have sufficed, but this man was sex on legs and knew exactly how to angle his hips to make your eyes roll in the back of your head. 

Your heels press harshly in the back of his thighs, urging him to keep going as he found a rhythm that had both of you melting into each other. It’s otherworldly, the feeling of him stretching you out on each lewd slap of his hips against yours. 

You can feel his hand slide down your slick skin to widen your legs for him, his eyes looking down to where he was sliding in and out of you. 

“God,” He groans, his palm pressing against your lower stomach, “Taking me like a fucking dream. S’good baby? Tell me how fucking good it is.” 

“L-like I said, cocky.” You tried to tease, but instead it came out breathy and shaky. 

“You like it,” He grinned, slamming himself even harder into you. “She fucking loves it; she’s screaming for me.” 

You wanted to roll your eyes at him referring to your cunt as a ‘she’, but you couldn’t think of anything as he pounded into you. Especially not when the pads of his fingers find your clit. The bed was creaking loudly, and you couldn’t get the taste of his name out of your mouth as he talked you through it. 

Your release comes quicker than you thought it would, and Bradley’s thankful because with each jolt of your tits as he thrusts, he was worried he was going to cum inside of you.

“M’gonna cum.” 

He leans down, pressing you harder into the bed. His lips against your neck. 

“Cum around my cock, there you go.” He cooed, as you threw your head back in pleasure, “Fuck you’re so beautiful cumming around me.”

If he thought you cumming on his tongue was perfect, this was otherworldly.

He’s nearly growling as you clench around him, your release pulling him even deeper inside of you. His hips lose their rhythm, stuttering as his jaw drops. 

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He’s gritting his teeth together when your still trembling legs pull him even closer. When he can’t take it anymore, he pulls out of you harshly, his hand wrapping around his cock and tugging harshly until thick ropes of his cum splatter on your lower stomach. His eyes are shut, his abs glistening and tensing, and pleasure is written all over his face as he whimpers out. 

You bask in the haze for a moment, both of your panting breaths syncing as you tried to catch your breath. You were still seeing stars behind your eyelids when the bed shifted. 

“Let me get you a washcloth.” He whispered, kissing your forehead gently. You remember the soft drag of the cloth, cleaning you up, and how he wrapped you softly in the sheets. Exhaustion and orgasmic bliss had seeped deep inside of your bones, your eyes fluttering shut. 

There’s not much to remember after that. 

You wake up to the feeling of your bed shifting, which makes you freeze. Your eyes open lazily to see the naked man rolling out of your bed, only covered by the thin top sheet wrapped around his waist. You watch him with amusement, as the memories of last night come flooding back to you. When he not-so-subtly sneaks out of the bed, he jumps when he looks back to see your now awake frame. 

“H-hey,” He whispers, his voice slowly getting more high-pitched, “Good morning. How are you?” 

You have to bite your lip to stifle your laugh, “Good morning.” 

“I uh,” He starts, still clutching the sheet like a lifeline, which gives you a wonderful view of his v-line as he awkwardly stands there, “I uh have this work thing? I swear I wasn’t just gonna sneak out on you.”

”Yeah, you were.” You whispered in amusement. 

“N-no!” His voice sounds even higher than before, “No, no I swear-“

“I’m not-” You start, but your voice is so hoarse, and you don’t know if it’s from the whiskey or screaming his name all night long. “I’m not looking for anything serious. I’m not home very much.” 

He visibly relaxes, all the panic draining from his face. “Fuck, thank god. Neither am I. I don’t even know how long I’ll be here.” 

You laughed outright this time, sinking farther into the tangled sheets. “By all means,” you teased through a yawn. “Sneak out.”

The blanket slipped carelessly down your shoulder as you reached overhead, exposing a sliver of bare skin before you noticed. His eyes betrayed him almost instantly, flickering toward you before he caught himself and jerked them back up to your face with all the subtlety of a teenage boy. A faint flush crept up his neck.

“Last night was really fun.” He added softly, “Like really fun.”

”Yeah, it was.” You smiled lazily at the man as he awkwardly scooped his clothes up from the floor. 

It’s a comfortable yet awkward silence as he shuffles around. You wrapped the blanket tightly around yourself before climbing out of bed, the hardwood cold beneath your feet. Every step reminded you of the night before, your muscles aching pleasantly enough to make you smile despite yourself.

“I’ll walk you out.”

He nodded, falling into step behind you.

Just before you reached the front door, he tipped an imaginary hat with exaggerated politeness.

”Well,” You breathed out, “Thanks for last night.”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “Thank you.”

For a second neither of you moved. He stood in your doorway with his boots finally laced, hair still hopelessly messy from your fingers, while you remained wrapped in nothing but your blanket, hoping the neighbors weren't there to side-eye you. 

“Well...” You smiled, rocking back on your heels. “Have a good life-”

“Oh, hey.”

His hand slipped between the door and the frame before you could close it, earning an amused look from you.

“If you ever end up back at the Hard Deck…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “And you want to grab a whiskey or something…” His grin returned, hopeful but entirely unassuming. “I’d be down.”

You couldn’t help smiling again. I’ll probably never see you again, Bradley.”

His smile lingered for another heartbeat before he took a step backward into the hallway.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Bradley.”

You closed the door before you could watch him disappear toward the elevators.

The door was slammed before you had a chance to watch him walk to the elevators. It was better this way, easier. 

By Monday morning, it already felt like another life.

Your apartment looked like a staging area more than a home. Flight gear was spread across the kitchen table beside intelligence reports, satellite imagery, weather data, and a stack of folders stamped with enough black ink to make it a waste of paper. A half-packed duffel sat open on the couch while your phone buzzed relentlessly somewhere beneath a pile of paperwork.

You answered it with a grunt, shrugging your bag over your shoulder. “Mav, I’m on my way in-“ 

“Change of plans, meet me in the hangar, get your flight suit on.” His voice crackled through the receiver, making you pause in the middle of your kitchen.

“You sure about this, old man?” 

When Maverick met with the graduates regarding the mission, it went better than he expected, all things considered. A few cocky pilots and pissed-off admirals were the least of his worries with the weight they were putting on his shoulders. He went to dismiss them into flight checks before practice, before he paused.

”Before we get started,” Maverick said, waiting until the room settled, “there’s one more thing.”

A few heads lifted from the mission packets scattered across their desks.

“An additional aviator has been assigned to this detachment; you haven’t met them yet.” 

That immediately drew a few curious glances around the room.

“For the past several years, Lieutenant Y/l/n has been conducting surveillance for this mission.” Maverick gestured toward the topographical map projected across the screen. “Every route you’ve studied, every radar profile you’ve reviewed, every piece of reconnaissance you’ve been briefed on has her fingerprints all over it.”

The easy chatter that had filled the room moments before disappeared.

“She’ll be flying this mission alongside you,” Maverick continued. “Whoever is selected as strike lead, Lieutenant Y/l/n will be their wingman.”

Hangman leaned back in his chair, looking around the room as though she’d been hiding in plain sight the entire time.

“Where is this elusive stealth pilot?” he asked, pointing theatrically around the room. “I’d kinda like to know who’s gonna be flying next to me.”

A few quiet laughs rippled through the room. Another eye roll from Phoenix, a scoff from Rooster. 

Maverick only smiled.

“Oh,” he said, gathering the folders from the podium. “You’ll meet her.”

Within minutes, the briefing shifted into flight assignments and simulation parameters, and the conversation drifted back to fuel loads, attack profiles, and timing windows. The mysterious pilot was almost forgotten about as practice teams started. 

For the next several hours, the team ran through formation exercises and simulated combat scenarios, pushing each other harder with every pass. Maverick was currently putting them through the wringer in dogfighting. You hid in the shadows, just outside of reach, watching them the entire time. It was three rounds of pilots before you decided to make your entrance. 

”Uh..” Bob’s hesitant voice crackled over the frequency, uncertainty bleeding through even beneath his practiced calm.

 “Where is he, Bob?” Phoenix demanded, craning her neck beneath the canopy, her eyes darting across the empty sky where Maverick had disappeared only moments before. A beat of silence stretched just long enough for panic to settle in. 

“I d-don’t know,” He yelled back, the radar empty below him, “Is he? He’s underneath us!”

“Nope.” Maverick’s voice arrived with infuriating confidence. “I’m right here.”

His jet erupted into view directly ahead of them, slicing through the clouds with effortless precision.

“Wrong, Bob,” Phoenix muttered, instinctively checking behind her as she tried to speed up to meet Maverick.

The coms crackled loudly, “Below, below, Phoenix,” Bradley warned, his voice sharper now as something flickered beneath her aircraft.

She jerked the jet up, “What?” 

“It’s not hitting the radar; who is it?” Bob asked, his palms against the glass. 

Then a voice, bright with amusement, cut across every frequency.

“Hi, everyone.” You chuckled. 

Every head snapped downward.

“This is Lieutenant Y/l/n speaking. I’ll be assisting you all on this mission. I’m sure Maverick mentioned me.” 

Your F-18 was so impossibly close beneath Phoenix’s that, for several seconds, you’d been swallowed entirely by her shadow, matching every movement so perfectly you looked like an extension of her own jet. It was an old trick, one that required absurd precision, nerves of steel, and absolute trust in your own instincts. Against the glare of the morning sun, there had been nothing to see until you wanted to be seen. Especially not as everyone was focused on Maverick. 

“Joining the fight?” Rooster asked, trying to pretend he wasn’t both equally amused and terrified of the stunt you just pulled. 

You peeled away with a smooth roll, dropping toward the hard deck so low it made Bob suck in a breath over the radio before leveling out. Across the valley, Rooster’s aircraft broke from the pack, immediately catching your attention. Your helmet turned first. Your jet followed a heartbeat later.

“There she goes,” Maverick murmured, almost sounding pleased.

You immediately lit the burners.

The distance between you and Bradley evaporated with frightening speed. He caught the movement in his mirror just as your nose slipped inside his turn, matching him through every evasive maneuver. He climbed. You climbed. He rolled. You rolled tighter. The missile tone shrieked through his headset before he’d even finished trying to shake you.

“Tone, tone, tone.”

You laughed over the comms as the simulated kill registered. “Fox Two.”

Bradley groaned loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Maverick couldn’t hide the grin in his own voice.

“That, everyone… is Shadow.”

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Phoenix let out a low whistle. “…Badass.”

“Lesson one,” You said. “The most dangerous pilot in the sky isn’t the one you can see, it’s the one you can’t.” 

The engines had barely finished whining down before you were climbing out of the cockpit, helmet tucked beneath your arm, adrenaline still buzzing pleasantly beneath your skin. Heat shimmered off the tarmac as the canopy lifted, and you couldn’t stop the grin stretching across your face, the kind that only came after a flight where everything had gone exactly right. Maverick was already waiting beside the line of parked fighters. Sunglasses hiding whatever smug expression you knew was underneath them.

“Hell of an entrance, Y/n.”

You laughed, accepting the quick side hug before bumping his shoulder with your own. “An entrance you orchestrated.” 

“I think it showed, em.” He offered, leading your way into the hangar where the rest of them stood surrounding the radios. 

You scanned across the crowd as you approached, taking in the faces of the pilots you would be flying beside. Most of them looked exactly as you expected, curious, skeptical, still trying to figure out who exactly had been hiding underneath the radar for the past few hours. You offered them a small smile.

“Lieutenant Y/l/n,” you began, your voice carrying through the hangar. “I know most of you have already met me in the air, but I figured an actual introduction was probably overdue. We know Maverick has a flair for the dramatics.” 

A few quiet laughs moved through the group.

“I’ve been assigned to this mission as your reconnaissance specialist and wingman. I’ve spent the last few years collecting intel on the target area, studying the terrain, the defenses, and every possible route in and out. My job was to make sure you have as much information as possible before we ever leave the ground.”

You continued speaking, settling into the familiar rhythm of a briefing, until your eyes moved across the group one more time. Until you paused; a familiar face standing among the pilots was a face you had not expected to see. A mustache, messy brown hair, and an expression that shifted from curiosity to complete disbelief the second he recognized you.

”And uh-“ Your words caught somewhere between your thoughts and your mouth. For one brief second, the confident lieutenant who had slipped beneath their radar disappeared, replaced by the woman standing in her apartment doorway a few days ago watching one Bradley Bradshaw walk away.

His face mirrored yours, confusion and shock before a small smirk of satisfaction pulled at his lips. He was shaking his head, a small laugh of amusement nearly slipping out at the absurdity of it all. 

You cleared your throat nervously, looking anywhere but in his direction as you continued. “As I was saying, my role is to make sure everyone here has what they need to get home.”

“I’m here because Maverick asked me to pass along a skill set that’s kept me alive more than once, and if it helps even one of you make it home when this stops being practice and starts becoming real, then I’ve done my job. Nobody in this room needs another lecture about being the best pilot. You’re already here because you’re among the best. What keeps people alive isn’t talent. It’s trusting the person flying next to you enough to know they’ll be exactly where you need them when everything goes sideways.”

A few deserved glances towards Hangman’s way make your brows quirk up. 

“And you, Hangman.” You set your helmet down on one of the desks, a little harder than necessary as you rounded to the man sitting casually, “You pulling that shit out there? Do you think that makes you more of a man? To leave someone hanging like that?” 

“They can’t keep up-“ 

“Or maybe you can’t follow rules to save your life. You wanna be wing leader? Not in my world, Lieutenant. I may not have final say, but I’ll be damned if I’m up in the sky with only you looking out for me.”  

Hangman held your stare, his ridiculous smirk not budging in the slightest.

“Well, aren’t you something, Shadow.” He said, playing completely unfazed as per usual. 

You held the eye roll back for the sake of professionalism and spun on your heels.  “I have a feeling,” you replied as you turned on your heel, “this is going to be a very long few weeks.”

A laugh echoed somewhere behind you. “It sure is,” Rooster chimed in.

The sound of his voice sent an involuntary chill down your spine.

You refused to look back, to acknowledge him in any way. 

Instead, you busied yourself gathering your notes while Maverick wrapped up the remainder of the briefing, assigning study material and dismissing everyone for the evening. Conversations immediately broke out around the hangar as pilots compared notes from the day’s exercises, arguing over dogfights, laughing about blown maneuvers, and already trying to size one another up before tomorrow’s training.

The second Maverick dismissed the room, you slipped out a side door before anyone could stop you, weaving through the maintenance bays toward the locker rooms with your helmet tucked beneath your arm. If Bradley had recognized you, and judging by the look on his face, he absolutely had, you weren’t quite ready for that conversation yet.

Most of the squad was still lingering in the hangar, giving you just enough time to shower away the sweat and lingering smell of the cockpit. Hot water beat against your shoulders until the tension slowly began to loosen, though it did very little to quiet your racing thoughts. 

He was good (really, he was good at a lot of things, but you really tried your best not to go there). There was a high chance he’d be selected to fly wing leader, so you couldn’t avoid him forever. 

You pulled on a fresh shirt and jeans before stuffing your flight suit into your duffel bag. Your locker slammed shut with a metallic clang as you zipped the bag over your shoulder.

“Well, well.” The voice came from directly behind you. “I thought you said we’d probably never see each other again.”

You closed your eyes for the briefest moment before letting out an amused sigh. “Funny,” you muttered as you turned around. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Bradley leaned casually against the row of lockers. His hair was still damp with sweat from the flight, stubborn curls refusing to stay where they’d been pushed. A dark streak of grease was smudged across his forehead, and his flight suit hung open around his waist, revealing a sweat-soaked olive undershirt that made him look like every tag chaser's wet dream. 

He caught you looking, and there was that cocky smirk again.

“I swear,” you said before he had the chance to speak, lifting a hand in surrender, “I wasn’t given a roster. I had no idea who was getting called back for this mission. I have the same clearance as you, and Mav didn’t tell me anything.” 

He held his hands up, “I believe you. You looked like you were gonna shit yourself up there.” 

“I just didn’t know,” you began, shaking your head as you searched for the right words, already aware you were dangerously close to overexplaining yourself. “I figured you were a pilot. I mean, obviously. I just had no idea you’d be called back for this mission specifically.”

“I’m just that good, sweetheart.” 

You hated this; you hated how you somehow managed to hook up with the hottest man alive who just so happened to be the man you were more than likely going to have to put your life in his hands in just a matter of a short few weeks. 

“So am I.” You barked back automatically, perhaps a reflex from years of being looked down upon as a woman in this field. 

“No one’s managed to get a lock on me in years,” he continued, holding your gaze without the slightest hint of teasing now. “Then you show up out of nowhere, tuck yourself underneath Phoenix’s shadow, and stick yourself on my six before I even knew you were there.”

The way he said it, the admiration in his voice and the glazed look in his eyes. It made your body ache, a subtle warmth growing in your lower belly.

“You gave me a fight, a little one anyway.” You whispered, teasingly. 

“I was caught off guard,” he defended, shifting on his feet, “I’d love to go head to head with you up there. No rules. Would be a real sight to see.”

You forced yourself to clear your throat, breaking eye contact before your thoughts wandered elsewhere. The conversation had drifted dangerously close to sounding like foreplay, only this time the setting wasn’t your apartment.

“We’re professionals.” You nodded once, convincing yourself as much as him. “We can fly this mission together without there being any issues. Right?” 

Bradley considered you for a moment, humming thoughtfully before his gaze drifted from your eyes. It wandered, entirely unapologetically, over your face, your shoulders, down just enough to make your pulse quicken before lazily returning to meet your eyes again.

“Yeah,” he replied, taking his time with the answer. “I think we can.”

“Oh, don’t do that.” You groaned, leaning your head on the locker. 

He blinked with exaggerated innocence. “Do what?”

“You know exactly what.”

A fake gasp escaped him as he pressed a hand dramatically against his chest.

“Excuse me?” he said, sounding thoroughly offended. “You’re the one looking me up and down.”

A flush crept up your neck as you ripped yourself upright. “I was not.” 

He just stood there, crooked smile still on his face. “Whatever makes you feel better.” 

You could feel his gaze on you, even as you attempted to gather your belongings. 

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” he asked, laughing again.

“Looking at me like you’ve seen me naked.” You seethe out, throwing the bag over your shoulder. 

“Oh,” he replied with entirely too much satisfaction. “But I have.”

A groan escaped you as you dragged a hand down your face. “We can’t do this. Seriously, no one on the squad can find out. It was just one night. Besides, we agreed it was nothing serious. We’re adults. Adults have one-night stands all the time.”

“Agreed.” He says, and you can’t find it in yourself to believe him with that smirk still beaming. 

“I just don’t want it to complicate the mission.” You settled on, “We need to be able to work together.”

Bradley studied you for a moment before nodding, the teasing still lingering in his eyes even if he chose not to push any further.

”I agreed, Shadow.”

He let your callsign roll easily off his tongue, smiling as though he’d been waiting all day for an excuse to use it. Something about hearing it from his lips made your stomach do an annoyingly noticeable little flip. The same lips that- yeah, you needed to leave. 

“Goodbye, Rooster.” 

You didn’t need to turn to know that he watched you leave, each sway of your hips intentional as you slammed the door behind you. 

The weeks that followed were on such a tight schedule you hardly had time to think about that fateful night. Training began before sunrise and rarely ended before dusk, each day blending seamlessly into the next as Maverick pushed the squad harder than any of them thought possible. Your chest ached at the end of each night, G’s making your lungs ache on the walk back to your car. Tensions were high as Rooster and Hangman competed against each other for the wing leader spot. 

You knew it would be Bradley; there wasn’t a doubt in your mind. The mission suggestion was all but written up the moment Hangman left you in the air over a dozen times in the first round of simulations. He was a good pilot, a fearless one, but he would get everyone killed, and you knew Maverick knew it too. 

Even with this, the squad slowly started to become your family. Bob and Phoenix were impossible not to like, and before long the four of you had fallen into an easy rhythm of grabbing late-night dinners after training or ending particularly brutal days at the Hard Deck, trading stories over greasy burgers and pitchers of beer while Payback and Fanboy argued over pool in the background. Even Hangman and Coyote occasionally wandered over to stir the pot before inevitably insulting Bradley enough to start another dick measuring contest, as you and Phoenix called it.

“They’re measuring again.” She’d whistle with a shiver of disgust from where she sat beside you.

You’d roll your eyes, “Should we bring out the rulers, boys?”

“Yeah, you’d like that, huh, Shadow?” Hangman would smirk, sending a filthy wink your way.

Bradley’s jaw would clench at that, before his Rooster persona was back on. “I think we all know I’d win, right Shadow?”

You’d roll your eyes and gulp down the rest of your beer, pretending like your heart wasn’t racing.

You got to know Bradley, the real Bradley Bradshaw that was behind the cloak of Rooster. He talked about growing, about his mother, about Goose, though those conversations came much later and only after the bar had emptied. He told you about how he puked the first time he took Gs, and you exchanged deployment horror stories. You learned about his friendship with Phoenix and his ongoing feud with Hangman, and how it all started years back

The first time someone convinced him to climb onto the piano for you at the Hard Deck, you laughed so hard you nearly slid right out of the booth. Phoenix caught your arm before gravity could finish the job, shaking her head as Bradley belted out Great Balls of Fire with absolutely no shame. He was in his element, and it looked good on him. Almost too good.

You’d catch yourself staring at him a little too much, letting your mind wander to places they shouldn’t go. During lessons, you’d find yourself watching his back, your eyes lingering on the scar on his chin, or the curl that always escaped out of his helmet when he showed up to practice with damp hair. 

Flying with him was a different ballpark, so different from being with him in between the sheets. It was almost more intimate, getting to know someone so quickly and so deeply. You knew when he was about to push a maneuver harder than planned because his breathing changed just enough over the comms for you to hear it. He learned you always checked high before low, that you favored patience over impulse, and that whenever you said, “I’ve got you, Rooster,” he never had to look twice to know you meant it. 

You matched his speed within fractions of a knot, mirrored every bank and climbed until it felt less like two aircraft carving through the sky and more like a single thought split between two cockpits. Thousands of pounds of steel and miles of open air separated you, yet somehow you became more aware of him there than you ever had been standing inches apart.

But amidst the camaraderie amongst some of the dagger squad, tensions were growing higher on the flight deck, after yet another failed simulation. Even on Bradley’s six, practically touching his jet while targets were acquired, you were still too slow. It was too risky; there was still too much room for error.  The tactical debrief felt suffocating. Maverick’s face was pressed into a hard frown as he looked at each of you, disappointment etched into his features. 

“Why are you dead?” He started, shooting daggers into Bradley, “You’re team leader up there, why are you dead? Why is your team dead?” 

Phoenix breathed out, frustration rolling off of her shoulders, “Sir, they’re the only ones who made it to target.” 

“A minute late. He gave the Enemy aircraft time to shoot him and his wingman down,” Maverick said, making Bradley tense from where he was sitting next to you. “They’re still dead.” 

“You don’t know that-“ 

“You’re not flying fast enough,” Hangman interjected. “You don’t have a second to waste.”

”We made it to the target.” 

“And superior enemy planes intercepted you on your way out.”  The room went still again. 

Bradley shrugged, ”Then it’s a dogfight-“

”Against fifth-generation fighters.” The vein in Maverick’s neck is protruding, his eyes locked on Bradley's. 

You couldn’t just sit there and let him take the brunt of this, so you clear your throat, “We’d still have a chance.” 

There’s a brief silence; you can feel Bradley’s appreciation as he shifts in his seat. “If we got intercepted, they’d think there’s only one. We have the element of surprise, and with Rooster up there and me-“

”In F-18s?”

Bradley shakes his head, ”It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot-“

”Exactly.”

Maverick's words make the tension in the room climb until it feels impossible to breathe normally. You slowly leaned back into your chair, watching the exchange unfold with a tightness in your chest. You knew there was history there, short clipped words from Bradley and the way Maverick watched him like a hawk. It wasn’t your place to pry, so you didn’t. 

“There’s more than one way to fly this mission, sir.”

All eyes turn to Hangman as he scoffs,  “You really don’t get it. On this mission, a man flies like Maverick here or a man doesn’t come back.” He takes his time to gaze over at Phoenix, then to you with an arrogant look on his face. “No offense intended.”

You’re ready to bite back before Bob leans forward in his seat, “Yet somehow you always manage.”

”I don’t mean to criticize. You’re conservative is all.”

Not even Maverick’s interjections get Hangman to stop the tirade he’s dead set on continuing. 

“We’re going into combat, son. On a level no living pilot has ever seen. Not even him. It’s no time to be letting the past hold you back-“

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bradley cuts him off, his body shifting to lock eyes with the man. 

Hangman looks around the room, waiting. This is what he was waiting for, his grand finale and final show off to drop the bombshell he’d be clinging onto for just the right moment. 

“I can’t be the only one who knows that Maverick flew with his old man?” And there it is. You heard Bradley’s stories; his dad died flying. He never said anything special, and you didn’t pry. 

“Or that Maverick was flying when your old man-“ 

Maverick’s attempts at settling the peace fall on deaf ears; it all happens so fast. Before Hangman can even get all of the words out, Rooster is leaping from his seat, heading straight towards the blonde. He grabs his collar, and it’s chaos from there. You follow, slipping in between the two men as hands pull them back from each other. The entire class now stood, separating them as best they could. 

“You son of a bitch-“ 

Everyone was yelling, spit flying as you pressed your palms into Bradley’s chest. His arms were being held back by Bob and Phoenix, as you tried to push him away.

“Bradley,” You tried to redirect his attention, “Bradley, he’s not worth it. I promise he’s not worth it.” 

His eyes, full of fury, met yours and couldn’t help but soften just the slightest bit. Unfortunately for you, this moment was not in isolation. It wasn’t a gentle moment in the hanger, or the corner of Hard Deck, or in the locker room. This subtle display of knowing was out in the open for everyone with eyes to see. And Hangman? He was one of the most observant people you’ve ever met, and you hated it about him. 

Once things were settled, they let Hangman loose, but with a glance towards Bob and Phoenix, you made sure they didn’t do the same for Bradley. You could feel his heart beating wildly underneath your palms; he wasn’t thinking clearly. The moment he was free, he’d do something to jeopardize this mission and his career.

“You’re dismissed.” Maverick’s voice booms through the crowd, but everyone’s adrenaline is still pumping. 

“He doesn’t have what it takes,” Hangman looks to Maverick, “You know I’m right.”

Then his gaze is on you, your body still pressed against Bradley’s as he writhes, wanting nothing more than to land a punch to the side of the cocky man’s face. He goes to leave, but waits until he’s all but nose to nose with Bradley before saying his final remarks.

“Wow, Bradshaw.”

The room immediately shifted, everyone preparing for yet another fight to break out. 

“You know, I knew you wanted it bad,” Hangman continued, his eyes flickering between the two of you. “I just didn’t realize you wanted it that bad.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone, not as eyes filtered amongst the crowd. Another revelation made. It sounded like everything was underwater when you turned, your body jerking harshly. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You snap, before you feel an arm wrapped around your waist. Somehow Bradley has freed himself from their grips, and used it to pull you back. This action itself seemed to all but confirm his suspicions. When Hangman clicked his tongue. 

“Watch it,” Bradley warned, tensions rising all over again. 

“I said you’re dismissed,” Maverick yelled once again. 

Bradley’s grip loosened, but he didn’t let go immediately. His eyes flickered toward Hangman, who was already walking away, then back to you. He gave you the smallest shake of his head; it wasn’t worth it. You swallowed the anger building in your throat, watching Hangman disappear through the doorway.

You stepped out of Bradley’s grip as if it burned you, walking back to your seat as the crowd slowly dispersed. He wanted to follow you, to talk, but he let his friends guide him gently out of the room while you lingered back. When the final pilot walked through the door, Maverick cleared his throat. 

“I didn’t know you knew Bradshaw.” He said, his arms leaning against the table. 

You scoffed, “Yeah? I didn’t know you did either.” 

“Fraternization code of conduct states-“ 

“Don’t quote the book at me,” you snapped, the words leaving your mouth before you had the chance to temper them. The silence that followed made you immediately regret the tone. You straightened in your chair, rubbing a tired hand over your forehead. “Sir.”

He was quiet, waiting for an explanation. 

“We met the day I got back; I didn’t know anything besides his name.” It felt ridiculous admitting this to your superior. “We’re not in a relationship. We’re the same rank, and he’s not my superior nor am I his. And when I advocated for him to be strike lead…” You shook your head. “That had nothing to do with the fact that I know him. I’d have said the same thing if we’d never met outside of work.” Your voice softened, conviction replacing frustration. “He’s a damn good pilot, Maverick. You know this.” 

The room was quiet again. You looked at him expectantly.

“Your turn.”

That’s how you ended up here, seated outside on the beach in front of Hard Deck. Your feet in the warm sand, with a jacket thrown over your shoulders. Maverick told you everything, from pulling Goose out of the water to pulling Bradley’s papers. It weighed heavily on you to know Bradley had so much riding on this mission. 

You were being lulled by the sound of the waves crashing against the shore before a voice spoke up from behind you. 

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Bradley spoke up, slowly creeping up until he was sitting next to you. 

 You smiled softly at him, “Penny rat me out?” 

“Not to brag,” He whispered with a chuckle, “But I think I’m her favorite.” 

You were glad he was feeling better, especially after the events earlier. You wanted to hear his laugh, and that scared you. All of it scared you, whether you’d be willing to admit it out loud or not. The mission stakes, the way your chest felt when you looked at Bradley, the unknowing of the future. 

“How are you feeling?” You turn to look at him, as he rests his arms on his knees. 

“More level-headed,” he admitted, rubbing absentmindedly at the scrape across his knuckles. You don’t ask how he got it. “Still pissed.”

“I figured.”

“I hate that he got to you.”

You turn in confusion, “Hm?” 

He sighed, still watching the water.

“I don’t care what he says about me.” He paused, swallowing hard enough for you to notice. “My d-dad…” His voice caught just enough to betray him before he found it again. “That’s different.”

There wasn’t any bravado behind it, no attempt to shrug it off with a joke the way he usually did. It was simply the truth. You thought back to everything Maverick had told you only an hour earlier, about Goose, about Carole, about promises and guilt and thirty years of trying to protect someone while going against their own wishes. Bradley wasn’t just carrying his own expectations into this mission. He was carrying his father’s memory, his mother’s hopes, Maverick’s regret, and now the impossible responsibility of leading a team through something they weren’t expected to survive. 

He let out another slow breath before continuing. “But he went after you because he knew it’d get a reaction.” He finally looked over at you, the moonlight catching the exhaustion written across his face. “Out of both of us.”

Your chest tightened, but you shook your head almost immediately. “He didn’t get to me,” you promised. “You’re not a woman in the Navy if you let one comment about fucking your way to the top get into your head. If I threw punches every time someone assumed I was sleeping with somebody important, I would’ve been arrested years ago.” A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Besides…”

You let the pause linger just long enough. “Phoenix and I are gonna kill him.”

There it was, that laugh you’ve been aching to hear. 

“What?” He got out, his chest aching from how hard he was cackling. 

“You heard me.”

You kept your expression perfectly serious. “We’re gonna dump him somewhere off the eastern seaboard. Phoenix’s idea. Bob volunteered to be lookout.”

He laughed- oh, he laughed loud enough to echo over the surf, shoulders shaking as he doubled over slightly. The sound settled somewhere deep in your chest, warming places you hadn’t realized had gone cold, and you caught yourself smiling long before you meant to. It’s infectious, and you’re both laughing off the horrors of today until your sides hurt. 

You brush your shoulder with his playfully, but he keeps your shoulders touching before you could pull away. 

After you both catch your breath, he leans in a little closer, a more serious look washing over him. “I want you to know, Hangman is wrong.” 

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole.” 

“No, I mean…” He looked away again, watching the tide for a second before gathering the courage to continue. “I know we didn’t know each other before that night, but I never once did anything with the intention of you helping me get strike leader.”

You nod quietly, but let him continue. 

“I mean…” He laughed awkwardly at himself. “Obviously, having the best recon pilot in the Navy watching my six doesn’t exactly hurt my odds, but…” His voice trailed off as he searched for words that didn’t seem to come naturally. “I’d have been sitting out here talking to you anyway, despite it all.” 

“You know, Bradley, much to my dismay, or my attempts to not,” You trailed off, letting your knees knock into each other, “I happen to like you.” 

“You sure know how to sweet-talk a man.” He chided, making you fully press your shoulder into his a little more. 

“Just,” You sighed, fingernails picking at a thread on your shorts, “Wish we met in different circumstances.”

He nodded, “You gonna give me some spiel about how the Navy comes first? 

You let out a quiet laugh. “Why? Is that the same speech you’ve been giving women for years?”

He snorted, shaking his head, before looking back out toward the horizon. “I’d be lying if I said the Navy doesn’t come first. It has to. It always will, at least while I’m wearing the uniform.” He paused, drawing a slow line through the sand with the heel of his boot. “But I think that’s what makes this so frustrating.”

”When I told you I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I wasn’t lying.” You started, “I mean, you know how it is. It’s impossible to date, to do anything in our lives. But, I don’t know. This feels different, and it’s scary.” 

“You were the first person I’d slept with in over a year.” He admits, a small, almost embarrassed smile on his lips, “I don’t know if you know this, but there aren’t a lot of women on naval bases.” 

A toothy grin pulls at your lips, “You were mine, too.” 

There’s a silent lull between the two of you, shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the ocean and quietly mourning a life you didn’t have. One where meeting someone didn’t come with a countdown clock attached. One where you could go on dates without wondering if either of you would be shipped away. One where liking someone didn’t immediately come with the terrifying realization that the thing you wanted most was also the thing that could hurt the most. 

That wasn’t the life you had. Right now you couldn’t focus on anything else but the mission. A mission that had a timeline, one that was closing in faster than either of you wanted to admit.

“Maybe in another life I would have met you and asked you out on an actual date first,” He whispers. “Maybe in another life we could give it a try, instead of worrying if we’re gonna go down in a fiery blaze.” 

“Hey,” You poke his chest, “That’s not funny.” 

“Just so you know…” His voice softened. “I like you too.”

You smiled sadly, leaning into him on purpose this time. His arms came around you, pulling you into him as you watched the sun set over the California skyline. 

 The route that had just become muscle memory, the terrain etched into everyone’s minds through countless simulations and live runs, had been changed. Dogfighting was expected; squads were exhausted.  Somewhere between all the infighting, the squad slowly stopped feeling like a group of strangers thrown together by circumstance and started resembling an actual team. Maybe this had something to do with Maverick’s football day, which was a day you spent grateful for sunglasses as you got to ogle a very sweaty, very fit Bradley running underneath the hot sun.

He knew it too, as you had dropped the ball (literally) quite a few times in distraction. This is why when he slung his sweaty bare arm over your shoulder, you couldn’t even deny the accusation.

”Am I distracting you, Shadow?” He asks, sweating all over you while the boys yelled for him to stop flirting and rejoin the game. 

“Shut up.”

”You’re not being very subtle, Bradshaw.” 

“Never said I was trying to be,” he grinned, and you could envision his sparkly eyes behind those aviators. “At least now you can ogle me in my flight suit without shame.” 

“That would imply I had shame in the first place.” You smirk, slinking your fingers together with his. He took your hand in his, making your heart soar until he turned it against you, pulling you against him. 

“Bradley, Bradley, put me down!-“ 

Bradley carried you halfway across the sand before tossing you into the water, and the second you surfaced, laughing and wiping salt from your face, you knew you would remember that moment forever.

It was a good day. A really good day, followed by a very bad one. You sat there with Bradley’s hand wrapped tightly in yours while you waited to hear if Phoenix and Bob were okay. The uncertainty was unbearable, the silence between updates stretching longer than it should have. For someone who had spent years flying into dangerous situations, waiting on the ground had always been the hardest part.

When the news finally came that they were alive, that they were okay, it felt like a fifty-pound weight had been lifted from your chest. You left him and Maverick with a swift kiss to Bradley’s forehead, pretending you didn’t hear the screaming down the hallway.

The days were coming faster, deadlines were pushed, and before all of you knew it was the day of. You boarded the carrier with the rest of the team, the ocean stretching endlessly around you as the ship carried all of you closer to the mission. Your bag was dropped into the barracks beside Phoenix’s room. You were as ready as you were going to be. 

Pre-flight checks, mission debriefs, medical evaluations, and more were all a blur as you walked through it on autopilot. No one ever talks about the mental strength it takes to know you have to pull off not one, but two miracles to bring all of your friends home and complete the mission. You looked around at the group of people you had grown to love, even Hangman, and felt a painful stab in your chest as you all said your good nights after dinner. Hangman didn’t even make a single joke about it being the last supper; the tension surrounding everyone was different; this was real. 

You couldn’t sleep. You were almost positive nobody else could either.

The carrier had gone quiet hours ago. The steady hum of the ship beneath you should have been comforting, something familiar after years of deployments and long nights spent away from home, but tonight every vibration felt like a reminder.

You had flown dangerous missions before. You had stared down impossible odds and climbed into aircraft knowing there was a chance you wouldn’t climb back out. You had trained for this. Prepared for this. Studied every inch of the terrain until you could probably fly the route with your eyes closed.

But you’ve never flown a dangerous mission with people you considered family.  Especially not with someone you may have been in love with. 

Eventually, exhaustion started to win. Your thoughts blurred at the edges, your body finally beginning to surrender to the need for sleep when a knock echoed against your door.

You were awake instantly. For a second you didn’t move, hoping maybe you had imagined it. Then it came again, even more frantic than before. You pushed yourself out of bed with a quiet groan, dragging a hand over your face as you crossed the small space of your bunk.

“Seriously?” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your eyes as you reached for the door.

You swung it open harshly, “W-what?”

Then you saw him. Bradley stood there looking anything but tired. His hair was messy, his breathing uneven, and there was a nervous energy radiating off him that you had rarely seen. This was the same man who could fly straight into enemy territory without hesitation, who could stare down Maverick during a debrief and argue his point until everyone else backed down.

But standing outside your room in the middle of the night? He looked terrified.

“Bradley?”

“I can’t.”

The words came out immediately, almost like he had been holding them in the entire walk over.

He took a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can’t sleep.”

You stared at him, your exhaustion slowly fading as you realized just how serious he was.

“I can’t go to sleep,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I can’t go into tomorrow without doing this.”

Before you could even respond, his lips were on yours. You kissed him back before you could think about it, your fingers finding the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself through him was the only thing keeping you steady.

Everything else faded away as you pulled him into your room, the door slamming shut. Nothing else mattered, not when you pulled him into your twin-sized bed. His body on top of yours, kissing you as he’d never get the chance to again. He took his time, kissing every inch of your skin he could and prying the sweetest noises out of your mouth. 

He made love to you, pushing into you with a cry of your name. Then, he fucked you like it was his last night on earth, because it might have been. You fell apart underneath him over and over until you could barely keep your eyes open anymore.

The morning came almost violently, the alarm blaring in your ears as you snuggled into Bradley’s chest. You would do anything to turn it off, to get just a few more minutes in his arms.

“Hey...” He whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. 

You sighed, burrowing yourself into him. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” He coaxed you out of bed. “I gotta be on the other side of the boat in like 20 mins, and I don’t think Nyx would appreciate me in the girls' shower.” 

“But I would.” You grumble, helping throw him his clothes as the two of you readied yourselves for the day as much as you could. 

He could see the faraway look in your eyes as you watched him leave. “Hey, it’s all gonna be fine.” He said with a kiss, “I’ll see you out there.” 

All you could do was nod to keep your emotions in check. You wanted to believe him; you really did. You and Phoenix helped each other get ready, fixing loose strands of hair, adjusting collars, checking straps, making sure every piece of gear was exactly where it needed to be.

There was comfort in the routine, familiarity in the way you two moved around each other. In knowing that even when everything else felt uncertain, there were still things you could control.

Phoenix zipped up your flight suit while you helped fix the collar sitting crooked around her neck. Neither of you said much; there wasn’t much to say. 

When you went to meet the squad on the runway, it smelled like sea salt and jet fuel, the early morning fog rising off the side of the boat. Everything was a blur of adrenaline and verbal checks with command until the clock ticked. 

Bradley’s met yours on the way to your jets, soft and almost heart-wrenching as you clutch your helmet to your side. 

“Don’t do that,” You yell out. Even with the sounds of jet engines and water rushing against the side of the carrier, you know he can hear you. 

He raises a brow. “Do what?” 

A sense of déjà vu hits your chest, making you smile despite yourself. “You know exactly what.” 

He walks a little closer, and up close you can see it on his face. “Y/n-“

”Stop.” You cut him off, making him pause. ”Stop looking at me like you’re never gonna see me again.”  

“I’m not-“ Before he has a chance to continue, you keep talking, “Because you will, Bradley. Up there.” 

You point to the sky, a small smile on his face despite the nerves wracking his body. 

“I got your back, Y/n.” He promises, as the boat horns signal you all to head to your jets. 

“I got yours.” 

Settling into your cockpit always feels like coming home after a long day; you know the ins and outs of this jet like the back of your hand. The mission objective has been drilled into your head. All the information you’ve sent to higher-ups, all the sleepless nights this is what it has all led to. Now that you were here, you could feel your stomach twisting with anxiety and something else as you watched Bradley’s plane race ahead of yours on the jetway. 

When you’ve served as long as you have, or flown as many hours, sometimes it all blurs together. Your body was on autopilot; the only thing running through your mind is the checklist of everything needed for you all to make it out of this alive. 

In moments of extreme stress, the body has a way of protecting itself. It narrows your focus until there is nothing else left. No fear. No doubt. No room to think about the fact that the person flying in front of you is someone you had kissed goodbye only hours ago, someone whose hand you had held in the dark while both of you pretended tomorrow wasn’t coming. From the moment your thumb hit the countdown clock, everything became a blur of commands and instinct.

You became one with your jet, every adjustment made without hesitation, every maneuver calculated by muscle memory alone. Bradley’s aircraft stayed directly next to you, close enough that you could track every movement, close enough that you could trust him to be exactly where he needed to be.

For a moment, it almost felt easy. The first miracle happened. The second happened by the scrap of your fucking teeth. And ironically, you think that was the easy part.

Ten Gs slammed into your chest, the pressure crushing down on you until your lungs felt like they were filled with tar. Your body fought against the weight, every muscle straining as you forced yourself to keep breathing, forced yourself to stay conscious, forced yourself to keep flying.

You pulled up hard, coming alongside Bradley just as the belly of his jet skimmed dangerously close to the snow-covered rocks below. The wings of your aircraft passed close enough to each other that for a split second you could feel the danger of it, the razor-thin margin between control and disaster.

“Now get out of there.” Cyclone’s voice crackled through your headset, and suddenly the entire weight of the world was back on your chest. 

The moment you came back to, alarms were blaring, smoke was flying, and SAMS were practically everywhere. You were all fighting for your lives. It was your turn to dodge and weave, firing countermeasures, trying your best to outmaneuver the agile missiles. 

“Rooster,” You called, hearing nothing but silence as you watched his jet drop slightly, “Don’t go into G-LOC on me.”

Bradley gasps for breath as his vision returns, brought back by the sound of your voice, then the symphony of alarms blaring in his ears. This is the dogfight you all knew would happen; here it was. 

“Shit. They’re everywhere.” You’d never been so thankful to hear his voice. 

Payback cut in fast, “Get low, get low.” 

Another alarm screamed.

Your eyes snapped toward the warning display just as another missile locked on. You reacted before thinking, firing your own countermeasure and watching the missile veer away from its path. The maneuver forced you to break away, your aircraft pulling in the opposite direction as you avoided the impact.

For a few terrifying seconds, you and Bradley weren’t flying side by side anymore.

“Fuck,” You seethe, “Can barely fucking see. Rooster, 3 o’clock.”

Then chills fill your bloodstream when he speaks, “I’m out of flares.” 

You turn back, and you can see the missile coming straight towards him. A scream leaves your throat as you drop your throttle, an attempt to help even if it’s fruitless. You can’t watch him die; you won’t, and then suddenly Maverick’s in the direct line of the missile. Maverick releases flares, but he’s too late. And he knows it. You all know it.

The missile hits Maverick’s engine. A fireball shreds his engine; all you can do is fly from above, watching him fall. Your stomach is in knots, and if you had eaten anything this morning, it would have been thrown up all over your cockpit; you’re sure of it. 

You can barely hear Phoenix call it, “I repeat, Dagger 1 is hit. He’s going down.”

You feel the tears filling your eyes as you dive below the SAM radar once again; the absence of the alarms had never felt so loud in your life. 

“Dagger 1. Status. Has anyone seen him? I didn’t see a chute.” Bradley asks, and the denial in his voice makes you stifle back a sob.

Payback speaks, “He’s gone, Rooster.”

“W-we have to circle back,” Bradley says, and you watch his hesitation as you all get back into formation.

”Dagger, you are not to engage. Repeat, do not engage.” Comms says, but you can see it. In the way he’s flying, you press your jet feet away from his, just enough to see him through his canopy. 

“Dagger Two. Return to carrier.” Another order came through your headset, louder this time. “Acknowledge.”

“Rooster, those bandits are closing,” Phoenix’s voice cut through the static, steadier than anyone felt. “We cannot go back.”

“Dagger, Comanche, bandits thirty east.”

“Rooster,” you breathed, your voice cracking despite every effort to keep it level. “He’s gone. We have to go.” You eased your jet closer, slipping into position just long enough to look through the glass. You needed one last chance to pull him back. His helmet turned ever so slightly, and through layers of plexiglass, oxygen masks, and the roar of two engines pushing to their limits, your eyes met, yours pleading. 

Please don’t leave me too. Please. 

His shoulders barely moved as he took one slow breath.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he says before he circles and falls back hard. 

“Bradley, Bradley,” You kept calling his name, your voice growing louder with every desperate attempt to reach him, but the distance only widened.

 His aircraft became smaller and smaller, swallowed by mountains, smoke, and cloud until there was nothing left to look at except the empty patch of sky where he’d been flying only seconds before. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself when the explosion bloomed against the horizon. You didn’t flinch. 

Enemy aircraft were already closing the gap, warning tones screaming relentlessly through your headset as instinct forced your hands to keep flying while your heart shattered somewhere miles behind you.

“Dagger Two is hit,” someone called over the radio, their voice tight with disbelief. “I repeat, Dagger Two is hit.”

Your hands trembled violently around the throttle, every muscle in your arms threatening to give out as the fireball reflected faintly across the glass of your canopy. You wanted to turn around. Every part of your body fought the training that had been drilled into you for years. You wanted to dive after him, to ignore Cyclone, ignore the mission, ignore the four other pilots depending on you and find whatever was left. Instead, you shoved the throttle forward and forced yourself to stay in formation, tears blurring your vision.

You couldn’t look back.

You knew if you looked back, you wouldn’t stop. And it wouldn’t help the rest of your friends get home.

So you stared ahead while your mind betrayed you, replaying the night before in cruel, perfect clarity. The feel of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. His fingers lazily tracing circles across your back as the carrier rocked gently beneath you. The warmth of his voice in the darkness, his sweat-lined skin pressed against your own. 

“When all this is over,” He hummed, your sweaty bodies still panting as you draped yourself across his chest, “I’m gonna take you to get a real burger.”

You jokingly moaned, “God, you sure know how to sweet-talk a lady.” 

“M’serious.” He shifted, cupping his face in yours. “You deserve an actual date. Something casual because I know you hate that fancy shit, but something worthy of you. Something that makes you happy.” 

“You make me happy. Happier than I thought I could be.” You whispered, your cheeks grinning against his hold as he pulled you back in for another kiss. 

Your jet hit the deck harder than it ever had before, the violent impact ripping you out of the memory so abruptly your entire body lurched forward against the restraints. You can’t speak, you can’t think, you can barely breathe. The canopy was barely clear before you were forcing it open, stumbling out onto the deck so quickly you nearly missed the ladder altogether. 

Someone was shouting your callsign. Someone else barked an order for you to stay put. You heard none of it. All you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat and the echo of Bradley’s voice repeating I’m sorry over and over until it drowned out everything else. Your boots slammed against the concrete as you ran, weaving through deck crew and mechanics. Every step hurt, your lungs burned from the G-forces, your legs threatened to give out beneath you, but you kept running until Dagger Spare came into view.

You hauled yourself onto the boarding steps of Jake’s jet. It wasn’t until you grabbed onto the side of his cockpit that you realized your helmet was gone. You didn’t remember taking it off. You didn’t remember throwing it aside. Somewhere between the landing and the sprint across the flight deck, it had simply ceased to exist. None of it mattered. 

Jake nearly jumped at the sight of you. His eyes widened beneath the visor as he took in your face, your shaking hands, the tears you hadn’t even realized were falling.

“Shadow-”

“If they call…” Your voice cracked so badly you barely recognized it as your own. You tried again, forcing the words out through a throat that felt like it was closing. “If there’s anything… if anybody hears anything…” You swallowed hard, your chest heaving. “You have to go. You have to save him.”

Someone behind you shouted your name again, louder this time, and you flinched so violently it startled even you.

“They’re not gonna let me fly,” you whispered, panic spilling out faster than you could stop it. “They’re gonna ground me.” You grabbed the edge of his cockpit so tightly your knuckles turned white. “I’m trusting you. If there’s any chance he’s alive… any chance at all…”

He looks at you, a soft mist over his pale blue eyes. “I promise, Y/n.” 

You turn with a curt nod, seeing Phoenix following alongside Hondo. The second you reached her, whatever strength had been holding you upright disappeared. You collapsed into her arms without a word, burying your face against her shoulder as sobs finally tore free from your chest. She held onto you just as tightly, her own tears soaking through your flight suit while your hands clung desperately to the fabric at her back.

”I never even got the chance to love him, Nyx.” You sobbed. 

“You did, you do.” She whimpered, “He knew, he knew, Y/n.” 

The minutes that followed blurred together in a haze of adrenaline wearing off and grief settling in. Someone draped a blanket over your shoulders. Medics came in to poke and prod, protocol, but Bob told them to give you a minute. He slid juice boxes over to where you and Phoenix were curled into each other on the couch; you thanked him for very politely telling them to fuck off. 

Then it was just what remained of the Dagger squad wallowing in what should have been a successful mission on paper. 

After what felt like an eternity, Mickey finally broke the silence.

“Why did he do that?”

No one answered immediately.

Phoenix sniffled beside you, still absentmindedly combing her fingers through the hair that had fallen loose from your bun sometime during the mission.

“Because it’s Bradley.” She whispered, “He would’ve done the same for any of us.” 

You squeezed her hand harder, willing the tears away. 

The silence settled over the room again, heavier this time. Bob sat with his head buried in his hands, absently pressing buttons on an old phone that lay on a table for decoration. Reuben had somehow acquired a handheld radio that you were fairly certain belonged to someone much higher ranking; the speaker pressed tightly against his ear while he listened to every transmission coming through.

No one paid him much attention until he suddenly sat forward.

“Overwatch is reporting signs of a jet on course for our position.”

“Fighters?” You sniffle, Phoenix's hands stilling from where they were combing through the hair that had freed itself from your bun. 

“In a F-14 Military piece?” He asked, a spark lit underneath all of you at the realization. 

You sit up, almost immediately 

“What?” 

“How the fuck did they get an F-14 in the air?” 

“You’re joking.”

Reuben cuts off everyone’s questions, waving his hands to silence you all. 

“Rooster’s ESAT is back online. It’s them.” He whispered, before his voice got louder, “It’s fucking them!”

You didn’t realize you were crying again until Phoenix grabbed both sides of your face.

“They’re alive,” she repeated, her own voice cracking around a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Did you hear him? They’re alive.”

The breath you pulled into your lungs was the first real one you’d taken since watching Bradley disappear beneath the smoke. Your knees buckled so suddenly that Bob was beside you before you could hit the floor, steadying you by the elbows while Phoenix held onto your shoulders. Relief crashed through your body so violently it almost hurt. Your chest ached. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Every muscle that had been locked tight since the mission finally gave out all at once, the adrenaline crashing in waves. 

“Oh my God,” you whispered, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “Oh, my God.”

The room erupted around you.

Mickey let out a disbelieving laugh, throwing both hands over his face before turning in a slow circle as if he had too much adrenaline to contain. He tackled Rueben into a hug that nearly sent the radio skidding across the floor. Bob was jumping up and down, his arms still on both of his girls. 

All of you migrated toward the observation windows overlooking the flight deck, the radio turned up as loud as it would go. Every transmission made your stomach knot tighter, your heart in your throat as they sent Dagger Spare up in defense. 

You watched nothing but the open ocean through the windows, while your nails dug crescent moons into your palms as your heart threatened to beat itself out of your chest. Phoenix reached for your hand without saying a word, your fingers intertwining so tightly they almost hurt. 

“Foul deck, foul deck, raise the barricades. Maverick and Rooster landing.”

You were already running before the call had finished, shoving through the doorway with the rest of the squad close behind. Boots thundered against the metal stairs as all of you raced toward the flight deck, your lungs burning from the sprint, your heartbeat somehow louder than the alarms and engines surrounding you.

The jet was beat up and smoking, crew swarming around to put out the fire as the canopy slowly lifted open. He looked exhausted beyond anything you’d ever seen, his flight suit streaked with soot and grease, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his movements slower than usual as he climbed onto the wing. He was filthy. 

Someone shouted something behind you, but it dissolved into meaningless noise as your feet carried you forward before your brain had the chance to think. You shoved through deck crew, through sailors, through officers, your eyes never leaving him for even a second.

There was no chance to think before you were in front of him. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into that impossibly familiar grin, tired and crooked and overflowing with relief the second your eyes met his. It was the same smile that had greeted you that night at Hard Deck, the same one that had become so easy to find across briefing rooms and cockpits and late nights.

”You asshole!” you yelled, shoving both hands against Bradley’s chest hard enough to make him stumble half a step. “You almost got yourself killed!”

The words had barely left your mouth before his hands were on either side of your face, calloused palms warm against your flushed skin as he pulled you into him.

The kiss was anything but gentle.

It was frantic and relieved, weeks of burning tension and memories of last night poured into it. Around you, the crowd erupted into cheers, but it all dissolved into background noise the second his lips found yours. You melted into him despite every intention of staying angry, catching the unmistakable pull of a smile against his mouth as though he already knew exactly how this was going to end.

When you finally drew back, your forehead rested against his for a moment, both of you laughing quietly as you caught your breath.

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered, trying and failing to sound convincing. “Don’t think that gets you out of it.”

“I know.” His thumbs brushed lightly over your cheeks, his eyes searching yours with a sincerity that made your heart ache. “So let me make it up to you.”

”You finally gonna let me fuck you in the flight suit?” 

Bradley’s eyes went comically wide, instinctively pulling you a little closer, the roar of the crowd around you swallowing your words before anyone else had a chance to hear them.

“No,” he blurted, before immediately catching himself. “I mean-yes. Eventually. Absolutely, but that’s not what I meant.” He laughed, sweat dripping from his brow. “Let me take you out. On a proper date, give me a chance to ask you to be mine.” 

“But you said-“ 

“Oh, fuck it. Fuck all the reservations we both had.” He smiles, and it’s so wide it looks just like heaven. “I almost died, and all I could think about was how I regret never getting a chance to call you mine.” 

His eyes sparkled as you nodded, so quickly you were afraid you’d get whiplash. 

“Bradley. I’d love to be yours.” 

"Leave me alone, Owens," you called back, already moving back to your car. You had a mission here, and he wasn't part of it. Nor would he ever be if you had your way. He'd done enough in your mind. You were better off keeping your distance.

When you would've reached for your car door, a hand shot out and stopped you.

"Your car is totaled," Tyler said, your name a whisper itself as he made sure you heard him. His grip remained firm yet loose enough for you tug away should you choose to. "Come on, we're heading back out ourselves. You can come with us."

Staring at your car, it took several moments for it to sink in.

While you'd known you'd gotten caught up in the storm itself, you hadn't realized just how much so until you took in the devastation before you. All your windows had been blown out, not reinforced as those on Tyler's truck. Then again, you'd always kept to the outskirts of a storm, tracking it as you'd been trained to do. Not only were your windows gone, you could make out huge dents throughout the body. What was most concerning was the relatively large branch sticking out the front grill. From what you could make out, your radiator had long run out of fluid, most of it pooled beneath your car. How you'd been able to drive that woman and her granddaughter to the emergency room was beyond your comprehension.

As Tyler had pointed out, your car was well and truly totaled. Inside and out, your car wasn't going anywhere any longer.

"You okay?" Tyler asked, breaking through your thoughts.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go."

He didn't say anything nor did he let go of your wrist, guiding you towards his truck. Without a word, he nodded at Boone, who quickly jumped out of the front seat and held the door for you.

"Hey, Whisper, you good?" Boone asked, leaning on the door and studying you. His usual grin had been replaced with a small frown, his brows drawn together.

You nodded again, but you didn't say anything.

All you could do was strap yourself into the front seat, grateful Tyler had finally let go of your wrist. Your hands clenched in your lap as you stared out the windshield of his truck. You refused to acknowledge the fact how close you'd come to potentially losing your life. Just as your younger brother had done not six months ago.

As careful as you'd been, too.

Not like your foolhardy brother who'd thought himself another Tyler or rather Wrangler in the making. No, he'd taken chances you'd never thought to, always watching and chasing from safer distances to track storms and do your part to help those in their paths.

While you tried not to blame Tyler and his Wranglers, you couldn't help but do so. Without their YouTube channel, your brother might still be alive. He might've listened to you more, taken more precautions, still be alive today.

It's why you'd put greater distance between you and the Tornado Wranglers. Between you and Tyler. The possibility of a friendly rivalry between you and them lost, possibly forever. You'd almost give anything to have had them in that storm over your brother. Yet, you hated yourself more for wanting that to be the case.

Memories kept you preoccupied enough that you didn't realize Tyler had driven some distance away. It was only when he cut the engine and Boone had once again opened your door that you realized.

A glance over Boone's shoulder showed you even more devastation, far greater than the bit you'd witnessed earlier.

"Oh, my god," you gasped.

"Yeah," Tyler and Boone both murmured simultaneously.

Not sure where to begin but ready to dive in wherever, you quickly created distance between you and the Wranglers.

At least, you'd hoped to, but Tyler proved stubborn. He was never far from your periphery, something he'd made sure of. While you couldn't say why, his presence soon became a balm to your frayed nerves, settling you in a way you hadn't been since your brother's death. Certainly not since you'd set eyes on this latest storm and saw the beginning of its devastating path.

As much as you hated to admit it, you worked well near him.

It was almost as if the two of you had become synced in a way that should've been impossible for two rivals. You couldn't bring yourself to call him enemy, so you'd settled on rival in your mind. It gave you a sense of distance you believed you still needed from him and his charm, something he dished out more often than not to his adoring audiences. He knew well how to work a room in ways you never wanted to, preferring to play a quieter though no less helpful role.

"Whoa there, Whisper," he said, stopping you from lifting a fallen section of someone's home. His voice grew incredibly soft, softer than you'd ever heard before, as he added, "Careful of the glass there."

You glanced down to find you had indeed placed one of your hands close to the broken pane. A jagged piece stuck out, lying ready and willing to slice through someone's unsuspecting hand. You'd been within inches of doing just so with your hand.

Shaking a little, you stepped back and away from both the house and Tyler. Your voice wavered as you mumbled, "Thanks."

"Hey, we've been working for over an hour now. How about we take a small break? Grab something to drink. Maybe something to eat, too. We're no good to these people if we're not taking care of ourselves, too."

"I'm fine."

Even as the words escaped you, you knew they weren't the truth. You were anything but okay.

Tyler seemed to know it, too, as he stepped forward and took your wrist back in his grip. A gentle tug was all he needed to do in order to have you give in and follow him back to his group's RV.

"Ten minutes," he promised.

True to his word, he brought you to the RV where he quickly set a box of food and a bottle of water in your hands. He even made room for you in the cooler confines of the vehicle, sitting you down at the small dining table. Sinking down across from you, he wasted no time in eating and drinking his simple meal. No words passed between you during this time, but then, you didn't really need them at the moment.

It was only after you'd both finished that Tyler finally said, "I haven't really gotten the chance before now to say this, but I'm truly sorry for your loss, Whisper. Your brother was a good man and a great chaser."

The food in your mouth turned to ash, and it was with some difficulty you swallowed it.

Rather than say something you'd regret, you simply nodded.

With your appetite now gone, you pushed to your feet and moved towards the RV's door.

"Hey, Whisper," Tyler said, hurrying after you, "if there's anything you need…"

Even as he let the words drift off, the offer wasn't lost on you. Neither was the thought you would never take him up on it.

You couldn't.

Not with his way of chasing being so intertwined with your brother's untimely death.

No, you were better off on your own. Just like you've always been.

*****

You weren't sure what woke you, but you recognized well the pain coursing through you. Even under the haze of some heavy pain medications, you could feel the way your body ached in ways it hadn't before.

What had happened you couldn't say, but you were certain you didn't like the sounds and smells surrounding you. The blinding lights of your room had been muted as if someone had cared enough to dim them for you.

Shifting in the bed, you could make out the crinkle of the sheets under you against the plastic of the thin mattress.

"Hey, hey, easy there. Take it easy, Whisper. You're okay," Tyler said, moving into your view. Deep shadows lined the skin under his eyes and deep lines had etched into his face, but you couldn't say why. His hand sought out your wrist, taking care of the IV line and the few scratches you soon discovered.

You had to swallow a few times to wet your dry mouth before you could manage to rasp, "What happened?"

"You fell through a floor in a house we were clearing. One minute, you were next to me, and the next, you were gone. Scared the hell outta me, you know that?"

His hand tightened a fraction on your wrist as he spoke, his fingers pressing into your pressure point. It took you a moment longer than it should've that he was making sure he could still make out your pulse. Almost as if he needed proof that you were indeed with him.

"Your head took a pretty good knock. You were unconscious before I could even get down to you. It took medics longer than it should've to get to you as well. You're lucky, you know that?"

Unsure what to say, you decided to say nothing.

It didn't seem to matter as Tyler felt the need to fill the silence himself.

"Look, I know you dislike me, but you need someone to watch out for you." He held up his free hand as you did open your mouth to protest those words. He even dared to arch a brow at you, daring you in a way. He only continued when he was certain you wouldn't start, saying, "You're more than capable. I know that, Whisper. You're the best in our field, but you're also alone. The Wranglers and I really want to help, okay? We wanna make sure you're going to be all right. Let us help. Please?"

Well, now that had your attention more than the rest of his pretty speech. You couldn't recall the last time you'd heard Tyler say 'please' to anyone, let alone yourself. This was definitely a moment to remember, even in your current sorry state.

Before you could say anything either way, a slight rap at the door announced another visitor.

"Ah, well, it's nice to see you awake once more, Mrs. Owens," the doctor said, coming into your room. "You gave us a little scare there for a bit, but seeing you awake as soon as this is a good sign indeed. We're going to keep you another day, possibly two, but then, you'll be free to go home as long as your husband here promises to keep a good eye on you."

"Won't let her out of my sight, doc," Tyler promised, winking at you even as you glared right back.

You had some sense to wait until the doctor had checked you over and left before turning towards Tyler again. Your brow cocked upward even as you spat, "Husband?"

Tyler shrugged. "They wouldn't let me stay unless we were family. Boone offered himself, but let's be honest. He's not really your type despite him being a good guy."

"Oh, yeah, what is my type then if you know so much about me?"

He shot you a cocky grin that had you rather embarrassed to admit had an effect on you.

Oh, boy, how you wished it didn't. Then again, that's how Tyler rolled and you knew it. He'd always had a larger female fan base due to his larger than life personality. You couldn't even blame them really as you apparently fell in that same category.

Damned if you were going to let him know that so easily though.

"You wish, Owens."

"I do, you know," he countered calmly, further upending your balance.

Sputtering, you could only think to say, "You're messing with me."

"Nope."

"You don't like me, Owens, as much as I don't like you."

"Professional jealousy at the beginning, sure, but then I got to see you in action. You're pretty amazing, Whisper, and you're an incredible woman. Any man, including me, would be lucky to be able to call you theirs."

You could see the sincerity in his tired features. Those same features that had you asking, "How long have you stayed up watching over me?"

Another shrug. "Did what I needed to. Not a big deal."

But it was. It was a big deal to you.

You'd spent so much time these last several months damn near hating him for something he ultimately wasn't responsible for. He'd known your animosity towards him as you'd made it no secret in the few interactions you've had before recreating the distance you wanted most from him.

Yet, he'd stayed with you since that first emergency room visit. Yesterday, was it? Maybe the day before? Who knew how long you'd been out? Hours? Minutes? Doubtful on that last one since you could make out the darkened sky past the drawn curtains of your room.

At last, you finally said, "I accept your earlier terms. You and the Wranglers can watch over me until I get better. Not one second longer, you understand?"

"I understand."

He perked up at your words even as his exhaustion seemed to grow heavier by the second.

"Get some sleep, Owens," you groused, even as you settled back in your hospital bed. "The TV can keep me company while you rest."

To your surprise, he pulled the room's chair closer to your bed so he could continue to hold your wrist. His fingers never left their place against your pulse point, either, as he slowly let sleep claim him.

To your even greater surprise, it turned out you were never quite 'well enough' for the Wranglers to ever leave you alone again. No, they adopted you into the fold, and you soon found yourself not only with a new family of your own, but a very proud and happy Tyler Owens who soon claimed you: heart, body, and soul.

Your old Mercedes-Benz 380SL rumbled into the gravel parking lot of the Hard Deck, the first bar your GPS had thrown your way. It had been years since you’d been back to Lemoore. Even then, memories of the place had long since dissolved beneath a haze of flight hours, classified missions, carrier deployments, and the relentless cycle of detachments that had followed your graduation from Top Gun. What little you did remember felt distant now, like recalling someone else’s life, but tonight that hardly mattered. All you wanted was a stiff drink, good food, and a reminder that you were finally home.

The place buzzed with the easy kind of noise only a military town dive bar could produce. Pool balls cracked against one another somewhere in the back, laughter spilled over the music pouring from the jukebox, and every other patron seemed to be wearing their khakis. Naval aviators were packed shoulder to shoulder around high-top tables, gold wings glinting beneath neon beer signs. 

The open barstool was your oasis in the desert as you slid into it, sighing happily to see the tiny menu laminated and stuck to the bar. 

The bartender, an older woman with the most beautiful skin you’ve ever seen, walked over. “What can I get you?”

“A cheeseburger,” you answered without hesitation. “The greasiest one you’ve got. Fries, too.”

She arched an eyebrow, amusement written all over her face. 

“And a double of your best whiskey on the rocks.” You smiled widely as she nodded. 

She placed the order and slid over a frosted glass for you before attending to someone across the bar. You took the time to check your phone, avoiding the real reason you were back here. You just wanted one night where it felt like you were you again, and not just property of the United States Navy. 

“A greasy cheeseburger,” Penny, you learned, had slid the basket of food over to you. 

If it were any other circumstance, you would have been embarrassed by the moan that left your mouth after your first bite. 

“Good?” She asked, her hands pausing from shining a glass as she watched you. 

You nodded, eyes nearly closed. “It’s perfect.” 

A sharp laugh escaped her. “You just get back?” 

Your eyes open, finally placing the burger down to take another drink. “How’d you know?” 

You’re in civvies, and even have makeup on for the first time in months. But you reckon she’s worked here long enough to see it in every person that steps through the doors. 

“Come on,” Her eyes are playful, “No one acts like that about those cheap burgers unless they haven’t had one in a while. How long?” 

“Two years,” You sighed, “Haven’t been home for longer than a few months in about 5.” 

She made a noise of understanding; her life had been so intertwined with the Navy for years, she knew just how much it takes from someone. 

“Well, we’re glad to have you back. Hopefully it’s for a little longer this time.” She smiled, “Burgers on me.” 

Your head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”

You were already reaching for your wallet when she held up a hand.

“My bar,” she said matter-of-factly. “My rules.”

“I can’t let you-”

“Tell you what.” She pointed toward the half-empty whiskey glass in front of you. “I won’t take your money unless you order another one of those. Then we’ll call it even.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Welcome home.” 

She gave the bar a light tap with her knuckles before disappearing toward the kitchen, leaving you alone with the comfortable hum of conversation surrounding you. 

By the time you finished, the basket in front of you held nothing but a few lonely fries and a crumpled sheet of wax paper slick with grease. You slid a crisp fifty-dollar bill beneath one of the coasters anyway, hoping she’d find it after you were gone, then tipped back the last swallow of whiskey. It burned all the way down, drawing a wince that settled into a satisfied smile as you set the empty glass back onto the bar with a quiet clink.

You slid off the barstool with a contented sigh, fishing your keys from your pocket as you prepared to call it a night. The burger had done its job. The whiskey had done its job even better. Maybe you’d save the third item on your list for another evening.

The front door swung open before you could take a single step.

A man ducked beneath the frame with the easy confidence of someone who’d been walking into the Hard Deck for years. Aviator sunglasses hung from the collar of a faded Hawaiian shirt, sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms. Sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders, and a mustache that made you stop in your tracks. He was navy, that much was obvious. He might as well have been a walking poster child for an aviator. 

He slid onto the stool beside the one you’d just vacated, where you stood still half in and half out. 

“You’re back,” Penny was already reaching for a bottle. “You’re here a few days before the crowd.” 

“You know me too well.” He says. “I just couldn’t stay away, Penny. You know me.” 

“Yeah, right.” She grinned. 

He grinned, all practiced charm, and accepted the beer she slid across the counter.

It wasn’t usually your style to go after other Navy pilots. Too many complications. Too many chances of crossing paths again in some hangar halfway around the world, or discovering six months later that you’d unknowingly hooked up with someone from your own air wing.

As a rule, you avoided it.

But rules had exceptions. And tonight that exception had a mustache that you yearned to feel against your skin, and muscles flexing with each rise and fall of his arms. 

Besides, out of the hundreds of aviators running through this town, what are the chances that he was one of the dozen who had been picked for this special assignment? 

You eased back onto your stool as though you’d never intended to leave, setting your keys back onto the polished wood.

“Penny, my dear,” you called, a devilish smile tugging at your lips. “Think I could trouble you for another whiskey?”

She didn’t even look at the register, or you as you tried to slide your card across the bar. Instead, she plucked the folded fifty-dollar bill from beneath the coaster and held it up between two fingers.

“I told you,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “My bar. My rules.” 

You sighed, snatching the card back. “I was hoping you wouldn’t see that until I left.” 

“Oh, honey.” Penny laughed. “I notice everything.”

She slid the bill back across the bar toward you before reaching for the whiskey bottle anyway.

“First refill’s still on the house.” Before you could protest again, the man beside you leaned an elbow onto the bar, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You can’t get one past Penny.”

You turned toward him. “That so?”

He nodded solemnly, though the grin threatening his mouth ruined any attempt at seriousness. “Trust me. You don’t want to end up on her bad side.”

”He’s learned the hard way.” Penny smirks, dropping off your drinks before she decides that she knows exactly what’s happening between the two strangers. 

Bradley turns to you, his gaze wandering from your boots to your jeans, lingering for the briefest second on the low cut of your top before finally settling on your eyes. There was nothing crude about it. If anything, it was almost appreciative, accompanied by the smallest lift of one corner of his mouth when he realized you’d caught him.

”So,” He starts, “What brings you here?” 

It’s such a cliché line; it almost makes you laugh. You hold up your glass, swirling around the amber liquid and the ice together. “This.” 

He clinks your glasses together, “Touche.” 

There’s a brief lull, the two of your eyes shamelessly on each other. 

“I’m Bradley.” He offers. 

You give him your name with a smile, and he immediately repeats it back after you. As if he’s testing the shape of it in his mouth, but not for the first time tonight he’s decided. 

The conversation moves easily after that, effortless in a way that surprises you. You don’t talk about work. Neither of you ask the obvious questions. You don’t mention where you’ve been, and he doesn’t ask why you look like someone who hasn’t slept properly in months. He doesn’t elaborate when he mentions not being home in almost a year, and you don’t express your same sentiments about it. 

You’re just two strangers sitting at a bar pretending, for a few hours, that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Music comes up first, some argument over whether old records are better than anything made now. He has strong opinions, the kind that make you laugh because he says them with complete confidence. 

“You’re very opinionated for someone I just met,” you say, resting your chin lightly against your hand.

He looks at you over the rim of his beer, which Penny silently dropped off.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’re usually right.”

A slow grin pulls across his face. “I usually am.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That might be the most annoying answer you could’ve given. God.” 

“And yet you’re still sitting here.”

The way he says it is cocky, but honest. There’s no malice in it, just the darkening of his eyes. It’s just an observation, and maybe that’s what makes it worse. He’s right. You could have left an hour ago. You had already gotten almost everything you came here for. The burger, the whiskey, the small piece of normal life you’d been craving since you stepped off that plane. But you were exactly where you wanted to be, with his eyes desperately trying not to look down your shirt with each flirty glance you threw his way. 

When last call came, you were shocked to look at the clock and realize it had been hours since Bradley slid into the seat next to you. The Hard Deck had slowly emptied around you without either of you really noticing. The loud groups of aviators had filtered out one by one, the music had been turned down, and the warm buzz of conversation had faded into the quiet sounds of closing. 

Somehow, through all of it, the two of you had stayed exactly where you were, caught somewhere between wanting the night to end and not wanting to be the one who ended it.

Bradley glances around at the emptying bar before looking back at you, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“I think we’re getting kicked out.”

You look around, pretending to be surprised by the chairs being lifted onto tables and Penny wiping down the counter.

Eventually, you slide off the stool, grabbing your phone and your keys.

“Goodnight, Penny.” You wave goodbye. 

Penny looks up from behind the bar, already knowing exactly what she’s looking at.

“Stay out of trouble, you two.” 

There’s something about the way she says it that makes you feel like she means more than the words themselves.

You smile. “Always.”

He bids her goodbye as well, before turning back to you. 

“Let me walk you to your car?” He asks, and it makes you chuckle. The two of you are circling it, both of you just itching and waiting for the other person to make the first move. 

The two of you step outside together, the cool California night air immediately replacing the warmth of the bar. The parking lot is quieter now, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes as you both slowly make your way out.

Your shoulders brush on the short walk, before you’re leaning against the side of your car. 

A low whistle escapes him. “No way.”

You glance back. “What?”

He looks between you and the Mercedes, impressed despite himself. “That’s yours?”

You smile, suddenly a little more proud than you mean to be.

“Yeah, I helped rebuild her a few years back.”

“God, you’re a dream. You, not the car.” He walks around the front of it slowly, appreciating the lines of the car. “But the car's great too. Gorgeous car for a gorgeous girl.” 

Your cheeks warm; before you can respond, your eyes drift past him toward the other side of the parking lot.

“And I’m guessing that’s yours?”

He turns, following your gaze.

A bright blue Bronco sits under one of the parking lot lights, standing out against the rows of ordinary cars.

“That obvious?”

You blow out a playful puff of air. “Yeah, kinda.” 

 His body is still only a few inches away from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him despite the cool night air. Close enough that you’re both very aware of the fact that neither of you has actually said goodnight, and that neither of you really want to. 

“Well, I guess I’m gonna-“ You go to turn, before he says your name in his deep tone. 

You turn back to face him, and he steps closer, your back pressing harshly against your car door. His body cages yours in, close enough that the space you’ve been carefully dancing around all night finally disappears.

“Can I?” The question is quiet, almost lost beneath the sound of the distant waves and the empty parking lot around you.

You answer by closing the distance.

The first touch of his lips against yours is everything you expected and somehow nothing like you imagined. Warm, certain, and long overdue after hours of pretending you weren’t both waiting for this exact moment. His mustache brushes against your skin, and the small laugh that escapes you is swallowed by the kiss because somehow that detail you’d been thinking about all night is even better than you had pictured.

Up close, he smells like sandalwood and something unmistakably him, a trace of the night air and jet fuel clinging to his clothes. He tastes like whiskey and heaven. 

You rise onto your toes, your hands finding their way around his neck and pulling him closer, though there’s barely any space left between you. His hand settles at your waist, steadying you, and for a few minutes there is no bar, no tomorrow, no reason to think beyond this moment.

The kiss is hot and messy. Two people who had clearly been aching for this moment for longer than they’d be willing to admit. His hands are roaming shamelessly, gripping your ass harshly through the fabric of your jeans. The touch has you mewling into his mouth, your hands reaching up to harshly grip at his sun-kissed locks. 

When the two of you finally pull apart enough to remember that you’re in public and the night eventually has to move forward, you give him your address. He repeats it back with that same little smile he had when he first said your name, like he’s committing it to memory.

He leaves you with one more kiss, alongside a wink that has your body shivering in anticipation. 

“See you soon.” He says, and you watch him jog to his car with a pep in his step. 

When you get into your Mercedes and see his blue Bronco following behind you through the quiet California streets, you realize you aren’t thinking about anything else at all.

Bradley is by your side the moment he steps out of the car, even as your hand is in his, dragging him up the stairwell. He’s making it difficult by pushing you against the wall every few seconds, his lips harsh against yours. His mouth moves down your neck to your collarbone, sucking and biting at your sensitive flesh. You’re so dazed by the sensation you nearly drop your keys. 

“You,” Your breath is not as steady as you willed it to be, “Bradley, are trouble.” 

“Yeah?” He pants, his hands heavy on your hips as he stands behind you. The press of his bulge in his pants presses against your back. He presses a little further, teasing as your hands fumble with the locks. 

“Yes.” You bite back a moan, finally getting the key inside of the lock. 

“If you were wearing a little dress,” He whispered with a soft kiss to your earlobe, “I’d take you right here against the door. Let everyone know just how good m’making you feel.” 

The whiskey has warmed your veins, but not enough to do something as reckless as that. Even if he makes it sound good. Even if the thought has you clenching your thighs together and dragging him into your now open apartment door. 

He slams the door behind him, stalking you through the hall as you both shed your belongings in various places. Keys are thrown on counters, shoes are kicked off god knows where, and you’re pulling his egregiously bright shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor. 

He bends down and picks you up in one swift motion, making you squeal. Your hands are clinging to those biceps you were drooling about earlier, your thighs wrapped around his waist. 

There’s no time before his tongue is in your mouth again, carrying you blindly across your apartment’s layout. It’s when he realises he has no idea where he’s going that he pulls away. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” He pants. 

You laugh; it’s ugly and loud, but it makes Bradley’s eyes sparkle at the sound of it.  

“Down the hall, last door on the left.” You giggle, and he takes you right there. Slamming the door with his foot, you’re amazed by his athleticism when you’re gently pressed against your mattress. 

You both take a moment, lost in the moment and each other's eyes before there’s a reminder of why you're there in the first place. Clothes are being tugged at, jeans discarded on the floor as you fumble around with your top. 

He helps lift the fabric off your shirkers, his eyes darkening at the sight of your lacy bra. 

“You know,” He whispers, mouth dry, “Been trying not to stare at your tits all night.” 

“I know.” You sigh contentedly, your hands running up and down his rock-hard abs. The small trail of hair leading into his boxers tickled your fingertips. “Why do you think I wore this shirt?”

“I’m really-” He unclasps your bra with one hand, lips trailing down your neck, “A respectful gentleman. But god. These are perfect.” 

Your giggle is cut off with a moan when his mouth attaches itself to your hardened buds, his other hand palming your tits harshly. The soft tickle of the hair above his lips makes you moan his name gently. 

“You know,” You start, copying him, “I've been imagining what that mustache feels like against me since the moment I saw you.” 

He pauses for a brief moment, his honey brown eyes flickering up to you, where your nipple was still in his mouth. 

“Really?” He hums, pulling away with a soft strand of spit attached to his glossy lips. 

You nod, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your thumb reaches out to wipe away the spit, softly petting his upper lip. 

“You’re so fucking hot.” You admit, as he takes your thumb into his mouth with a pop. 

“Says you.” 

Within seconds, you're pushed onto your back again, your head falling back into the pillows. His hands are traveling down your body, his thumbs hooked into the side of your soaked panties. 

“How do you feel about feeling this mustache against this sweet little cunt?”

He has barely touched you, and your eyes are already rolling into the back of your head at his words alone. “Fuck, yes. Please.” 

The barely there fabric is dragged down your legs and tossed somewhere far away as Bradley’s fingertips dig harshly into your thighs. His breath is hot and teasing as he kisses up and down your inner thighs before settling exactly where you need him. 

His tongue drags experimentally up your wet heat before his lips wrap harshly around your throbbing clit. 

“Oh god.” You whimper, your legs tensing in his hold as he took his time slowly lapping against you. It was slow, sloppy, and the hottest thing a man had ever done to you. His own moans were muffled into your cunt, as he devoured you like a man starved. 

As long as it had been for you, it felt like it had been even longer for him. He ate you out like he was relishing the fact you were even letting him. His mustache brushing against your sensitive skin, just enough to add more fuel to your already burning pleasure. You were a babbling mess, your hands alternating between tugging at his hair and gripping the sheets like a lifeline. 

With a frantic cry of his name and a harsh tug on his hair, you came against his mouth. It was glorious, as he coaxed you through your high, his frantic moans of encouragement spurring you on while his own hips ground gently against the sheets for the slightest bit of relief.

“You taste incredible.” Was the first thing he said when he came back up for air, his face wet and glistening from your release. 

Your chest was heaving, your stomach rolling at his words. “Come here.” 

Who was he to deny your beckoning finger? He pulled his boxers down swiftly, his hard cock slapping the skin harshly once it was free from its confines. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. It was long and veiny, a thick patch of curly hair at the base. 

You almost said a thank-you prayer to god, who was clearly not in the room. 

“Like what you see?” He asked, his voice thick with anticipation as he crawled back onto the bed in between your legs. 

“You know,” You sighed once his lips pressed gently to your neck, “Most cocky men aren’t always packing; can’t be too sure.” 

A giggle escaped you as he laughed against you, the damp hair tickling your neck. “Cocky?” 

“The cockiest.” You tease, wrapping your legs around his toned thighs, pulling him closer to you. “Now come on, give me your cock.” 

He shakes his head gently; he almost thinks he could fall in love with you right here.

“Yes, mam.” He presses his lips to yours again, your mouth opening instinctively for him. You could taste yourself against his tongue as he pressed against your weeping cunt. He pushed into you slowly, each of you letting out sighs of relief into each other's mouths. 

He was dragging himself inside of you once inch at a time, the hot drag making your body feel aflame. 

“God,” Your nails dug into his forearms, “You’re so b-big.” 

“Taking me s’well.” He spoke through his teeth, his eyes furrowed shut to avoid already finishing from how tight, warm, and wet you were wrapped around him. 

When his hips met yours, his thighs trembling. His lips kissing and sucking at whatever bare skin of yours he could reach as you molded around him. The first thrust took both of your breaths away, as he pulled halfway out of you before sinking back in. 

“Fuck.” You cried out, pulling him close as he began to fuck into you expertly. 

It had been a long time, too long, so any sex would have sufficed, but this man was sex on legs and knew exactly how to angle his hips to make your eyes roll in the back of your head. 

Your heels press harshly in the back of his thighs, urging him to keep going as he found a rhythm that had both of you melting into each other. It’s otherworldly, the feeling of him stretching you out on each lewd slap of his hips against yours. 

You can feel his hand slide down your slick skin to widen your legs for him, his eyes looking down to where he was sliding in and out of you. 

“God,” He groans, his palm pressing against your lower stomach, “Taking me like a fucking dream. S’good baby? Tell me how fucking good it is.” 

“L-like I said, cocky.” You tried to tease, but instead it came out breathy and shaky. 

“You like it,” He grinned, slamming himself even harder into you. “She fucking loves it; she’s screaming for me.” 

You wanted to roll your eyes at him referring to your cunt as a ‘she’, but you couldn’t think of anything as he pounded into you. Especially not when the pads of his fingers find your clit. The bed was creaking loudly, and you couldn’t get the taste of his name out of your mouth as he talked you through it. 

Your release comes quicker than you thought it would, and Bradley’s thankful because with each jolt of your tits as he thrusts, he was worried he was going to cum inside of you.

“M’gonna cum.” 

He leans down, pressing you harder into the bed. His lips against your neck. 

“Cum around my cock, there you go.” He cooed, as you threw your head back in pleasure, “Fuck you’re so beautiful cumming around me.”

If he thought you cumming on his tongue was perfect, this was otherworldly.

He’s nearly growling as you clench around him, your release pulling him even deeper inside of you. His hips lose their rhythm, stuttering as his jaw drops. 

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He’s gritting his teeth together when your still trembling legs pull him even closer. When he can’t take it anymore, he pulls out of you harshly, his hand wrapping around his cock and tugging harshly until thick ropes of his cum splatter on your lower stomach. His eyes are shut, his abs glistening and tensing, and pleasure is written all over his face as he whimpers out. 

You bask in the haze for a moment, both of your panting breaths syncing as you tried to catch your breath. You were still seeing stars behind your eyelids when the bed shifted. 

“Let me get you a washcloth.” He whispered, kissing your forehead gently. You remember the soft drag of the cloth, cleaning you up, and how he wrapped you softly in the sheets. Exhaustion and orgasmic bliss had seeped deep inside of your bones, your eyes fluttering shut. 

There’s not much to remember after that. 

You wake up to the feeling of your bed shifting, which makes you freeze. Your eyes open lazily to see the naked man rolling out of your bed, only covered by the thin top sheet wrapped around his waist. You watch him with amusement, as the memories of last night come flooding back to you. When he not-so-subtly sneaks out of the bed, he jumps when he looks back to see your now awake frame. 

“H-hey,” He whispers, his voice slowly getting more high-pitched, “Good morning. How are you?” 

You have to bite your lip to stifle your laugh, “Good morning.” 

“I uh,” He starts, still clutching the sheet like a lifeline, which gives you a wonderful view of his v-line as he awkwardly stands there, “I uh have this work thing? I swear I wasn’t just gonna sneak out on you.”

”Yeah, you were.” You whispered in amusement. 

“N-no!” His voice sounds even higher than before, “No, no I swear-“

“I’m not-” You start, but your voice is so hoarse, and you don’t know if it’s from the whiskey or screaming his name all night long. “I’m not looking for anything serious. I’m not home very much.” 

He visibly relaxes, all the panic draining from his face. “Fuck, thank god. Neither am I. I don’t even know how long I’ll be here.” 

You laughed outright this time, sinking farther into the tangled sheets. “By all means,” you teased through a yawn. “Sneak out.”

The blanket slipped carelessly down your shoulder as you reached overhead, exposing a sliver of bare skin before you noticed. His eyes betrayed him almost instantly, flickering toward you before he caught himself and jerked them back up to your face with all the subtlety of a teenage boy. A faint flush crept up his neck.

“Last night was really fun.” He added softly, “Like really fun.”

”Yeah, it was.” You smiled lazily at the man as he awkwardly scooped his clothes up from the floor. 

It’s a comfortable yet awkward silence as he shuffles around. You wrapped the blanket tightly around yourself before climbing out of bed, the hardwood cold beneath your feet. Every step reminded you of the night before, your muscles aching pleasantly enough to make you smile despite yourself.

“I’ll walk you out.”

He nodded, falling into step behind you.

Just before you reached the front door, he tipped an imaginary hat with exaggerated politeness.

”Well,” You breathed out, “Thanks for last night.”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “Thank you.”

For a second neither of you moved. He stood in your doorway with his boots finally laced, hair still hopelessly messy from your fingers, while you remained wrapped in nothing but your blanket, hoping the neighbors weren't there to side-eye you. 

“Well...” You smiled, rocking back on your heels. “Have a good life-”

“Oh, hey.”

His hand slipped between the door and the frame before you could close it, earning an amused look from you.

“If you ever end up back at the Hard Deck…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “And you want to grab a whiskey or something…” His grin returned, hopeful but entirely unassuming. “I’d be down.”

You couldn’t help smiling again. I’ll probably never see you again, Bradley.”

His smile lingered for another heartbeat before he took a step backward into the hallway.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Bradley.”

You closed the door before you could watch him disappear toward the elevators.

The door was slammed before you had a chance to watch him walk to the elevators. It was better this way, easier. 

By Monday morning, it already felt like another life.

Your apartment looked like a staging area more than a home. Flight gear was spread across the kitchen table beside intelligence reports, satellite imagery, weather data, and a stack of folders stamped with enough black ink to make it a waste of paper. A half-packed duffel sat open on the couch while your phone buzzed relentlessly somewhere beneath a pile of paperwork.

You answered it with a grunt, shrugging your bag over your shoulder. “Mav, I’m on my way in-“ 

“Change of plans, meet me in the hangar, get your flight suit on.” His voice crackled through the receiver, making you pause in the middle of your kitchen.

“You sure about this, old man?” 

When Maverick met with the graduates regarding the mission, it went better than he expected, all things considered. A few cocky pilots and pissed-off admirals were the least of his worries with the weight they were putting on his shoulders. He went to dismiss them into flight checks before practice, before he paused.

”Before we get started,” Maverick said, waiting until the room settled, “there’s one more thing.”

A few heads lifted from the mission packets scattered across their desks.

“An additional aviator has been assigned to this detachment; you haven’t met them yet.” 

That immediately drew a few curious glances around the room.

“For the past several years, Lieutenant Y/l/n has been conducting surveillance for this mission.” Maverick gestured toward the topographical map projected across the screen. “Every route you’ve studied, every radar profile you’ve reviewed, every piece of reconnaissance you’ve been briefed on has her fingerprints all over it.”

The easy chatter that had filled the room moments before disappeared.

“She’ll be flying this mission alongside you,” Maverick continued. “Whoever is selected as strike lead, Lieutenant Y/l/n will be their wingman.”

Hangman leaned back in his chair, looking around the room as though she’d been hiding in plain sight the entire time.

“Where is this elusive stealth pilot?” he asked, pointing theatrically around the room. “I’d kinda like to know who’s gonna be flying next to me.”

A few quiet laughs rippled through the room. Another eye roll from Phoenix, a scoff from Rooster. 

Maverick only smiled.

“Oh,” he said, gathering the folders from the podium. “You’ll meet her.”

Within minutes, the briefing shifted into flight assignments and simulation parameters, and the conversation drifted back to fuel loads, attack profiles, and timing windows. The mysterious pilot was almost forgotten about as practice teams started. 

For the next several hours, the team ran through formation exercises and simulated combat scenarios, pushing each other harder with every pass. Maverick was currently putting them through the wringer in dogfighting. You hid in the shadows, just outside of reach, watching them the entire time. It was three rounds of pilots before you decided to make your entrance. 

”Uh..” Bob’s hesitant voice crackled over the frequency, uncertainty bleeding through even beneath his practiced calm.

 “Where is he, Bob?” Phoenix demanded, craning her neck beneath the canopy, her eyes darting across the empty sky where Maverick had disappeared only moments before. A beat of silence stretched just long enough for panic to settle in. 

“I d-don’t know,” He yelled back, the radar empty below him, “Is he? He’s underneath us!”

“Nope.” Maverick’s voice arrived with infuriating confidence. “I’m right here.”

His jet erupted into view directly ahead of them, slicing through the clouds with effortless precision.

“Wrong, Bob,” Phoenix muttered, instinctively checking behind her as she tried to speed up to meet Maverick.

The coms crackled loudly, “Below, below, Phoenix,” Bradley warned, his voice sharper now as something flickered beneath her aircraft.

She jerked the jet up, “What?” 

“It’s not hitting the radar; who is it?” Bob asked, his palms against the glass. 

Then a voice, bright with amusement, cut across every frequency.

“Hi, everyone.” You chuckled. 

Every head snapped downward.

“This is Lieutenant Y/l/n speaking. I’ll be assisting you all on this mission. I’m sure Maverick mentioned me.” 

Your F-18 was so impossibly close beneath Phoenix’s that, for several seconds, you’d been swallowed entirely by her shadow, matching every movement so perfectly you looked like an extension of her own jet. It was an old trick, one that required absurd precision, nerves of steel, and absolute trust in your own instincts. Against the glare of the morning sun, there had been nothing to see until you wanted to be seen. Especially not as everyone was focused on Maverick. 

“Joining the fight?” Rooster asked, trying to pretend he wasn’t both equally amused and terrified of the stunt you just pulled. 

You peeled away with a smooth roll, dropping toward the hard deck so low it made Bob suck in a breath over the radio before leveling out. Across the valley, Rooster’s aircraft broke from the pack, immediately catching your attention. Your helmet turned first. Your jet followed a heartbeat later.

“There she goes,” Maverick murmured, almost sounding pleased.

You immediately lit the burners.

The distance between you and Bradley evaporated with frightening speed. He caught the movement in his mirror just as your nose slipped inside his turn, matching him through every evasive maneuver. He climbed. You climbed. He rolled. You rolled tighter. The missile tone shrieked through his headset before he’d even finished trying to shake you.

“Tone, tone, tone.”

You laughed over the comms as the simulated kill registered. “Fox Two.”

Bradley groaned loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Maverick couldn’t hide the grin in his own voice.

“That, everyone… is Shadow.”

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Phoenix let out a low whistle. “…Badass.”

“Lesson one,” You said. “The most dangerous pilot in the sky isn’t the one you can see, it’s the one you can’t.” 

The engines had barely finished whining down before you were climbing out of the cockpit, helmet tucked beneath your arm, adrenaline still buzzing pleasantly beneath your skin. Heat shimmered off the tarmac as the canopy lifted, and you couldn’t stop the grin stretching across your face, the kind that only came after a flight where everything had gone exactly right. Maverick was already waiting beside the line of parked fighters. Sunglasses hiding whatever smug expression you knew was underneath them.

“Hell of an entrance, Y/n.”

You laughed, accepting the quick side hug before bumping his shoulder with your own. “An entrance you orchestrated.” 

“I think it showed, em.” He offered, leading your way into the hangar where the rest of them stood surrounding the radios. 

You scanned across the crowd as you approached, taking in the faces of the pilots you would be flying beside. Most of them looked exactly as you expected, curious, skeptical, still trying to figure out who exactly had been hiding underneath the radar for the past few hours. You offered them a small smile.

“Lieutenant Y/l/n,” you began, your voice carrying through the hangar. “I know most of you have already met me in the air, but I figured an actual introduction was probably overdue. We know Maverick has a flair for the dramatics.” 

A few quiet laughs moved through the group.

“I’ve been assigned to this mission as your reconnaissance specialist and wingman. I’ve spent the last few years collecting intel on the target area, studying the terrain, the defenses, and every possible route in and out. My job was to make sure you have as much information as possible before we ever leave the ground.”

You continued speaking, settling into the familiar rhythm of a briefing, until your eyes moved across the group one more time. Until you paused; a familiar face standing among the pilots was a face you had not expected to see. A mustache, messy brown hair, and an expression that shifted from curiosity to complete disbelief the second he recognized you.

”And uh-“ Your words caught somewhere between your thoughts and your mouth. For one brief second, the confident lieutenant who had slipped beneath their radar disappeared, replaced by the woman standing in her apartment doorway a few days ago watching one Bradley Bradshaw walk away.

His face mirrored yours, confusion and shock before a small smirk of satisfaction pulled at his lips. He was shaking his head, a small laugh of amusement nearly slipping out at the absurdity of it all. 

You cleared your throat nervously, looking anywhere but in his direction as you continued. “As I was saying, my role is to make sure everyone here has what they need to get home.”

“I’m here because Maverick asked me to pass along a skill set that’s kept me alive more than once, and if it helps even one of you make it home when this stops being practice and starts becoming real, then I’ve done my job. Nobody in this room needs another lecture about being the best pilot. You’re already here because you’re among the best. What keeps people alive isn’t talent. It’s trusting the person flying next to you enough to know they’ll be exactly where you need them when everything goes sideways.”

A few deserved glances towards Hangman’s way make your brows quirk up. 

“And you, Hangman.” You set your helmet down on one of the desks, a little harder than necessary as you rounded to the man sitting casually, “You pulling that shit out there? Do you think that makes you more of a man? To leave someone hanging like that?” 

“They can’t keep up-“ 

“Or maybe you can’t follow rules to save your life. You wanna be wing leader? Not in my world, Lieutenant. I may not have final say, but I’ll be damned if I’m up in the sky with only you looking out for me.”  

Hangman held your stare, his ridiculous smirk not budging in the slightest.

“Well, aren’t you something, Shadow.” He said, playing completely unfazed as per usual. 

You held the eye roll back for the sake of professionalism and spun on your heels.  “I have a feeling,” you replied as you turned on your heel, “this is going to be a very long few weeks.”

A laugh echoed somewhere behind you. “It sure is,” Rooster chimed in.

The sound of his voice sent an involuntary chill down your spine.

You refused to look back, to acknowledge him in any way. 

Instead, you busied yourself gathering your notes while Maverick wrapped up the remainder of the briefing, assigning study material and dismissing everyone for the evening. Conversations immediately broke out around the hangar as pilots compared notes from the day’s exercises, arguing over dogfights, laughing about blown maneuvers, and already trying to size one another up before tomorrow’s training.

The second Maverick dismissed the room, you slipped out a side door before anyone could stop you, weaving through the maintenance bays toward the locker rooms with your helmet tucked beneath your arm. If Bradley had recognized you, and judging by the look on his face, he absolutely had, you weren’t quite ready for that conversation yet.

Most of the squad was still lingering in the hangar, giving you just enough time to shower away the sweat and lingering smell of the cockpit. Hot water beat against your shoulders until the tension slowly began to loosen, though it did very little to quiet your racing thoughts. 

He was good (really, he was good at a lot of things, but you really tried your best not to go there). There was a high chance he’d be selected to fly wing leader, so you couldn’t avoid him forever. 

You pulled on a fresh shirt and jeans before stuffing your flight suit into your duffel bag. Your locker slammed shut with a metallic clang as you zipped the bag over your shoulder.

“Well, well.” The voice came from directly behind you. “I thought you said we’d probably never see each other again.”

You closed your eyes for the briefest moment before letting out an amused sigh. “Funny,” you muttered as you turned around. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Bradley leaned casually against the row of lockers. His hair was still damp with sweat from the flight, stubborn curls refusing to stay where they’d been pushed. A dark streak of grease was smudged across his forehead, and his flight suit hung open around his waist, revealing a sweat-soaked olive undershirt that made him look like every tag chaser's wet dream. 

He caught you looking, and there was that cocky smirk again.

“I swear,” you said before he had the chance to speak, lifting a hand in surrender, “I wasn’t given a roster. I had no idea who was getting called back for this mission. I have the same clearance as you, and Mav didn’t tell me anything.” 

He held his hands up, “I believe you. You looked like you were gonna shit yourself up there.” 

“I just didn’t know,” you began, shaking your head as you searched for the right words, already aware you were dangerously close to overexplaining yourself. “I figured you were a pilot. I mean, obviously. I just had no idea you’d be called back for this mission specifically.”

“I’m just that good, sweetheart.” 

You hated this; you hated how you somehow managed to hook up with the hottest man alive who just so happened to be the man you were more than likely going to have to put your life in his hands in just a matter of a short few weeks. 

“So am I.” You barked back automatically, perhaps a reflex from years of being looked down upon as a woman in this field. 

“No one’s managed to get a lock on me in years,” he continued, holding your gaze without the slightest hint of teasing now. “Then you show up out of nowhere, tuck yourself underneath Phoenix’s shadow, and stick yourself on my six before I even knew you were there.”

The way he said it, the admiration in his voice and the glazed look in his eyes. It made your body ache, a subtle warmth growing in your lower belly.

“You gave me a fight, a little one anyway.” You whispered, teasingly. 

“I was caught off guard,” he defended, shifting on his feet, “I’d love to go head to head with you up there. No rules. Would be a real sight to see.”

You forced yourself to clear your throat, breaking eye contact before your thoughts wandered elsewhere. The conversation had drifted dangerously close to sounding like foreplay, only this time the setting wasn’t your apartment.

“We’re professionals.” You nodded once, convincing yourself as much as him. “We can fly this mission together without there being any issues. Right?” 

Bradley considered you for a moment, humming thoughtfully before his gaze drifted from your eyes. It wandered, entirely unapologetically, over your face, your shoulders, down just enough to make your pulse quicken before lazily returning to meet your eyes again.

“Yeah,” he replied, taking his time with the answer. “I think we can.”

“Oh, don’t do that.” You groaned, leaning your head on the locker. 

He blinked with exaggerated innocence. “Do what?”

“You know exactly what.”

A fake gasp escaped him as he pressed a hand dramatically against his chest.

“Excuse me?” he said, sounding thoroughly offended. “You’re the one looking me up and down.”

A flush crept up your neck as you ripped yourself upright. “I was not.” 

He just stood there, crooked smile still on his face. “Whatever makes you feel better.” 

You could feel his gaze on you, even as you attempted to gather your belongings. 

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” he asked, laughing again.

“Looking at me like you’ve seen me naked.” You seethe out, throwing the bag over your shoulder. 

“Oh,” he replied with entirely too much satisfaction. “But I have.”

A groan escaped you as you dragged a hand down your face. “We can’t do this. Seriously, no one on the squad can find out. It was just one night. Besides, we agreed it was nothing serious. We’re adults. Adults have one-night stands all the time.”

“Agreed.” He says, and you can’t find it in yourself to believe him with that smirk still beaming. 

“I just don’t want it to complicate the mission.” You settled on, “We need to be able to work together.”

Bradley studied you for a moment before nodding, the teasing still lingering in his eyes even if he chose not to push any further.

”I agreed, Shadow.”

He let your callsign roll easily off his tongue, smiling as though he’d been waiting all day for an excuse to use it. Something about hearing it from his lips made your stomach do an annoyingly noticeable little flip. The same lips that- yeah, you needed to leave. 

“Goodbye, Rooster.” 

You didn’t need to turn to know that he watched you leave, each sway of your hips intentional as you slammed the door behind you. 

The weeks that followed were on such a tight schedule you hardly had time to think about that fateful night. Training began before sunrise and rarely ended before dusk, each day blending seamlessly into the next as Maverick pushed the squad harder than any of them thought possible. Your chest ached at the end of each night, G’s making your lungs ache on the walk back to your car. Tensions were high as Rooster and Hangman competed against each other for the wing leader spot. 

You knew it would be Bradley; there wasn’t a doubt in your mind. The mission suggestion was all but written up the moment Hangman left you in the air over a dozen times in the first round of simulations. He was a good pilot, a fearless one, but he would get everyone killed, and you knew Maverick knew it too. 

Even with this, the squad slowly started to become your family. Bob and Phoenix were impossible not to like, and before long the four of you had fallen into an easy rhythm of grabbing late-night dinners after training or ending particularly brutal days at the Hard Deck, trading stories over greasy burgers and pitchers of beer while Payback and Fanboy argued over pool in the background. Even Hangman and Coyote occasionally wandered over to stir the pot before inevitably insulting Bradley enough to start another dick measuring contest, as you and Phoenix called it.

“They’re measuring again.” She’d whistle with a shiver of disgust from where she sat beside you.

You’d roll your eyes, “Should we bring out the rulers, boys?”

“Yeah, you’d like that, huh, Shadow?” Hangman would smirk, sending a filthy wink your way.

Bradley’s jaw would clench at that, before his Rooster persona was back on. “I think we all know I’d win, right Shadow?”

You’d roll your eyes and gulp down the rest of your beer, pretending like your heart wasn’t racing.

You got to know Bradley, the real Bradley Bradshaw that was behind the cloak of Rooster. He talked about growing, about his mother, about Goose, though those conversations came much later and only after the bar had emptied. He told you about how he puked the first time he took Gs, and you exchanged deployment horror stories. You learned about his friendship with Phoenix and his ongoing feud with Hangman, and how it all started years back

The first time someone convinced him to climb onto the piano for you at the Hard Deck, you laughed so hard you nearly slid right out of the booth. Phoenix caught your arm before gravity could finish the job, shaking her head as Bradley belted out Great Balls of Fire with absolutely no shame. He was in his element, and it looked good on him. Almost too good.

You’d catch yourself staring at him a little too much, letting your mind wander to places they shouldn’t go. During lessons, you’d find yourself watching his back, your eyes lingering on the scar on his chin, or the curl that always escaped out of his helmet when he showed up to practice with damp hair. 

Flying with him was a different ballpark, so different from being with him in between the sheets. It was almost more intimate, getting to know someone so quickly and so deeply. You knew when he was about to push a maneuver harder than planned because his breathing changed just enough over the comms for you to hear it. He learned you always checked high before low, that you favored patience over impulse, and that whenever you said, “I’ve got you, Rooster,” he never had to look twice to know you meant it. 

You matched his speed within fractions of a knot, mirrored every bank and climbed until it felt less like two aircraft carving through the sky and more like a single thought split between two cockpits. Thousands of pounds of steel and miles of open air separated you, yet somehow you became more aware of him there than you ever had been standing inches apart.

But amidst the camaraderie amongst some of the dagger squad, tensions were growing higher on the flight deck, after yet another failed simulation. Even on Bradley’s six, practically touching his jet while targets were acquired, you were still too slow. It was too risky; there was still too much room for error.  The tactical debrief felt suffocating. Maverick’s face was pressed into a hard frown as he looked at each of you, disappointment etched into his features. 

“Why are you dead?” He started, shooting daggers into Bradley, “You’re team leader up there, why are you dead? Why is your team dead?” 

Phoenix breathed out, frustration rolling off of her shoulders, “Sir, they’re the only ones who made it to target.” 

“A minute late. He gave the Enemy aircraft time to shoot him and his wingman down,” Maverick said, making Bradley tense from where he was sitting next to you. “They’re still dead.” 

“You don’t know that-“ 

“You’re not flying fast enough,” Hangman interjected. “You don’t have a second to waste.”

”We made it to the target.” 

“And superior enemy planes intercepted you on your way out.”  The room went still again. 

Bradley shrugged, ”Then it’s a dogfight-“

”Against fifth-generation fighters.” The vein in Maverick’s neck is protruding, his eyes locked on Bradley's. 

You couldn’t just sit there and let him take the brunt of this, so you clear your throat, “We’d still have a chance.” 

There’s a brief silence; you can feel Bradley’s appreciation as he shifts in his seat. “If we got intercepted, they’d think there’s only one. We have the element of surprise, and with Rooster up there and me-“

”In F-18s?”

Bradley shakes his head, ”It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot-“

”Exactly.”

Maverick's words make the tension in the room climb until it feels impossible to breathe normally. You slowly leaned back into your chair, watching the exchange unfold with a tightness in your chest. You knew there was history there, short clipped words from Bradley and the way Maverick watched him like a hawk. It wasn’t your place to pry, so you didn’t. 

“There’s more than one way to fly this mission, sir.”

All eyes turn to Hangman as he scoffs,  “You really don’t get it. On this mission, a man flies like Maverick here or a man doesn’t come back.” He takes his time to gaze over at Phoenix, then to you with an arrogant look on his face. “No offense intended.”

You’re ready to bite back before Bob leans forward in his seat, “Yet somehow you always manage.”

”I don’t mean to criticize. You’re conservative is all.”

Not even Maverick’s interjections get Hangman to stop the tirade he’s dead set on continuing. 

“We’re going into combat, son. On a level no living pilot has ever seen. Not even him. It’s no time to be letting the past hold you back-“

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bradley cuts him off, his body shifting to lock eyes with the man. 

Hangman looks around the room, waiting. This is what he was waiting for, his grand finale and final show off to drop the bombshell he’d be clinging onto for just the right moment. 

“I can’t be the only one who knows that Maverick flew with his old man?” And there it is. You heard Bradley’s stories; his dad died flying. He never said anything special, and you didn’t pry. 

“Or that Maverick was flying when your old man-“ 

Maverick’s attempts at settling the peace fall on deaf ears; it all happens so fast. Before Hangman can even get all of the words out, Rooster is leaping from his seat, heading straight towards the blonde. He grabs his collar, and it’s chaos from there. You follow, slipping in between the two men as hands pull them back from each other. The entire class now stood, separating them as best they could. 

“You son of a bitch-“ 

Everyone was yelling, spit flying as you pressed your palms into Bradley’s chest. His arms were being held back by Bob and Phoenix, as you tried to push him away.

“Bradley,” You tried to redirect his attention, “Bradley, he’s not worth it. I promise he’s not worth it.” 

His eyes, full of fury, met yours and couldn’t help but soften just the slightest bit. Unfortunately for you, this moment was not in isolation. It wasn’t a gentle moment in the hanger, or the corner of Hard Deck, or in the locker room. This subtle display of knowing was out in the open for everyone with eyes to see. And Hangman? He was one of the most observant people you’ve ever met, and you hated it about him. 

Once things were settled, they let Hangman loose, but with a glance towards Bob and Phoenix, you made sure they didn’t do the same for Bradley. You could feel his heart beating wildly underneath your palms; he wasn’t thinking clearly. The moment he was free, he’d do something to jeopardize this mission and his career.

“You’re dismissed.” Maverick’s voice booms through the crowd, but everyone’s adrenaline is still pumping. 

“He doesn’t have what it takes,” Hangman looks to Maverick, “You know I’m right.”

Then his gaze is on you, your body still pressed against Bradley’s as he writhes, wanting nothing more than to land a punch to the side of the cocky man’s face. He goes to leave, but waits until he’s all but nose to nose with Bradley before saying his final remarks.

“Wow, Bradshaw.”

The room immediately shifted, everyone preparing for yet another fight to break out. 

“You know, I knew you wanted it bad,” Hangman continued, his eyes flickering between the two of you. “I just didn’t realize you wanted it that bad.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone, not as eyes filtered amongst the crowd. Another revelation made. It sounded like everything was underwater when you turned, your body jerking harshly. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You snap, before you feel an arm wrapped around your waist. Somehow Bradley has freed himself from their grips, and used it to pull you back. This action itself seemed to all but confirm his suspicions. When Hangman clicked his tongue. 

“Watch it,” Bradley warned, tensions rising all over again. 

“I said you’re dismissed,” Maverick yelled once again. 

Bradley’s grip loosened, but he didn’t let go immediately. His eyes flickered toward Hangman, who was already walking away, then back to you. He gave you the smallest shake of his head; it wasn’t worth it. You swallowed the anger building in your throat, watching Hangman disappear through the doorway.

You stepped out of Bradley’s grip as if it burned you, walking back to your seat as the crowd slowly dispersed. He wanted to follow you, to talk, but he let his friends guide him gently out of the room while you lingered back. When the final pilot walked through the door, Maverick cleared his throat. 

“I didn’t know you knew Bradshaw.” He said, his arms leaning against the table. 

You scoffed, “Yeah? I didn’t know you did either.” 

“Fraternization code of conduct states-“ 

“Don’t quote the book at me,” you snapped, the words leaving your mouth before you had the chance to temper them. The silence that followed made you immediately regret the tone. You straightened in your chair, rubbing a tired hand over your forehead. “Sir.”

He was quiet, waiting for an explanation. 

“We met the day I got back; I didn’t know anything besides his name.” It felt ridiculous admitting this to your superior. “We’re not in a relationship. We’re the same rank, and he’s not my superior nor am I his. And when I advocated for him to be strike lead…” You shook your head. “That had nothing to do with the fact that I know him. I’d have said the same thing if we’d never met outside of work.” Your voice softened, conviction replacing frustration. “He’s a damn good pilot, Maverick. You know this.” 

The room was quiet again. You looked at him expectantly.

“Your turn.”

That’s how you ended up here, seated outside on the beach in front of Hard Deck. Your feet in the warm sand, with a jacket thrown over your shoulders. Maverick told you everything, from pulling Goose out of the water to pulling Bradley’s papers. It weighed heavily on you to know Bradley had so much riding on this mission. 

You were being lulled by the sound of the waves crashing against the shore before a voice spoke up from behind you. 

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Bradley spoke up, slowly creeping up until he was sitting next to you. 

 You smiled softly at him, “Penny rat me out?” 

“Not to brag,” He whispered with a chuckle, “But I think I’m her favorite.” 

You were glad he was feeling better, especially after the events earlier. You wanted to hear his laugh, and that scared you. All of it scared you, whether you’d be willing to admit it out loud or not. The mission stakes, the way your chest felt when you looked at Bradley, the unknowing of the future. 

“How are you feeling?” You turn to look at him, as he rests his arms on his knees. 

“More level-headed,” he admitted, rubbing absentmindedly at the scrape across his knuckles. You don’t ask how he got it. “Still pissed.”

“I figured.”

“I hate that he got to you.”

You turn in confusion, “Hm?” 

He sighed, still watching the water.

“I don’t care what he says about me.” He paused, swallowing hard enough for you to notice. “My d-dad…” His voice caught just enough to betray him before he found it again. “That’s different.”

There wasn’t any bravado behind it, no attempt to shrug it off with a joke the way he usually did. It was simply the truth. You thought back to everything Maverick had told you only an hour earlier, about Goose, about Carole, about promises and guilt and thirty years of trying to protect someone while going against their own wishes. Bradley wasn’t just carrying his own expectations into this mission. He was carrying his father’s memory, his mother’s hopes, Maverick’s regret, and now the impossible responsibility of leading a team through something they weren’t expected to survive. 

He let out another slow breath before continuing. “But he went after you because he knew it’d get a reaction.” He finally looked over at you, the moonlight catching the exhaustion written across his face. “Out of both of us.”

Your chest tightened, but you shook your head almost immediately. “He didn’t get to me,” you promised. “You’re not a woman in the Navy if you let one comment about fucking your way to the top get into your head. If I threw punches every time someone assumed I was sleeping with somebody important, I would’ve been arrested years ago.” A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Besides…”

You let the pause linger just long enough. “Phoenix and I are gonna kill him.”

There it was, that laugh you’ve been aching to hear. 

“What?” He got out, his chest aching from how hard he was cackling. 

“You heard me.”

You kept your expression perfectly serious. “We’re gonna dump him somewhere off the eastern seaboard. Phoenix’s idea. Bob volunteered to be lookout.”

He laughed- oh, he laughed loud enough to echo over the surf, shoulders shaking as he doubled over slightly. The sound settled somewhere deep in your chest, warming places you hadn’t realized had gone cold, and you caught yourself smiling long before you meant to. It’s infectious, and you’re both laughing off the horrors of today until your sides hurt. 

You brush your shoulder with his playfully, but he keeps your shoulders touching before you could pull away. 

After you both catch your breath, he leans in a little closer, a more serious look washing over him. “I want you to know, Hangman is wrong.” 

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole.” 

“No, I mean…” He looked away again, watching the tide for a second before gathering the courage to continue. “I know we didn’t know each other before that night, but I never once did anything with the intention of you helping me get strike leader.”

You nod quietly, but let him continue. 

“I mean…” He laughed awkwardly at himself. “Obviously, having the best recon pilot in the Navy watching my six doesn’t exactly hurt my odds, but…” His voice trailed off as he searched for words that didn’t seem to come naturally. “I’d have been sitting out here talking to you anyway, despite it all.” 

“You know, Bradley, much to my dismay, or my attempts to not,” You trailed off, letting your knees knock into each other, “I happen to like you.” 

“You sure know how to sweet-talk a man.” He chided, making you fully press your shoulder into his a little more. 

“Just,” You sighed, fingernails picking at a thread on your shorts, “Wish we met in different circumstances.”

He nodded, “You gonna give me some spiel about how the Navy comes first? 

You let out a quiet laugh. “Why? Is that the same speech you’ve been giving women for years?”

He snorted, shaking his head, before looking back out toward the horizon. “I’d be lying if I said the Navy doesn’t come first. It has to. It always will, at least while I’m wearing the uniform.” He paused, drawing a slow line through the sand with the heel of his boot. “But I think that’s what makes this so frustrating.”

”When I told you I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I wasn’t lying.” You started, “I mean, you know how it is. It’s impossible to date, to do anything in our lives. But, I don’t know. This feels different, and it’s scary.” 

“You were the first person I’d slept with in over a year.” He admits, a small, almost embarrassed smile on his lips, “I don’t know if you know this, but there aren’t a lot of women on naval bases.” 

A toothy grin pulls at your lips, “You were mine, too.” 

There’s a silent lull between the two of you, shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the ocean and quietly mourning a life you didn’t have. One where meeting someone didn’t come with a countdown clock attached. One where you could go on dates without wondering if either of you would be shipped away. One where liking someone didn’t immediately come with the terrifying realization that the thing you wanted most was also the thing that could hurt the most. 

That wasn’t the life you had. Right now you couldn’t focus on anything else but the mission. A mission that had a timeline, one that was closing in faster than either of you wanted to admit.

“Maybe in another life I would have met you and asked you out on an actual date first,” He whispers. “Maybe in another life we could give it a try, instead of worrying if we’re gonna go down in a fiery blaze.” 

“Hey,” You poke his chest, “That’s not funny.” 

“Just so you know…” His voice softened. “I like you too.”

You smiled sadly, leaning into him on purpose this time. His arms came around you, pulling you into him as you watched the sun set over the California skyline. 

 The route that had just become muscle memory, the terrain etched into everyone’s minds through countless simulations and live runs, had been changed. Dogfighting was expected; squads were exhausted.  Somewhere between all the infighting, the squad slowly stopped feeling like a group of strangers thrown together by circumstance and started resembling an actual team. Maybe this had something to do with Maverick’s football day, which was a day you spent grateful for sunglasses as you got to ogle a very sweaty, very fit Bradley running underneath the hot sun.

He knew it too, as you had dropped the ball (literally) quite a few times in distraction. This is why when he slung his sweaty bare arm over your shoulder, you couldn’t even deny the accusation.

”Am I distracting you, Shadow?” He asks, sweating all over you while the boys yelled for him to stop flirting and rejoin the game. 

“Shut up.”

”You’re not being very subtle, Bradshaw.” 

“Never said I was trying to be,” he grinned, and you could envision his sparkly eyes behind those aviators. “At least now you can ogle me in my flight suit without shame.” 

“That would imply I had shame in the first place.” You smirk, slinking your fingers together with his. He took your hand in his, making your heart soar until he turned it against you, pulling you against him. 

“Bradley, Bradley, put me down!-“ 

Bradley carried you halfway across the sand before tossing you into the water, and the second you surfaced, laughing and wiping salt from your face, you knew you would remember that moment forever.

It was a good day. A really good day, followed by a very bad one. You sat there with Bradley’s hand wrapped tightly in yours while you waited to hear if Phoenix and Bob were okay. The uncertainty was unbearable, the silence between updates stretching longer than it should have. For someone who had spent years flying into dangerous situations, waiting on the ground had always been the hardest part.

When the news finally came that they were alive, that they were okay, it felt like a fifty-pound weight had been lifted from your chest. You left him and Maverick with a swift kiss to Bradley’s forehead, pretending you didn’t hear the screaming down the hallway.

The days were coming faster, deadlines were pushed, and before all of you knew it was the day of. You boarded the carrier with the rest of the team, the ocean stretching endlessly around you as the ship carried all of you closer to the mission. Your bag was dropped into the barracks beside Phoenix’s room. You were as ready as you were going to be. 

Pre-flight checks, mission debriefs, medical evaluations, and more were all a blur as you walked through it on autopilot. No one ever talks about the mental strength it takes to know you have to pull off not one, but two miracles to bring all of your friends home and complete the mission. You looked around at the group of people you had grown to love, even Hangman, and felt a painful stab in your chest as you all said your good nights after dinner. Hangman didn’t even make a single joke about it being the last supper; the tension surrounding everyone was different; this was real. 

You couldn’t sleep. You were almost positive nobody else could either.

The carrier had gone quiet hours ago. The steady hum of the ship beneath you should have been comforting, something familiar after years of deployments and long nights spent away from home, but tonight every vibration felt like a reminder.

You had flown dangerous missions before. You had stared down impossible odds and climbed into aircraft knowing there was a chance you wouldn’t climb back out. You had trained for this. Prepared for this. Studied every inch of the terrain until you could probably fly the route with your eyes closed.

But you’ve never flown a dangerous mission with people you considered family.  Especially not with someone you may have been in love with. 

Eventually, exhaustion started to win. Your thoughts blurred at the edges, your body finally beginning to surrender to the need for sleep when a knock echoed against your door.

You were awake instantly. For a second you didn’t move, hoping maybe you had imagined it. Then it came again, even more frantic than before. You pushed yourself out of bed with a quiet groan, dragging a hand over your face as you crossed the small space of your bunk.

“Seriously?” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your eyes as you reached for the door.

You swung it open harshly, “W-what?”

Then you saw him. Bradley stood there looking anything but tired. His hair was messy, his breathing uneven, and there was a nervous energy radiating off him that you had rarely seen. This was the same man who could fly straight into enemy territory without hesitation, who could stare down Maverick during a debrief and argue his point until everyone else backed down.

But standing outside your room in the middle of the night? He looked terrified.

“Bradley?”

“I can’t.”

The words came out immediately, almost like he had been holding them in the entire walk over.

He took a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can’t sleep.”

You stared at him, your exhaustion slowly fading as you realized just how serious he was.

“I can’t go to sleep,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I can’t go into tomorrow without doing this.”

Before you could even respond, his lips were on yours. You kissed him back before you could think about it, your fingers finding the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself through him was the only thing keeping you steady.

Everything else faded away as you pulled him into your room, the door slamming shut. Nothing else mattered, not when you pulled him into your twin-sized bed. His body on top of yours, kissing you as he’d never get the chance to again. He took his time, kissing every inch of your skin he could and prying the sweetest noises out of your mouth. 

He made love to you, pushing into you with a cry of your name. Then, he fucked you like it was his last night on earth, because it might have been. You fell apart underneath him over and over until you could barely keep your eyes open anymore.

The morning came almost violently, the alarm blaring in your ears as you snuggled into Bradley’s chest. You would do anything to turn it off, to get just a few more minutes in his arms.

“Hey...” He whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. 

You sighed, burrowing yourself into him. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” He coaxed you out of bed. “I gotta be on the other side of the boat in like 20 mins, and I don’t think Nyx would appreciate me in the girls' shower.” 

“But I would.” You grumble, helping throw him his clothes as the two of you readied yourselves for the day as much as you could. 

He could see the faraway look in your eyes as you watched him leave. “Hey, it’s all gonna be fine.” He said with a kiss, “I’ll see you out there.” 

All you could do was nod to keep your emotions in check. You wanted to believe him; you really did. You and Phoenix helped each other get ready, fixing loose strands of hair, adjusting collars, checking straps, making sure every piece of gear was exactly where it needed to be.

There was comfort in the routine, familiarity in the way you two moved around each other. In knowing that even when everything else felt uncertain, there were still things you could control.

Phoenix zipped up your flight suit while you helped fix the collar sitting crooked around her neck. Neither of you said much; there wasn’t much to say. 

When you went to meet the squad on the runway, it smelled like sea salt and jet fuel, the early morning fog rising off the side of the boat. Everything was a blur of adrenaline and verbal checks with command until the clock ticked. 

Bradley’s met yours on the way to your jets, soft and almost heart-wrenching as you clutch your helmet to your side. 

“Don’t do that,” You yell out. Even with the sounds of jet engines and water rushing against the side of the carrier, you know he can hear you. 

He raises a brow. “Do what?” 

A sense of déjà vu hits your chest, making you smile despite yourself. “You know exactly what.” 

He walks a little closer, and up close you can see it on his face. “Y/n-“

”Stop.” You cut him off, making him pause. ”Stop looking at me like you’re never gonna see me again.”  

“I’m not-“ Before he has a chance to continue, you keep talking, “Because you will, Bradley. Up there.” 

You point to the sky, a small smile on his face despite the nerves wracking his body. 

“I got your back, Y/n.” He promises, as the boat horns signal you all to head to your jets. 

“I got yours.” 

Settling into your cockpit always feels like coming home after a long day; you know the ins and outs of this jet like the back of your hand. The mission objective has been drilled into your head. All the information you’ve sent to higher-ups, all the sleepless nights this is what it has all led to. Now that you were here, you could feel your stomach twisting with anxiety and something else as you watched Bradley’s plane race ahead of yours on the jetway. 

When you’ve served as long as you have, or flown as many hours, sometimes it all blurs together. Your body was on autopilot; the only thing running through your mind is the checklist of everything needed for you all to make it out of this alive. 

In moments of extreme stress, the body has a way of protecting itself. It narrows your focus until there is nothing else left. No fear. No doubt. No room to think about the fact that the person flying in front of you is someone you had kissed goodbye only hours ago, someone whose hand you had held in the dark while both of you pretended tomorrow wasn’t coming. From the moment your thumb hit the countdown clock, everything became a blur of commands and instinct.

You became one with your jet, every adjustment made without hesitation, every maneuver calculated by muscle memory alone. Bradley’s aircraft stayed directly next to you, close enough that you could track every movement, close enough that you could trust him to be exactly where he needed to be.

For a moment, it almost felt easy. The first miracle happened. The second happened by the scrap of your fucking teeth. And ironically, you think that was the easy part.

Ten Gs slammed into your chest, the pressure crushing down on you until your lungs felt like they were filled with tar. Your body fought against the weight, every muscle straining as you forced yourself to keep breathing, forced yourself to stay conscious, forced yourself to keep flying.

You pulled up hard, coming alongside Bradley just as the belly of his jet skimmed dangerously close to the snow-covered rocks below. The wings of your aircraft passed close enough to each other that for a split second you could feel the danger of it, the razor-thin margin between control and disaster.

“Now get out of there.” Cyclone’s voice crackled through your headset, and suddenly the entire weight of the world was back on your chest. 

The moment you came back to, alarms were blaring, smoke was flying, and SAMS were practically everywhere. You were all fighting for your lives. It was your turn to dodge and weave, firing countermeasures, trying your best to outmaneuver the agile missiles. 

“Rooster,” You called, hearing nothing but silence as you watched his jet drop slightly, “Don’t go into G-LOC on me.”

Bradley gasps for breath as his vision returns, brought back by the sound of your voice, then the symphony of alarms blaring in his ears. This is the dogfight you all knew would happen; here it was. 

“Shit. They’re everywhere.” You’d never been so thankful to hear his voice. 

Payback cut in fast, “Get low, get low.” 

Another alarm screamed.

Your eyes snapped toward the warning display just as another missile locked on. You reacted before thinking, firing your own countermeasure and watching the missile veer away from its path. The maneuver forced you to break away, your aircraft pulling in the opposite direction as you avoided the impact.

For a few terrifying seconds, you and Bradley weren’t flying side by side anymore.

“Fuck,” You seethe, “Can barely fucking see. Rooster, 3 o’clock.”

Then chills fill your bloodstream when he speaks, “I’m out of flares.” 

You turn back, and you can see the missile coming straight towards him. A scream leaves your throat as you drop your throttle, an attempt to help even if it’s fruitless. You can’t watch him die; you won’t, and then suddenly Maverick’s in the direct line of the missile. Maverick releases flares, but he’s too late. And he knows it. You all know it.

The missile hits Maverick’s engine. A fireball shreds his engine; all you can do is fly from above, watching him fall. Your stomach is in knots, and if you had eaten anything this morning, it would have been thrown up all over your cockpit; you’re sure of it. 

You can barely hear Phoenix call it, “I repeat, Dagger 1 is hit. He’s going down.”

You feel the tears filling your eyes as you dive below the SAM radar once again; the absence of the alarms had never felt so loud in your life. 

“Dagger 1. Status. Has anyone seen him? I didn’t see a chute.” Bradley asks, and the denial in his voice makes you stifle back a sob.

Payback speaks, “He’s gone, Rooster.”

“W-we have to circle back,” Bradley says, and you watch his hesitation as you all get back into formation.

”Dagger, you are not to engage. Repeat, do not engage.” Comms says, but you can see it. In the way he’s flying, you press your jet feet away from his, just enough to see him through his canopy. 

“Dagger Two. Return to carrier.” Another order came through your headset, louder this time. “Acknowledge.”

“Rooster, those bandits are closing,” Phoenix’s voice cut through the static, steadier than anyone felt. “We cannot go back.”

“Dagger, Comanche, bandits thirty east.”

“Rooster,” you breathed, your voice cracking despite every effort to keep it level. “He’s gone. We have to go.” You eased your jet closer, slipping into position just long enough to look through the glass. You needed one last chance to pull him back. His helmet turned ever so slightly, and through layers of plexiglass, oxygen masks, and the roar of two engines pushing to their limits, your eyes met, yours pleading. 

Please don’t leave me too. Please. 

His shoulders barely moved as he took one slow breath.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he says before he circles and falls back hard. 

“Bradley, Bradley,” You kept calling his name, your voice growing louder with every desperate attempt to reach him, but the distance only widened.

 His aircraft became smaller and smaller, swallowed by mountains, smoke, and cloud until there was nothing left to look at except the empty patch of sky where he’d been flying only seconds before. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself when the explosion bloomed against the horizon. You didn’t flinch. 

Enemy aircraft were already closing the gap, warning tones screaming relentlessly through your headset as instinct forced your hands to keep flying while your heart shattered somewhere miles behind you.

“Dagger Two is hit,” someone called over the radio, their voice tight with disbelief. “I repeat, Dagger Two is hit.”

Your hands trembled violently around the throttle, every muscle in your arms threatening to give out as the fireball reflected faintly across the glass of your canopy. You wanted to turn around. Every part of your body fought the training that had been drilled into you for years. You wanted to dive after him, to ignore Cyclone, ignore the mission, ignore the four other pilots depending on you and find whatever was left. Instead, you shoved the throttle forward and forced yourself to stay in formation, tears blurring your vision.

You couldn’t look back.

You knew if you looked back, you wouldn’t stop. And it wouldn’t help the rest of your friends get home.

So you stared ahead while your mind betrayed you, replaying the night before in cruel, perfect clarity. The feel of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. His fingers lazily tracing circles across your back as the carrier rocked gently beneath you. The warmth of his voice in the darkness, his sweat-lined skin pressed against your own. 

“When all this is over,” He hummed, your sweaty bodies still panting as you draped yourself across his chest, “I’m gonna take you to get a real burger.”

You jokingly moaned, “God, you sure know how to sweet-talk a lady.” 

“M’serious.” He shifted, cupping his face in yours. “You deserve an actual date. Something casual because I know you hate that fancy shit, but something worthy of you. Something that makes you happy.” 

“You make me happy. Happier than I thought I could be.” You whispered, your cheeks grinning against his hold as he pulled you back in for another kiss. 

Your jet hit the deck harder than it ever had before, the violent impact ripping you out of the memory so abruptly your entire body lurched forward against the restraints. You can’t speak, you can’t think, you can barely breathe. The canopy was barely clear before you were forcing it open, stumbling out onto the deck so quickly you nearly missed the ladder altogether. 

Someone was shouting your callsign. Someone else barked an order for you to stay put. You heard none of it. All you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat and the echo of Bradley’s voice repeating I’m sorry over and over until it drowned out everything else. Your boots slammed against the concrete as you ran, weaving through deck crew and mechanics. Every step hurt, your lungs burned from the G-forces, your legs threatened to give out beneath you, but you kept running until Dagger Spare came into view.

You hauled yourself onto the boarding steps of Jake’s jet. It wasn’t until you grabbed onto the side of his cockpit that you realized your helmet was gone. You didn’t remember taking it off. You didn’t remember throwing it aside. Somewhere between the landing and the sprint across the flight deck, it had simply ceased to exist. None of it mattered. 

Jake nearly jumped at the sight of you. His eyes widened beneath the visor as he took in your face, your shaking hands, the tears you hadn’t even realized were falling.

“Shadow-”

“If they call…” Your voice cracked so badly you barely recognized it as your own. You tried again, forcing the words out through a throat that felt like it was closing. “If there’s anything… if anybody hears anything…” You swallowed hard, your chest heaving. “You have to go. You have to save him.”

Someone behind you shouted your name again, louder this time, and you flinched so violently it startled even you.

“They’re not gonna let me fly,” you whispered, panic spilling out faster than you could stop it. “They’re gonna ground me.” You grabbed the edge of his cockpit so tightly your knuckles turned white. “I’m trusting you. If there’s any chance he’s alive… any chance at all…”

He looks at you, a soft mist over his pale blue eyes. “I promise, Y/n.” 

You turn with a curt nod, seeing Phoenix following alongside Hondo. The second you reached her, whatever strength had been holding you upright disappeared. You collapsed into her arms without a word, burying your face against her shoulder as sobs finally tore free from your chest. She held onto you just as tightly, her own tears soaking through your flight suit while your hands clung desperately to the fabric at her back.

”I never even got the chance to love him, Nyx.” You sobbed. 

“You did, you do.” She whimpered, “He knew, he knew, Y/n.” 

The minutes that followed blurred together in a haze of adrenaline wearing off and grief settling in. Someone draped a blanket over your shoulders. Medics came in to poke and prod, protocol, but Bob told them to give you a minute. He slid juice boxes over to where you and Phoenix were curled into each other on the couch; you thanked him for very politely telling them to fuck off. 

Then it was just what remained of the Dagger squad wallowing in what should have been a successful mission on paper. 

After what felt like an eternity, Mickey finally broke the silence.

“Why did he do that?”

No one answered immediately.

Phoenix sniffled beside you, still absentmindedly combing her fingers through the hair that had fallen loose from your bun sometime during the mission.

“Because it’s Bradley.” She whispered, “He would’ve done the same for any of us.” 

You squeezed her hand harder, willing the tears away. 

The silence settled over the room again, heavier this time. Bob sat with his head buried in his hands, absently pressing buttons on an old phone that lay on a table for decoration. Reuben had somehow acquired a handheld radio that you were fairly certain belonged to someone much higher ranking; the speaker pressed tightly against his ear while he listened to every transmission coming through.

No one paid him much attention until he suddenly sat forward.

“Overwatch is reporting signs of a jet on course for our position.”

“Fighters?” You sniffle, Phoenix's hands stilling from where they were combing through the hair that had freed itself from your bun. 

“In a F-14 Military piece?” He asked, a spark lit underneath all of you at the realization. 

You sit up, almost immediately 

“What?” 

“How the fuck did they get an F-14 in the air?” 

“You’re joking.”

Reuben cuts off everyone’s questions, waving his hands to silence you all. 

“Rooster’s ESAT is back online. It’s them.” He whispered, before his voice got louder, “It’s fucking them!”

You didn’t realize you were crying again until Phoenix grabbed both sides of your face.

“They’re alive,” she repeated, her own voice cracking around a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Did you hear him? They’re alive.”

The breath you pulled into your lungs was the first real one you’d taken since watching Bradley disappear beneath the smoke. Your knees buckled so suddenly that Bob was beside you before you could hit the floor, steadying you by the elbows while Phoenix held onto your shoulders. Relief crashed through your body so violently it almost hurt. Your chest ached. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Every muscle that had been locked tight since the mission finally gave out all at once, the adrenaline crashing in waves. 

“Oh my God,” you whispered, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “Oh, my God.”

The room erupted around you.

Mickey let out a disbelieving laugh, throwing both hands over his face before turning in a slow circle as if he had too much adrenaline to contain. He tackled Rueben into a hug that nearly sent the radio skidding across the floor. Bob was jumping up and down, his arms still on both of his girls. 

All of you migrated toward the observation windows overlooking the flight deck, the radio turned up as loud as it would go. Every transmission made your stomach knot tighter, your heart in your throat as they sent Dagger Spare up in defense. 

You watched nothing but the open ocean through the windows, while your nails dug crescent moons into your palms as your heart threatened to beat itself out of your chest. Phoenix reached for your hand without saying a word, your fingers intertwining so tightly they almost hurt. 

“Foul deck, foul deck, raise the barricades. Maverick and Rooster landing.”

You were already running before the call had finished, shoving through the doorway with the rest of the squad close behind. Boots thundered against the metal stairs as all of you raced toward the flight deck, your lungs burning from the sprint, your heartbeat somehow louder than the alarms and engines surrounding you.

The jet was beat up and smoking, crew swarming around to put out the fire as the canopy slowly lifted open. He looked exhausted beyond anything you’d ever seen, his flight suit streaked with soot and grease, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his movements slower than usual as he climbed onto the wing. He was filthy. 

Someone shouted something behind you, but it dissolved into meaningless noise as your feet carried you forward before your brain had the chance to think. You shoved through deck crew, through sailors, through officers, your eyes never leaving him for even a second.

There was no chance to think before you were in front of him. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into that impossibly familiar grin, tired and crooked and overflowing with relief the second your eyes met his. It was the same smile that had greeted you that night at Hard Deck, the same one that had become so easy to find across briefing rooms and cockpits and late nights.

”You asshole!” you yelled, shoving both hands against Bradley’s chest hard enough to make him stumble half a step. “You almost got yourself killed!”

The words had barely left your mouth before his hands were on either side of your face, calloused palms warm against your flushed skin as he pulled you into him.

The kiss was anything but gentle.

It was frantic and relieved, weeks of burning tension and memories of last night poured into it. Around you, the crowd erupted into cheers, but it all dissolved into background noise the second his lips found yours. You melted into him despite every intention of staying angry, catching the unmistakable pull of a smile against his mouth as though he already knew exactly how this was going to end.

When you finally drew back, your forehead rested against his for a moment, both of you laughing quietly as you caught your breath.

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered, trying and failing to sound convincing. “Don’t think that gets you out of it.”

“I know.” His thumbs brushed lightly over your cheeks, his eyes searching yours with a sincerity that made your heart ache. “So let me make it up to you.”

”You finally gonna let me fuck you in the flight suit?” 

Bradley’s eyes went comically wide, instinctively pulling you a little closer, the roar of the crowd around you swallowing your words before anyone else had a chance to hear them.

“No,” he blurted, before immediately catching himself. “I mean-yes. Eventually. Absolutely, but that’s not what I meant.” He laughed, sweat dripping from his brow. “Let me take you out. On a proper date, give me a chance to ask you to be mine.” 

“But you said-“ 

“Oh, fuck it. Fuck all the reservations we both had.” He smiles, and it’s so wide it looks just like heaven. “I almost died, and all I could think about was how I regret never getting a chance to call you mine.” 

His eyes sparkled as you nodded, so quickly you were afraid you’d get whiplash. 

“Bradley. I’d love to be yours.” 

You shook your head but met his gaze with a small frown now turning your lips down. "Are you cold? You can share my blanket with me. It's plenty big enough for two."

"Now this is an honor. Didn't think you shared your blanket with anyone."

"Oh, ha ha, get under here before I change my mind," you retorted, holding up an edge for him to take and slide closer to you. All too soon, your warmth grew tenfold with his body further pressed against you under the plush fleece of your blanket. "Better?"

"Much. Thanks."

The two of you settled back into the comfortable silence you'd been enjoying earlier. Occasionally, you would point out something for him to check out, but words weren't needed. He just had a knack for picking up on what you were trying to tell him. It went both ways really as he'd do the same, too, with you, knowing you'd figure out his meaning as well.

It was only as the first shooting stars streaked across the sky that Bradley finally murmured, "I got tapped for that mission."

He didn't need to explain what mission. Not at that point. It'd been something he'd told you about after his first days back at TOP GUN. Being tapped for it meant that he might not be coming back. All those tapped potentially faced the same fate. The casualty rate had been that high, but his command deemed this a necessary mission nevertheless.

It would seem this could be your last night with him.

You weren't about to waste it.

With the next shooting star, you mouthed, Please bring him back to me safely.

You had no idea he was wishing almost the same thing. His gaze never left yours though he mouthed the words alongside yours.

The arm he'd had resting across your middle tightened, tugging you closer to his side.

Neither of you could know what the future held, but you had this moment.

It wasn't going to be wasted.

Sadly, the day JAG found him guilty and sent him to prison was the same day you served him divorce papers. He'd become a man you didn't know anymore, and for your sake, couldn't keep yourself tied to.

Unlike your ex, his friends at TOP GUN didn't abandon you.

Even after their class graduated and became reassigned where the Navy needed the most, they did their best to keep in touch.

"Hey, girl, long time, no see," Phoenix said with a wide grin as she slid onto a bar stool. "Didn't know you ended up here, but you look good."

You grinned right back at her. "Thanks. I'm feeling really good. Penny's a great boss, and the customers are pretty decent."

Further commotion soon pulled yours and Phoenix's attention towards the doorway.

Phoenix sighed. "Well, they really invited everyone, didn't they?"

You bit back a chuckle as she continued to eye up one Jake Seresin, aka Hangman. "He's not that bad once you get to know him."

"Oh, he's not so bad with civilians," she agreed, then added, "but he's a showboat with us pilots. Never lets us live it down that he's had a confirmed kill compared to the rest of us. Such an ass."

That dragged a laugh from you.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think that Phoenix might have a thing for Hangman, but you did know better. It was why you kept your mouth shut.

At the same time, it didn't seem to matter because Jake had noticed you by then. His grin widened into something genuine, his steps shifting to approach the bar. "Hey, pretty lady, long time, no see."

"Hey, Jake. How it's been?"

"Much better upon seeing you." He winked at you, his grin cheekier now, which only made you roll your eyes. While at one time he might have had an effect on you, he didn't anymore. Too much like your ex if you were being honest. Well, without the committing criminal acts part anyway. Either way, you were happy to see him again, but that only extended as far as friendship. Your unimpressed demeanor had him shifting back into his gentler side as he asked, "How about you? Doing good?"

You grinned at him. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Nah, you're not good. You're the best!" Coyote said, having joined the conversation. He shot you a similar wink as Hangman had, but he followed it up by asking, "How about a round on the old man over there? Heard he screwed up with Penny. Gotta take advantage while we have the chance."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll bring them to you guys. Go and get yourselves comfortable somewhere."

As the growing group left to find an open pool table, you spared the man at the bar a sympathetic glance. He'd told you to call him Mav earlier, and he seemed nice enough. There was history between him and Penny, but you knew better than to pry into your boss's private life.

You were adding the beers to his tab when you heard a cleared throat behind you.

"One sec," you called out.

"Take your time."

Hearing that voice had you spining around. How you didn't spill anything in your haste, you'd never know, but you couldn't care at the moment. Your gaze had collided with the one you hadn't seen since the day your ex had been convicted. The shoulder you'd leaned on the most yet had lost due to his being called away, reassigned to the opposite coast to serve his country.

"Bradley," you breathed.

He offered you a shy smile while he took a moment longer to simply take you in.

"You look…" you started but the words seemed to allude you.

Instead, you took the same amount of time to take him in, soaking up the small differences between what you recalled and how he appeared at that moment. He looked good. Too good. It wasn't lost on you, either, that you'd missed him something fierce. The urge to throw yourself into his arms almost more than you could withstand.

The only thing to break the moment was Penny's hand on your shoulder. She wore a mischievous grin as she softly said, "Need a break to reunite with your friend here?"

You met her gaze before you nodded. "If you don't mind. I won't be long. Promise."

"Go! I can handle things for a couple minutes."

"Thanks, Pen."

You followed Bradley to the piano that sat between the two main rooms of the bar. He took up one side of the bench seat, patting the other for you to take, which you did.

"Coyote wasn't wrong," he said finally breaking the silence, "you really are the best."

"So are you," you countered, recalling all the nights you'd cried on his shoulder and the dinners you'd shared throughout your ex's trial. Bradley, above all the others, had been the one to be there the most. You had an inkling some of it was guilt. After all, he'd been the one to discover what your ex had been up to, almost ashamed at being the one to break your happily ever after.

Over the few minutes you had together, you garnered there was a special mission that had brought Bradley and the others back to TOP GUN. How long it would last, he couldn't tell you, but he hoped to spend more time with you. He'd missed you, it would seem, almost as much as you'd missed him. He asked for your new number, something you'd been forced to get due to your detachment from the military with your ex's dishonor.

The others kindly let you two have your moment though you could see them lurking in the background, eager to reacquaint themselves with their friend or frenemy in some cases.

"I better get back to work," you eventually said though you were loathe to leave his side. The idea that he might disappear again on you was enough to have you wishing you could prolong your time together. No telling if you'd actually see him again. Leaning towards him, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I hope I'll see you around."

He grinned. "You can be sure of that. Not losing a second chance of spending time with the prettiest lady around."

"Don't let Phoenix hear you say that," you teased.

He chuckled. "Phoenix is pretty, but you're prettier."

"Flattery will get you a free round."

"Oh, yeah, what about pledging my undying love?"

Your breath hitched, but you played it off. No way he could be serious, but then, this was Bradley, not Jake. You couldn't be so sure.

Smiling softly, you finally said, "I guess you'll just have to find out."

Unknown to you, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw had every intention of never letting you go again. He'd made the mistake before, but he'd be damned making it again.

Wherever he went after this latest mission, he hoped you'd join him because he couldn't imagine his life without you.

»» ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ««

"Tell me I'm dreaming..."

You were mid-conversation with one of Natasha's cousins when you felt your head turn almost against your will, drawn toward Mickey, who looked like a man watching a car crash in slow motion. 

You frowned, followed the line of his stare, and found the source of his horror soon enough. You excused yourself from the girl beside you without really hearing your own words and crossed the room toward your best friend's colleagues.

"You've got to be kidding me.” You sighed, arriving at Reuben's side.

Both pilots glanced at you before their eyes snapped right back to the disaster unfolding in front of them. Bradley Bradshaw had the mother of the bride hoisted over one shoulder like a sack of flour, parading her around the reception hall as if she were a prize he'd won at a county fair.

"Unbearable." The taller of the two muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

Your jaw tightened. You were already angling toward Bradley in a straight, determined line when an arm shot out and blocked your path, hauling you back before you could make a scene of your own.

"You sure that's a good idea ?" Mickey asked, not taking his eyes off Bradley for a second.

You turned to him, genuinely thrown that he'd even ask, given what was happening six feet away. "Are you for real ?"

"Maybe we should just let him have this one. He's not hurting anyone, I mean look at her ! Have you ever seen Hailey's mother laugh like that ?"

You rolled your eyes and tried to push past again, but this time he caught your shoulder. "Give it five minutes. Someone will handle it. Just, go back and enjoy the party."

You shrugged his hand off. "Why wait five minutes when he's already been doing this for an hour ?"

"What Fanboy means," Reuben cut in, clearly trying to play peacemaker, "is that maybe you shouldn't be the one to go over there."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean ?" You crossed your arms, affronted.

Reuben exhaled slowly, already regretting the sentence he'd started. "I just think it'd be better —for you and for Bradshaw I may add— if you sat this one out. I promise you, we've got him. He is not going to ruin this wedding."

You opened your mouth to fire back, but Mickey beat you to it. "What he means is that given the state Bradley's currently in, it might be smarter if someone a little less... how do I put this—" He shot Reuben a pleading look, silently begging for a rescue rope, even though he was the one who'd jumped into the water in the first place.

"—strict ?" His friend offered.

"Yes ! That. Strict."

You folded your arms tighter and gave them both a warning look. "You two are really bad at this. And besides, if I don't deal with him, nobody will, and it'll fall on Natasha and Hailey to clean up his mess on their own wedding day."

"To be fair, they knew what they were signing up for when they invited him."

"So what ? He's a grown man, he can learn to behave for three hours. We're at a wedding, not at the bachelor party, for God's sake !" And with that final word, you finally broke away from the two of them, never once losing sight of your target.

Meanwhile, Bradley had finally released the mother of the bride, his attention now fully devoted to the last few glasses of champagne someone had foolishly abandoned on the nearby tables. You were closing the distance with purpose when Hailey suddenly materialized directly in your path, blocking you off completely.

"Please tell me you're about to fix this." She said, something close to pleading in her voice.

You gave her the most reassuring smile you could summon. "That's exactly where I'm headed."

"Great. Perfect. So great. I really need tonight to be flawless for Nat. I don't want Bradley stressing her out—I mean, I honestly haven't seen my mom laugh that hard since her divorce but—"

"Hailey." You cut in gently, resting both of your hands on her shoulders. "Hey. It's okay. I've got him. Natasha is my best friend, and I love you just as much as I love her, I promised you I'd make sure today was as close to perfect as it could possibly get."

She caught herself, visibly aware she'd been spiraling. "Thank you," she breathed out, offering you a grateful smile.

You returned it. "Now, go have fun. I'll deal with the human wrecking ball. But, actually, for what it's worth, he's been less chaotic than I expected tonight, I have to admit—"

"I think he's hitting on my little sister." She looked after your shoulder and pointed out confused.

"What ?!" Your head snapped around so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "Okay. Going. Now."

You left the bride behind and cut across the room in what felt like two seconds flat, your lips pressed and your brows furrowed. Once you reached Bradley, you grabbed his arm and spun him around hard enough that he nearly lost his footing. Hailey's little sister took the opening and slipped away instantly, while Bradshaw blinked at you, already looking faintly exhausted by your mere presence.

"I had a feeling we were having a little too much fun tonight." He sighed loudly.

"Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing." You crossed your arms. "Time to call it a night, don’t you think ?"

"You're joking, right ? The night's just getting started," he was already gearing up to argue his case when his gaze slid past you to a girl walking by, his eyes dipping shamelessly on the way down.

"Hey !" You snapped your fingers right in front of his face to drag his attention back to you.

"Relax, relax. Someone's feisty tonight. Did you miss me that much ?" He said, that lopsided smirk creeping onto his face.

You rolled your eyes but refused to take the bait. "Hailey asked me to keep an eye on you so you don't cause a scene."

"Wait, what ?" He exclaimed, genuinely offended. "There's no way she said that. Phoenix knows I can behave myself just fine."

You gave him a look that said, are you sure about that ?

"Okay ! Fine, maybe I let loose a little more than usual. But come on ! It's not every day Nat gets married !"

"Exactly. And because she's my best friend, I’m not letting her idiot of coworker ruin this wedding over some pretty ass in a satin dress."

He groaned and let his head fall back, clearly done being lectured, then grabbed the nearest glass off a passing tray and downed it in one go.

"Bradshaw." You started, but he wasn't listening.

Just as he reached for what looked like a considerably stronger drink, you caught his arm before his hand could close around the glass. He yanked his arm back, more annoyed than surprised, and you instinctively pulled harder in response. For a brief second, it became a ridiculous tug-of-war neither of you was willing to lose, until his sudden jerk backward sent the glass tipping.

The next thing you knew, the drink was all over him. A dark stain spread across the front of his white shirt, dripping down the expensive and you froze for half a second, mostly because you hadn’t expected him to actually be that careless. 

He looked down at the damage, and you finally let go of his arm.

“Shit.”

You glanced at the mess, and despite the situation, you couldn’t bring yourself to look particularly guilty. Maybe a little annoyed. Maybe slightly entertained. But not sorry enough to pretend this was entirely your fault.

“I—” you started, forcing out the bare minimum of an apology. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

He looked down at his ruined shirt, then back at you with a flat expression. Before you could say anything else, he simply lifted a hand, cutting you off.

“Don’t.”

You stopped, more out of irritation than obedience.

“Trust me,” he said, brushing uselessly at the stain, “I already know you’re not sorry.”

“And I already know you were going to regret that drink.”

A humorless laugh left him. “Right. Because somehow this is my fault.”

You shrugged. “You’re the one who fought me for it.”

His stare hardened. “And you’re the one who grabbed me.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt this time. This was exactly why you usually avoided doing nice things for him. He had an uncanny ability to make every attempt at basic decency feel like a personal attack.

You pinched the bridge of your nose before letting out a long sigh. “I… I have a spare shirt in my car.” You offered, the words escaping before you could stop them. 

“Do you ?” He looked down at the stain spreading across his shirt before lifting an eyebrow at you. “Let me guess. You stole it from the last guy who was stupid enough to hit on you ?”

You glared at him, “You know,” you said slowly, “I was actually trying to be nice.”

“Were you ?”

“Against my better judgment.” You bite your tongue.

He gave you a fake smile, “That’s sweet.” 

You closed your eyes for exactly one second and when you opened them again, you forced yourself to speak through gritted teeth. “Do you want the shirt or what ?”

He watched you for a moment before answering, clearly enjoying how close you were to losing your patience. “You’ve got quite the temper.”

“And you’ve got about three seconds.”

“There it is !”

He looked at you for another beat, as though accepting help from you required careful consideration. Or perhaps he simply wanted to make you wait. Honestly, either was equally likely.

Finally, he sighed dramatically. “Okay, let’s go then.”

You had barely taken three steps before you realized he was already walking ahead all alone.

“Hey ! Would you wait for one second ?”

By the time you caught up, Bradley had already reached the front doors. Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he grabbed the heavy handle and pulled the door open, stepping off to the side instead of walking through.

You let out an exaggerated groan. "Oh, don't start acting like you have manners now."

"I've always had manners," he replied, one hand still holding the door open as he waited.

"You've spent the last ten minutes antagonizing me."

"I can multitask."

You rolled your eyes but walked past him anyway without thanking him and he let the corner of his mouth curl into a smug smile before following after you, letting the door swing shut behind him.

The California evening had cooled considerably while you’d been inside. A breeze rolled through the parking lot, carrying the scent of salt as you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself.

You unlocked your car with a click and popped the trunk open. The familiar clutter greeted you immediately—a folded blanket, a roadside emergency kit, a pair of sneakers, reusable shopping bags, and a canvas tote stuffed with clothes you’d forgotten to take inside weeks ago.

Behind you, you could practically feel his eyes scanning the contents. And a few seconds later, with a triumphant little hum, you finally found the neatly folded button-down and held it out to him. 

“There.” You simply said.

He took it, looking between the shirt and you. “This yours ?”

“My brother left it in my car months ago.”

“So… I’m wearing another man’s shirt.”

You gave him a deadpan look.

“I’m just establishing the facts !”

You sighed loudly, “You’re exhausting… Just put it on already man.” 

He pulled the ruined shirt over his head without a shred of self-consciousness, and you very deliberately found something fascinating to look at in the parking lot lighting instead. 

"You're staring."

"I am not staring !"

He smirked and you could hear it in his voice, "I can feel you trying not to then."

You scoffed, still looking at the trees around you. “I’m making sure you don’t somehow manage to button it wrong.”

“I’ve been dressing myself for a while now.”

“Questionable when I see your horrendous shirts at the hard deck.”

He chuckled under his breath before slipping the last button through its hole. He rolled his shoulders once, smoothing the fabric over his chest, then looked down at himself. 

He cleared his throat, “Well ?”

You gave him an exaggerated once-over, “It’ll do.”

“It’ll do ?”

“It still has the unfortunate problem of having you int it.”

He clicked his tongue, “Though crowd.”

You slammed the trunk shut with a dull thud and dusted your hands together.

You expected him to make some excuse to head back inside eventually, but he didn't. He stayed leaning against the side of your car with his hands tucked into his pockets, looking entirely too comfortable for someone standing in an empty parking lot at eleven at night, and for a while the two of you just talked. 

You told him how long you'd known Natasha, how you'd met her in a diner during a layover neither of you had planned on, how she'd talked your ear off for three hours straight and somehow, you'd walked away with a best friend instead of a headache. 

He laughed at that and admitted he'd never actually heard the story before, which surprised you more than it probably should have, given how long he'd known her too.

"She really did marry well." He said eventually, looking back toward the tent glowing warm and gold in the distance, string lights swaying gently with the breeze. "Hailey's good for her.”

"Hayley is a real menace when you get to know her. She and Nat are the perfect match."

He glanced sideway at you, "Takes one to know one."

You turned your head toward him, "I'm not a menace !"

"You threatened to leave me at a rest stop in Nevada once because I wouldn't stop talking about engine specs !" He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, and for a moment neither of you said anything, content to just stand there in the quiet with the sound of the party humming faintly behind you. 

Slowly he tilted his head slightly, studying you in the unhurried way he had sometimes, "How are you doing by the way ?" He asked out of nowhere.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. "I'm… fine ?"

He groaned, "No but for real.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already reaching into his jacket next to him, pulling out a small silver flask you hadn't even known he'd brought, twisting the cap open with a practiced flick of his thumb.

"No thanks." You said immediately, before he'd even offered.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to offer me that. I'm saying no preemptively."

"Efficient." He took a slow sip himself, watching you over the top of it, and something about the easy patience in his expression made you second-guess your own answer almost instantly. You told yourself it was just curiosity. 

"...Fine," you said, holding your hand out. "One sip."

"Look at that. Look who's suddenly flexible."

"Don't make me change my mind." You warned with a serious look.

He handed it over without another comment, and you took a slow sip, the warmth of it settling low in your chest, and when you handed it back your fingers brushed his for half a second too long to be entirely accidental. He didn't say anything about it. You appreciated that more than you expected to.

"You know," you said, mostly to fill the silence, "I keep waiting for you to say something stupid so I can go back to thinking of tonight as normal."

"Give me a minute, I'm sure I'll get there."

"You've had multiple minutes. You're clearly off your game."

"Maybe I'm just tired of performing." He said it lightly, but there was something underneath it that wasn't light at all, something that made you look at him a little closer. "You ever get tired of it ? Making sure everyone else is having a good time before you even ask yourself if you are ?"

The question landed somewhere you weren't prepared for, and you felt your usual deflection rise up automatically, quick and practiced. "I had fun today."

He shook his head slowly, still looking at you. "You didn't."

You frowned, "I did."

He chuckled, "You spent the entire day checking on Hailey's mom, refilling Natasha's cousin's water glass, making sure the caterers had what they needed, and dragging me out of trouble every twenty minutes. That's not fun."

You shrugged, looking straight ahead now. "Maybe that's just what fun looks like for me."

"That's exactly my point." He stopped smiling. "You didn't even dance once tonight."

You looked back at him, taking the flask from his hands without asking, "I don't like dancing." You said, taking a sip.

He took it back directly, setting it aside. "You love dancing. Natasha told me you two used to dance in her kitchen at two in the morning.”

The words caught you off guard but you still let out a dry, disbelieving laugh and looked away, shaking your head.

"That's funny."

"What is ?"

"You suddenly acting like you've always paid attention."

He frowned slightly.

"You've made it pretty clear what you think of me over the years, Bradley. Don't pretend you're suddenly concerned." You rolled your eyes, hoping the gesture hid how unexpectedly his words had unsettled you.

Something shifted behind his easy confidence, the smile faltering just slightly at the edges. "What I think of you ?"

You sighed loudly, "Forget it."

"Not a chance.” He scoffed, more annoyed now. “You've clearly got a whole story built up in your head. Let's hear it."

You exhaled slowly through your nose, arms tightening across your chest like it might hold you together a little better. "You've made comments since the day we met—at Natasha's birthday, at that barbecue, at the engagement party—and honestly, I'm too tired tonight to list them all out for you."

He frowned, confused, before saying your name so softly that you could barely hear him, "Those weren't insults." 

You opened your mouth to argue but nothing came out as his eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and unreadable under the flat glow of the parking lot lights. "I've been trying to get your attention for three years. You decided I was the enemy before I ever got the chance to prove otherwise."

The air between you felt suddenly thinner. You realized belatedly that you'd drifted backward at some point without noticing, your back now flush against the cool metal of your car door, him close enough that there was nowhere left to retreat to even if you'd wanted to.

"That's not—" Your voice caught. "That's not true."

"When's the last time you actually let someone see you ?" His voice dropped lower still, and you weren't sure anymore if the unsteadiness in your chest was anger or something far more dangerous.

You frowned, something in his tone making you want to push further, to ask what exactly he meant by that. You opened your mouth, already halfway into a question but he kissed you before you had the time to.

It happened fast enough that you didn't process it until it was already over, his hand coming up to your jaw, mouth against yours for one brief, searing second before you jerked back on instinct, palm pressed flat against his chest to put space between you.

"What the hell !?" You breathed, more startled than angry, though you weren't entirely sure which one you felt more.

He looked almost as thrown as you did, blinking like he hadn't fully decided to do that until it was already happening. "I—sorry. I think I had more from that flask than I meant to."

Just as you were about to give up entirely and bolt across the parking lot like none of this had happened, the memory of what he'd said only minutes earlier caught up with you, sharp and insistent. 

"You said you weren't drunk," you said, quieter than you meant to, almost accusing. "Ten minutes ago. I asked you point blank and you said no."

"Let's not do this right now." He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze sliding away from yours toward the tree line, toward anywhere that wasn't your face. "It doesn't matter."

You licked your lips slowly, "It matters to me."

"It really doesn't. Forget I said anything." He tried for something light, something that might slide the two of you back into safer territory, but his voice cracked slightly around the edges, betraying him.

You didn't know what came over you. One second you were standing there, chest tight, head spinning with a dozen half-formed questions you didn't have the courage to finish asking, and the next you'd closed the distance between you completely, hands fisting in the front of his shirt, and you kissed him hard, almost punishing, all the confusion and frustration of the last forty minutes pouring out of you in one reckless motion instead of words.

He made a low, startled sound against your mouth, caught off guard for exactly half a second before he recovered, one hand splaying wide against your lower back to pull you flush against him, the other cradling the back of your head like he was afraid you might change your mind and disappear. If anything, you kissed him harder, teeth catching briefly at his bottom lip.

He didn't slow down to ask permission this time as he walked you backward hard enough that your shoulder caught the frame of the car, a startled gasp breaking out of you against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like he'd been waiting all night to hear it. 

One hand fumbled blindly behind you for the door handle, yanking it open with more force than necessary, and then he was pushing you inside, following after you almost immediately, the door slamming shut behind him and sealing the two of you into sudden, close darkness, the party outside reduced to nothing but muffled bass and laughter through the fogging glass.

"Are you insane ?" You managed to gasp out against his mouth, though you made absolutely no effort to create any space between you, if anything, your fingers curled tighter into the front of his shirt, dragging him closer.

"Completely." He murmured, rough and low, before kissing you again.

You made a small, involuntary sound against his mouth and felt him go still for half a second before he pulled back just enough to look at you, something wicked flickering to life behind his eyes despite how wrecked he already looked.

"Did you just—" A slow grin spread across his face, entirely too pleased with himself. "Was that a moan ?" He whispered.

"No. It’s your stache, I’m ticklish."

He smirked, "That was definitely a moan."

"It wasn't anything !" Your face was burning.

"Uh-huh." He leaned in slow, deliberate, lips grazing just beneath your ear, voice dropping to something low and teasing. "Careful, y/n. Wouldn't want you to make that sound again."

You punched his shoulder, "I hate you."

"You really don't." He murmured, and then he kissed you again before you could argue, and this time you didn't even try to hold the sound back.

His mouth found the hollow of your throat, the press of his lips to the pulse point hammering beneath your skin. Your head tipped back against the door handle, exposing a long line of neck.

“Bradley.” You groaned.

“Shh.” He ordered.

His hands found the hem of your dress, fingertips brushing against the soft fabric before slowly gathering it higher and higher without ever rushing it, but every subtle shift of the material seemed impossibly loud in the stillness of your car. 

The dress bunched at your hips as he eased it upward, exposing more of your skin inch by inch until the delicate fabric beneath came into view. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, a lifetime of modesty asserting itself despite the warmth pooling low in your stomach.  

The windows of your car were already opaque with steam, sealing the two of you into a humid vacuum that smelled of mounting desperation as he didn’t waste time with gentleness, grabbing you by the waist. Your legs sprawled open, and he yanked your panties down in one rough mention, tossing them onto the floorboards.

Bradley’s tongue traced the seam of you, parting you with maddening slowness. He finally dropped his head and crashed his mouth against your pussy.

“Oh god !” You moaned louder.

He smirked against your folds and started with long, slow laps, his tongue dragging from the base of your opening all the way up to your clit, tasting the salty sweetness of your arousal. You let out another sharp, jagged moan, your fingers diving into his hair to pull him closer.

Bradley groaned, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh, then gave you a supporting squeeze on your ass. “That’s it. Feel it. Don’t think it.”

He focused his attention on your clit, swirling his tongue around the swollen nub before sucking it deep into his mouth. He used a rhythmic, vacuum-like suction, his tongue flicking rapidly against the nerve center while his fingers slid inside you, stretching you open. 

He pushed two fingers deep into your soaking wet heat, mimicking the motion of a cock, while his mouth continued to devour you.

“Bradley—oh god, please !” You whimpered, your hips jerking upward, trying to meet his mouth.

Burying his face in your folds, he licked deep inside you, his tongue pushing past the entrance, tasting every drop of you. He used his nose to grind against your clit, the friction sending electric shocks through your body. 

You were shaking, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps as the tension coiled tight in your gut. When you finally broke, your pussy clamped violently around his tongue, your entire body shuddering as you screamed into the quiet of the car.

Bradley didn't pull away. He stayed there, licking through the aftershocks, sucking the sensitive skin until you were limp and panting. 

His mouth worked you with methodical patience. Then, dove in again from a different angle. The second time, his tongue pressed flat and broad. The third time, he sucked gently, and you made a noise you’d never heard yourself make before.

“There you are.” He said against you. 

Your other hand found the grab handle above the door. Spine arching. The leather seat squeaked beneath you as you writhed, and Bradley held your thighs open with his shoulders, refusing to let you close up, retreat, hide.

“Let go,” he murmured, sending vibrations into your core as he let go of your pussy. “I’ve got you.”

He sat up, the air hitting your damp skin. He freed his cock, which was thick, pulsing, and leaking pre-cum. He took his time rubbing the head of his dick against your drenched slit, smearing your own juices across the head of his cock. He looked you in the eyes and gripped your thighs, shoving them back toward your chest to open you completely, and drove inside you in one powerful, unrelenting trust.

You let out a choked gasp, your back arching off the seat as he filled you to the brim. The sensation was overwhelming, the tight fit of your pussy gripping his shaft with desperate intensity. Bradley groaned, his muscles locking as he paused for a moment, letting your body adjust to his size.

“Let go,” Bradley said out of breath. “I’ve got you. Just feel it.”

He started to move. He withdrew almost entirely before slamming back in, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the cramped space. He braced one hand against the roof of the car and the other firmly on your hip, anchoring you as he hammered into you. Every thrust hitting your cervix and making your toes curl.

“Don’t be quiet, keep making your noises.” He commanded, his voice strained with effort. He picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward in a blurred rhythm. “I know you sound so good baby, let me hear you.”

“Fuck.” Your voice cracked. “You’re so big—”

“I know.” He growled.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back to pull him even deeper. You were sobbing now, a mix of pleasure and release, your nails digging deep into the muscles of his shoulders. The car rocked violently on its suspension, the rhythmic thud of the seats hitting the frame matching the pace of his fucks.

“Louder,” Bradley said against your ear. “No one can hear you.”

You let go a raw, keening cry as he shifted his angle, grinding his pelvis against yours to maximize the friction on your clit while he continued to pound you.

He leaned down, his chest heaving against yours, his mouth hovering inches from your ear. “That’s it. Take it all. Come for me baby.”

The friction was unbearable, the heat between you reaching a boiling point. You felt the pressure build again, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you. You screamed his name, your internal muscles pulsing and squeezing his cock in tight, rhythmic waves.

Feeling your peak, Bradley let out a guttural roar. He drove himself in one last time, burying his cock as deep as it could possibly go, and held himself there. He shuddered violently, his body stiffening as he flooded your womb with thick, hot pulses of cum, filling you up until he felt like he was merging with you.

You two stayed like that for a long time, locked together in the fogged-up silence, the only sound the heavy, synchronized thumping of your hearts.

At one point, you shifted against the backseat, trying to smooth your dress back into something resembling presentable after taking back your panties, your fingers catching in your own hair as you attempted to fix whatever had happened to it.

"We should probably head back in." You said, breathless still, reaching for the door handle on instinct. "People are going to notice we've been gone for too long."

"In a minute." His arm came around your waist before you'd gotten more than an inch, pulling you back against his chest with an ease that suggested he had no intention of letting you go anywhere just yet. "Just stay here a second."

"Bradley—"

"You look like you got hit by a wind tunnel," he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice even without turning to look at him. "Your hair's doing something I don't think physics fully explains."

"That's very nice of you."

"I'm being honest. It's a good look on you." He brushed a few loose strands back from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear, his thumb trailing along your jaw after, slower than it needed to be. "You're also still shaking a little."

You hadn't realized it until he said it, but he wasn't wrong—your hands were trembling faintly where they rested against your knees, some leftover current still running just under your skin. "I'm fine."

"I didn't say you weren't." He pulled you back further into him, his chin coming to rest against the top of your head, one hand rubbing slow, warm circles against your bare arm. "I just want to hold onto you for a second before you go back to pretending none of this happened."

"I wasn't going to pretend it didn't happen."

"You get a look. Like you're already halfway to talking yourself out of it." His voice was quieter now, none of the usual teasing edge to it, just something steady and a little uncertain underneath, like he wasn't entirely sure himself what he was allowed to ask for. "So just… let me have this part. Just for a minute. Please."

You let yourself sink back against him properly then, the tension slowly draining out of your shoulders, his heartbeat steady and a little too fast under your ear, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns against your skin like he had nowhere else in the world he needed to be. 

It should have felt strange, this quiet, careful version of him, so far removed from the reckless mess he'd been dragging you into arguments about all night. It didn't, though. It felt disarmingly easy, like something that had been building for far longer than one wedding reception.

Bradley shifted beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. "Your ass looks incredible in that dress, by the way."

You stared at him for exactly half a second before shoving him square in the shoulder. "Fuck you."

He barely moved, laughing as he caught himself against the hood of your car. "I'm serious."

Each time the front door gave way to a sudden rush of wind, you glanced up, observing, picking apart. There was the civilian, whose wide eyes flickered like he'd stumbled into a place twenty miles from where he was actually meant to be. Then came the couple—definitely military—who sidled up to the counter and rattled drinks off like a maintenance checklist, like they couldn't quite shake off work. 

The worst ones were the slim-bodied, khaki-clad aviators, who sauntered in with the confidence of a vain peacock, laughter as vibrant as the attention-grabbing feathers adorned in deep blues and verdant greens.

Hangman leaned against the counter with that perfectly, frustratingly charming grin of his. Your name rolled off his tongue, laced with shallow affection. A light-hearted flirt fest was all. "How've you been, sweetheart?"

"You're a few hours from Lemoore," you said. "Both of you."

The corners of Coyote's lips flipped up. "Missed us?"

"Terribly." Sarcasm dripped from your tone. "What can I get you tonight?"

Amber beer bottles scraped against the counter. Hangman winked as he threw a few dollar bills down—a hefty tip, as always—and you blew a meaningless kiss in the air that sent him and Coyote away. 

"Your dad know you're flirting with his men?"

You turned slowly in hopes that you could rein in the widening stretch of your mouth in time, but a full-blown beam glimmered beneath the dim bar lights as you met the familiar raised eyebrows and knowing green eyes that had watched you—and seen past your innocent eyelash batting—through nearly every stage of life.

"I was wondering how long it'd take before you showed up here," you said, cheeks flushed with remnants of a passing youth. You rounded the bartop, two strides becoming one, feet light like the floor was made of springs. 

Maverick barely twisted in his seat in time for your embrace, his shoulder digging into your sternum as you flung your arms around his neck. He shifted, winding his grasp around your ribs, unable to hide his smile as your sweet laughter echoed in his ears like a bright sunny day. "Hi, kid."

"Hi, Mav. It's been a while. I missed you."

"How'd you know I'd be around?"

You were behind the bar again. "All this time, and you're still asking."

Maverick's lips thinned. Of course. "How is he?"

A sharp breath inflated your chest, your gaze falling to the lemons yet to be cut. You picked up the knife. "I don't feel like crying on the job today," you said with a slight tremble. You made one slice before putting the knife back down and forcing your chin up. "You should go see him while you're here. I'm sure he'd appreciate it after all the strings he's pulled for you."

"You're making digs at me now?"

"Only fair for all the teasing you've put me through as a kid." Your gaze slid to the door as it swung open. Just another group of civilians. "Look," you propped your forearms on the counter, "I'm not supposed to know anything about this, but you know my dad has never been able to keep things from me, especially not about..." You paused when Maverick's expression wavered, then cast a glance over your shoulder, toward Hangman and Coyote by the dartboard—the only kind of people you'd come to know throughout your life. "I know Bradley got called back here. Are you ready to see him?"

Are you? came close to slipping out of Maverick's mouth—a quick rebuttal he'd slammed down with teeth grinding together, just short of painful. The sting eventually shot through his jaw when he noticed the threaded bracelet looped around your wrist, weathered and stained as time frayed the edges. You and Bradley had matching ones. He remembered that. He was there when you made them.

And the shirt you were wearing—a deep blue with the University of Virginia insignia printed in the middle—was loose around the collar, nearly sliding down your shoulder, sleeves scraping past your elbows. It was almost comically oversized. If he had to guess, he'd say it was Bradley's, somehow in your possession over the years—years he'd lost with him, but years you hadn't.

Those aviators, too, roosted atop your head, clearly forgotten to take off before the start of your shift, looked an awful lot like the ones he'd gotten Bradley as a teenager. You must have been the recipient of them after their relationship had plummeted into the seventh circle of Hell.

Money not wasted, he supposed. 

But his question would've been a stupid one to ask.

You were nearly doused in Bradley Bradshaw, and instead of the tumultuous ball of dread cradled in his stomach, your heart was probably jumping for joy at the very thought of seeing him again.

Something in his chest clenched as the mission loomed over his head. You. He had to think of you, too. He couldn't afford to blow this.

"Get back to work," he finally said.

Your gaze flitted over his face—steely, calculating, like you were dissecting every thought that passed through his brain, paired with a cocky edge that pushed your head atilt, obnoxiously chomping on the stale piece of gum in your mouth. God, you were every bit Iceman's kid when you did that. 

Maverick wasn't sure if he found comfort in that.

"Fine," you relented. "We'll do it your way, Uncle Pete." You pushed away from the counter. "But you owe me dinner."

You returned your attention to your job, mentally preparing for the moment this bar would be turned upside down and inside out as the clock struck closer to midnight. The limes and lemons were cut into wedges, and you'd wiped down the counter more times than truly necessary, and really, you should be switching out the kegs, but Maverick looked pathetically lonely as he nursed a pint, and you'd run your luck—and a keg—dry the last time you tried to do it, so you remained at your station and hoped someone else would do it for you.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Penny froze, a crate of freshly washed glasses and schooners perched on her hip. "You know about this?"

You bit back a grin, innocently shrugging. You could feel Maverick's disbelief burning into the rear of your head as you attended to a new patron. Then another. And another. Until the bell clamored beside you, a jingle that coaxed cheers from everyone but the reason behind it.

"Tough night, Mav," you said over your shoulder, but your amusement trailed off when Hangman's voice ricocheted like a jet engine.

"What do we have here?"

With Payback and Fanboy flanked behind her, Phoenix strolled through the front door—just three. Your stare lingered on the closing gap as the door thudded against the frame, trying to keep the small puff of dejection from blowing against the bottle of vodka in your hand.

He'd be here soon enough.

Hangman eventually found his way back to the bar. "Penny, my dear."

"Yeah?"

"I'll have four more on the old-timer."

Your lips slanted. The slight tilt of Maverick's head was meant to snuff out your impending rib-aching, tear-filled laughter, but your smirk only deepened. "You gonna be able to buy me dinner after this, old man?"

"You're trouble," said Maverick. His gaze darted to Penny, long enough for you to understand that he had meant more than just the fun you were poking at. 

All you responded with was a wink.

Hangman beckoned you over with his fingers. He leaned down, his voice a quiet hum against the ruckus flowering around you. "I'm not one to judge, but he's a little older than your usual target, ain't he?"

You ducked your head, hiding the way your face twisted in all the wrong ways and swallowing down the retch shooting up your throat, before the coquettish mask returned. "My usual target's not here."

"Will he be?"

"I don't believe I'm at liberty to tell you, Hangman."

His eyes crinkled. "Well, if you're looking for a new one," he said, "you know where to find me."

You snorted. 

"Bradshaw!"

Your head whipped toward the door.

Amidst the throng of people pouring into the Hard Deck, you spotted the familiar sunkissed skin swathed in a loose, unbuttoned shirt, jeans mapping out the creases in his muscles, and those sunglasses you'd talked him into buying one day. Your mouth had tipped up in a smile before you even realized.

Hangman sighed. "And there goes my chance."

"Like you ever had one." Penny slid in beside you, putting down four beers in front of Hangman.

"I'll let him know you're here."

Your gaze followed Bradley as he bounded past the bar and toward the pool tables, joining the growing group of aviators. "No, you won't."

Hangman flashed another one of his charming smiles. "Much appreciated, Pops. Hey, sweetheart, what song are you feeling? I was thinkin' Slow Ride." He scrunched his nose when you fixed him with a dry and hardened stare. "Offer's still on the table."

"Keep dreaming, Seresin!" you exclaimed to his back.

Maverick handed his card to Penny to close his tab. His gaze was heavy on you, tracking the way your giddy grin faltered as a new song danced into the air. Hangman's laughter was a beacon within the crowd, as though he knew you were rolling your eyes at him. You hadn't even followed through when you drifted to Bradley again, like a compass needle always finding true north.

Yeah, his qualms with this mission went beyond him and Bradley. He definitely needed to think of you.

"Why'd you pull his papers, Mav?" you asked softly, a quiet hum that was nearly lost in the flood of commotion warming the room up. It felt misplaced for a place like this. But you asked anyway. 

"He wasn't ready."

You slipped a lemon wedge against a glass. "Neither was I, and you and my dad hadn't made a sound when I put my application in. I think that only pissed him off some more."

"You weren't going in to be a pilot."

"Bullshit, and you know it. If my eyes hadn't shit the bed, I'd be in that cockpit." You handed the drink off to a waiting sailor. "I know it's different—you and him, you and I—but at the end of the day, he still made it here. Was it really worth losing him over it?"

The muscles in Maverick's jaw ticked. He shook the distant fog in his eyes away. "Do you always have heart-to-hearts with your customers?"

"Only the ones I grew up with."

Penny put Maverick's card down on the counter. "It's been declined."

Disbelief warped his face. "You're kidding."

Penny didn't pull her attention from him as she told you, "Why don't you take your fifteen?"

You didn't stick around. You didn't want to. You'd seen Penny and Maverick dance around each other for as long as you could remember, spanning since before you were born. Whatever unresolved tension hung between them was something you did not want to be trapped in the midst of.

Hangman wooed. "I knew you couldn't resist, sweetheart."

But his words fell on deaf ears as your hand glided up Bradley's arm and across the expanse of his back. His skin didn't twitch, and there wasn't a flicker of surprise in Bradley's eyes—not at the sudden warmth encasing the scars littered on his neck that traced the path of your touch, not at the brush of your thumb against the hairs on the back of his head, not at the comforting press of your body against his, not at the weight of your stare that seemed to settle his entire soul. 

No, of course not. He would know you even if his memory were wiped.

Bradley snaked his arm around your waist, meeting your eyes with a face-splitting grin. A sweet mix of seasalt, wood, and sweat encircled you as his body draped over yours, the tautness in your shoulders dissipating with a slow exhale that would make the next few hours of fulfilling drink orders worth it. You weren't sure if the shivers prickling your skin were from the ticklish brush of his mustache or the gentle kiss on the curve of your neck.

"Watch the hand, Bradshaw," you warned when his palm ventured low over the curve of your spine, skimming the top of your jeans. His chest trembled with laughter, and yours followed as you pulled away—a sound so attuned to his, a familiar beat you'd grown up with, one your heart had learned to mimic. "Hiya, you big stud."

"You look good," he said, kissing the side of your head. "Always do."

A satisfied hum rippled in your throat. You remained nestled against Bradley, but turned to Hangman with a sugary sweet smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, Seresin. Did you say something?"

Hangman rolled his eyes as laughter erupted around you.

Bradley's lips grazed the shell of your ear, breath warm. "Unplug the jukebox and meet me at the piano?"

"I was getting sick of this song anyway." You slipped from Bradley's grasp, even as his arm seemed to contradict his words and tightened around you.

Groans weaved between patrons as you yanked the plug from the outlet, slicing through the song that Hangman had selected.

Bradley held his hand over his shoulder, waiting patiently to feel yours slide against his before pulling you onto his lap. "How long do I have you for?"

"One song," you said, taking his folded sunglasses from the collar of his white vest and resting them back on the bridge of his nose. "Make it a good one, hot stuff."

"Yes, ma'am." His fingers dexterously tapped along the black and ivory keys of the wooden upright piano, quelling the complaints around them. 

Something warm wrapped around you, memories infiltrating your mind of late summer nights in high school, and endless karaoke nights he'd back you up with, and ballads after your first heartbreak, and thunderous thrumming that kept the party alive, and relaxing Saturday mornings as the waves crashed into the nearby shore, and stories you'd heard from your dad and Maverick over the years, and behind each one, you could hear Bradley pressing one key after another.

There was nothing quite like it.

The bell rang again as a distant echo in your head. You managed to catch the moment Hangman, Payback, and Coyote carried Maverick out of the bar by his limbs. Overboard. Briefly, your eyes connected over Bradley's shoulder, and you picked out the subtle shift in his expression, like he, too, was caught in a memory. A very different one.

Then, he was gone in a blink of an eye.

Maverick left your mind just as quickly as he'd gone as the first few notes of Great Balls of Fire played out. Bradley had told you about the fading recollection he had of him perched on a piano while his dad belted out the song. He also spent hours teaching you to play it. You were sure Carole would've been sick of the song by the time you'd figured it out if it didn't remind her so much of Goose.

"You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brains," Bradley started strongly, his voice rasping with charisma. His mouth was hot against your ear. "Too much love drives a man insane!"

Laughter shook your chest as you joined in, your head bobbing to the rhythm. You didn't care for the way his body jostled, or his head bumped against the back of your shoulder as he damn near shouted the lyrics for everyone to hear.

It was fun. Being with Bradley was always fun.

Whether it was doing fifty push-ups in the kitchen together because your dad thought he was standing too close to you, or helping you with the infinite mountain of paperwork you needed to fill out during your tenure in the Navy, or grocery shopping with his mom before she passed—all of it was a zing of adrenaline and a rush of dopamine when it was with him.

You were out of breath by the time the song ended, throat scratched raw from belting out the familiar song. Ecstasy leaked into your exhale, trembling yet light, and your lips remained pinned up as Bradley squeezed your waist, his arm winding around securely, a comfortable heat seeping past the fabric of your shirt.

It took everything in you to peel away from his grasp.

"What time are you off?" he asked.

"You've got an early morning," you said. "Don't do it to yourself."

Bradley twisted around as you disappeared through the sea of people. "But I want to!"

The rest of the night had stretched long and strenuously, incessantly churning out drink orders, wiping down sticky counterspace, and restocking bottles. By the time the last drunk-to-high-heaven person had ushered themselves out, you were ready to collapse behind the bar and call it a night.

Penny had to pull you off a stool before your eyes fluttered shut until daybreak.

Hauling your bag over your shoulder, you shouted goodnight to her on your way out. The chilly coastal breeze beyond the front door did enough to revive what little energy you had left, bones chattering beneath your pebbled skin.

A startled gasp cut past your lips when you found Bradley leaning against your car, sunglasses askew on his nose and one sleeve of his loose, unbuttoned shirt sliding down his arm. Somehow, he still looked more put together than you. "I thought you left with the rest of 'em."

His head snapped up, a slow grin stretching across his face. "You wouldn't tell me what time you got off, so I waited."

"And now you need someone else to get you home," you said, recounting the drinks you'd served him (and cut him off from for his own benefit).

Bradley dug his keys out of his pocket, the matching bracelet you had with him hanging off the keychain that glinted beneath the exterior lights of the Hard Deck, and handed them to you for safekeeping. "Yes, ma'am." He watched you haphazardly stuff your things into the backseat of your car. "D'you know why we got called back?"

A teasing spark shined in your eyes. "Should've known you just wanted to use me."

Something akin to a wounded noise escaped Bradley. "Baby, no." His hands clumsily cradled your jaw. "I would never."

"What about the time you tried to make Vanessa Torres jealous?" You pushed his sunglasses into his hair.

"That was one time. Almost twenty years ago."

"So not never." The amusement on your face faltered, easily wiped away as time plunged deeper into the night. You curled your fingers around his wrist, his radial pulse gently beating beneath you. "I don't know what the mission is," you conceded quietly, swallowing thickly, "but whatever it is, promise me you'll come back."

Bradley's eyes flickered between yours. You had probably done this a million times by now—made him swear that he'll return. That he'll return to you. Alive. And each time, he felt the weight of his career compressing his bones until he was about ten inches shorter. Was this what his dad felt? He wished he could ask him that, see if it got any easier.

"Haven't I always?" He hoped you wouldn't notice the slight crack in his voice.

You gave a short hum, as though you could see right past him. He doubted that the lingering alcohol coursing through his system was any good at keeping a mask up; then again, he was never very good at hiding things from you to begin with.

"Get in the car," you said softly, pulling your face away from his hands. "We'll grab your Bronco in the morning."

"Can I get a kiss first?"

That got a quiet little huff of laughter from you, swelling when he pulled you even closer, his arms tightly looping around your waist, like the very notion of space between you was inexcusable.

"Kiss me, baby," he sang like he was behind the piano again. Quieter this time—a personal serenade.

"You're something else, Bradshaw." You pulled him down for a surprisingly gentle kiss, a delicate pressure that sent a quiet, warm ripple straight to your chest. You hated to pull away, even as your heart rapped against your ribs and your lungs heaved for air, but you couldn't stop the giddy stretch of your lips as age-old butterflies erupted in your stomach. 

"Ooh," Bradley shivered, "that feels good."

"Yeah?" You notched an eyebrow. "You gonna love me like a lover should?"

"Oh, baby, I'll do a lot more than that." He nuzzled his face against your neck. "I'ma tell this world that you're mine, mine, mine."

"Good." You stole another kiss. "Now get in the car."

When one is climbing a mountain, there’s generally one clear goal in mind.

To reach the summit.

There are points where the terrain may be steeper than others, or one may get a brief moment of reprieve from a particularly flat segment.

But there are still only two options at any given point. One can either keep climbing or turn around. 

Keep working towards the ultimate goal, or give up.

Bradley Bradshaw refused to give up.

That left him with only one option.

Climb.

He could never stop climbing. 

Even once he reached what he’d believed to be the peak, he’d look out and notice an even higher point. The finish line never stopped moving, and therefore neither could Bradley. 

Throughout his childhood, he’d always been fixated on his father’s story. 

The late Nick Bradshaw, whom nobody had a bad thing to say about.

The man who made Carole Bradshaw feel more loved and cared for than anyone ever had.

The man who managed to balance a successful career in the Navy and fatherhood.

The man who was adored by anyone lucky enough to have known him.

The man Bradley could never fill the shoes of, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

Every ounce of effort his adolescent body could muster was dedicated to becoming the man the Navy was looking for. He pushed to build muscle and stay in top physical health. He poured himself into his studies so he could keep up academically.

Ultimately, he’d decided to pursue a career as a fighter pilot rather than a backseater. He couldn’t fathom the thought of not being in complete control. The idea of being helpless, like his father was in his last moments, was ultimately his biggest fear. 

He wanted to go out not in fear, but rather in peace, knowing that he’d done everything possible, but fate had other plans. 

As each milestone approached, Bradley would almost grow giddy.

When he finally reached what he thought was the object of his desires, the Navy, he found himself still wanting more. 

When he graduated Top Gun, he wanted more.

When he surpassed the rank his father had died at, he wanted more.

He wanted to represent what Nick Bradshaw could have been, had he been granted that opportunity.

He didn’t want to be a reminder of his father’s death, but rather a manifestation of something that kept the spirit of him alive. 

Inevitably, he’d end up disappointed after these moments passed.

When everything he’d wanted, everything he’d worked for, was within reach, he’d realize it didn’t give him the closure he’d been expecting. 

It didn’t complete him.

He needed to do more.

Following the success of the Uranium Mission, everyone who’d flown was given a week of leave.

While Bradley and Pete had definitely taken a big step in the repair of their relationship, it still hadn’t quite reached the point it once was. So, knowing him well enough to know he neither had anyone to spend that week with nor would he ask, Phoenix invited him back home with her to Albuquerque. 

He would never admit, but it was needed. To be in a neutral space, not charged with the memories that often plagued him. To get to just unwind with one of his closest friends and her family. 

The thing about military life was that it often times became all-consuming. Its darkness had a way of affecting every aspect of one’s life. 

His friends were in the Navy.

His chosen family was the Navy.

His whole life was the Navy.

To see Natasha, surrounded by loved ones who were so detached from it all, was a breath of fresh air.

A reminder that maybe there was more to life than the medals he earned. 

They truly had welcomed him with open arms. Despite the fact that his history with them obviously didn’t run as deep as Natasha’s did, the love was palpable as they treated him like one of their own.

He was out to dinner with Natasha and her sisters. They’d opted to take him to a locally loved Mexican restaurant from which they swore the chicken flautas would change his life. After more flautas and rice than he cared to admit and 3 beers, though conversation was flowing, Bradley excused himself to use the restroom.

As he washed his hands, a chuckle crept out of his mouth. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this serene. 

He shook his hands dry after a minute of fighting the paper towel dispenser, and as he turned the corner into the primary seating area where he was awaited, he made contact with someone and was suddenly covered in a freezing cold, greenish-yellow, icy liquid.

As he looked up, his eyes met yours.

A laugh escaped him at your mortified apologies as you set the tray you were carrying down in favour of grabbing a handful of napkins to help him clean the frozen margarita that had doused his torso. 

He heard a chorus of loud, drunk, obnoxious cheers coming from the Trace women once they’d realized Bradley had been partially at fault for the commotion between the bar and the restroom.

He was about to laugh yet again, until he realized how truly embarrassed you looked. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He said, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I promise it’s fine.” He offered a smile as you finally looked up at him.

“I’m so sorry!” You replied, putting the pile of sopping wet napkins on the abandoned tray and offering hand sanitizer from the bottle on the bar top to get rid of the tacky residue that coated both your hands. “I should’ve been paying more attention! I was all flustered because these margaritas got sent back for tasting too lime-y,” you explained, putting air quotes around the flavour descriptor. “And I—I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do about that.” You finished, out of breath. “Although, that’s not your problem. Like at all. So, just, please know I’m so sorry. I’ll grab you another round. On me.”

“That’s really not necessary.” He told you, his hands still not having left your shoulders.

“I’ll take a free beer!” Natasha’s youngest sister, Naomi, called from the table.

“I guess I’ll take one beer.” He corrected, "But that’s it.” He pointed a finger at you before offering a final smile and heading back to the table.  

The night continued; Bradley had been in far less comfortable positions than this, so when the girls offered to head out so he could change, he insisted they keep the good evening rolling.

Natasha’s oldest sister had just finished a story about how they’d all ended up with matching scars from eating it on the old swingset in their childhood home when a throat-clearing sound alerted the four to a new arrival.

It was you. Looking as bashful as before.

“Hey, I’m heading out, but I just wanted to apologize one more time for spilling that margarita on you. You’re a real trooper. If I were you, I couldn’t stand sitting here in it like that.” You gestured to the shirt, which was sticking to his abs from the drying tequila and lime juice. 

“Trust me, you don’t have to feel bad.” He said, laughing. 

Now, Natasha Trace may have been drunk. But even in her slightly inebriated state, she still saw all the telltale signs that Bradley Bradshaw was smitten.

The shy smirk that grew on his face was the first tell. It wasn’t the cocky one he wore when he spoke to potential hook-ups in the Hard Deck. It was more gentle. More vulnerable.

The red flush that crept up his neck as his eyes searched yours as if they contained every answer one could ever want.

The way he subtly mirrored your own actions, scratching his nose when you did the same, folding his hands together as you wrung yours nervously. 

The corner of her lip twitched up into a smirk, and her brows furrowed as she kicked her oblivious sisters under the table and nodded subtly towards the interaction.

Silence enveloped the three sisters as they observed the interaction. As if it were rehearsed, all three of their jaws dropped in sync when Bradley let you walk away.

“What the hell, Bradshaw?” Natasha asked, in a stage whisper. “Why didn’t you give her your number?”

“What?” He asked with an incredulous laugh as his gaze rose to the ceiling.

“Ugh, men can’t do anything.” Natasha said, dramatically pushing her chair back and quickly exiting the building, the same way you had. 

Bradley looked between her two sisters with his mouth agape and eyebrows raised. It didn’t take long for her to make her way back. In her hand was a napkin, with ten digits scrawled across it.

“Text her.” She said, placing the napkin in front of Bradley. “She thought it was sweet that you were 'shy.'" She said, rolling her eyes at the man she begrudgingly called her best friend. 

He could only smile as he folded the napkin with careful precision before sliding it into his wallet.

Once her sisters had gotten into their respective Ubers home, Natasha and Bradley started the short walk to her parents’ house, where they were staying. 

“Alright, quit pussyfooting around, Bradshaw.” 

“Pussyfooting?” He asked, a questioning smile spread across his face. 

“Text her. Now.” 

Bradley sighed, pulling out his phone and wallet before punching your phone number into the ‘To:’ section of IMessage. 

Hey, it's Bradley from the margarita incident. Full disclosure, I’m only visiting for the week. But I’d love to take you out to dinner if you’re free tomorrow?

Natasha squealed uncharacteristically as she saw “Read 22:13” appear below the message while she read over Bradley’s shoulder. 

The three dots indicating you were typing appeared and vanished once, twice, and three times before a message came through.

Hi Bradley! I’d love to!

The next day, he cursed himself for not bringing nicer clothes to the Trace abode. How was he to know he’d meet the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen on this visit?

He put on the nicest shirt he had and a pair of chinos borrowed from Mr. Trace himself. 

As he arrived at the restaurant and saw you, waiting by the host stand for him, all the air left his lungs.

Last night, you were beautiful, and you were working.

He should’ve known seeing you in a new setting would floor him.

He couldn’t believe you’d gotten prettier. 

He swore he’d died when your eyes met his and the most beautiful smile graced your features. 

Once you’d sat together, conversation flowed as you both looked over your menus.

Not once did work get mentioned. Not from either of you.

For the first time in a long time, Bradley felt like more than an accomplished naval aviator. He felt like a man who had something to offer outside of his profession. 

He briefly forgot the shadow he’d spent his life trying to outrun. 

The pressure imposed on him by himself and the universe that took his father too soon was gone from the forefront of his mind.

He could just talk to you as Bradley Bradshaw.

He could be a man who enjoyed golf, football, and the beach.

He could be a dork who loved to read about various conspiracies despite not really believing any of them.

He could be a dude who, despite never having tried it, knew a weird amount about archery.

He could be the guy whose idea of fun was painting old-school car models. 

He could just be. 

The questions you asked about his interests and the way your eyes lit up as you encouraged him to continue his explanations made him feel a type of peace he couldn’t remember ever having felt before. 

Still, this felt quite different.

The moment you’d received the message that morning: Maverick wants to see you. And Rooster. Together. You’d spent the last hour trying to figure out what exactly you’d done.

Nothing came to mind, which somehow made you even more nervous.

Maverick sat behind his desk, reading through a stack of papers. He looked up as the two of you entered. “Morning.”

“Mav.” Rooster greeted.

“Good morning.” You echoed.

Maverick gestured toward the chairs opposite his desk. “Sit.”

The second Rooster dropped into the chair beside you, he leaned over slightly. “What’d you do?”

You looked at him and frowned. “What’d I do?”

“You got called in too.” He shrugged and looked at you.

You look around, slightly in distress. “Yeah, and you also got called in.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s exactly what somebody who’s done something says.”

Rooster opened his mouth to argue, but Mav was first. “I can hear both of you.”

You immediately sat back and Rooster cleared his throat. “Right.”

A smile tugged briefly at Maverick’s mouth and then he set the papers down. For a moment, the room grew quiet. It felt serious enough that both you and Rooster straightened instinctively.

Maverick noticed and his expression softened slightly. “Relax.”

But obviously, neither of you relaxed.

“I promise this isn’t a... disciplinary meeting.”

You folded your arms and rested them on the table. “Then why are we here?”

Maverick leaned back in his chair. “Because I need something from the both of you.”

That certainly got your attention.

You felt yourself sit up straighter. And beside you, Rooster did the same. The casual atmosphere disappeared immediately. Mission requests weren’t unusual, though Maverick asking for something personally was.

“What do you need?” Rooster asked.

Maverick’s gaze shifted toward you. Not Rooster, you. And suddenly your confusion doubled.

Because Rooster made more sense: he was an aviator. One of the best pilots in the squadron. You, on the other hand; were a medic who patched people up, treated injuries, dealt with emergencies after things went wrong.

So, you weren’t the one flying into danger, but the one waiting to deal with the consequences. So, why was Maverick looking at you like you were the important part of this conversation?

“I know we’re already busy preparing for the next operation,” Mav said. “And I know everyone’s schedules are packed.”

That wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Maverick folded his hands together. “But there’s something we need to address before then.”

You exchanged another glance with Rooster.

Neither of you seemed to have any idea where this was going. Maverick noticed and continued. “I’ve been reviewing reports from the last few deployments.”

Your stomach dropped slightly, reports were never a good sign. “And?”

Maverick leaned back slightly against the edge of his desk. The movement looked casual, but there was something thoughtful in the way he folded his arms across his chest.

His eyes moved between the two of you for a moment before settling somewhere beyond your shoulder, as though he was organising his thoughts before speaking.

“And I’ve noticed a recurring problem.”

A small crease formed between your brows.

Beside you, Rooster shifted in his chair, stretching one arm across the backrest behind him. Unlike you, he looked more relaxed now.

“What problem?” you asked.

Maverick pushed away from the desk and walked toward the large mission map mounted on the wall.

He stopped in front of the display and rested a hand against the edge of the table beneath it.

Several locations had already been marked in red and blue for the upcoming operation. Routes, landing zones, potential extraction points.

Maverick pointed toward one of them. “When something goes wrong here,” he said, tapping the location with his finger. “It takes too long for a medical team to reach the pilots.”

His finger moved to another marker. “And here.”

Then another.

“And here.”

You followed every movement carefully with your eyes.

At first, you weren’t entirely sure where he was going with this. The issue wasn’t new. Every medic on base knew response times were one of the biggest challenges in field operations.

But then something started clicking into place. Not fully, just enough to make you sit forward in your chair.

The leather creaked quietly beneath you. Maverick crossed his arms again and looked directly at both of you. “The reality is that minutes matter. Even seconds.”

Nobody spoke.

Because there wasn’t a single person in this room who could argue otherwise. You knew for a fact you certainly couldn’t.

You’d seen it too many times, watched patients arrive conscious and talking, only for complications to spiral because help had come a few minutes too late. And watched others survive injuries they shouldn’t have survived because someone reached them thirty seconds sooner than expected.

Medicine wasn’t always about skill. Sometimes not even about experience, but a lot of times came down to speed; being there first.

Maverick’s gaze settled on you. “So we’re changing things.”

Your eyebrows lifted immediately and a feeling of uncertainty settled in your stomach. “And what does that mean exactly?”

A small smile tugged at one corner of Maverick’s mouth. Not because anything was funny. Because he clearly knew what your reaction was about to be. “It means I want a dedicated flight medic.”

For a second, you genuinely thought you’d misunderstood him. The words registered. They just didn’t make sense.

“A medic capable of deploying directly with aviation teams rather than waiting for secondary transport.”

Your brain seemed to stall.

Then slowly, very slowly, you lifted a hand and pointed at yourself. “Me?”

“You.”

“Mav…” You laughed a short burst of disbelief before you could stop it. You shook your head, looking down at the floor for a second before glancing back up. “I don’t fly.”

“Not yet.”

That earned another laugh. This one louder. You leaned back in your chair, teeth showing as you laughed, your head tipping toward the ceiling. “That’s funny.”

Maverick didn’t even blink.

The smile disappeared from your face almost immediately. Your head lowered again. “Oh.”

Across from you, Maverick simply raised an eyebrow. Rooster straightened slightly, his lazy posture disappeared. For the first time since entering the room, he looked genuinely surprised.

“Wait,” he said. “Seriously?”

“Very seriously.”

You stared at Maverick. The conversation felt like it was happening several seconds ahead of where your brain currently was.

“Mav, I’m a medic.”

“Correct.”

“I’m not a pilot.”

“Also correct.”

“I don’t even have flight qualifications.”

“Which is why we’re having this conversation. Besides any medic in this field got basic pilot training. In case we hadn’t any.”

“Mav, that was years ago. I barely remember anything.”

Surely there were better candidates; people who already had aviation experience, who wouldn’t need months of additional training. Ones who actually belonged in an aircraft.

Maverick seemed to read every thought crossing your face. He’d always been annoyingly good at that.

“You’re one of the best medics I’ve worked with.”

The sentence hit you like a thrown object. You immediately looked away. The window suddenly became fascinating.

Outside, a maintenance crew was moving equipment across the tarmac. Anything was easier to focus on than being praised.

Maverick ignored your discomfort entirely. “You stay calm under pressure. You make decisions quickly. And every pilot I’ve spoken to trusts you.”

You nodded in agreement, you’d spent years earning that trust.

Long nights in medical tents, deployments that blurred together, holding pressure on wounds while helicopters landed around you. Even stitching injuries at three in the morning while exhausted pilots talked simply because they didn’t know who else to talk to.

And somehow, over the years, you’d earned their trust. You swallowed. Still uncomfortable under Maverick’s attention. “That still doesn’t explain why me.”

Maverick’s expression softened once again and he sat back down in front of Bradley and you. “Because if something happens up there,” he said quietly. “I want the best person possible arriving first.”

You looked down at your hands. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Maverick gave you time and then continued. “You won’t be flying missions as a pilot. You’ll be training to operate in aviation environments.”

And there it was. The catch.

“Oh no. Absolutely not.”

The grin appeared on Rooster’s face so quickly it was almost impressive. You didn’t even need to look at him. You could practically hear it.

That smug amusement practically radiated from his side of the room.

When you finally turned your head, he was already leaning back in his chair again, one arm stretched behind him and a hand resting on the backrest. His smile was lazy and entirely too pleased with itself.

Maverick noticed. “Something funny, Bradshaw?”

“Nah.” The grin widened. “Not really.”

You pointed at him before he could even open his mouth. “Don’t.”

That only made it worse.

The smile spread slowly across his face, his head dipping toward the floor for a moment as though he was genuinely trying to contain himself. He wasn’t. Not even a little.

His shoulders shifted as he leaned farther back in his chair, stretching one arm casually along the backrest behind him. The posture was loose, relaxed, completely at odds with the military setting around him.

The office itself was quiet enough that you could hear the distant hum of aircraft engines through the window. The February sun spilled across the floor in long rectangles, illuminating the mission map and the stack of paperwork still sitting untouched on Maverick’s desk.

Yet somehow all of your attention remained fixed on the increasingly delighted expression sitting beside you.

Rooster looked like he’d just been handed the greatest gift imaginable. “Oh, this is incredible.”

“Bradley.”

“A flight medic.”

“Bradley.”

“Who hates flying.” His grin widened immediately.

“I do not hate flying.” You groaned.

The response came far too quickly and too defensively.

Rooster laughed. Not one of those polite chuckles people offered out of obligation. A real laugh, an actual one.

The kind that pulled his entire face into it.

His head tipped back slightly, shoulders shaking once as the sound escaped him. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and for a moment he looked less like one of the Navy’s most respected aviators and more like a kid who’d just discovered something endlessly entertaining.

Unfortunately, that something was you.

“And you threw up during turbulence last year in a regular airplane.”

You glared at him while he just looked delighted. All the while Maverick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Bradshaw. You’re certainly helping.”

“Happy to contribute, sir.”

The older man sighed heavily before looking back at you. “The training starts next week.”

Your smile disappeared instantly and you paused. “Next week?”

“Next week.”

You slowly sank deeper into your chair. The feeling in your stomach got significantly worse.

Next to you, Rooster looked like he’d just been handed the greatest gift of his life. And suddenly, a horrible realization started forming. Because there was absolutely no reason Rooster needed to be present for this conversation.

None.

Maverick could have told him afterward. Could have sent an email or inform him during a briefing. Instead, he’d specifically called both of you into his office. Together.

Your eyes narrowed, slowly. “But, why is he here?”

You watched as Maverick leaned back in his chair, his hand drifting to the coffee mug on his desk. Across the desk, Maverick's mouth twitched suspiciously.

Your eyes narrowed as the sunlight spilled through the large windows overlooking the tarmac, turning the polished floor into strips of gold. Beyond the glass, mechanics moved between aircraft, tiny figures against the massive silhouettes of fighter jets.

Rooster tilted his head as he looked from you to Maverick, confusion spreading across his face. “That’s a good question, actually.”

The brunet aviator straightened in his chair. The lazy amusement he’d been carrying throughout the meeting disappeared as he pointed at himself.

“No, seriously. Why am I here?”

Maverick sighed heavily, leaning back against his desk as though this exact moment had been inevitable. When neither of you looked away, he finally relented. “Alright, look.”

Those two words made you sit up straighter. Beside you, Rooster looked equally wary.

Maverick crossed his arms and studied the two of you for a moment before speaking.

“Bradley is only here... because if this proposal moves forward, you’ll be training together.”

“Together?” you asked.

Rooster’s voice overlapped yours. “Together?”

Maverick nodded once.

“Together.”

The training went by quickly.

The first week wasn’t terrible, which was the problem. You had spent the entire weekend preparing yourself for disaster.

You’d expected to embarrass yourself. Expected to fail spectacularly, to spend every walking moment feeling out of place or even a bit self-conscious.

But when you spent the first few days mostly in classroom to follow sessions, you felt more at ease.

The sessions existed of PowerPoint presentations, safety procedures, emergency protocols and aircraft systems.

By Wednesday, you had started feeling suspiciously confident. Maybe a little too confident.

The classroom was warm compared to the cool weather outside, the room humming softly overhead while instructors moved through slides filled with diagrams and technical information. Most of the pilots looked bored out of their minds.

You, however, were taking notes.

Actual notes.

Pages and pages of them.

By the end of the morning, your notebook looked more organised than the instructor’s presentation. Even Bradley looked confused as he stared at your notebook, then at his... which was quite empty.

The second week was when things started becoming significantly less fun. Because the classroom disappeared and the simulators appeared.

The simulator facility occupied an entire section of the training center. Even from the outside, it looked intimidating. Large gray machines sat behind glass walls, each one designed to replicate the cockpit of an F/A-18 down to the smallest detail.

You stood outside the room staring through the glass. Rooster stood beside you. “You look like you’re attending a funeral.”

You kept looking in the room, self-doubt rolling off your shoulders. “I’m considering my options.”

“What options?” He asked with a grin.

Now you definitely refused to look at him. Him and his stupid, perfect, cute—what are you thinking? This is your colleague, and only your colleague.

“Running.”

His laugh echoed through the hallway and the instructor chose that exact moment to call everyone.

Once you were inside, the cockpit felt smaller than you expected. Much smaller. When you were seated, metal and screens surrounded you from every direction. Switches covered nearly every available surface, buttons everywhere, weird displays, too many controls... you sighed, this was a lot to remember.

The instructor began explaining procedures. You listened closely, and took notes, all while Bradley sat at the back of the room, watching your development.

Everything was fine, until the simulation actually started moving.

Your stomach dropped instantly. The artificial horizon shifted and the aircraft moved.

Almost two hours later, when the session finally ended, you emerged looking noticeably less enthusiastic than when you’d entered. Not that you were in the first place. So that said enough.

Rooster was waiting outside when you walked out the door. He sat stretched across one of the hallway benches; long legs extended in front of him, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his flight suit, you weren’t sure why but he always wore them. A cold water bottle rested beside him.

The second he saw your expression, his mouth twitched.

You pointed immediately. “Don’t even say anything.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“I am.” He winked.

By the third week, training had become part of your routine. Every morning started before sunrise, and ended exhausted.

You spent hours learning extraction procedures, emergency deployment methods, aviation communication systems, and survival protocols.

At some point Bradley even got you to join him in the gym at the end of the second week, mumbling something about neck muscles, though the only muscles you could think about were those—nope, you were not doing that. Not again.

Though most of the pilots seemed endlessly entertained by the process. Hangman was by far the worst. One afternoon you found yourself strapped into a helicopter seat while an instructor reviewed emergency procedures, again.

Hangman leaned against the open doorway of the helicopter, sunglasses reflecting the afternoon sun. “You look pretty nervous, darlin’.”

You chuckled, trying not to show too many nerves. “I’m just sitting.”

“Well, then, you look nervous while sitting.” A huge grin spread across the blond’s face, as he looked at you through his sunglasses.

The strange part wasn’t the training, it was how quickly you stopped feeling alone in it.

Every time you walked into a classroom, somebody waved you over. Every simulator session had an audience (much against your will), and most of all, every practical exercise somehow ended with half the squadron hanging around afterward.

One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting swimming lesson, you emerged from the locker room, hair wet after washing the chlorine off and a headache with the overwhelming urge to never looking at another swimming pool again.

The hallway was nearly empty, though a figure sat alone near the windows, scrolling on a phone that looked way too little in those hands.

The figure, you now recognised as Bradley, looked up. “How’d it go?”

You dropped into the seat beside him, not caring that your wet hair left a mark against the back of your sweater.

“That bad?”

You shrugged. “I will never look the same at a swimming pool again.”

The hallway remained quiet around you, filled only with the distant sounds of activity elsewhere on base. Then Rooster nudged a bottle of water toward you. “You’ll get it.”

The certainty in his voice made you look over.

“How’d you know?”

He shrugged. “Because you always do.”

For some reason, those four words stayed in your mind much longer than they should have. Long after the training session ended, after you went home, after you convinced yourself they didn’t matter.

The first (actual) flight happened on a Tuesday morning.

The morning air was cool when you arrived at the flight line. The sun had only just started climbing over the horizon, painting the edges of the hangars gold. Ground crews moved across the tarmac carrying equipment and checklists while the distant roar of engines vibrated through the concrete beneath your boots.

For the first time since training began, everything felt real. Simulators were on thing, but this? You stood beside the jet staring up at it.

The aircraft seemingly bigger than usual. “You alright?” a smooth voice cut you out of your train of thoughts.

“I know I say this a lot, but I’m genuinely questioning every decision I’ve ever made.”

His smile appeared slowly. “Little late for that.”

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not helping, Rooster.”

By the time you’d finished securing everything, the instructor continued explaining procedures.

Most of your concentration was currently dedicated to breathing normally, which was becoming increasingly difficult with every passing second.

You could hear your own breathing through the headset, your heartbeat loud in your ears and every nervous thought bouncing around inside your skull.

Then the engine started and every other thought disappeared. The vibration traveled through the entire aircraft. The sound wasn’t heard so much as felt.

You’d spent years watching these jets from the outside. Nothing had prepared you for what it felt like sitting inside one.

Your eyes widened despite yourself.

A laugh crackled through your headset. “Pretty different from the simulator, huh?”

“Thanks for mentioning that again, Rooster.”

“No problem, I’ll be here the entire time to remind you.”

You could practically hear his smug grin.

The private training session had been Maverick’s idea. Which should have been your first warning.

The second warning had been the text message you’d received at five-thirty that morning: Bradshaw will meet you at Hangar 3. 0700. Don’t be late. Again. Bring flying gear.

You scoffed when you read the message, you’d been late once. By two minutes.

So, by seven o’clock, you were standing on the tarmac with a helmet tucked awkwardly beneath your arm and a growing sense of dread sitting somewhere behind your ribs.

The sun had barely risen. The air still carried the coldness of the night, and the base felt quieter than usual. A few maintenance crews moved between aircraft in the distance, their voices carrying faintly across the open concrete.

Rooster was already there, of course.

He stood beside the aircraft talking to one of the crew chiefs, flight helmet hanging loosely from his fingertips. The moment he noticed you approaching, his expression shifted into a softer smile. A contrast from his usual smirk.

“Well, you look thrilled to be here.”

You stopped beside him. “I considered driving directly into the ocean.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

You chose to ignore that comment. “What exactly are we doing today?”

He shrugged, his head hanging low with a teasing smile hanging on his lips. “Just some basic flying things.”

You were running through a checklist when Rooster’s voice crackled through your headset. “Nervous?”

“You’re literally flying this thing, why are you asking me this? Are you nervous?”

“Professional assessment, sweetheart.”

The takeoff felt different with Rooster flying.

Not because it was a different aircraft, but because he was flying. And everything felt effortless, the movements, communication, even the decisions.

Watching him work up close was strangely fascinating, you’d spent years seeing. you sighed loudly, you did not want to be there.

“You still with me back there?”

You nodded, before realising he could not see you. “Yes.” sadly

Hours later you found yourself flying low over the coastline. The ocean stretched endlessly beneath the aircraft, the February sun scattering across the water like shattered glass.

For once, your nerves had settled. You weren’t focused on the aircraft anymore. You couldn’t, not with him in front of you.

Rooster had spent the better part of the last hour talking you through procedures, explaining systems, occasionally throwing in some story about his own training that usually ended with you laughing despite yourself.

The tension that had been sitting in your shoulders all morning had finally begun to loosen. Well, what a way too jinx yourself...

The noise cut through the cockpit so sharply that your stomach immediately dropped. “What was that?”

The relaxed pilot who had spent the last hour teasing you vanished completely. His eyes darted across the instruments and his hand moved across controls with practiced precision.

You watched his posture change.

“Bradley?”

“Hydraulics.” He answered calmly. Too calmly.

Rooster’s voice came through the radio a second later as he contacted base. Who responded ‘Return to base, priority landing’ immediately.

Your stomach twisted. “How bad is it?”

Rooster glanced toward one of the instruments. His answer took a second too long.

“Bradley.”

“We’re okay.” You saw him nod as the aircraft shook once more. “We’re okay,” he repeated firmly. “But I need you to stay clam for me.”

Something about the way he said it made every hair on your arms stand up. His eyes remained fixed on the instruments and all the other dozens of things demanding his attention all at once.

The radio crackled, voiced overlapped with instructions, coordinates, runway information and a safe landing zone with a safe house. Wait, a safe house?

The atmosphere inside the cockpit had completely transformed.

Outside, the landscape had changed dramatically. The coastline was gone. The ocean had been replaced by rolling hills and dense stretches of forest, all muted beneath a grey February sky.

“What do you need me to do?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His attention remained fixed on the horizon while one hand moved across the controls.

You saw the way winter had left its fingerprints everywhere.

The trees were bare, the fields looked pale and lifeless as clouds hung low enough to make the world feel smaller.

“Nothing, stay put.” He answered and the aircraft jolted again.

The right side dipped unexpectedly before Rooster corrected it. You felt the turn in your stomach immediately. Your hand shot toward the side of your seat, fingers wrapping tightly around the edge.

The radio crackled to life. Several voices overlapped through the static. You couldn’t make sense of it, but you caught enough to understand that something had changed.

“Where are we going?”

Rooster exhaled slowly and his jaw tightened. “Nearest emergency strip.”

You stared at the back of his helmet. “The nearest?”

“The closest we can reach. Safely.”

You felt a cold wave of dread settle over you. “We’re not making base?”

“No, not with the hydraulic problem and the weather, we’re not making it to base. Too far”

The honesty of the answer was somehow worse than anything else.

The aircraft continued forward through the grey sky while warning lights flashed rhythmically across the instrument panel. Every few moments another vibration rattled through the frame, each one stronger than the last.

Then, finally, the runway appeared.

At first, you almost missed it. It wasn't the wide, professional landing strip you were used to seeing at base. It looked small and isolated. Like most people had forgotten about its existence. The weathered strip of pavement cut through the landscape like a scar.

Your stomach sank. “We’re landing there?”

“It’s our best option.”

That was not the answer you wanted.

The aircraft suddenly shook again. This time there was no disguising the severity of it. The entire frame rattled violently around you.

Metal groaned somewhere beneath the cockpit floor as several alarms erupted at once, filling the confined space with noise.

For the first time, you saw how hard Bradley was working. His shoulders were rigid and the muscles in his forearms stood out beneath his flight suit.

Every movement he made looked controlled, but it wasn't effortless anymore. The aircraft wasn’t responding properly anymore, everything he did was fighting him.

Outside, the runway grew larger. The old pavement rushed toward you at an alarming speed while empty trees blurred together on either side.

The radio continued feeding instructions through your headset, though you were sure neither of you were listening. Your entire world had narrowed to the sight of Bradley wrestling the aircraft toward the ground.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as the runway filled the canopy. For one brief, beautiful moment, you thought you’d made it. The relief barely had time to register before the aircraft slammed down.

The impact was violent.

Your entire body jerked forward as the harness locked painfully across your chest. The force rattled through your teeth and up your spine. And the jet bounced back into the air.

Not high, but just enough to make everything worse. A second later it crashed back onto the runway. The impact launched you forward despite the restraints. Your helmet collided with the back of Bradley’s seat with a sickening crack that exploded through your skull.

Pain erupted instantly, it felt bright, blinding and disorienting. You barely had time to process it before the aircraft struck the pavement again.

The third impact was even harder.

Your head snapped backward this time, colliding with your own seat. The force sent stars across your vision. For a second the entire cockpit blurred.

The alarms sounded distant now.

Muffled.

It felt like you were underwater.

The aircraft skidded across the runway. You could feel the vibration tearing through the frame as tires screamed against old pavement. Somewhere outside, sparks flashed past the canopy.

Then everything began slowing down. The motion, noise, even the chaos. Until finally the aircraft ground to a halt.

For several seconds, you couldn’t tell whether your eyes were open or closed. The world tilted strangely around you.

The pain behind your forehead pulsed with every heartbeat. Somewhere ahead, Bradley was saying your name. At least, you thought he was. His voice sounded far away, distorted by the ringing in your ears and the thick fog settling over your thoughts.

For a while, you couldn’t tell if you were awake.

The world seemed to drift in and out around you. One moment there was darkness, then the next flashes of light slipped through your eyelids. Everything felt disconnected, like your brain was struggling to catch up to reality.

The first thing you became aware of was the wind. A low howl pressed against the outside of aircraft, rattling the damaged frame. Every few seconds, another gust swept through the surrounding trees, making branches scrape against one another somewhere beyond the runway.

The sound felt strangely lonely.

You tried opening your eyes, but immediately regretted it. Pain exploded behind your forehead, forcing them shut again.

Your stomach rolled unpleasantly.

For several long seconds, you simply sat there breathing through it.

Opening your eyes for a second time, you blinked the haze away. The warning lights still flashed across the instrument panel, bathing the cockpit in intermittent red and amber light. Their reflections bounced across the canopy like distant emergency beacons.

You tried sitting up but it only made the ringing in your ear worse. A splitting headache gave shivers down your spine. You could hear muffled sounds, then static.

The next time you opened your eyes, the world was more quiet, well, not completely quiet. You could hear the wind somewhere outside, rattling against the walls and windows, but it was nothing compared to the alarms and chaos from before.

For a moment, you simply stared at the ceiling.

It wasn’t the cockpit.

Wooden beams crossed overhead, illuminated by a small lamp somewhere nearby. The room felt warm, almost surprisingly so, and as your vision slowly cleared, you realized you were lying in an actual bed.

Confusion settled over you immediately.

You turned your head carefully.

The room wasn’t large. A small kitchenette occupied one corner. Shelves stocked with canned food and bottled water lined one wall. There was a tiny refrigerator, a radio, and a stack of old CDs sitting beside it.

It looked less like a military outpost and more like somebody’s forgotten studio apartment.

Then your eyes landed on the table.

A medical kit sat open beside several pieces of discarded gauze.

Bloodied gauze.

Your brows furrowed.

Blood?

You pushed yourself upright before your brain could fully catch up and were instantly filled with regret as pain exploded through your skull, making the entire room tilt. A sharp breath escaped you as dizziness crashed over you.

“Hey.” The voice startled you. Bradley was on his feet immediately.

One second he had been sitting across the room. The next he was beside the bed, one hand settling carefully against your shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

His voice was low, almost gentle, “You should be sleeping.”

You blinked up at him. The movement alone made your head pound. “What happened? Whose blood is that?”

His expression immediately told you everything you needed to know.

“Are you injured?” You asked, eyes already scanning his figure. He was wearing his flight suit halfway with a blue thermal long sleeve.

“After you get some sleep, you can asses me.”

You sighed and moved your hand toward your head. You felt some bandages across your forehead, and on your nose. Before you followed his advice and tried to relax once more.

When you woke up for the third time, you felt a gush of cold wind.

For a moment, you simply lay there, blinking slowly at the dim room around you. The small window above the kitchenette had been covered with a sheet of fabric on the inside, and the wind easily found ways through every crack in the old safe house. Each gust rattled the loose frame, making the entire house groan softly.

You guessed that the storm had been busy for a while.

Your head still hurt, but the dizziness wasn’t nearly as bad as before. The room came into focus much faster, and as you rubbed sleep from your eyes, a familiar smell drifted through the air.

Fresh coffee.

Your gaze immediately landed on the small kitchenette. Then moved farther, to Bradley

He was sitting on the tiny couch pushed against the opposite wall, hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees. A mug sat on the table beside him, steam still curling from the surface.

You frowned.

The couch was ridiculously small.

You weren’t sure how Bradley had managed to fit on it at all. You certainly wouldn’t have.

Though, you barely noticed earlier how there was only one bed, you now thought of the fact that he’d have to sleep on the miniscule couch.

Slowly, you swung your legs over the edge of the mattress. The floor felt cold beneath your feet. When you stood, the room tilted slightly before settling again.

You ignored the dull protest from your headache and made your way across the room. The floorboards creaked beneath each careful step.

The brunet didn’t notice immediately.

His attention remained fixed on something in his hands. And so did yours. In his hands, he held a roll of gauze.

The back of his thermal long sleeve had been pushed up, exposing part of his side.

Dark bruising stretched across his ribs. You noticed that they were not small bruises, the entire area was a mix of purple, blue and even black.

Your medic instincts kicked in so fast it was almost embarrassing. “Bradley.”

His head lifted. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

You stared blankly at him. “I’ve had enough rest for somebody who only hit their head.”

Bradley just scoffed in reply. The sound was quiet, accompanied by the faintest smile as he leaned back against the couch cushions. “Only your head?”

You hated that he had a point. You still could feel everything hurt. Your ribs, shoulders, everything.

“It’s just some minor bruising.” He looked back at the roll in his hands.

“I think I will be the judge of that, since I’m a medic, and all,” you said.

Bradley’s expression softened. The teasing disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived. “You should sit down.”

“You should let me take a look at your ribs.”

“You have a concussion.”

“Says you, a pilot.” You crossed your arms, trying not to twitch when your side hurt more than you anticipated.

“A pilot who also got medical training.” His eyes wandering to your side.

“Not as much as I did.” You expected Bradley to argue, something to deflect the attention away from himself and back onto you. Instead, he simply looked at you for a moment before letting out a slow breath through his nose.

The expression on his face said he already knew he wasn’t winning this argument.

Without another word, he handed you the roll of gauze.

You shifted closer on the couch and carefully lifted the hem of his thermal shirt higher. The movement exposed more of his side, and once again, your professional instincts took over.

The bruising stretched farther than you’d expected.

Dark patches of purple and blue stretched across his side, disappearing beneath the fabric at his waist. The skin was already swollen in places, evidence of just how hard the landing had been. Seeing it up close made something tighten uncomfortably in your chest.

Bradley noticed your expression immediately.

“It’s not that bad.”

You slowly looked up at him and the look you gave him, made him sigh.

“Okay,” he amended. “Maybe it’s a little bad.”

That earned the faintest smile. It appeared for only a second before disappearing again, but it was enough. The tension that had been sitting heavily between you since the crash seemed to ease slightly.

Outside, the storm continued building. Wind rattled the windows hard enough to make the old safe house creak, and every so often snow tapped softly against the glass.

The sounds should have felt unsettling, but somehow they didn’t. If anything, they made the small room feel even more isolated from the rest of the world.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

You focused on examining his ribs, letting years of training take over. Your hands moved automatically as you checked for tenderness and watched his reactions. Bradley tried his best to hide them, but he was terrible at it. You caught every slight tightening of his jaw, every controlled breath, every tiny flinch he thought went unnoticed.

“You’ve probably got bruised ribs,” you concluded in a quiet voice.

“Good.”

You paused your movements slightly. “How is that good?”

“Because it means they’re probably not broken, which means less pain for me.”

You stifled a laugh. “You do realise that bruised ribs are often times as painful as broken ribs.”

“You’re kidding. Right?” Bradley looked up at your face.

You inhaled a breath. “Well, no. I bruised my ribs a year ago, and I still feel the pain, well sometimes.”

“Oh.”

You let your eyes wander over his face before returning to his bruises. “But, I don’t think this’ll be as bad. It is mostly the swelling that is bad.”

He only nodded in response, looking down at the way your hands were moving to patch him up. “How’d it happen?”

“Erm... by coughing.”

Bradley let out a surprised laugh, only to wince in pain. “You can’t be serious.”

The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. “I’m dead serious.” He settled back into the couch cushions while you reached for fresh bandages.

The room had grown darker while you worked. The lamp beside the kitchenette cast a warm glow across the safe house, leaving the corners in shadow.

Everything felt smaller at night, as did the distance between you.

Maybe that was why you noticed it, or maybe you’d been noticing it for longer than you wanted to admit.

At some point, you became aware that he wasn’t giving his undivided attention to his bandages. No, he was looking at you.

Not in a way that made you uncomfortable. But every time you glanced down to secure another piece of gauze, you could feel it.

You tried to ignore it and focus on your work instead. You concentrated on smoothing the bandage into place and making sure it sat comfortably against his side. Yet, the awareness lingered stubbornly at the edgde of your thoughts.

The storm rattled softly against the windows. Wind swept through the trees outside, and somewhere in the distance a branch scraped against the side of the building. Whilst inside the safe house everything felt strangely still.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of you. So, you looked up, just to find him already looking at you.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Only then did you realise how close you’d gotten. Close enough that suddenly meeting his gaze felt far more intimate than it should have.

You looked away first and dropped your attention back to the bandage, which was already secure. Still, you adjusted it anyway, pretending there was something left to fix.

Beside you, Bradley shifted slightly before clearing his throat.

The sound broke whatever had settled between you.

“We’re probably going to be stuck here for a while.”

You frowned, almost grateful for the change in subject. “What do you mean?”

Bradley leaned back carefully, one arm resting across the back of the couch. “The radio worked for a few minutes earlier. Long enough to get a weather report.”

Your hands stilled. “And?”

Outside, a gust of wind slammed against the side of the safe house hard enough to make the small window rattle.

Bradley glanced toward it before looking back at you. “They might’ve mentioned a snowstorm.”

You blinked. “A snowstorm?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It’ll be for another day or two.”

You sighed in annoyance. “A day or two, seriously?”

Bradley gave a small shrug, though the movement immediately made him wince.

“A day if we’re lucky. Two if the storm decides it likes us.”

“Well, that’s just fantastic.”

The dry response earned the faintest smile from him.

Outside, the wind rattled the little window again. Snow had started piling up against the glass now, turning the world beyond it into an endless blur of white.

The trees you’d been able to see an hour ago were almost completely gone.

The reality of being stranded settled a little deeper into your chest.

It was just the two of you and whatever happened to be stocked inside the safe house. Your eyes drifter around the room. “Please tell me there’s food.”

Bradley followed your gaze. “There should be.”

The answer inspired absolutely no confidence.

You both stood at roughly the same time. Or attempted to anyway.

You immediately regretted the decision when your headache reminded you of its existence. Bradley wasn’t doing much better; the second he straightened, one hand automatically moved toward his ribs.

Neither of you acknowledged it. Some things were apparently easier to ignore.

The kitchenette turned out to be depressingly small.

The two of you found yourselves bumping shoulders almost immediately while opening cabinets and checking shelves.

“You know,” Bradley muttered, crouching in front of a lower cabinet, “this would be a lot easier if this place was designed for actual human beings.”

“It was probably designed before people got tall.”

“I take personal offence to that.”

You snickered a laugh.

A moment later, Bradley held up a can triumphantly. “Good news.”

“Beans?” you repeated, squinting at the label as if it might magically transform into something more appealing.

Bradley’s smile faltered almost immediately, his earlier triumph dimming as he took in your reaction. He let out a small breath through his nose, shoulders dropping just slightly. “Okay,” he admitted after a beat, lowering the can a fraction. “Medium news.”

Despite that, the inventory turned out to be better than either of you had expected.

As you continued digging through cabinets and drawers, you found several cans of soup tucked toward the back, along with more beans, a couple boxes of pasta, and a sleeve of crackers that looked mercifully intact.

There were even a few packets of instant oatmeal shoved into a corner, and somehow a dusty jar of peanut butter that looked like it had been sitting there long enough to qualify as a historical artefact.

It wasn’t exactly gourmet, but it was enough to keep you going.

That small sense of victory lasted right up until you opened the refrigerator.

You frowned immediately, the shift in your expression sharp enough that Bradley noticed without even looking.

“Bradley.”

“Hm?” he responded absently, still rummaging through a drawer.

“How much water have we got?”

That got his attention. He straightened and stepped closer, leaning slightly over your shoulder to peer inside. It only took him a second to see what you were seeing.

Then he frowned too.

Inside the fridge sat two large bottles.

That was it.

Your survival instinct kicked in instantly, running through calculations before you could stop it.

Two people, potentially stranded for two days. Drinking water alone would eat through that supply faster than you liked. Add in cooking, basic hygiene, anything else that might come up, it was not enough.

You reached in and pulled one of the bottles out, turning it in your hands to read the label more carefully.

Bradley watched your expression shift, and his own tightened slightly in response.

“That’s bad, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone quieter now, more serious. But the both of you knew the answer to that.

“It’s not great,” you replied, though the understatement felt almost ridiculous the moment it left your mouth.

That earned a soft snort from him, though there wasn’t much humour behind it.

You placed the bottle back inside the fridge with more care than necessary and leaned back against the counter, folding your arms loosely as you stared at the shelves.

For several seconds, neither of you spoke.

Something struck the side of the building with a dull thump, making you both glance instinctively toward the sound before the silence settled again.

Finally, Bradley crossed his arms, shifting his weight slightly as he looked at you.

“So what’s the plan, medic?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your gaze drifted toward the window, where the snowfall had thickened into something almost blinding. The world outside had disappeared into white, the trees barely visible through the storm as it continued to build.

Then the idea came to you. Well, it was not necessarily a good idea, but it was a practical one.

“We could use snow.” You nod slowly, turning back to face him.

Bradley blinked at you, clearly caught off gaurd.

You held his gaze, waiting for a response.

“The frozen stuff outside?” He asked after a moment, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

“That’s generally what snow is,” you replied dryly.

His expression shifted, skepticism written plainly across his face as he glanced toward the window again.

You gestured in that direction, more firmly this time. “We’ll melt it.”

Understanding dawned gradually, his features softening as the idea clicked into place.

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

He looked outside again, then back at you, then outside once more as if trying to fully process what you were suggesting.

“You want us to go into a blizzard and collect snow,” he said, his tone hovering somewhere between disbelief and reluctant acceptance.

“When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous.”

“It’s survival.”

That seemed to land differently. A slow smile began to form on his face; not the teasing grin you’d come to expect, but something quieter, warmer.

There was a hint of something else there too, something that made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t entirely understand.

“You really switched into survival mode fast,” he said, studying you more closely now.

You blinked, thrown slightly by the comment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we crash one plane,” he explained, gesturing vaguely around the room, “and suddenly you’re planning how to keep us alive in the wilderness.”

You pointed toward the fridge, your tone sharpening just a little. “I’m just using common sense and the stupid training I got for almost a month. Besides we have four liters of water, only four—“

“Right.”

“—Four liters that we need for drinking, by the way. Especially with our circumstances—“

“Right.”

“—And we are not making soup with our emergency drinking water.”

The smile widened at that, and for some reason, that only irritated you more. “You think this is funny.”

“I think it’s cute, I think you’re—“

Your brain stalled completely. And for a split second, neither of you moved.

Then Bradley seemed to realize what he’d just said at the exact same moment you processed it. The smile vanished almost instantly, replaced by something far more uncertain.

A brief, awkward silence followed.

Outside, the wind battered the walls again, louder this time, as if the storm itself had decided to punctuate the moment.

Neither of you spoke nor moved.

Then Bradley cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. “We should probably find a pot.”

You stared at him for a second longer than necessary, while he stared very intently at a cabinet.

Coward.

A second later, you turned away too, focusing on opening drawers and cabinets with more attention than they deserved, pretending your face wasn’t suddenly warmer than it had any right to be.

The rest of the evening passed surprisingly quickly.

Maybe it was because neither of you had much choice but to focus on practical things. Between figuring out food, checking supplies, and arguing over how much water constituted “reasonable rationing,” there wasn’t much room left for thinking about the fact that you were stranded in the middle of nowhere.

The soup turned out exactly how canned soup was supposed to turn out, almost edible.

You sat across from each other at the small table near the kitchenette, eating from mismatched bowls while the storm continued building outside.

By the time dinner was finished, the darkness outside had become complete.

You carried your bowl to the sink out of habit, your body moving on autopilot until your brain caught up with the reality of your situation. The moment your fingers brushed the faucet, you froze, remembering that water was no longer something to waste.

The realisation settled heavily in your chest, and you stopped halfway through turning the handle, staring at it as if it had personally betrayed you.

You decided to set the bowl down with the others on the counter, future-you could deal with the consequences of unwashed dishes, because present-you was far too exhausted to care.

Everything hurt in a way that was impossible to ignore, from the dull ache in your head to the sharp reminders in your ribs, and the weight of it all made the bed across the room look incredibly appealing.

The room fell into a suspicious silence as your eyes drifted toward the bed, then toward Bradley, and then back again as if hoping the situation might somehow resolve itself without either of you having to say anything.

It didn’t, of course, and the word “No” slipped out of you before you could stop it, immediately drawing his attention as he looked at you and asked, “No what?”

You straightened slightly, forcing confidence into your voice as you said, “You’re sleeping in the bed,” even though you were already bracing for the argument that would follow.

Bradley blinked at you as if you had just suggested something completely unreasonable, and his response came with a hint of disbelief. “I’m sorry?”

You didn’t back down, even though you felt far less certain than you sounded, and you repeated, “You heard me.” Which only made him lean back in his chair and shake his head. “Absolutely not.”

You frowned at him, already feeling the familiar frustration building as you said his name in warning, but he cut you off with a firm ‘No,’ and just like that, the argument began exactly as expected.

Neither of you gave an inch, and neither of you seemed remotely interested in actually listening to the other, as you insisted that he needed proper sleep while he countered that you did too.

You pointed out that he had literally crash-landed a jet, and he shot back that you had been unconscious, and the back-and-forth continued in a loop that neither of you seemed capable of breaking.

Eventually, Bradley stood up, gathered the his bowl with a sense of finality, and pointed toward the bed as though he were concluding a briefing, stating firmly, “You’re sleeping there,” which only made you cross your arms and repeat it with equal stubbornness.

He stared at you, and you stared right back, neither of you willing to be the first to give in as the wind rattled the windows around you.

The silence stretched until Bradley finally let out a long, tired sigh, the kind that suggested he was already exhausted by the argument. “Look, I’ve already spent a night on the couch, I could do it again.”

That made you open your mouth immediately to argue your point before the words caught in your throat. “Already a night?”

Bradley nodded slightly. He suddenly found everything else in the small house far more interesting than you. His gaze darting anywhere but your face as you pressed him. “How long was I out?”

“A while.”

You shook your head in mild annoyance. “How long?”

He rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture that looked far too guilty t be reassuring, and after a brief hesitation, he said, “You were unconscious most of yesterday.”

You had been out for over twenty-four hours, and he had been here the entire time, dealing with everything on his own, and the thought made something shift uncomfortably inside you.

You looked at him again, your voice quieter now as you said, “You’ve been here alone with me for over twenty-four hours?”

He glanced at you briefly before looking away again, brushing it off. “You make it sound weird.”

You didn’t let it go, though. “You carried me here?”

“Yeah.”

“You treated my concussion?”

“Yeah.” He let out a sigh.

“You stayed awake, in your condition, and then tried to sleep on the couch?”

“Also, yeah.”

“Congratulations,” you said with a smile.

“For?” He looked genuinely confused now.

“For proving my point, you need sleep. Actual sleep.”

“I beg to differ, since you needed a whole day of sleep to recover, it is obvious that you should be resting.”

You groaned loudly and dramatically, even though you knew he wasn’t wrong, and Bradley looked entirely too pleased with himself as he watched you give in.

So that was why, ten minutes later you found yourself in the bed, and Bradley was once again on the couch, and the arrangement felt just as wrong as it had before.

Sleep did not come easily, at least not for you, and you spent the first hour staring at the ceiling while your thoughts refused to settle.

The second hour was spent rolling onto your side, trying to find a position that didn’t make something ache, and the third hour was dedicated to convincing yourself that the situation wasn’t bothering you as much as it clearly was.

The couch was far too small for him, and every time Bradley shifted, the springs protested loudly enough for you to hear, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent safe house and making it impossible to ignore.

The guilt only grew stronger with each passing minute, and you found yourself throwing the blankets off before pulling them back on again, only to kick them off once more as frustration built. You turned onto your left side, then to your right, then onto your back again, but nothing seemed to help, and the bed itself only made things worse by being far too comfortable.

Eventually, you sat upright with a quiet sigh, the room dimly lit by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the snow-covered window, and your gaze drifted toward the couch across the room.

Bradley appeared to be asleep, one arm hanging off the side while his legs looked far too long for the space he was confined to, and the entire situation looked as uncomfortable as it felt.

You stared at him for a moment, then at the floor, and then back at him again as a new problem presented itself, because there was no way you were going to get any sleep while he was stuck like that.

You considered your options carefully, weighing the possibility of sleeping on the floor against the idea of waking him up and forcing him into the bed, but neither option felt particularly appealing.

You sat there for another thirty seconds, trying to decide what to do, before letting out a heavy sigh as you realised that neither choice felt right.

Somehow, that led you to a third option, one that made very little sense but felt like the only thing you could do in the moment, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you climbed carefully out of bed and crossed the room, dragging your blanket behind you.

The floorboards creaked softly beneath your feet as you approached the couch, and a moment later you found yourself standing directly beside him, looking down at Bradley as you waited for something to happen.

Nothing did, and he remained asleep, completely unaware of your presence as you frowned slightly and continued standing there, fully aware that this was probably the worst possible plan you could have come up with.

After another minute passed, even you had to admit that this was ridiculous, and yet you still hadn’t come up with a better solution, leaving you stuck in place with no clear idea of what to do next.

Bradley remained completely asleep, one arm dangling over the edge of the couch while the other was tucked awkwardly beneath his head. The couch looked even smaller up close.

You weren’t entirely sure how he’d managed to spend an entire night on it already, let alone volunteer for a second one.

The longer you stood there, the more ridiculous you felt.

You were a grown adult. And somehow you’d ended up standing over a sleeping pilot at three in the morning because guilt wouldn’t let you go back to bed.

You sighed.

The sound wasn’t particularly loud, but in the quiet safe house it might as well have been.

Bradley’s brow twitched. Then one eye opened. For a second, he simply stared up at you.

Sleep still clung to his expression, softening the sharp edges of his features. His hair was sticking up in several directions, and there was a crease pressed into one side of his face from the couch cushion.

The sight would’ve been funny if you hadn’t immediately been caught.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“So your solution was standing over me?”

“It wasn’t my solution.”

“You’re literally standing over me.”

“I was thinking.”

Bradley’s mouth twitched.

The smile disappeared almost immediately when he pushed himself upright. The movement made him pause halfway through, one hand pressing briefly against his side before he continued.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

The lamp near the kitchenette cast a warm glow across the room. Outside the windows, snow continued piling higher against the glass, making the safe house feel even smaller.

“You should’ve slept. Yesterday.” You looked at him.

He leaned back against the couch and looked toward the dark window. “I tried. You should go back to bed, sweetheart.”

“No, seriously.” You folded your arms. “I have spent the last three hours feeling guilty.”

Bradley sighed immediately, like he’d already anticipated the argument before it had even begun. You could see the exhaustion sitting behind his eyes now, it was not just physical exhaustion either. More the kind that came from spending too many hours worrying about somebody else.

Unfortunately, that only made you feel worse.

The guilt had been sitting in your chest since the moment you’d woken up and learned how long you’d been unconscious.

It had followed you through dinner, through the conversations about water and snow and survival plans, and it had certainly followed you into bed.

Or rather, it had followed you into the bed while Bradley folded himself onto a couch clearly designed for somebody much shorter.

“So, yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”

A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I gathered that from the whole standing-over-me-in-the-dark thing.”

“It wasn’t that weird.” You looked down at your hands. Then back at him. “I feel bad.”

The confession came out quieter than expected.

Bradley immediately frowned. “For what?”

You looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious. “For all of it.”

His eyebrows pulled together more, if that was even possible.

You continued before he could interrupt. “You carried me here. You spent a day taking care of me. You stayed awake while I was unconscious. You patched me up. You probably didn’t sleep. Then I wake up and you’re pretending your ribs aren’t killing you while you sleep on a couch that looks like it’s actively trying to fold you in half.”

By the time you finished, Bradley was staring at you.

You looked away first.

The lamp beside the kitchenette cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the small space in shades of gold and amber. It made the safe house almost feel cozy despite the storm raging outside.

Almost.

“I just…” You exhaled slowly. “I spent three hours lying in that bed feeling guilty.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Bradley looked down at the floor for a second, before looking back up at you, and said, “You would’ve done the same thing.”

You knew he was right, but you still felt guilty. “Yeah, I would. So, come share the bed with me.”

There. You said it. Finally.

Bradley let out a shocked laugh. “Wow, you hit your head harder than I thought.”

“Oh, come on. I’m trying to be nice here. We can put a wall of pillows between us, though there aren’t that many, we’ll figure something out.”

Bradley’s gaze drifted toward the bed. Then toward the couch beneath him. Then back toward the bed again.

You watched the exact moment he realized neither of you were sleeping properly.

You also watched the moment he realized you weren’t going back to bed unless he agreed.

“You are unbelievably stubborn.”

The grin that spread across your face was immediate. “So I’ve been told.”

“Repeatedly, I imagine.”

“Constantly.”

Bradley shook his head and slowly pushed himself to his feet. The movement earned another wince that he tried and failed to hide.

A few minutes later, the pillow wall existed.

It was ridiculous; there were two pillows you had spare laying between the two of you, and some from the couch lying against your sides.

The both of you knew it was ridiculous, but neither of you worded it.

The bed was only barely large enough for two people, which resulted in several minutes of awkwardly rearranging blankets and trying not to elbow each other in the ribs before finally settling.

Sleep didn’t last long.

A loud sound ripped through the safe house with enough force to drag you awake instantly.

Your eyes flew open.

And your body reacted before your mind did, every muscle tensing as your heart lurched violently against your ribs. The noise echoed through the tiny cabin, deep and sharp enough that, for one horrifying second, your brain reached the only conclusion it knew how to make.

Gunshots.

You were halfway upright before another deafening crack split the night.

Then the entire room lit up.

A blinding white light poured through the small window for the briefest second before disappearing again, throwing long shadows across the walls.

A second later, thunder rolled overhead. The sound shook the little safe house so hard the window rattled violently in its frame.

You blinked several times, trying to slow your breathing and decided to lay back down.

Outside, the storm had transformed overnight.

Yesterday’s snow had been relentless but quiet, blanketing everything beneath an endless sheet of white.

Sometime during the night, warmer air must have rolled in. Now rain hammered against the roof while thunder rolled across the mountains, each strike sounding like it had landed somewhere in the surrounding forest.

Another flash illuminated the room.

You groaned softly, dragging a hand down your face. “Seriously?”

You’d always hated thunderstorms. You wouldn’t necessarily call it a fear, especially since multiple people were scared of thunderstorms.

You mostly hated how unpredictable they were. The waiting between each flash and the sudden explosion of loud noises. The way every strike made your shoulders tense even when you knew it was coming.

At home, you developed a system since your teenage years. You’d cover yourself with multiple blankets, you’d close your curtains and put in your noise cancelling AirPods.

The music would be loud enough to drown out the thunder until eventually you fell asleep.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have most of those things near you.

Instead, you were stranded in a tiny emergency safe house somewhere in the middle of a snow-covered forest with one blanket, one bruised pilot, and a storm that sounded determined to tear the roof off.

You sighed quietly and rubbed at your tired eyes, when a though popped into your head. Maybe another pillow would help, you could try and cover your ears with it.

It wouldn’t stop the noise entirely, but it might dull it enough that you’d eventually fall back asleep.

Slowly, careful not to aggravate your bruised ribs, you reached around in the darkness.

Your fingers brushed fabric first, at least you thought it was. Whatever was touching your fingertips was definitely not the blanket you’d been sleeping under.

You shifted slightly, your hand moving just enough to figure out what exactly your head had been resting on.

A flash of lightening illuminated the room.

It was then that you realised, you were not sleeping on your side anymore, let alone your pillow.

Sometime during the night, whether from turning over or trying to get comfortable, you’d somehow crossed the world’s least effective pillow barrier.

Your cheek was resting comfortably against Bradley’s upper arm. Well, not just his arm, more like his bicep.

Your eyes widened.

You stared into the darkness for several long seconds, suddenly becoming acutely aware of everything around you; the steady warmth beside you, the slow rise and fall of his breathing, and the fact that one of your hands had somehow ended up lightly gripping the sleeve of his T-shirt.

You had no idea how that had happened. You couldn’t remember moving at all.

Maybe he had rolled over, maybe you had. Or maybe the pillow wall had given up hours ago.

None of those explanations felt particularly comforting.

You debated retreating immediately and pretending none of this had ever happened.

But before you could even begin to move, a raspy voice spoke.

“Go back to sleep.” His voice was rough with sleep, barely louder than the rain outside.

You blinked, startled. “…You’re awake?”

A quiet hum answered you. “I am now.”

Mortification settled over you almost instantly. “Oh my God.”

You immediately tried lifting your head, which turned out to be a mistake. Pain shot through your ribs and forehead at the same time, forcing you to stop halfway with a quiet hiss.

Bradley’s arm shifted slightly beneath you, not to move you away, but to steady you. “You don’t have to launch yourself across the room.”

“I wasn’t…”

“You were.”

Another flash of lightning lit the room, and you caught the faintest hint of amusement on his face before darkness swallowed it again.

“I crossed the pillow wall.”

“You did.” You could hear his smile in his voice.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I figured.”

Silence settled between you again as rain drummed steadily against the roof and thunder rolled somewhere farther away this time.

You glanced toward the window. “I hate thunderstorms,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

Bradley’s gaze followed yours. “You scared of them?”

You considered the question, then shook your head. “No.”

Another rumble.

You pulled the blanket a little higher without thinking. “I just don’t like not knowing when the next one’s coming.”

Bradley was quiet for a moment before looking back at you. “You know…” he began, his voice still low and softened by sleep, “I thought you woke up because of your concussion.”

“I thought we were being shot at.”

That earned a quiet, sleepy laugh from him. The kind that stayed in his chest more than escaped it.

“You spend too much time around Marines.”

“You spend too much time crashing airplanes.”

“Hey! I landed it.”

“Yeah, into a forest.” You smiled despite yourself as another clap of thunder rolled through the mountains.

This time, without thinking, your fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of his sleeve.

Neither of you said anything.

He simply glanced down at your hand for a brief moment before looking back toward the ceiling.

His voice was so quiet you almost missed it. “It’s just thunder.”