#1989tgm

The happy chatter of excited friends and family of the deployed squadron members, who are due to return within the hour, is bouncing off of the cavernous curved walls of the hangar you’re standing in. Bursts of delighted laughter rippling throughout the space.

And with each passing minute the thumping of your heart pounds a little harder against the walls of your chest. Whether it’s anticipation or apprehension you couldn’t say.

Under normal circumstances the energy would be infectious, the atmosphere around you is bubbly and light, but all it does is make you feel like it is glaringly obvious that you don’t fit in here with the rest of the clusters of families.

That is if your nice yet slightly-too-revealing-to-be-family-friendly dress didn’t already give you away.

The only perk of it at the moment was that the breeze against the bare skin of your exposed back was keeping you from breaking out in an anxious full body sweat in the summer heat.

In your defense, you’d picked this dress out for a reason and had chosen it with a purpose in mind. Even if you were second guessing every decision that has led you here.

Over the last two months, you had changed your mind more frequently than the wind changed direction.

He’d been brought into your life on a high tide of champagne bubbles that had swiftly taken him right back out, leaving a wake of nothing but champagne problems.

Every time you thought about recycling the packet of papers that had taunted you and tempted you in equal parts, you were reminded of the warm brown eyes of the person who had given it to you. And it never failed to set your heart a flutter the same way had when he’d given it to you with that soft, cautiously hopeful smile.

You have the registration form that had gotten you through the heavily secured gate clutched tightly in your hand as if you’re waiting for some uniformed security official to come up to question you then escort you off the base.

Although now it’s so crumbled and creased that you don’t know if they’d even be able to read it.

Worst of all, you had no way to distract your busy mind from all your buzzing thoughts.

They’d taken your phone at the gate, a security measure they’d told you as you watched them tag it with your name and put in a slim cubby for you to collect when you left.

Which might be sooner than you thought, because the longer you stand there waiting and shifting on your feet the more you were fighting the urge to backpedal. To spin on your strappy sandaled feet and hightail it back to your car and drive the legally posted limit only until you made it past those intimidating chain link gates before flooring it, getting as far away from this cheery, happy hanger as quickly as possible.

And yet for whatever reason, your antsy feet and tapping toes stay planted on shiny finish of the industrial cement of the hanger.

This is crazy.

You’d thought it as you slipped on and tied the flimsy straps of your pink ruffled sundress and collected all of your things. Pausing to double check that you had your Driver’s License, Passport, and Social Security card in your purse for the fourth time that day.

This is ridiculous.

You’d thought it as you’d drove along the highway to the Naval base that you had only been to only once a couple of months ago. The sun beaming down on your car with hardly a cloud in the sky. A perfect golden California day, even if your mind was in a hazy fog.

This is foolish.

You’d definitely thought that on loop, like a broken record in your mind, as you’d waited in the long line of cars all done up in window paints and streamers packed with grinning, eager faces all queued up for the same reason.

When you had finally made it to the front of the line, your heart had been pounding away beating a mile a minute. Your palms sweating as you handed over the three-page packet and identification cards to the security working the gates.

The Use of Deadly Force Authorized sign was a stark contrast with the smiles of the officials who greeted you.

You were positive you looked as shifty as you felt. But it seemed the only person who thought you looked like a red flag was you. Because they’d barely given you a second glace as they’d waved you through after checking your paperwork. You had almost blurted out Are you sure?, but managed to keep it together as you waited for the red arms of the barrier gate to lift.

That final hurdle officially out of your hands because you were finally there and soon he’d be here.

During one white wine fueled late night evening on your couch you’d allowed yourself to indulge in those tempting taunting what-ifs.

What-if you went.

What-if you waited.

What-if you met him there.

And in your casual research somewhere between the third and fourth glass of Sauvignon Blanc, before you had scrolled back three years on the base’s official Instagram page and googled the sure-to-be redacted version of the visitor’s map of the base, you’d read that sometimes they’d direct visitors to park in a lot on the edge of the base to be shuttled to the designated homecoming hanger.

Thankfully, there would be no shuttles operating on military efficient timetables for you. Since you’d been directed to a parking lot that sat across from a large hanger decorated with waving and winking banners of bold red, white, and blues.

You couldn’t help release a little sigh of relief knowing that you’d be able to make an easy escape if you needed to.

Because if this was going to take you down, if the sun was going to set on your gleaming gilded what-ifs, at least you could leave with your head held high. Even if your tail would be between your legs.

Just in case, you had built it up in your head.

Just in case, he changed his mind.

Because this was crazy, this was ridiculous, this was foolish. But you didn’t want those memories from two months ago to follow you around like a ghost of what could have been.

You wanted to see what it could be. What you hoped it might become.

You’ve thought about that night a lot.

Flashes of sturdy white twill and toned muscles and a low, raspy voice had kept you up more nights than you were willing to acknowledge. You’d lost time thinking about warm hands and a rich laugh and lips that left hot trails along your body that you still felt like a ley line under your skin.

After the mark beneath your ear had faded, the only proof it all hadn’t been some gold rush dream was the flimsy piece of paper currently grasped in your hand like a lifeline.

Before that night you’d never understood the draw of Fleet Week. It seemed like the type of mess you’d purposely avoided. Nights that left you either with a good story to tell over brunch or in mascara coated tears crumpled like a piece of paper on the ground.

But now, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to think of it without thinking of it and him with only the rosiest of memories.

Your mind wanders as you remember the way he’d made you felt. Of being around him, of tangled up with him. You’re too busy thinking about heated smiles and pretty scars that the sound sneaks up on you.

It starts out as a low rumble that swiftly builds into a roar that shakes you out of that shimmering lavender haze. Cheers break out in the crowd as people flood out of the hanger and onto the tarmac to get a better view.

Looking around you, there are kids pressing their hands to their ears as the squeal and shout in delight. Their faces turning up to the skies as they enthusiastically wave at the aircrafts flying towards the base with perfect precision.

You get as close to the edge of the hanger as you dare. Toeing the line between cracked industrial cement and sundrenched asphalt, still unsure your place in all of this. Not quite ready to fully give yourself up to the swift current of honey hued possibility.

There are at least a dozen jets approaching in sharp triangular and diamond shaped formations.  Clusters of four flying in flawless alignment with one another, their shiny bodies stand out in relief against the cloudless blue skies. It’s a gravity defying ballet as the individual groups merge together in impeccable unison to form one large unit.

Your jaw drops open in awe and your heart soars into your throat at the stunningly impressive sight.

They speed impossibly fast overhead and within seconds all that remains are the contrails of their coming and the knowledge that soon they’ll have their feet back on the ground with the rest of you.

The low, thick whomp whomp whomp of large helicopter propellers approaching behind them in the distance like an echo as more and more of the deployed squadron arrive for their homecoming.

You almost can’t hear it over the steady drumbeat of your heartbeat in your ears.

Because he’s back. He’s here.

After two months of wondering and waiting, you’re about to find out.

It’s all happening now.

“It’s her last fling before the ring! Cheers, bitches!”

You didn’t know whether you were impressed or one enthusiastic woo! away from losing it at the amount of puns Amanda, the maid of honor, had been able to come up with for the evening.

To no one’s surprise, tequila shots and champagne were a dangerous combo.

When the bride-to-be had said she wanted to keep things local and have a staycation type girl’s weekend for her bachelorette party, you and your bank account had been thrilled. It wasn’t until you all had left for the hotel all gussied up in your sparkling hot pink finest to head out for dinner that you noticed all the white uniforms dotting the sidewalks and seated out on some of the outdoor terraces.

It was Fleet Week.

You’ve lived in San Diego for almost five years now. And while running into someone in the Navy was commonplace, in both the grocery store and on the dating apps you’d redownloaded a few months ago, Fleet Week was something that you’d always purposely avoided. Opting to stay home and out of the fray.

However, you were coming off of a break up with a man who had slowly sucked all the color from your world. And this weekend was just the thing you needed to let go, to be unabashedly uninhibited, to reclaim your shimmer.

Your shiny pink dress is three inches shorter and your heels two inches taller than anything you’d ever worn before. There had been a brief moment when you’d felt self-conscious stepping into the lobby of the hotel, aware of just how much skin was on display with short hem and the low dip of the back of your dress, until your best friend had given you the loudest wolf-whistle known to mankind sending you into a fit of giggles.

And instead of shying away from the eyes that had been drawn to you in that moment, you sparkled.

You didn’t quite feel like your old self yet, but you were on your way. You liked this version of yourself so much better than the shell of a girl you’d been before. You liked the one who could be bold and brave and bejeweled.

The upscale bar is packed and it’s just the kind of lively atmosphere where tonight’s bad decisions could become tomorrow’s good stories.

It felt less like a club and more like a large stylish living room, with its cozy clusters of oversized chairs and couches. Pockets of the room were cast in a soft lavender light, while the rest was awash in a golden glow from the massive modern chandelier that ran the length of the room. Gleaming brass accents were offset with the warm tones of the wooden paneling that lined the walls. It was soft, lush, and inviting.

The music was good and there was even a small dancefloor, but it wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t enjoy having a conversation with someone without shouting. The bar looked more like a library than a place to get your drinks with its black leather tufted base and dark wooden built-ins displaying shiny bottles like a prized book collection. And the cocktails were stellar.

It was obvious why so many people had ended up here tonight, both civilians and Naval personnel on leave.

“Oh, hello there,” you hear your best friend practically purr, pulling you from your internal debate about another ordering another shot of tequila.

You look over to see her staring at the door where two tall officers have just entered with a devious gleam in her eyes.

The one on the left was just her type, a pretty boy with the kind of megawatt smile that would have orthodontists dying to get a closer look. He looked the cocky kind of confident now, but you knew if your friend made her move she’d have him wrapped around her finger before the bartenders even announce last call.

The man next to him was the taller one of the two and sporting a mustache that might have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but for whatever reason it suited him very well. Especially when it was paired with that easy grin he was currently wearing as he laughed along with something his friend was saying. Even from across the room you could tell he’d be even more attractive up close.

Their tans and the definition of their arms were offset by the crisp whites of their short-sleeved uniforms. And looking at them you could finally understand the appeal of Fleet Week.

Men like that could easily make a girl lose her mind amongst other things.

You had no doubt in your mind that these two in particular would be a hot commodity tonight. There were already quite a few heads turned in their direction to watch as they made their way towards the bar. Appreciative eyes glinting as they take in just how well they both filled out their uniforms.

Another loud woo! from your group of friends pulls your attention back to them in time to see another bottle of champagne, complete with a bright sparkler, being delivered to the table you had all chipped in for the evening.

At this rate, someone was either going to end up on top of a table or on the confetti covered floor.

You chance another look back over your shoulder towards the two men who’d just saddled up to the bar and are met with a pair of mischievous eyes already trained on you.

An electric touch races up along your spine. 

You’re still a safe distance far enough away to where you can allow yourself to take him in, fighting the urge to hastily look away and pretend it was an accident that your eyes connected when you had definitely been trying to sneak another peek at them- at him in particular. You see his smile pull to the left and his cheek tick up as you hold his gaze.

He’s less than subtle in the way he lets his eyes drag over the exposed skin of your back and down the line of your legs before letting them settle back on your face. When you shoot him a pointed raise of your eyebrow, that smirk on his face just grows even wider.

It makes your stomach swoop, and even worse, it makes your own lips turn up in an amused smile in response.

An unabashed flirt.

There’s no doubt in your mind he knows exactly what he is doing. You’re sure he has practiced this kind of silent conversation many times. That over the years he has polished his technique to a shiny, smooth finish.

You know nothing good can come from a man in a uniform, but a man in uniform during Fleet Week is a different kind of trouble altogether.

And one who looks like that? Big and broad, with confidence rolling off of him in waves?

No, nothing good could come from it.

Taking one more sweep of his face you turn away from him and opt to sip on some cold water instead.

Your best friend is still making eyes with the man with the dimples, so you start up a conversation with one of the other bridesmaids you don’t know as well as some of the others. She was a sweetheart, but you could tell this wasn’t her usual scene so it felt like you were doing a lot of the heavy lifting for the conversation.

It also didn’t help that you were trying and failing to ignore the way it had felt when he looked at you, like sparks dancing across your skin that you could still feel like a phantom touch.

You’re struggling to come up with a new topic of conversation when cloud of white sequins and rhinestones and tulle bulldozes into you.

“Come get a drink with us,” the bride-to-be declares as she hooks her arm with yours and starts tugging you towards the bar.

You see that your best friend is already a couple steps ahead of the two of you and heading in the same direction to the bar, purpose in every step she takes.

“You need a break from free champagne?” you ask with a grin.

“I want something pink!” she sings.

You laugh at her dedication to the theme, “Ok, let’s get you something pink.”

“Yes, let’s,” she agrees.

As you get closer to the bar, you ignore the pull in your stomach and the gaze of the broad man who lingers in your peripheral vision. It had been heady from a distance you had no clue how you’d fair with it directed at you up close.

You’re not surprised in the least when your best friend passes by the open space at the bar and flounces right up to the officer with the dimples. And you’re even less surprised when she takes the shot that was held loosely in his hand and tosses it back in one go, before running her thumb along the bottom of her lip and giving him a sharp, feline grin. The now shot-less man rises up to the occasion and gives her a matching one of his own, the interest gleaming in his eyes.

However, you are very much shocked when your soon-to-be-wed friend all but shoves you towards the man with the mustache.

Your hands dart out to catch yourself on the bar, but one ends up on his thick forearm instead as he reaches out to steady you. His other hand is braced low on your hip, big and warm. Glancing down you can see that his pinky is very near the hem of your short dress.

You toss her a withering glare over your shoulder, but she’s already bobbling back towards the group very clearly pleased with herself.

As you turn to look up at him, all words escape you and your breath gets caught in your throat.

He’s handsome as hell.

And up close, that uniform has the potential to be even more life ruining than it was from a distance.

It is almost obscene the way it clings to the bulk of him. The sleeves of his shirt were stretched out around his biceps and pulled taut across his chest. His pants look almost molded to his thighs and long legs. It’s almost dizzying just how good-looking he is in it.

And you’re absolutely mortified.

“Hey, Sailor,” you say weakly at an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness of how you’ve come to be pressed against his hard body.

He throws his head back and laughs. It’s low and lush, rich and raspy. And god, do you like the sound of it.

But there’s still a rush anxious energy that courses through you, unsure if he’s laughing at you or the situation you’ve both been literally thrust into. You’re tempted to step back out of his reach, but his fingers tighten the gentlest bit where his hand still sits on your hip keeping you in place.

There’s amusement dancing behind his brown eyes and that smile of his up close is even more devastating. And you can’t help but shoot him a sheepish smile in return.

“That’s one way to make an entrance,” he grins.

“I am so sorry about that,” you say gesturing to the gaggle of giggling girls watching on from the corner of the room. You get your feet righted underneath you and take a half-step back.

And this time he lets you, his pinky grazing the skin of your upper thigh as he does.

“I’m not,” he says, leaning against the shiny black and white marble slab of the bar top, “I was hoping you’d come over here.”

You refuse to let yourself get flushed, but the heat races to your cheeks all the same.

Instead you pivot.

“I feel like I should warn you, she’s going to eat your friend alive,” you say, gesturing to your best friend who is looking every inch the menace you know her to be.

He glances over towards where his friend and yours are talking. His friend’s shot has been replaced and they’re both wearing a pair of dueling smiles. Their conversation too quiet to hear, but you know that tone of hers and what it means.

The good kind or the bad kind it was too early in the evening to say.

You allow yourself a brief moment to admire his profile, your eyes tracing over his cheekbones and jaw, noticing a few scars that dot his sunkissed skin.

He lets out a low chuckle and looks back towards you, “Good. Hangman has been a pain in my ass for years. Serves him right. It’ll be good for his ego.”

“Hangman?” you ask, eyebrows pinching together.

“Oh, right. That’s Jake,” he clarifies, nodding over to his friend, “Hangman is his callsign. Bagman if he’s pissing me off, which is often enough. We’re both Naval aviators.”

Well, that explained the aura of self-assuredness that radiated from the two of them from the very moment you’d seen them.

The uniform was bad enough on its own, but a pilot?

Trouble was definitely too small a word for this man, he’d need a different category created for him altogether.

“Can’t say I’m too mad at him right now though. I wanted to go somewhere more lowkey, but he said ‘pretty girls like pretty places’,” he gives you a slow smile as his eyes drift over you, “Turns out he was right. But don’t tell him that I said that, he’ll be insufferable.”

And then he has the audacity to wink at you.

You absolutely will not be getting tangled up with a pilot. But you were definitely up for a little fun, and decide there is no harm in indulging in some friendly banter.

“So are you going to tell me your callsign or do I have to guess?” you tease.

“It’s Rooster.”

You swallow down the quip that comes to your mind first, and ask instead, “Do you come with a first name, Rooster? Or did the Navy claim that too?”

He has Bradshaw emblazoned on the nametag on his chest, but you’re so curious to find out the answer. You’ve never been so interested collecting breadcrumb pieces of someone before, there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you want to know more.

“I’m Bradley,” he grins wider, holding out his hand to you.

You look from him to his big hand and then back to him again, debating on how much you want to give him in return. He lifts a playful eyebrow his hand still outstretched as he waits for your move.

So you put your hand in his and give him your name.

Rooster repeats it back as if he’s testing out the way the syllables and consonants of your name feel in his mouth. And if he’s slow to let go of your hand, you let it slide without a comment.

“Well, since it’s Fleet Week and all, Bradley Rooster Bradshaw, I think would be pretty unpatriotic for me to not buy you a drink as an apology for my friends and for subjecting you that poorly executed line.”

His features take on a very contemplative look as he lets out a low, quiet hmm.

“I don’t know about that,” he deliberates.

“About the drink?” you ask, fully prepared to make a hasty retreat before you make yourself look any more ridiculous than you already did.

“No, about the line,” Rooster says, whiskey smooth, “I think it was pretty effective.”

“Really? That’s all it took, huh?” you laugh, “You must have been stuck on that ship for a while.”

Flagging down the bartender, you order a couple shots of chilled tequila.

You see Bradley reach into his shirt pocket, pulling out a few loose bills to pay. There’s definitely nowhere for a wallet to go in those pants. Sliding in front of him, letting yourself graze up against him just the slightest bit, you tell the bartender to put the shots on your group’s open tab. You can see them still spying on you, so it was the least they could do for a free show.

You spin towards him and rest your elbows on the bartop behind you with a grin. He just smirks and shakes his head at you with a look that you’d almost want to call fond if you’d actually known him for longer than ten minutes.

“So, how long were you deployed? Are you headed back to wherever home is after this weekend is over?” you ask.

“I’m actually stationed here permanently in San Diego,” Bradley says, pausing for a moment before continuing, “But I am headed out for a two-month deployment tomorrow.”

He’s looking at you closely, as if he is trying to gauge your reaction to him showing you his cards so early. Here today, but gone tomorrow.

This open honesty from him makes him even more attractive in your eyes. He’s the type of man who could so easily wreck your plans if you gave him the chance to. And for a split second, you can almost see the end before anything can even begin.

“Well, it’s nice of the city to give you such a nice send-off then,” you say lightly, ignoring the twinge in your stomach.

Thankfully, the bartender returns with the chilled shots, you thank him and then hand Bradley one of the shot glasses cheers-ing him with your own, “To Uncle Sam’s overly inflated defense budget.”

He snorts and watches as you raise the glass to your lips. Feeling bold under the warmth of his gaze, your tongue darts out as you lick the smoked salt off the rim before swallowing down the shot, not breaking eye contact with him once.

You’re beyond delighted when notice the tips of his ears are a little pink as he throws back his own. The heaviness from earlier shifting into a more exciting kind of tension as your gazes bounce off of each other.

Bradley leans a bit into your space as he sets his empty glass on the bartop, “Can I let you in on a secret?”

“Only if it’s a juicy one,” you counter, more than happy to take the bait.

“It wasn’t just the line. Your little tiara thing is doing it for me too,” he says reaching out and adjusting the rhinestone Bridesmaid headband that you’d completely forgotten you were wearing. His thumb skimming over your temple as he withdraws his hand.

You could handle an unabashed flirt, but a charming unabashed flirt whose smile was setting off a flurry of butterflies in your chest was not on the agenda for tonight.

“Do you want to swap, Rooster?” you tease nodding your head towards the white and shiny black-rimmed hat that is sitting snugly on top of his head.

“Nah, I don’t think I could pull it off as well as you do.” He shoots you another wink, one that has your toes curling in your pretty-but-too-tall heels. “Plus, mine is technically government property. They don’t let just anyone wear it, not without earning it.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes dip down to your lips.

The shot of tequila makes you brave enough to contemplate asking just exactly one would have to do to earn a turn wearing his hat, but the two of you are startled out of bubble you had found yourselves in at the sound of a sharp slap.

You peer curiously around Bradley to see Hangman looking equal parts shell-shocked and starry eyed after your best friend as she struts away from him with a swing in her hips, her hair bouncing with each step.

“I should-” your own eyes betray you by slipping down to his parted lips when you look back at him, “I should go check on her.”

“You don’t have to go just because Bagman is an idiot. Let me get you a drink and return the favor. Please,” he says, his big brown eyes asking you to stay.

“No, I really should. Thanks for indulging my friends and for the company, Bradley. Enjoy the rest of Fleet Week.” Before you can overthink it, you lean in a press a kiss to his cheek. Giving him one more smile, one that doesn’t feel as bright as you’d like it to be, you turn and leave.

You hustle to catch up with your friend as she makes her way back to your bedazzled group, “Hey, are you ok? What the hell did he say?”

She waves off your concern with a Cheshire cat grin, “Oh, that man is about to be so obsessed with me.”

Over the next hour it is impossible to keep your eyes from straying back to him. You try to lose yourself to the music on the small dancefloor and in the raunchy girl talk. Every time you dared to take a peek at him, you’d been surprised to see him already looking at you instead of chatting up some other girl.

At one point, he’d even been bold enough to pat the space next to him as an open invitation. You’d simply smiled and shook your head at him, laughing to yourself when he dramatically clutched at his heart in response.

It’s not until a very large bottle of Dom Perignon Brut Rosé is delivered your table, a cheer going up as the bottle service girl discloses who had it sent over, that you’re made to reevaluate your plans for the evening.

The two men are still at the bar, but you don’t miss the satisfied smirk of on your best friend’s face as she helps herself to some of the pink bubbly.

Instead of a glass, you’re offered a threat.

“We all know what she’s doing, but if I see you at brunch tomorrow I’m kicking you out of the wedding,” the bride-to-be cheerfully trills, albeit tipsily, as she presses your clutch into your hand and shoos you away. Officially dismissed from your bridesmaid duties for the remainder of the weekend.

You take the long way around the edge of the room to the bar, giving yourself a minute to debate the pros and cons of what you were planning to do. But as the crowd parts and you see him, still planted in the same place you’d left him, all the bullet-pointed items on your mental list dissolve like sugar in an Old Fashioned at the sight of his warm whiskey brown eyes.

This time it’s no accident in the way you slide up to him.

“Well, Rooster, you’ve got my attention.”

“Good. I like your attention,” he says with an all too pleased grin. “I was worried I was going to have to come join in you over there. The last bachelorette party we ran into kept wanting me to give the bride a lap dance. It looked pretty dire there for me for a moment. You bridesmaids are an intimidating bunch.”

He doesn’t strike you as someone who would shy away from the attention.

“Feral, drunk, horny women aren’t your thing? Or are you just anti lap dance?” you ask with a cheeky tilt of your head.

“Feral and horny women for sure. And I am very pro lap dance, I’ll have you know. I’m just picky about who I give them too. For example, if you were to ask nicely, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate,” he offers, his cheek ticking up on one side.

He made you feel an exhilarating kind of reckless. And if you were only going to get one night with him, you were going to make the most of it.

“That’s a very expensive bottle of champagne that just got delivered to us.”

“Well, it’s Fleet Week after all.”

“We established that earlier tonight,” you note jokingly.

“So we did,” Bradley acknowledges with a dip of his chin. “And in the spirit of Fleet Week, it seemed like a good gesture to further advance and cultivate better civilian and military relations.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” you laugh.

“Ok, funny girl. Tell me then, what do you think Fleet Week is about?” he asks, settling in and leaning his elbow on the bartop.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Getting free drinks and getting laid.”

“Ok, ok. You’ve got me there,” he chuckles. “Can’t say that hasn’t been part of the draw for me in the past.”

“So you admit you’re doing it wrong,” you can’t help but tease him as you throw a thumb over your shoulder towards the $500 bottle of champagne that’s bubbling away in glasses.

“In my defense, Hangman and I went dutch on it,” Rooster says as he puts his hands up in surrender. “Plus, if you remember, I already had a very pretty girl buy me a drink tonight.” His eyes drag over you pointedly, then lets them linger at your mouth again.

“Only the one?” you ask peering up at him.

“The only one I wanted.”

“And how many others have offered?” you ask, stepping even closer. You can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves even in the well airconditioned room.

He weighs his words before answering, “A few.”

A moment passes between the two of you as crystal-clear clarity settles around you.

The old you would have dropped it, but this version of you, the one you liked being around him was ready to press further.

“So the free drinks have been covered,” you say, fingertips tracing up along the veins of his forearm, “And what about getting laid?”

“I’d be more than happy with a phone number and a date lined up for sixty-two days from now,” Rooster says resting a hand low on your back, his thumb skimming along your bare skin. “But if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind showing you just how invested I am in furthering those civilian-military relations.”

The desire in his eyes makes any lingering doubts in your mind evaporate like a marine layer.

“Is that so, Sailor? How civically inclined of you.”

“Lieutenant Commander, actually,” he says with pride as he straightens up to his full height, his chest looking impossibly broader as he does.

“Lieutenant Commander Bradley Rooster Bradshaw?” you hum, “Now that’s quite a mouthful.”

The low rumble that escapes his chest makes goosebumps erupt across your body.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, pulling you closer as he brings his other hand to the curve of your hip.

“Oh please. You handle multimillion-dollar aircrafts for a living, I’m sure you could handle little ol’ me,” you say with a wink.

It’s a challenge, it’s a dare.

“Yeah, I bet I could too,” he rasps, looking at your lips.

He shouldn’t be so easy to like, shouldn’t have you wanting moremoremore when you’ve known him less than two hours.

You bring your hands to his chest, your fingers toying with the little button near the hollow of his throat, “So, you’re shipping out tomorrow…”

You feel as he stiffens slightly under your palms, but his gaze remains steady on you, “Yeah, tomorrow evening. It’s not the greatest of timing, I know.”

“Well then, I guess if there’s a clock we’re working against, we should probably get this show on the road,” you say nodding towards the door.

You watch as the remorse in his eyes is replaced with a mischievous glint. The solemn press of his lips transforming into a slow, knowing smirk.

And you know he’s game.

“You gonna take me home with you, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse with faux contemplation, looking at him from under your mascara coated lashes, “Do I get a tax break if I do?”

“I’d be more than happy to google it in the cab. And if you do, I’ll even fill out the form for you.”

You see a flash of a grin before he pulls you in for a kiss.

His warm hand and callous fingers glide up your back pressing you against his chest as his lips meet yours. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. Electricity racing from where you’re connected to every nerve ending in your body.

You pull away from him all too soon, smiling to yourself when he chases after your lips.

“I have one condition,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Name it,” Bradley says, dropping another lingering kiss to your lips.

“Maybe two,” you concede.

“Name them,” he chuckles lightly.

“You wear a condom.”

“Of course, that’s a given. What else?” He leans back just enough to adjust your sparkly headband from the way it had tilted back on your head.

“And my last request is… that I get to try on your hat.”

“We can definitely make that happen. Anything you want, baby.”

“Well then, if that’s the case, I’m also pretty set on getting to have your cock in my mouth.”

“Jesus Christ.” His hands tighten on your hips, and his brown eyes turn molten.

“I think I’m looking forward to finding out if you’re an officer or a gentleman.”

“I’m definitely both,” Rooster says giving you an all too confident look that promises he has the skill to back up his words, “At least until these dress whites come off.”

You hear another woo! ring out that you know has nothing to do with another delivery of expensive champagne as he takes you by the hand and leads you out of the jewelry box bar.

There are already a few cabs lined up at the rank outside of the hotel. He holds the door open for you, and you slide in giving the driver your address. You’re not sure how Bradley manages to squeeze the bulk of him into the backseat along with you, but you don’t mind the way his thigh presses against yours or the way he rests his heavy hand on your knee or the way his thumb makes maddeningly light circles there.

He laughs when you hold up your phone to him at the flurry of all capitalized and emoji riddled text messages in the group chat that had been created for the evening. And when the driver pulls up to your apartment building, when you try to pull out your credit card, he passes the man a wad of twenties. Way more than the ride cost with a keep the change as he hustles you out of the car.

“Lead the way, baby,” Rooster croons in your ear, his voice low.

And in that moment, you decide you really like Fleet Week.

Who could resist a man in summer whites? Especially when that man is Bradley Bradshaw! Read Part 2 here!

Thank you for reading!

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The Admiral has you half bent over the desk in his office, fingers twisted into your underwear. He's trying to pull them down your legs when the door swings open.

You're paralysed, frozen with fear. The look on your face must tell Jake enough. He gets the message, understands your silent communication.

The Admiral stops. Backs away. As if putting distance between you will erase what he's been caught doing. Trying to do.

You expect Jake to yell, fight, throw The Admiral across the room by his collar. You expect blood, bruises, broken skin and bared teeth.

All you're met with is silence.

Jake strides across the room towards you. Fixes your clothes, smooths down your hair. Wipes the tears from your cheeks. He snakes a hand around your waist and guides you out of the door. Not a word said.

Something happens when everybody finds out

See the vultures circling, dark clouds

Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out

It could burn out

"He'll ruin my career."

You're tucked into Jake's lap, legs slung over his hips as he holds you close. His rough fingertips run themselves up and down your spine, comforting and gentle. You inhale his musk, letting the familiarity fill your lungs.

"You didn't do anything wrong, baby."

"That won't matter."

The two of you are whispering, hushed voices bouncing off the furniture. You're alone together in Jake's living room. There's no one else around. You think he's scared he'll spook you. You're right.

"I worked so hard for this, Jake. I sacrificed everything to get into Top Gun."

"I know, baby."

"I can't lose it all."

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back from your eyes.

"What do you want to do? Report him?"

"Jake, you're not listening to me. He'll ruin my career."

"But he's the guilty one. Not you."

"Yeah, well. This is the way it works. Men can assault you and still play the victim."

You're frustrated, now. There's something bubbling, running through your veins. You can't put your finger on it. It feels like more than rage. Whatever it is, it's lethal.

You climb off Jake's lap and stand, pacing across the carpet.

"What am I supposed to do?" you murmur, tears threatening to spill.

Jake can't stand the wobble in your voice. It tightens something in his chest, pulls at his heartstrings. He was furious, before. He's just sad now.

"I'll do anything you ask," he tells you, standing up to cradle your face in his hands. "Anything in the world."

"I know."

And you do. That's what it's like, being with Jake. He loves so entirely, with his whole being. Every fibre of his heart belongs to you. It beats to the rhythm of your name.

"Just tell me what you wanna do, baby. I'm on your side. No matter what."

You lean up to kiss him, his lips soft and careful against yours.

"I'm not sure, yet. When I know, you'll know."

Jake sits back down on the couch, pulling you with him. You tuck yourself into his side, fitting there perfectly. He slings an arm around your waist and keeps you close, holding you a little tighter than usual.

Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes

And guns

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

"We should kill him."

You're strewn across Jake's chest, tangled in the sheets. Your limbs and hearts are intertwined, bodies drenched in sweat and lungs heaving.

"What?"

You sit up, pulling the comforter up and over your body slightly to combat the chill of the ocean breeze that's filtering through the open window.

"Let's kill him."

You look over to your boyfriend, waiting for the punchline. It never comes.

"Jake."

He turns to you, the most serious you've ever seen him. There's a look in his eye you've never seen before. It's dark. You're vaguely aware you should probably feel fear - but all you feel is anticipation.

"How many girls do you think he's done this to before you? How many will come after?"

You swallow, biting at your lips.

"He needs to be stopped, baby. You and I both know they won't fire him. He needs to be taken out of the equation altogether."

You realise, suddenly, that the thing you're worried about isn't the morality of the situation. It's the logistics. You don't want to get caught.

"Do you think we're smart enough to get away with murder?"

"Baby," he drawls, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone. "We're a hell of a lot smarter than people give us credit for."

You know he's right. People underestimate both you and Jake. Everyone assumes he's nothing but a pretty face and toned muscles. That you're just his pilot girlfriend, seduced by his Southern charm and the fact that he's good in bed.

It seems like a challenge, now. You want to do this. You want to see if you can get away with it. You're already on the precipice of losing everything - why not go out with a bang?

"How would we do it?" you ask, leaning in closer to the blonde man next to you.

He thinks for a moment, running his fingers up and down your bare thighs.

"I say we make it look like a suicide. Shoot him in the head and frame it so it looks self inflicted."

You nod, processing.

"I think we should hold him at gunpoint first. Get him to write a confession, some sort of letter. That way, there's no confusion as to what happened."

"You're a genius," Jake grins, dipping down to kiss you.

He slips his tongue into your mouth effortlessly, sighing when he tastes himself from earlier. You straddle his waist and tangle your fingers into his hair, desperate to be close to him.

Both of you are high on adrenaline, buzzed on the anticipation of what's to come.

Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I, I know places we can hide

I know places

I know places

Murder isn't as hard as you thought it'd be.

Careful planning. Airtight alibis. Reassurance and recon.

You and Jake have created the perfect crime.

The two of you show up to The Admiral's office on an evening you know he'll be working late. He's doing paperwork when you arrive.

You walk in first. Jake follows, and locks the door behind him.

The Admiral goes to speak, but you silence him with a handgun pointed at his chest.

"Speak, and you die."

He doesn't say another word.

Jake takes the gun from your hand and walks around the desk, pressing it into his superiors temple.

"We need a couple of things from you," he begins. "Just a favour or two."

The Admiral is sweating, pale and rigid. He looks scared. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you. You're enjoying this. Jake is too, judging by the beaming grin on his face.

"Grab a pen, and some paper. We're about to do some creative writing."

Jake orchestrates the letter. Gets him to write exactly what you need. Notes down the brutality, the arrogance, the abuse of power. He makes him recount every incident, not just yours. You're there for what feels like hours, as his shaky hands move the pen across the paper.

Finally, he finishes. Dots the I's and crosses the T's. Jake chuckles.

"Wonderful. And for the last part of this joyous evening were having together, my girlfriend is gonna shoot you."

The Admiral chokes on his breath. Looks to you with fear in his eyes. Finally, you think. He understands how it felt.

He goes to open his mouth, but you stop him.

"Don't beg. Don't plead. It's pathetic."

"We made up our mind weeks ago," Jake adds. "You're not going to deter us now."

You smile at your boyfriend, giddy over the way he's protecting you, saving you, loving you.

"I'm going to enjoy this," you whisper.

You take the gun from Jake and press it to The Admiral's temple. You know the silencer will muffle the noise - you really have thought of everything.

You click off the safety, and lean down so your mouth is next to his ear.

"This is for all of the women you hurt."

You pull the trigger.

He dies instantly.

Lights flash and we'll run for the fences

Let them say what they want, we won't hear it

Loose lips sink ships all the damn time

Not this time

In another life, you and Jake could have been actors.

You're all called into the briefing room the next day, gathered together in confusion.

Admiral Simpson stands in front of your class - pale as a sheet, dark circles bruised under his eyes.

"There's been a situation, and we want you to hear it from us," he begins. "I ask that you all keep this to yourselves, where possible. Don't talk to any media, don't gossip, don't spread rumours. Understood?"

When you all nod, he continues.

"The Admiral is dead."

The room goes silent. Jake's hand finds yours under the table. To anyone on the outside, it looks like a boyfriend supporting his girlfriend. To you, it's something different.

It feels like time stands still. The world stops turning, suspending you in the present moment. Eventually, Rooster speaks.

"What happened?"

Beau clears his throat, swiping his hand over his face.

"He took his own life."

There are whispers now, hushed and clipped. Everyone is in a state of shock and confusion. Everyone, except for you and the blonde man next to you. He squeezes your hand tightly, refusing to let go.

"Of course, there will be an investigation. But, it seems pretty obvious to us what happened. If anyone in this room has been effected by the actions of The Admiral that have come to light... please, speak to me, or any other of your superiors. Thank you. "

He exits the room, leaving all of you in palpable silence.

"What the fuck?" Payback mutters. "What did he mean, 'actions that have come to light?'"

"There's rumours," Phoenix begins. "He had a... soft spot, for young female pilots. People have been whispering about it for months."

Suddenly, all eyes are on you. You're the only other woman in the room besides Natasha, and she clearly wasn't involved.

"Did he ever... try anything with you, Ivy?"

"No," you're quick to answer. "No. Thank God."

The room breathes a collective sigh of relief.

If only they knew.

they take their shots, but we're bulletproof I know places

and you know for me, it's always you I know places

in the dead of night, your eyes so green I know places

and I know for you, it's always me I know places

A month later, you snap.

Jake comes home to find you frantically shoving clothes into a duffel bag, sweat dripping down your back.

"Baby," he tries, cautious, like he's approaching a spooked animal. "Baby."

You turn to face him with wild eyes, fear radiating off you.

"What's wrong, angel?"

You look at him incredulously.

"What's wrong? What's fucking wrong? We killed someone, Jake! That's what's wrong!"

"He wasn't a good guy."

"That doesn't matter. That doesn't make it right."

He cradles your face in his hands, eyes never leaving yours.

"Talk to me. What's going on? You've been okay. We've been okay. I thought we were processing, moving forward."

"I was. And then today, I just... can't. It was murder, Jake. Premeditated murder."

"Listen to me," he demands, tilting your chin up so your eyes are level. "He was an awful, awful man. The world is a better place without him. We saved so many women from a horrible fate, baby. We did a good thing."

You inhale carefully, and exhale a shaky breath, leaning up to press a kiss to his bitten lips.

"Yeah?" you ask, unsure. "We did save people, didn't we?"

"We wouldn't have done it without just reason, baby. We're good people, you and I. We both know we are."

You nod, looking for any signs of insecurity in his eyes. You don't find a single speck.

"You're right. Fuck, you're right. Sorry if I scared you, Jake."

"You scared me because I thought you were leaving me," he chuckles. "Wondered what I did wrong."

"Nothing," you're quick to reassure, tangling tracing your fingertips over the features of his face in a featherlight touch. "My God, Jake. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. You're it for me. You're my forever."

Jake leans down, pressing his lips to yours firmly and surely. It's as if he's telling you everything he feels without using any words. He pulls you into him, winding his arms around your back and tugging you closer.

"I've got you, baby. No matter what happens. It's me and you, always. I love you."

"I love you too, Seresin. Always."

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

Just grab my hand and don't ever drop it

My love

"Let's run away."

You're taking off your shoes by the door when Jake comes bounding down the stairs, buzzing with energy.

"Hmm?"

"Let's run away, baby. You and me. The open road. We can go anywhere we want."

"Jake," you laugh. "Are you drunk? What's happening?"

"Not drunk. My head's clearer than it has ever been. I've been thinking, while you were gone."

"Thinking about...?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning up to kiss his rosy lips.

"Getting out of here. This place is full of bad memories and old ghosts. We can start afresh somewhere new."

"Like where?"

"Anywhere. Literally anywhere. We don't even have to stay in America. We could go to Europe, Australia, Canada? The possibilities are actually endless."

"What's triggered this?" you murmur. "You okay?"

"I'm always okay when I'm with you," he smiles. "But.... I can just feel it, you know? I can feel everything piling up. There's a weight on my shoulders, and on yours too. We can let that go. I know we can."

"You're right, about the weight. I haven't relaxed in months."

Jake slides his hands under your shirt, tracing his fingers up and down the bare skin of your back.

"I know," he murmurs against your lips. "I think there's something better out there for us."

"Where would we go? Like, serious talk, what are our options?"

"I know places," he winks.

"What places, Jake?" you try to chide, but you're smiling.

"We can go to my mom's, first, in Texas. Just to touch base. From there, I mean it when I say literally anywhere, baby. Wherever you wanna go, we can go. You've always wanted to go to Italy, right? We could go there. Or I have a high school friend in Perth - we could go there."

"I wanna go somewhere with good food. Kind people. Beautiful views. A little sunshine wouldn't hurt either."

He's grinning at you, white and blinding. His excitement is contagious, settling into your bones.

"Imagine it, baby. Me and you, on the beach all day. We could surf, swim, go grab some lunch, then surf and swim some more. Go home, make dinner, sit out in the yard and listen to the ocean waves. Do it all again the next day."

You can't wipe the smile off your face, practically bouncing on the soles of your feet.

"Okay."

Jake stops in his tracks, still and rigid.

"Really?"

"Really. We can go right now, Jake. I don't wanna be here any longer."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuck, I love you. Let's pack our shit and go, baby."

Jake kisses you with fervour, dipping you backwards like you're in a movie. You squeal, gripping the nape of his neck for balance. He picks you up and spins you around, twirling you like a fairytale.

"What about everyone here?" you ask, forehead pressed to Jake's.

"We'll miss them, and they'll miss us, but we'll all be okay."

He's right. These people are your family, but they'll understand. You have to do what's best for you.

"Do you really wanna go as soon as we can?"

"Yeah, Jake. I meant it. We can start packing right now."

He wraps his arms around your middle and carries you upstairs, throwing the closet doors open while you grab your suitcase.

Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I, I know places we can hide

I know places

The sun beats down on your skin, warming you up from the outside in. There's a breeze whipping through your hair, carrying salt from the ocean into the car. The sunroof is down, allowing you to breathe in the fresh air.

Jake's hand slides across the centre console and onto your thigh, thumb rubbing circles into your bare skin.

"You okay?"

He's looking over at you, taking his eyes off the road for a split second.

"I'm good, baby."

He smiles, the grin reaching every feature of his face, lighting him up.

You've been on the road for months, stopping and starting however and whenever you please. A motel here, a beach apartment there. You've lost count of how many states you've travelled through, collecting postcards in each one.

You'll settle down, eventually. You've been making a list of your favourite places you've visited, ranking them as you go. You'll most likely buy a place in your top choice. But not yet.

For now, you're content with the open road. The convertible car, all your belongings in a suitcase in the trunk, roof down at every opportunity. You like not staying in one place for too long. It weirdly suits you.

Jake's never looked happier. He glows, smile lines creasing the corner of his eyes. He laughs so often, and you never get tired of the sound.

You glance down to the golden band on your left hand, smiling softly.

"What are you thinking about?" your husband asks, squeezing your thigh.

"Vegas," you beam. "Never did I think I'd be married by an Elvis impersonator in a bright blue chapel."

"I'm the epitome of class, baby. You know this."

Both of you are grinning, chuckling gently.

"We did the right thing. Leaving."

"Yeah, we did. I'm glad I believed what you said."

"What did I say?"

"That you knew places."

He traces a love heart on your skin with his thumb, over and over again.

"Told you, baby. I know places."

Another student, Alicia, comes to his desk to talk about the upcoming assignment and what she can do to improve her grade. Normally, he would tell her to make an appointment at his office, but then Imogen laughs again, making heady eyes at that Mike guy, and he decides he has all the time in the world to talk to Alicia.

He tries to pay attention to his student, to answer her questions, and even tries to smile, but he can feel Imogen looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Her dark gaze is intense and sets his skin on fire in a way he’s been trying to ignore for weeks.

“So,” he hears Mike say. “What are your plans this weekend?”

Bob freezes. He lets his eyes wander over to Imogen, who’s still smiling. Next to him, Alicia is still talking, but her voice is far away and barely audible as he focuses on his assistant.

“I’m revising my dissertation proposal,” she tells him. “They rejected the last one for being too broad, so I have to narrow it down.”

Bob’s on that committee and strongly disagreed, but other members outnumbered him and he was forced to dissent. Dr. Kazansky had given her the news, and Bob remembers the heartbroken look in her eyes when she came to his office afterward. He’d wanted to comfort her then.

“Too busy to have dinner with me?”

Bob straightens his back, eyes still trained on Imogen as he dismisses Alicia, telling her to make an appointment if she wishes to discuss things further.

She mutters a thank you and scurries away. Imogen opens her mouth to answer, but Bob interrupts, certain he doesn’t want to hear the answer she’ll likely provide to this Mike character.

“Miss Van Doren,” he says, barely recognizing the hardness in his own voice. “My office. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for her to respond, but gathers his books and leaves the lecture hall without a glance back to see if she’s following. It doesn’t take long for him to hear her marching footsteps behind him, so he leaves the door open for her.

She slams it shut, so it rattles on the hinges.

“What is your problem?”

She’s furious. Nostrils flared, heavy breathing, and a delicious flush paints her cheeks pink.

“My problem?” he asks, placing the books on his desk. “What’s your problem?”

She drops her bag to the floor and crosses her arms in front of her chest. The gold necklace with her initial catches in the light, drawing his eyes down.

“I don’t have a problem,” she insists, taking a step toward him. “But you constantly berating me is getting old.”

He says nothing. He can’t. Not when she’s looking at him like she wants to wring his neck. Not when all the blood in his body is racing south, and he’s trying not to look at her legs, but they are on full display in that tight little skirt she’s wearing. Again.

He swears she’s doing it on purpose to rile him up.

He hates that it’s working.

She takes a deep breath, pushing her shoulders back, and looks up into his eyes. He’s always found hers unsettling, like she sees the parts of him he’s been hiding for decades.

“I know you don’t want me here, Dr. Floyd,” she says, gesturing around his office, making her short skirt even shorter, revealing more of her supple thighs. “You’ve made that abundantly clear, but you could at least show me the courtesy of not undermining me every time I talk to students.”

He frowns. “I don’t undermine you.”

She scoffs, gaze leaving him as her frustration fills the room. “You interrupted my conversation with Michael not five minutes ago,” she argues as her eyes find his again. Dark brown meeting ocean blue.

He steps forward, eyes wandering over every inch of her exposed skin, making his head spin with barely contained desire. “It was an inappropriate conversation.”

“He asked about my dissertation.”

Bob shakes his head. “No, he asked you out.”

“So what?” she throws her hands out to the side, exasperation turning into full-blown anger now. “He’s been trying to ask me out for weeks, but you always manage to interrupt. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you do it on purpose.”

He freezes. His heart’s beating painfully in his chest and his face feels like it’s on fire. There may even be steam coming out of his ears.

He watches Imogen run her hands through her hair, pulling at the roots, and he truly wishes she wouldn’t. It’s conjuring up very vivid images in his head that he shouldn’t have of his teaching assistant.

She looks at him expectantly, thinking an answer is going to come, but it doesn’t. He doesn’t know how to respond to that in a way that’ll make sense to her. It barely even makes sense to himself.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Bob says finally.

She scoffs. “Yeah, well, he treats me better than you do, and I know that’s a really low bar, but it’s better than—”

Bob crashes his lips against hers, swallowing the gasp she emits. For a moment nothing happens, and for a second he thinks he’s made a grave mistake, but then Imogen’s arms circle around his waist and she sighs against his mouth. 

He walks her backward until her back hits the wall behind his desk, and he presses her against it, trying to get closer.

He pulls away a few inches to look at her. Cheeks flushed, hair a little out of place, and pupils dilated. She’s never looked more delectable, and he knows she can feel his hard cock against her hip. He doesn’t care.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes search his face for something, but it’s unclear whether she finds it. “Why did you do that?”

Her voice is barely above a whisper. There’s no hint of regret, but the rational part of him knows this is a bad idea. He’s her superior, after all.

“You wouldn’t shut up.”

“So you kissed me?” she asks with an adorable wrinkle between her brows.

He frowns. Now sure he’s misjudged the situation, Bob leans back and squares his shoulders, letting his hands fall away from her neck.

“Oh no,” she tuts and grabs a handful of his sweater, pulling him back in. “Get back here.” She stands on her tiptoes and captures his mouth with her own, tongue dancing at the seam of his lips for entry.

He doesn’t have to be told twice. He leans his weight against her, pushing her against the wall, and groans into her mouth when she tugs on his hair.

His hands travel down her body. Grazing across the swell of her breasts, into the dip of her waist, the hips that have occupied his thoughts for weeks, and finally, her thighs. His lips never leave hers, and his tongue explores her mouth and the taste of mint that lingers from her toothpaste.

Imogen shudders as his fingertips tickle the back of her knees, whimpering at the touch.

His hands slide up the back of her bare thighs, feeling her soft skin under his palms. She moans into his mouth and it’s the most arousing sound he’s ever heard. He can’t help the roll of his hips, desperate for friction, for relief, for something warmer than his own hand.

His hands travel up under her skirt, feeling the plumpness of her ass in his hands make him push against her again and she’s meeting him with her own movement.

“Professor,” she moans, as he trails wet kisses along her throat, running his tongue over the skin afterward.

He hums, kneading her ass-cheeks, growing harder as he rocks against her. Even separated by layers of fabric, the friction is enough to drive him mad.

“Dr. Floyd,” she says, pulling his hair hard enough that his lips detach from her throat. Her pupils are wide and hungry, mirroring his own, and their heavy breaths mix in arousing unison. “I’m still mad at you.”

A smug smirk spreads across his face. “I know,” he says and removes one hand from her ass. He uses it to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Don’t go out with him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words hang in the air. Bob keeps one hand on the side of her neck while the other remains under her skirt, playing with the edge of her panties. He holds her gaze, waiting for her to make the next move. To tell him where she stands, what she wants.

He sees the moment she decides, the corner of her mouth turning upward just enough to be a smile.

“Show me.”

Yanking her panties to the side, his fingertips glide along her folds, feeling her already soaking for him. Her mouth forms a perfect o as she gasps, and he wonders what else that pretty and vicious mouth can do.

Her fingers curl into the hair at his nape, gasping when he finds her clit. “So pretty like this,” he whispers, kissing the underside of her jaw.

“Professor,” she whimpers. “Please.”

“Come on,” he says, leaning back to watch her. Her brown doe eyes have gone dark with hunger and desire, arousal clear from the bead of sweat on her temple, and his cock is so hard he’s about to go insane. Yet, he still leans in close, his lips featherlight against her ear and whispers “moan for me.”

He leans back just in time to catch the look in her eyes when he presses his thumb against her clit and she lets herself moan. Louder than he expected, so his hand flies over her mouth, keeping her quiet, but feeling her smile beneath his palm.

His thumb massages her clit while his index finger finds her entrance, warmth begging him to enter. Bob meets Imogen’s eyes, asking without saying the words because he doesn’t trust either of them to keep their voices down.

Her nod sends him to heaven.

She moans into his hand as his finger slides inside her. He’s hot all over, groaning into her neck at the sensation of her. “So fucking tight,” he mumbles against her skin, making her clench around him.

Tightening her arms around his shoulders, she whimpers against his palm, and her hips meet his motions as he pumps his finger inside her. Her juices spread across his hand, and before long, he adds a second finger.

His office fills with the sounds of heavy breathing, muffled moans from Imogen, and barely contained groans from himself. He can feel her getting close, her legs trembling, struggling to stay upright. Leaning his forehead against hers, he removes his hand from her mouth. “Quiet,” he mutters against her lips.

She nods as she kisses him, open-mouthed and desperate, and his thumb draws tight circles on her clit as he angles his fingers against that spot inside her. She’s there. He knows it. “Good girl,” he whispers. “Cum for me.”

She does. Gushes around his fingers, writhing in his arms. He guides her through her high, holding her against the wood-paneled wall behind her. Her head falls against his shoulder as she comes down, and a long whine escapes her throat as he withdraws his fingers.

Leaning back to give her a little space, he takes in her unkempt hair, swollen lips, and the breathtaking pink flush in her cheeks. Her eyes flick down to his hand, then turn to the very obvious bulge in his slacks.

“I–”

She takes his hand, the one with fingers covered in her cum, and brings it to her lips. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she closes her mouth around his digits, swirling her tongue around them, tasting herself. He’s entranced, can’t stop watching her when she hums as if it’s the most delicious meal she’s ever had.

She withdraws his fingers with a pop, letting his hand fall back at his side. They stay there, looking at each other, processing what just happened between them. Not only is she his teaching assistant, but he’s on her dissertation committee. He has power and influence, and while she’s not his student, he is her superior.

“I…” he tries again, but trails off.

She smirks, squaring her shoulders. “Close your mouth, Dr. Floyd,” she says and sidesteps him, adjusting her skirt. “You’re too smart to be a mouth breather.”

She crosses the office, gathering her bag from the floor where she dropped it, and he gets a peek at her panties as she bends over. White lace. His slacks have never felt tighter.

Unsure what to say or do, he stands there watching while Imogen tries to make her hair look presentable. “Alright,” she mumbles after a minute. “See you tomorrow.”

The door closes behind her, leaving Bob in his office, surrounded by books, paper, a chessboard, a laptop he’s forced to own, and the memory of his TA coming undone on his fingers.

There’s only one word to describe the situation he now finds himself in.

“Fuck.”

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The relationship hadn’t been terrible, honestly, it was the best relationship you had ever had. One that you thought about regularly, even though you continually told everyone you were over it. So, when Jake and Danica gave you the heads up that they were also inviting Bradley, you gave them questioning looks. Why would that even matter? It was their wedding anyways, they could invite whoever they wanted. It’s not like that final not was still something you thought about daily. But how would they had known that? They couldn’t have when you always told them the opposite.

Neither of you were bad people, but that night would have told anyone the opposite. Both of your words were laced with venom, neither one of you knowing how to convey your thoughts properly. It wasn’t like either of you, but things had gotten out of hand quick. One thing lead to another, escalating past the point of control.

An uneven breath passed your lips while you looked in the mirror. The dress you had picked was something simple. A two strap summery dress with a bustier built in. It was covered in a muted pastel floral print. Cielo and Abby had helped you pick it out. You bought it with the thought of being able to wear it again, and not to draw the attention of anyone specific.

Even though you and Bradley ended on poor terms, you still yearned for him. Almost two years later and you still wished for something. But you weren’t just hoping and wishing for him to reach out to you, you were also wishing you could have changed things. Wished you would have never hung up on him. Wished that maybe you wouldn’t have said the things you did. Wished that you would have swallowed your pride and reached out. Too many wishes, but it was all in the past and you couldn’t change it now.

All you could do now was face the day. Face the fact that you would be seeing him again. Face the emotions that were going to resurface.

You did a small twirl, calming your nerves in the process. If anything you could hide with Mickey, Cielo, Abby, Bob, and Reuben if things became too much. Or at least just Cielo and Abby. No matter what, you would survive. Ignoring the sensation tightening in your chest, you moved to the bathroom to finish your makeup.

-

Bradley stared at himself in the dressing room mirror, ignoring all of those who were fluttering around him. He had known about this day for a long time. Hell, he knew when Jake decided he was going to propose. Jake had immediately sent him and Javy a picture of the ring. Eager. That was all Bradley had thought about it. Bradley had a slightly pessimistic view on love now.

After his last relationship, he took a break from love. It was too painful, the only thing in the world that could hurt everyone. Even those whose walls were so high, heart so guarded. Those like Bradley.

Love had been the most damaging thing in Bradley’s life. The love for his father? Heart breaking. The love for his mother? Life altering. The love he had once felt for Maverick? Trust breaking. The love he had for you? World crumbling. It wasn’t worth it anymore in his mind. He had tried it multiple times, each time ending in pain.

The pain he had felt with you had been different though. It was a shared one, a pain he could tell that you were also experiencing. It wasn’t like when his dad just never returned home, or when his mom took her final breath in the hospital, or when Mav set him back. All of that had been one sided, him being the only one being hurt. But when he saw the tears roll down your cheeks, the way your chest heaved with each breath. That finally click he heard when you hung up. The ache in his chest as he stared at the phone, deciding not to call you back.

Yeah, you had been the one to hang up, but Bradley had been the one who did nothing. He didn’t do anything in that moment except let you slip through his fingers, like sand in an hour glass. He regretted it to this day. Knowing he should have at least reached out but didn’t. It was one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He finally popped his collar up then ran the tie for his suit around it.

He hadn’t been this dressed up, outside of his Navy regalia, in a long time. The last time he remembered was for your cousins wedding. A smile drifted to his lips, but only a small one, as he recalled the way you had tied his tie for him. Your face was so calm and focused, threading the material through the knot and tightening it up for him. His own hands followed the same pattern that yours once did. He was never able to capture it completely, but he always preferred how you had tied his ties.

“Crazy, huh?” Javy said while grabbing Bradley’s shoulder and pulling him close.

“That’s one word for it,” Bradley let out a little chuckle.

The two of them sat there for a moment, silence over taking them. Javy's bright smile faded a little when he met Bradley’s gaze in the mirror. Javy wasn’t oblivious to what today meant for Bradley, Jake neither. Jake had told Bradley immediately when Danica sent out invitations. Bradley was happy you would be there, seeing the union of two amazing friends. But he couldn’t ignore the anxiety festering in his chest.

“If you need anything, just ask man.”

“Thanks.”

-

Throughout the entire ceremony you had fought the urge to throw up. Which now lead to you in the bathroom, waiting for your nausea to calm down. It was the worst symptom of anxiety you got, that and the tightness in your chest. You didn’t think that seeing Bradley would do this to you. You had been preparing and hyping yourself up all morning, only for him to crack it all with one look. A look he didn’t even return.

You moved to the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror. That’s when you noticed something that you didn’t catch prior. Well, you had ‘caught’ it, but didn’t realize the full extent of your choice in lipstick. It was Bradley’s favorite shade. It was a soft neutral, one you wore cause it went with everything. Bradley had loved it because, “It just makes you glow”, or at least that was what he had told you. Your fingertips almost brushed your lips, but you stopped yourself and simple smiled.

The reception was gorgeous, the entire thing had been gorgeous. It was an outdoor venue, a boho-esque farm house that had been transitioned into a wedding venue. People were swarming everywhere, waiting to the newly weds and wedding party to show up for things to officially start. You made your way up the steps of the outdoor pavilion, looking around only to find familiar faces staring back at you. Danica and Jake had been kind enough to put all their good friends at the same table. Bob and Mickey both noticed you at the same time, alerting everyone else at the table of your presence.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Reuben said as he stood to pull your chair out for you.

“As if I wouldn’t miss this,” you replied while sitting down.

“That’s right, can’t stay away from us,” Mickey said with a big grin.

The night had moved fast. Dinner had been an event, Javy making his way over to your guys table to greet everyone. Jake and Danica eventually came over too, only after making sure to say hello to all the extended family, which Mickey was claiming you all were a part of. You, Cielo, Abby, and Natasha had talked about the struggles of finding the perfect guest dresses. Bob chiming in to say that you all looked phenomenal, only to turn red when you all complimented him back while Abby pressed a kiss to his cheek. The only person that was missing from your group was Bradley.

Your anxiety about the situation had subsided when the wedding party walked in. Bradley had actually looked at you, even gave you a small smile. The butterflies you had felt weren’t brand new, but they weren’t something you had felt in a long time. They were a regular thing Bradley used to give you, no matter how comfortable you had become with him. Butterflies on your one year anniversary, two year, and even three year.

Your gazes didn’t stop meeting throughout the entirety of dinner. He calmly sat at the wedding party table, disappearing at some point. The thought about finding him had crossed your mind, but you decided to stay seated, a small amount of anxiety winning that battle. It was a good thing though, the first dance starting only a few minutes after you made the decision.

All of you sat there mesmerized by the gorgeous couple dancing. They looked so seamless together, making your heart swell with fondness for the both of them. After the first dance was the dances they had with their parents. Danica with her father, Jake with his mother. All of it, everything was making something inside of you sad. Not for the people around you, but for the fact that you could have had this.

The night continued though. About forty-five minutes had passed since the music and dancing had started. You were sitting at your assigned table while sipping your wine. It had been your second glass. Even though you wanted to get really drunk, you decided not to. It wasn’t the time nor place, and seeing Bradley didn’t fully constitute it. But there was a still a part of you, one that was becoming a little overwhelming, was yearning for him.

A slow song had started to play, many people dispersing from the dance floor. It wasn’t the first slow song and it wouldn’t be that last. During the first slow song, Reuben had asked if you wanted to dance at one point after seeing the saddened look on your face. You had politely declined though, and Reuben confirmed that he understood. The two of you instead had sat at the table and watched all the varying couples on the floor. Jake and Danica, Javy and Natasha, Bob and Abby, Mickey and Cielo. The first time you didn’t take notice to Bradley’s presence, trying to ignore the silent plea inside of you.

Your heart was screaming at you, telling you to just walk over. It was wishing that you would simply go up and talk to him. Wishing that he would come talk to you. Wishing for so much that would probably never happen.

But this time you did notice his presence.

That’s because he wasn’t there, completely absent from the pavilion.

-

The day was going better than Bradley had anticipated.

So what if his chest was filled to the brim with regret and anxiety. He could get over that. What he couldn’t get over was how beautiful everything was. The venue looked like something from out of a movie, Danica truly looked like Venus, and it was perfect. Including you. Before he even walked down the dirt path they called the aisle, his eyes were locked on you.

How could they not be?

After countless days and nights he had spent with you. The very image of you was seared into his soul, being able to immediately pick you out before even seeing your face. You looked as beautiful as ever. It made his heart race, now being faced with the reality that he was only a mere twenty feet away from you. So, he made sure not to make eye contact throughout the entire ceremony. It was harder than he thought it would be. All he wanted to do was look at you, but he forced himself not to.

That was until the reception started. When he walked up the steps of the pavilion his heart was hammering. The DJ announced his name and he walked through, eyes finally meeting yours. It was brief, but it was enough to make his mind spin. He immediately noticed the color of your lips. It was his color, the one he had always loved on you. The one that made you look radiant, complimenting you in all the best ways. It had always grabbed his attention. It wasn’t an extravagant color, but you made it extravagant.

And you continued to keep his attention all night. His eyes followed you, adverting away fast enough for you not to notice when you looked his direction. It was borderline painful watching you with all of his friends. They were your friends too, but the two of you hadn’t been around all of them at the same time in forever. Not actual forever, but that’s what it felt like to Bradley. More like a lifetime.

All he kept thinking was about how foolish he had been. Wishing all over again that he would have done just something. Called you back, sent a text, or simply just not disappear out of your life. But at the time he thought that was the best thing. Only after did he realize how dumb he actually had been. He had to leave the pavilion for a moment, getting fresh air to relieve himself. He returned only a few minutes later.

Then when Jake and Danica started the first dance he started to feel sick. If he would have been better, that could have been the two of you. He could have seen you in one of those gorgeous white gowns. All he saw when he pictured it was you as an ethereal being. This all had to be karma, finally coming around to bite him in the ass. And it didn’t stop either. Watching everyone take their partner, arms wrapped lovingly around them.

Watching how Bob softly moved a stray strand of hair from Abby’s face. The bright smile that Mickey brought to Cielo. Even the way Natasha was laughing at Javy's dumb jokes. He wished that he could have been like that with you. Whisking you around the floor, whispering in your ear about how lucky he was to have you. But it was simply a wish, nothing more.

So Bradley left.

He didn’t want to sit with the regret and pain anymore. The memories of how foolish he had been to let you slip through his hands. He made his way out of the pavilion, dress shoes hitting the grass quickly as he walked a little bit away from the pavilion. Warm deep breaths filled his lungs as he stared out at the sky. Hues of orange and pink were starting to blend in with the clouds.

Not even a minute later did he hear someone coming down the pavilion steps. He waited for a moment, hoping he would hear the steps hit the stone path, but they didn’t. The small sound of shifting grass was creeping closer to him, making hm let out a sigh. He was whole heartedly expecting to see Javy, maybe even Nat in tow. But when he turned around he was much more surprised.

-

“Hi,” you said barely above a whisper.

“I.. Hi,” Bradley greeted back.

The two of you stood there for a moment, staring at one another. Bradley’s eyes had brightened, a soft smile pulling at his lips. Which you mimicked, offering your own small smile at him. Neither of you knew exactly what to say. It didn’t feel awkward, but it wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable either. You looked up, seeing the gorgeous colors of the sky. Bradley looked up to see a little more pink had settled in the sky.

“It’s beautiful,” you said.

“It really is,” Bradley replied.

There were a few beats of silence before you spoke again.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you didn’t look at him, keeping your gaze towards the sky.

Bradley looked at you though, wondering why you would ask that question. You had never bothered him ever, he just sucked at showing how much he cared about you. Sucked so much he couldn’t even properly show it to you.

“You never have,” Bradley decided it was a now or never thing.

You looked at him, raising an eyebrow to act like you had no idea what he was implying. A breathy half laugh passed your lips as you stared at him now. You waited for a moment, hoping he might retract it or something. That never came though, so you dropped the slightly confused expression from your face.

“Bradley, I didn’t mean it like that,” your smile was gone now.

Bradley nodded, “I know, but there was a lot I wanted to say and never did.”

Those bubbles of anxiety were floating back into your chest, threatening to pop at any moment. But there were things that you had never said either. It was now or never, say your peace or forever hold it.

“There’s a lot I never said either,” you started to fiddle with your hands, a nervous habit you had always had.

“First, I want to say I’m sorry, genuinely,” Bradley’s eyes were sincere as he spoke, “you didn’t deserve anything that happened or that I said. I was stupid then, the emotionally capacity of a peanut.” You both let out a chuckle after that one. “And I don’t expect everything to be magically okay, but I just wanted to apologize and say”, he paused briefly, “that I miss you.”

It felt like your heart had broken into two. Everything you had ever seen in the media was telling you to ditch him, tell him to fuck off. But you couldn’t, because you completely understood what he was saying. You felt the exact same way. Ever since he left it was like you were missing something, double checking every time you left your apartment.

“Bradley, I’m miss you too,” you grabbed his hand as you spoke.

His hand encapsulated yours. The warmth was something familiar yet distant. He had always ran a bit warmer than you, something you had always appreciated. A soft smile appeared on his face once more. He rubbed his thumb lightly on the back of your hand. Neither of you were sure how much time had truly passed since you found him, but another slow song started to play in the distance. Bradley let out a small huff that caught your attention.

“What?” You asked.

“I just… I’ve been meaning to ask you all night,” Bradley started, “would you like to dance?”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Author's Note: Inspired by the song Shake It Off by Taylor Swift, written for @laracrofted's 1989 Challenge! Thank you very much for hosting the challenge, Amelia!

Word Count: 3075

-------------------------

Maybe he won’t be here.

The thought was fleeting, and born of desperation, as you pulled up to behind the fire truck in front of the Horton Grand Hotel.

There are plenty of people with the last name of Lee, the fact that this call is taking us to the Lee/Hamilton wedding doesn’t mean he will be here. Maybe it won’t even be a Navy wedding.

Jumping out of the driver’s seat of the ambulance, your hopes were immediately dashed as a tall man in dress whites stepped forward when you reached the rear doors.

“Damn, angel, you are devastating.” He drawled smoothly and you fairly felt his eyes, mostly obscured beneath the brim of his combination cap, tracing down your uniform as you reached forward to help your partner Delgado unload the stretcher.

“Good evening, sir.” You replied with crisp professionalism. “We’re here because someone called 911?”

“You brought one of those AEDs, right? Because I think you stopped my heart…” His peach-pink lips stretched back into a grin to reveal two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth.

“You’re our 80-year-old woman, sir? Please describe your chest pain.” Delgado replied flatly and you bit your lip to prevent your smirk, loading your gear onto the gurney.

Delgado was your first regular EMT partner since your move to San Diego nearly a year ago, wooed by the $50,000 bonus Falck offered to try and stabilize their work force. He was young, his social skills more than a little rough around the edges, but he worked hard and knew his stuff. Listened to your personal woes without too much complaint and was quite honestly the closest person you had to a friend here - working the graveyard shift as a paramedic really did not afford a lot of social opportunities.

And right now, you did not at all mind that he was there to get between you and the pretty boy in uniform. Because that meant he might be willing to run interference with someone else if the need arose.

“Ms. Mable is just this way, follow me.” The handsome stranger replied easily, undeterred, and turned to lead the pair of you through the lobby, smoothly tucking his cap under his arm as he stepped inside – a well practiced move you did your damnedest to ignore. Particularly the flex of his bicep.

Following just a few steps behind him, you guided the foot of the stretcher as Delgado came last, pushing the head of it. The lobby was narrow, no more than a tiled hallway really, with a wall of windows overlooking a New Orleans style courtyard – currently filled with women in formal dresses, men in suits, and a sea of dress whites. You quickly ducked your head, focusing on following the shoes of the man in front of you.

“I’m honestly not sure what happened, she seemed to be having a great time, dancing and laughing…and then she started clutching at her chest, having trouble catching her breath.” You perked up as he finally began to say something useful.

“Did the firefighters move her somewhere more quiet?” You asked as he led the pair of you past the sign welcoming guests to the Lee/Hamilton Wedding and over to a door beside the front desk.

“Yes, we were using this space for the wedding party anyway, so we set her up in the meeting room, just here.” Pulling open the door, he gestured for you and Delgado to proceed inside.

The crew from the fire truck had set a makeshift bench out of banquet chairs for her to sit upon, the wheeled meeting chairs pushed into a corner to make as much room as possible, but it still felt cramped. The patient was resting comfortably while Lombardo, their firefighter/paramedic, was assessing her vitals and reviewing the cardiac monitor.

Ms. Mable was all of five foot two, a cloud of perfectly styled, white hair upon her head, not a strand out of place despite the dramatic turn her evening had taken. Her face was etched with the lines of a life well-lived, yet she was easily holding court amongst the crew of physically intimidating individuals, animatedly recounting a story about the cutting of a cake with a sword, based on the few words you were able to catch. They stood in their suspendered Nomex trousers and heavy boots, entranced by her performance, as a woman in her mid-fifties sat close at hand, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir.” You quickly tossed back over your shoulder to your guide before diving right into the scene, pulling on your nitrile gloves, all concern about the possible presence of a certain individual vanishing in the face of your job.

Once Lombardo had fully handed the scene over to you, as it was quite apparent that this was most likely a case of angina for which the woman already carried a prescription of nitroglycerin, you settled in to talk with Ms. Mable yourself. The departure of the first responders made the room feel infinitely more spacious.

“I hear you were tearing it up on the dance floor this evening…” You smiled warmly as Delgado continued to track her vitals.

“I’ve always had a hard time saying no to good-looking pilots….my Gerry was a pilot, you know. Fifty-three years together and he got away with everything. So, when this handsome, blonde flyboy from Texas kept asking me to dance there was no way I could turn him down.” The corners of her eyes creased with mirth, and you grinned warmly as the woman laughed beside her, shaking her head fondly.

“Breathing and cognition are good.” You turned back to Delgado who added the notes to the electronic file with a nod. “How many sprays of nitroglycerin did you end up taking, Ms. Mable?”

“Two, five minutes apart, just like the pamphlet says. I really am feeling much better, I’m so sorry to have made such a fuss but my daughter, Deborah, had already dialed before I could stop her.”

“No apologies necessary, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.” You nodded to her daughter reassuringly. “Are you local or just in town for the wedding?”

“Oh, lived here for the past forty years ever since Gerry was stationed at Miramar. Once you give up snow for palm trees and sand it’s impossible to ever go back. I saw you’re not wearing a ring, dear, is that just for the job?”

Delgado snorted indelicately and if it were not for the paperwork involved you would have delivered a swift kick to his shin.

“No, Ms. Mable, just haven’t found the right man yet.” You steadily increased the volume of your voice to drown out Delgado’s utterance of ‘not for lack of trying.’ “You have a cardiologist whom you see regularly?”

Mable blinked a little at the sudden change in your tone but answered all the same, “Dr. Atwal, same age as my grandson. But he knows his business, so I listen to him. San Diego is a fabulous place to meet a young fellow you know, so many eligible men out there. A lot of handsome pilots especially…even here tonight.”

A flash of movement, accompanied by a swell in the noise of the reception down the hall, caught your attention and you raised your eyes to see the face of your guide from earlier peering through a small gap in the doorway.

“Lieutenant Seresin…” You heard Ms. Mabel sigh fondly before her heart rate began to increase alarmingly. Your eyes snapped to the cardiac monitor to review the screen for evidence of any abnormal rhythms, aware of Delgado doing the same in your periphery.

“Now Ms. Mabel, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Jake…” He drawled and that’s when you placed his accent…Texas.

He was the handsome fly boy at the centre of all the tumult then. Somehow this did not surprise you at all.

“Where would the fun be in that, Lieutenant?” Came Mable’s repartee with a wicked grin and you straightened, well aware that you needed to put a stop to this before she reached her maximum doses of nitro just for a little flirting.

“Lieutenant Seresin, would you mind stepping out so we can do our jobs? Thank you.” You turned to look up at him authoritatively, wishing you weren’t able to see how green his eyes were in this light. How his hair reminded you of spun gold, especially when it was highlighted by the medals and pins and buttons of his uniform.

“Apologies Miss, just wanted to check on Ms. Mable here…” You noticed the way his grip tightened on the wood of the door and his eyes flitted to the floor guiltily.

He was not the first nosey by-stander you had asked to step back, nor would he be the last, and yet your heart spasmed as though you had kicked his puppy.

“Much better, and she’ll continue on that path if we can finish up, thank you.” You found yourself reassuring him, willfully ignoring Delgado’s scoff.

Whether your boot knocking into his was intentional or an accident was something he, thankfully, did not question. With a sigh of relief, the Lieutenant closed the door, and you were able to turn your attention fully back to your patient, whose heart rate was normalizing, yet her eyes were full of mischief.

“Quite the catch, isn’t he?” She fairly crowed.

You cleared your throat forcefully to refocus and looked over everything once more. “Ms. Mable, I really don’t think you’re having a heart attack. Of course, we do recommend going to the hospital to have everything checked out by the doctors there.”

She was already shaking her head halfway through your statement. “Absolutely unnecessary, young lady. Where’s the thing to sign? I don’t need another ambulance ride.”

“Mom, are you sure? She said they recommend…”

“Deborah, no. If you want, you can drive me, but this is excessive.”

After a little more back and forth, Ms. Mable ended up signing the ‘refusal of service against medical advice’ form and you and Delgado packed up your gear.

“Have a good night Ms. Mable, but maybe stay away from blonde pilots from Texas?” You teased warmly before making your way back out to the lobby.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom. Finally, a chance to pee somewhere with nice smelling soap.” Delgado excused himself, leaving you alone next to a circular table near the front entrance.

The sound of the wedding party drifting through glass doors behind you in the courtyard fanned the banked coals of your anxiety into roaring flames once more now that the distraction of your duties had been removed. Brigham had to be here somewhere, this was surely his pilot’s wedding…

You surged forward toward the front doors, wanting to at least wait outside, and nearly ran headfirst into Lieutenant Seresin.

“Easy there, angel. Sorry about that. Already on your way to your next call?” He steadied you easily, hands on your shoulders. Enveloping your shoulders.

Shaking your head quickly, you laughed once at yourself. “Just heading outside to wait for my partner, the gurney takes up a lot of space.” You stepped out of his grasp and swallowed thickly. “Have a good night, Lieutenant.” You tried once again to make your escape but found him walking along with you, on the other side of the stretcher. Helping.

“Ms. Mable refused to take a ride with you?” He asked, sliding his cover onto his head as you stepped outside.

You shrugged softly, not really at liberty to discuss it, opening the back of the ambulance and loading the stretcher inside. “Thank you for your help, I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy the rest of the party.”

He smirked, leaning against the back of ambulance unhurriedly. “You seemed to be missing the part where I’m much more interested in getting to know you, angel.”

You opened your mouth to try and summon some form of polite refusal when you heard his voice.

“Yo Hangman, are you harassing anything in a uniform these days?” Followed by that irritating laugh that you had never really had a chance to try and find a reason to love.

You watched the muscle between Lieutenant Seresin’s eyebrows twitch before he turned to face the jokester, revealing Brigham “Harvard” Lennox. He looked exactly the same as your second and final date nearly six months ago, appearance slightly improved by the dress whites, though you noticed his cap was negligently still tucked beneath his arm. His arm upon which a dewy-skinned, long-limbed, glossy-haired woman hung.

He blinked a little in recognition as his eyes fell upon your face and you offered a polite smile.

“Nice to see you again…” he said a name, not your name, but at least the first letter was the same. For the sake of letting this agony end, you would have let it go, if not for Delgado’s untimely return.

His reflexive correction of your first name as he walked through the group to hop up into the back of the ambulance without a second’s hesitation immediately thickened the ambient tension.

“Oh right, yeah, been a while huh?” Brigham grinned vacuously, not even having the grace to appear embarrassed. “Lookin’ good…” He added disingenuously, glancing over your uniform with less than kind eyes, moving his arm to wrap around his date’s silk-clad waist. You watched as her perfectly manicured gel nails came to rest on his bicep, a silent proclamation that her job, if she had one, was nothing like yours.

“Oh shit, this is that pilot who ghosted you a while back.” Delgado blurted out from over your shoulder where he was stowing the last of the gear, and you clenched your fists.

“Weapon systems officer.” You snapped despite your desire to keep the exchange civil, but halfway through the correction, you realized you were speaking in unison with Lieutenant Seresin.

You didn’t miss the way Brigham’s jaw clenched in dismay before turning to see Delgado backing away with both hands raised in surrender. “Whatever, I’ll be up front.”

“So, which one of your ‘exam questions’ did she fail, Harvard?” Lieutenant Seresin asked, tone light and playful but with a dangerous edge to it.

The latter scoffed and shook his head. “What are you even talking about Hangman?!” He protested loudly.

“Baby, I’ll meet you at the car, ‘kay?” Brigham’s date pulled back, patting his chest, and tottered away on her heels.

“No really,” Lieutenant Seresin dropped the friendly façade and looked over his colleague seriously. “Which was it then? Exclusivity? Kids? Careers?”

As he listed each topic his eyes flicked between your face and Brigham’s increasingly scarlet and annoyed expression. You tried to keep an impassive mask but there was a slight tick in your jaw as you involuntarily clenched your teeth at the word ‘career.’ You had long suspected that had been the reason his texts had stopped coming. The fact that you wanted one and he wanted someone to dedicate their lives to supporting him in his.

Lieutenant Seresin’s eyes flashed in recognition, and he rounded on Brigham. “Apologize to the lady for ghosting her over having career ambitions, Harvard.” He said firmly.

“What the hell are you even talking about Hangman, you don’t even know…” Brigham sputtered in protest and a small part of you wanted to tell Lieutenant Seresin not to worry about it.

“You were an idiot, Brigham. Now apologize.” He repeated firmly and any thought of excusing Brigham’s behaviour died in that instant, because it was true. He had been an idiot and it had been painful. You had been rather convinced it was going nowhere fast, but sudden and complete silence had hurt all the same.

You almost missed the apology as the first time Brigham delivered it; he used that wrong name again. Lieutenant Seresin’s eyes narrowed into an icy glare, and it was quickly amended to your proper name.

“Now go find your date before you screw up that relationship too.” Lieutenant Seresin gestured with his chin for him to go away before barking after him, “Cover!”

Brigham slammed his cap onto his head and only walked faster toward the parking lot as you chewed on your lower lip savagely lest you do something unseemly like indulge in laughter at his expense. You took a steadying breath before turning back to face your unexpected ally.

“Come on, they’re holding calls!” Delgado shouted from the front seat, and you exhaled with that withheld laugh. One that Lieutenant Seresin echoed.

“In an effort to restore the reputation of the United States Navy, and prove to you that Brigham Lennox is an aberration, will you let me take you out for a drink?” He tilted his head with an inviting curl of his lips.

He had absolutely no right looking that attractive, or being that good of a man, or putting Brigham in his place so handily.

“I…I’m sorry I just started my shift at nine…” You fussed with your stethoscope nervously, trying to pull it into place around your neck even though it was already right where it was most comfortable.

“What time do you get off, then?” He persisted. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You frowned in thought, weighing the pros and cons of spending more time on another Navy boy, when an all-call came through the radio, drowning out your internal dialogue.

–  All available units, MCI northbound interstate five just after First Avenue underpass, please respond –

Your eyes widened as Delgado immediately picked up the receiver.

“Medic 3-6 responding, approximately seven minutes out.”

“Lieutenant, I have to go.” You looked to him quickly, stepping up into the ambulance, closing one door and reaching for the second as he swung it towards you. You stopped it suddenly with your palm, yanking a business card containing your station information from your front pocket and slid it into his free hand.

“My shift ends at nine, won’t be ready before 9:30. As for when I get off…” You couldn’t hold back your smirk any longer, your heart skipping a beat, making you thankful you weren’t hooked up to the cardiac monitor just then. “…we’ll just have to see about that.”

His blinding grin was the last thing you saw before you pulled the other door to the rig shut, shouting for Delgado to pull out, lights and sirens ablaze.

-------------------------

You grimaced as you caught sight of the neatly inked tattoo on the side of your right wrist, just below your thumb. A "Q" followed by a heart. It wasn't large, sometimes you forget it was even there.

But when you caught sight of it, you remembered the pain behind it. Not the physical pain, but the emotional.

Most people thought it was a nod to your call sign, "Red Queen," and that's what you let them believe.

But the truth is, it was part of a pair. You had the queen of hearts, and he—he had the king.

You wondered if he still had it. Maybe he got it removed or covered up. You probably should have, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. The tattoo reminded you of a different time. Back when you were young and in love and full of hope. Back before he threw it all away.

You can still remember the day it happened. The hurt that filled your body, and the tears that stung your eyes. It had been five years since you'd seen him—and in five hours, you'd be face to face with him again.

You'd been called to Top Gun from your base in Lemoore. The newly formed Dagger Squadron still riding the high of their last dangerous mission had been tasked with another. Only this time, they needed a stealth pilot, the best of the best, and that was you— Lieutenant Commander Y/N "Red Queen" Alice.

Admiral Beau Simpson had called you personally to deliver the message yesterday. You had your bag packed that night before setting out for North Island today.

You dreaded the whole thing, really, because you knew he would be there, all smiles, waiting for you. He'd probably have a stupid toothpick between his stupid perfect teeth, too, just like the first time you met him.

You were one of three women in your Top Gun class. The two others in your group tended to keep to themselves, but not you. You went toe to toe with the men every day. On most days, your sparing sessions consisted of how many times you could best Jake Seresin.

You and Jake were the best in your cohort, constantly neck and neck for the top spot. When you weren't battling in the sky or in the classroom, you always found yourself having "friendly competions."

One of them ended with Jake kissing you and admission of feelings on both of your parts. But the two of you kept it hush hush. You weren't supposed to be fraternizing.

But that didn't stop the two of you from pushing your luck.

One evening, almost the entire class got together for a game of cards, which turned into strip poker.

Eventually, people got tired or uncomfortable and left. But not you and Jake.

It was the last hand. Jake was down to his boxers. You still had a sports bra and your panties. Jake was confident that he had it in the bag until you flipped your card, and the queen of hearts was staring back at him.

You won in more ways than one that night. You also got your call sign that night—from Jake. He said "Y/N, you and that fucking red queen." And it stuck.

Most people took to calling you just "Red," but not Jake. No, he called you "Queenie."

The two of you fell hard and fast with each other, and on the night before graduation, the two of you snuck out and got matching king and queen of hearts tattos on your right hands.

After graduation, the two of you had the choice of any station you wanted. You had wanted to go somewhere international, but Jake wanted to stay in the US. After wrestling with you feelings, you decided that you would follow him, you loved him.

You had gone to the O Club that night to find him and tell him you'd picked the same duty station has him. Everyone was out celebrating, as you moved through the club, people congratulated you on your first place finish. You thanked them as you looked for Jake, and when you found him, you were horrified.

Some blonde was wrapped around him, and he had his tongue down her throat.

You were heartbroken, to say the least.

You turned on your heels and stormed out of the club to go back to your room and pack your things. You let your commanding officer know that you changed your mind about your duty station as you packed your bags with tears in your eyes.

You blocked Jake's number, deleted him off of you social media, and left without another word. You ghosted him.

That was five years—five long years ago. You never thought you would see Jake again, purposefully avoiding him when both of you were stationed at Lemoore, but with a chance to prove to him just how much better you are, you couldn't pass it up.

It was just after 5:30 when you pulled into the garage of the small rental you'd managed to secure this morning. You grabbed your bags from the trunk of your car and closed the garage door before typing the code on the keypad of the door.

It was a nice little cottage, small, but better than staying in the barracks.

You quickly put away the few groceries you'd stopped for before heading to the bedroom to put your things down and shower.

After washing the drive off of you, you changed into a pair of dark jeans and a red top. You styled your hair, did some simple makeup, and grabbed your purse.

You wanted to get a drink and scope out who was in town, so you headed for the Hard Deck, the hub for anyone who was anyone on base.

You could already feel the eyes on you as you walked into the establishment. You clocked Jake over by the pool table with the rest of the members of the Dagger Squad. Thankfully, it was busy and he didn't see you.

You walked up and took an empty seat at the bar. "Evening, dear, what can I get for you?" The kind woman behind the bar asked you.

"Old Fashioned with extra cherries, please." You replied back with a smile before handing over your ID and credit card. "Would you like to start a tab?" She asks you.

"Yes Ma'am." You confirmed. "Wonderful. My name's Penny if you need anything." Penny said as she slid you your drink.

"Thank you. I'm Y/N, but you can call me Red." You tell her.

"Call sign?" Penny asks you. "Yes, well, it's actually Red Queen, but most everyone just calls me Red." You clarify. "You're the stealth pilot they brought in." Penny says you shoot her a questioning glance.

"My fiancée is Captain Mitchell, Maverick. He's the leader of the Daggers." Penny explains. You nod your head in understanding and take a sip of your drink.

You manage to get through a second one before a tall African-American man with a regulation mustache slides up beside you and starts talking to you.

"Well, hello there, beautiful, don't thing I've ever seen you in here before." He says smoothly as he smiles at you.

"I'm Payback." He says cool as he extends his hand for you to shake. You put out your right and return it. You catch Payback glancing down and your hand, you quickly pull it back.

"I'm Red." You introduce yourself. "And I'm not interested." You shut him down before turning back to face the bar. Payback stands there, dumbfounded as he waits for Penny to bring him another round of beers. He collects them and walks back to his friend group, with hus tail between his legs.

"A swing and a miss!" Fanboy laughed as Payback rejoined the group with drinks. "Don't take it too hard buddy, at least you tried." Fanboy clapped him on the shoulder.

"That's the last time I let y'all talk me into shooting my shot." Payback sighed as he took a drink.

"What did you say to her man? She took you down faster than a SAM!" Rooster chuckled.

"I literally said that I hadn't seen her in here before, and I told her my name. She responded with 'I'm Red, and I'm not interested.' Like she didn't even give me a chance." Payback groand as his fellow aviators laughed at his misfortune. Jake was leaning over the pool table, but at the mention of the name Red, his ears perked up.

Surely, it had to be a coincidence. There had to be another stealth pilot with 'Red' as their call sign. He looked towards the bar where Payback had come from, but he didn't see you. Jake shook it off, letting the glimmer of hope he had die.

"Hangman, maybe you might have better luck with her." Payback says as he turns to him. "What do you mean?" Jake questions him.

"She's got a tattoo like yours. A queen of hearts on her right hand. What are the odds. You can charm her with a line about how you're two of a kind or some shit." Payback laughs along with everyone else.

Jake's eyes go wide, a similar call sign he could brush off, but the queen of hearts tattoo, it had to be you.

He roughly shoved his pool cue into Bob's hands and took off towards the bar. He scanned each of the seats, searching for you. He was just about to give up and turn away and laugh at how silly he was when he saw Penny taking a drink to the other side. It was one he immediately recognized.

"Another Old Fashioned, extra cherries." Penny said as she sat the drink down in front of you. "Thank you, Penny. If you don't mind, closing me out. I still need to drive home tonight." You told her. You reached for your wallet to hand her your credit card, but before you could, a long tanned arm stretched out beside you.

You glossed your eyes across it to see a large hand holding out a card towards Penny. When you saw the red ink on his wrist, you knew exactly who it was.

"Penny m'dear, put her drink on my tab." Jake said. Penny darted her eyes between the two of you before taking the card from Jake. He turned, leaning his elbow on the bar, and looked at you.

"Well, what do we have here? If it ain't Queenie." Jake breathed out, an easy smile gracing his face.

"No one calls me that anyone, Hangman. It's Red, or Red Queen, but not fucking Queenie." You spit at him as you gather your things and push away from the bar.

You turn on your heels and walk away from him, leaving your fresh drink abandoned. Jake shakes his head and follows you out into the night.

"C'mon, darlin, don't be like that. Queenie, would you just—" He huffs as he runs to catch up to you. You make it to your car, but before you can unlock the door, Jake runs up behind you and pushes it closed.

"Y/N, can you just stop for five seconds." He pants out.

"What do you want, Jake?" You seethe. "I wanted to say that it's good to see you. That I missed you. And I wanted to ask you why you ghosted me." Jake says.

"I wish I could say the same, but it is not good to see you, I didn't miss you, and I don't owe you any explanation. You're the one who owes me one." You grit out as you push him away from your car to open the door.

"What do you mean, Queenie, you're the one who up and left without so much as a goodbye? What do I have to apologize for?" Jake looks dumbfounded.

You're hurt by his words. He cheated on you and doesn't have the decency to acknowledge it.

"The fact that you don't know what you did wrong tells me everything that I need to know about you. You're still the same old Hangman. I thought maybe you grew up, guess that's what I get for thinking." You shake your head before cranking your car.

The engine roars to life, and you pull out of the parking like that a red blur, leaving Jake in the dust, once again.

Jake kicks the gravel of the parking lot. He shouldn't have played dumb with you. He knows exactly what you're talking about.

Jake thinks back to five years ago. You had told him that you'd been offered your dream duty station in Japan while he was offered his in California. You were going to be half a world away from him.

And maybe it wasn't fair of Jake to ask you to give up your dream for him, but he was in love with you. And when you told Jake that you chose to leave him, he lost his mind.

You had hurt him, and he wanted to hurt you back. So, that night at the O Club, when Krista Johnson, the fucking admiral's daughter came up to him and flirted with him, he didn't turn her down.

It's was stupid, and he knows that now, but he was high on adrenaline, testosterone, and one to many whiskey neats, so Jake went down that rabbit hole.

He remembers kissing her, seeing you running out of the club. At the time, it made him feel good. To know that he broke your heart they same way you broke his.

But in the morning, when he woke up, head pounding and his bed empty, Krista having snuck out in the middle of the night, he no longer felt good.

The thought of what he did left a bitter taste in his mouth. When he tried to call you, you had already blocked his number and changed all of your social media to private.

For five years, the only glimpse Jake got of you was the two by two profile picture you changed every so often. And every time he looked down at his hand, he was reminded of you. The red ink heart etched into his skin, mocking him day after day.

Jake swore that if he ever saw you again, he would make things right. But he knew he'd shattered your heart into a million pieces. So, how do you fix a looking glass that's been broken?

...............

Training with the Daggers was your own personal hell. Not because they were bad pilots, but because of Jake. The rest of the squadron was amazing. Kind, friendly, funny. You fit in with them well. But Jake— he was always there, lurking a few feet away.

Bob was the first one to say something about the less than stellar relationships you and Jake had. You told him it was nothing, but he and everyone else knew better.

After some digging, the squad found out that you and Jake graduated from Top Gun together. Not only that, but you took the top two spots, and you were wingmen. That, coupled with your matching tattoos, led them to the conclusion that you and Jake were once a couple.

They were immediately curious about the two of you. You guess no one told them what becomes of curious minds.

Natasha had tried to ask you about your relationship with Jake, but you shut her down. Claiming that it was a youthful mistake. But eventually, you confided in her about how the two of you fell fast and hard for each other. You told her that your relationship was like flying an F/A-18, loud, crazy, and exhilarating. But things spiraled out of control, and just like when you lose both engines during a flight, you found yourself ejecting.

Jake, on the other hand, spilled his guts the moment Javy and Bradley asked him about you. He sang your praises before telling them how he destroyed what you two had built.

Everyone was throughly and utterly shocked and confused. But now your attitude and the way Jake was acting made so much sense. They understood why you didn't like flying with him, but they also knew that for the sake of the mission coming up, the two of you had to reach some sort of truce.

They just weren't sure how to go about it. If they disclosed your former relationship to someone higher up, there was a chance that one or both of you would get kicked off the mission. The squad knew they couldn't afford trying to train and trust someone new, this close to deployment.

So, after taking, the decided that Jake needed to apologize.

"I'm not talking to her. She fucking hates me!" Jake said as he slammed his locked shut and turned towards the showers. Coyote pushed up from where he was leaning and followed him.

"I would hate you too if I was her, man, I'm not going to lie. But we leave in three days, and I don't want to be stuck on a carrier in the middle of the ocean with you two feuding. You need to at least try. If not for yourself, for the team. You and I both know you can't fly with someone you can't trust. She's supposed to watch our backs when we are out there. Do you really want her to have a reason not to save you if something went south?" Coyote imposes his wisdom on Jake.

"She wouldn't do that." Jake tells him. "You sure about that? Better safe than sorry." Coyote pats him on the shoulder and walks away.

Jake stepped into the shower and let the hot water stream over him. Maybe Coyote was right. It wasn't fair for his personal business to compromise the mission. But Jake also didn't want to admit that he purposes cheated on you to get back at you. You already thought he was a dick. He didn't want to add fuel to the fire. Maybe, just maybe, could figure out a way to apologize without telling you the whole truth.

..............

You never were the type of person who liked to participate in the showmanship of wearing your dress whites and hitting the town the night before deployment.

Which is why you found yourself in your tiny beach cottage, alone, watching TV. A luxury you wouldn't have for a while. You had just started a new episode when someone knocked at your door. It was late, and you had no idea who it could be.

You got up slowly and walked over to the door. You were surprised and disappointed to see that it was Jake.

You went to slam the door in his face. It was bad enough that you'd be stuck on a carrier with him for a few weeks. You didn't want him to dampen you last night of freedom.

Before the door could shut, he wedged his foot in. "Queenie, can we talk. Please?" He begged, flashing his green eyes at you. You sighed, mentally battling with yourself before wordlessly opening the door. A Cheshire cat smile curled on his lips as you let him in.

"What do you want to talk about?" You asked him as you stood across from him in your living room.

"I wanted to apologize for how things ended when we were at Top Gun. I never should have asked you to choose between me and your dream duty station. That wasn't fair of me. I know it's too little, too late. But I wanted to try to clear the air between us before we shipped out." Jake tells you.

"You think that's what I'm mad about? You think that's why I've been upset and ghosted you?" You asked him in disbelief.

"Is that not it?" Jake trys to be coy.

"No! That's not it. I'm mad because you kissed Krista Johnson! You cheated on me!" You say angrily, trying not to scream at him.

"You saw her kiss me that night?" Jake asks you like he doesn't know. "Queenie, baby, she came on to me. I had no idea you saw that. I thought that you were upset because I wanted you to stay with me in California and not go to Japan." Jake tells you with confidence, hoping you'll believe him.

"She kissed you?" You ask him, trying to process. "Yes. She kissed me. Queenie, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I tried to get ahold of you when you never showed up that night, but you had blocked me by then. I didn't even see you that night." Jake lies to you. He can sense that you are buying it.

"So this whole time, I've been angry over a misunderstanding, and I never gave you a chance to explain yourself. Jake—I—I'm sorry." You apologize to him.

"Don't be. You have nothing to be sorry for." And he isn't wrong when he says that.

You hug Jake, and he hugs you back. The two of you talk some more and agree to try and put the past behind you and move forward for the sake of the team and the mission.

When you both board the carrier the next day, the rest of the Daggers can tell the tension between the two of you has relaxed, and they are thankful for it.

You are still weary of Jake, but you have a sliver of trust for him now when it comes to flying.

.............

When it came time for the mission, Jake was one of the solo pilots chosen to fly it. You would provide stealth coverage and clean up if needed. That night on the carrier, you went to find Jake to talk to him.

When you rounded a corner, you stumbled upon him and Coyote chatting.

"Dude, I'm so glad you and Red made up. I'm also glad you didn't ruin it by making out with Krista Johnson again." Coyote laughed before Jake roughly shoved him. You jumped back out of sight to listen.

"Shut up, man!" Jake scolds Coyote. "Why? You and Red made up. I was just joking." Javy throws his hands up in defense.

"I—I didn't tell Queenie the truth when I talked to her. I told her that Krista came on to me and that I didn't know she saw us kissing and that I thought she was mad over the duty station thing. I couldn't risk telling her that I'm the one who flirted with Kritsa. She'd never trust me again." Jake explains.

"Jake, that's so fucking messed up!" Javy whisper shouts.

"If she knew the truth, she would hold it against me. I didn't want her to have a reason not to have my back if something went sideways. I'll tell her the real truth after the mission. Just don't say anything." Jake pleads with Coyote.

Your blood is boiling. You can't believe you let Jake trick you again.

"What the fuck, Hangman." You say as you come out from the shadows.

"Queenie, what are you doing here?" Jake asks you with a deer in the headlights look on his face. "Cut the shit. I heard everything!" You seethe.

"And that's my queue to leave." Coyote says as he ducks out the door.

"I can't believe you!" You scream at Jake as you shove him into his bunk. "You lied to me, again!" You scream.

"Queenie, please. Let's talk about this." Jake begged you. But you had talked to him, and he had lied to you. You were done talking. Your talking had turned to screams.

"How could you? I trusted you! I followed you down the rabbit hole, but nothing is what it seems. You lied to my face, Jake! Because what? You thought I'd let my personal feelings get in the way of a mission? I'd never do that. Even if you were an asshole!" You shout at him.

"Queenie—I—" Jake begins

"I told you to stop fucking calling me that!" You yell as the tears stream down your face.

There's a long pause before you hang your head and speak.

"You hurt me, Jake. For the second time." You tell him in a somber tone.

"You hurt me too, you know?" Jake starts.

"It hurt me that you chose a different duty station because I loved you, and I thought you loved me. But when you said you were going to Japan, it broke my heart. So I flirted with Krista because I knew it would make you jealous. I wanted to hurt you the same way you made me hurt. And when I saw you that night and saw the look of betrayal on your face, it felt good to know that you got hurt." Jake yells at you.

"Well, I hope you feel good now, too." You saw as you swallowed some tears and walked away.

Before you leave his room, you turn back to him. "And just so you know, that night, I was coming to tell you that I had chosen California to be with you."

Jake stays silent as he watches you walk away. He doesn't speak to anyone the rest of the night, and neither do you.

The air is somber the next morning as you and the chosen squadron members go over your pre-flight checks. Before you climb into the cockpit, Jake walks over to talk to you, but he doesn't get the chance because he's ordered to his own plane.

................

The mission goes as planned, a quick in and out, with no issues. But on the way back, a few bandits swoop in. Phoenix, Bob, and Rooster had managed to successfully avoid them, but you and Jake couldn't shake them.

The scene played out in front of you like something out of a book. Jake was out of missiles and out of ammunition.

You could have left him to his own devices and let him get shot down, but you didn't. You swooped in at the last moment with a life-saving shot.

Back on the carrier, there were cheers, hailing you a hero. But you didn't feel like one. You just did you job.

Later that night, Jake came to your bunk.

"Queenie, I wanted to say thank you for saving my life." He spoke softly.

"I was just doing my job." You say coldly, not looking up from your book.

Jake stands there for a few minutes, tension hangs heavy in the air. "Y/N," he breathes out. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about everything. You being back here, seeing you again, I've been driving myself crazy with regret. I wish I could go back in time and take it all back. I mean, I've searched the world for something else to make me feel like what we had before I fucked it all up." Jake admits. You can hear the sorrow in his voice.

"It's too little, too late, Jake." You tell him as you stand up from your bunk.

"Queenie, please, just—" He reaches out for you.

"I drove myself crazy too, Jake, trying to figure out where I went wrong. What we had, well— I thought it was Wonderland. But in the end, I guess we both went mad." You chuckle and shake your head.

Jake opens his mouth to speak again, but you stop him.

"This is the end of us, Jake. This is goodbye. I'm done chasing white rabbits and falling down holes." Jake doesn't argue with you. He nods his head and leaves your room, closing the door behind him, knowing he'd never find anyone like you ever again.