#daggerfest

Currents (Part 3/3)

Since it's the last day of MerMay and Bradley's dagger fest month, here is the last of the mermaid pieces.

There is even a little extra friend thrown into the mix

‘Don't know how long it's gonna take to feel okay / But I know I had the best day with you today’

Thoughts on Bradley and Carole Bradshaw inspired by The Best Day by Taylor Swift for @dagger-fest

Over the years Bradley gets used to all the stories people tell him about his dad, from his mom, from Mav, Slider each time he was in town and came by to check in and take Carole out to dinner for a kid-free night, from various admin and admirals on base. It used to overwhelm him, to be carrying the weight of these stories for a man he never knew but feels guilty that he doesn’t, but over time he realised that the stories were for the people telling them as much as they were for him, and so he learned to smile and nod politely, and thank them for sharing.

But for every story he gets told about his dad, he loves to share one about his mom:

His mom, who kicked up a fuss and demanded they let her play in the fathers and sons baseball game in middle school

His mom, who took Bradley out to the back roads of town and taught him how to drive stick shift

His mom, who dragged him along to the craft fairs and thrift stores and taught him how to haggle and find a good piece

The image of her screaming at the tv during Monday Night Football, bowl of popcorn flying as she jumps to yell at the ref

How she loved female country singers of the 90s

His mom who curled up with him on the couch and a tub of ice cream and let him cry into her shoulder when his first crush asked Alvarez to Sadie Hawkins instead of him

When he came home from school one day mad as hell for no reason and she takes him to the batting cages and they yelled at the world as he whacked at the balls

When they fight and there is yelling all through the house and Bradley slams his door to sulk in his room, they both take time to cool off and his mom comes up later with a box of pizza and they sit on his bedroom floor eating until the fight is forgotten and they are smiling and laughing again

How she taught him the importance of love and friendship and caring for people

How she used to embarrass him when she sang along to the music playing in the grocery store, a full performance to Tainted Love in the middle of the cereal aisle, a banana as a microphone (how Bradley would do this to Jake all these years later)

His mom, who always spoke about how much she loved his father and him signing Great Balls of Fire and so he keeps singing it in the name of her legacy, too

His mom who was fiery and loud and colorful and had a short temper and didn’t always know how to raise a child by herself and screwed up sometimes but she always ended the day with love and the two of them against the world and he sees her in kitschy chicken themed home decor and bunches of yellow flowers and jean jackets and that gaudy quilt she made herself and the cheekiness of Seresin’s grin and

…a Bradley Bradshaw engagement saga.

An expansion on this post for daggerfest! (As prompted by @tgmsunmontue ☺️)

1.9k words

(Not proofread!)

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Everyone had expected the first one to go sideways. They hadn’t said it, obviously. Who would? But they were eighteen, stupid and straight out of high school. Golden boy Bradley and his high school sweetheart, Kiera or Krista or something. She was cute, popular too. Their relationship had only seemed like a natural progression.

The proposal was… fine. It wasn’t that Bradley didn’t like her, he did! He loved her. He was pretty sure he did, at least. They were at a nice little Italian place with her parents (oh, how Carole had desperately wanted to make it, how she wanted to see her baby propose to his alleged dream girl. She would’ve given anything not to be all sick.)

“Krissy…” he started, a sweet smile on his face, “I’ve been thinking about this a lot— about us a lot. And I think, um, I think…” he trailed off, his mouth getting dry and his hands getting sweaty, the ring box burning a hole in his pocket. “I think we should get married.” He said, clumsily fishing it out, scrambling to drop to one knee in front of her. He thumbed it open, placing a hand on her knee, “I— I want to marry you,” he didn’t know what he expected from her, or from her parents. He didn’t know why he was shocked when she grabbed him, pulling him into a tight hug,

“Oh, Bradley!” She yelled, happy tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, “Yes! Yes! I want to be your wife!” That word hit him straight in the chest. It was all getting so real. So final, like one thing was ending and something far scarier was beginning. But she was already sticking out her hand, and he was sliding the cheaper-than-he’d-like-to-admit ring on her finger, grinning and pecking her on the lips, hugging her mom and shaking her father’s hand.

“Welcome to the family, son,” he said gruffly, and Bradley grinned, attempting in vain to ignore the pit forming in his stomach.

Carole had immediately known something was wrong when he got home, shutting the door with a heavy sigh and hanging up his jacket. She sat him down next to her, turned him to face her and asked him what was wrong, pushed when he insisted it was nothing.

"You'll figure it out, birdie," she mumbled once she finally got him to crack, gently rubbing his back like she did when he was a kid. "You'll figure it out."

Krista called off the engagement two months after he proposed, just after the fifth time he'd evaded any and all questioning about planning.

“It’s like you don’t even want to marry me!” She yelled, and then, after a beat of silence, of Bradley opening and closing his mouth, grasping for the right words to say, “fuck you. Keep your cheap ring,” she said, her voice rife with anger, with hurt. He didn’t find the words until she was nearly gone,

“Krissy—!” He called out, but the apartment— what was supposed to be their apartment— was empty. She was gone. He should’ve been sadder, he thought, but a shameful sense of relief overcame him.

He didn’t date again for two years, and he was stupid when he did.

Sierra was a dream, a blur of red hair and unshakeable confidence. This was his dream girl, and hell if he wouldn’t do anything for her. So he responded accordingly when she proposed to him.

They were dancing, freshly twenty one and all up on each other. It wasn’t especially romantic, but Rooster didn’t mind. He was entranced— enamored by this new sensation in his life, Sierra Stepanov. To him, despite her numerous glaring flaws (ex: chainsmoker, peer-pressurer, didn’t wear deodorant) she was the absolute perfect girl. The picture of his ideal woman.

“Fuck,” she’d panted as she leaned up against him, sticky and sweaty, “let’s get married.”

The comment had left him speechless and breathless and in awe of her confidence, the way she practically glowed in the bar's dingy, yellow lighting.

"What?" he breathed out once he found the words, she grinned even wider,

"Married. Hitched. Let's tie the knot, c'mon. It's not a big deal," She persuaded, turning to face him, running a hand over his jawline, down his throat, to his chest.

"Yeah," he responded, his voice airy with surprise, "Yeah, no yeah, lets... lets do that. Lets get married," she laughed and leaned in to kiss him, it all felt so surreal.

It did not feel so surreal, though, when he woke up the next day, bleary eyed in a cold bed, in a cold house, with a cold spot next to him where Sierra should have been. He called, and texted, and called, and texted, and called again, and this time, a woman picked up.

"Lord almighty, who is this?" A woman with a thick southern accent grumbled, "Why're you callin' so much?" Bradley's eyebrows furrowed, he sat up in bed,

"I'm, um, I'm trying to reach Sierra Stepanov," he said, "I'm her Fiancé?" The woman on the other line scoffed and Bradley could hear rustling, and then Sierra spoke, she sounded frazzled.

"Bradley? Wha— um, why are you calling, sweetie?" She asks, and he can hear her stumbling around, zipping up her jeans.

“I was just worried— who was that? Who picked up the phone?” He shot back, more confused than anything.

“That was no one, sugar, that was… Lisa. You know her, from the bar.” She assured him. It did nothing to soothe his nerves.

“Who?” He repeated, his voice more pressing now, “Who the fuck is Linda, Si?”

“Calm down, Bradley, don’t get so crazy,” she huffed out, he heard her pulling the phone away from her ear to wrestle her shirt over her head.

“I’m not—“ He started, and she swiftly cut him off.

“God, you’re so needy,” she complained, her voice accusatory with a lingering sense of… relief? “Look, if you’re gonna be so controlling, maybe this isn’t a good idea.” Bradley was at a loss for words.

“Wha— huh?” He stammered out,

“I said maybe we shouldn’t do us.”

“Sierra you’re not—“

“We’re not getting fucking married, Bradley! It was a stupid idea!” She yelled, and stayed for a few brief, tense, silent seconds before she hung up.

“…Sierra?” He asked quietly, “Sierra, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the phone, a photo of her and Bradley on a date, Sierra hoisted up on Bradley’s shoulder. It felt like a gut punch.

The next few months weren’t the brightest time for him. For the most part, he threw himself into his work, hardest worker in his class at the naval academy. His father, as his Uncle Tom told him, would be proud. He was in and out of hookups’ apartments, he sleazed around bars and a shell formed around his heart. Two engagements had proved to be enough for him, time being.

So, Jake started as a one night stand. Then a two, three night stand. They had this familiar, enemies-with-benefits sort of thing. Never not at each other’s throats. Bradley liked him— liked is a strong word, he enjoyed sleeping with him— because he reminded him of Sierra. At least that’s what he thought. That’s how it started.

Bradley had never caught feelings for a guy— Bradley hadn’t caught feelings in nearly a year. Jake was just a warm hole, for lack of a better term. Until Bradley started laughing at his jokes, and smiling at his texts, watching a little closer when he bent over the pool table, clad in his barely too-tight khaki uniform.

So, Bradley fell hard.

And they started out slow. Their first date could hardly be considered a date, besides the fact that he picked Jake up and dropped him home, ironed his shirt before he left, nearly burning a hole in it getting distracted by the game on tv. He was never very good at the domestic things.

They went to the Hard Deck, had a few drinks and played a few rounds of darts. Bradley payed.

The thing about Bradley Bradshaw was that he loved with his whole heart. Casual was not a word in his dictionary, no matter how hard he insisted, no matter how hard he tried, and distanced himself from people. He was like his father in that way.

Him and Jake gained momentum quick.

But in two years, they never moved in together, and Jake remained touchy about saying ‘I love you’, no matter how loose Bradley was with his words. Bradley’s rose colored glasses remained firmly planted on his face.

It happened on a warm, lazy Sunday, when him and Jake were both off, sprawled across Jake’s California king.

“Jake?” He mumbled, one arm strewn over his boyfriend’s back, Jake’s face pressed against his bare chest. Jake hummed in response, not bothering to open his eyes, “I’ve , um, I’ve been thinking—“

“Shocking.”

“I’ve been thinking about something kind of important, Jake.”

“My god, Roo, it’s nine in the morning. First you tell me you’re thinking now it’s about stuff of importance?”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m listening,” Jake insisted, turning to face Bradley and resting his head on his fist.

“I really like— I love you, and we’ve been dating for two years now—“

“Bradley—“

“I think we should get married, I— I want to marry you, Jake.” He smiled, his eyes full of love and adoration and hope, for his future and his marriage, his family.

“You don’t want to marry me, Roo.” Bradley’s smile fell. That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. “I’m not meant to get married, Bradley. I’m—“ he hesitated. He didn’t want to say this. There was no trace of his usual cocky facade. “This relationship started as purely sexual. Maybe it should’ve stayed that way.” Bradley couldn’t afford to hesitate this time. There was something here he couldn’t afford to lose, something he didn’t have with Krista or Sierra. Jake was the best thing he had.

“Jake don’t do this. We have a good thing going here. We work.” Bradley insisted, “we— we’re meant to be, you’re my one! I want to marry you,” he was nearly pleading. Just begging for him to stay. But Jake was already up, pulling on his jeans and hurrying out, leaving his key on the counter.

Bradley was far from the unshakable person he wanted to be. He was a real romantic, as terribly cheesy as it sounded, as much as he hated when people said that. Jake had just made him better, they made each other better.

Maybe that’s where the animosity started between them. All of it, the slights in passing, the distinct, crackling sexual tension, the near fist fight during debrief. They balanced eachother out. They knew each other so intimately that they could cut deeper than anyone else. For two years they were each other’s rock, and then… nothing. Gone.

But when he saw Jake again in the air— his savior, this time, it was like the first time seeing him. All the animosity and anger and indigence was gone because, god, Jake cared, and he was saving him.

Back on the tarmac Bradley clung to him like a lifeline, a breathy laugh escaped his lips.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“ he said, fingers digging into Jake’s shoulders, “I’m sorry I rushed you, I shouldn’t— can we— could we start over? Clean slate?”

“Fuck that!” Jake yelled, “We’re gettin’ married!”

So Bradley found himself doing something he never thought he really would. He settled down.

a/n: ok, now I can confidently say we’re back!!! This took way longer than I wanted but it’s okay.

Thinking about how I hadn't yet written anything for Dagger Fest for May, and then I started considering a Bradley that was raised by Nick and Carole, and then Carole, and I just think he would be someone that LIKES routine. Appreciates knowing certain things will happen at certain times. Wouldn't like surprises overly much. But then I thought of a surprise (or deviation from routine) that he might not mind and then I mini-fic'd. 🤷‍♀️🫣😶‍🌫️

🏞️🌳🏃‍♂️‍➡️🌳🏃🌳🏞️

Bradley likes his early morning running routine. It takes him less than five minutes to turn his alarm off, pull on his running clothes and be out the door. Sure. He might not be quite awake, but he finds it's the best time to exercise. Before his body is awake enough to put up a protest.

5.30am - leave the building. Turn right. Same route it's been for nine months since he moved in.

5.33am - cross over Mayfair Crescent and head towards the path by the river.