#dtdt

The house was a mess. Boxes of new furniture waiting to be built: a desk, a bookcase, a new bedframe. Her mattress slanted against the hallway. Old white sheets covered every inch of the floor and things that could not be moved.

You'd taken the shade off one of the bedside table lamps and stuck it in the corner of the room, its soft, warm light guiding you as you stood on a ladder, carefully stroking a painter's brush covered in green paint just below the edge of the ceiling, balancing the paint bucket on the top step.

The problem you had with projects like these was that you didn't really know when to stop. Staring when it was still light out, nothing but music playing softly through the speakers from your vinyl player, it was well past 2 AM before you knew it.

At least this passion project was one of the few things keeping you from obsessively worrying about Jake. And Bradley.

The static noise popping through your speakers was a welcome relief for your neck. With one last paint stroke, you climbed down the ladder, picturing your records and what one you could put on next. You bit your lip, reaching up to grab the bucket and the lid from the top step, covering it and hitting it closed with a thump.

You knelt next to the crate, searching for the record you had in mind when a persistent knock at your front door startled you. You weren't expecting anyone, let alone in the witching hours of the early morning.

Everything that happened with Tyler left you weary. Every white car you passed on the street made your skin crawl, and when Penny finally re-opened the Hard Deck and you returned to work, each time the door swung open in a dramatic fashion, you half expected to see Tyler standing there, a predatory glare in his eyes.

People also had a habit of knocking on your door late at night to deliver bad news. But something told you you needed to answer it anyway.

You slowly tip-toed down your hallway, plastering yourself to the wall, hoping to stay out of sight of whoever knocked on your door before peering through the peephole. Shocked to see the person pacing back and forth along your front porch, you whipped the door open.

"Alyssa?"

She stopped pacing, twisting her body towards the sound of your voice.

As long as you knew her, Lyssa had never once cried in front of you or came close to being visibly upset. She was direct, used humour in the most inappropriate moments, and always played things close to the chest. To see her face, beat red and tears streaming down her face, you couldn't help your unease.

Something had to be seriously wrong.

"Is Will okay?" you asked her.  "What's' wrong?"

She shook her head, stepping in front of you. "Um, no, he's okay. We need to get down to Top Gun. Now."

"Top Gun? It's almost three in the morning."

She shook her head again. "Will's father got word an aircraft carrier got caught in a hurricane somewhere overseas. It sunk. They're bringing in the survivors now."

Heart dropping into your stomach, your legs wobbled. You fell against your door frame, hands gripping the wood tight enough to hurt. Your throat was screaming at you, and you couldn't swallow. 

There was only one other time you could compare to how you were feeling now.

Friday nights were the worst fucking days of your life.

"Please don't tell me..." you croaked. "Please don't tell me it was theirs."

You gripped Jake's dog tags tight as you caught her harsh gulp, her face remaining stark. She didn't say anything. Not that she needed to. The very fact she was on your doorstep told you everything you needed to know.

She wouldn't have come to get you otherwise.

"Come on, we need to go," she managed to say through a harsh swallow.

You don't know how you managed to loosen your grip on your door frame or how you laced your shoes without screwing up the knots. Or how you got your key in the lock with your shakey hand.

You don't know how you got into the passenger seat of Alyssa's car, either. Or how you managed to put your seat belt on or not throw up as she sped out of your driveway and down to the highway.

A small part of you whithers when you realize you wouldn't have known, wouldn't have been here, hadn't Alyssa's Ex caught wind of it. Nat, Bob, and the rest of the daggers would have, too, eventually, but they probably wouldn't have been informed until it was too late.

You don't even know what's waiting for you at Top Gun, whether both Jake and Bradley were or weren't there. Or only one of them. Or if they would even let you in.

The gates were open to the facility when the two of you arrived. Lyssa followed several cars that were already pulling into the winding entrance, the line starting to build as more and more started to appear from the opposite direction. You leaned forward in your seat as she pulled into the parking lot, your heart in your throat as you tried to see behind the building to the runway. All you saw were blinking red and white lights against the night sky.

Alyssa hadn't even moved the parking brake when you threw yourself out of her car, not bothering to wait for her. The cool night wind bit at your face as you searched the building, looking for any indication they were letting people in. You spied a group of people charging across the parking lot to an open side door, someone in dress kaki's manning it. You followed them, skidding across the pavement as you reached the door, trying not to run anyone over and barrel through the crowd.

Cyclone saw you before you saw him, shouting out your full name amongst the chaos to urge you to the front to let you in with the next group. The words spill out of your mouth before you realize you're saying them. "Do you know if...?"

He shook his head. "If they did, they'll be on the next plane that came in."

A million thoughts skitter through your mind, like spiders across a floor, yet you push them aside.

"I have a friend, Lyssa. Let her in next."

He nodded without complaint, knocking hard on the door to let the group in.

Whether it was the threat of being yelled at for running or that they were inside the famous Navy facility, nobody moved quicker than a brisque walk.

You'd take on any military officer who would dare yell at you for the way you tried to weave in and out of the throngs of people.

The hallway you were guided down led to a hanger. The space had been turned into a temporary relief centre, with tables, cots, and supplies filling every inch. Medics were already helping a few of the officers who looked worse for wear, and dread filled you each time you spun, another injured officer upon another.

You weren't sure you were relieved or scared with each face you saw. Whatever they had to go through to get here, one thing was for certain. They had to do so in a rush.

You halted when you spotted the large military-like plane Cyclone spoke about sitting on the runway in the distance, viewable from the wide open door. Whether it had been there before or it had just arrived, you didn't know. Nor did you question it any further. The only thing that mattered was if Jake and Bradley were on that plane.

But with each group of people that passed, there was no sign of them.

Alyssa finally caught up to you, grabbing your arms from behind and tugging you backwards. "Liz," she started to say, but you tore out of her grasp.

"We didn't have time. We didn't have time," you said repeatedly, threading your fingers through your hair next to your temples. Alyssa reached out again, this time turning you by your raised elbows as you continued to force yourself to breathe. She pushed, and you slowly lost your hold on your roots, lowering your arms until she was grasping at your hands.

"I didn't want to tell him I loved him over a letter. I didn't want our last words to each other to be over a piece of paper," you cried out, trying to tug away. She didn't let go, her grip tight. It made you sob harder.

"I can't go through this again! Not with them, not with him. Not after everything Sadie and I have ever suffered through. It's too much, Alyssa!" you were on the verge of screaming. "We've been through enough!"

Lyssa opened her mouth, words just barely sounding out before her eyes locked on to something behind you. She gasped, and you twisted sharply, watery eyes searching a new crowd of officers making their way off the tarmac and into the hanger. You squinted your eyes, the night sky and the bright white lights from inside making it harder to make out faces.

A cluster of Navy officers broke off from the crowd, parting the way.

Then you saw them.

Both of them.

Jake was favouring a leg as he leaned against Bradley for support, hobbling along as they finally reached the entrance to the hanger, searching for a temporary cot. Even at a distance, you could make out a cut framing his eye, and one side of his face was bruised.

But he was here. He was whole.

He was alive.

You couldn't help it. You charged forward, no feeling in your legs as you zoomed past other families and officers, probably a few high-ranking officials in your paint-smattered shirt and overalls. Time slowed down for you as you ran, even if you were running as if your life depended on it.

"JAKE!"

Jake lifted his head at the sound of your voice, urging Bradley to stop. Bradley looked at him funny, watching his eyes glaze over and wondering if Jake hit his head harder than the medics originally thought. But then he followed his gaze, only to see you charging forward without a care in the world to reach him, and he knew.

Bradley unhooked his arm from around Jake's shoulders, steadying him for a second and then letting go, stepping to the side so you could have your moment.

You slid along the floor as you came to a halt in front of Jake, worried he was more damaged than you could see, arms reaching for him. Jake bracketed his arms tightly around your back the second you touched him, and you buried your face into his shoulder. He grunted as he pulled you tight, shoving his nose into your collarbone.

Jake smelt of the sea, of gasoline and sweat. His flight suit felt ripped under your hands as you tried to find a grip. Or maybe you were trying to assure yourself he was really there. Your mind flashed through all the possible things he might have gone through with each caress, your cries getting louder with each one.

Yet in your panic, you pulled back from his hug, only to take his face into your hands and kiss him hard.

"I love you," you gasped out between kisses. "I'm not getting you go. I'm here. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Jake's response was instant, fingers quickly gripping the back of your neck, the roots of your hair, to drive your head at all the angles he wanted, all the ways that made it easier for him to devour you.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, pulling away from his lips with a tightness in your chest. Your eyes fell on his lips, red and slightly swollen, and you were positive yours were the same. Until you looked up at those green eyes and the rest of the hanger, everyone else, faded away.

Jake smiled at you.

"Hi, Darlin.'"

You huffed a sad laugh through your tears, letting yourself fall into his body, hiding your face in his chest, sobbing.

Jake didn't let the grip on your neck go, curving his hand against the skin, holding you to him. His other arm, at some point, had dropped down to your waist. Whether it was to keep himself upright or keep you from falling over, he wasn't sure. Nor did he really care. Because Jake was pressing his mouth into your hair and closing his eyes to relish the feel of you in his arms.

He was home.

You turned your head against his chest to look over at Bradley, slightly surprised to see him hugging Alyssa. Her forehead was leaning against her hands, currently shaped into a triangle against his chest. She was shaking with silent sobs as Bradley hugged her back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

The panic you felt before settles in your chest, warmth wrapping around your rib cage. As if he felt your eyes on him, Bradley opened his eyes, resting his cheek atop her head. You reached out, Bradley instantly extending his arm to grasp your hand. You smiled sadly at him with a fresh wave of tears in your eyes, squeezing his hand before burying your head back into Jake's chest, not once letting go.

Feeling you move against him, Jake lifted his head, catching your hand holding Bradley's. He found Bradley looking at the two of you with a smile, in a similar position, with Alyssa wrapped around him.

"Is there something you want to tell us, Rooster?" he said, eyes gesturing to Alyssa. You shook with silent laughter against his chest.

Bradley smiled at you, at Jake, before closing his eyes and letting his lips graze Alyssa's forehead. "Is that any way to speak to your saviour?"

There was no malice in Jake's words when he dropped his head back down to press a kiss into your hair, flippantly shooting back, "Don't push it, Bradshaw. I'm still ahead by one."

---

The ride home had been quiet.

After some harsh convincing by you and Alyssa, Jake and Bradley were allowed to leave. You had gotten the run down by one of the medical officers about Jake. He had no concussion and no broken bones but had ended up with quite a large amount of water in his lungs and a significant amount of bruising the days before.

You caught snippets of Rooster's conversation with the medics, enough to know what happened. You didn't want to know the deeper details unless Jake wanted to talk to you about it. Knowing he almost drowned and Bradley had saved him was enough.

He wasn't at risk of a secondary drowning, but more so pneumonia or an Edema. You'd be calling an ambulance at the first sign of a cough.

Bradley was helping Jake up the steps of your front porch as you went ahead and unlocked your door. Lyssa spotted Jake from below, hands out and ready. Despite her tiny frame, she was there, ready to catch him should he need help.

You were quietly surprised to see Bradley being the one to help Jake. You knew it wouldn't have been easy for either of them: Jake, who didn't want to need to accept the help at all, and Bradley, for whom he was helping.

But once Jake cleared the last step and straightened himself, he patted Bradley on the shoulder, murmuring a 'Thanks, Rooster' before limping over to you.

You looked up at him with a smile, cocking the side of your head in Bradley's direction before saying, "I'll meet you inside?"

Jake nodded, then nodded once to Rooster before continuing inside. Lyssa had walked off back to her car around the same time, leaving only you and Bradley standing alone on your porch. You pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you, Bradley. For saving his life."

Rooster stiffened at your touch but slowly relaxed, arms coming up to wrap around your back. "I know it's not worth much, but I'm truly sorry Lizzie," he murmured. "For all of it."

You shook your head against his shoulder, murmuring a low "Don't," but Bradley pressed on.

"I've been an ass since the start. I've been the one doing all the things I said Jake would do," he said next to your ear, refusing to let you go. "I think I was more worried about being replaced.. and everything else... I just didn't want to see you and the bug getting hurt. The rule was to put Sadie first. Instead, I was the one doing all that. He really does care about the two of you despite some of his faults."

You pulled back from the hug but still left your hand on his shoulder, wiping at your eyes. "Can I ask what made you change your mind?"

Bradley gave a fond look, and you could only stare at him for a second before a smile shot across your face. "Sadie?"

You had wondered what she had scribbled in that letter. She was shifty about it, too, refusing to let you see anything anytime you walked by.

Something told you you'd never know.

Rooster grinned. "Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Her and the fact, this one saved me yet again. Then gave me a heart attack."

You smiled, looking back at your open door. "I'd like to think he was giving you the chance to make it up to us."

Bradley dropped his chin to his chest, still smiling, before he looked over to Alyssa, leaning against the driver's side of her car.

"Call me if you need help?" he offered, stepping forward to place a hand on your forearm before turning to proceed down your front steps.

"I think we'll be okay," you replied softly, not really caring if he heard you, still staring at your front door.

--- 

 The tension inside the house hit you like a wave the second you closed the door. It was just Jake and you now, and despite everything that transpired the past few hours, you felt nervous. 

Looking down, you spied Jake's boots neatly lined up next to some of yours, making you wonder how he managed to get them off. It made you undo your laces slowly, tactically, as if to stall time. 

Something about standing here made everything more real. 

There was also the bit about you sending him that partial nude. And that letter - which you weren't as concerned about. But that damn photo, all inspired by a moment of brevity, had you yelling to yourself, what the hell did I just do? when you dropped it off at Penny's.

You couldn't worry about the shame currently building in the pit of your stomach. You had to press on.

Jake was hurt. He needed you. 

“Jake?” you called out softly, not expecting to find him hunched over, leaning against the wall of your hallway, facing you. You held out your hands, ready to grab him and support him. That was until he sharply lifted his head, eyes the only thing you could truly make out in the dim lighting, the dawn just peeking through your windows. You froze, lowering them, your voice stuck in your throat. Those eyes were challenging you to move, daring you to escape, to make a sound in the dead silence that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. With the predatory glint in his eyes, you knew right away what he wanted to talk about. 

Yet, Jake is the one to break the silence first.

"Where's Sadie?"

"Camp."

You feel like you've just given him the green light for something with those words. He seemed to know it, too.

"What can I do to help you?" the question comes out more quietly than you were anticipating.

Jake straightens himself with a groan but doesn't remove his eyes from you. On the contrary, they are still sharp and as intense as when he first saw you.

"Liz," he spoke lowly. 

He takes a step forward. You take one back. 

"I think you know the answer to that." 

"Do I?" you breathe out, taking another step, and he stalks forward as much as he is able. 

He nods once. "I got your letter. And your photo."

Your back hits the wall - you can go no further. 

It's not as if you couldn't escape him or tell him to stop. Jake is pinning you with his eyes as he approaches you and cages you against the wall. You know if you told him to stop, that all this was too much, he'd back away. 

You don't want him to, though. 

"Darlin," he roughs out, a hand reaching for your hip, his mouth next to your ear. "I've thought of nothing else."

Your trembling, heaving though no sound is coming out. You knew Jake was tall, muscled, and built like a freaking horse. It's stupid how the thought crosses your mind once again. You feel small against him, pressed up against the wall. 

"I take it you liked it?" 

You have no idea where this courage is coming from. 

"Liked it?" he pressed a kiss on your neck below your ear. "I got hard just looking at it." 

You title your head back against the wall; eyes closed, an arm coming up to wrap around his neck as Jake continues to press small kisses into your skin, slowly starting to add his teeth. An arm shoots around your waist, tugging you into him, and you gasp, racking up the wall with the movement. 

"Jake," you gasped to the ceiling, digging your fingers into his hair. He winced against your neck with a groan, pausing. You wondered if you had accidentally injured him more. Because as much as Jake was desperately trying to merge himself into your skin, as much as he was trying to show you just how much he loved you, how much he wanted you, he was utterly exhausted.

And he was hurt.

"There's nothing more I want than to be with you right now," you said calmly, stroking the hair at the back of his neck, sobering the moment. "But you're exhausted. And hurt, Jake. When was the last time you slept? "

Jake sighed into your neck, weight sagging with him, "Only a few minutes on the flight home. Not sure when before that."

It was true. Bradley had managed to resurface with him strung across his back, carrying Jake the rest of the way up that stairwell. His memory was fractured into bits and pieces of moments when he opened his eyes. Him being carried on a stretcher, Rooster sitting next to him in a med tent, voices yelling, and people poking and prodding at him. The flight home was when he really started to get his memory back, but he didn't dare fall back asleep, wondering if it had all been a dream and he really did die back there.

You frowned. "Let me take care of you, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

Pressing a long kiss on his cheek, you carefully untangled yourself from his hold, sliding down the wall. Hooking your arm around his waist, you led him down your hall to your bathroom. Jake's grip on your body was anchored tight. Hand threaded through the opposite pocket of your overalls, a part of him always touching you.

Leaving him to lean against your bathroom counter, you spun to turn on the shower, ensuring the water was okay before coming to stand in front of him once more. Resting your hands on his chest, you toyed with the zipper of his damaged flight suit.

"Do you need help?" you asked him softly.

He knew he could manage without you, even with his back being out of sorts. Yet, he still softly replied, "Go ahead."

You ranked your eyes over the fabric as you pulled down the tab of his zipper. His suit was ripped in some places, and large chunks were torn out, revealing the black tank he was wearing underneath. The zippers of the side pockets were misaligned, and while both of his patches were still intact, the threads were sticking out around the borders, making them unusable.

You made a note in the back of your mind to steal them the second you could.

Once the zipper reached the end, you moved both of your hands down to his chest, taking both sides and pushing the fabric off his shoulders.

Yet you stilled when you felt something hard in one of the pockets, instantly unfolding the fabric and unzipping the pocket, Jake watching you with hooded eyes. You pulled out a water-tight bag, gasping when you saw your letter and the various polaroids through the clear material.

"You.. You saved them?"

Jake let go of your hips to shrug the piece of clothing off, freeing his arms. He placed one hand on your hip, the other taking the bag from you, holding them.

"Why wouldn't I?" Jake's voice was quiet.

You felt a lump in your throat, tracing the bag in his hands. You were curious to know which one is the cockpit photo, but you also know your spontaneous, risky shot is also in with them. It's not that you didn't regret it, nor did Jake's enthusiastic reaction deter you, but you still felt that little bit of shame and embarrassment knowing the physical proof still existed.

"I... I didn't think they would mean that much to you. It was just a thing Sadie and I did so you wouldn't feel left out," you admitted, feeling vulnerable.

"They were all I had of you and Sadie out there."

It guts you, the simplicity of such a statement, yet packed with so much meaning.

Jake placed the bag behind him on the counter, ready to resume his grip on your body. Except his eyes caught sight of the pieces of metal dangling over the front of your chest, and he reached out to take his Dog Tags into the palm of his hand.

"You're wearing them."

You followed the chain to stare at the two pieces of metal. Your reply was soft, "I rarely took them off."

He didn't need to know about your breakdown. Not yet. You had said enough in your letter for him to know you had done what you needed to do, but he didn't need to know about the events that led up to it.

That was a conversation for another day.

Jake sighed, letting them drop back down in between the two of you, hand curving around your hip and pressing his forehead to yours. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds until you felt him fiddling with the clasp on your hip, never fully releasing it from its hold.

He didn't need to voice it for you to know the question behind the action. It was clear as day as to what he was asking of you.

Will you join me?

Remember all those times over the past year you told yourself to fuck it? This was definitely getting added to all those other times.

Because you found yourself reaching down to your side and finishing the job, releasing the button from his hold. You felt Jake's breath against your mouth, warm and wet, as he slid his hand up to one of the front clasps, popping the buttons out of the hooks as he tugged, repeating the process with the other.

The two straps fell down your back, and you held your arms up in a silent invitation. Jake seemed to hold his breath as he pulled at your battered shirt, up over your head, to reveal your bare breasts.

He tossed your shirt to the side in the general direction of your laundry basket, but you didn't take your eyes off his to find out if it hit its mark. You feel no shame as he dropped his gaze. He's seen them before, kissed them, touched them. But the way his eyes rake over them makes it seem like it's the first time he has.

But when you reach for his black tank, pulling at the hem to work it over his body, you catch the view of his back in your mirror and let out a terrifying gasp.

His back is one big purple bruise, marring his skin. It spread from the curve of his right shoulder blade, sinking its way across his spine and ending near his hip. The only comparison you could draw to it was a painter's palette of cool colours mixed in with black. Whatever he had hit, it was clear the impact had been severe.

"Jake," you cry out, stepping to the side so you can turn him and see the damage for yourself, not in some reflection.

"How bad is it? The medics told me it's there."

"It's not pretty." 

It was the most accurate statement you could give him without wanting to double or even triple-check the work of the medics on him. He let you investigate the bruised skin for a few seconds more before moving out of your grasp and facing you. 

"Come on," he uttered. "Let's get under the water." 

You quickly removed the rest of your clothing, letting the rest of your overalls and underwear fall to the floor, using your toes to work off your socks. Jake managed to get the remainder of his flight suit off with little struggle, boxers included. 

You weren't ashamed of your body. But you were a little apprehensive, letting Jake see everything in its entirety. It makes you step into the shower first, almost as if you were trying to run away. 

All this is new to you. And the internal battle currently raging on in your head was making you hesitant. Because even standing here, naked in your shower, Jake's eyes ranking over you like you were his last meal from behind the glass door, you still fought with yourself not to look at him.

But let's be real. You were a virgin, new to all of this.

You definitely looked.

And tried to mute the squeal that was trying to crawl its way out of your throat as you turned to let the running water hit your face. You could hear Jake's warm chuckle from behind you as he stepped into the boxed space.

"Like what you see?" he spoke lowly into your ear, dragging your back to rest against his front by your elbows.

"I'm not going to answer that question. 'Cause we both know if I do, it's going to lead to something."

You could feel all his ridges and sharply defined muscles against your back, and it took you everything not to mould yourself into him. Jake pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another to your neck, before resting his cheek against yours. "And what would that be?"

"Jake..." you warned, your voice slightly shakey.

"Not tonight," he replied, dragging his hands up your arms. "I just wanted to see how far that blush of yours goes."

"Oh, you kinky.." but he didn't let you finish, catching your mouth in an opened-mouth kiss. You moaned, tilting your head back before turning to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You released his lips to glaze up into his eyes, taking the moment to assure yourself yet again he was here with you. You matched his soft smile before he zoned in on your cheek, reaching up to thumb the skin. His face was hardened in concentration, no doubt rubbing at a stroke of paint you'd accidentally marked yourself with, working to get it off. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his wrist.

"What's this from?"

"I'm painting Sadie's room, trying to make it more hers as a Birthday gift."  

Jake hummed. 

The two of you continued to shower together, you mostly helping Jake. You tried not to get too caught up in staring at him, biting your lip in concretion as you rubbed body wash over him. You felt his eyes on your face the entire time, and you tried to resist the urge to lean up and kiss him. 

Jake made you spin around to face the showerhead to return the favour. Feeling his hands caress your skin, letting him work the soap under the swells of your breast, along your arms, even down the panel of your stomach, you had to fight the arousal pooling in between your legs. 

Not to mention, you could feel him growing hard and heavy against your lower back. 

"This isn't fair. I'm the one who's supposed to be taking care of you," you murmured, leaning your head back against his shoulder.  

He pressed a delicate kiss to your collarbone. "This is taking care of me." 

You ended up getting out first, picking up each of your discarded clothing, throwing them in the basket, and reaching for the towels you kept on the makeshift shelf on your wall as Jake finished with his hair. You saw the frown on his face when he stepped out, and you rolled your eyes affectionately at him, handing him a towel.

Helping him to your room, you left him to sit on the corner of your bed. You rummaged through your top drawer, pulling out the pair of his boxers you had accidentally missed when you packed up his bag. You found them on the day you were getting things ready to visit Ridley.

He took them without a word while you pulled on your sleep shirt and underwear, ironically the same baggy nightshirt you wore the night of that damn thunderstorm where he kissed you.

Climbing into your bed, you held up your comforter as an invitation. He fell face-first into your chest with an aching groan, grabbing your sides to pull himself half on top of you, his head finding a home in the crook of your neck.

Your suspicions from before are finally confirmed. Because even as he held you, Jake was desperately fighting sleep.

Pressing a delicate kiss to the cut on his cheek, you grazed your lips up until you could press them just below his hairline, your fingers threading themselves soothingly through his hair.

"Go to sleep," you whispered into his forehead. "I'll be here when you wake up."

---

You slowly awoke to the sensation of lips delicately pressing soft kisses into your forehead and fingers stroking along the back of your arm, the occasional touch of warm metal accompanying the touch. You mewled, curling yourself deep into the apex of his shoulder, lulled by sleep.

"I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."

You pressed a sleepy kiss to his bare chest. "I should be awake. I'd sleep the day away like this if I could."

Jake hummed, resuming his gentle caresses. He had raked down your sleep shirt along your back, fingers now dragging up and down your spine, getting lower and lower each time he did it, causing you to shiver.

"I had a dream like this. While I was away on the carrier," he spoke, pressing another kiss to your temple. "At the ranch in Texas. In my room above the barn."

"Tell me?" you yawned, still half asleep, warm and content.

Jake nosed into your cheek, trailing it over your skin as he spoke, "The two of us. In my bed. Naked."

You shook silently with laughter, turning your head back against his arm. "Of course you did."

You would have seen Jake smiling down at you had you decided to open your eyes.

"I'd dream I woke up with your back to me, sheets resting low on the curve of your back." He slid the back of his fingers across your exposed shoulder, getting lost in the image in his head. "The barn door was open, catching the first rays of sunlight in your hair. There must have been a storm cause the grass was so green, everything was so right."

You leaned away from his chest, resting your head further back on his arm to peer up at his face. Jake's hair is dishevelled, his eyes harbouring the remnants of sleep, worn and puffy. His bruise had already begun to yellow, and his cut didn't appear red or as swollen. Yet, looking up at him from within the safety of his arms, huddled against his massive chest, you find yourself wishing you could control the way air catches in your throat.

"Sounds perfect."

Jake smiled softly, leaning down to kiss you. You moan in protest, turning your head away and barely managing an "I have morning breath" to Jake as his lips land on your cheek.

"I don't care," he rasped into your ear. You turned your head back, and he placed his mouth on yours.

You give as much as he is giving you, letting Jake caress your tongue with his, letting him take and take at his pleasure, until he is releasing your mouth and mouthing across your cheek.

He’s taking his time with you, something so different from the previous times you've found yourself against or under him, at the mercy of his mouth and hands. There's hesitation in his movements, wary of making any sudden, intense movements that might have you bolt. 

"You're taking your time," you say aloud, carting your fingers through his hair. Jake laps gently at the corner of your neck, hand stroking down the side of your leg. He pulls back to stare at your face, you meeting his gaze.

"I almost didn't have time."

God, you know how true that statement is. And the fact, the Jake who left you standing at the end of your driveway all those weeks ago wasn't the exact same one who returned to you. 

Jake travels down the length of your body, and you let him push up your oversized shirt, revealing your breasts. "Hello, girls," he grinned, pressing a single kiss to each breast. "Oh, how I've missed you."

It makes you laugh, carting your fingers through his hair, messing it up even further. You can feel him smile against your skin. But then he is trailing his nose down your core, down your stomach, lightly grazing your skin with his lips as he goes. You watch him with careful eyes, your breath picking up quickly.

You know his intentions, where this is going, what it would evidently end up being. And you’re okay with that. You trust him, and you love him. There wasn’t anyone else you could imagine having your first time with. 

Working himself down to the end of your bed, Jake’s face hovers over your underwear, his eyes searching yours. You nod, reaching down to help him remove them, Jake flinging them behind his head in a dramatic fashion, making you laugh once again.

Until he’s lining up kisses down the inside of your thigh, stopping when he’s just that close to your core. And then he looks up once again. You can hardly see any green in his eyes, just a thin strip on the edge of being overtaken by black.

“Can I put my mouth on you?”

What do you do but stutter an embarrassing reply of, “If you want to.” 

Jake wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to. You knew that. He even chuckles at your answer teasingly.

“You’re going to have to keep these open if I do,” he says, tapping the back of your thigh. “I’m not going to nearly perish a second time, though what a hell of a way to go.” 

You huff in amusement, tinting your head back against your pillow only to drop your chin to your chest, looking at him between your legs.

“Just be gentle with me, Jake. I’m not…” 

Experienced is the word you leave out, but you know Jake understands you. He always seemed to when it comes to you.

He places both of your legs on his shoulders before reaching up to thread his fingers through yours at your side. He barely has time to punch out the words, “Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” before his nose is parting your folds and he’s swiping his tongue up and down your cunt repeatedly. 

You pull against his hold on your hands at the feeling, wailing and then biting your lip to quiet yourself, muffling your sounds.

Jake lets go of one of your hands to thumb your bottom lip, removing it from your teeth. He lifts his head and says in one breath, “Sadie’s not here, Liz. Let me hear you moan for me.”

And then he’s sucking on your clit, and you can’t hold it in any longer. The noise you let out is practically a scream, and the vibrations from Jake’s moan against your cunt push you that much further. Cause the fact he mentioned her name while headfirst deep between your legs is filthy. 

And the sounds that follow, echoing around your bedroom, are raunchy.  The night Jake kissed you in your hallway, your worries about Sadie hearing both of you come to mind. Because thank God she wasn’t here, or else she’d think Jake was murdering you.

You’d have to work on being quiet if you ever wanted to do this again with Jake once she came back home. 

You felt hot with your shirt racked up around the top of your breasts, gripping the hem to rip it over your head, your back leaping off the bed as far as it could go. Jake glances up, still working his mouth against your cunt to watch, the only remaining piece on your body is his tags.

You buck into his mouth, having no control over your body as he just sucks and sucks and sucks, your grip on his hand getting tighter and tighter, and you’re gripping your comforter to the point your hand throbs from the force. Cause everything burns and feels so good and yet so bad, and you cry to whatever part of you decided you needed to wait to experience this.

But in the back of your head, you know nobody could make you feel the way Jake was making you feel now.

Something snaps, hard, your muscles pulling tant and the cry blaring out into the ceiling of your bedroom is anything but salacious.  And Jake's voice is muffled when he works you through it, chanting, “Good girl, that’s my good girl,” over and over as you chant your hips to chase the feeling.

You are a shaking mess when Jake finally lets go, and slides back up your body, letting his weight settle against your chest, arms threading themselves under your shoulders.

"Was that okay?" 

You don't even have the words to describe how you are feeling. Your eyes are wide, staring up at him, wondering why the hell he'd be asking such a question when he caused you to be in such a state. 

Instead, you lurch up and kiss him hard, your hands gripping the middle of his back, sliding down to slip under the fabric of his boxers. Jake jolts when he feels your hands cupping his ass. 

"Are you sure, darlin'?" he pants, pulling away from you. "Are you sure you want this? With me?"

This was Jake. He wouldn't have you without your consent.

"I only want you."

It's slightly cheesy. But there was no other way you could put it. You couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else. But he challenges you again, asking, "Are you sure you want it to be me?" 

You wanted to smack him for his sheer idiocy right now, bringing up his shitty perception of his self-worth. But you don't want to ruin the mood, and you know where it's coming from deep down. It has nothing to do with you. 

"I do," you say instead, rubbing your nose against his. "I just don't know how to make you feel good, though."

"It's not about me right now."

Except it was. It was about both of you.

"Get on top of me."

The both of you rolled, Jake grabbing your hips as you landed on top of him. You sat up, placing your hands on his chest. The action had you rocking yourself back onto his clothed cock, and Jake let out a moan, hands tightening on your waist to push and pull with your movements.

Leaning down to kiss him once, you followed his jawline, reaching his ear. "You want to know something?" you asked, suddenly emboldened.

"What?" he gasped, nails biting into your skin.

"I've been dying to do this since the first time I saw you on the beach."

You felt the pinch of his nails as you kissed down his neck, making sure to catch a patch of skin between your teeth softly. You continued down his chest until you finally got to your desired place.

The divet.

The perfectly sculpted yet slightly crooked valley that split the entire length of his chest in half. You had a brief moment of panic, a stutter in your heartbeat, when you realized just how forward you, the freaking virgin, were being. Hell, you didn't even know if you were doing any of this right.

All you knew, you had waited long enough.

Spread out beneath you, Jake's body is spread out for you like a personalized meal. You pressed a kiss into his skin first before letting your tongue press deep into that valley and swirl all sorts of patterns across his skin. His eyes nearly bugled out of his head before Jake groaned, chest puffing out and hand fisting into your hair. 

You work your way up, getting ready to take one of his nipples into your mouth, when Jake suddenly shouts and lets out a fevered, "Stop." 

You reel back in shock, scared you overstepped. But Jake only tugged you up by your hips, using you as a counterweight to pull himself to sit against your headboard with a painful groan. He settled you directly against his pelvis, where you can feel just how hard he is through his boxers.

He grips the back of your neck hard and slams his lips into yours. You whimper into the kiss, worried he's using it as a tactic to let you down gently. When he finally releases your lips, you burst out, "I'm sorry, I overstepped. I shouldn't have.." 

Jake grips your throat, thumb resting just barely on your Adam's apple, enough to know it's there. You can feel it with each hard sallow you take, his hand big enough to encompass the entire length and width of your neck. 

"Don't ever apologize for that," he states firmly. "I'm yours to do with what you will. And trust me when I say there is a lot more you can do to me than just a simple kiss on the chest." 

And there's the blush. 

"I told you I'd corrupt your innocent little soul," he smirks, pulling you to his mouth once again.  

The next few moments are filled with long, passionate kisses and heavy touches until Jake is reaching for the hem of his boxers, and you find yourself helping him pull them down, him kicking them off in some unknown direction. 

Unlike this morning, there's no hesitation when you take him in, his cock hard and standing to attention. You regret your reaction to the comment you made about his helmet last year. Cause there was truth behind that one missing letter. 

Jake reaches for you, helping to position you over him before he suddenly freezes.  "Shit," he gasped, pushing you to sit on his thighs. "We don't have anything."

You ducked your head shyly. "We don't need one if you're okay without one. I... I'm on the pill."

"You're on the pill?"

You know what he means behind the question instantly.

"Two months before Penny asked me back. Other reasons, though. Not that I was expecting to get laid at any point in time," you answer him quietly, lifting your head. "You know me, Jake. I don't do one-night stands. I never have."

Jake relaxed under your hold, a small part of him sighing in relief.

"Worried I moved on?" you ask him softly, stroking your finger across his brow.

"You had every right to," he's almost ashamed to admit. You shook your head. "When are you going to get it through that stubborn head of yours that you are worth it, Jake? I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

Jake sighed again, dropping his forehead to your collarbone.

"Besides, you painted a pretty picture in the flatbed of your truck," you tease, quickly reciting the words he had rasped into your ear when his fingers were almost knuckle deep in your cunt. You drop your head forward and whisper into his ear, "The day I can have you gripping my cock?"

Jake growled at your words, reaching for your thigh to properly position you over him. Straddling his waist, you rest on your knees. Jake grabbed his cock, angling it just so as to rub the tip against your cunt slowly. You weren't sure whether he was teasing you or getting you used to a feeling.

Maybe it was a bit of both.

Then his tip caught at your entrance, and you let out a whimper. 

He stops, not doing anything else except letting go of himself to latch onto your other hip. Tilting his head, he places a kiss on the underside of your jaw, breathing in deep.

You understand why Jake had you move on top of him for this. He was letting you control the pace and do what only felt comfortable to you. It warms your heart, even if it is on the verge of jumping out of your chest.

"Take your time, darlin," he encouraged you softly, mouthing at the skin under your collarbone. "I'm here whenever you are ready. And we can stop at any point."

You took a deep breath, finally finding the courage to press yourself down onto him.

Something between a whine and a gasp escaped your lips as you felt the tip of his cock enter you. You had no previous experience to compare this to, but you were sure you weren't supposed to feel this stretched out. Or this full. 

You got about halfway down before you cried out, sightly in pain. Jake's grip tightened on your leg and hip, muscles flexing as he halted you. You're slick, but it's a tight fit. And his breath was just as ragged as yours.

 Sliding the hand that was griping your hip up your back, Jake encompasses the nape of your neck in his hand, tiling your head down so he could take your mouth into an open kiss.

"Jake," you whimpered into his mouth, your nails digging hard into his shoulder. Jake kept a tight rein on his control, but it was a battle he was struggling with. You just felt too good around him.

"Such a good girl for me," he cooed. "Taking my cock." 

"I don't know if I can go any further," you whimper. But Jake is quick to reply, "We don't have to, not if you don't want to. But you're almost there, just a little bit more." 

"Fuck," you whined, tearing yourself away from his mouth to bury your face into his shoulder.  His hand tightened against the nape of your neck, fingers tangling themselves into the roots of your hair. The grip is reassuring and grounding, and you take several deep breaths before you press down once again.

Then, just when you think you can't take anymore, he bottoms out, his hips pressed tightly into yours. 

That's it. You were a virgin no longer. 

And suddenly, with that thought, you felt nervous. Because, of all things, that damn fucking sign in the girl's bathroom of the Hard Deck flashes in your mind.

Jake is experienced. You're not. It was one thing for him to say he didn't mind you were a virgin, but it was something else for him to be the one to change that status. Because every story you've ever read about how men would compare their previous partners to their current one eats away at you.

There was no way you would stack up to the long list of women Jake had bedded, for lack of a better word. But Jake only nuzzled the valley between your breasts, tongue delicately tracing the underside of one while rubbing soothingly down the curve of your spine.

"Perfect," he murmured softly. You can't help yourself when your next words come out more anxiously than teasingly. "Live up to your imagination?"

If Jake caught on, he didn't let you know.

"Better," he groaned. "I don't care if we do anything else. I'm perfectly content to be like this the rest of the day."

He twitches inside you, and you gasp, dropping your mouth to rest against the top of his head. You know what he is doing. He's letting you adjust, letting the pain subside, assuring your anxious thoughts.

"Like this? Me, wrapped around your cock, barely moving," You manage to pant, and he hums against your chest. "What if we have company? Rooster tends to show up unannounced."

"He better not," his growl vibrates off your skin, hand flexing on your thigh in an effort not to thrust. "He should know better than to show up at your door when he knows damn well what we're getting up to."

Jake titles his head to set his teeth into your collarbone in a warning, making you clench involuntarily and whimper. He snarls into your neck, "Don't mention him when I'm inside you. This is not going to end badly, not for your first time."

The heat laced in his voice did nothing to stop the small chuckle that racked your chest. Your muscles pull tight across your stomach, and you choke, "Are you trying to make me combust?"

"Is it working?" 

Jake doesn't move. Not at first. Not until you decide to test the waters and flex your hips once, rocking yourself on his cock ever so slightly. 

Your mouth is resting open against his forehead, and your nails are biting into his shoulders as you moan, letting the first thumps of pain, turn into pleasure. He's tense under you, Jake, using every ounce of willpower not to thrust himself hard up into you to match your rocks. He wants to take this slow. He wants you to enjoy this, no matter how badly he wants to feel you clench around him.

Instead, he rasps into your breast, “Feel good?” 

Why is he so obsessed with asking you questions?

You’re unsure if your noise is intelligible, but you try to force out an affirmative hum. Then he hits the back of your cervix, making you howl and curl into him.  

It must have been the sound you let out because Jake growls. Gripping the flesh of your butt tightly, he flipped the both of you. You weren't expecting him to, not with how beaten up he was. The movement of your back hitting the bed caused him to hit something deep inside you, causing you to cry out and grip the planes of his shoulders, nails biting hard and uncaring if you happened to touch his bruise.

The slow movement of you rocking on him was nothing compared to the way he started to thrust in earnest. 

"You have no idea how much I've wanted you," he panted, increasing his pace. "The day I saw you at the Hard Deck when you were dancing in your kitchen. The clean fucking slate."

You whimper at the growl he spun on the word fucking, adding to the heat already spreading across your body. Even with the pleasure he’s bestowing across your body, you know this must be somewhat painful for him.

"Jake.." you gasped. "Your back."

"Fuck my back," he grunted, angling his hips in an urgent thrust. It made you tilt your head back into your pillow, your head almost hitting your headboard, your nails biting into his back, letting out a heated cry. Jake went for your neck, teeth, and lips, pressing hard to your pulse point.

"I don't care if I fucking break it," he growled out. "I'm not stopping until you cum for me." 

A particular thrust caused you to turn your head, and Jake sunk his teeth into your neck. You lifted your leg, wrapping it around Jake's waist. The angle of this next thrust changed, and you whimpered loudly, tears leaking down the sides of your face as Jake lurched over you with a desperate groan.

It has you wrapping your other leg around his waist, your hips slanted downwards, his cock pounding you at a new angle.

His hand, supporting himself on the bed next to you, shot out to grip your bedframe. Alternating between deep thrusts and shallow teases, Jake watched you underneath him. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, your eyes fighting to stay open, and dog tags - his dog tags - jangling against your stomach.

 He almost didn’t have this, the stark realization haunting him. He had literally been a breath away from never seeing you again, never feeling your warmth or hearing your cries of pleasure or even your laughter. He would take any chance, any glance, anything to assure him you were real. And that you were his.

His back spasmed, and he fell on top of you, saving himself from crushing you at the last second. But it doesn’t deter him. No, Jake still flexed his hips, more than determined to get you over that edge, to have you cum. Even if he didn’t, he wanted you to experience at least that. 

But those dog tags cause a possessive feeling to rise in his chest - because the only word going through his head right now is mine. 

"You’re mine, Elizabeth,” he grunted. "Say it. Please say it.”

There's the possessive kink you know and love. 

“I’m yours,” you cry out, consumed by the feeling of him driving his cock into you. “Yours Jake, just please…”

It is then a mantra of "pleases" and "I needs" fall from your lips, of which you aren't sure what for. All you knew was that Jake was working you higher and higher off that edge, fully determined to see you tumble over it.

“Cum for me Liz,” he whines.  “Cum for me, just for me. Please my darlin’ girl.”

He drops his hand between the two of you, seeking out your clit and rubbing hard, tight circles that have you screaming. Your soaring, going over that somewhat unfamiliar edge he’s brought you over only twice before.

You swear you black out, just for a few moments, until Jake is at your ear, whispering praise after praise about how good it finally felt to have you cum around him. How only he would ever be the one to experience this, how proud of you he is.

Then he thrusts, once, twice, before your hips jolt up, and he's pressing himself deep, flooding your core. You sob, burying your face into his neck and tightening your legs around him. Because amongst the overstimulation, you can feel another one creeping up from out of nowhere. Pure white heat shoots up to your chest as Jake's haunting moan vibrates your entire being.

Then it's quiet, and you want to bury yourself in this moment. 

You don't even care that you're crying. Because, with all the thoughts and feelings flying back and forth through your mind, there's one that stands out the most. 

Your so fucking glad you waited.

"Are you alright?"

When you don't say anything, too blissed out to form words, Jake pants out your name against your neck; his voice laced with urgency.

"I need... I need a moment. Just a moment," you manage to pant, forcing breath into your lungs. Jake moves, trying to bring himself onto his elbows as his back screams in protest.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, stroking your cheek. You manage a small shake of your head, the sides of your mouth turning upwards. "No," you reply softly.

You finally open your eyes to see Jake staring down at you. His brow pulled together in concern. And, of course, you, being you, had to say the first thing that came to mind.

"I guess you did give me a good time after all."

Jake tilts his head for a second before his memory catches up with him, and he shakes his head, though you can see the puff he takes out of pride. 

"What am I going to do with you, Elizabeth Beck?"

You grin up at him. "Hopefully, a repeat of that sometime in the near future?"

Jake rolled onto his side with a groan, pulling you with him to lie half on his chest. The action caused him to slip out from you, which you were grateful for. The quick movement only caused a brief amount of pain, and you were sure if he drew it out, it would have been worse. 

Jake was pressing kisses to your forehead as the aftershocks finally made them known. You trembled against him, hands trying to find purchase along his chest, and Jake didn't stop until he was sure you were okay.

But, in the blissful silence, once you calmed down, Jake playing with your hair against your back, did he finally ask the question you knew was coming since he walked through your front door.

"Does she hate me?"

You weakly lifted your head from his shoulder, watching the conflicting emotions play across his face.

"The day at the beach. She was devastated..." Jake trailed off, absentmindedly staring at your bedroom wall. You pressed a kiss to his chest. "We've both had a lot of people in our lives that have hurt us."

"I'm used to disappointing people, but her? She has every right."

You frowned. "She missed you so much, Jake."

He shook his head, slamming his eyes shut. You lifted your hand off his chest to cradle his jaw, your thumb stroking across his cheekbone under the newly darkened skin. "She could never hate you. She asked me every day when you'd be coming home."

Jake didn't open his eyes, but he did lean into your touch, his shame and guilt still evident.

You wanted to tell him about the most recent thunderstorm, Sadie waking up and crying out for the both of you in the middle of the night. You had done your best to soothe her, but deep down, you knew she wanted Jake. Nothing could compare to his words of reassurance or the way she felt when he hugged her that night.

In the end, lifting his dog tags off your neck and placing them around hers was the only thing that worked. Huddled in her bed with your arms around her, she fell asleep with them gripped tightly in her hand.

Something told you even if you did tell him, it would only make him more upset.

You stroked your fingers over his forehead, asking him softly, "Come with me when I pick her up from camp next week? I promise she will prove you wrong."

There was a silent pause, and then he opened his eyes. He searched you for any hint of deception, not that he would find any. Sadie was just as important to him as you were. In the end, he nodded once with a sigh.

It was a few more minutes before he carefully untangled himself from your hold. He swung his legs over to the side of your bed with a groan, his muscles spasming as he sat up. Even in your blissed-out state, you reached out and placed a hand on his upper back, where his bruise was the least dark, hoping to soothe some of his pain.

"Where are you going?"

"Getting something to clean you up."

"You don't have to, Jake. I can take care of it."

"It's my job," he countered, turning his head to look at you with a cheeky grin. "Let me do this for you."

He stood, lumping slightly to your bathroom to grab something to clean you up. You watched him go, taking him in in all his naked glory, biting your bottom lip hard.

You still couldn't believe he was yours.

You weren't expecting this: the gentleness as he took the rag between your legs when he returned, the kiss he placed on your thigh when you whimpered from the sensitivity.

After tossing the rag into your laundry hamper to be dealt with later, he maneuvered himself back into the position he assumed last night when you fell asleep, head buried in your neck, arms wrapped under your shoulders.

It was soothing, his weight on your chest almost counteracting the dull throbbing in your core.

"How long do I have you for?" you asked, threading your fingers through his hair.

"I have nowhere to be for the next two weeks," he mumbled into your chest.

"Stay with me?"

"As if I'd leave you now."

😏😘 You hate me now?

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@its-the-pilot

Part 22 - Jump in progress

The reason why there were gaps in your memory. You don’t remember climbing into the front seat of Rooster's Bronco. Or even putting on your seat belt or him pulling out of the parking lot.

He probably had to do it for you.

You had to remind yourself he was driving you home. That you just very publically broke up with Jake in the Hard Deck. Spit-roasted George with very colourful vernacular.

You'd have to explain to Penny why you were swearing in her bar again. But you had a more pressing predicament than wondering what might happen in the aftermath of that experience, which would presumptively have Hangman's callsign back on the sign in the bathroom.

Even with a broken heart, you felt like you were a child being allowed to sit in the front seat of a car. Under the scrutiny of an "I'm not mad, just disappointed" parent driving you home from school. White hot anxiety coursed through your veins with the assumption you did something so incredibly wrong; you just didn't know what.

Rooster was eerily silent. Next to the roar of his engine and AC fan, the silence was constructing. Suffocating. He should be gloating, listing off all the ways you ignored him, ignored the team that day on the soccer field. All the ways he was going to hurt Hangman the next time he saw him.

It was driving you insane.

"Are you going to gloat? Say, I told you so?" you finally huffed through your tears when it became too much. "Hangman did what he does best?"

"Not today, Liz."

Out of all the things you expected him to say, that was not one of them. It almost made it worse. Like you were genuinely expecting a verbal argument, and the fact you weren't getting one was making you pout like an actual child.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he offered eventually, after a pregnant pause. A horrible scraggly sound accompanied your hiccup.

"I should never have let Sadie invite him to Saturday nights."

"No, I'm sorry for what I said in your hallway," he countered. "For the way I acted."

Ironic, isn't it? The person you knew to be the most childish when expressing his emotions was sobering your petulant thoughts and behaviour. Even when your mind and obsessive internal dialogue went, why the fuck did he think now was a good time as any to apologize?!

You dropped your chin to your chest. "But you did," you huffed, hugging yourself against the sudden chill. “In front of Sadie, no less.”

Had you turned your head, you would have seen Bradley nodding absentmindedly, his eyes staring blankly at the road.

“It was uncalled for, Liz. The fact you felt you needed to hide it from me….” he trailed off. You sniffed, wiping at your cheeks, letting him gather his words. "I get it. Why you didn't. I wouldn't have taken the news differently even if you had told me. It might have been worse."

“Still, I should have told you,” you offered, shaking your head before staring out the window, watching the trees blur by. “Not that it matters now.”

Bradley gritted his teeth, hands flexing on the steering wheel. He wanted to mouth off. Not about you ignoring his warnings but all the ways Hangman was a complete and utter cock.

He couldn't. You didn't deserve that in the fragile state you were in. Fragile wouldn't even be in the vocabulary of words Bradley would ever use to describe you. Hangman had made you like this, played you and your feelings.

It was never going to be your fault. He had realized that after the fight. When he promised he'd be there for you and Sadie, he didn't know what that meant or what it looked like.

A punch to Jake's face? Hearing it after the fact? Not actually being there to witness it? Him rambling off all the things he hated about Hangman? Ultimately, Bradley could only offer a measly retort of, "He's an asshole."

You swallowed hard. You couldn't deny Bradley's remark.

Jake being an asshole at that moment was him being Hangman, a side you thought you'd never have to see. For him to so readily agree with George, there was no other way you couldn’t interpret those words as anything but him playing you, using you.

Had he not given you that condensing grin and spoken those words, you might have believed he was merely being triggered by the presence of his brother.

You should have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. You felt foolish, naive, and utterly lost. The grief of losing Ridley was and had always been a constant companion, but this felt different. It was the realization that you had let him in and allowed him to become a part of Sadie's life and yours. You had trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust in the cruellest way possible.

You just wanted to know why? Why he lashed out at you? Why did he act like he cared when he didn’t?

Why? Why? Why?

You’d never get an answer from him now. You wanted to stay away from him, ignore him, avoid every mention or instance of him and his fucking callsign. The wall was back up, and it would never come back down. Instead, fixing your eyes on his dashboard, with no judgment in your voice, you asked Bradley, “Why Roo? Why did you lash out like that?”

Bradley sighed once, tapping his thumb against his steering wheel.

“Loving any of us is a death sentence, Liz. One day you might wake up and find one of us is gone. Just like that.” He shuttered in a breath. “I think, in some twisted way, I wanted to spare you the pain of losing someone you were in love with that way.”

He tried to find the words to explain his next point delicately, but there was no other way he could say it to you without not getting his point across. “You don’t handle grief well, Liz. You barely found the strength to carry on had it not been for Sadie.”

You huffed, knowing deep down he was right but doing absolutely everything in your power to keep denying it. You weren’t doing this today. If not, ever.

Bradley heard you but continued anyway, leaving your reaction tucked away for later. “I didn’t want you to end up like my mom. Sadie to end up like me. Cause him? He always flew like he had nothing to lose; he would do something foolish sooner than later. You would be left to mourn him. For Sadie to mourn him. I didn’t want that for you.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. Yet, you blurted out suddenly, "You need to go to therapy, Roo."

Bradley laughed softly. You looked over at him, slightly worried he might be having a fit. But it was a genuine reaction. And despite everything, you caught a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You shouldn't be laughing. Not with the heavyweight still pressing down on your chest. Yet, sitting next to Rooster as he drove you home, his laughter was the only thing that seemed to be cutting through the heavy fog weighing over you.

Nothing could be done to suppress the laugh that bubbled up inside your chest. Bradley's grin widened, his laughter louder when he realized you were fighting your own. You couldn't help but join him. Whether the pain in your chest was from the laughter or the heartache, you couldn’t tell.

When the two of you finally managed to stop laughing, Bradley admitted with laboured breath. "I am, actually."

You turned to face him, utterly shocked. "Since when?!"

"Two days after." He doesn't need to be explicit. You know what he's referring to. "There's someone on base. I've only had one session so far, but it's making me realize I should have gone sooner."

You stared at him in disbelief.

If he had told you that, come to you while you were still working, or if he had called or even texted, you would have forgiven him instantly. You couldn't hold what he did to you against him after an admission like that.

"I'm proud of you, Bradley," you said, wiping your nose. "I really am."

He glanced over at you, a level of warmth in his eyes. “I needed to hit rock bottom and get a push by a few people. People who cared.”

His response was cryptic. It couldn't have been just you and Sadie, not after how you screamed at him or after Sadie kicked him out. Or even anyone on the Squad. It made you wonder who was his catalyst for the sudden change of thought. For now, you were just glad he was getting help.

You gave him a small smile, making Bradley reach over and grab your hand, squeezing it tightly. You gripped it back, but when he went to let go, you tightened your hand in panic.

"Just... Don't let go. Not yet."

Bradley didn't let go, driving one-handed the remainder of the journey back to your house. The two of you didn't say anything else. You sat silently even when he pulled into your driveway and turned off the ignition.

You didn't want to get out of his Bronco. You didn't want to walk into your house and see all the traces of Jake. You didn't want to gather his things in his bag. Leave them on the front porch, or change the spot for the emergency key.

But that was what happened when you went through a breakup, right? These were the things that needed to be done.

Bradley broke the extended silence, his voice deep and gentle when he asked, "What will you tell Sadie?"

Sadie.

You paused. You didn't really need to think about your answer. Just the weight of what it truly meant to say it out loud.

"The truth. As I've always done."

This was your worst fear about dating. The one that arose when you became Sadie's guardian. The one that so precariously dangled over your head when you told Jake you were a package deal. It wasn't the threat of betrayal, wasted time, or memories turning bittersweet.

As bad as that was at the Hard Deck, as broken and in pieces as your heart was, telling Sadie would be worse.

Jake broke your heart.

Now you had to break Sadie's too.

You glanced at Bradley, searching his eyes before asking him quietly, "Wanna come with me to pick her up from Penny's?"

Bradley smiled, nodding softly.

---

It was the eighth time the F-18s had flown this exercise this week. Coyote, Rooster, Hangman, and even Maverick, all had taken turns flying it with each other, in pairs, to navigate an imaginary narrow terrain.

Had Hangman been paying more attention, he would have questioned the sudden need to practice this particular exercise repeatedly and why it was just them, not Phoniex, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy. The first few times had been a simple flight test, learning the route, the twists, and the turns.

He was never more ruthless than in the cockpit, especially now. All that was child's play compared to some of the stuff he had done throughout his Naval carrier.

But today's addition? They wanted to see how they handled the pattern while dog fighting.

Rooster had decided to make it personal.

"Come on, Hangman!" Rooster taunted through the comms. "Is that all you've got?"

Hangman gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the controls, knuckles white. He was pushing his jet to the limit, narrowly avoiding Rooster's ‘fire’ as the alarm from the targeting system filled his cockpit.

The turn in the valley afforded Hangman the opportunity for some leeway to move out of the way. Barely.

"Come on! You're flying like a rookie today!" Rooster taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thinking about what you did to Liz?"

Hangman's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to focus on the controls. "This isn't the time, Rooster," he snapped, but the cocky twang had lost its touch.

Rooster just laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh, I think it's the perfect time. You need a reminder of what a colossal fuck-up you were."

"I know what I did," Hangman growled, banking hard to the right to avoid Rooster's aggressive maneuvers. The asshole was gaining on him, even with how carefree he seemed to be with his taunts.

"Still thinking about Liz?" Rooster's voice was a sneer, crackling through his headset, and Hangman could hear the satisfaction. "Maybe that's why you're losing."

"Focus on the fight," Hangman snapped, anger boiling in his chest.

"Oh, I am," Rooster replied, his voice crackling through the headset and dripping with contempt.

The mountainsides and the green of the trees were a blur as Hangman and Rooster approached the end of the valley. Hangman could hear his heartbeat against the sound of his own breath in his oxygen mask.

Rooster didn't need to say the obvious aloud. Hangman was thinking about you. He couldn't shake the image of your face from that night.

Broken. Sad. Devastated.

He wanted to close his eyes, get lost in the moments when he would awake in your bed, finding you next to him. In your touch. In your voice.

When he hadn't fucked it up.

But he couldn't.

He rolled the F-18 over once he was clear of the mountains and the flight pattern, finally able to use open space to retaliate and flip around. There was only a few seconds left in their time limit.

If Rooster wanted a dogfight, he'd given him a dogfight while he still could.

"Where are you? Where are you?" he drawled aloud. He kept his eyes on the sky, searching for any indication Rooster was nearby as the seconds ticked away. But he was nowhere to be found.

"Time!"

Hangman didn't trust Rooster would listen to Maverick's call. He'd even go as far as to admit the man was almost like him, dead set on proving a point when it mattered. At least Hangman could demonstrate some restraint.

Sure enough, Rooster's voice echoed as his plane came into view. Swinging up and hanging upset down from directly under him.

Inverted.

"Forget to look below?"

Hangman finally had enough.

"Want me to take one out of your book?!" he yelled, staring up through the glass, never once taking his eyes off Rooster as he jolted the stick to the side, rotating the plane over in time with Roosters.

Into a damn spiral dive. A fucking corkscrew.

Rooster grunted with the effort of withstanding the Gs on his body. Hangman was no different, bracing hard as he fought against the controls. Neither one listened to Mav shouting over the airway or the different tone alerts signalling information.

"You think this proves something?" Hangman's voice was cold and ruthless even though he gritted his teeth. "Break off now, and maybe you won't embarrass yourself."

"Embarrass myself?" Rooster spat back. "Like you did with Liz?"

His response was automatic, like reading a script he had long since memorized. "Life is hard, Rooster. It's cruel and unforgiving. You can either whine about it, or you can face it head-on. You think you're going to prove something, kid, by keeping me here?!"

"Watch me!" 

The world faded out. Nothing mattered but the two pilots, locking in that spin, seemingly staring each other down. 

Yet, Hangman was completely unaware he was running out of space. The Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up! was background noise on muffled ears, as were Maverick's increasing shouts for the pair to stop and break away. 

He was too caught up in everything to care. Rooster would have to break away first. He wouldn't give out.

He wouldn't let him win. 

But then a voice, soft and delicate despite the alarms, shouts and struggles of the Jet's engine broke through the haze.

Jake.

It was a blast of bright light like the sun suddenly blinded the corner of his eyes. For whatever spoke to him, it had been as close as he had ever been to hitting beyond the hard deck. He finally pulled up on the control stick, saving himself just in time and avoiding hitting Rooster. 

His breath was harsh, anger on the edge of boiling over as he levelled the jet. And when he finally returned to the correct altitude, Hangman ripped the oxygen mask from his face, fighting the urge to hit something, as Rooster's chuckles filled the air.

"Hangman! Rooster! Get back to base. Now!"

---

"Do the two of you want to get kicked out?! How could you be so stupid!?"

Nat's question was rhetorical. Hangman and Rooster were stupid. It was so deeply entrenched into their entire being she knew she was wasting her breath by even pointing it out.

A reminder didn't hurt, though.

She had her eyes set on Hangman, but Rooster wasn't very off, sliding his way over to the blonde pilot who had only just started his post-flight checks after getting his jet back into the hanger.

He was deadset on ignoring her, not once glancing her way as she stomped toward him.

“What will Liz say when she finds out how reckless the two of you were?!”

His reaction made her pause; his hands froze from where they were adjusting a valve. Had she turned away, she wouldn't have caught the grimace on his face - however slight or brief it made have been.

“Oh, you didn’t hear what he did?” Rooster called out, smirking from his perch, leaning against a nearby table and crossing his elbows. He may have promised not to gloat around you, but the squad was fair game.

"Liz even slapped him for it too."

Confusion, shock, and pure anger crossed her face in the three seconds she took to glare at Jake. Heat laced her voice as she asked, "What the fuck did you do?"

Liz would never, she thought, only if she had to.

Jake bowed his head, slamming the panel of the jet closed with a hard bang. He turned, gritting his jaw and standing straight, ignoring Nat’s heated question. Rooster chuckled from the side, uncrossing his arms to stride forward.

“Oh, he did exactly what we expected him to,” he filled the silence. “He hurt Liz and left her out to dry, saying she and Sadie were nothing but a bit of fun to pass the time. And when she confronted him about it, he went right for the kill, not concerned about who he would hurt in the process.”

The rest of the Squad was nearby when they heard Rooster’s words, awaiting the fall out of that aerial display. They gathered around the pair, faces twisting with disdain as a dangerous silence befell the room, each looking from Rooster to Jake, reflecting varying degrees of disbelief, shock and, more predominantly, anger.

Jake's eyes were dark, his face tight with suppressed emotion. For a moment, it looked like he might lash out, defend himself, try to explain. But he didn’t. No one would believe him anyway.

"Damn you, Hangman," Phoenix whispered, her voice breaking. "We trusted you."

The room seemed to deflate as the truth sank in. Bob, who had been silent until now, let out a long breath, his face pale. He couldn’t help but think of Sadie. She would be devastated.

“So did Liz,” Rooster smirked, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing Jake.

Jake's eyes narrowed, his voice cold and defensive. "You think you know everything, don't you, Rooster? You abandoned her when she needed you most. For what? To prove a point? Now you’re acting all righteous?”

Something hard flashed in Rooster’s eyes. “At least I owned up to my mistake and apologized. I never pretended to be something I wasn’t! I never fucked around with her heart!”

Jake let out a condescending laugh. “You think she came running to you because she trusts you? She couldn’t even tell you she was seeing me. What does that say about you? She doesn't trust you as much as you think.”

Rooster grinned. “If that were true, she wouldn’t have come to me in that aftermath. After all, she asked me to drive her home,” he said mockingly. “We even went together to break the news to Sadie.”

Jake clenched his fist at the mention of Sadie, charging forward to ready a punch to Bradley’s smug ass face. But Bradley didn’t move, still smiling as Jake stared him down last minute as the Dagger’s jumped to Bradley’s defence.

Jake’s guilt over you and Sadie wouldn’t let him follow through on that punch. Bradley was sure of it. Even with the rest of the daggers looming around, he knew Jake would still be seeking your approval, even if you would never give it to him again.

How disturbing would it be for him to know little less than three weeks ago, Bradley had been at the end of the team's disapproval as they backed Jake.

The tables had turned. Nobody would stand behind him after what he did to Liz now.

The two were locked in an intense stare-down, Jake more rattled than he let on and Bradley unnerving calm. It wasn’t until there was a slamming of a door echoing from somewhere in the hangar did the Squad suddenly walk away from the feuding pair, not wanting to be caught in the crosshairs, already on their phones to message Liz. the only one who had stayed was Nat, wondering how she could have ever thought Hangman was capable of change.

“Rooster! Hangman! My office!” Maverick's voice boomed from somewhere within the empty hanger.

When neither moved or peeled their eyes away from the other, Mav’s voice rang out again, this time enough to rattle off the hollow steel walls, making Nat jolt from the force of it.

“Now!”

---

As a team, the Daggers celebrated everything. Maverick labelled it moral support and team-building. Jake realized long ago it was just his way of getting all the pilots out of the hangers to experience life. Not that he ever complained.

After the lashing he got earlier, it was surprising that he and Rooster were still invited. It was clear as day nobody wanted him here.

It was the second anniversary of the Urianum mission. The official anniversary of the creation of the squad. Jake missed the last one, so he wasn't sure what to expect. A beach party. A game of dogfight football. A bonfire.

Jake couldn’t care less what was going on. You and Sadie would have been here with him had he not snapped.

Somewhere down the line, everything had become blurred. The day he had been dubbed “Hangman” - they said he was surgical, precise, unfeeling - the perfect pilot.

It gave him purpose and confirmation. He’d even make the stretch to say acceptance. He embedded it. Cause nothing else mattered. It worked the facade. It kept people at a distance and shielded him from judgment and expectations.

But now? Things were different. You, Sadie… the two of you got under his skin.

Would you, would have anyone, listened to the truth after the fact? That he only agreed with George to throw it back in his face? To cockily stand up and remark that he was better off than he had been in years?

Then you heard him. Heard him agree with George and assume so readily it had all been a game. You had never believed he was everything his callsign represented.

You were hurt. Angry. And those words he uttered proved every word you had probably been told about him, words you had ignored. It stung, the words you had yelled back at him. You had given him a chance before, so why didn’t you have faith in him then?

The facade returned. He opened his mouth, and his father and George came out instead. Hangman came out instead.

He had sworn so long ago he would never become like them. Yet here he was, inflicting the same trauma and patterns onto you. He had proved he was just as capable of the same cruelty and manipulation his father was.

You would never forgive him after that. It’s what he did best.

The only person who seemed to stand being around him right now was Javy, but he had left to get another drink, leaving Jake alone next to their bonfire, missing you.

You would have been in his arms, lying up against his chest. The pair of you staring out to the water, watching Sadie hunt for sea shells like she hunted for bugs. He would have stolen a kiss or two, unashamed of the PDA, maybe even purposely putting on a show to intentionally piss off the squad and make you blush.

The two of you would have laughed at Sadie. Maybe he would have been tempted to get up, grab her, and topple the both of them into the water. Rooster didn't need to remind him of what he lost when the absence of both of you was staring him in the face.

"You hurt my aunt."

Well... he was half right.

"You're going to get the both of us in trouble," Jake called out, not bothering to look up from the sand. He knew she'd come for him sooner than later, no matter your wishes. With all your threats to Bradley about revoking his Sadie privileges, Jake never would have thought he’d be receiving those threats too.

Sadie stepped onto the tree log behind him, spreading her arms wide to balance herself before jumping, landing softly on the ground.

"Since when have I done anything I'm supposed to," she argued heatedly.

It took her every ounce of strength not to lay into him like she wanted. She was desperately holding herself back. Because this was extremely different than Uncle Roo hurting her Aunt's feelings.

Hangman messed with her Aunt's heart.

This one was on her.

"Who did you escape to get over here?” Jake still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, reaching over to grab a stick in the sand.

“Aunt Nat. She thinks I’m with Uncle Bob.”

You picked up a shift today where Aunt Penny was working with you. So when the offer to stay with Amelia or sit around at the Hard Deck for most of the afternoon, Sadie opted to join you.

Little did you know she had other ideas. When Aunt Nat came by to steal her away, to join the others with the promise she'd keep her away from Hangman, Sadie saw the perfect opportunity.

Aunt Nat didn't know her tricks as well as she thought. A mad and angry Sadie was a conniving Sadie.

Jake said nothing, choosing to poke the sand with the stick in his hand before adding to the fire.

Sadie knew he was stalling, making small talk to avoid talking about what he did. She had played that card enough to know when it was being thrown back at her.

But he was the grown-up. He shouldn't be pulling childish tricks. He should be the one who should be telling her all the grown-up excuses for why things just sometimes don't work out or, worst case, it was for the better.

Nothing was ever for the better.

She sat down on the opposite end of the log, reasonably close to Jake. She dug her nails into the bare skin of her thigh. She wasn't going to speak first. She had promised him so long along she'd come for him. He should know better than to expect she was here for anything else.

Yet, the words he finally uttered had her reeling.

"I don't know what the right thing is to say, Bug."

The thin sheet of ice Sadie holding her back cracked at the mention of her beloved nickname. He shouldn't be calling her that; he didn't deserve to call her that. Not after what he did. Not after what he said.

For one of the first times in her life, Sadie saw red.

She quickly reached down to grab a handful of sand, only to toss the tiny grains in his direction. Jake ducked, shielding his face with his arms. Sadie leaped up and tackled his exposed side, hands balling into fists. She didn't know what she was thinking or her ultimate goal by coming here and seeking him out. It was such a good idea at the time.

When it came down to being face-to-face with him, she was at a loss for words. Her obvious hurt overshadowed any sassy remark or comeback she could gather.

"Sadie! Hey, stop!" Jake's shouts of her name did nothing to stop her from pounding her tiny fists on his back. “Stop!”

"You don't get to call me Bug!" she hollered through her sobs, still trying to leave a mark, thumps on his back accompanying her cries. "You lost that right!"

She knew you wouldn't want her doing this. Her mom wouldn't want her to do this either. But sometimes, it was just too much for her to handle.

She didn't know how to react to something like this. The world was making her grow up faster than she wanted to. Now, she couldn't help but think about what it would throw at her next.

Jake slid off the log, twisting to kneel in front of Sadie while holding out his arms to protect his face. He was at eye level with her, finally seeing the damage he had wrought on the ten-year-old girl.

Sea blue-green eyes framed by shimmering tears, pooling at the edge, until Jake watched one linger down her cheek. It’s your favourite colour staring back at him, making everything worse.

"Why did you do it?!" she cried, still trying to hit him, arms loosening their strength by the second. "Why did you say it?"

"Sadie, stop!" his voice was starkly quiet compared to the sobs, both fragile and profound, catching in her throat. Still, Sadie wailed, "I trusted you! You were supposed to be her person! You made her happy! You reminded her she was worth it!"

With each remark Sadie threw at him, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her tiny punches. Or say anything this time that could calm her cries. It was so starkly different from the night he found her hiding in her bed because of that thunderstorm. She had been the one to jump into his arms, to seek comfort from him.

This time, he was the reason she was crying. Like that night, he wanted to tell her it would be alright.

He couldn't. In losing you, he had lost Sadie too.

Utterly weak, Sadie's final thump on his shoulder resulted in her gripping onto his shirt as she fell to her knees on the sand, face blotchy and patch-stained red.

"Why Uncle Jake?" her voice was small. Devastated. "Why did you have to hurt her like that?"

He tried not to look shocked. Sadie's voice was sudden, so unsteady and innocent-like, it was hard not to hide any reaction. She caught on instantly.

"Don't act so surprised," she snapped at him through her misery. "You know she tells me everything."

Jake felt the sharp glare of Sadie’s eyes on him, her small face always displaying a type of sternness that was way beyond her years. She was demanding answers, as horrible as they were.

He couldn’t avoid this conversation. You were… you had taught Sadie to be honest and, in her doing so, to expect honesty in return. He didn’t know how to be. How could he explain this?

He didn’t know where to start.

He wasn't going to say anything. Sadie knew that. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things. She pushed herself away from him, the little force she exerted rocking Jake’s body back, readying herself to get up and leave.

This had been a bad decision, after all.

“Did anyone tell you why they call me Hangman?”

Jake’s words made her stop, making her fall back into the sand, kneeling before him.

“It’s your call sign,” she said innocently. Jake frowned, biting his lip. “Did they tell you the story?”

Sadie copied the look on his face, thinking about it before admitting, “A little. I know you left someone behind.”

It sounded worse coming from the mouth of a child.

Jake sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes… but there’s a little more to it than just that.” He couldn’t look her in the eye as he managed to form the words, “My father… he was a tough man. A lot behind the meaning of that call sign has to do with him. He left … scars. Sometimes, they make me act in ways I don’t mean to.”

Sadie’s eyes softened a little, but she still looked confused. “So that’s why you said those things? Hurt her?”

Jake looked down to the sand in shame, nodding once. “When I’m stressed, the anger… the frustration... It brings back memories. It’s easier to put a mask up… lash out. Even when it’s the wrong thing to do.”

"So apologize," she sniffed, shrugging. "Uncle Roo did."

"It's not that simple, Sadie."

She eyed him hard. "Yes, it is."

Her tone left no room for a reply. Who was he to refute the honesty of a ten-year-old who had seen more shit than anyone her age?

"I know you're hurting too," she said, her voice small and trembling. "But hurting others won't help, Uncle Jake.”

A sad smile crossed his lips. "I don't know what the right answer is, Sadie."

Sadie looked at the fire, watching the flames dance. She didn’t know the correct answer either. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things than admit they were wrong. But he had to try, right? Cause if he didn’t at all, it would only make it worse.

Maybe she could nudge him one last time.

"Do you still have the note I gave you when you helped me with my math homework last year?"

Jake stared at her momentarily before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and opening it to find the ripped piece of paper. He had kept it tucked away in the back pouch, even after all this time. Her writing was slightly smudged on account of her using a pencil, but he could still make out her words along the top.

I believe in you.

"I didn't randomly invite you to that Saturday Night," she started to say, watching him stare down at the piece of paper. "I invited you because you looked sad when you thought nobody could see you."

Sadie paused her words, searching his face for any hint of emotion, before she continued. "Because you needed to know people care."

"Your Aunt said something similar to my brother," he said, not looking up from the piece of paper. "That the only reason she allowed me to come that night was because you reminded her of something your mom believed in."

"Of course she did," she said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She loves you."

Jake's hand clenched on his thigh involuntarily, his eyes turning away from the fire to the water. Growing up without love, without hearing those words, Jake was left wondering if he was deserving of such a remark.

How could he be anything else when all he ever did was self-impose an executioner’s noose around his neck, hanging himself with his own fear and self-doubt, always cutting himself off from what he craved most.

Hangman, indeed.

But Sadie wasn’t done - not by a longshot. Even with her tears, perhaps a touch quieter now, she managed a soft smile, telling him, “You taught me it’s okay to mess up, you know.”

Jake looked at her, puzzled. “I did?”

Sadie nodded, taking in a deep breath. “When you helped me with my math homework. I was struggling, messing up horribly. I wanted to quit. And nobody seemed to listen to me trying to understand till you came along.”

Jake was trying to see where she was going with this. Math and messing up a relationship were two entirely different things.

“But I was messing up because I was trying. And trying means the possibility of someday getting it right. I was so scared to mess up, but then you sat with me, listened, and made me realize it was even scarier not to try at all.”

“What does this have to do with …?” he trailed off, Sadie glaring at him as his voice died down. “You messed up, Uncle Jake. Bad. But that wasn’t the worst thing you could do to hurt her,” she stated, taking another deep breath. “It would be if you stopped trying to be better. Stopped trying altogether.”

Sadie thought about what Jake just told her about his family. Then she thought about everything that had happened over the last few weeks, the question she had once asked you about, the one that had plagued her until you made her recognize the truth.

"You're not your father, Uncle Jake. You're you.”

Jake couldn’t help the tears, as treacherous as they were, from pooling in his eyes as he lowered his head. He felt a tightness in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pain, before he grimaced stiffly, huffing out, "It's a pretty messed up world we live in.”

Sadie didn't hesitate when she replied, "I'm almost eleven, Uncle Jake. I don't understand the world at all." Her bottom lip started to tremble, her eyes watering as she let out a sniffle. "But I know you never know when you'll say I love you for the last time."

Jake knew she was referring to her mom, her sudden death that night. But her words hit Jake differently. He recalled the moment he stood on Penny's porch and decided he'd try to take his chance with you.

You were still his possibility of someday. That had never changed. Like he thought then, time was something he was never promised. It was time spent well in the weeks he lived with you and Sadie. Small moments meaning the world, whether it was staying up to play a game with Sadie or waking up to see you sprawled out across his chest.

They were moments he thought he'd never have. Now that he had them, he was left wondering if he should spare you the heartbreak that came with loving someone like him.

Sadie's admission, and words of advice, were more damning than she knew.

He looked up from the sand to peer hesitantly at her face, not surprised to find another remark about to pass her lips.

"If you can't say you're sorry, my Aunt and I don't need to add somebody else to the list of people who've hurt us. So if you want to leave, go ahead but stay away," Sadie remarked, hiccuping as fresh tears streaming down her face.

Every word Sadie uttered hit deeper than any shitty remark his father or brother could throw back in his face. The façade he built, in the face of every slight to his character, was no match for a ten-year-old who had the ability to see through everyone's bullshit, including his.

He couldn't manage a reply. She had given him blows no physical assault could ever imagine reaching.

Sadie saw Jake's silence as a chance to leave. Aunt Nat wouldn't be gone for much longer, and she knew if she weren't with Uncle Bob soon, she'd cause a panic. She got up, rubbing the dirt from her hands, standing over the conflicted aviator with a face marred by sand dust and tears.

Sadie stepped forward to leave. But at the last second, she whipped around in a move that reminded him so much of you. Her voice was firm, scathing even, adding with a note of finality, “I won't be the one to stop you from leaving. And I won’t be the one to welcome you back either if you change your mind. If you're gone, stay gone. We can survive without you."

After shooting him a hateful glare, Sadie left Jake sitting in the sand, staring after her. She wiped her eyes as she ran, finding Bob sitting at the nearby bonfire with the rest of the team. He pulled her into his arms with a laugh, instantly handing over his marshmallow-topped stick with a smile as Sadie giggled, her sadness disappearing as she roasted Bob on the quality of his marshmallow.

Jake threw his head back to the sky, still kneeling in the sand, fighting the knot in his throat.

Damn, George.

Damn, his father.

Damn, Bradley.

Damn, you.

And in some ways, despite not wanting to admit it…

Damn, Sadie.

He didn't know how to make this right. But he wanted to. He had to.

That had to be enough.

Right?

.... Ouch, Jake... And OUCH, SADIE!

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-Wickett ;)

“Will asked me to the prom.” 

It's a Friday night, on the eve of all the Daggers returning from another deployment on a special assignment. It’s just you and Sadie standing together, washing dishes, discussing everything the two of you wanted to do and catch Jake up on when he returned. 

“Oh, how did he do it?” You squealed, knocking her with your hip. Sadie ducked her head and blushed, reaching for more soap for her dish. 

“He did the ten things I hate about you bleacher dance.” 

“Shut up, he didn’t?” you gasped. You hoped your reply wasn’t too dramatic. You might have let it slip to Alyssa that movie nights now consisted of romantic comedies since your husband hadn't been a participant for the past few months, and Sadie had been impressed by Health Ledger dancing on the steps. 

Alyssa was all too happy to relay the message to Will, who happily jumped on the chance, even getting a few of Sadie’s teachers involved. You might have gotten the video from Alyssa earlier today, and you weren’t going to let on, knowing Sadie would want it destroyed if she knew of its existence. 

Lately, she hated seeing herself cry. 

She nodded, slightly embarrassed at the memory, though you knew she had to be giddy he’d even be that thoughtful or grandiose in his ask. 

“We are going to have to go dress shopping soon. Maybe get Nat and Penny involved. Make it a girl's trip.” 

Sadie doesn’t offer you a reply. Instead, she hands her plate off to you to dry before pushing herself away to the other side of the kitchen.  

“I’m scared, though, Aunt Liz. It’s so bad. I’m not ready for this to happen yet.” 

The plate slipped from your hand, falling back into the water. As you turned to face her, Sadie closed her eyes and started to nod rapidly, wincing as you took in her words. 

“Sweetheart,” you admonished, stepping away from the counter to stroke her hair away from her face. “Why is that a bad thing? I thought you would want to go to the prom with Will. Is something going on? Is he pressuring you?” 

She opened her eyes, worry clearly etched into them. Even as a teenager, how she could puncture your soul with one look had not changed.

“Uncle Jake doesn’t know we’ve been dating. Either does Bradley.” 

Ah, the penny drops. 

She’s right. It’s been five months since the two of you saw either of them and in that time, Will and Sadie went on several dates. There might have been even a kiss or two shared. And to Sadie’s request, she didn’t want Jake to know in the letters you’ve been sending. 

He was, you could say, a bit overprotective of his little girl. And she knew the trouble both he and Bradley could bring on to the both of them, should they wish to. 

 “Uncle Jake and Uncle Roo are going to kill him.” 

“Sadie Seresin-Beck, they aren’t going to…” 

She let out a grumbled sound and stepped away from you to the edge of the island so she could lay her upper body across the granite surface. She let out a frustrated cry, threading her fingers through her hair at the back of her head. 

“What are we going to do?!” 

Honestly? 

Damn Those Dog Tags

Your sister Ridley has passed away, leaving behind her ten-year-old daughter, Sadie. The Dagger Squad goes out of its way to ensure you and Sadie have people you can count on. Boring Saturday nights turned into game nights, rowdy dinners, and cheering events at Sadie’s soccer games. Any milestone or opportunity they want to be there. But the last to join the group is Hangman. The moment you met Jake Seresin, your heart screamed the cocky pilot was looking for a good time, not a long time. Deciding to keep him at a distance to protect your heart, Sadie has other ideas when she learns he was purposely left out.

Set Me Alight

When you agree, somewhat apprehensively, to a week-long camping trip courtesy of your best friend Nat, you end up irate to discover Jake Seresin is also on the guest list. He's everything you hate, everything you want to believe you hate. Because the day you met him, he said some things he could never take back. Not to mention his nickname for you grates on your every f-ing nerve. But when the two of you get stranded in the Washington wilderness, it's not just the elements or the creepy feeling you're being watched that has you feeling trapped, it's the emotional baggage too. Struggling to survive the wilderness is one thing, but navigating the labyrinth that is "Jake the asshole" is another beast altogether. Somehow, you've got to deal with both if you're gonna make it out of these woods in one piece.

Coming soon

In a universe where the ink on your wrist seals your fate, finding your soulmate is supposed to be one of the happiest moments of your life. For you, however, this joy is overshadowed by a hidden truth only unveiled in the rarest of circumstances; you are a second-chance soulmate. The secret, you may ask? Your existence, held hostage by fate until your soulmate, "Jake Hangman Sersin," loses his first match.

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Way Down We Go

DTDT ONESHOT: Rooster knows he fucked up. Badly. Sadie kicking him out was the wake-up call he never knew he needed. With nowhere else to go, Bradley finds himself knocking on the front door of the last person he ever expected to turn to.

GreyWarden!JakeSeresin

DalishRouge!NatashaTrace

Templar!BradleyBradshaw

Inquisitor!JavyMachado

ChantryChancellor!RobertFloyd

You slowly tip-toed down your hallway, plastering yourself to the wall, hoping to stay out of sight of whoever knocked on your door, before peering through the peephole. Shocked to see the person pacing back and forth along your front porch, you whipped the door open.

"Alyssa?"

She stopped pacing, twisting her body towards the sound of your voice.

As long as you knew her, Lyssa had never once cried in front of you or came close to being visibly upset. She was direct, used humour in the most inappropriate moments, and always played things close to the chest. To see her face, beat red and tears streaming down her face, you couldn't help your unease.

Something had to be seriously wrong.

"Is Will okay?" you asked her.  "What's' wrong?"

She shook her head, stepping in front of you. "Um, no, he's okay. We need to get down to Top Gun. Now."

"Top Gun? It's almost three in the morning."

She shook her head again. "Will's father got word an aircraft carrier got caught in a hurricane somewhere overseas. It sunk. They're bringing in the survivors now."

Heart dropping into your stomach, your legs wobbled. You fell against your door frame, hands gripping the wood tight enough to hurt. Your throat was screaming at you, and you couldn't swallow. 

There was only one other time you could compare to how you were feeling now.