#mickey garcia x reader

Jake was the first one who noticed it and pointed it out to Bradley while sitting together at a cozy booth at the hard deck. Bradley didn’t want to believe it at first but then he noticed it too. He noticed the way that Bob is always making sure that you are having a good time, Bob is almost always saving you a seat beside him and then when you sit down beside him his face would light up. You always start to smile when you see Bob, you laugh at his jokes even though they aren’t that funny and then there also is the fact that you started going out more with them even though you used to rather stay at home.

Bradley was protective at first, but he also saw how happy you are when you’re close with Bob and seeing you happy made him happy as well, so Bradley decided that he didn’t mind if there really is something going on with you and Bob.

It was a Saturday evening when you were all coming together at Penny’s and Maverick’s house, it was a small get together with food, drinks and just great company. Even though you knew it wasn’t anything fancy you found yourself standing infront of your closet for way longer than necessary. You wanted to wear something more beautiful, maybe to impress Bob a bit? After a while you decided to wear something that looks beautiful and cute but not too fancy. You took your bag and then made your way to Maverick’s. You decided to walk because it wasn’t that far and you also knew that Bradley, or someone else or maybe even Bob would probably drive you home if it got late.

When you reached their house and approached their backyard, you could already hear the others laughing and talking. As you entered the backyard Jake noticed you first and gently nugged Bradley beside him and pointed at your direction with a grin. Bradley’s gaze snapped toward you and his face brightened as he saw you. He gave Jake a soft smile who then nodded at him softly. Bradley stood up, breaking away from the group and made his way over to you. Jake then walked behind him, both happy to see you. Natasha was also nearby and waved at you with a smile as you walked closer.

“Hey sis.” Bradley said with a warm smile and then pulled you into a tight hug.

“Hey Roo.” You said softly. Bradley didn’t let go of you until you broke the hug first, just like always he made sure to hold you as long as you wanted or needed it.

“Hi little Bradshaw.” Jake said with a chuckle and also greeted you with a short hug. You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but you couldn’t hide a smile. Ever since they got into a relationship, Jake started to have a soft spot for you. Then it was Natasha’s turn to give you a hug.

“Hey, I’m so glad that you’re finally here.” She said and you chuckled. You looked around the backyard and saw Maverick at the grill with Javy, flipping something at the grill and when they saw you the both gave you a smile, Penny just walked outside when some drinks and gave you a smile when she spotted you and Reuben was talking to Fanboy and Bob. When Bob saw you his face lit up and he didn’t even tried to hide it. Natasha tried to hide her grin and looked over to Bradley and Jake, who also noticed. Bob excused himself from the others and made his way over to greet you. Jake tried not to laugh about how eager Bob was to greet you, which made Bradley roll his eyes and Natasha chuckled at the interaction.

“Hey.” Bob said in a warm voice and with a soft smile. You smiled back at him but before you could greet him Bob leant closer and placed a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Hey Bob.” You greeted him but you were a bit shy because of the kiss that he just placed on your cheek. Bob’s gaze softened at your soft greeting, and he gave you another smile. Bob stayed beside you, not crowding but close enough that you could slightly smell his cologne. Jake fake coughed, Bradley chuckled and then started to lead Jake back to the others, Natasha trailed behind them but gave you a knowing grin.

“So, have I missed anything?” You asked Bob and he shook his head.

“Not much, just food being grilled and the usual banter going on.” Bob answered with a shrug and gently laid his hand on your back to lead you over to the others. You left his side for a moment, so that you could greet Maverick.

“Hey Mav.” You greeted him and he smiled at you.

“Hey sunshine.” He said and pulled you into a tight hug. Maverick has always called you that nickname, since you were little and he still carried you around when your parents came to visit him. You and Maverick were always close and he is always there for you when you have some questions about your parents, even though it still always makes him emotional to talk about them.

After a short talk with Maverick you returned to Bob’s side, who was standing with the others.

“Hey, you have to try the snack that I made, it’s so good.” Reuben said to you.

“No, it’s not.” Bob mumbled beside you which made you chuckle.

“But Mickey brought his self-made nachos.” Bob said and you began to smile.

“Omg, Mickey’s nachos are the best.” You said excited and Bob chuckled. Mickey, who was only a few steps away, immediately looked over to you with a smile.

“See, guys she gets it.” Mickey shouted proud and some of the others chuckled.

“Not this again.” Reuben said a bit annoyed.

“You can’t say that they aren’t good.” You said and looked at Reuben.

“Okay, okay they are fine.” Reuben agreed.

“They are not just fine, they are incredible” Mickey insisted and you tried to held back a laugh, just like some of the others.

“Mickey’s nachos are good, Reuben is just annoyed because Mickey doesn’t like the snack that he brought.” Jake pointed with a smirk, which made Reuben roll his eyes. You chuckled and turned over to Bob, who also had to hold back a laugh.

“Come on, Bob we have to get some nachos.” You said and grabbed his arm, dragging him over to the side of the table where the Mickey’s nachos were. Bob didn’t protest as you started to drag him away, instead he really liked the way that you were holding his arm. Mickey smiled as you two walked over, Bob reached for a plate and put some of the nachos and a sauce on it. Then you went to the table and sat down beside each other. Bob placed the plate in the middle so that you two could share. Sometimes your fingers brushed his when you were reaching for the same chip, and every time it would make your heart beat a bit faster. Between bites Bob glances over to you, a soft smile on his lips when he saw you smiling or laughing because of something that Jake or someone else said.

The party around you continued, Maverick, Javy and Reuben were carrying some of the plates to the table, Penny asked if anyone needed something and conversations began to flood. But at your side of the table? It was just you and Bob in your own little bubble, sharing food, talking and laughing like you’re a couple that has been together for a while.

After a while it got late and Bradley, Jake and Natasha helped Maverick and Penny to carry everything inside while you, Bob and the others started to clean up outside. A while later you all found yourself in the living room.

“I think I’m gonna head home before it gets more late.” You said after a while and looked outside. Bradley wanted to say something, but Bob was faster.

“I can drive you home, if you want.” Bob offered softly.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” You said with a smile, Bob smiled back and then reached for his jacket. You both said goodbye to everyone, you walked over to Bradley and Jake to give them a hug and then to Maverick giving him a short hug as a goodbye.

Bob walked beside you as you walked to his car, his hand was almost touching yours. Then before he could overthink it he gently reached for your hand and looked at you. You smiled at him and gave him a nod, silently telling him that this was okay.

Inside Jake was sitting at the couch and looking outside, seeing this sweet moment between the two of you. His smirk widened when he saw Bob reach for your hand, Bradley followed Jake’s gaze and then saw it too. Bob held your hand and then when you reached his car, Bob opened the door for you like a gentleman.

“We need to get them together.” Mickey suddenly spoke up.

“Yeah, they’re so obvious but they won’t notice it. They definitely need our help.” Natasha said and some of the others nodded.

“Okay, but we have to be careful, that’s my sister. She is clever and she would notice if we start planning something.”

“But you’re up for playing matchmaker for your sister?” Javy asked Bradley and shrugged.

“I see how happy she is when she is with Bob and Bob definitely feels the same, so yeah I think we should help them.” Bradley said and Jake smiled softly.

“Okay, Mission get Bob and little Bradshaw together starts now.” Jake said and everyone nodded, even Maverick and Penny.

From that day on they all tried to get you two to spend more time together, doing more movie nights but making sure that you sit beside Bob every time, going to the beach but the others left earlier so that it ended up being only you and Bob at the end. One time you needed help with something but everyone said that they didn’t have time, so it ended up being Bob who helped you.

But even after everything that they tried you both still haven’t confessed your feelings yet. The others already started to get a bit frustrated about how you and Bob won’t notice how obviously in love you are.

You were all sitting together at the hard deck, you were sitting beside Bob sharing some peanuts with him.

“The festival at the harbor is opening next weekend, I thought that maybe we could all go there on Saturday together.” You asked after a while. Bradley nodded but then Jake shook his head.

“Me and Bradley are on a date.” Jake lied and Bradley nodded quickly, even though he felt a bit guilty for lying to you because he knew how much it means to you to spend more time with him.

“Yeah, sorry we can’t.” Bradley said and then Javy and Reuben also said that they didn’t have time.

“I can go with you.” Natasha said with a smile and you began to smile. Then she nodded to Mickey.

“What about you?” She asked him.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come too. Bob?” Mickey asked and then looked at Bob. You looked over to Bob and he then looked back at you.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll come too.” Bob said and fixed his glasses.

“Great, it’s gonna be nice.” You said with a smile.

Saturday came quickly, you were getting ready when you suddenly got a text from Natasha telling you that she sadly can’t come to the festival with you but she told you that Mickey and Bob would still go with you and that they will pick you up.

A few minutes later there was a knock on your door and you went to open it. You expected both Bob and Mickey but then it was suddenly only Bob who was standing there.

“Hey.” Hey said with a shy smile.

“Hey Bob.” You greeted him and he moved closer to kiss your cheek softly. Over the last few weeks, it has become his way of greeting you and you love the feeling of his lips softly brushing your cheek.

“Are we picking up Mickey?” You asked but Bob shook his head.

“No, Mickey just texted me. He can’t come.” Bob explained and fixed his glasses.

“Oh.” You said and then began to get a bit nervous about going with Bob alone.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want but if you still want to go then I would love to.” Bob said and you thought about it for a moment.

“Yeah, I still would like to go.” You said and Bob began to smile.

“Nice.” He said you both started to walk to his car and when you reached his car Bob opened the door for you.

The drive to the harbor wasn’t long and it was shared in a comfortable atmosphere. Bob turned some music on, but not too loud so that you could talk. Bob smiled at you as you talked and occasionally his hand would softly brush your thigh.

When you arrived at the festival you and Bob walked side by side, while his hand softly found yours and intertwined it with your hand. Bob smiled at you as he started to lead you through the crowd. You walked past the different stands with games, or some food or drinks. You walked past a small stage were a band was singing, you stopped for a bit to listen and Bob suddenly started to dance with you slowly, it made you giggle and Bob smiled even more. A while later you stopped at a booth with a game, because Bob insisted that he wanted to win something for you. After he won the game Bob handed you the big teddy bear with a proud smile, and you continued to walk around. After a bit you continued to wander around and found a photobooth. You smiled as you saw it, Bob noticed your smile and started to lead you over to the photobooth.

“You want to take some pictures?” Bob asked and you nodded. Bob smiled and opened the curtains for you, so that you could walk in first. Then he followed you inside and sat down beside you. You sat the teddy bear on the ground and Bob turned to you with a smile.

“Ready?” He asked and waited for your nod and then pressed the start button.

The countdown for the first picture began and you snuggled closer to Bob and he wrapped his arm around you, you both smiled as the first picture was taken. Then everything happened fast, Bob suddenly leant closer, he held your hand and then he suddenly kissed your cheek for the second picture. Then before you could overthink it you leant closer and kissed his cheek. Bob blushed as he suddenly felt the soft touch of your lips on his cheek. Bob shifted slightly so that he was facing you and gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, then he cupped your cheek softly and slowly leant close. He looked you in the eyes for a second, wanting to make sure that you really want this. You gave him a nod and closed the distance between the two of you, Bob smiled and then kissed you. The kiss was slow and gentle. The camera clicked right when Bob’s lips touched yours. When you slowly pulled away from his lips Bob placed his forehead against yours and then placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m in love with you.” Bob suddenly confessed and looked at you a bit shy but when you began to smile, Bob began to smile as well.

“Wait, really?” You asked and Bob chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m so in love with you. I’ve been for a while now.” Bob said with a smile and reached for your hand.

“I’m in love with you too.” You said and Bob’s smile grew and he leant closer again.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asked and you nodded. Bob leant closer again with a smile.

A while later you both stood outside of the booth, looking at the pictures in your hand with a smile. Then you tucked them safely into your bag and Bob tucked his into the pocket of his jacket, making sure that it doesn’t get broken. Bob placed a kiss on your cheek again and reached for your hand intertwining it with yours. You wandered around the festival again, holding each other close while you held the teddy bear with your other hand. While walking Bob was occasionally placing a kiss on your forehead or your cheek.

At this moment this was only about you two, no thoughts about how the others may react when you tell them, just you two walking around, being happy and feeling safe with each other.

Taglist:

@iristheplanet16 | @lovesflourmorethananything | @teascorner |

It makes Mickey wonder how poorly he was doing at hiding his crush on you.

At the end of the day, the only person’s opinion that mattered was yours. For the time being, it seemed you decidedly had no opinion—or maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as obvious as the others claimed he was.

“You’re in trouble now,” Phoenix whispered in his ear as they all celebrated on the flight deck.

“He’s gonna live up to his name tonight,” Coyote quipped, clapping Mickey on the shoulder.

“Guys, knock it off,” Bob said, giving Mickey an apologetic smile. He knew what it felt like to be the butt of the joke and wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.

Hangman ignored the scolding, wagging both of his eyebrows. “Ultimate Fanboy—loading.”

“Shut up,” Mickey murmured, his eyes flickering around on the lookout for you just in case.

And pop up you do, weaving through the throng of celebrating pilots and support staff. Your presence cuts through all the noise like a sunbeam, bright and impossible to ignore.

“Holy shit, we did it,” you yell as you join the group, scooping Phoenix into a hug.

“Juniper, how are we celebrating tonight?” Hangman asks, eyes never leaving Mickey’s.

“You know exactly how we’re celebrating. Everybody’s letting their hair down tonight—even Fanboy here,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers over the short bristle of his buzz cut.

Mickey nearly stops breathing, his chest hitching. The touch is fleeting, but it strikes him, energy flowing through him like a live wire. It takes everything in him not to lean into it, not to chase the feeling of your fingers against his scalp.

He swallows roughly, gives you the best smile he can manage, and makes an excuse about congratulating Rooster before you can notice the heat rising in his face.

—

The celebration had started at the Hard Deck, uniforms still in place, the familiarity of the bar keeping everything at a reasonable simmer. Mickey did his best to mingle with everyone but you, his eyes drifting over to you every once and a while.

“It wouldn’t kill you to talk to her, would it?” Phoenix asks him over the music.”

“Kill no, but I don’t wanna make a fool of myself.”

“That would be hard— she likes you, Mick. You’re just too enamored with her to see that.”

“I’m not into taking risks, you know that. Here, I’ll go get us another round,” He grabs her nearly empty mug and starts towards the bar, effectively ending their conversation.

The last thing he needs is to get his hopes up.

But, the second he stepped into the club later that night, every bit of self-restraint dissolved.

He doesn’t know when or where you had enough time to change into this number, but you’re going to be the death of him.

Your hair is down, framing your face in a way that makes his stomach drop. The dress—if it can even be called that—clings to you like shimmering silver raindrops, catching the club’s flashing lights with your every move. It’s a little see-through. Stops halfway down your thighs.

Mickey nearly chokes on his drink.

It’s Phoenix who nudges him, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Don’t pass out, Fanboy.”

“I’m not gonna pass out,” he grumbles, staring down into his beer.

You make your way from the bar to join the two of them at the table. “Hey, where are the other boys?”

Phoenix nods towards the dance floor— Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote all have at least one girl on their arm, dancing under the colorful lights.

“Bob?”

“He said it wasn’t his scene,” Mickey shouts over the drum of the bass.

“Well do you wanna dance with me, Mickey?”

You’ve never called him that before. You’re always strictly professional and focused on the task at hand. He’s never seen you stray, never seen you distracted…or so relaxed. Your shoulders which are usually up to your ears are down, glowing with some sort of body oil.

It’s over for him; he feels turned to goo, unable to turn you down.

“I— uh, sure. Are you sure, because I—“

You cut him off with a laugh, grabbing his hand. “C’mon, Fanboy, it’s just a dance. Unless you’re scared?”

He swallows hard. “Not scared.”

“Good.”

Before whisking him away, you assure Phoenix that you’ll bring him back after a dance or two.

“Don’t mind me,” she calls after you two, a knowing grin on her face.

You guide him through the crowd effortlessly, moving to the rhythm of the bassline that thrums through the floor and straight into his chest. His hand is clammy, but he grips yours firmly, not wanting to mess up this moment.

Dancing with you is…it’s a problem.

You move like you were made for this—the music, the energy, the way your body fits so seamlessly against his. Every sway, every shift of your hips sends a fresh wave of heat through him. And then your hands are on his shoulders, skimming down his arms before slipping around his neck, pulling him in just a little closer.

His heart is pounding. You have to hear it, have to know how you’re affecting him this way. With how close you’ve guided him, he has no choice but to hold on to you tightly, his hands fitting like gloves around your hips.

As he grows more comfortable, you decide to test him.

Your hands skim up his arms, slow and deliberate, until they slip around his neck again. You press in just a little closer, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, your mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk.

“You know,” you murmur, “I think I like this side of you, Fanboy.”

He’s struggling to breathe. “What—what side?”

Your fingers toy with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “The one that actually touches me instead of staring from across the room.”

Mickey swears under his breath, tightening his grip on your waist. You knew. You knew the whole time, and you’re having fun with it.

“I don’t—” His words cut off as you shift, your body rolling right against him. His jaw clenches. “Jesus, Juniper.”

Your laugh is warm and breathless. “Relax, Mickey. I don’t bite.”

But there’s a glint in your eye that says you could— that you would if he asked nicely enough.

The song shifts, the beat deepening, a low pulse of bass and heat. His fingers are caressing your waist with need. With urgency. His body finds the rhythm of yours like it’s second nature, a push and pull, a slow unraveling.

It’s intoxicating and dangerous, it’s got him thinking his dreams don’t have to just be dreams. They could be reality.

You can see his resolve crumbling— his breath grows quicker, eyes hazy with obsession.

Just when you think he’s about to combust, you lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Kiss me, Mickey.”

His heart drops into his stomach. Are you— could you be serious? Is he dreaming? Did he die on the mission and wake up in the afterlife to what he’s wanted since the first time he laid eyes on you?

No. You’re too real beneath his fingertips. Too warm and soft, the smell of your perfume somehow cutting through the alcohol and sweat of everyone else.

It’s the way you look at him that makes him sure this is truly happening. Eyes glittering with mischief, you have to know what you’re doing to him. The way you whisper it, like a secret, like you’re letting him have the control when really, you’re running this whole damn show.

He hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want it—he wants it, god, he needs it—but because this is you. And this feels like something bigger than just the heat of the moment. This isn't just a kiss with some girl in a club; its you.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tightening ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. Your expression softens—not teasing or challenging. Just waiting, hope glowing in your eyes.

That glimmer of hope is all it takes.

Mickey leans in, closing the space between you with a kiss that’s hesitant at first—soft, searching. But when you respond, when you sigh with relief against his lips and press closer, he melts.

Any teasing energy you had left fades away now. All that’s left is you, your hands cupping his jaw, your body pressing flush against his as you kiss him slow and deep and unhurried like you’ve got all the time in the world.

Somewhere in the background, there’s a sharp whistle.

“Fanboy’s really living up to his name,” Hangman yells loud enough for probably the entire dancefloor to hear.

There's cheering, whooping but it can't hold his attention, not with you in his arms and the ghost of your taste in his lips.

Mickey should care. He should be embarrassed.

He can’t find it in himself to do either when you grin against his lips, sliding your hands down his chest before tugging him back in for another kiss—deeper, more insistent. It’s sensual, the way your tongue brushes against his.

And he realizes in that moment he would do anything you asked him.

He’s gone for you. Utterly, completely gone.

Judging by how you pull him even closer, how your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt and skim across the skin of his torso like you need to touch more of him—

You’re gone for him too.

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“I can’t name just one thing.” 

Mickey laughed over the lip of his beer bottle.  A quick sip to, hopefully, mask the pink gracing his cheeks, even though he knew the effort was futile at best.  “You know that.”

Reuben wouldn’t listen.  He never did.  It was one of the many qualities that made him such a great friend at times, and such a frustrating one tonight.  “One thing you like about her,” Payback pushed for an answer.  “It’s not that difficult of a question, Mick.” 

But it was. 

They went through this once a week.  Minimum.  He and Payback skirted off base early - easier to secure a spot at the bar before the crowds rolled in - all to sip a few beers and lament over the fact that they both missed the clause in their kickass fighter pilot careers where it stated relationships wouldn’t fall into their laps.  If anything, their chances at love were as out of reach as the horizon in front of them.  They could speed towards it all they wanted.  The line would still always be there, a hair’s breadth away. 

Reuben often started.  Making sure to take his time in overanalyzing every interaction he had that week with the woman who worked in the control tower.  Fanboy could agree she had the voice of an angel.  Payback’s infatuation was completely warranted.  Even before they found out she also looked like an angel, Mickey could tell she was a good fit for his wingman.  Reuben would flirt relentlessly and she, ever professional, would instruct them with a smile in her voice.  Occasionally she’d joke around, but not enough for a week by week breakdown.  Her clearing them for landing wasn’t the easiest thing to warp into a ‘dude, she likes you. You should totally ask her out.’  

Creating a conversation around you took no effort for Fanboy at all. 

“She’s like no one else I’ve ever met, Reuben.” Once Mickey got started, he couldn’t stop.  His callsign hadn’t exactly spawned into existence because of his cool, detached, and nonchalant approach towards anything he remotely liked.

“I know what you mean,” Payback said.  

He motioned to the bartender for another beer.  Mav and Penny had a date tonight.  Precisely why he and Mickey were sitting belly up to the bar so early on a Thursday afternoon.  No eavesdropping from Penny.  She was known for meddling if any of her regulars were remotely interested in each other.

“Day,” Payback sighed, “she has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.  You know what she did last week?” 

Fanboy arched a brow.  He did know what she did last week.  The past few months of being stationed here sat in his mind, carefully cataloged away.  From the batting eyelashes to the extremely obvious attempts to get Reuben to ask her out on a date.  Mickey knew Day’s entire day all thanks to Payback’s crush.  At this point, he felt like he knew her well enough to consider her a friend despite having never held a conversation with her. 

Payback could easily do the same.  There was one memory in particular Fanboy would break down again and again - Reuben truly had the patience of a saint. 

“Does your mother call you Garcia?”  You asked the first time he took you out for drinks.

The rest of the Dagger Squad milled about the bar.  You all had shown up together, along with some of your fellow TOPGUN instructors, but somehow Mickey paid for everyone’s drinks that night.  The two of you ended up tucked away in a booth by yourselves.  He couldn’t help but to think of it as a date.

“No, she doesn’t.”  He remembered how to form words somewhere between watching you polish off your drink and feeling you lean in closer to show your interest.

“Does she call you Fanboy?”  A sheepish grin and a small shake of his head.  “So what does she call you?” 

He leaned closer to you, stopping just before your noses could touch.  “She calls me Miguel.”

You tested the word out for yourself.  Reuben swears that was the moment Mickey fell in love, and he wasn’t entirely wrong.  Fanboy melted when he heard his name on your lips.  This shift in power felt dangerous.  At any point you could have this man in a puddle at your feet, willing to do anything for you.  Yet, Mickey felt nothing but trust.  You had never been one to abuse power - unless, of course, it was to give Hangman shit or get Payback back for something.

“But I can call you Mickey?”  You smiled one of the most stunning smiles Fanboy ever saw out of you.  How could he say no? 

And that’s how you wormed your way into a first name basis.  On top of becoming a featured subject for their Friday debriefs.  If Payback took a shot every time Fanboy asked “Do you think her asking to call me Mickey was her way of hitting on me?” he’d have alcohol poisoning. 

“Mickey!”  

His head snapped towards the sound of your voice like a moth to a flame.  Icarus to the sun.  Maverick to bad decisions.  Hangman to asshole comments.  Thousands of similes all as timeless as the way his heart ached in your presence.  A romance for the ages.  

He only wished it could get off the ground.  

Reuben slapped him on the shoulder.  He passed Fanboy a tequila shot saying, “You need to make a move tonight.” 

You moved towards the pair, splitting off from your friends.  Surely that was something Mickey could overanalyze later tonight.

“Yeah,” he answered absentmindedly.  “Sounds good.”

“Hi, Reuben.”  You saddled up to the bar.  Payback crushed you in a hug, and Mickey couldn’t ignore the jealousy flickering about in his chest.  When would he build up the courage to greet you with a hug?  Why couldn’t he approach anything that had to do with you with the same surefire confidence he could impart towards flying?

You squirmed in Payback’s grip.  “Too tight,” you playfully choked out.  “I’m dyin’ here.” 

Payback released you, taking care to carefully shove you closer to Mickey, and laughed.  “Good to see you too, Einstein.” 

Both you and Mickey shot him a look.  You’d been through your fair share of shitty callsigns. Mouth, which finally got axed after filing enough harassment claims, started because you’d mouthed off to your superior once during Plebe Summer and had your whole squad in the doghouse for two months.  It took another two months for the disdain to finally drop off whenever someone called you.  By then, though, people had been shifted around, and most at The Academy (those with extreme insecurity) didn’t appreciate having a woman attempting to be a future TOPGUN flier.  

Needless to say, Mouth in the hands of young men with sexism at the forefront of their minds quickly became a problem. So the remainder of your time at The Academy, and sometime after, marked you as IKEA.  I Know Everything Anyway.  Not nearly as cool as Maverick, Slider, or Iceman, but you’d rather be known for your brain than your hotheadedness. Talking over everyone simply had to happen in class.  Otherwise you weren’t going to be heard at all. 

Einstein came later; from Iceman himself.  He came to personally congratulate you on your perfect score.  “You’re a regular Einstein, aren’t you?”  He’d said, and it stuck.  Sometimes spoken in awe, sometimes with disgust, but mostly in a playful manner like Payback always managed. 

“Watch yourself, Payback.”  You plucked the shot from Mickey’s fingertips.  It was gone in a flash.  “Can I have another round, please?”  You asked the bartender, then turned towards Fanboy with a grin.  “You’re having one with me, right?  And one more, probably, to make things even.”

The one thing Reuben asked about earlier came to mind.  Your refusal to take shit.  That would have to be his favorite thing (in this moment because Fanboy knew he truly couldn’t choose a single aspect) about you.

“What’re you starin’ at?”  How you tilted your head to scrutinize him reminded Mickey of his childhood dog.  A stray his mother swore up and down would never come in the house, only to end up sleeping in bed with her each night.  Kind of like you - except you snuck your way into his heart rather than his bed.  “Are you okay?”

Mickey could feel the heat radiating off his face.  In comparing you to his childhood dog, he had gotten the image of you in his bed stuck in his mind.  What a dream, and not even in the typical horny way people used the term ‘in bed.’  Fanboy’s fantasy consisted of being able to hold you, talk to you for hours in the early hours of the morning, and revel in the knowledge that out of anyone in the world you could choose, you chose him.  Anything more that came with a domestic love like that would be a bonus. 

Of course, you weren’t a mind reader.  Thank god for that.  No stumbling apology would ever be enough to save Mickey from the embarrassment of daydreaming about you while you were next to him.  This crush steadily reached towards schoolgirl doodling your joint married name in a notebook levels of delusion.  Whoever said be friends with your crush never mentioned the crushing anxiety of ruining that friendship with any given misstep.  When did Mickey know it was safe to take the next step?

“Hmmm?”  The tips of his ears grew hot as you stared.  Somehow he managed to grasp every chance to make a fool of himself around you.  “Yeah,” he breathed, acutely aware of Payback’s smirk off to the side, “I’m fine.” 

“Are you doing a tequila shot?” 

“I don’t know about Mick here-” Reuben brought a hand down on Mickey’s shoulder- “but I will definitely be having one.”  He turned his attention to the bartender pouring the shots.  “Lime and salt too, please.”

Your eyebrows practically shot to your forehead.  “You can’t handle a tequila shot?  I would not have guessed that about you, Payback.” 

If only she knew how Reuben truly partied.  Fanboy knew him longest out of anyone on The Dagger Squad; they'd been a pair for most of his career.  

Payback brought a hand to his chest.  He gasped dramatically and Mickey rolled his eyes.  “We call him Payback because of all the shots I paid for that he promised to pay me back for.”

“I did pay you back!” 

“When?” 

“How many times have I saved your life?”

You laughed, doing nothing for the heat still trapped in Mickey’s cheeks.  “Isn’t that your job?”

“I could be shit at my job.”  Payback shrugged.  He shifted his position to reach for the salt on the table.  All the confidence of a man who didn’t own this tab - Mickey, unfortunately, would be paying for more of the squad’s drinks tonight.  “The lime and salt,” he explained, “are a part of the experience.  There’s a comradery to a ritual done together.  After this, we’re bonded for life.” 

Long ago Fanboy used to be envious of the way people flocked to Payback.  This simple act transformed into a performance.  Storytelling was an art, and Reuben perfected it.  He even had you succumbing to the supposed weakness of using a chaser.

To not stare you down while you licked your hand, Fanboy busied himself with the salt.  However, his eyes flickered to you for the briefest of seconds.  Right as he dragged his tongue over the fleshy part between his thumb and wrist.  The want must have been apparent.  He had always been the type to wear his emotions on his face.  

But you weren’t.  So when your eyes widened, Mickey paused.  A horrible thing to do considering his current position.   Your chest stilled for a second, eyes trained on him, and time stopped entirely.  The knowledge that you might just want him too sent Fanboy crashing back to reality.  He salted his hand with as steady a hand he could manage.

“A toast!”  You cleared your throat, eyes darting around before settling pointedly not on Fanyboy.  He could see your desperation for control.  “Payback?”

Payback lifted his shot glass.  The two of you followed suit.  “May it always be the other guy who says 'This drink's on me.’”

Between Fanboy’s annoyance and your giggle Reuben licked the salt, threw back the shot, and grabbed a lime wedge to bite down on.  He grinned around the peel.  “I win.” 

The competitive nature of fighter pilots took over.  Mickey completed the sequence with ease.  His bank account wouldn’t appreciate the smooth taste of the liquor but nearly dying those few months ago made him realize two things.  One, he really didn’t want to spend all his time pining over you - he’d rather be with you.  Two, he was getting too old for cheap liquor.

“That’s really- hey!”  You felt around blindly on the counter.  “Mickey, that's so not fair.” 

He brandished your lime slice.  “You’re supposed to do the shot, then complain about Payback.  Everyone knows this.” 

You stuck your bottom lip out in an overdramatic pout.  “I wanted that.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Sure, Fanboy may have deepened his voice slightly.  He might have seized the opportunity to slide forward, closer to you.  What was he supposed to do?  Ignore your blatant attempts at flirting because someone else was standing right there?  He’d been doing that for the entire time he’d known you.  At some point the third wheel needed to read the room.

Placing the lime wedge between your lips helped Payback do precisely that.  His gaze flicked back and forth between Fanboy and his thumb gently pushing the fruit to your mouth.  “I, uh,” Reuben fumbled for words, “I’ll go over there.” 

No one acknowledged his departure.  Fanboy kept his eyes locked on yours.  After all, you were the whole reason he was at the bar in the first place.  You pulled the lime into your mouth, and he let his thumb linger on your bottom lip for a moment before leaning back on the bar stool.

“Done pouting?”  

You popped the lime out of your mouth.  “I wasn’t pouting.”

Being a gentleman became so much harder when you ran your tongue over your lips to lick up all the juice.  The movement killed Fanboy’s ability to speak entirely.  Your smirk confirmed what he already knew.  You were well aware of his weaknesses.

“So, Mickey…”

Like the sound of his name falling from those very lips.

It had been a while since the two of you talked about something other than work.  Hell, Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time you and him were one on one.  A lie.  Payback debriefed that last one on one conversation with Mickey a few days ago.  He couldn’t help it.  Every day you were gentle on his mind. 

“What have you been fanboying over recently?”  You toyed with the citrus peel.  Focused intently on pushing the thing around the counter.  “Anything interesting?”

“You mean other than you?”  

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.  His eyes locked on yours.  Widening by the second with embarrassment.  “I mean-”

A shy smile played on your lips.  You looked pleased with yourself as you said, “Yeah, other than me.  I try not to talk about myself too much.  Don’t want to be Bagman Jr.”

Oh, Mickey could kiss you right now.

“Then what do you want to talk about?”  He asked.  Straightforward in the hopes of appearing more confident than he felt.  Fanboy could face certain death, he could face Cyclone, and he could face Bob in poker.  Your pretty face on the other hand almost always left him flustered.

You tapped a finger against your chin.  Faking a deep concentration to pull a smile out of Mickey.  “What was that TV show you’ve been dying to get everyone to watch, again?”

He instantly perked up.  “You sure you want to open that door?”

“You’re right.  Let’s have one more shot first,” you teased.  Your hand rested on Mickey’s forearm.  He tried hard not to stare at the headliner for flirty behavior and focused on your beautiful smile instead.  The whole time his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.  “I’m sure, Mickey.  I like listening to you talk.” 

And, damn, did Mickey talk.  Somewhere in the midst of laughter, finding excuses to touch one another, and conversation the two limes turned into seven.  The liquor worked any and all tension from Mickey.  Tipsy - maybe leaning more on drunk - confidence coursed through him.  Any flirty freudian slips he took in stride.  

Tequila made a new man out of Fanboy.  A closer version of himself, might be a better way to look at it.  How he normally attempted to pick women up at bars.  You weren’t any woman.  Precisely why so many shots were necessary in the first place.

“Is it Thursday today?”  You slurred your words together ever so slightly.  The drinks brought a warmth to your cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier.  Fanboy resisted the urge to reach out.  Scared the slightest touch would shatter the illusion.  “Thursday is darts day.” 

“Thursday is karaoke day,” Mickey corrected, his sentence also fuzzy around the edges.  “ ‘s why Coyote’s not here.” 

He focused on the concentrated furrow between your brow.  An expression that only ever came out when you were drinking.  Sober you calculated everything immediately.  A beer or two in a loading screen appeared while you clicked the pieces into place.  “But Bob’s here.” 

Bob and Javy often skipped Thursday’s at The Hard Deck.  Karaoke was bad enough with sober people who couldn’t sing.  Adding drunkenness to the equation ended in certain disaster.  Case in point - Javy “Coyote” Machado almost became Javy “Wolf” Machado because of all the drunken howling he did onstage instead of singing.  

He hadn’t shown his face at karaoke since.

“Bob is here at Phoenix’s request.”  That request being he lost a bet, but semantics were lost on the squad.  “My guess is she gets him to sing ‘Sweet Caroline.’”

“All that attention on him?  He’d melt.” 

Fanboy shook his head.  Bob was shy, sure, but he could handle the spotlight with enough time to prepare.  “No, but Rooster is absolutely going to take the next three slots after to prove he’s the better singer.”  

You laughed, and Fanboy could have sworn you used that as an excuse to lean in close and squeeze his bicep.  “Oh, I’m telling him you said that.”  You swung around in your stool, using Mickey’s arm to stabilize yourself, and searched for Rooster in the sea of people.

In your time surveying the crowd, Fanboy traced the rim of his empty shot glass and reveled in being your rock.  Could this be your future together?  Inside jokes over drinks.  Innocent touches with serious potential to transform into something more.

Tonight everything became clear.  All questions would be answered - good or bad - Mickey decided.  You were the brains.  IKEA.  You could tell him if you knew your feelings for him.  If this pipedream had potential or would swirl down the drain.

Nails pricking skin pulled Fanboy from his thoughts.  Your grip went stiff along with the rest of your body.  Any traces of a buzz disappeared entirely in this strange rigid poster.  He carefully pried your hand off him.  “What is it?”

“Brent.”  Your voice escaped you in a panicked whisper.

The name registered with Mickey briefly after wracking his tequila soaked brain for a moment longer than necessary.   A few weeks ago, during downtime between practice hops, everyone traded stories about the worst ex they had.  Payback shared his egregious tale about a girl he dated in high school stealing his dog when he didn’t ask her to prom, Phoenix told everyone how her blind date ended up storming into the kitchen of the restaurant they were at to cook his own meal, and Mickey gave the pared down version of his longest relationship ending when she moved halfway across the country to reunite with her… other boyfriend.

No one had anything nice to say.  Except for you.  

Your most recent ex, it seemed, had boundary issues that couldn’t be solved in a relationship with someone in the military.  The constant reminders and communication simply weren’t compatible with where you were at in your career.  Always moving around from base to base, fully prepared to be whisked away on a secret mission without a word of warning, didn’t bode well for the two of you.  So, you split.

Everyone - Hangman - blatantly accused you of still having feelings for this man.  Mickey couldn’t help but lean forward with interest, waiting for your answer.  He prepared himself for crushing disappointment.  You simply dismissed the notion with a gentle, “He’s not bad people.  I wish him nothing but the best, and I hope that best for him is far, far away from me.” 

But your body language conveyed the opposite.  You stood, swaying on your feet, and shook your head. Mickey was immediately off the barstool.  Buzz be damned.  He let himself assume the worst and boost some adrenaline into his system.  Overpowering the effects of the alcohol with stress always pulled Mickey’s mind back together.  He called a constant state of anxiety home.  Fight or flight was where he performed best.  Fanboy had medals to prove it. 

“Einstein?  Are you okay?”

One arm wrapped around your waist.  The look of shock on your face had Fanboy scared your legs would give out from beneath you at any given moment.  His earlier thought of being your rock solidified in this storm.  He wanted to be your constant, a source of comfort. 

If only he knew how to help you.

For a second you didn’t answer him.  Your eyes were locked on the man who had just passed through the threshold of The Hard Deck.  Then you nodded.  “Yeah.”  You sounded far away.  “Everything’s fine.” 

Fanboy followed your gaze.  He wanted to know exactly which man you side-eyed.  

Smaller and skinnier than a lot of the men in the bar, expected from someone who wasn’t training with the Navy seven days a week.  He appeared unassuming.  Still, you knuckles were turning white from where you were gripping the counter.  Unassuming didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of harm. 

“What do you need from me?”  He asked.

You swallowed, and your eyes finally met his.  Mickey could have cried.  You looked… small.  The feared Naval aviator he knew so well had been replaced with someone else.  Someone hurt, clearly because fear wasn’t an emotion you willingly showed.  In all of a few seconds you’d become human.

“Einstein,” he repeated in a slow, gentle voice.  “What do you need from me?”

“I have a restraining order on that man.”  Shame, which Fanboy couldn’t comprehend why, lit your eyes.  You turned back towards the bar.  Eyes trained on the pile of lime peels.  “For stalking.”  

Boundary issues seemed like a serious downplay.

Mickey slid behind you to shield you from view of anyone approaching.  He brought an arm around to rest against the bar.  To anyone else, this would look flirty, but really Fanboy wanted to give you the ability to whisper to him without anyone else overhearing.  “We should get you out of here.”

You shook your head.  “I don’t know where he is.”  The way your voice broke, broke Mickey’s heart. What did he do to you?  “I don’t want to move if I don’t know where he is.” 

“Okay.”  Mickey nodded.  “If I tell you where he’s at, then we’ll figure out if we’re using the back door or the front door.” 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, searching your face for any sign that you heard him.  Gears turned behind your eyes.  Emotions clicked away, compartmentalized to deal with later.  You were using your training.  Adrenaline killed if not dealt with effectively.  

“You okay?”  He whispered.

“I don’t want you to look away.”  Selfishly, Mickey nodded.  He didn’t want to look away until he felt confident he wasn’t leaving you to drift about in your anxiety alone.  “I have to… to get myself under control.” 

The bartender passed by without a glance in their direction.  Conversation around them continued loudly.  As far as Mickey could tell, no one paid you two any mind at all.

“You’re doing a great job.”

You closed your eyes.  “Thank you, Mickey.”  When you opened your eyes, any trace of fear vanished.  Einstein, the Navy’s top aviator, would do what everyone else on a particularly traumatic mission did - deal with the emotional shit later, and eliminate the threat now.  “Ready to go?”

Right now?  He shouldn’t be shocked.  When you were in action, you didn’t hesitate. 

Mickey nodded.  Now was as good a time as any.  He held out a hand and helped you step around the barstool.  You clung to him, the only impression that Brent’s appearance still had you rattled.  It didn’t seem like a good time for Fanboy to peel himself away from you.  Having a hand on you might be smart anyway.  You wouldn’t get separated as you made your way through the crowd.

“There you are.”  

Brent stood an uncomfortably close foot away.  His teeth weren’t sharpened fangs, but his smile cut Mickey to the core regardless.  This was worse case scenario - coffin corner.  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, but my calls go straight to voicemail.” 

Hands still clasped, the two of you turned to face him.  You stared straight past him, right over his shoulder.  Only when it became clear you couldn’t pass by without him being able to lay a hand on you did you acknowledge him.  “Brent.” 

The grin grew.  Mickey straightened to full height.  He wished he had the intimidating extra few inches most of the others on Dagger Squad had.  Brent’s eyes slid Mickey’s way, down to your enjoined hands,  but snapped back up to Einstein quick.  Like you’d vanish given the slightest opportunity.

“Please move.”  Your voice gave no room for further conversation but Brent made an attempt anyway.

“Went by your place, but your windows were dark.”  

A pit of unease grew in Mickey’s stomach.  Einstein had been going through this all on her own.  None of them knew the baggage she carried.  Some squad they were.  He glanced your way, but you had the same blank look on your face.

Brent barreled on.  “Key didn’t work in the lock.  The one you kept under that stupid garden decoration was gone.”  His eyes bore into your face.  Too aggressive to be considered making eye contact.  Fanboy had only ever seen a power display like this in interrogation training.  “Did you move or something?”

You lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.  “If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.”

The mere implication Brent was breaking his restraining order changed the set of his jaw.  Muscles feathered and he pressed his lips together.  “But,” he said around a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I’m here now.  Look.  This is the last time, I swear. I just need closure.” 

“If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.”  You gripped Mickey’s hand a bit tighter and moved to step around Brent, but he sidestepped in your way.  “Please move.” 

“It’s a public bar, darling.  I can stand wherever I fucking please.”  All attempts at playing nice slowly started to drip away.  “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Darling.  Mickey’s stomach rolled.  He felt your hand jerk backwards but neither of you could back up without the bar digging into your back.  Brent seemed well aware of such a fact.  He took a lazy step forward.  “Whenever you want to ditch this one-” he spoke about Fanboy without sparing him a glance- “I’d like to talk to you.” 

Enough was enough.  Fanboy stepped forward with intent.  What exactly said intent was he would figure out halfway through the confrontation.  He wasn’t exactly known for his foresight in his personal life.  The only thing that stopped him was you tugging him back.

With one small squeeze, you removed your hand from Mickey’s.

“You can talk to my fucking lawyer.”  You used the same sickly sweet voice Fanboy heard you use on higher up’s that refused to take you seriously.  “Until then, you need to move.  Now.”

“Can we just talk outside?”  Brent asked.  He reached out to grab for your arm, but you dodged his advances.   

“Please, do not touch me.”  Your words were firm and flat.  “I don’t want you touching me.” 

“You owe me the courtesy of a conversation.”

Mickey never wanted to white knight on your behalf, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let this douchebag get anywhere near leaving his sight with you let alone get all the way to the front doors.  He could handle you being mad at him for fighting a battle for you.  He couldn’t handle what would happen if you took on a fight like this by yourself when you didn’t have to. 

“Can we talk outside?  Or are you going to keep letting your friends gaslight you into thinking I’m always the bad guy?”

When you failed to answer, Brent rephrased his question.  It seemed your lack of emotional response wormed its way under his skin in a way he couldn’t hide. 

“Can you stop being such a bitch and answer me?”  He asked, reaching out once again to put his hands on you.  A mistake.

Everyone in the bar fell silent at the dull ‘thack’ of your fist connecting with Brent’s cheek.  Somewhere in the wide arsenal of cinema there was a scene just like this that ends in an all out brawl.  Here Brent’s head snapped to the side thanks to the sheer force you packed in a single punch.  He blinked in disbelief.

Mickey, on the other hand, saw the first forming a while ago. He wasn’t one for violence, but watching you remind everyone you weren’t one to take shit always made his mouth water. And watching you throw a punch may just be the hottest thing he’d seen all week.

Excusing, of course, the fact that your creep of an ex boyfriend still stood there in front of you with a dumbfounded look on his face like he had no clue what he could have done to deserve that.

You cleared your throat.  “I asked you not to touch me, please.” 

Fanboy grew tired of the niceties.  The second you looked towards him for help, he was telling Brent to fuck off and he wouldn’t give him any choice but to listen.

Payback paced behind Brent.  He inched close enough to catch Fanboy’s eye.  Mickey and Reuben could always reasonably assume the other’s thoughts without words.  Half the time they only talked because they liked to hear themselves speak.  One look from Fanboy said everything, though.  His wingman was headed out the front door on the phone with the cops in an instant.

All Fanboy had to do was keep things from escalating. 

Brent straightened, eyes shifting around to all the Navy’s finest, and brought a hand up to where you punched him.  For a second, Mickey foolishly thought he would swallow his pride.  Brent looked ready to tuck his tail, turn on his heel, and run out of the Hard Deck.  

No one said anything while they waited for Brent to respond.  If he left, no one would bother him too badly.  If he didn’t take the warning punch seriously, Mickey could almost bring himself to pity the poor fool.  Almost, but not really. 

Creepy smile devoid of emotion in place, Brent reached out politely once again and, this time, caught ahold of you.  “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”     

At the sight of Brent gripping your arm, the sound of your first name falling from his lips, Fanboy’s self-control snapped.  This thin string holding himself together split.  

His fist flew up faster than he could process.  Brent’s teeth clacked as his jaw came together.  Fanboy clipped your ex’s chin in the perfect uppercut, and he dropped straight to the floor.

Unconscious.

You, who talked so highly of this ex those few weeks ago that Fanboy convinced himself you were still in love with him, turned to Mickey with panic written across your features.

“You punched him!”  You shouted to Mickey, eyes flickering between your ex on the floor and Fanboy.  The angle wasn’t the slightest bit flattering for the poor guy.  

Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time he punched someone square in the face.  He’d forgotten the way pain blossomed behind his knuckles and webbed its way up his arm.  Assault and battery charges were the last thing on his mind.  Honestly the only thing on his mind when he threw that punch was you.

“You punched him first.”  Mickey shrugged.  He shook his hand out in a gesture he hoped passed as nonchalant.  Pain lingered, though, and he couldn’t help but grimace when he flexed his fingers.

“I had a reason.” 

“So did I.”  You crossed your arms and arched a brow.  Mickey sighed and stepped over Brent’s unconscious body.  “He didn’t respect you clearly stating you didn’t want to be touched.” 

“I was handling it.” 

“I know,” he said, and shrugged.  “I just handled it with you.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but, when your gaze moved from Brent to Fanboy one more time, he could see gratefulness.  “I have to call my lawyer.” 

—

Those bright red knuckles of yours had yet to fade.  From the sound of it, Mickey could guess you’d hit his cheek bone and would be sporting some nasty bruises for a while.  He didn’t bother to look at his own hand.  It throbbed to an annoying degree.  The chances of his knuckle being split was exceptionally high, but your well being in the moment mattered far more. 

Neither of you wanted ice for your hands.  Fanboy hoped it would make him look tough.  You had been more preoccupied with leaving a voicemail explaining Brent had broken his restraining order and the police had been called and “to please call me back as soon as humanly possible.”

Then you both collapsed in a booth in the furthest corner possible of the Hard Deck because you wanted to see when the cops walked through the door rather than tuck yourself in the back.  Fanboy refused to stray far.  You hadn’t asked him to leave, which he took as a good sign.  At least you weren’t too mad at him for stepping in.

“That’s one hell of a right hook you’ve got there.”  

He hoped to ease the tension with a teasing joke.  In classic Fanboy fashion, he misread the timing. 

“My lawyer is not going to like this one bit.”  You dragged a hand over your face.  The one with the angry knuckles.  “She told me, ‘If he breaks his restraining order, you can’t just punch him.  As much as he might deserve it.’”  

Mickey smothered a grin.  He wanted to throw out a joke about you being the only one to find a lawyer who talks like Bob, but instead he motioned for your hand.  

“Here.”  A towel of half-melted ice sat next to him, waiting for the opportune moment for Mickey to refuse to let you suffer any longer.  You extended your hand across the table for him to grab.  He set the ice down gently, muttering a soft “sorry” at your hiss of pain.  “You handled yourself pretty well out there.” 

You made no move to take the ice pack or your hand away from Mickey.  So he sat there, icing your hand, and watched you wrestle with your reaction.  Fear, anger, grief, aggravation.  They all shuffled over your features like Payback trying to pick a song from the jukebox.

Eventually, you settled on a classic.  Humor as deflection.  “I think I’d feel better if my punch was a one and done.” 

He lifted the makeshift ice pack and made a show of inspecting your knuckles.  “I’d say you packed a pretty good punch.” 

That same shy, flirty smile from earlier came back.  “Thanks, Mickey.”

“Of course.”  Any attempt to appear cool shattered the second he saw the gratefulness in your eyes.  “I hope I didn’t overstep.  I’m not really up to date on the laws surrounding restraining orders or stalker exes.” 

You shook your head with a self-deprecating laugh.  “I don’t think you would be.  You don’t strike me as someone who would ever turn out like Brent.” 

“If I do, you have full permission to punch me.  Whether your lawyer advises it or not,” he teased, and relief flooded him when you laughed.

“It isn’t self-defense to punch someone violating their restraining order.  No matter how scared I was seeing how he found me.” 

The tone in the booth shifted towards seriousness.  Any trace of a smile on your face vanished, and you curled your fingers around Mickey’s hand.  “I used to live out in Texas.  Stationed there so often, I rented out an apartment because living on base didn’t feel permanent.  I wanted a place to call my own.” 

Mickey glanced out towards the bar full of the Navy’s best.  Payback stood watch over Brent, who had finally come to and was arguing with the wall that was Rooster, Hangman, and Bob.  

“He followed you from Texas?”  He asked.

You nodded.  Whatever you attempted to say got lost in the tears welling up behind your eyes.  “Sorry.”  You swallowed and blinked rapidly to clear the emotion from your face.  “I saw him around town a few times, but this was the first time I felt like he actually knew where I was.  Like it was more than a coincidence.  When he talked about coming around to my place… there’s this part of me that can’t tell if he was talking about back in Texas or where I live now.  It’s terrifying.” 

Fanboy hoped the cops would hurry up.  The sooner Brent could get out of here, the better.  One punch suddenly didn’t feel like enough, and if Mickey threw another he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

“And there’s a good chance I’ll be charged for assault.”  Your laughter was ice cold.  “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.  I know better- god, I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Mickey squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him, and shook his head.  “You are not stupid.  He put his hands on you.” 

“That’s not self-defense either,” you sighed.  “He wasn’t attacking.  The cameras are going to show him reaching out with a smile and he’ll, at most, get a slap on his wrist.  I’m screwed.” 

“He was attacking.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?  He wasn’t attacking.” 

“He.  Was.  Attacking.”  Fanboy emphasized every word, then gestured to the bar you were in.  “There’s at least 20 people I can count who will give that same story without needing to be asked.  I’m sure Phoenix and Bob are already out there waiting for the cops so they can be the first to let them know what he did.”

You turned to look at the crowd of people, mouth quirking up into a smile when you spotted the rest of the squad keeping Brent on the other side of The Hard Deck.  Fanboy watched your gaze lock onto the camera capturing the man acting like a saint for the sake of the security camera in the corner of the room.  

The smile faltered.  “You really think so?”

“You’re one of us, Einstein.  We don’t care what base you’re coming in from.  You’re assigned to our squad and we take care of our own.”  

Mickey moved the ice pack and released your hand back to you.  “Don’t worry about the security cam footage, either.  The cops tend to take our word at face value.  Plus, Penny’s got a good reputation for not calling unless it’s warranted.  There hasn’t been a single bar fight she hasn’t sorted out herself..”

“That feels…”

“Like how Maverick would handle something?”  He supplied.

You nodded with a laugh.  “Exactly.”  Your eyes traveled over Mickey’s face.  “I appreciate you handling things with me today.  I’ve been dealing with this on my own for a few years now.  I forgot what it’s like to know someone has my back on the ground instead of only in the sky.”

“I’ve always got your back, Einstein.  Ground, sky, and all areas in between.” 

The opening practically presented itself to him in the way you smiled at him.  

“Look, I know this might not be the best time or anything…” Mickey trailed off.  He cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his nerves at bay.  What kind of moron decided to ask someone out immediately after an incident like this?  “But, after all the statements are taken, would you, maybe, want to take a walk along the beach with me?  Just get out of here, get your mind off everything?” 

You sat up straighter in the booth.  For once, Fanboy wished he wasn’t alone with you.  If Payback were here, he could confirm if your eyes actually lit up at the proposition or if Mickey’s wishful thinking clouded his mind again.  

“Are you asking me out on a date, Mickey?”  You asked.  His name passing over your lips, over the teasing smile spreading across your face, rendered him speechless.  

He cringed.  “I’m an idiot, right?”  Nervous laughter escaped him.  “I mean, I planned on asking you out tonight anyway.  If that changes anything.  I don’t want you to think I’m, like, stepping in to take advantage of a bad situation.  You can tell me no, Einstein.  I know it’s been a… I mean, the past hour has been a lot.

“But I don’t want you to be alone while you’re dealing with all of this.”  He turned in his seat to glance around for Phoenix.  “Should we call Nat over here?  Would you rather talk to her?  I’m serious, this doesn’t have to be a date.  I didn’t mean to overstep… What?  Why are you laughing at me?” 

You sat across the seat, hand smothering the giggles slipping through your smile.  “Am I rambling again?”  He asked, and you nodded.  “Sorry.  I’m usually better at dealing with emotional situations like this.” 

“I’d say you knocked it out of the park today,” you joked.  Fanboy could only groan at the pun.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit.  Mickey hoped the flush on his face appeared to be alcohol induced rather than his lapse of judgement.  Your phone sat between them, screen still black while you waited for your lawyer to get the voicemail and call you back. 

“It took you long enough.”

He tilted his head.  Much like how you did when you first walked in today.  “What?”

“Asking me out,” you clarified, “that took you a while.” 

“Is that a yes?”

You threw your head back and laughed in a way Fanboy never heard you laugh before.  A mix of elation and pure joy.  Maybe the sound of your voice saying his name could be his second favorite sound.  That laugh needed to be bottled away in his memories forever.  “Yes,” you said.  “I’d love to go on a date with you.”