“I was on my way to a meeting, you know,” You tell him as officiously as you can. 

“You’re still on your way to a meeting.” He peers around the corner warily. “You’re just going to be a minute late, is all.” He leans back against the wall, eyes sweeping you. You feel a little exposed as he does, despite the fact that you are neatly, pristinely uniformed. His hand still holds to yours, swinging them back and forth just a touch between you. 

“You doin’ anything tonight?” He presses. You consider it. You have two meetings toward the end of the day, and both are likely to run over. Beyond that—nothing. 

“Not after seven,” You offer. It’s honestly later than they may keep you—but you’ll have time to get changed if you pad the time a little. 

“Alright.” 

“What’s the plan?” 

Bradley’s brows raise at the question, his head tipping forward just a touch. 

“The plan?” He repeats. 

“Uh-huh.” 

“You’ve gotta have a plan to go out with someone?” 

The teasing tone of the question catches you off-guard. You flounder with your answer for a moment. 

“I—Well, that’s the whole ‘plan’ part of making a plan, right?” You ask. 

“Have you ever gone out with someone without having a plan?” 

Your mouth works wordlessly, brow furrowing. “I—…I mean, I guess we could, but—” 

“But you clearly haven’t before,” He laughs. “Look at you, you’re short-circuiting at the thought.” 

You scowl a touch, eyes narrowing. 

“I’m already late, lieutenant.” 

“Oo, whipping out the rank. I am in trouble,” His smile widens. The tease melts you just a little, and you huff a little, glancing around the corner. 

“Bradley.”

“You meet me back here at seven, then,” Bradley straightens up. 

“Is it going to take you that long to form a plan?” 

He just raises your hand, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action makes your stomach flutter. His lips are warm, and soft; the prickle of his mustache isn’t unpleasant, as you thought it might be. 

“Go on,” He murmurs, nodding over his shoulder as he lowers your hand. “You’ll be late.” 

You huff, pulling your hand from his, grumbling, “I am already.” 

You get only a couple of steps away before you feel a light thwack against your backside. You squeak, whirling around and facing Bradley, mouth wide in shock. He just grins, taking a few steps backward and winking before turning away. You start to take a step forward, eyeing his ass through his jumpsuit. If you’re quick enough, you could—

You turn as you hear your name called further down the hall, and spot one of your teammates waiting for you. Shit. Did anyone see you? How could forget yourself like that? You glance after Bradley one more time before jogging toward them. 

“Sorry,” You excuse as you catch up to your fellow officer. “I was um—I had the wrong room.” 

-- 

“Goddamn.” 

It’s out of Bradley’s mouth before he can stop it. He sees her falter in her step. He straightens up before she can backpedal, tacking on, “You look amazing.”

He can see her nerves flaring up, but there’s a bashful smile on her face as she dips her head from his gaze. He reaches out, taking hold of her hand and drawing her closer. He glances up and down the hall again, ensuring that no one is there before he dips in. But—

“Not here.” 

Her mutter is nervous. Bradley bites his lip. He can’t blame her. He shouldn’t have even done that this afternoon. The halls had been empty, sure, and they’d gotten lucky—but they may not get so lucky again. 

“Alright,” He murmurs, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “C’mon.” 

He leads her out of her parking lot, holding his car door open for her. He waits for her to climb in before he rounds the car with a half-jog. He gets in and gets comfortable, reading to put his key in the ignition. Before he can, she mumbles, “I’m sorry—About the hall—I mean, just now.” 

Bradley turns to her, brows raising in surprise. She’s gazing down at her lap; her nervous hands are scrubbing over the fabric of her pants. He knows now that that doesn't mean anything but trouble.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want you to—I mean, just in there, with—With who my dad is, and what I do—and what you do…” 

He lets her speak, and watches as she trails off. Bradley leans over and pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. He feels her smile. 

“It’s alright,” He gently reassures her again. “I get it. I wasn’t offended.” 

She turns her head toward him as he leans away, seeming to relax. 

“So?” She asks softly. “Have you worked out a plan?” 

Bradley grins, reaching for the key in the ignition and turning it. 

“No I have not. Tonight, we’re gonna wing it.” 

-- 

Winging it isn’t so bad. 

At least, winging it with Bradley isn’t so bad. You end up going to a roller rink that you spot as he's driving—something that you haven’t done since you were a little kid. You fall flat on your ass at least three times, but it always wells up laughter instead of embarrassment—especially the final instance, when you and Bradley tumble down together. Your laughing before you’re even on the floor, and it’s doubled as Bradley’s legs become tangled with yours, and he lands right beside you, stunned and wide-eyed. 

“You think this is funny?” He asks, his own voice thick with laughter that he’s trying to hold back. 

“No,” You giggle, “I think this is fucking hilarious.”

--  

“I’m surprised you can still sit down.” 

You grin at Bradley’s faux-grumble. He's pulling up his seat beside yours at the bar of the Hard Deck.

“Why’s that?” You ask, glancing up from the email you’re replying to. 

“Between my hand and the floor, you’ve gotten quite the beating today.” 

“You didn’t hit me that hard this morning.” 

“Oh, well. That can be fixed.” 

You shoot Bradley a chastising look before you move to set your phone on the bar. 

“Ah-ah,” Bradley warns. “I wouldn’t.” 

You frown, brow furrowing. “Why not?” 

“You wanna buy the whole bar a drink?” 

You glance from Bradley to a sign behind the bar, then over to where Penny is waiting expectantly. You slap a smile onto your face, sliding your phone into your pocket. 

“Wise choice,” Penny nods as she comes over, bracing her hands on the bar. “What can I get you two?” 

“I’ll take the special again, if it’s still on, please,” You answer first.

“It is!” 

“Two. Thanks, Penny.” 

“Sure thing, Rooster.” 

You smile at the use of his callsign. It’s hardly the first time you’ve heard it; you’ve heard it muttered now and again over the past week, but you didn’t always know who people had been talking about. 

“What was that about?” Bradley asks, nodding to your pocket. 

“Hm? Oh, just a diagnostic. I have them running every hour for the next few weeks, just to make sure the system’s running like it’s supposed to.” 

Bradley nods, searching your face curiously. Your brow furrows a touch at the expression. 

“What is it?” You ask. 

“...Nothin,” Bradley shakes his head. The two of you glance up as Penny sets your glasses down.

“Thank you,” You reach into your pocket. 

“Don't even think about it,” Bradley tuts as he reaches into his.

“No, c’mon. You paid for the skates.” 

“Skates?” Penny’s brows raise as she glances between the two of you. She smiles widely as you each fumble for your wallets, trying to get them out and pay before the other. You manage first, lightly kicking Bradley in the shin as he whacks at your wrist. 

“We went to a roller rink,” Bradley answers, though there’s a pout on his face as Penny takes your card. 

“I would’ve paid to see that,” She says, taking a step back.  “Should I start a tab?”

“Yes pleaaaaase,” You smile before turning to face Bradley again. He’s still pouting—and quite cutely, too. 

“C’mon,” You reach out, nudging his shoulder. “Now we’re even.” 

“I wasn’t worried about that.” 

“Well, now I’m not, either.” 

“We’re switching off per-round,” He warns. 

“Now, c’mon. Why would you make more work for Penny?” You add. 

“Yeah, Bradshaw. Why would you make more work for me?” 

You grin as Penny gives you a conspiratorial wink. 

“I do not appreciate being ganged up on,” Bradley argues, glancing between the two of you. 

“Alright,” Penny concedes, turning away. “She’s got this one, anyway.” 

You chuckle as she goes, resting your elbow on the bar as you reach for your drink. 

“I like her.” 

--  

“You sure you’re not cold?” 

“I’m not now,” You say, tightening Bradley’s jacket around your shoulders. You budge up a little closer to him regardless, peering out over the dark water. With the inside of the bar getting busier and busier, you and Bradley relocated to the bench outside with a fresh round of drinks. Bradley grunts, curling his arm around your shoulders and cuddling you closer. The ease of it sends a little shiver through you—one that Bradley mistakes for cold. 

“We can go back inside,” He offers. 

“I’m alright,” You insist. “I just need a minute to adjust.” 

You reach out, taking a sip from your glass before setting it back down. The alcohol warms you, just a bit. 

“...Can I ask you something?” Bradley hedges carefully. You glance up at him, nodding. He bites his lip, eyes searching your face. He seems to have trouble choosing his words. 

“With your dad being…Who he is,” He finally says, “Why do you hate flying so much?” 

You bite your lip, looking down at the table. The answer makes your stomach churn. 

“I mean…” You draw in a deep breath. “What you guys do is dangerous. I used to worry when I was younger that every time I saw him would be the last time. And…” 

“...We don’t have to talk about this,” Bradley offers, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We can forget I asked.” 

“No, it’s okay,” You shake your head. “When I was six years old, we were moving to a new base. My dad knew the pilot—a commercial pilot that had dropped from the Navy. She offered to show me the cockpit while we were up. My dad stayed back in the seats as the flight attendant took me up…The amount of buttons and switches alone scared the shit outta me, but…The clouds, the sky…It looked amazing. It was like being a dream…” 

You can feel it now—the slight tip of the plane floor beneath your feet; the scratchy fabric of the sweater that your parents had insisted you wear to keep you warm during the flight; the thudding of your heart as you peered over a sun-splashed sky. 

You swallow thickly. 

“It was…It was really fucking cool, actually,” You laugh a little. “And then we hit a patch of clear air turbulence, and—I mean, I wasn’t holding onto anything, no one was holding onto me. There weren’t any warning signs, so I just—I went flying. So to speak.” 

You go quiet for a moment, trying to quell the nervous feeling in your stomach, even as Bradley rubs your arm gently. 

“It scared the shit outta me,” You admit, though you’re certain he knows that already. “And it made the idea of what my dad did even more frightening. I mean, he can brace for every single possibility and still just get—Fuckin’ slammed out of nowhere, with no warning.” You reach out, swirling your drink with your straw. “Frickin’ hate flying now,” You mutter. “The next time my parents tried to get me on a plane, I screamed myself hoarse. They had to take me on a train, or drive wherever we were going—or sedate me.” 

Bradley doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can’t imagine what if he’s thinking—that it’s some silly childhood fear, one that you can’t shake? But his grip tightens on you, his hand smoothing up and down, warming you through his jacket. 

“I’m so sorry,” He murmurs. He sounds like he means it, too. 

“S’okay,” You mumble. “It was a long time ago. I should be over it, but—” 

“Hey,” He soothes, raising a hand to cup your cheek, turning your head toward his. “An experience like that’s gonna change you. There’s nothing wrong with that. And it’s not like it’s keeping you from getting on planes these days. You may not like it, but you do it. That’s more than some people can say. You’re not letting fear ground you.” 

You smile gratefully at Bradley as the panicked feeling in your stomach ebbs. 

“...It helps when I have a good seat partner,” You murmur. Bradley’s smile widens. He leans in, gently resting his forehead against yours. 

“A good seat partner that gives you all his sun chips?” 

You laugh loudly, unable to help it as you nod. 

"You could’ve had your own sun chips!” You insist. “You didn’t wake me up!” 

“You’d just fallen asleep!” 

“I could’ve handled being woken up.”

“Well I know that now. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.” 

You grin, reaching up, resting your hand gently on his forearm. 

“Could also bring your own sun chips,” You mutter. 

“Alright, we need to stop talking about sun chips.” 

“Are you getting hungry?” 

“A little.” 

Well,” You lean back to get a better look at him, “We could go get a super later dinner, or a midnight-snack kinda thing. I know where there’s a good late night food truck. Where they usually post up around now is walkable from here.” 

“Careful, sweetheart,” Bradley warns, lips curling into an encouraging smile. “It’s starting to sound an awful lot like you’re winging it.” 

-- 

“Holy fuck,” Bradley mutters around a mouthful. You grin, reaching up and gently brushing away a stray piece of shredding lettuce that’s stuck to his cheek. 

“Have I got something?” He frowns, reaching up and brushing against the same spot. 

“You did,” You confirm, leaning back against the building that the food truck is parked in front of. You reach out, plucking a piece of chicken out of Bradley’s taco, popping it into your mouth and sucking the bit of hot sauce off of your fingers. You don’t mean anything by it—really, you don’t. But when you meet Bradley’s gaze again, you find his eyes glued to your lips. You let your tongue flicker across your lips again, and heat bolts through your belly as Bradley swallows thickly. You clear your throat before nodding up to Bradley’s taco. 

“Good?” You ask. 

“So good,” He mumbles. He leans against the building beside you as you raise your burrito for a bite. You hold it up questioningly, and Bradley leans in, taking a bite—and nearly taking a bit of paper with him. You giggle, reaching up and pushing the paper down. 

“Careful. Almost got an extra bit of fiber there,” You tease. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works.” 

You smile as Bradley steps closer, tightening the collar of his jacket around you. 

“Did I get something on it?” You ask, glancing toward it. 

“Nn-nn…Looks good on you.” 

Your face goes hot with the compliment. He’s so comfortable giving them—he drops them like they’re absolutely nothing. You’re not sure if he can tell how worked up they get you. If he can’t, you’re lucky. If he can and he’s doing this on purpose—well, you’re fucked. 

“You look good without it,” You offer—and regret it immediately. When you meet his eye again, Bradley is grinning. 

“I look even better with a lot less than this, sweetheart.” 

“I bet.” 

Oh—god. What is it about this man that loosens your tongue? But Bradley doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, his grin widens, and he takes a step closer. 

“How much are you willing to bet?” 

--  

You have never found the backseat of a car so crowded. Bradley practically chases you into it as you scooch back against the far door. You’re already shrugging his jacket off as he shoves it from your shoulders. It gets caught around your elbows as you reach for him, hands fisting in his t-shirt. Bradley’s nose brushes yours; his breath warms your lips. Your eyes drift over his face—down, then up again. Your eyelids lower as you part your lips just a touch. The tips of your tongue meet, and you groan softly as Bradley’s tongue spears past your lips. You lower your hands and manage to shake the jacket off, curling your arms around his shoulders and slipping a hand up into his hair.