#Jewish Jake hangman seresin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

qvid-pro-qvo · 2 years

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you pull me out of the dark, and now it's light

relationship: natasha trace x bradley bradshaw x jake seresin.

word count: 17865

rating: mature, for references/implications of homophobia and some suggestive scenes.

past and present memories of the holiday season with natasha, jake, and bradley, as the three of them learn what it means to love someone where they're at so that you can move with them wherever they might go.

link to ao3.

"Shit."

She can hear her dad’s voice in her head as she turns the wheel, jaw clenching before looking over her shoulder to where she’s backing in.

You can fly a billion-dollar plane, but you can’t parallel park?

“Million dollar plane, Dad,” she sighs in response to that familiar voice. “And it’s not like I’ve gotta park the damn thing. Just land it.”

Shifting into reverse, she tries one more time. Feels the wheels turn under her direction, watches as the car behind her gets closer and closer. The back-up sensor starts beeping with a certainty she doesn’t have, and before she gets too far the repetitive beeping turns into a frantic monotone.

“Shit.”

It’s the only spot for three blocks, even at nine in the morning. It started snowing about half an hour ago, and she can already see where it’s starting to stick in the crevices of each and every sidewalk. The last thing she wants to do is walk, especially when she’s got bags in her trunk and the temperature seems to drop with every passing minute.

And then there’s a knock at the window.

It makes her jump, the tapping on the glass, and her foot slams on the brake, making the rear lights an angry red. A hand moves to throw the car into park, and when her fear mellows out into frustration is when she turns to give a piece of her mind to the asshole bugging her on her driver’s side.

Well. Her asshole.

Bradley Bradshaw’s got his hands on his knees as he peeks into the sedan, leaned over to watch her struggle. His coat billows around his face, hood down and flakes sticking to his mustache just as much as his hair. He knocks again with a dumb grin on before turning his hand like a crank, a universal gesture to roll the window down.

“Can I help you?” she shouts instead, forcing her voice through the glass to keep the heat in.

“Y’know, you gotta actually get the car in the spot before you can park it,” Bradley yells, and his smile at this point can only be described as shit-eating.

Unfortunately, she can’t help but smile back.

“How long have you been watching?!” she asks him, glancing toward the other side where their Airbnb sits like a beacon with lamplit windows.

“Too long! So why don’t you let me park the car and you go inside to get warm, huh?”

It’s an offer she’s all too eager to take, lifting her hands off of the wheel and checking that she’s parked one more time before getting out of the car. Bradley stands back just in time to avoid a solid hit with the door, but not far enough to avoid a solid punch to the arm.

“You could’ve helped sooner,” she says, but her smile hasn’t left. “Instead of watching me back up the same two feet for twenty minutes.”

Bradley shrugs without any shame. “Where’s the fun in that? I got free entertainment.”

It earns him another punch, but this one barely connects before she’s wrapped up in a tight grip, one she sinks into as soon as it’s offered. His arms wrap around her, and a cold nose plunges into her hair as he hugs her close, lips against her temple before he pulls back to really get a good look.

“You cut your hair,” he murmurs, eyes sweeping and scanning every inch. She lets him take stock of her, a search for any injuries that weren’t relayed over phone calls or texts before reaching up with still-warm fingers to cup his cheeks.

“You didn’t,” she whispers back, and he chuckles and shrugs again before leaning down for a kiss.

It’s everything, this kiss, and every memory of moments like these hits her square in the chest. His lips touch hers with a carefulness that mimics his flying. Like he’s afraid a push too far will push her away, no matter how much she tells him otherwise to take the leap. Bradley’s lips are slightly chapped this time around, and she files that away for when a solo bunk gets too much to bear before he pulls back to look at her one more time.

“Go get your bags,” he tells her, because he doesn’t have to say he missed her when it’s implied every minute they’re apart. “I’ll park the car.”

She makes her way to the trunk while Bradley slides into the driver’s seat. He pops the back of the rental car open, and she loads up what she can. Her steps are quick once she’s got a hold of everything she needs to bring in, and soon she’s pushing open the front door with an eagerness to get out of the cold.

Her boots stomp off of the excess snow before she steps in, but there’s trails of melted slush all over the entryway and toward the kitchen.

Animals, she thinks with a sigh. Gotta train them up, Nat. Her bags get neglected by the door as she removes her boots and then she’s trudging toward the front room with jet lag dragging her toward the couch.

It’s been a year since she’s been here last, and yet nothing seems to have changed — the same cozy decor, piles of blankets, and framed pictures of a family she’s only known through their smiles adorning the walls. Her fingers reach out to brush against one photo of a smiling pair of women when she hears familiar steps move in her direction.

Brace yourself, Nat, she thinks with a small grin. Here comes the force of nature.

He’s there in the next instant, his greeting a warm infectious laugh as he wraps his arms around her. She lets herself get spun around, unable to stop a chuckle as suddenly she’s face to face with shining eyes and a wide, blinding smile.

“Natasha Trace,” he says, drawl thick even on something as simple as her name. He must’ve come from down south. “Well, aren’t I lucky?”

“Jake Seresin,” she replies, smirking up at him as his fingers nudge her chin. “I think you are.”

There’s no pretense like with Bradley, no careful touches, just eagerness. His kiss is sudden and overwhelming, a tidal wave she lets herself succumb to. There’s a comfort in the way he envelops her. When she closes her eyes, his presence, his embrace, grounds her to the moment she’s in.

He pulls back just as quickly as he kissed her, if only because the door is letting a chill in. He’s got goosebumps on his bare arms in an instant, and when he shivers it makes her smile. Southern boy, she thinks fondly, reaching up to rest a hand on his cheek and really, really look at him.

“You cut your hair,” he says with a smile, a realization that makes his eyes take in every bit of her she can. Another look, from another pilot, wondering about what the flights they took apart left behind.

“You didn’t,” she says, eyes scanning his features. “Though somehow, the tanning oil has not been put down.”

The brief moment of deja vu is worth it for the way he laughs and pushes a hand through his blond locks. “Well, I had to have a hobby when we made it back to shore,” he tells her as he lets her free from his hug. “And Lord knows where I was, the weather was actually fun, unlike the mess outside.”

“Oh, the mess is still coming,” Nat promises, glancing behind her before reaching to run her hands up and down his arms. He’s still shaking a bit, and so she moves to lead him toward the kitchen. “No sweater? Really?”

“I needed a nap, and I haven’t unpacked,” he admits, sighing in true disappointment. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of clothes for you to, uh, borrow.”

“Wouldn’t dream of worrying,” she laughs, and his smile is back quick, leaning in for another kiss, and then another, and one more that makes her laugh and push him back.

“Let me breathe, Seresin, let me breathe. Why don’t you put my bags up to keep yourself busy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a wink, and then he’s rolling her suitcases out of the way of the door, making his way to the room the three of them plan to sleep in.

Suddenly a fresh wave of exhaustion pushes through her, almost knocking her from standing to her knees. In her brain she’s on the other side of the International Date Line, and all of those hours hit her at once.

But she’s here. She’s made it, and she didn’t even have to parallel park. She glances toward where Jake vanished, toward the front door where Bradley’s got the car before turning back to the photo of the smiling women.

“Home sweet home.”

It’s comfort that settles into her body, then. That takes the stress of traveling away and replaces it with heavy eyelids and slumped shoulders. The realization that for now, for these few days, things are as they should be. She’s safe in this place, and doesn’t have to move a serious muscle for a week, at least.

She shrugs off her own coat before walking toward the front room, every step a solid effort. When she makes it to the couch, she collapses into the cushions, turning to the side so that her head rests on one of the throw pillows.

A week. Not nearly long enough.

Before she drifts off, Jake and Bradley’s banter fills the halls of the familiar rental house, the door to the outside closing and locking. The sound of little chuckles and soft words. Their murmurs are as good as melatonin, and in mere minutes she’s drifting off, the last thing she feels being a heavy blanket tucked around her shoulders.

“Y’all doing anything for Christmas?” Jake calls out from the bathroom, mouth full of what Nat hopes is toothpaste suds.

Nat just laughs before glancing over at Bradley, who shrugs before looking up from his phone. “Mav and Pen are going with the Kazanskys for a bit. Might drop by, but they’re out of the country and I’ll be stateside on the 20th.”

Natasha looks over to the bathroom again, where Jake’s moved to lean against the doorway. “I’m Jewish, Bagman,” she says with a raised brow. “Don’t exactly do the Christmas thing, and my leave doesn’t kick in until halfway through Hanukkah.”

It’s mainly to give Seresin a hard time, but his eyes narrow at the both of them with something like thought.

“Right,” Jake replies finally, brow furrowing as he looks between the both of them. He turns away after a moment, leaning down to spit away the mint flavor.

“Oh, no,” Bradley murmurs to Nat, hand running over her bare arm as he leans close to her ear. “He’s thinking. That can’t be good.”

She chuckles, but doesn’t take her eyes off of Seresin, especially as he comes out from the bathroom with that same look. “He’s really thinking,” she says, and Bradley hums in agreement as he kisses her shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m not back stateside until the 23rd,” Jake tells them both, and she tries to focus on that instead of the fact he’s wearing Bradley’s boxers. “The bird’s got no plans, and you’re rocking it solo.” He shrugs, and Nat’s eyes follow back up the long lines of his body to where his grin sits crooked on his face. “Why don’t we make it an occasion?”

Natasha wakes up when the coffee smell hits her nose.

No alarms are allowed in the house, since they’re meant to relax. So when she wakes, she’s not startled up and out of bed, just slowly roused by the smell of that roast Jake likes to get during the wintertime. Her eyes blink open slowly, and there’s more than one blanket piled atop her as she slowly lifts to a sitting position.

Bradley’s singing some tune from the kitchen, low and slow as he moves his hips. She can just see his curls from where she’s sitting, a wild mess on his head from the wind and the coat he was wearing. He doesn’t notice her, and she uses the moment to take stock of limbs, fingers, and toes one more time before slowly moving to standing and regaining focus.

Coffee. She needs coffee.

She passes the hallway, and just barely can hear Jake’s voice, accent thick and the bedroom door blocking any real words from coming through. After a brief pause she pushes on, and when she makes it to the kitchen Bradley’s whisking something on the stove. His back isn’t to her, but he doesn’t seem to notice she’s there until she presses her face between his shoulder blades.

There’s no words for a bit, not as her arms move around him, hands settling under his pullover to savor the warmth he’s radiating. As he sings they sway a little, and one of Bradley’s hands moves down to squeeze her arm.

“Thought you already made coffee,” she asks him, interrupting the song.

“Well, Jake’s got a sweet tooth. Asked for hot chocolate. Then his mom called, so I got stuck with the manual labor.”

“But you made coffee?” she asks again, and Bradley snorts. “I’m running on fumes here.”

“Hot and ready at the coffee machine, Phoenix. I know your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders right now —”

He gets a light smack to his hip for that one, but she can tell he’s grinning as she pulls away to grab a mug and pour a cup. Comes back to his side and lets him wrap an arm around her waist as she watches the liquid on the stove become a deep, rich brown.

“Everything okay with Mrs. Seresin?” she asks. Bradley’s lips twist down as he hums a little more. “Bradley?”

“Jake’s dad wasn’t listening in,” he says, glancing toward the hallways to the bedroom. “She said hi and Merry Christmas, but that was about it. Seemed pretty somber.”

She winces at the thought of that. Nat didn’t know much about the woman, just the way she looked over occasional Facetimes she’d have with Jake and the sound of her boisterous voice. The way Jake would freeze, sigh, and apologize in advance for any comments, offhand or not from his family when they called to find the three of them. Especially when his dad was involved, a man who looked even over a small phone screen like disapproval was second nature.

She sniffs. “It’s a bit early to call. Did she ask about me?”

“Yeah. Jake told her you were sleeping off the jet lag.”

Her nose wrinkles further at the picture of that exchange. Jake’s lower lip bitten to shreds as he watches the phone ring. Bradley’s reassuring squeeze before he answers. Happy holidays to his own mother, not Merry Christmas. Jake’s mom and the pretty eyes he gets from her, no kind smile as she insists he goes to another part of the house…

But she doesn’t pry too much anymore. Jake’s continued connection with his family is his own business. She can ask Jake about the fallout later, when he comes out of the bedroom. Instead she simply nods and presses her nose to Bradley’s shoulder, taking deep breaths of him and long sips of coffee.

The hot chocolate is finished and being kept warm when she gets to her second cup of coffee, which is right when the bedroom door opens with a click and Jake emerges. He looks a little frazzled as he comes around the corner but shakes it off and smiles when he sees Natasha awake and looking at him.

Later, then. She’ll ask later.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice as rich as the chocolate. He’s wearing a pullover, now, too, one that’s definitely not his own judging by the way it’s just this side of too long. Just like him, to talk about Nat stealing clothes and then doing it himself. “Good nap?”

“I got tucked in and everything,” she says, and smiles when she sees how pleased he looks. So it was him who put the blankets on. Good instinct, Trace. “All good with you?”

“Yeah, just… family,” he says with a wave of his hand, closing the gap between them to kiss Bradley’s head and then her own.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bradley says, eyes narrowing playfully as Jake tries to breeze past him and deeper into the kitchen. “I make this hot chocolate for you and all I get is a lousy forehead kiss? So much for the holiday spirit.”

Natasha hides her smile against Bradley’s arm, shaking her head as Jake stops dead in his tracks. “You dissin’ my kisses?” he asks with a laugh.

“C’mere, cowboy,” Bradley tells him, “and kiss me like you mean it.”

And how can Jake resist? Natasha never has. Her smile only grows as Jake rolls his eyes playfully and leans in, kissing Bradley like he kissed her, eager and itching for more. Bradley has no more free hands to give, but tilts his head to deepen it as one of Jake’s hands slides into his back pocket.

When he pulls back, Bradley looks satisfied, his grin pure delight, and Jake looks like the phone call is the last thing on his mind… which Nat’s sure was Bradley’s plan all along.

“Merry Christmas to me,” he crows, pride all over his features.

Jake narrows his eyes, but can’t hide his smirk. “If you’re not careful you’re gonna burn the chocolate.”

But that fact doesn’t seem to faze Bradley at all, especially since Jake’s hand still sits in the back of his jeans.

Nat’s eyes close as she lays on her stomach. Seresin’s fingers move up and down her spine with little purpose, and it’s gentle in a way she never expects from him, even after everything.

“You think anymore about Christmas?” he asks her, voice low out of respect for Bradshaw’s slumber. If she had to take a guess, this is probably the first good sleep Rooster’s gotten in a couple of days — flying in a plane is nothing like piloting a jet.

“It’s May,” she whispers back, brow raising as she looks over her own shoulder. He doesn’t meet her eyes, just focuses on her skin, connecting freckles she’s never seen herself. “I don’t usually plan that far ahead.”

“Right.” His voice is neutral, which immediately tells her she’s said something off. Does her best to roll her shoulders, shrug away the anxiety in her stomach.

“I mean it, Hangman,” she sighs. “I don’t usually plan stuff out. We don’t know what kind of shit they’ll call us on, and I don’t want to break any promises. Besides, like I said before, I’m not a Christmas girl.”

There’s a pause in his fingers as Rooster snorts suddenly, shuffles and turns to face them. A quick glance from her toward Bradshaw, and the whole world seems to go still. But then the big bird lets out a low snore, and Seresin seems content, tracing the curve of her back once more.

“It wouldn’t have to just be Christmas,” he finally says after she’s half to dreamland herself. Repetitive motions soothing her just as good as the rocking of an aircraft carrier.

“What?” she mumbles, eyes fluttering open.

“It won’t just be Christmas. You said Hanukkah will be half-over, right? So spend the other half with us.”

And that makes her pause. Makes goosebumps lift on her skin. Because he says it with conviction, with something else that makes her shiver.

“You’d want to spend Hanukkah with me?” she asks, shifting up onto her elbows, voice uncertain. She turns to look at him again, and his eyes stay on the small of her back as he shrugs.

“Why not?” he responds. “It’d be fun.”

She’s suspicious, she’ll admit it, but doesn’t sense anything in his tone. “You don’t know a damn thing about Hanukkah, cowboy,” she tells him, and when Jake shrugs again it’s an admission that doesn’t faze him.

“Could learn. You could teach me.”

“… sure. Yeah, I guess.”

“I mean it, Nat,” Jake urges. “I do. Let’s spend some time together, the three of us. I promise, it won’t just be Christmas, it’s the holidays. Just tell me you’ll consider it.”

She’s saved by the bell — Bradley snorts awake before she has to give a real answer, and Jake laughs so hard from shock that he gets a pillow thrown at his face. They linger in each other’s arms, in Bradley’s bed, and when they decide to go meet Mav later, the conversation has been forgotten.

Well, not forgotten. Just set aside.

She knows he doesn’t realize what he’s offering so casually. But in the end she tells him she’ll think about it, and that seems to keep the questions at bay. It doesn’t seem to stop that look in his eyes, though, especially as they say their farewells and good luck and be safe. Like he wants her by his side, like he wants them in his life for longer than these little stolen moments.

So she keeps her word. She thinks about it.

And thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

It takes a few hours to sink into each other’s presence, to remember what it’s like when a house and a heart are full to bursting.

They haven’t gotten lucky every year. Three years ago, Jake had been in the middle of an ocean with Coyote with the worst Internet she’d ever seen, and she’d been in Pensacola surrounded by egos that reminded her of early Hangman with none of his charm. Last year, Bradley had been no-contact on a mission with clearance so high Mav barely made the cut, and Nat had only been able to see Jake for a day when their flights managed to layover in the same city before she got deployed again.

But this year, the gods of scheduling and permitted leave granted them a few solid weeks of stateside holiday cheer, and they were going to take advantage for as long as the Navy would let them. Their third year together.

But still. It takes a minute.

She forgets, sometimes, how thick Jake’s accent can be when he’s tired, a low drawl as the day sinks over him. She doesn’t always remember how rough Bradley’s palms are you when he rubs her back, worn from work in Mav’s old hangar. She never gets over how big a king size bed really is, but soon remembers they all end up in the middle anyway.

It’s all the stuff she remembers that surprises her, too. Like how Bradley always takes his coffee with two and a half spoons of sugar, and if either one of them skimp on the half the exact face he makes. Like each and every line between Jake’s eyebrows when you suggest that Texas A&M won’t beat Alabama. The taste of Jake’s lips, the feel of Bradley’s own on her neck. Their warmth and their bodies against hers. It all comes back in a wave of touch and tenderness and love, until they’re sated in sheets too expensive to be the Navy’s.

But by then it’s time to get up anyway. To unpack and let the space become theirs. There’s plenty of work to do, in this house they let themselves pretend is a home.

Their home.

Maybe one day it’ll be real. Maybe one day they’ll have a space they can claim for a lifetime, not just a lazy week off. But for now, in this rented out townhome, they make the most of it.

So they unpack. Piece by piece, bag by bag. Decorations for Christmas Eve, for their Hanukkah display. A table shifted for the front window, a place of honor for the menorah and the tree that’ll stand beside it. Gifts from the people they love, Bob’s Hanukkah blessings and Mav’s generous Santa Claus bag. Stockings that’ll be hung on a hearth, and photos of the family that they’ve made along the way, Christmas cards and Polaroids, selfies and timed shots. When the job is mostly done, Bradley claims the bed for his nap, and Nat promises to be quiet as she unloads her things.

Her fingers dig in her bag until they brush over one such photo frame, cradled between stacks of sweaters and jackets that she’s claimed from her partners over three years of doing their best. It barely fits in the palm of her hand, but the point isn’t the size.

It never is, she can hear Bradley say in her head, making herself snort with the thought.

She opens the foldout. On either end, Hangman and Rooster, their dress uniforms sparkling, their gazes stern. She doesn’t know who convinced them not to smile, but she likes the way their jaws both tilt up, like they have something to prove. Naval aviators, ready for whatever comes next. In the middle photo, though, it’s Jake and Bradley, grinning for the camera, Bradley’s thumbs up and Jake’s wink captured so clearly she can see their smile lines on their faces. She’s in between them, and she doesn’t mind the goofy look her tipsy state gives her because she remembers how happy she’d been to have them on either side of her at all.

With a little smile, she sets up the frame. Some assignments it stays in her bag, tucked in a duffel pocket until she’s shipped home again. But when she can, when she’s safe… it’s on display.

The photo is placed gingerly on a nightstand, the side that Bradley usually faces. Jake’s back’ll be to it, but he always says he doesn’t mind. Jokes that the photos have a good view.

Arms wrap around her, then. Speak of Seresin, and he shall appear.

“We’ve gotta start cooking soon,” he murmurs against her neck.“We said we were gonna try doughnuts this year, and if we’re gonna have sustenance for our boy to wake up to we’ve gotta get moving.”

She glances back to Bradley on the bed, sure enough facing the photo, body sprawled as he snores.

“That guy’s gonna be conscious?” she asks. Her tone is enough to suggest it’s not a real fear, but there’s a little worry in her heart until Jake chuckles.

“He’d kick himself if he missed,” he reassures her, squeezing her midsection in a hug. “I set an alarm for an hour before, though, just to be sure.”

“You boys think of everything,” she murmurs fondly.

He shrugs, but she senses the way he wants to preen with the compliment when he smiles. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get to work.”

Jake’s on a beer run with Coyote as the rest of Dagger laughs on the beach, Nat and Bradley a few steps back from the group as they toss the ball in a lazy circle while they walk further along the coast.

“Jake mentioned you haven’t given an answer about December, yet. Wanted to start looking at places to book,” Bradley mentions lightly, whistling at Halo for the ball and throwing it back across the way to Yale.

“He’s still on that?” Natasha asks with a sigh, shaking her head as her toes sink in the wet sand. “I told him I’d think about it.”

“It’s September, Trace,” Bradley tells her. “The Christmas bug hits earlier and earlier every year.”

Her mouth twists at the mention. Christmas, Christmas, Christmas. The same thing, every year, the same song and dance and token appreciation for any other holiday that doesn’t involve a tree. But as soon as the inclusion campaign ends, the only day that matters is the 25th. Like always.

She scoffs and shakes her head. “Look, I don’t know what you guys want from me. We meet up every few months to do what we do. Doesn’t mean we’ve gotta start - start getting sentimental about it.”

Bradley shrugs as he looks at the rest of Dagger, gesturing to Fanboy and Bob as they splash at Payback. “I think the sentimental cat’s out of the bag, Nat. Wouldn’t you say? At this point?“

She knows what he means, even if she can’t quite admit it. They haven’t mentioned their situation to the rest of the squad. Why mention something that only happens once every few weeks, and that’s frankly no one else’s damn business?

But it seems like they haven’t had to. The eyes are enough, questions in all of them as they look between Nat to Bradley to Jake and wonder why the three of them are together every two weeks. They’re all aware and they’re all adults, and the little things they’ve noticed she’s sure have added up.

Hell, the fact that she didn’t call Jake Bagman when she saw him was probably hint enough. The rest a toddler could figure out with how clingy the two of them are.

(And she admits, she’s not faultless. She saw Bradshaw and couldn’t help but grin, hugged him tight as he made his way toward them safe and sound. But perhaps the nail in the coffin was her own doing, a sour look at a girl who tried to hand Seresin a number he brushed off with ease, moving back to them with the usual swagger but letting his hand squeeze Phoenix’s shoulder as he passed her by.)

So the fact of the matter is that Bradley is right. They passed sentimental a few exits back. She misses them when she’s gone, and she hopes beyond hope they miss her, too, when they’re on the other side of the world. And when sentimental is gone and replaced by something bigger…

Wouldn’t a holiday be a logical next step?

So she leans against Bradshaw as they walk, lets the setting sun wash over them with a golden hue. His hand doesn’t stray from her waist, and together they march toward the longest stretch of open beach they’ve seen.

“It would be different,” he says after a moment. Stops them both as Payback declares their “mission” a success. Someone starts pitching the canopy, someone else starts looking for driftwood, and they watch as their friends build a fire with the sky turning all lovely shades of red. “But we can handle different. Can handle something new.”

“Why?” she asks, but before he answers there’s the rattle-clank of Jake’s old truck. A cacophony of cheers and hollers break the peaceful cooperation, and when Seresin emerges there’s a twelve-pack on each shoulder.

Her chest swells as she looks at him. Can’t help her little smirk as he lifts the prized alcohol with a grin. “Plenty more where this came from,” he shouts, which earns him more praise than before.

And Bradley’s call sign might be Rooster, but he’s got eagle-eyes on her at that moment, squeezing her side as the two of them stop their walking. Watching her stare at Seresin with a fondness that cuts her to her core.

“Why?” she asks again, when she can look at Bradley again. Meet that ever-fond gaze. “Why do you want to spend the holidays together?”

“Because it’d be us, and that’s good enough,” he tells her finally, leaning close. “You, me, and him, and no one else to care. No one else butting in. Because we want this thing to keep going, no matter what it ends up being.”

After a moment, she sighs. Looks up at him and squints to see his features with the sunset shining behind him.

Something different.

Something new.

Something that threatens to break her heart open if it ends.

Maybe something that shouldn’t have happened at all.

But she looks at Bradley, and realizes then how much she wants to risk everything… even if something becomes nothing in the end.

“You do realize I’ll have to make you guys sing, right?” she finally says. Brow raising as she shields her eyes with her hand. “There’s a lot of singing. Lots of prayer. Lots of food. Candles, even though I have a feeling you two are going to be the worst with fire…”

And when Bradley laughs, Jake’s own hollering a little ways away, she feels that something in her chest again.

“My traditions include the Beach Boys’ Christmas album and stockings, and I promise you Jake’ll get into all sorts of shit with a tree,” he tells her with a smile. “I think we can handle some flame to make sure you’re in this thing. Hanukkah and Christmas. Candles and a tree.”

She ignores the stinging in her eyes — it’s the salty spray that does it, or sunscreen from before. “Why?” she asks again, as beer cans crack open as loud as thunder.

“Because it’s not a chore, Nat,” Bradley answers. Daring a kiss against her cheek. “It’s who you are. And believe it or not, we like you. A lot. So… we want to try.”

She lets the wind off the waves whip around them for a moment, staring at the man before her with every intention of saying no. But fear’s never stopped her from getting in a plane, and she’ll be damned if she’ll let it stop her from trying, too.

She hums under her breath, the potato in her hand succumbing to the fine end of the grater. The motion is soothing, and the past few years she’s gotten really good at finding the perfect ratio of potato to onion.

It’s muscle memory now. Combine, flatten, lay in the oil. Wait, wait, wait, flip. Wait, wait, dry. It’s a system, one she’s close to perfecting. Another couple of years, and it’ll be smooth sailing.

And still thirty minutes to candlelight. They’ve got time.

While she’s got the cooktop, Jake’s got the baked goods. He’s always insisted on kneading dough by hand, and while at first she joked that it was mainly to show off his arms, now she understands that Jake needs to feel it to know what to do next. Needs the weight of the dough, the texture in his fingers.

He hums, while he works. Whatever pops into his head. She’s heard the Top 40 and Texas country, jazzy blues and classic rock. But this time of year, the only thing he can think of is a good Christmas tune, as he rolls out a flat sheet to cut circles out of.

“Please… have snow…” he murmurs, smooth and even pressure stretching out the corners. “And mistletoe…”

“Y’know, I think if you make the sufganiyot while singing Christmas songs, it cancels out the flavor,” she tells him, voice light as she turns back to the oil to carefully remove another golden latke.

“Nah, it’s the combination that makes ‘em good,” Jake chuckles, and when she turns again his eyes meet hers and shine in the warm light of the kitchen. “All kinds of holiday cheer wrapped up in a fluffy fried present.”

She nods, but she’s sure he knows it’s not a concession. Simple acknowledgement as she smiles to herself and keeps working. Soon all the latkes are finished, and she lays them out to rest on wire racks to drain the excess oil. They’ll be good. Crispy, warm, rich. She moves the oil off the burner to let it cool, before turning back to look at Jake again.

Bradley’s still in the shower, cleaning off the day. She can hear the plumbing straining with his excessive hot water usage. So for now, it’s her and Jake, and the shapes he carefully cuts out. She doesn’t mind standing by, watching as he hums and puts the doughy circles in their proper place. Cut and move, cut and move, cut and move. She slowly drifts closer, until she’s leaning on the counter next to him, her thumb lifting to wipe some flour away from his eye.

“Heard you on the phone with your mom,” she finally says, when all of his work is covered with a towel to rest, and she can move to rub his arm without disturbing his rhythm. “I didn’t hear anything… specific. Just want to know if you’re doing okay.”

Jake doesn’t answer right away, scrunching his nose for a moment as some of the flour swirls around him. She tilts her head to try and meet his eyes, but he keeps his gaze down on the countertop and the patterns in the mess there as he wipes his hands.

“Jake,” she pushes, letting her hand move to his back to rub circles into it. He lets out a soft breath at the motion, and she tilts her head when he still doesn’t look at her. “If you’re good, great, but if you’re not… we want to know.”

He laughs a little - she can hear the strain, but his voice stays light as he talks. “I - I’m fine, Nat,” he says. “Really. Holidays just… Things are complicated with them. You know that.”

Complicated. One way to put it. “Yeah, I know,” she murmurs. Upping the pressure on his back, before pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He relaxes a little more, no more twitch in his jaw. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not right now,” he admits, sighing before pushing in to kiss her temple. She can’t help the way she breathes in deep - the smell of yeast and butter and sugar on his skin “We just got here. I wanna enjoy it. Later, though. Promise.”

“Okay,” she sighs, pushing up on her toes to kiss his cheek where her thumb was. “Okay. Later.”

“Hey,” they hear behind them.

Jake’s eyes lift from Natasha’s as she turns to find Bradley, a towel rubbing in his hair as he watches them. He looks comfortable, cozy, but it’s clear he’d been there for a moment before speaking, his brow furrowed as he looks between the two of them. “Everything alright?” he asks, brow raising as Jake clears his throat.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says, blinking a little before turning back to the doughnuts and moving the sheet trays to a clean part of the counter. “We’re alright. Just talking about frying the doughnuts after we light the candles. Have a good shower?”

Both brows are lifted now as Bradley looks at them, crossing his arms over his chest before glancing at Natasha. “Yeah. It was… good. It was a shower, for sure.”

When he doesn’t follow up, Bradley’s gaze turns to her, nodding to Jake in a clear question of what’s happened. Nat’s eyes follow Jake and scan his features before managing a small smile and turning back to Bradley. We’re okay, she mouths to him, before nodding to the front room. “You pick a kippah for tonight?” she asks. “I set some out on the tablecloth to choose from before we light.”

“I saw,” he says, and then slowly moves through the kitchen until he’s standing behind Jake with a playful grin, chin on his shoulder as the baker washes his hands. “But I wanted to make sure you guys didn’t need help, y’know. Burning the house down with an oil fire.”

Natasha chuckles and starts to wipe down the counter as Jake turns his head to shoot Bradley a look and flicks water from his hands onto his face. “Offended that you’d think I’d be anything but responsible in the face of danger,” he tells him.

“Right, right,” Bradley hums, kissing Jake’s jaw before turning them both to face Natasha. “But we all know who has to be careful with a hot stove.”

“Hey!” she shouts, mouth open at the blatant betrayal. She turns to face the boys, who both look at her with little identical smirks as she glares. “I have burned the latkes exactly once.”

“That we know of. It’s easy to hide a burnt potato,” Bradley hums. Jake dries his hands and starts humming again. “What’re you hiding, Natasha Trace?”

The water escalates to flour. She gathers a handful and tosses it toward Bradley, grinning as his t-shirt gets dotted with a generous dusting.

There’s a glint in his eyes as he looks down. Actions like that get revenge, often served cold. But she’s too busy laughing as his fingers run down his shirt. “I just showered,” he reminds them. “You know, the real troublemaker is right here. Why doesn’t he get flour on him?” Bradley’s hand moves with force, then. A sweep of flour on his fingers, and then there’s a handprint right in the middle of Jake’s shirt.

“Hey, he’s had flour on him,” Natasha reminds him, reaching to try and brush off the white from Jake’s front. They’re all trying not to laugh at the way the floor now has a layer of its own, at the freckles of white on Natasha’s cheeks and dusting of gray in Jake’s hair. “And, he made the sufganiyot, genius.”

“Which means someone’s not getting any,” Jake threatens, his own hand moving and coated in white before he smacks Bradley’s ass. Another puff of flour, and Nat can’t breathe. She's laughing so hard as the two of them stand in the mess, Bradley trying to peer over his own shoulder to look at the stark white handprint. “There. Now we’ve both gotta change. Happy?”

“She started it,” Bradley points out, and Nat lifts her hands in surrender quickly with another laugh, nodding toward the front room.

��And I’m ending it. Sun’s setting, so change so I can beat your ass at dreidel in a timely manner. Fifteen minutes, boys, let’s hustle.”

“You do know how to make these pancakes, right?” Bradley asks, brow raised as she appraises the pan.

“They’re called latkes,” she mumbles, half to herself, narrowing her eyes as the oil starts to shine. “And it’s… been a while.” She almost cut herself on the food processor blade about three separate times before even putting the damn thing together, and the onions didn’t get small enough to blend in seamlessly with the potato. But eventually everything became cohesive, and all that’s left is the frying.

Horrible, terrible frying.

When she was young her mom never let her stand too close to a hot stove, and when she was older she didn’t want to. Fuel and heat were something she was trained to keep far away from each other, and so she let her mother handle that when she was home for the winter holidays.

But now it’s up to her. The weight of the Hanukkah miracle on her shoulders.

Thankfully, it’s not Hanukkah. Yet. This is just a practice run, and if she doesn’t do it now, she’s gonna lose the nerve.

The recipe says to place a generous dollop of the mixture in the hot oil. She doesn’t know how much a dollop is, but a spoonful feels good to her.

“Be careful,” Bradley says.

A perfectly unhelpful comment. Of course she’s being careful, she knows how to work a stove. “I was planning on just throwing it in, if you want to take a couple of steps back,” she deadpans, and the look of horror on his face alleviates the last doubt in her head.

She looks back down at the oil. It shimmers, the top layer almost restless, and with a soft exhale, her “dollop” plops into the pan.

The little spray causes her to rear back, and there’s a sudden violent bubbling from every side of it. Bradley backpedals so hard he almost falls on his ass, and her eyes are wide as she stands on tiptoes to peer inside at a safe distance.

An eternity passes as the two of them start to edge closer to the pan. Peering at the lone latke when curiosity overwhelms them. “When do I flip it?” she asks Bradley, the noise of the oil making it almost a shout.

“What do you mean when do you flip it?”

“I mean, does it stop bubbling?”

“It doesn’t say on the recipe if it stops bubbling?”

“Well, I didn’t check before, I didn’t think it would –”

She’s cut off by a smell. Acrid, smoky. Her eyes widen and immediately she’s pressing the vent button on the microwave, reaching in with her tongs to flip the latke, trying to save it. Bradley scoots back again, hands up in the air. “You’re calling my landlord when the place burns down.”

The backside is so close to black it’s definitely burnt, and she winces as the other side gets immersed with a fresh scream of bubbles. She keeps the microwave vent on until the smell coming from it doesn’t burn her nose, and when it comes off she pulls the latke out.

A miserable, misshapen first attempt. When she looks at Bradley, he has his mouth open as if he has the right to fucking comment.

“Don’t,” she says instantly, jaw tight as she breathes in and out through her nose. “I’m doing another.”

It’s then Jake wanders in from the other room, drawn out either by the burning smell or the sound of Bradley’s yelp as the oil splatters once more. Natasha barely gives him a sideways glance, desperately trying to rescue the latke from the middle of the oily pool it floated to. When she flips it, the color is decidedly… brown, but it’s better than black, and she’ll take it.

“So, I found a place in San Diego we can rent,” Jake says, lifting his phone as Nat wipes at her brow. She’s already sweating, and she isn’t sure she heard him right as she turns to face him.

“What?” she asks, bubbling roaring in her ears as she stares down her second latke. When she pulls it, it's evenly browned, at least. More of a rush than taking off in a goddamn F-18, frying with oil. Fuck oil. “What about San Diego?”

“A place,” Jake says, offering his phone to her. “To rent? I said I’d find one, and there’s some good deals on the coast –”

Time stops. Or at least, her heart does. She looks up and over at Jake from the pan with a look that makes Bradley step back even further than the hot oil did. She drops another dollop in the pan, standing to her full height as she looks Seresin down.

“We are not going to San Diego.”

Jake freezes at the force of her statement. Her hair has started to frizz out of the neat bun she pulled it back in. “Sorry?” he asks, phone still offered to her limply as she sets the tongs down and crosses her arms over her chest.

“We’re spending the holidays together? Fine. That’s fine,” she says with her eyes narrowed. “But we’re spending a week celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas. It is almost December. If we can go wherever we want, we’re going somewhere with snow.”

The word seems to make Jake and Bradley rear back, and she has to remember that she’s talking to a Texan and a Californian about winter. They look at each other before looking back at her, and Jake shifts from foot to foot. “You want snow?”

“No, I need snow,” she counters, looking back at the latke. Flips it a little earlier, and gets a color that could be called golden as a reward. It makes her smile, which seems to ease the tension in the boys’ shoulders. “Like you need Christmas, I need snow. I haven’t had snow for the winter in too long, because the Navy loves their tropical adventures. So if I get the chance to spend December with a wind chill in the negatives, I’m taking it. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake tells her, pulling his phone back. “Got it.”

“Good. Now grab the applesauce, boys. Because we’re gonna be doing some taste tests.”

They change quickly, but their rush in the bedroom gives Nat time to gather the appropriate amount of candles and rearrange the table in front of the window. The sun’s behind the horizon, and Nat lets herself savor the view of a fresh snowfall for a few moments she had alone. The shamash candle sits proud and tall, and she sets up the five candles, far right, moving to the left. She begins humming again, memories of her mother’s voice in her ear as her grade-school fingers had grabbed at the centerpiece of the holiday, pulling the candleholder close to look at the intricate designs.

Her mother could’ve been mad at her curiosity, told her to leave the thing alone and get back to setting the table. But instead, she’d pulled the menorah down to her level, let her run her fingers over the intricate grooves, over each spot for candles.

One day you’ll have a household of your own, Natasha, her mother had said, voice bright at the prospect. Adding to the family. People to say the prayers with, people to light the candles for.

“I found them, Mom,” she murmurs as her hands hold the relic. The cool feeling of the metal detail on her fingers. “That little family.”

She finishes arranging what she needs. Bradley and Jake’s choices for kippahs lay spread out for them to pick, and soon all she has to do is wait.

The door to the bedroom opens. The two men emerge, and she smirks at the button-down shirts, actual pants. It’s kind of them. But she can’t help the way she notices Jake’s eyes linger on Bradley’s ass as they move closer to the table.

“You boys get distracted back there?” she asks, and Jake grins while Bradley rolls his eyes.

“No,” Jake says. Like a liar.

“Uh-huh,” she snorts. “C’mon, pick a yarmulke. You’ll have time for wandering hands later.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Don’t make me hurt you before I light the candles.”

Bradley and Jake stand to Nat’s right once their kippahs are donned, their eyes on the shamash candle as she strikes a match and lights it. Five candles await their turn, and as she lifts the candle in her right hand, she holds her left hand around the flame. Protecting it. Preserving it. Jake turns off the living room lights, returns to stand next to her.

When they first started, her Hebrew had been halting, stammered out. Nerves and years out of practice hadn’t helped. But now, she finds her rhythm, and the words come with a warmth better than any flame.

The first year she’d given them the translation. Told them the story of the miracle and how the Jewish people were preserved through times of struggle and hardship. This year, she hears their steady breath beside her, and as she starts the last piece of the blessing, their voices join hers for the final refrain. She lights the rest of the candles — one, two, three, four, five, left to right — and they shine brilliantly, her eyes blurring, the shamash candle returning to its spot in the center.

They linger for a few minutes. The three of them, shoulder to shoulder. Bradley’s arms wrap around her waist, around Jake, and she starts humming again, leaning her head against Bradley’s shoulder.

It’s peaceful, with the three of them, but as always, it must end. She lets out a gentle sigh and then she turns to the both of them, grins from ear to ear. “Ready for dreidel?

“Of course,” Jake says, rubbing his hands together with delight. “But. Gifts first, this year.”

Bradley suddenly stands up straight, his eyes alight as he moves from Natasha’s side. Her brow furrows, looking between the both of them.

“Gifts.”

Bradley vanishes into the bedroom, returns with a gently cradled box. He offers it to her, but she doesn’t take it, eyeing them both with suspicion.

“Gifts,” Jake insists. “And yours is first.”

Bradley chuckles. “Maybe only. But definitely first. Open it, baby.”

The box stays proffered, and Nat finds no reason to reject it, eyes flicking between the both of them as she takes the package. It’s… denser than expected as it rests in her arms.

“Okay. Okay.” She sits on the couch, sets the package down on her lap. Suddenly her palms feel sweaty as she wishes she had x-ray vision to see what was inside. Something heavy, dense, from Bradley and Jake. It feels monumental, and she hasn’t even started tearing it open. “I thought we agreed –”

Bradley lifts his hand. “Nat. Stop stalling. Open it.”

She still hesitates. Swallows down her nerves, as best she can. She’s caught off balance, and she hates how her guard goes up, her body tenses as her fingers begin pulling off the wrapping paper.

The box is unmarked, making her groan in frustration. She pulls at the tape, the cardboard gives, and then –

“Oh, boys,” she whispers, and the silver of the menorah is slowly revealed as she pulls away the wrapping paper. Her mouth goes dry as she lifts the heavy piece. “A menorah. A new menorah.”

It’s a jet. A fighter jet, their F-18, mid-flight. The shamash candle sits elevated, in the jet’s cockpit, while the trail of smoke and steam left behind branches into the eight candles for eight nights, perfectly level. The intricacies of the detail, the shine of the silver. Natasha’s hands move over the piece, gapes at it and turns it over and over, unable to believe that she’s actually holding it in her hands. That it’s hers.

“Where did you… how did you even find something like this?” she asks them, finally looking up at her boyfriends with tears in her eyes.

Jake smiles, moves to sit on one side of her. Bradley sits on the other side, reaching for her hand. “We scouted out some places here,” Rooster tells her. “A lot of phone calls, a lot of searching. We arranged so one of us could pick it up when we arrived this year, get it ready so you wouldn’t see it.”

“We can be sneaky when we want to be,” Jake informs her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Especially when it means we get to surprise you with something you deserve.”

She can’t stop touching it. “What is this even for?” she asks, wiping at her eyes after a minute. “We have a menorah for the holiday, we just lit it.”

Bradley squeezes her shoulder. “We know. But you always say how it’s your family’s, or say it’s on loan. This one is yours. For the years you’re on your own, or whenever else you need it for. And because… well. It’s a little piece of us, too. From us, to you.”

She can’t hold the tears back anymore, and she feels Bradley’s lips against her cheek as he pulls her in and close, holds her tight. Jake’s touch is on her cheek, wiping away the tracks on her skin.

“We’ll… we’ll use them both for the rest of the nights,” she whispers, doing her best to sniffle through the thickness in her throat. “Take it for a test flight.”

“Good thing we’re great pilots,” Jake murmurs. “Got a good feeling about this particular F-18.”

The music slowly fades, the outro’s tinkling bells signaling a Merry Christmas to all and a good night at that. But then the playlist starts from the beginning, and Nat’s fingers pinch the bridge of her nose.

It’s been a few hours since they woke up on the 24th of December, their first full day together. It had been too early to do anything but sit and wait for the world around them to wake up. But if there’s anything the three of them know, it’s how to be awake at the crack of dawn. Once the hour became somewhat tolerable, Bradley had braved the outdoors on a holiday to do some last minute shopping. Jake offered to cook breakfast, but any work he’s putting into pancakes is being drowned out by raucous singing.

Singing. Barely after dawn. She doesn’t understand his energy, nor the innate desire to blast the house with music at this time of day.

“Jake,” she calls out from the dining room table, “can we listen to anything else? Just for a bit?”

“What else is there to listen to? It’s Christmas!” Jake answers back with a laugh. He shoots her a wink, and when he turns from her he unfortunately misses the middle finger she presses against her temple.

Christmas, don’t you remember? she thinks bitterly to herself. Don’t you get it, silly Natasha?.

Nothing else matters. And Jake’s still singing.

She sighs, defeated. Stands from the table and moves through the house toward the bedroom.

“Nat!” Jake shouts after her. “I’m about to start the pancakes!”

“I’m going to lay down!” she tells him, and then she’s gone. The music only gets slightly quieter the deeper she goes, until she’s face down in the bed with a pillow over her head. It’s a miracle she doesn’t slam the door on her way, the one act of patience she has left.

She lays there for a while, something brewing under the surface of her skin. It simmers and threatens, but the lid stays on, the muffled sound from the pillow the only thing between her and a headline for a homicide.

The front door opens. She can discern the rustle of grocery bags, Bradley’s cheerful greeting to Jake as he comes in. She buries herself deeper into her sanctuary as their chatter goes back and forth, and then heavy steps make their way towards the room. The door opens with a creak. The music gets loud again, almost unbearable.

“Nat?” he asks.

“Go away,” she mumbles, almost sure he can’t hear her. It’s only a joke in the sense that she knows he won’t listen.

The door to the bedroom closes again, and his steps come closer, closer, closer. Bradley’s hand rests on her back, slowly begins to rub over the shirt she slept in.

She flinches away. Anything on top of the music feels like overstimulation, and the recoil is automatic. She feels him rear back, too, and when she manages to peek out from under the pillow she sees the hurt on his features. The guilt collides with her frustration, and it feels like something tight in her chest, the dam about to break. This vacation is big, and all she’s managed to do is get mad at Jake and lash out at Bradley. Great fucking start.

“Hey, Nat,” he says again, voice gentle. “Jake said you came back here.”

“It’s nothing, Bradley,” she says, pulling the pillow back over her head to hide the strain in her voice. “Just tired.”

He nods, and she’s grateful he takes the words at face value. Frankly, It isn’t a lie. She’s exhausted. Her flight had been the latest one in, landing her after sunset, and when the boys had picked her up she hadn’t missed their cheerful greetings. Merry Christmas from the both of them, which had immediately taken the wind out of her sails. The Christmas songs on the drive over, the Christmas decor on every corner. By the time the three of them had collapsed into bed, she’d been Christmas’d out for a month and a half, and their vacation had barely started.

Perhaps it’d been silly, or maybe even stupid, to think they’d be different. The thought comes, and she can’t stop it, nor the way tears spring to her eyes. She buries her head in the pillow to hide them from Rooster.

He doesn’t leave. He stays close, sitting on the bed. Slowly, he brings his hand back, and when the rubbing starts again, she doesn’t pull back. The pressure pulls the tension from her, and when she peeks up at him again, he doesn’t speak. Just gently rubs her shoulder until she nods and sighs, settling into the comforter.

Something seems to click. His brow furrows, and he lifts from the bed with one last squeeze of her arm. She mourns losing his comfort, and then the door opens and closes again.

Jake calls out to Bradley. She doesn’t hear a response. And then, a few minutes later, the music softens. Lower, lower, lower. And then it stops.

Slowly the simmering in her blood dulls. Her heart rate drops. She lifts her head, and nothing accosts her. There are more footsteps.

“Jake and I are going out to get the tree, Nat!” Bradley calls out, loud enough for her to hear. “We’ll be back in an hour!”

And then the front door closes.

Nat is alone. Blissfully, painfully alone.

The frustration that’d built up transforms into exhaustion, and she slowly drags herself back up to sitting on the side of the bed, eyes blurry, body weak. Without the music constantly in her ear, she slowly starts to feel like a human again. A shower revives her the rest of the way, but even taking her time, the boys still don’t come back for another half an hour.

Good, she thinks bitterly. It gives her time to catch her breath. And as the time stretches for an hour, then two, then three, she feels the anxiety kick in.

They’ll come back. They wouldn’t leave her there alone. But then Jake’s music will be blasting again, and they’ll yell Merry Christmas without any thought of the other holiday they’d said they’d celebrate. They’ll hoist the tree and they’ll complain about the candles in the window, and at the end of it all, Nat’ll be thrown to the wayside for the season.

Forget that there’s three nights of Hanukkah left. Once the 25th comes and goes…

The bitterness comes back like bile, and she quickly shoves it down. Closes her eyes, mentally prepares. To apologize, to the both of them, for starting off the day, hell, the week on a shitty note. For ruining the Christmas spirit. She waits, and she waits, and she waits, the guilt trip she’s about to ride without saying a word. Because that’s what they do.

But when the boys come back, the blast of cold air chilling the living room instantly, there’s no music that comes in with it. No Merry Christmas. Just smiles as they trudge in, tennis shoes soaked, and a small little tree in Jake’s arms, small enough that he carries it with little effort.

Nat’s eyes narrow a little bit at them. Tilts her head as she looks at them both, then the trail of dirty snow water that they both bring in.

“Hey, Nat,” Bradley says with a grin, shaking his head and flinging melted snow. Natasha steps back with a shout, lifting her hands to block the spray. “Sorry,” he laughs, “we got sidetracked. Jake decided we should pick up breakfast instead of cooking.”

“You both really need to invest in boots,” she informs them, hiding the confusion with a wrinkle of her nose. “Your toes are gonna fall off if you keep walking around in those.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think there’d be this much walking,” Jake grumbles, but it’s with a good-natured elbow to Bradley’s side. “Can I put this down, now?”

The tree is deposited in the entryway, and their shoes are removed at Nat’s insistence. There’s still no Christmas greeting. Both the boys move to kiss her, Bradley in front of Jake.

Well, Bradley does. Kisses her, sweetly, firmly, and she makes herself linger in it, the first part of her apology, even when she squeaks at the feel of his cold fingers at her side. They both laugh, and when she pulls back to smack his arm, he nods to the kitchen.

“I’m gonna put away what mess Jake started,” he tells her, handing off something to Jake. Leaving her with the would-be murder victim.

He steps forward, just like Bradley does. Nat braces herself for the gut punch, opens her mouth to start something long-winded and rambling that will only kind of sound like sorry for being a bitch. But before she can speak, there’s a bag offered to her, heavy with the weight of its contents.

“Happy holidays, Nat,” Jake says, voice a little low as he dips his head. And then she’s handed the bag.

She peeks inside, and when she does her heart lands in her throat. The goodies inside are stacked with care, the bottom layer two small, still warm babka, the upper portion fruit hamantaschen.

It’s hard to catalog the wave of emotions that rushes through her. After the morning from hell, it soothes her like a salve, a new warmth in her chest as she looks at their new breakfast.

“Well, happy brunch, more like,” Jake continues, scratching the back of his neck. “We missed the breakfast window because Bradley doesn’t know how to find an address.”

He apologizes, later. When he’s almost out of gelt in their trial run of their first dreidel game, some chocolate is still on his lips because he eats them when he wins them. When Bradley stands to go get their delivered food, no one having the energy to cook much with the emotions of it all. Being here together, preparing to spend a Hanukkah night and Christmas eve with each other. The three of them knowing how tightly they’ve become intertwined, spending these moments leaning on each other.

“I’m sorry. I know I was an idiot this morning,” he murmurs to her, leaning close. “And I’m sorry it took Bradley saying something for me to do something, but. I’ll be better. Like I said I would be. I promise.” He reaches for her hand, holds it tightly, no room for any doubt in his words.

She looks at him in the light of the early evening, the hearth burning bright, Bradley’s chatter with the delivery driver a murmur in the background. Her hand squeezes his back, an acceptance and acknowledgement of an apology long coming, before reaching with her free hand to swipe away one of the gold-wrapped coins in front of him.

“C’mere, dumbass,” she responds with a grin, and leans forward, thumb lifting to wipe off the chocolate before following it with a kiss. “Don't think I’ve forgotten how much you owe me after today’s game. One kiss is not going to cover it.”

“How many kisses?”

“A few.”

And that night, when she takes them through the candles, the order, the story, the words, she doesn’t miss the way their eyes never stray from her or the menorah she lights. For herself, and now, for them all.

Jake’s the first one in the shower when they finish their meal, the dreidel games he lost taking the energy out of him. His eyelids already look heavy, and he’s ushered off despite his protests that really, he can stay awake.

“Go rinse off, Seresin,” Bradley tells him with a little smirk. “Though the Navy must really be slacking if a few poorly played games of dreidel takes it out of you.”

“Shut up, Bradshaw,” Jake shoots back. “I’m pretty sure I heard your heart popping out of your damn chest when Nat started pulling ahead.”

Nat just shakes her head, pulling the winnings toward her and putting away the play pieces. “The both of you are idiots. Go shower, Jake. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Which just makes Jake’s lips twitch. “In the shower? I mean, I don’t know how well it’ll fit all three of us, but I’m sure as hell willing –”

“Go.”

Jake’s laugh echoes as he moves down the hall, waving at them with his fingers. They both hear the shower start a few moments later, and Nat knows exactly how hot that water is running as Jake steps into it.

Bradley sinks into the couch with a long and low groan, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Nat doesn’t hesitate to join him, moving to sit next to him and stretch her legs out on the cushions, reclining so that her head is in his lap. Immediately his fingers settle in her hair, and she lets him tangle his fingers in it, pulling through the locks until it’s fanned out around her head as she looks up at him.

“So what’d you get him?” she asks, keeping her voice low. There’s no way that Jake can hear them through the walls and doors, but there’s always that chance.

“Trying to make sure you one-up me?” Bradley chuckles. His fingers start scratching at her scalp. “A couple more belt buckles from when I was in North Carolina for the next few nights. A travel set of darts and a new hat for tomorrow. So he can keep his game up, and remind us how good he looks in cowboy hats.”

Nat nods, smiling. She has a feeling those darts will be opened as soon as all the presents are passed out.

“What about you?” he asks her. “We said nothing too big.”

“I found some thick handmade pullovers on my last outing with the squadron, for the next few evenings. Alpaca, or something. They’ll keep him warm, but I’m sure he’ll still find ways to complain about how cold he is,” she says, almost a hum as Bradley relaxes her one stroke of her hair at a time. The two of them linger in this moment alone, just the two of them. The clock above the mantle strikes ten. Slowly but surely, Natasha’s eyes close as Bradley begins to hum, sinking under the rising tide of his gentle touch.

“We better get to bed, if we’re gonna fall asleep before Christmas,” he tells her. His voice sounds a little far away, and she floats back to the surface after a moment or two of lingering.

“Mmmm, you’re making it hard to believe moving is a good idea.”

“What if I said there was a pair of new pajamas at the end of it?”

One of her eyes peek open, looking up at a face full of mirth. She smiles, too. Never can help it around him. “... now you have my attention.”

Together they stand, chuckling as Bradley groans again and limps forward a few steps. “Leg fell asleep,” he tells her, which just makes her chuckle and reach for his waist, walking slower to savor the moments like this, gentle and unhurried as they move into the bedroom.

Jake’s flicking through his phone with a furrowed brow, reclining on the bed in a towel around his waist, when they walk in. He doesn’t look up at first, too engrossed in whatever he’s reading, but when he does his smile is immediate as he sees the two of them walk in. “I promise I didn’t use all the hot water,” he tells them. “Just most of it.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Natasha sighs out.

“There’s a lot of reasons I’m lucky,” Jake retorts, “but these good looks are simply a Jake Seresin original.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bradley snorts. “Humility is definitely your strong suit.”

“You’re lucky it’s age before beauty, birdie.”

It feels for a moment like Nat is transported. To bickering at the Hard Deck, a few drinks between the three of them. She blinks and she’s back in California, hot sun at her back, dogfight football on the beach, frantic kisses behind closed doors and lingering touches behind locked ones.

She blinks again, and she’s with two people she loves, their smiles nothing she would’ve gotten to see a few years ago. Fond, proud, adoring, as Bradley steps forward to tousle Jake’s hair, still damp and dripping. “Come get your pajamas before I decide you don’t deserve them for that smart mouth,” Bradley tells him, and Jake’s grin feels the good kind of earned after a long night.

“You both love my smart mouth.”

“Plead the fifth,” Natasha says, squeezing Jake’s shoulder as she passes him to walk toward Bradley’s bag. “Go get Bradley’s from the closet.”

Bradley squats, unzipping his things. There’s more than a few wrapped gifts inside, making Jake and Nat look at each other with bright smiles. When Jake comes back with a bagged gift (after prompting from Nat to “get off the damn phone, you can text your mom in a minute”), Bradley rummages around for a moment before pulling out two specific gifts, standing again before handing each of them a gift. Jake hands over the one he has, and the three of them hold their own packages with a sense of eagerness usually saved for Christmas morning.

“Okay, I can’t wait.” Jake’s fingers pull at the wrapping paper, and when he does, the flannel reveals itself. Gaudy, ugly, red and green and Santa Claus heads all over. He grins when he sees it, laughing at the mix and match of colors. “Oh, hell yeah. These are horrific.”

Bradley chuckles. “Saw them and thought of you.”

“... should I be –”

“Bradley,” Natasha laughs, shaking her head at the set she receives. The flannel pajama pants are blue and white, and the snowflakes all over pair well with the polar bear socks and shirt that go with it. The polar bear is… not a cute one. Too big eyes, disproportionate ears. But they’re thick and plush, and as she runs her fingers over them over and over and over again. “These are… pretty hard to look at.”

“Gonna be tough to beat next year, I know,” he says, laughing as he starts to pull open his set. “But I have faith these companies can do worse. And the ugly ones are softer, anyway.” And then he sees the Bigfoot on the front of his, the Santa hat on it doing nothing to distract from the creature on the chest.

“For our… favorite Sasquatch,” Nat says innocently, reaching to push a hand through Bradley’s curls.

“To match the creature on your upper lip,” Jake snarks.

Bradley just raises a brow, fighting a laugh as he looks at the shirt for a long, long moment. “I happen to know you both like this mustache a lot.”

Jake and Nat look at each other again, battling grins of their own. “Plead the fifth,” Jake finally says, and Bradley breaks, cackling before reaching to unbutton the shirt he has on.

In the end, they’re all perfect pajamas, and they all change into their first true Christmas gifts of the week, sharing laughter as they look at each other in pajamas only meant for this time of year. They’ll never wear these on deployments, or on nights away from each other. These are meant for tonight, for Christmas Eve, and most of all, for Bradley.

Nat doesn’t miss the way Bradley’s eyes linger. Taking in each and every detail of the clothing he picked out on the two of them. On the way Jake’s delight in their comfort seems to loosen his shoulders. On the way he gently moves his fingers over the Bigfoot on his chest, like its very presence means something.

She knows what he’s thinking about. About Christmases long past, of a mother who never failed to send a package to one pilot, two pilots, then one again. A new pair of flannel pants, even on Christmases apart. Nights eagerly waiting for the matching set he’d wear to bed, waiting for Santa to come down the chimney in pajamas his mom got him to celebrate.

This is for the Bradshaws, she thinks, running her fingers up the long sleeves. This is his tradition after all. One he insists on bringing with him, dragging his mother through time to watch their smiles as they trade PJ sets.

Bradley’s voice is bright. “I think you’ve caught your second wind.” They both watch Jake strut around the bed with his new pants hanging dangerously low. It doesn’t faze him, the feeling of eyes. Bradley’s fingers reach out for his waistband to cinch the drawstring so it doesn’t come off of him completely. “You gonna be able to sleep for Santa?”

“I’ve got an ass that ain’t quitting anytime soon,” the blond tells them, before moving to grab Nat’s hands. She can’t hear the music he’s dancing to, but her feet follow his. “Santa can wait. C’mon, Trace.”

“Please don’t –”

“Dance with me!”

Their laughter fills the house, fights away the melancholy, throws fists at the memories that threaten to overtake any one of them. Their sleep will be dreamless, and for once their minds are empty of anything a future deployment has in store. For now, there is only them, and the pajamas, and the music in Jake’s ears that Nat and Bradley, for a few moments at least, hear right along with him.

But even with that second wind, Jake is the first to fall asleep. All at once, as the three of them arrange on the king-sized bed, his body goes still, side-lying and heavy-breathing. Facing the bedroom door and letting Nat’s fingers move over his hips, trace gentle patterns across his back. Doesn’t even twitch with it, carried off to dreamland with little more than a “by your leave”.

Nat doesn’t even notice drifting off herself. One moment, her eyes are on the photos over Jake’s shoulder, with Bradley’s steady breathing ruffling her hair. The next, she wakes to a cold back, her face pressed into the same pillow Jake sleeps on, her arm draped across his flank.

Bradley, she thinks.

Her brain muddled by the middle-of-the-night disturbance. All she knows is that he’s gone, and that’s enough for action. She doesn’t hesitate, extracting herself from Jake’s grip with practiced ease, tucking the blankets around him so he doesn’t wake up. She can’t help the shiver, but moves quickly, around a corner, and then the other with narrowed eyes.

And then she sees him.

She’d forgotten that it was Christmas. She’d forgotten the other tradition.

Bradley’s silent as he moves back and forth, from the table to the hearth, the room lit only by the shine of his phone’s flashlight. His hands expertly hang the three giant stockings, and she can see the furrow of his brow as he looks at the mantle for a moment before switching two of the placings.

These are his candles, she thinks, watching from behind the corner as Bradley’s hands slowly, meticulously loads each stocking, weighing them in his hand before daring to put another thing of candy, or little gift, or knickknack. Each gift is carefully examined, and then he looks to the heart to stuff every piece of his heart he can into the stockings that hang up, his own hanging in the middle. This is his sunset.

She doesn’t dare disturb his process, but at some point he sees her standing in the hallway. Must, judging by the way he freezes, eyes wide as he stares and then squints at her form in the dark.

“Nat? Is Jake… are you –”

“It’s okay,” she assures him, waving off the concern in his voice with a lazy hand. “We’re fine. I just… forgot what day it was when I woke up. Forgot you’d be out here.”

It eases some of the tension in his shoulders, but not all. He still comes over to her, and her eyes adjust to his features in the semi-darkness. His hand on her cheek is warm, and she doesn’t hesitate to lean into the touch.

“You weren’t cold, were you?” he asks, and the guilt in his voice is clear. But she silences his words and his thoughts with a kiss, hands on his chest, right over Sasquatch’s Santa hat.

“A little, but it’s okay,” she promises when she pulls away, smiling before kissing his cheek for good measure. “Thanks to a good guy, I have on a really good pair of pajamas.”

Once they’ve all eaten their fill, it’s a slow transition to the living room. Their satisfied stomachs weigh them down, and Bradley’s wandering arms around both Nat and Jake as they move to the couch doesn’t make for an efficient transition.

But it’s not about efficiency. It’s about the way they’re able to fall into each other, the townhouse holding all three of them with almost no effort at all. The couch has plenty of space, the blankets for the guests piled high, and Bradley and Jake smile at the little tree the two of them hammered into the stand after plenty of discussion about which way centered it.

Behind the tree, the Hanukkah candles lightly smolder, blown out with care and shielded from splattering by Nat’s practiced hand, but the wicks still hold the hint of embers, which manage to look like the first lights on the tree.

Together, the three of them begin to piece together something resembling a Christmas tree. The meager selection of decorations doesn’t deter them, because no matter the amount they put on, there’s always something to bicker about. Where an ornament goes, if the garland should go on before or after the lights. The whole thing has been rearranged three different ways, but by the end of a good hour there’s something all three of them are satisfied with.

Nat leans against the coffee table, sitting with her eyes focused on untangling one last cheap string of lights the boys had smuggled in their checked bags. The gentle sound of the Beach Boys lilts through the living room, volume low.

“Fuck, this thing is barely bigger than Charlie Brown’s,” Bradley laughs, lifting his arm so that it’s level against the top. Nat looks up from her work to watch them assess the progress.

“Well, wasn’t like we had much more than slim pickings,” Jake reminds him, arms wrapping around his waist as the two of them look at the tree. “But it’ll do. Size doesn’t matter anyway.”

Bradley smirks. Nat snorts. “I’ll remind you that you’re the one who wanted a real tree,” he says to Jake, raising a brow.

“And you agreed!”

“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a real tree, but it could definitely be bigger if we went fake.”

“It’s too late to argue about it now. Next year we’ll –”

Jake stops himself before he can go further. His teeth click with how fast he shuts his mouth. It makes Bradley pull away, makes Nat look up from her detangling job. He’s backpedaling quick, shrugging the words away. “I mean, let’s not assume anything, of course –”

“You want to do this again?” Bradley asks, and Nat can tell the words just fall out. “It’s barely been a full day.”

“A tumultuous one at that,” Nat murmurs. “You might be sick of us in a week, Seresin.”

Jake’s cheeks are clearly red, even more obvious now that he’s alone against the Christmas lights. Nat and Bradley’s lock eyes for a moment, and then Nat is standing up, brushing pine needles off of her legs before crossing her arms over her chest.

“I mean,” Jake says, scratching the back of his head and looking down at his toes. “I know it hasn’t been perfect. A lot of that because of me, but. I don’t know. I think it’ll go up from here. I really do.” He looks up from his feet to glance between the both of them, and with no one to hold anymore his hands shove into the pockets of his pajama pants. “Besides, I don’t get sick of y’all. You drive me up the wall sometimes, and I know I say stupid shit, but… I miss you both when you’re gone. And I always want you close by when you can be. Always.”

It’s earnest, something that still manages to shock Nat about Jake. To Bradley, being sincere comes naturally, every thought that passes through his mind tattooed on his forehead some days. But Jake’s walls stay up until suddenly they all come down with a crash, not a whimper.

The words, however spontaneous, make Nat smile. She reaches to cup Jake’s cheek, turning his face toward her so he can see how pleased she looks.

“You’re being sweet, Seresin,” she says, before pushing in for a kiss. “But we’ll talk about next year later. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says, the kiss lifting his spirits, making him follow her for a moment when she pulls back before Bradley’s tugging on the drawstring of his pants to bring him back to attention.

“Hey, hey. There’s still one more thing, anyway. We need the topper.” Bradley moves to the ornament box, pulling out a large, simple star and handing it over to Jake.

Jake offers the piece to her, gesturing to the tree and giving a little bow at his waist. “Natasha Trace, do you want to do the honors?”

Natasha very much doubts the tree will be able to hold the weight of the clunky thing, but she takes the piece in her hands with a smile. Giving a little bow back to Jake with a chuckle before moving and setting the thing on the tallest peak, a snug fit as she pulls it down. Triumphant, she steps away.

“What do we think?” she asks, lifting a hand to gesture to the top.

“Excellent work,” Jake laughs, pulling her back to stand between the both of them.

“You’re a natural,” Bradley says proudly, knocking his hip lightly against her.

And then the image before them shifts. All at once, Natasha’s squinting her eyes, Bradley’s gaping a little, and Jake’s mouth forms a tight line.

Nat is perhaps the only one brave enough to say it. “Boys,” she says, hands on her hips. “I think the tree’s tilted.”

Immediately there’s protest, denial, but the evidence is plain. The topper is shifted so that it leans, and soon all three of them have their heads tilted to figure out to what degree the trunk is off its axis.

“How many times did we fucking measure the damn thing?” Bradley groans, eyes squeezed shut, the heel of his hand pressing into his forehead to fight the anger.

Jake walks a full circle around the thing, squinting and leaning back. “I think I can fix it,” he says, reaching for the whole thing, “if I just lift here and you get the hammer, Bradshaw –”

“You’re gonna knock the damn thing over! Just leave it. Just leave it, I can’t even look at it.”

But while Jake and Bradley mourn the failure of their hard work, Nat can’t help but think about the way the lights shine in the window. The final ember of a candle’s wick giving up its last breath with a puff of smoke. The remainder of babka crumbs on the floor, Reese’s Christmas tree wrappers in a pile on the kitchen countertop. Wrapping paper and single-use matches and the bed they all shared, and how badly she wanted to sink into their arms and never let them go.

“I like it.”

Her words cut through the bickering. The both of them stop and turn to look at her, and she meets their gaze with a smile.

“So what if it’s not perfect,” Nat tells them, smiling up at the crooked plane that slowly flies circles around the star. “Neither are we. No one is. And it’s never been about being perfect. Just about being with the people you want to come home to.” She pauses, for a moment. Works up to it. “I miss you both when you’re gone, too.”

Jake smiles at her, brilliant and fierce and she feels his hand slip into hers as he steps closer.

“Being with the people you love, Nat,” Bradley says, moving so he can be close enough to kiss the top of her head. “Love a lot.”

“Yeah,” Nat breathes, and lets her head rest on his chest, pulls Jake closer until he’s wrapped around the other side of her in a tight embrace. “Love a lot.”

Christmas morning.

It comes with the dawn, and as always, she finds herself blinking as the first light shines through the window. It feels like sleeping in, being able to see the sun rise from the comfort of their bed, Jake’s mouth pressed firmly into her shoulder and Bradley’s arms wrapped tight around her from behind. No matter how late she goes to bed, it’s always dawn, always bright and early, and Christmas is no different.

But she doesn’t move. That’s the important part of today, in this place with these people. There’s no rush to dress in a uniform that will earn her a salute, no worry about where the ship will dock next. There is only Bradley and Jake and her, and she watches as the sun slowly rises in the sky as the two of them snore and snuffle against pillows.

Her hands wander, as they are prone to do when she has the morning to herself. In hair that is getting too long, on slack jaws and rosy cheeks, against mouths to feel the soft puff of breath. Nothing to startle them awake, only gentle touches that she knows won’t disturb them. She memorizes their touch, the way their faces look in the gentle glow off of snow-covered roofs, and when Bradley finally starts to groan behind her she’s satisfied with her finds, the pieces of them she’ll carry with her away from this place and into the world again.

“Mmmmugh,” Bradley tries, low and gruff. Natasha can’t help the way she chuckles at the attempt at English.

“One more time,” she tells him in a whisper, lifting his hand from her waist to kiss the roughened knuckles. Jake’s still snoring against her front, hair splayed out on the pillow as his brow furrows in his sleep.

“Chris’mas,” he manages, voice hoarse from sleep, and she laughs again as his lips press warm against her neck, then her shoulder, then her back. “S’Christmas.”

She shivers at the kisses, eyes closing as her fingers tangle in his and tug to keep his body close. “There a merry in there somewhere?” she asks, but her answer doesn’t come. Bradley’s focus is on the way she moves back against his mouth, the way he wraps his body more tightly around her, pulls her closer, tugging Jake forward, too.

Jake stirs at the movement, eyes blinking open slow and lazy before looking at her with a pinched brow. She smiles, her free hand curling under his jaw. “Mornin’,” he mumbles. “S’Christmas.”

“Good job,” she laughs, as he reaches for the hand Bradley’s holding. Lets his fingers wrap around theirs. Bradley hums at the touch, mouth still on her skin. “Two for two.”

They linger in bed for as long as they need. There’s something warm in it, brighter than the candles or the Christmas lights. As they explore each other’s skin, map out new constellations among old scars and fresh freckles and new tan lines, Nat revels in the way she feels worshiped. Something gentle in Jake’s touch, something passionate in Bradley’s, each of them pulling out of her a gift she gives just to them. This piece of herself, one only they get to see.

It’s a couple of hours later when they manage to pull themselves out of bed, when the windows have fogged plenty and their touch once more becomes lazy. Natasha is the first to pull them to the shower, and Jake and Bradley follow, kisses now a simple good morning and Merry Christmas and love from every side until they are clean and once again dressed for warmth and presents under the tree.

Their tree. It’s a little crooked on the stand, but the ornaments shine in the now late morning sun. Jake grins as he relights it, whistles a little as the strands blink and twinkle out at him.

“Not bad.” From Jake, it’s the highest praise for a tree he can give, and Natasha shakes her head with a smirk as he pulls her against his side. “But next year, we’ll make some improvements.”

“You’re a snob,” Bradley snorts from behind him, claiming the end of the couch so his coffee can rest precariously on the arm. “It looks great.”

“It’s more than looking good or even great. I want to make the neighborhood jealous. That's too much to ask, Bradshaw?”

Natasha gives an exaggerated sigh, squeezing Jake’s hip as she does. “Just one year without the bickering before the presents, boys. I always hear about the Christmas spirit and yet it’s never here.”

“Presents,” Jake says, like he’s just remembered. There’s a hesitance to his tone, unlike his usual gumption. But it’s like he shakes himself out of it, voice booming beside her as he ushers her to her spot on the floor in front of Bradley’s legs. “Right, right, okay. Sit down, sit down. I’ll pass them out. One for Bradley, one for Nat, ooh, from Payback and Fanboy, from Mav, okay, okay –”

It’s a good year for gifts, luck of the draw making it so gifts from others in Dagger actually managed to make it in front of the tree. Some years deployments just didn’t allow it, but for some reason all the stars aligned.

Bradley slides one of his new pairs of sunglasses from Jake with a delighted grin, sends a photo to Maverick who tells him he looks just like his dad. The new tool set from Nat gets expertly taken apart and put back together with delight, examining each piece in perfect detail. Nat’s locket from Jake holds a photo of the three of them she winds around her neck instantly, and Bradley’s cookbook offering from the baking show she’d binged makes her let out a delighted laugh and squeeze it close to her chest. There’s stuff lined up from Mav and Penny, Coyote and Bob, Fanboy and Payback, cards and stocking stuffers that wish them all a very happy holidays.

But all while presents get torn open, Nat finds her eyes straying to Jake. Usually a ball of energy once the paper starts ripping, his eyes don’t seem to stray far from a little bag beneath the tree, addressed to her and Bradley in his handwriting. And once all the other gifts are revealed and set aside, his fingers pull the bag to himself, swallowing tight as it sits in his lap.

Bradley’s still trying to decide if he should wear the Dodgers hat Halo got him when he notices, too. Jake’s gone too quiet, too still, and Bradley glances toward Nat as the silence stretches long, the gentle chimes of Christmas music from the television the only noise.

There’s a silent conversation between her and Bradley. Narrowed eyes and tiny shrugs. When it’s over, it’s Natasha who scoots a little closer to Jake, fingers trailing on the hardwood floor as she moves.

“Jake,” Nat says, raising a brow as the blond’s gaze shoots up, startled out of his thoughts by her voice. “Hey, it’s okay. Is something wrong?”

“Oh! No, no,” he says immediately, but then his voice seems to fail as he looks down at the little bag. When he swallows again, her hand moves out to him, squeezing his knee. “Nothing’s… nothing’s wrong, no.”

“Okay,” Bradley says, and his voice is low as he lowers himself to the floor, too. Lets himself be at the same level as Jake, so when he rests a hand on his back he doesn’t startle him again. “So, what’s in that big ol’ head of yours? You're a little too quiet for Christmas, Seresin. Have been this whole week.”

It takes a moment more for Jake to really look at the both of them, meet their gazes instead of avoiding them. But when he does, there’s nothing dark in his eyes, nothing haunted or fretful. Just… nervous.

Jake’s really, really nervous.

“Nothing is wrong,” he repeats, fingers running over the tissue paper in the bag. “It’s just a gift I wasn’t planning on this year.”

Natasha gives him a smile as she squeezes his knee. Slowly, the nerves seem to melt away, especially as her and Bradley edge closer and closer, surrounding him. “Last minute shopping? How unlike you,” she teases, making Jake huff.

“Not exactly something I could window shop for. This is different, sweetheart. Big.”

“Big,” Bradley repeats, his own brow furrowing now as he looks at the little bag. “Right. Grower, not a shower?”

There’s a beat. Jake looks at Bradley with a surprised chuckle, and the other man grins back, hand reaching to brush along his cheek. “I - y’know what, I guess so, Bradshaw.”

“I should’ve asked for grown ups for Christmas,” Natasha sighs dramatically, and finally the spell this thing seems to have on him cracks. The tension lifts from smothering them. The bag is lifted and set on the ground, and his fingers nudge it toward them ever so slightly.. “You’re sure you’re okay, Jake?”

“I’m fine, darlin’,” he promises. And then he shoves the bag towards them, jaw working as he scoots back from them. “Just - open it, before I change my mind.”

Bradley and Nat’s eyes meet once more, over the light blue and silver bag with reflective stars in the white wrapping paper. It’s barely big enough to hold a card, and it turns out that’s what sits inside. A card, in an envelope with hers and Bradley’s names - and a white piece of paper, folded into thirds.

“Read the card first,” Jake says immediately, as Bradley’s fingers move to unfold the paper. “It’s important.”

The two of them freeze at the insistence, and Nat shrugs as she uses her nail to open the envelope, noting the curled writing from a hand she doesn’t recognize. She clears her throat as she opens the big card, the nondescript white winter landscape giving nothing away, immaculate but cramped cursive penned within.

“To Bradley Bradshaw and Natasha Trace,” she says aloud. Jake’s body tenses again as she starts, and she looks at Bradley once more before continuing on. “I’m writing this to you with a heavy heart, one full of shame for my actions and words, or rather, lack thereof. There are reasons that I’ve kept my distance, reasons that in hindsight, on Christmas Day, fall short. Because there are no real reasons why I haven’t met the two people my son loves so dearly, and I know no explanation I could give would ever make up for the fact that I have not acted in the way a mother should.”

Natasha’s eyes widen as the words start connecting dots in her head. The sound of Jake’s voice behind the door while she calls solo, the tension in the kitchen, the focus on texts from his mother the night before… Even now, she sees those tears again, as Jake’s eyes stay focused on the floor. “Jake,” she says, “I don’t –”

“Keep going,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

So she does.

“I was a coward. I was scared. Scared of what other people would think. It was an overwhelming fear, a fear that made me forget and neglect my duty as Jake’s mother. And so for too long, we pushed him away, his father and I, because we couldn’t make ourselves understand how he could love someone like you, Bradley, or like you, Natasha. But I’m done being scared. Scared of other people, scared of his father, and I refuse to let any more days pass without remembering what it means to be Jake’s mama.”

The writing continues onto the back of the card. Nat’s eyes burn as she flips it over, and feels Bradley’s hand grip hers so tight she’s sure her knuckles are pale. Her voice cracks as she starts again, and tears drip onto the gilded edges.

“As a mother, you love your children. You can’t help it. From the moment they come into the world, kicking and screaming, a piece of you is now out in the world, and you watch as that piece grows up and becomes a person with a face and a name and so much love of their own to give. The two of you hold a piece of my heart in your hands. And I know the last thing I should do is ask for a gift from you both on Christmas, but I find myself begging for one thing – love him. Love him in all the ways you can, in all the ways he deserves, in all the ways he needs. And I hope that this gift from him to you gives you a place of your own to do that. Merry Christmas, from a mother who loves her son, but for too long was too scared to say it. And I hope one day, I can hug you, and have a new son and daughter to give the love of a mother to.”

Natasha finishes the words and blinks back what she can, a shuddering sigh leaving her as the words sit thick in the air around them.

“From… Jake’s mom?” Bradley whispers, barely breathing beside her as he scans the card that now sits loose in her fingertips.

Her throat closes as she reads the name and nods, over and over, a sharp suck of air through her teeth as she looks up at Jake. “From Helen Hunter. That’s how - that’s how she addressed it.”

When Jake speaks, his eyes don’t leave the ground, but she can see the tear tracks on his cheeks, the way he grips his own knees. “Her maiden name. Before she married my - my dad,” he explains, and then lifts red-rimmed eyes so he can nod toward the paper in Bradley’s fist, crumpled to hell from the force of his grip. “This is my big gift to you both, and I put the card in, because it’s because of her. So. There you go.”

“Aw, shit,” Bradley sighs, opening his fist. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t know –”

“It’s okay. Not the point,” Jake tells him, smiling small and nodding again. “Just open it.”

So Bradley does. Natasha’s hand still clings to him as he unfurls his fingers, shakes the paper until it falls open enough to read. And soon his voice fills the space like Natasha’s did, brow furrowing as he does his best to understand what he has in front of him.

“On this day, the 21st of December, being of sound body and mind, I, Helen Seresin, nee Hunter, do hereby bestow to my son, Jake Seresin, the deed to all land and property of Hunter Ranch, to do as he sees fit,” he says. And then he frowns and reads it again.

At first, Natasha doesn’t get it, either. The paper is a clear photocopy, dark lines on the edges where the scan didn’t read the original, but all the words in the center of the page are clear as day. She reads over the words again and again, over and over, eyes narrowed. “What’s Hunter Ranch?” she finally asks.

Jake’s fingers disappear into the bag again, dig around for a second before his closed fist emerges with something that jingles in his grip. “Jake,” Bradley pushes, “what’s going on?”

“Hunter Ranch is where I grew up,” Jake finally says, as he offers his fist out to them. Now, his voice sounds steady and even. There’s a peace to it that washes through them all, as his fist flips over to show his fingers. “I thought all this time it was under both my parents’ names, after they got married. And maybe it was, but. They’re getting a divorce, and she’s keeping the land and titles, and. She told me a couple of days ago she’s giving it to me.”

He opens his hand. Resting on his palm sit three identical keys, and on each of them a keychain with a name. Natasha’s eyes widen as she sees her name on one of the pieces, Bradley’s on another, and Jake’s on the third.

“Holy shit,” Bradley whispers, eyes going wide at the sight. They flit from the paper to the keys in Jake’s hand, before finally resting on Jake himself.

Natasha can only watch.

“I have to warn you, there’s not much snow in Texas,” he tells them, glancing toward the long stretch of white and gray of the sodden streets outside. “Not much of anything, really, where I’m from. But what is there is a house. A barn. Some stables. Good land, lots of sun. And it’s a place I want to make a home. A home with the both of you, if you’ll have me. If you’ll – if you’ll let me.”

He looks at Bradley, then. “There’s a shed on one part of the land. Right now all it’s got is a tractor and some old tack and blankets. But if we cleaned it out, made the inside all nice - I bet one of those old planes Mav has could sit real pretty inside. Ready to be fixed however she needs.”

And then he looks at Natasha. “And there’s a big front window, out there. Was thinking that for the holidays, we could put out that new menorah we got for you, and on the doorways the mezuzahs we’ve gotta buy to make sure the house is blessed like it should be, and there’s a kitchen that’s so big it’ll be perfect for Passover, or Sukkot, or whatever else you wanna use it for.”

The keys still sit in his hand. She’s sure they’re warm from his touch. Her fingers open and close at her side as she watches him, awestruck as he glances down at the carved metal with reverence.

“I don’t want to have to borrow someone’s living room, someone’s bedroom, someone’s house so that we can see each other anymore,” Jake finally admits as he offers the keys up to them both. “I want a place of our own, where we can make our home. I want to come home from deployments to a place that’s for the three of us, and want y’all to come home to me, too. Because I love you both so much it hurts, and I need you both in my life for the rest of it, however long it is.”

“The both of us,” Natasha whispers, a realization years in the making. What they have is real, more than real. It’s lifelong. And what he wants is them. Bradley’s hand squeezes hers as she says it out loud. “You want the both of us.”

“All of you,” Jake says, watery smile as he stares at her with every ounce of love he has. “Every last bit.”

“It’ll be different,” she tells Bradley, looking at him and watching his smile outshine the sun. “And new. Living together, I mean, whenever we’re all off duty –”

“We can handle different,” he promises. “And new is nothing to be afraid of.”

A home of their own. That’s what’s promised. A life and a place and a shared something for them all to cling to when they have nothing else to keep them holding on.

The home they have is borrowed. The time they have together ticks away. Their lives are in suitcases and their days feel numbered, but here, in Jake’s hand, he holds a chance at their forever.

She won’t pass it up.

Her fingers reach out. Curl around the key with her name on it.

“Nothing to be afraid of,” she agrees. “Not this. Not us.”

#sereshace #pilot trio #jewish natasha trace #natasha trace #phoenix #bradley bradshaw #rooster #jake seresin #hangman #top gun: maverick #qvo ships tgm #tgm #my fic #my writing

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