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heartsofminds · 26 days

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finally got my hands on this to sit down and read and oh my GOD!!!! i have a less than stellar vocabulary to even do my thoughts on this justice!!! loved it in every way and am so hopelessly yearning for bradley! our sweet boy deserves the world!!! more thoughts on this later when i do my annotated reblog!

rocketman: part ii - from the back of the cab

Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw finally returns stateside for just about the best damn homecoming he's ever had. it's been three months of countless emails and facetime calls between the two of you, but what awaits you both now that bradley's back? and what does it mean for your relationship going forward? [read part i here]

OR a homecoming 159 emails in the making

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 10k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, suggestive dialogue, and suggestive content. a lot of the italic words are direct references to the emails in part i or direct quotes from the rocket man by ray bradbury (read at your own risk because if you picture bradley as the rocket man, you'll cry). the next part will pick up right where this one leaves off and hopefully won't take too long to get out!

from the back of the cab to the airport // i am happy you and i got this hour

Having multiple people, let alone multiple people who loved him more than anything in the world, waiting for him when he got home from a deployment, no matter how brief or long, was definitely a newer experience for Bradley. There was almost a giddiness about him as he said his goodbyes to Bob and Payback and the other pilots he’d flown with from Lemoore. He couldn’t wait to see you in twenty seconds after it’d felt like he’d been gone for twenty years.

The countless (actually one-hundred and fifty-nine - he’d counted) emails between the two of you had been his saving grace these last three months. You’d emailed him almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day, much to the jealousy of his colleagues. He’d become addicted to them almost.

How did your cooking class go? What was your day like at work? Yes, he would love to go on a trip to Mexico. No, your mom is an absolute idiot. How did you touch yourself at night? Were you being a good girl for him?

And in twenty seconds he’d have the real thing. He’d have you in his arms, hugging him, kissing him, talking a mile a minute about any and everything under the sun.

(He knew Maverick would be there, too. He wasn’t being flippant about it or anything - all Bradley had wanted for the last thirteen years was for Maverick to be there when he got home. Last year, when he’d gotten back from three months out near Guam, he’d unabashedly cried from behind his sunglasses when he saw Maverick, Penny, and Amelia waiting for him. Amelia had even made a sign for him with terrible puns and lots of glitter. They’d had Bradley over for dinner - a family dinner - and he had felt on top of the world. Until he’d had to go back to his brand-new, empty house. Bitter with the sweet, he supposed.)

Off to his right, Bradley could see Bob and Callie hugging, and Reuben fussing over his wife’s noticeable baby bump. He smiled at the sight and the thought that he wouldn’t want to leave you while you were pregnant briefly floated through his mind.

And then, like he had conjured you up, there you were. You hadn’t seen him yet. But Bradley could see you as you craned your neck and stretched on your tiptoes, bobbing and weaving and stretching to try and find him in the crush.

He'd known you were taking a half day to pick him up and you looked so soft and lovely in your off-duty clothes - a simple pair of cropped jeans and a pale blue oxford that he'd later realize was his. Pale blue in a sea of khaki with your sunglasses perched on the top of your head as the sun still beamed strongly onto the asphalt.

Like something out of a movie, you turned your head and locked eyes with him. The two of you couldn't have been more than thirty feet apart and it was like everyone and everything around you had stopped - just for a moment. A blip in time. And then a smile crept across your face and your eyes lit up and the world started again.

“Bradley!”

With nary a glance back at Maverick, who Bradley had just realized was standing next to you, you ran towards Bradley and into his arms with so much force that he staggered backwards. His seabag made a solid thud on the ground as he wrapped his arms around you - one around your waist and another around the back of your neck. You burrowed your face in his neck and he couldn't resist holding you tighter, lifting you slightly so that the tips of your shoes kissed the asphalt.

This - this is what he had been missing for the last three months. Home. Home. Home. Bradley was home. With you. And holding you.

"Hey, kid." You tightened your hold on him at the moniker. "You miss me?"

“More than anything.” Not even a second after he put you down, your hands were running across his cheeks and neck. "Are you alright? Do you need anything? I have snacks in the car if you're hungry or -"

He cut you off with a kiss, your first kiss in three months. Thirteen weeks. Ninety-one days. Two thousand one hundred ninety-one hours.

Bradley knew he would have a lot more of these homecomings - had even had some with you already. But he would never forget this one - his favorite homecoming. Two weeks, ten days, three days; it was nothing. Nothing compared to being in your arms again after three months apart. Nothing compared to kissing you again after three months.

There was so much genuine love and longing in you - in him - that Bradley already dreaded when he’d leave you again. Because there would always be another time.

At least until he broke the cycle.

(Don’t ever be a rocket man. Promise me you won’t be like me.)

But for now you were safe in his arms, feeling and smelling and sounding like home and god - for now that was enough.

Your voice was similarly muffled. “Oh, bubs. I missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re finally home.”

“And I can’t believe you’re in front of me right now.”

He wanted to touch you everywhere. Your cheeks, your hair, your shoulders, your legs, your breasts. Everywhere. There was no way he could ever get enough of you.

You tilted your head up and smiled at him. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Let’s go home.” The smile that lit up your face could guide Bradley home on even his darkest days.

Before setting off, he gave you another kiss, this one just as sweet, and the two of you started making your way to the gate and by the other families milling around. It was a bit awkward balancing his arm around your shoulder with his seabag, but it was all worth it to have you tucked into his side again. You were so soft and warm and smelled so pretty. He couldn’t get over it. Everything about you felt safe and precious.

“I can’t wait for you to see the house! I have almost everything situated, just a couple seasonal clothes and coats at my old place. I thought maybe we could go after work on Tuesday - unless you’re in a debrief or something or have other plans?”

Bradley squeezed you closer to his side. “Nah, I should be done by Monday afternoon, so Tuesday’s perfect.”

You nuzzled your face against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re home.” And then softer still, “I’m gonna keep saying it because it still doesn’t feel real.”

“Well,” Bradley steered you both away from the crush, “I’ll try my hardest to make it feel real for you later.”

And, God, it went straight to his cock, the way you peered up at him, eyes slightly widened. You even bit your lip, cheeky thing. His seabag slipped from his grasp and he wound both arms around your waist pulling you close to him again. All he wanted to do was play out one of those cheeky little emails of ours in excruciating detail. With his girl.

His wonderful girl. His sweet girl. His smart girl. His, his, his, his -

It was definitely verging on improper, the way he was kissing you now. But Bradley didn’t care. Not when you felt and smelled and tasted so fucking good -

“- Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw!”

You whined against Bradley’s lips when he pulled away. It felt like he’d just gotten caught necking his girlfriend behind the bleachers by his father - and well…

Bradley cleared his throat and hoped his cheeks weren’t too red. “Captain Mitchell…”

They exchanged salutes, Maverick’s face all serious until Bradley could see him fighting a smile. There was a beat and then Bradley wrapped his arms around Mav in a tight hug.

“Good to see you, kiddo.”

“You too, Mav.”

He let Bradley go to look him over much like you had. It warmed his heart to be fussed over by his dad. To have the two most important people in his life be there to pick him up and bring him home.

“Come on you two, ice cream? My treat?”

You gasped. “Now Captain Mitchell, you wouldn’t be suggesting we spoil Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw’s dinner with ice cream, would you?”

Bradley hadn’t had ice cream in weeks. And a vanilla soft serve with chocolate jimmies sounded like absolute heaven right now. But as much as he wanted to have ice cream with you and Maverick like he was celebrating a little league baseball win, Bradley wanted to go home with you even more. He would see Mav during the week while you were at the office.

Right now, he just wanted to go home with his girl.

“Nah, I think we’re gonna head home. But I’ll take a raincheck for Monday?”

Mav nodded. “Sounds good to me, I’ll bring the car round then?”

“Sounds good, thanks!” you chirped.

Wait, what? Before Bradley could even question him, Maverick was off towards the parking lot - leaving you in his direct line of fire.

Which, to be fair, you did look contrite. “Pete thought it would be easier if he drove, especially with all the people around…”

And was Bradley really going to be mad at Maverick for caring too much? For wanting to spend time with his kid after he got home from a three month deployment? No. Not even at the expense of a twenty minute car ride home alone with you.

“I should’ve told you earlier he was driving, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You both started making your way to the gate again. “Probably gave him an excuse to take the rest of the afternoon off, too.”

You giggled. “I asked if he wanted to get lunch beforehand, but he said he was wrapping something up.”

Bradley’s stride momentarily faltered. Right, he forgot about that - your little lunch dates with Maverick. Was it a little annoying and did it make him irrationally jealous? Sure. But it was also oddly sweet. There were a lot worse things than having your girlfriend genuinely like hanging out with your dad. Plus, Bradley’s didn’t think you really knew you had a crush on him.

“I’m sure you two had plenty of time to catch up while I was gone, but now you’re all mine, kid.”

You wrapped your hands around his upper arm and gave it a squeeze. With a few nods at his fellow aviators and other assorted crew members, you two made it through the gate and to the parking lot where Maverick was waiting in his 1962 Ferrari 250 GTE.

Otherwise known both as the smallest car in the world and Bradley’s inheritance.

The car was in really good shape and drove like a dream. But it was very much not designed for a 6’1” naval aviator - especially when one was relegated to the back seat. Because Bradley didn’t want you to be in the back seat alone and you had refused to sit in the front.

So, now his knees were up to his shoulders and you two were separated by an armrest because the damn Italians hated fun and had foregone a bench seat.

Though this did not stop you from laying a cheeky hand on his knee, inching it higher and higher up his thigh as you crossed the Coronado Bridge. You glanced over at Bradley and winked, stopping yourself from getting higher by holding his hand instead.

It was never a long drive back to his - your house, but today it seemed to fly by ever faster. Maverick was unusually chatty in the front seat, asking about your upcoming trip and if you needed a ride to the airport on Thursday morning, while also telling Bradley about the newly renovated ready room on base.

The chatter petered off into the background as Bradley suddenly zeroed in on the song playing on the radio - Everlasting Love. He found himself mouthing the lyrics.

Need you by my side, girl you’ll be my bride

You’ll never be denied everlasting love

That was you. That was you and him. Everlasting love.

He squeezed your hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. And while you and Maverick chatted and told Bradley some of the more lighter happenings of the last three months - mainly the raccoon garage saga - he was counting down the minutes till it was just you and him. Peace and quiet with his everlasting love.

Which was really everything he could ever want.

------------------

After a long shower with all his favorite products and even some new ones you had brought over, Bradley made his way downstairs and was greeted with the unfairly adorable sight of you chopping potatoes at the kitchen island. There was music playing, candles lit, and the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. He smiled, seeing you wearing the apron he’d picked out for you all those months ago and was relieved to see that it looked broken in from wear. Because, to be honest, it was nearly impossible to pick out clothes for you.

Originally, Bradley had wanted to get you some frilly old thing, dainty and cute and proper if only to feed some long repressed kink of his. But the denim apron was practical and you would get use out of it for plenty more years to come.

And he could always get you another one for special occasions. Because he had had a lot of time to think about all those special occasions with you while he was away…

A beautiful smile lit up your face as you saw him pad down the stairs. “My, my, don't you look cozy?”

Once his socked-feet were firmly on the hardwood floor, Bradley spun on his heels showing off his comfy joggers and plain, grey t-shirt. “Do I pass muster?” He pressed a kiss to the cheek you tilted up for him.

“I’ll think you’ll do, bubs.” He pulled you in for a hug from behind. “Mmmmm, you smell so good.”

He swayed you back and forth in his arms. “I should, I used all your shampoo…”

“Cheeky boy.” You craned your neck and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “You want a drink while I make dinner? You can lay on the couch for a bit if you want? You must be exhausted.”

“Oh?” He hadn’t even considered going into the living room, not when you were in the kitchen. “Uhhh, sure, yeah. I’ll take a drink.”

You smiled and pulled back from him. “Old fashioned?” He nodded. You got out a rocks glass from the cabinet and went over to the bar cart in the dining room for the whiskey and bitters. “I got those fancy bitters at that liquor store you like.”

“Did you take care of everything?” He said it to hide his own reddened cheeks, but you appeared equally as bashful.

“Tried too.”

“You gonna have one, too?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but we’re also having wine with dinner, so just one for now - here you go. Got to start you off slow, Bradshaw.” You slid the glass over to him and held your own out to toast. “To your long awaited homecoming.”

Your eyes locked over the rim of your glasses and you had both barely set them back down on the table before Bradley pressed a kiss to your lips. You tasted like sugar and whiskey and felt like home.

“Missed you, kid.”

“Missed you, too, rocketman. You have no idea how happy I am that you’re home.” You kissed him again. “Now, you gotta let me finish cooking. The table’s already set, so there’s nothing for you to do, but relax.”

“Fine, fine,” he heaved out a great sigh, “banishing me already and I’ve only been home for a few hours, I see how it is - owww!” You smacked his ass with a dishtowel. “Alright, I’m going, I’m going.”

The living room looked nearly identical to how it had when Bradley had left in December - minus the Christmas tree, of course - but there were still little touches of you everywhere. The pillows were arranged far nicer than Bradley had ever been able to manage and there were three new candles of differing heights on the coffee table. Plus, the cream colored cashmere blanket from your apartment that he always stole was artfully strewn across the back of one of the leather sofas.

With one glance back towards you in the kitchen - you were completely focused on some Russet potatoes - Bradley flopped onto the couch and tucked himself under the blanket. It was warm and cozy and so comfortable under there in his couch clothes in the house you two shared. Quiet, too, even with some Van Morrison playing from the kitchen. It was the kind of quiet that could lull Bradley to a peaceful sleep, especially after having been ensconced in constant noise for the last three months.

And he tried for half an hour - he really did. He thought of how excited you were to show him the perfectly organized closet and how you’d put all the little bits and bobs you’d gotten for him over the last three months in the guest room for him to look over at his leisure and how he’d corrected you on where the mail should go.

It was just - it was too quiet and too perfect and too comfy and he just wanted to be with you. Even if it meant sitting on one of the uncomfortable kitchen barstools.

You shook your head, but smiled as he approached. “You don’t have to watch me, you must be exhausted?”

Bradley shrugged. “Just wanna be near you, kid.” Were you nervous about cooking? Was that why you didn’t want him in the kitchen with you? He backtracked. “If that’s alright?”

You bit your lip and gestured for Bradley to sit at the island in front of you. There were a couple mise en place bowls laying around, but you quickly made room for Bradley and his drink.

“It’s like a taping of the Barefoot Contessa.”

You chuckled. “Let’s just hope the food’s as good as Ina’s.”

“Walk me through it.”

With a teasing smile on your face, you went back to mincing the garlic - with a glowing comment from Bradley on your newly acquired knife skills - and he just sat there, chin propped up on his hand watching you explain the next couple steps. You even got a yes, chef out of him when you asked him to turn the music down. The roasted potatoes smelled absolutely divine cooking in the oven and you had just finished snipping the ends off the asparagus when your demeanor suddenly changed. You fiddled with your apron tie and abruptly turned around to face him, looking almost surprised by the action, though you wouldn’t exactly look him in the eye.

“Actually, now that you’re here - or here at the table,” you huffed out a laugh, “there’s something I want to talk to you about that happened while you were gone - no, that’s not - something I was thinking about while you were gone?”

You put the burner down on the sauce pan, leaving the minced garlic to simmer before you were facing Bradley yet again. You looked nervous, unsure of yourself, as you played with the bracelet he had gotten you for Christmas. Had something happened while he was gone that you hadn’t told him about? Were you sick? Hurt? Was there someone - no, no, you’d never.

Bradley leaned back in his chair and hoped he sounded surer than he felt. “Sure, uhh, yeah, go ahead.”

“It actually has to do with some emails I sent you - last week, in particular. One of them is actually that email.” You looked down at the granite countertop as Bradley tried to think of which email would constitute italics. “But I also want to talk about one of the other emails, when I messaged you about that dream I had and kind of how that all falls into everything that we’ve been going through and probably will be going through -”

“- Because this is it,” he interrupted. Because you and I are it.

“Yeah. Because this is it,” you returned, equally as resolute. “So…”

Bradley sat up straighter in his chair and cleared his throat. “Which one do you want to talk about first?”

You fiddled with your apron bow. “Maybe the one from the thirteenth?”

“Which one was that?”

Now you definitely were avoiding looking at him. Your words came out slowly, like you dreaded saying them and Bradley had a sudden inkling that he knew exactly which email you were referencing.

“The one about me needing you. Needing you to take care of me,” you whispered the last part.

He could feel his cheeks coloring. “Oh. Right, yeah.”

Bradley had never received an email like that before. Had never even received a text like that before. It was just so raw and almost animalistic the way your need for him jumped off the page.

nothing soothes the ache inside me like you do. need you to call me good girl, pretty girl, sweet girl, anything as long as it’s yours.

“I shouldn’t have sent that one to you - especially since if I could’ve waited five more days, none of this would’ve happened. It’s just - I needed you so badly and wanted you - ugh, no! No, I shouldn’t have sent you that email. It wasn’t proper, it was embarrassing for you and me and I was just missing you so much and in such a different way that I’ve never experienced before when you’d been gone and - I couldn’t bear not telling you for another moment. Because no one was there to tell me what to do or -”

You threw your hands out and put them on the top of your head. God, it looked like you were about to cry. And it broke Bradley’s heart. He pushed his barstool back from the island and padded over towards you.

“Come ‘ere, kid.”

You let out a sigh and your eyes were swimming with tears as you fell into Bradley’s arms. You felt small in his arms - not necessarily in the physical sense, but like you were folding in on yourself. He needed to take care of you - take you, take you, take you -

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, whenever you want, it’s fine.” Bradley pressed a kiss to your forehead and squeezed you tighter. You held on to him tightly, which muffled your next words.

“I’ve never had someone who I need in that way. And it’s not even necessarily about the sex, itself. I could go months without having sex - had before I met you. It was never something I really needed to get by, I guess? I could take care of it on my own.

“But then - then I met you and you just? You make me need you - make me crave you, you tell me what to do, make me want to please you. And then you just leave for three months and I have to learn how to do all that on my own and it was just so hard? It felt like I dropped? Like everything caught up to me after all those months and weeks and I felt scared and lonely and needy and desperate for you and for you to tell me I’m a good girl and take care of me and be my d - be dominant with me.”

Your breathing quickened as you talked and Bradley felt you getting more worked up. He rubbed his hands across your back, hoping it would soothe the ache inside of you, if only a little bit. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, kid.”

i need you i need you i need you i need you bradley bradley bradley bradley

You sniffled. “I guess I just didn’t think - I mean, I knew other people would see it - and I did think that was kind of hot, especially when you called me out for it - it was only after, when I’d realized what I’d done that I saw how embarrassing it was for you.

“Like Joe from Comms being like hey, did you know Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw’s girlfriend is a horny, pathetic, subby mess for him? You gotta see it, man. She couldn’t even make it three months without getting fucked. He can’t even take care of his g -”

“- Stop it.” Bradley grabbed your chin. “You know that’s not true.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But I was already feeling shitty about my mom and being so busy at work and how I loo -” you broke off and Bradley desperately wanted you to finish the thought. “I guess it all caught up to me.”

“But I wrote back. I wrote back and told you everything I wanted you to hear and what you needed to hear. And god, I’d do it again, I’d do it in a heartbeat if it brought you comfort and I probably should’ve done it sooner.”

nothing stretches me out like you do, nothing makes me feel as small as you do, nothing makes me flush like the sound of your voice against my neck as i come, nothing soothes the ache inside me like you do

You squeezed your arms around his stomach and breathed him in. God, he loved you so much, he’d say anything and do anything to make you realize that.

“I needed it, what you wrote me, and I needed to tell you what I said, but I should’ve waited so, I’m sorry, can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, kid. You message me when you need me, no matter how.” He kissed your temple. “I know we’ve never really talked about how that part of our relationship would work while I was gone, so maybe next time we just make a plan?”

You nodded. “I’d like that. I know it’s not like that all the time between us, so I didn’t even think of it before you left.”

“I hadn’t either,” he confessed.

Long distance d/s relationship reddit would be Bradley’s best friend over the next few days. Neither of you would have to go through that again, not if he had something to say about it. The whole idea of not being allowed to use anything besides your fingers to masturbate was a good start, but it was just that - a start. Because like you’d said, you two weren’t in that dynamic all the time, but you both needed it. It was new for both of you. You’d just have to come up with a list together.

But just to give you a little encouragement in the meantime…

“And let’s not forget…” You peered up at him. “You did tell me you read my email seven times…”

You giggled and shoved his shoulder. “Might’ve been an understatement.”

“Oh?”

“I think I came three times that first night alone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmmhm.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and played with the ends of his hair. “‘Kept picturing you in your bunk writing it while fisting your cock. And then I was laying next to you in your bunk - and it had to be a secret. I had to keep quiet - just like at Thanksgiving - and not make a peep.”

“But you don’t like to be quiet…”

He crowded you against the island and rolled his hips against yours. The thin fabric of his joggers did little to hide how much he desired you, especially after the conversation you’d just had.

His subby little girlfriend. God, he couldn’t wait to take you apart bit by bit later.

Now say thank you Bradley. Good girl.

Though, that’s not to say that you couldn’t partake in a little preview now. Bradley’s lips crashed against yours, caught up in the furor and headiness of it all, and your body melted against his. Three months later and you still responded so well to him. Your breathy little sighs as he bit your lip and pressed countless kisses along your jawline and neck sounded like heaven. You smelled so sweet, tasted so sweet, felt so sweet - he kissed you again, coaxing your mouth back open.

“Bradley, bubs, I -” you gasped against his lips, “I need to turn the stove off if we’re going to -”

Without taking his lips off yours, Bradley reached behind his back and turned off the gas burner. The garlic still sizzled in the pan, but now without the risk of burning the house down. You could put fresh garlic on later, now he just wanted you.

His hands went back to their place on your hips before the left slid underneath your oxford and up your body. You stiffened slightly, but welcomed his touch, if only for a moment before you pulled back from him.

“We have to - I have to finish dinner.” He nodded, albeit reluctantly. You pecked his lips again.

There was something deeply erotic about waiting - even if it was just for a couple of hours.

Where are you going to have me first?

In our bed, in our house, after you make me dinner in our kitchen.

Bradley cleared his throat. “You said you wanted to talk about another email? The one about your dream, right? The one with our kid.”

It felt right saying it - our kid.

God, Bradley, I wish you were here right now so you could hold me and tell me you loved me because I just want to feel your arms around me and know you’re real. I want to tell you about the little boy - the perfect mix of me and you

“We can wait until dinner - or even after dinner, if you want?” You didn’t give him a chance to respond. “I’m sorry I’m dropping all this on you. I know you’ll say otherwise, but I shouldn’t have done this right when you came home - the dryer hasn’t even finished your first load yet. I know you’re exhausted and definitely have your own stuff to work through after being gone and we should be having sex on the floor or over the arm of the couch, not listening to me blubber -”

Bradley shook his head and interrupted you. He didn’t want to give you another moment to doubt yourself.

“- Hey, hey. I wanna talk about the heavy stuff with you, it’s okay. And I’d rather we do it now so we can really enjoy these next few days together - and maybe then have sex on the floor and over the arm of the couch. I don’t want this hanging over your head, kid.

“And you’re not alone in thinking about that over the last few months - it’s probably been even longer for me…”

You wiped at the tears pooling in your eyes. “Really?”

“You know you’re it for me, kid.” Have been since our fourth date went unsaid. “So, come on, walk me through it.”

You leaned against the back counter near the stove, while Bradley mirrored you against the island. You sighed.

“I love you so much - sometimes I’m scared that I love you this much and that it’s not quite been a year since we met. And I never thought I’d be so heart achingly in love with someone in the Navy, of all things, and just - sometimes it hits me that you’re not even fully mine? That a part of you will always want to be in the sky or out at sea because you have this other entity that tells you what to do? And when to do it and what to wear and how you should act? Where you’re Rooster and not my Bradley?”

Bradley frowned at the use of his callsign coming from your lips. It didn’t feel right, it didn’t sound right. He didn’t want to be Rooster around you. He liked that he didn’t have to be Rooster around you.

“And it makes me absolutely crazy because you love it and you’re not going to stop - and you shouldn’t stop, not for me! But, god, Bradley, sometimes I want to shake you and hold you down and beg you to stay. Like that fucking story.” You wiped your eyes.

“It’s all I wanted to tell you when I had that dream. About how I want you to come home so badly. I want you to stay here with me forever and never leave and to have that cute little boy who was the perfect mix of me and you and to have you here in my arms every night. And I know it’s selfish of me to ask or even make you think about it, but I want you right here. I don’t want you looking at the sky when you’re here and wanting to be up there. And I know you don’t either, Bradley. You give everything to everyone, you don’t do things by halves.”

You both stood there, Bradley stunned by your words, and you, seemingly stunned that you’d actually said them. He took a step towards you, but didn’t cross that final barrier to touch you. He remembered highlighting a particular passage from the story in his response back to you and how he never wanted you to feel the same way as Lily. He didn’t want to let it - flying, the Navy, all of it get a hold of him.

“Don’t ever be a Rocket Man.” I stopped. “I mean it,” he said. “Because when you’re out there you want to be here, and when you’re here you want to be out there. Don’t start that. Don’t let it get hold of you.” “But-“ “You don’t know what it is. Every time I’m out there I think, If I ever get back to Earth I’ll stay there; I’ll never go out again. But I go out, and I guess I’ll always go out.”

You sniffled and wiped your eyes on your sleeve. “And I was so scared when you didn’t get back to me right away. Thought I’d scared you off…” You glanced down at the floor and played with your bracelet. It looked so fragile and dainty on your wrist. “I think I wrote five different responses to you after - deleted all of them.”

Bradley nudged your foot with his own and got you to look up at him. Even though it felt like his tattoo was burning into his skin - xxxix, xxxix, xxxix, the number ran through his head constantly as of late - he tried to put on a brave face. Everything you were saying was what he had been mulling over for the last three months. Thousands of miles apart and you both were still so in-sync. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“You turned my life on its head when you sent me that story.” Even weeks later, he was still in disbelief. “And I know it wouldn’t have changed anything - not really - but I kept - I keep wondering how my dad would’ve reacted to it? Or my mom? I don’t think it would’ve made anything different, but just knowing about it? Because I don’t want us to have kids and still be a ‘rocket man.’ I don’t want them - that little boy in your dream - to wonder if I want to be up in the sky more than I want to be with him. And be with you. I want to be around, I want to be their dad and your husband. I love it, I love flying. But I don’t love it more than being with you and having a family with you. I don’t want to die in an F18 with a family at home.”

You let out a sob and he wrapped his arms around you and slowly swayed you from side to side. “Kid, I got six more years and then I’m all yours.” He could feel your tears seeping into his shirt as you cried. “It’s like what I said after you sent me that story - I don’t want our kids chasing ghosts. Not like I did.”

“You’d give us your wild?” you whispered.

Bradley nodded and felt his own eyes welling up. “I want us to have what my mom and I didn’t. And it’s not that my mom wasn’t enough, but there was always a piece missing for both of us - Maverick, too.” You wiped the tears away from his eyes. “I love you, so, so much, kid. You know I’m gonna marry you. And I just want to be yours when it comes time for us to have a family.”

Honestly, it was a relief that you’d brought all this up. It only reaffirmed the thought that had been bouncing around Bradley’s head lately.

You two wouldn’t have kids until he was out of the Navy.

There were six years until Bradley could put in his twenty years and retire. It was a little fucked, honestly, and he was sure his therapist would have plenty to say about it. But why not avoid something that could end in tragedy for everyone involved?

Why run the risk?

Bradley wasn’t dying in an F18 with a family at home.

And he knew his logic wasn’t exactly sound. It didn’t entirely make sense even to himself. There would be plenty of times over the next six years where he could get into an accident or not come home from a mission. He understood that.

Except, currently, there wasn’t a kid waiting at home for him. There wasn’t a three year old Bradley waiting at home and being told by his mom that his dad wasn’t coming home. He knew that if you had a family, it would be harder for you to move on if something happened to him. And he didn’t want to put you and any future little nuggets through that. He didn’t want to be a rocketman with them.

Bradley wasn’t dying in an F18 with a family at home.

He wasn’t going to do that to your family. So, why not just wait to have a family until after he got out of the Navy? It seemed obvious. Perfectly so. The words had been ready to pour out of his mouth, except you beat him to it.

“I know,” your cleared the scratchiness out of your throat, “we talked about waiting to have kids until a couple years after we get married, but if you want to wait until you retire, we’ll do it. And then we’ll get all of you. I want to do everything with you, Bradley.”

Give you my wild, give you a child.

Bradley wrapped you up in his arms and squeezed you hard. “I love you, I love you, I love you. God, I love you so much.” He kissed your forehead and cheeks and lips and tried his damndest to pour all the love he had for you into it.

“I love you, too, Bradley,” you said simply.

And maybe it wasn’t exactly healthy to wait and almost be consumed by this desperate need to control both your lives and have a countdown clock to when everything would be okay. Because maybe things wouldn’t be okay in six years? And maybe you and Bradley would get in a car accident tomorrow or maybe you both would have trouble having kids or or or…

But Bradley wasn’t dying in an F18 with a family at home.

He would need to talk about this with his therapist at some point. The therapist the Navy gave him eighteen months ago after he ‘recklessly’ went back to save Maverick. The therapist that he just never stopped seeing even though he was cleared from last April.

“We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” Bradley asked after a moment.

You pulled back. “Maybe? And maybe it’s a little extreme for both of us to think like that, but we’ll make it work, okay? However we have to, we’ll make it work for us.” You punctuated your words with a quick kiss over his heart.

“Oh dear,” you said suddenly. Bradley tensed up. “I got tears on your shirt.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, I know you can afford to get me a new one.” You shoved his shoulder and you both laughed. And just like that, the mood was lifted.

Bradley had been right earlier - he felt lighter. You looked lighter. And that wasn’t to say that you’d looked gloomy or upset or scared before, but your shoulders weren’t as tense and you kept smiling, at him, at whatever you were cooking, at nothing.

This could be his life every night. You could be together like this forever. Cooking dinner side by side, talking about where the mail should go (it very much was not on the hall table, that was for damn sure), complaining about Mr. Harrington next door or arguing over who should vacuum. All the little things that made that big life together. The one you both wanted so badly.

And contrary to your earlier statement, you did make you and Bradley another drink before dinner. In fact, it probably was what gave you the courage to attempt to flip the chicken in the saucepan like a regular José Andrés. (Even more surprising was the fact that you didn’t drop any.)

Once the potatoes finished, you swapped them in the oven for the asparagus, hoping the former would cool while the latter was roasting. All the while, you talked Bradley through everything - how much oil you added to the asparagus, where you’d gotten the potatoes, and the recipe for the chocolate cake you’d made for dessert.

It was - well, Bradley didn’t really have a word for what it was. His first thought was how nice it was seeing you so confident and capable and proud of yourself. But his second thought was that it was also oddly stirring seeing you do all this for him while he just watched.

Watched his pretty little girlfriend bopping around the kitchen, bopping around the house making sure everything was perfect for him. All you needed was a pretty little dress and a string of pearls to match your earrings. His pretty little housewife. Mrs Bradshaw. Bent over the kitchen island, wearing nothing but a frilly white apron and a pearl necklace as he fucked you from behind -

“All set!” Your cheerful voice interrupted Bradley’s fantasy before it could really start. He had zoned out while you’d been prattling on about the herb cutting scissors you wanted to get at Crate & Barrel. “Shall we?”

Bradley readjusted himself before getting up from his seat and helping you bring the drinks and serving dishes into the dining room.

Mrs Bradshaw.

-----------------

“So, how is it?” you asked once the food had been served and the wine had been poured. You had your chin propped up on your fist as you watched Bradley take the first few, slow bites of food.

It was good. It was more than good, it was excellent. It was hot and perfectly seasoned and all the textures were just right. And it wasn’t just because he’d been on an aircraft carrier, eating out of the officer’s mess everyday. Because the food was actually pretty good on the carrier and the Aussies had even treated him to a couple meals.

But he wouldn’t be Bradley and you wouldn’t be you if he didn’t mess with you a little. He tilted his head back and forth, trying to look like he was mulling it over. “It’s good…”

You nudged his foot under the table once you saw the smile threatening to break out on his face. “You ass.” The words lacked any heat.

Bradley took another bite of potatoes before speaking. “It’s really good, kid, seriously. You killed it. Seemed like you really enjoyed it, too.”

“I did,” you nodded, “I just always used to be so nervous I’d undercook something and make everyone sick, you know? Or that people would be lying to me about the food and that it was burnt or under-seasoned or something? But those lessons really helped and made me more confident, which is exactly why you gave them to me, so thank you.”

Maybe it wasn’t exactly why he had given them to you, but…

“You’re very welcome.”

Dinner continued on with only light hearted conversation after that. What Reuben and Bob were planning for their leave (Reuben and his wife were going up the coast for a mini-break and then building out the nursery for their baby, while Bob was going home to see his parents), the work you had to finish up before your trip, and what you both were hoping to get out of your vacation (good food, a tan, reading plenty of books, and having copious amounts of sex).

All the while, Bradley had another helping of everything, except the potatoes, of which he had two additional helpings - you refrained from seconds entirely. You two must have sat at the table for over two and a half hours, talking and eating and laughing. It was perfect. Bradley helped you bring the dishes back into the kitchen; both of you were more than happy to deal with them a little later.

And then there was the dessert. The chocolate cake looked heavenly - Ina’s recipe, of course - and you asked Bradley if he wanted an espresso martini to wash it down.

“What? ‘You trying to get me drunk?”

You put your hand over your heart. “I would never! Though, I know your tolerance might be a little shot. Did that affect your stamina, too?”

“Ha, ha, ha hilarious.” He took the cake plate and knife from you while you went over to the bar to make the martinis. “I’ll have you know that the Aussies were very accommodating hosts.”

“The Aussies, huh?”

Bradley shrugged. It wouldn’t be an issue to tell you now, not after he’d been dying to mention it for the past few weeks. “It’s not classified or anything, they just don’t like us talking about it in the moment.”

“Wait,” you came back into the dinning room with a coupe half filled in your right hand. “Did you go to Australia?”

“Possibly…” You shot him a look. “We do this joint training exercise with them every year. Last year was my first year.”

“That’s so cool! Did you spend much time actually on land or…” You went back to preparing the drinks and tossed your next question over your shoulder. “When was it? I think I saw something about it in the news.”

“After you got back from London. It was just a week for the actual exercise, but there were a lot of meetings in the lead up, we did a couple war-games, too. We were mainly in New South Wales with the aviators, but went up to the North Western Territory for the actual exercises.”

Last year, Bradley hadn’t had the opportunity to really get too involved in the planning aspects and being on base - his promotion hadn’t come through yet, so he had been just a lowly lieutenant - but his elevated rank granted him that privilege this year.

“Wait, that’s so cool, I’ll have to read up on it more! I definitely remember hearing about it on the news, should’ve made the connection.” You came back over with the drinks. “How were the other pilots? This isn’t going to be some Manchurian Candidate bullshit, is it?”

Bradley barked out a laugh. “Nah, that’ll be Bob.”

“Did it have a fun name? They always seem to!”

Bradley took a sip of his martini. Damn it was delicious. “Exercise Talisman Sabre - R-E. You want me to cut the cake?”

You nodded. Bradley pulled the cake stand closer to his seat. The cake was stunning. The frosting was definitely homemade and the white piping on the top looked perfect. “‘You take a picture of it yet?”

“Of the cake?”

“Gotta commemorate this, it’s gorgeous. Need one with you, too!” You smiled bashfully as Bradley snapped a couple pics with his phone and then put it face-up on the table. The picture of the two of you at your Christmas party before his deployment smiled back up at him.

You sat back down in your chair. “Here’s hoping it tastes just as good.”

There would still be plenty of cake for leftovers, but Bradley thought the two of you deserved a little something extra tonight and measured the first piece a little bigger than he normally would.

“Oh. You can have that one. I’ll take a smaller piece.” He went to cut another piece, slightly smaller than his. “Little smaller.” He kept scooching the knife closer and closer for your approval until it was only about a third of the size of his piece. “That’s perfect, thanks.”

You took a huge first bite of cake and Bradley did the same. “Oh, god. It’s so good,” he said. “I need the recipe so I can make this every week.”

Your fork froze midair for a moment, before you took a slightly smaller piece this time. “I don’t know if I can handle this every week...” You chuckled.

Bradley moaned. “But the ganache! The whipped frosting on the top! Sweetheart, it’s so good. The world cannot be deprived of its beauty.”

That got a proper laugh out of you. “‘You writing sonnets about cake now?”

“I’ll write sonnets about you, this cake, anything you want, you got me in a good mood, kid.” He licked the frosting off his fork and then went back in for the final two bites.

“That might just be the martini talking, bubs. Here,” you slid your barely eaten plate over towards him, “you can have the rest of mine.”

Bradley frowned. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I had extra batter and made some cupcakes. Had one this morning. I’m chocolate cake’d out.”

He was a little dubious since you loved chocolate cake, but took your words at face value.

“But first,” you swiped some extra frosting off your plate and streaked it across Bradley’s cheek, “you got a little something on your face, bubs.”

“Oh no,” he laid it on thick, “guess you’ll have to come over here and help me clean it off.”

In a flash, you were on him - arms wrapped around his neck, legs astride his thigh. Your feet remained firmly on the ground, but Bradley wanted all your weight on him, reminding him that he was here in the house you shared and not back in his bunk on the carrier.

“There we go.” You swiped the frosting off his cheek and sucked the excess off your finger. “My pretty boy again.”

He smiled. “You say that like you haven’t wanted to fuck me since we got home.”

Your jaw dropped at his words. “I’m trying to draw out the anticipation!” Bradley squeezed your hips and you shifted your weight on his thigh. This time your words came out quieter. “Thought you wanted me in our bed the first time back?” You pressed light kisses across his neck and jawline until you nipped at his ear. “The same bed I’ve been getting myself off in every night since I brought my stuff over.”

“But just like I asked, right? Just your fingers?” You nodded. “Good girl.”

You ducked your head at the praise and then pulled yourself even closer to him before capturing his lips in a deep kiss. You tasted like espresso and chocolate and Bradley wanted to take you right there on the dining room table with little regard for the state of his stem and dish-ware. Slowly, you rocked your body on his lap and let out a breathy gasp against his lips. The seam on your jeans must have been driving you absolutely crazy, but you didn’t let up. And, frankly, Bradley didn’t want you to - all he wanted right now was to keep kissing you, keep pressing his chest against yours, keep grabbing at your hips over your shirt. Except that soon wasn’t enough.

He slipped his hand underneath your shirt and went straight for your lace bra. He smiled against your lips. Good girl. You wore his favorite one. His hand slid lower to drag his fingers across the soft skin of your stomach and side. God, you were so warm. So soft. But he couldn’t linger on the spot for too long after you pushed his hand away and gestured for him to get up.

Without separating yourselves for too long, you and Bradley made your way from making out on his dining table chair to making out on the couch. You were on your back, half wedged between the back cushion, and entirely under Bradley’s bulk.

God, had he missed this. Touching you, kissing you, holding you, fucking you. You’d already talked for hours, now he wanted to kiss you for them.

The couch felt ten times more inviting with you now than it had earlier in the evening when it had just been Bradley. Because now he had you underneath him with your head on the throw pillows he had made note of earlier, now the candles on the coffee table were lit and were the perfect complement to your perfume, and now the cashmere blanket he had always loved was half draped over you both.

This was where you’d watch movies together at night, where you’d open Christmas presents, where you’d ride him after a long day at work, where you’d have meals with the news on in the background, where your kids would watch TV.

“I love you,” you rasped against his lips. “I love you so much.”

“Love you, love you, love you,” he repeated.

It could have been twenty minutes or an hour later, but now the two of you were just laying side by side on the couch. You were wrapped in Bradley’s arms, nestled against his chest, where you had been pressing little kisses against his neck for the last five minutes. Occasionally, you’d play with the ends of his hair or drag your finger across the scars on his neck.

Bradley pressed a light kiss to your temple. “This has been really nice, thank you. I’ve never had someone to come home to - not like this.”

You tilted your head up and bit your lip, looking adorably flustered. “I always want to be here when you come home. And I wanted to do something nice for you, make you happy.”

“You made me very happy, always do.”

“Always, huh?” you teased. You kissed his neck. Nipped at his neck.

Bradley mimicked your tone. “Well, not when I saw the way you put the mail on the hall table…”

“You gonna punish me?” There was a little glint in your eyes as you said it.

While the idea had plenty of merit, Bradley didn’t want that tonight, he wanted everything to be soft and slow, so he could really get his fill of you. Plus, you’d be so fucking tight for him, so responsive to his touch, he wanted to make that drag out as long as possible. He wanted you to babble, he wanted you to beg.

“Not tonight, but maybe tomorrow if you’re good for me?” He pinched your side and you let out a giggle and then suddenly sat up on the couch, almost startled.

“I should do the dishes, don’t want to leave them for too long. You can head upstairs, though.” You cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“You sure you don’t need any help?” he said the last word through a yawn.

“Nope!” You smiled over your shoulder and headed off to the kitchen. “You’re off the hook. I’m gonna finish putting these in the dishwasher and lock-up while you go upstairs and get ready, okay?”

Bradley scrunched his nose. “Is this gonna be a normal thing? You doing all the housework? Because that’s not gonna slide, roomie.”

“Oh, so I’m just your roommate now?” you teased. You bent over the dishwasher to put some larger plates in the back. “I see how it is, Bradshaw.”

He doubled back over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. “Got a feeling you’re gonna be my last one,” he murmured against your neck before he pressed kisses against it.

It was like you melted against him. God, you smelled so pretty and tasted so pretty and looked so pretty and sounded so pretty giggling. And Bradley had never felt so welcomed home before. He couldn’t wait to do this with you every night.

“Bradley,” you sighed and turned around to face him. “The sooner you let me finish, the sooner I can come upstairs…” You pecked him on the lips.

Upstairs. Where Bradley would take care of you.

Take care of you. Take you. Take you take you take you -

He groaned and gave you a longer kiss. “Okay, okay, okay.” He kissed you between each word. “But this is the last time you’re getting away with this...”

“I’ll hold you to it.” You kissed him again. “Now go! Get into something comfortable, powder your nose, touch up your hair -”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he promised. “Don’t be too long, we can always do everything tomorrow morning.”

You waved him off good-naturedly and went about setting the kitchen to rights. Bradley smiled at the sight of you already appearing so at home in his house - your house and headed upstairs. With startling alacrity despite the numerous drinks he’d had and the late hour, Bradley quickly brushed his teeth, did his skincare routine, and turned down the bed for your arrival.

Even a floor apart, he could still hear the sounds of you puttering around downstairs. If he concentrated really hard, he could imagine exactly what you were doing.

You had just opened the silverware drawer, probably had just washed and dried something - oh right, he had noticed you used the hand-wash-only salad tongs for the asparagus. Then you opened the tupperware cabinet and got out some snapware and eventually opened the freezer, putting the leftover chicken piccata away for another meal. Then there was the sound of the cake plate on the granite countertop and more snapware. He was still surprised you hadn’t eaten much cake, much of any of the food really, but chalked it up to nerves or excitement at his homecoming.

With a sigh, Bradley laid back against the fluffy pillows lining the headboard. God, he had missed this. His high thread count sheets, your fancy Laundress detergent, his side of the bed - and more importantly, you being on the other side. He stretched and let out a groan, getting comfortable.

This was perfect. He was home - in the house you now shared. You were going to come upstairs - probably in some cute little outfit - and give him a proper welcome home. Bradley bet you even got a new matching set just for the occasion. The two of you had gotten all the tough conversations out of the way - for the most part - so now you could really enjoy these next few days together before your trip.

And Bradley was so excited to go to Punta Mita with you. You had done such an amazing job planning everything. He had done some additional research on his flight home earlier and definitely wanted to hit up the spa and maybe sneak in a round of golf over the ten day trip. Plus, you definitely had the cutest fucking outfits planned. He always liked that, imagining what you were wearing while he was gone. The sporadic pictures hadn’t been enough. You always looked so pretty and he always needed to tell you.

Pretty, pretty, pretty. His pretty girlfriend. Downstairs, making sure everything was all set. He yawned. Mmmmm, he hoped you’d be upstairs soon. His eyelids were getting heavy.

And it was so warm and comfy and his stomach was full and everything smelled so good and he was here.

Finally, he was here with you.

In your house, talking about your future.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a few minutes. Maybe if he just took a quick nap…

a/n - sorry for the cliff hanger, but it's the PERFECT spot for a break! next part will have that first night back AND the lead up to their trip, which will be in the final part! couldn't have gotten this done without all the encouraging messages and texts over the last few weeks - special shout out to @sometimesanalice @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @ofstoriesandstardust @cherrycola27 @heartsofminds and @greenorangevioletgrass xxjordan

#fic recs #Jordan blows my mind every time oh my GOD!#sweet boy and his dad picking him up from the airport #sweet boy and his sweet girl!#sweet boy thinking about BABIES!!!#i’m gonna explode

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heartsofminds · 1 month

Text

at least i let the light in (i).

"No one was more responsible than Bradley. No one was more reasonable than Bradley. No one was more mature than Bradley. No one else had life figured out the best they could like Bradley had. . . But no one knew how deeply sad Bradley actually was." or Bradley is on a downward spiral and Natasha doesn't know how much more she can take or the unofficial sequel to 'cause no one breaks my heart like you.

A/N: well guys, here we are! months after publishing 'cause no one breaks my heart like you, i decided to write my ass off and truly deep dive to the bottom of bradley's heart the best i knew how. while I'm not an expert and don't know everything, i am super proud of the work I've done and cannot wait to share more of it in the weeks to come. so for now, enjoy this small tidbit of the series and prepare yourselves to ride this rollercoaster with me! also, a special shoutout to jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me ramble about this and reading over the millions of screenshots and drafts I've been hoarding over the past six months! i could not have had the courage to continue to write this or publish it without you!

After - Three Months

Maybe Natasha was mistaken; a phenomenon that did not occur very often.

She’s one of those people who’s a lucky guesser. Precisely the kind of person who could say “fuck it,” roll the dice of whatever was being talked about, and always come out victorious, and if not entirely correct beyond a reasonable doubt, was as damn close to right as anyone else could get.

But she’s not a boaster.

Sometimes being right is embarrassing and she never seemed to like the attention it brought; making people roll their eyes when asked for her opinion or always lucking out in a money pool whenever a bet was placed amongst her friends. She likes being right but she doesn’t necessarily like the reputation being right gives her, so she closes her mouth, nods her head, and tries to put on her best poker face whenever a bad idea is uttered from the mouths of her colleagues.

Watching people blow their own bullshit in their faces is comical and she and Bob get an absolute kick out of it whenever it's on Jake’s dime.

But this time it isn’t Jake or Javy or Maverick or anyone she would giggle and be in stitches over looking silly and distraught.

This time it’s Bradley, and from the iron flavor in her mouth from where she had been biting her lip the entire night, she knows that this is bad.

This is really bad. This is super bad. This is fucking horrible.

In hindsight, Bradley had a little bit of a problem. In hindsight, it was a stupid idea to let him have as much as he did. And in hindsight, it was downright imbecilic to let him get that wasted, play a game of pool with Jake (who loves to engage in smack talk), and not tell Jake about the breakup which resulted in Bradley leaping over the table and trying to beat the absolute shit out of him for making a joke about his girlfriend whom everyone else had yet to establish was now his ex-girlfriend.

Maverick, who watched the entire thing go down from the bar stools, practically begged Penny on his hands and knees not to throw them out and she obliged but only after tasking Mickey and Bob with taking Bradley to the bathroom and letting him calm down in there before he was ready to come back out.

And Nat knew that they all should probably head home and that Penny had every right to kick them out for the evening (and probably should), but she remained quiet while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Her careful eyes caught wind of Bradley’s incapacitated disposition as he stood slumped between Mickey and Bob as if he was an anchor ready to sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Their gentle arms held him steady while their faces wore desperation. The chunky wet spot of acid on Bob’s pant leg told Natasha everything she needed to know and from the way Bradley’s head hung, he was down for the count.

If she was being truthful, Bradley had been down for the count for a long time; much longer than anyone had ever really taken notice of, and the seed of anxiousness planted in her torso only bloomed with each assisted step he had taken toward her.

Natasha was mistaken, and letting him tag along tonight was an incredibly bad idea.

“Hi, Nat,” he slurs with reddened cheeks and a boyish grin on his face. Part of him looks like the boy she had gotten to love like a brother all those years ago in flight school; way before the stupid mustache and the muscles and the “slight” drinking problem he’d developed over the past nine weeks.

“Hey, dumbass,” she snides back. She’s so overwhelmed that irritation is the only feeling coursing through her veins.

“We had a bit of an. . .” Mickey looks toward Bob who looks as if he’s about two seconds away from passing out, “incident in the bathroom. He really needs to get home, Nix.”

She sighs deeply; the likeness of a sleepless night and a massive headache in the morning a premonition burning bright behind the heavy blinks of her eyelids. Her hands hold her hips and her shoulders slump. She and Bradley had ridden with Jake to Hard Deck tonight, and she’s sure that the debit card saved to her Uber account would not appreciate a twenty-five dollar fee for an eight-minute straight shot up the road.

But asking Jake for a ride home after he’d been sat icing his left eye with a Heineken bottle isn’t ideal either.

Her eyes dart to the watch on her left arm; an old Cartier with a white face and hands that were always ten minutes off the hour. If she remembers right, multiplying the drive time by two would get her an estimate of the walking time, and if they jay-walk on Jasper and Kinnecky, they could shave off four minutes and be at her front door in about-

“Twelve minutes?” she looks up at the triad of men and flashes a small smile in the process, “Do you think he could make that long of a walk?”

Bradley tries to straighten his legs to stand on his own, but his knees buckle before he can even put his full weight forward. He giggles to himself; the sound childish and carefree. He attempts to lean his head on Bob’s shoulder but slams his forehead down too enthusiastically and knocks heads with the sheepish brunet instead.

“I’m gonna be so honest with you, I don’t think he can tell you what color shirt he has on. It’s a miracle he’s even standing right now.”

Natasha groans and puts her face in her hands.

Fucking hell, Bradley.

“Don’t be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. Don’t be mad,” Bradley speaks up. His voice is whinier than usual and it’s one of the few phrases he’s bothered to utter tonight. His weight still remains supported by his two friends and for a moment, she feels guilty for even being frustrated with him at all.

The warm hazel of his eyes peer into hers and she can almost feel his sadness and solitude. Bradley always liked to operate like he was angry, but anyone who dared to get close enough to him knew that the anger was how he felt about himself; a mirage of explosives made up of pure loneliness and hurt.

“I’m not mad —”

“Oh my fucking, God!” Bob screeches.

A slosh of yellow vomit exits Bradley’s mouth faster than anyone can manage to process. The warmth of his stomach acid mixed with the various types of alcohol he had shoved down his throat throughout the night makes everyone around them wrinkle their nose, and it’s in that moment - the one with Bob dropping Bradley’s arm in shock and Mickey being left to support his weight alone and succumbing to his friend’s heaviness sending them both straight to the floor in the puddle of puke - does Natasha accept the fact that this was a mistake and that Bradley had no business being anywhere but on a bathroom floor with a cup of water next to him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Mickey groans, his arms pushing himself up. He grimaces as he stands and examines his hands; the chunks of what was in Bradley’s stomach (which isn’t much besides alcohol, he figures) sitting warmly on his palms and making its way between his fingers.

Bradley grunts from the ground and is almost an afterthought due to the catastrophe taking place in front of them. Javy and Jake jump from their spots near the pool table and help him up.

Natasha can feel the headache brewing in her temples. She turns to look around and take count of all the watchful eyes. Even though she’s beyond mad at him right now, she always finds herself looking out for Bradley. After a quick sweep of the bar with her gaze, she figures that he’s not embarrassed himself too badly to never show his face around again.

Her eyes catch Penny’s sympathetic look. She mouths an apology while Penny nods and slowly starts to make her way to the supply closet in the back. On her way out from behind the bar, she pushes Maverick’s head with her hand a little bit harsher than what could be considered playful, and Maverick simply gives a sheepish grin in return.

“M’soooo tired,” Bradley garbles some more. His head hangs as if his neck isn’t attached to him.

“No, no, no, no. You can’t go to sleep right now!” Javy discourages. He pulls Bradley’s arm tighter around his shoulder. The brunet is properly jostled and Jake grumbles beside him.

Jake sends a sharp glare to his best friend at his sudden movement and for a second, he feels a wave of sympathy wash over him. It’s no secret that Bradley and Jake had been each other’s least favorite person for much longer than they had been friendly, but the fact that they can call each other that now - a friend - makes this taste so much sourer in the blond’s mouth now.

“But I’m tired!” Bradley croons. His body starts to go slack again as if his bones were made of rubber.

“But you can’t go to sleep, man!” Javy tries to reason.

“Why not?” Bradley continues to whine. His eyes squeeze shut and he stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Because – fuck, dude – because you just. . . can’t!”

“Why,” his foot resounds on the ground to punctuate his word, “Not!” The force of its landing causes him to stumble back a little despite the hunkering support on both sides of him. The room spins slightly and he chokes back a gag.

“Penny hates sleepers and you’re already skating on thin fuckin’ ice with her,” Javy snaps, “I suggest that if you don’t wanna lose a hangout spot, you try and get it together.”

Bradley attempts to mock him, but the effort it takes to remember what was said proves itself too great. He gives up after his third attempt at unscrambling his words and instead sticks his tongue out.

A frustrated puff of air leaves Jake’s mouth before he turns to Natasha. The face he makes is something Nat likes to call his “bitching face,” which everyone knew he made when he had something to say (which was all the fucking time, so he would often argue that it was just his face). She rolls her eyes to mentally prepare for the bullshit that’s about to come out of Hangman’s mouth.

“So what’s your plan, Phoenix?”

She hadn’t expected for his statement to be so tame, and for the first time tonight, the pressure of having to be right pinched her nerves like a thorn. For once in her life, she doesn’t really have a plan, and the realization startles her.

“Shit. I – I don’t know–” she stammers.

She feels a sharp pain in her thumb and glances down to see the side of her nail torn to shreds and spewing crimson. She curses herself internally. Picking anxiously at her skin was a habit she thought she had kicked after flight school.

Jake’s lips form a straight line of dissatisfaction with her answer. Bradley utters something incomprehensible to the sober ear and Javy shakes his head, pretending to understand what the brunet is saying when he truly has no clue if it was even English.

“I don’t feel good.”

Despite the confession being whispered, the world stops turning as if it were screamed from the rooftops. Bradley’s face pales. Javy can feel his chest squeeze with a sense of dread. Jake’s grip on his friend’s shoulders tightens.

“I need you to tell us what we’re doin’ before he starts blowin’ chunks everywhere!”

Natasha just stands still with a God’s eye view of the scene unfolding in front of her. Had you gone back in time and told her this would be her life three months ago, she’s positive she would’ve laughed in your face.

No one was more responsible than Bradley. No one was more reasonable than Bradley. No one was more mature than Bradley. No one else had life figured out the best they could like Bradley had.

But no one knew how deeply sad Bradley actually was.

And no one knew that this is exactly where that deep sadness would land him.

“What’s the plan, Phoenix?” Jake’s voice booms and bounces around in her ears.

Her hands come up to push the flyaways from her French braid back. Natasha’s face feels hot and the mugginess of the bar feels like a wet paper towel trapping her movements beneath its paper tendrils.

Think. Think. Think. Think!

“You need to make a decision –”

“I don’t fucking know!” she screeches.

Time stands still and everything seems to be moving in slow motion.

Penny whips her head around to see the commotion; her eyes wearing worry. Bob straightens his back due to her sudden change in cadence. Javy shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Mickey and Rueben give each other wide-eyed looks while Jake’s lips mold themselves even further into a straight line.

Even the music playing over the speakers seemed to quiet down.

It all makes her want to cry.

Her breathing is rampant and her heart beats raucously inside her ears. Her pulse is in tune with it and she can feel the blood coursing through every single vein in her body. Her hands shake and her body feels electrified from all the adrenaline.

Making a choice isn’t doable right now. And making the right choice is a task that remains an unsolvable dilemma with a bright red “danger” sign at its conclusion no matter the option.

“Fine,” Jake grumbles. He turns his body slightly to face Javy. “He’s comin’ with me.”

Javy widens his eyes; his thoughts formulating what he wants to say before he can even come up with the words to express it. “He can’t even stand straight. How in the fuck are we gonna get him into that stupid ass lifted truck –”

“Can you just shut the fuck up and help?”

Javy rolls his eyes and lets out a puff of air that he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. Jake is lucky that they had been best friends for over a decade and Bradley even luckier that Javy has a soft spot for him.

Natasha’s mouth feels stuffed with cotton and her limbs molded by concrete as the two men breeze past her to lead Bradley out of the front doors of Hard Deck. She could almost convince herself that the entire scene was a dream had it not been for the whiff of cologne and the slight tang of Bradley’s vomit hitting her nostrils as they walked by.

She slaps down a fifty-dollar bill on the bar top near the cash register before jogging into the sandy parking lot with the sky-painted indigo and violet above them.

By some miracle, Bradley is dragged (not without any hiccups or the impending fear that he would start projectile vomiting everywhere) all the way to the floor of the backseat of Jake Seresin’s black Ford F-150.

“Lard ass,” Jake mutters as he slams the door of his truck closed. Javy slides into the backseat with Bradley and another hollow sound of metal shutting can be heard.

Jake rips open the front passenger door for a meek Natasha, whose arms had yet to move from their crossed spot over her chest. Despite the dry summer heat nipping at her body and her damp arms showing evidence of her sweating, she feels cold.

Shocked.

Numb, is the word she’s looking for but can’t seem to find.

Her thumb rubs over her watch band and her purse hangs stagnant near her belly button. She looks as if she had seen a ghost. Her fingernails leave small scratches where blood had been drawn from her nervous picking.

Jake swats at her hand gently; telling her to let go. Telling her that this is okay. That this is under control.

That she needs to let go and let him help.

They stand silent in the hollows of the bar’s parking lot and Natasha can recall very few times where she had felt like this.

There was a weariness that grew in her whenever she told her dying grandmother that she would get to see her walk the stage at her high school graduation. There was a need for protection when she had broken up with her boyfriend before getting her first deployment assignment. There was a loss of hope whenever she looked at Bradley’s pleading eyes in her living room tonight, begging to let him tag along and carve out what he wants to say but can never manage to utter; “I’m lonely and I need help.”

Dread.

Impending doom.

Knowing the outcome despite trying to convince yourself that if you pray hard enough or ask God kind enough or are a good enough person or try your best or whatever the fuck you believe in doing – that this will work out and that you’ll come out on top.

But all that does is set you up for your grandmother to die two nights before high school graduation and for your boyfriend of three years to admit that he was cheating on you for two and a half of those.

All it gets you is a drunken best friend with demons and night terrors that still swallow him whole with fear despite sleeping on her living room couch and being thirty-seven years old.

“You coming?” Jake’s voice cuts through her downward spiral of thoughts.

She gulps down her feelings of decay. She makes a mental note to bring this up to her therapist this week even though she knows she’ll skate around it and they won’t get to unpack it for at least three more sessions.

“Y– yeah. I am,” she wipes at her forehead with the back of her hand, “Thanks.”

Jake gives a sharp nod of his head to her. Despite being a major shit-talker, he doesn’t really have much to say outside of the realm of having a good time or riling up some trouble.

He and Natasha aren’t close by any means of the word, but his appreciation for her had doubled the size since seeing all that she goes through dealing with an obliterated Bradley. Most friends don’t stick around like she does.

He sure as hell wouldn’t.

She throws herself up into his passenger side seat and closes the door before Jake can get to it. He’s already taking her and Bradley home, she figures. He can’t keep doing favors for her.

But then maybe shutting my own door is rude.

And then the thought spirals into why she doesn't think anyone wants to do nice things for her and how she’s undeserving of the good deeds she’s been dealt and then realizes that this thought pattern can wait because there are much bigger problems in her rear view.

Natasha turns her head to peer into the backseat. Bradley lays with his head in Javy’s lap and his legs folded in some miraculous knot. Javy doesn’t seem to mind and sits with his arms spread across the backs of the seats; scrolling away on his phone and checking his March Madness bracket to see exactly how much money he should be collecting at work tomorrow morning.

“How’s he holding up?”

The sound of her own voice surprises her. It comes out soft. Less assured. Less assertive than it usually does. She thinks that she sounds like her mother in a way before she discards the thought. She’s always hated the sound of her mom’s voice and –

Bigger things, Nat. Way bigger things.

Javy lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Pretty shitty,” he looks down from his phone and turns his neck to the side, “Can’t even hold that big ass head up on his own.”

Natasha lets out an airy snort. Her eyes continue to drink in the sight of the two men behind her before her attention snaps to the sound of Jake climbing into the driver’s seat.

He lets out a soft groan before shoving his key into the ignition and the engine roaring to life. His hand finds the button for the stereo and clicks it off before any sound can come from it.

“How you holdin’ up back there, ‘Yote?” he asks, right arm behind the back of the passenger seat as he begins to back out. He whips the gear into drive and guides the wheel with the palm of his left hand.

“Haven’t had to play EMT yet if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jake’s eyes catch Javy’s face in his rearview mirror. The idea of saying something sarcastic crosses his mind, but he doesn’t indulge in it; not now when shit has hit the fan and there’s seemingly no end in sight.

There’s a time and place for his snide comments, he thinks.

See, I’m learning. . . .God, these people have made me soft.

He wrinkles his nose and checks his periphery for Natasha. She sits solemnly at his side like a child who knew they were in for it once they got home. Her hands sit in her lap; fingers busied doing God knows what (probably picking, Jake would guess, but he’s too focused on trying to get everyone home without someone dying to actually look to confirm). Her mouth is set in a deep frown and her face competes with the moon for how pale it is.

Jake had never really looked at Natasha before, but he’s seen her enough in quick glimpses and fond flashbacks to know that she’s never appeared this hollow.

Something is weird.

Something is off.

Something is wrong, and Jake starts to wonder how anyone could have missed it at all.

He opens his mouth to comment on it before he’s interrupted.

“Turn left up here,” she whispers. Jake has to blink a few times to prove to himself that he had actually heard her voice come out like that and hadn’t dreamt it up.

A simple nod and a turn much wider than he would have liked it to send them to the driveway of a charming California bungalow. Natasha’s car sits outside the garage parked next to the God-awful and constantly falling apart Ford Bronco that everyone and their mother knows belongs to Bradley Bradshaw.

Jake fixes his wheels to be parallel to the lip of Natasha’s drive before throwing the vehicle into park and killing the engine. He throws the door open and hops out to help Javy pull Bradley’s deadweight out of the truck to take him inside.

“Up you get, dumb fuck.”

Bradley lets out a soft groan before being fixed across both men’s shoulders. His feet drag on the ground and his eyes remain closed. His brain is absent of any thoughts and the possibility of him remembering a single detail about this tomorrow is slim to none.

Natasha jams her house key into the lock and switches on the hallway light. She doesn’t bother taking off her shoes before she’s turned the corner to her kitchen to fetch some Ibuprofen and a glass of water. Javy and Jake silently struggle behind her, and she tries to ignore their hushed comments of “Oh shit!” after a loud thud fills the house, which she presumes to be them accidentally dropping Bradley on the ground.

Her feet feel like they’re stuck in buckets of cement as she stands before her kitchen sink; idly watching the air pocket bubbles of water fill the glass she holds beneath the faucet. The thought of getting Bradley water from the Brita filter in her refrigerator briefly crosses her mind, but then she remembers that she’s angry with him, and at the very least, he doesn’t deserve filtered water.

It’s a childish attempt at getting even, she knows, but she can’t express her annoyance any other way without feeling as if she was a raging bitch.

Her hand mechanically slaps the lever on the faucet to shut it off and her throat tightens when she hears the sound of her coffee table being scraped across the floor and Bradley mumble a whiny “Ouch!”

Natasha takes a deep breath and attempts to count to ten.

One. Bradley is okay. Two. Bradley is okay. Three. Bradley is okay. Four. Bradley is okay. Five. . . He’s fucking killing himself and you’re not even trying to help. Six. What kind of fucking friend are you? Seven. You should be ashamed of yourself. Eight —

With a wobbling lip and starry eyes, she forces herself out of her kitchen and into her living room where she finds two of her friends huddled around her other one; trying to position him on his side so that he can properly fall asleep.

“You fucking – you fuckin’ dropped me!” Bradley cries, his limbs flailing around like a baby’s.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Don’t cry over spilled milk, Bradshaw,” the lightbulb to say something shitty goes off in his head, “. . . S’not even milk you’re gonna remember spillin’.”

Bradley wordlessly slides himself deeper into the couch and smushes his face up against a throw pillow. Natasha watches from behind and makes a mental note to go ahead and plan on taking that pillow to the cleaners tomorrow.

It would be by God’s grace if she came to the living room in the morning and the cushion was absent of vomit.

“Don’t be a dick, Hangman. He’s already down bad enough as it is,” she speaks, brushing past him to set the water cup down on the coffee table. Her fast hands move the small waste basket hidden by her lamp near Bradley’s head. Her palm lingers on his head; fingertips ghosting the space where his hairline meets the back of his neck.

She sits down on the loveseat adjacent to the couch with a ‘plop.’ All that can be heard is the buzz of the cicadas outside and the anchoring, rumbly snoring exiting Bradley’s mouth. Javy shifts his weight between his two feet. Jake chews on his lip.

No one speaks.

The elephant in the room has gotten harder to ignore.

Natasha senses the ball forming in her throat before she feels it; the scary, dark monster of angst that everyone seems to want to will away. Its claws dig themselves deep into the crevices of her throat and tear every part of her to shreds. The stinging prickling of her eyes becomes harder and harder to blink away. Her nose begins to run; leaking the secret anguish she had been keeping to herself for months. Her limbs feel as if they had been injected with pure lead and she can’t will herself to move.

Because this is it.

This is the end.

This is the official cry for help that she had never wanted to make.

It’s crazy, she thinks, how your body can betray you even harsher than your worst enemy could.

Jake knows she’s crying before Natasha knows she is. Growing up with four sisters gave him a special radar for hidden emotions. The knowledge startles him a bit because never did he ever think that she had it in her to be so. . .broken. His eyes widen when her chest begins to wrack with sobs.

He and Javy share a wide-eyed gaze as if the scene playing in front of them could be any less real. Both men had never been great at comfort because they never had to deal with it, and as she tries to stifle her cries in an attempt to not wake Bradley and to not freak out Javy and Jake, she wonders if the anger she holds in her heart for Bradley makes her a bad person.

It’s insane, she thinks, that in one of her darkest moments, she can’t help but be horrified of being an awful human being.

All she had ever known was sacrifice and she can’t help but want to throw in the towel. To stop fighting so hard. To stop caring so much. To stop loving so deeply.

But she can’t.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

And thus the tears continue to fall while she wipes furiously at her eyes. Through a blurry lens of reality, she looks down and sees marbled red between her fingertips, but says nothing. The metallic stench of her own blood dripping out of her nose isn’t enough to stop her frenzy of thoughts beating her feelings into those of self-doubt. If anything, the blood attracts the emotions of worthlessness like sharks to live bait.

“Shit,” Jake hisses. The sound of his boots tendering his steps toward her makes her cry harder. “Shit, shit, shit. It’s okay. It’s alright.”

His hand moves in slow motion to reach out and touch her, but he snatches it back before it makes contact with her body.

Although he’s good at detecting sob fests, he’s never been good at resolving them.

“Holy shit, that’s so much blood,” Jake whispers louder than he intended. He sits on his knees in front of her and tilts his head to both sides of her face to get a good look at the geyser of blood spewing out of her nose.

Javy sends daggers toward him before making a plan in his head. “You take her to get cleaned up,” he instructs, “I’ll stay with tilt-a-whirl to make sure he actually makes it to the trashcan.”

Jake opens his arms in offense and opens his mouth to make a complaint before Javy stops him, “Blood or puke, dude. Your call.”

The blond’s lips form a straight line before he quickly makes a decision. He ushers Natasha up and gently guides her to the bathroom down the hall. She can barely see with the rate of tears building up in her eyes and though she would rather die than show weakness, the vulnerability sat revealed on the cushions of her loveseat.

There is no tough guy act available for her use anymore.

As she sits on her toilet seat lid with her head tilted forward over a wastebasket, she determines that Jake Seresin isn’t the most atrocious thing she has ever encountered and has a slight appreciation for his detached demeanor.

He doesn’t ask any questions. He doesn’t push her to say anything. He’s more than content with the silence and sits on the ledge of her bathtub with his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs.

In any other circumstance, they would be ripping the other a new one; trying to embarrass each other by coming across the other’s faults with a fine toothcomb. In another world, Natasha is somewhere teasing him about being a softy. In another world, Jake is rolling his eyes at whatever she was saying and dismissing it with a nasally, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” In another world, he never sets foot in her house and in another world, she doesn’t fall apart at the seams like this.

But in this world, the one with an entire box of bloody Kleenex filling the waste basket she has her head over, they don’t say anything because they truly don’t need to.

The thing no one tells you about hating someone’s guts is the way that you’re so accidentally in tune with them.

You know how they think. You know what nasty little habits they have. You know exactly what makes them tick.

And you know precisely what faces they make when they want you to spill your guts.

Natasha tries her hardest to ignore his wandering eyes and looks down at the mess beneath her instead. She can feel his stare slicing through her body; layer by layer: skin, fascia, muscles, organs, bones, and all.

“He’s been putting vodka in his coffee every morning.”

Jake quirks his eyebrows together. His stomach drops at the idea of what her admission may reveal.

“I suspected it for a while. He’s never been a Yeti cup kind of guy,” she lets out a sarcastic laugh, “So one day I went over to his desk and took a sip. I figured he wouldn’t mind.”

She shifts uncomfortably and her tears begin to slide down the apples of her cheeks like a waterfall once again.

“You know the shitty part about being right no one ever tells you? That it applies to dumpster fires too. Like, I didn’t wanna be right about my best friend drinking on the job but. . .”

Silence fills the air. Jake’s heart starts to race. This can’t be good, he thinks. This isn’t good, he knows.

“But?” he leads, leaning forward more to make sure that his ears don’t miss a single word that falls out of her mouth.

“Went by his desk every day for a week straight and sniffed his cup. I was right.”

Night and day pass before Jake can let the idea – no. The fact that Bradley had been showing up to work drunk settle in his stomach. It spreads like a thick goo that he can’t swallow down.

“How long?” he asks quietly. Gently, like a parent whispering as they hold their sleeping baby to their chest.

She licks her lips. The wetness of her tears help mend the dryness her mouth had encountered.

“Three months.”

The admission is dropped like a bomb. The effects of both of them knowing changing the intricate thread of life as they know it instantaneously. Jake’s chest starts to heave with a feeling that he doesn’t recognize.

Hurt. Anger. Disgust. Care. Sympathy. Hatred.

All of these things that he has never felt at one time. All of these things that he doesn’t have a name for.

His mouth moves faster than his brain. “You know you have to report him.” He says it with such finality and although he knows it’s the right thing to do, it certainly isn’t the right thing to say.

Natasha narrows her eyes at him. “You think I haven’t thought about it? You think it’s just that easy?” she scoffs, anger making her cheeks crimson red, “Fuck you, Jake!”

He knows that he shouldn’t take any offense to her words, but the weight of the events of tonight has taken a toll on him, and her words plant a seed of irritation in his heart.

“He’s coming to work drunk, Natasha! Screw me for wanting to keep people alive.”

She takes a deep breath. Her knuckles whiten around the rim of the trashcan she’s holding as a means to try and calm herself down.

“Look,” she speaks through gritted teeth, “I know this is horrible –”

“Horrible? Just horrible?” his words sound sharper than he intended them to be, “Horrible is your dog dying or losing a bet or staining your white couch with a fucking nosebleed.”

A sarcastic laugh leaves his mouth as he stands up to leave the bathroom. “He’s gambling with life, and he of all people should fucking know better.”

“Because using the dead mommy and daddy card against him is soooo fucking rich, Jake. What else is new? Huh?” She shoves the wastebasket to the side and stands up to look him in the face.

“You gonna pull the dead grandma card on me? Cheating ex-boyfriend? Oh let me guess. The female pilot who belongs in the kitchen and not the Navy?” With each word, she gets closer and closer to him.

“Don’t let the fact that I have a heart and actually try to do the right thing make you forget that I’ll fuck your life up beyond repair. You’re absolutely the last one to talk about gambling with life when you tried to kill your team and didn’t even feel an ounce of sympathy. Being number one means nothing when you kill all your competition, fuck face.”

The dried blood around her nostrils leaves a scarlet film in its wake. Jake takes a few deep breaths to remind himself to calm down. He knows that she’s right. He knows that he hasn’t quite redeemed himself. He knows that despite everyone having a chummy attitude with him, he is still considered a person who cannot be trusted.

Because he does bail. He does cut people down to make himself feel better. He does eliminate his problems instead of facing them.

“I know that he’s your best friend. I know that he means the world to you, but what he’s doing is dangerous, and you helping him hide it will only bite you in the ass in the long run,” he exhales softly, “You need to tell.”

She rolls her eyes and reaches past him to flip the light off. She stomps past him back into the hallway that leads to her living room.

“You still don’t fucking get it. You’ll never fucking get it!”

Her gaze finds Bradley sleeping softly on the couch and Javy curled up on the loveseat fast asleep before she decides to lower her voice. She turns on her heel to face Jake once again and takes a deep breath to calm herself down.

“You don’t have to get it or understand or even pretend like you give the smallest ounce of a fuck about him, but I do. I care about him so fucking much, Jake. And I know that it’s fucked up and I know that I’m not doing the right thing, but I can’t rat him out because betraying him when he’s like this would hurt him even more than getting in the cockpit wasted.”

“Nat –”

She holds up her hands to his chest and distances herself from him. The tears start to form again and she wonders if she’ll ever stop crying.

“I can’t take this away from him. I can’t take the only thing he has left away from him and you can’t make me. . . . Because this time, he might just hate me enough to dig the hole so deep that he won’t be able to climb back out.”

The collage of versions of Bradley she had gotten to know and love so well over the years of their friendship blind her with sorrow and sadness. She truly knows him in a way that no one else ever will, and while part of her takes pride in that, another part of her wishes there was someone else to help share the load because she’s tired.

She’s so fucking tired and there seems to be no relief in sight.

“And I’d rather him rot away on this couch knowing that someone loves him than get a phone call that he—that he killed himself because I helped everything get taken away from him.”

She zips past him to her linen closet to grab a blanket for Javy. “So yeah. You don’t have to get it but I do, and I’m gonna continue to stick by him regardless because that’s what friends do.”

Jake stands dumbfounded in the dimly illuminated doorway as she carefully unfolds a blanket and gently lays it on Javy. He watches as she turns to Bradley and puts her finger underneath his nose to ensure that he’s alive and breathing. Her eyes refuse to meet him as she walks into her bedroom and shuts the door.

And when she wakes the next morning to find Jake fast asleep in a chair alongside Javy and Bradley, she knows that there was nothing but truth to the words he had uttered to her last night.

When they wake, they separate and leave for work like the events of the evening had never happened.

Like Bradley hadn’t projectile vomited at the bar the previous night or that Javy hadn’t dropped him on his ass in Nat’s living room. Like Natasha hadn’t cried so hard her nose bled and that Jake hadn’t had the chewing out of his life given to him in a bathroom at three in the morning. Like everything is fine when they all know that it’s not – the textbook definition of burying an issue beneath a rug.

Natasha almost tricks herself into pretending like the entire evening had never happened until she spots Bradley’s black Yeti cup on his desk. She stares at it with wonder and hatred and she doesn’t even realize how long she had been standing there until she feels the warm drip of blood seeping from her nose slide down her face and onto her chest.

Natasha Trace was a person who was very rarely mistaken, but now she can say that her mistakes run large when she is.

Because Bradley Bradshaw is fucked, and there is absolutely nothing she can do about it.

#bringing this hoe back because BOY do i have some updates on part two for y’all

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