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For Bradley, it starts with the accident.
The accident happens a month before they graduate. One minute Hangman is in the sky next to him and Bradley’s rolling his eyes at his infuriatingly smug southern drawl (Hey, Rooster. Bet you twenty bucks you won’t beat me). The next his engines are on fire and the plane is plummeting to the ground (Bradley does his best not to remember what that sounds like).
He reaches for the eject handles in time, he makes it to the ground alive, but Bradley hears someone say “jet wash” and knows that he can’t just let him go.
Somehow, he lands the plane, his muscle memory taking over as his mind crashes with Hangman to the ground. The rest of their classmates are standing on the tarmac, a few because they’re worried and most because they’re looking for a show. Bradley doesn’t have time for either.
Phoenix places a concerned hand on his arm, and he slows down just enough to assure her that he’s fine. He pats her fingers gently once, then brushes them off so he can continue on his way to the hospital. He half expects her to ask where he’s going, but she just watches him leave, something like understanding shining in her eyes.
He sees Hangman lying in his hospital bed, looking almost peaceful in his resting state, and he sits down just so that he doesn’t have to stand on his shaky legs anymore.
He reaches out tentatively and rests his fingers on top of Hangman’s palm. It’s a stupid thing to do, but the solid warmth underneath his fingertips does more to assure that Hangman is alive than anything the doctors have told him so far.
Carefully, he removes his hand, forcing it back onto his own lap as he sits and listens to the machine beep to the beat of Hangman’s heart. He hates how vulnerable Hangman looks laying there by himself so he pulls his chair close enough that his knees brush the edge of the bed and plants himself there.
He gets a weird look from Coyote, who is apparently Hangman’s emergency contact, but for the most part no one questions his bedside vigil. Bradley assumes they’re chalking it up to the fact that he was Hangman's wingman for the day.
When he starts feeling restless, he switches positions, leaning forward in his chair and watching the rise and fall of Hangman’s chest as he breathes. Coyote stands next to him for a while, maybe half an hour, and he doesn’t seem at all concerned about taking Hangman’s hand in his own.
Bradley stares at their interlocked fingers until he almost believes it doesn’t bother him.
When Coyote leaves, he stops at the door and looks at Bradley. “I’ll be in the waiting room,” he says. He doesn’t say “take care of him for me,” but Bradley hears it anyway.
Then he’s alone again, just him and Hangman’s steady heartbeat. He wants to close his eyes and whisper talk to me, Dad but he’s afraid that if he interrupts Hangman’s heart it will never beat again.
Besides, he’s not sure if he’d be able to explain to his father just how glad he is that a man that he had previously considered the bane of his existence is still alive.
The doctors kick him out after a few hours, telling him they need to run some more tests. His first instinct is to argue, but he isn’t family, or Hangman’s emergency contact, or even really his friend. They assure him that Hangman will be sedated for another few hours anyway, but it still makes Bradley feel sick to his stomach to leave him there alone.
The waiting room is empty, just Bradley, Coyote, and the receptionist. If any of their classmates had come to check up on Hangman, they’re long gone now, and Bradley is inexplicably glad for it. Somehow, he thinks Hangman probably would be, too.
Coyote doesn’t say anything to him, so he doesn’t say anything to Coyote. He’s sure Coyote has questions for him, but Bradley doesn’t have the answers, and he gets the sense that Coyote is letting him off easy on purpose. He has no idea why, but he’s grateful enough that he chooses not to question it.
The minutes tick by silently, and Bradley selfishly wishes that Mav were there. It isn’t rational, he knows. For one thing, he’s still furious with Mav. He has been for almost eight years. For another, he’s already battling back thoughts about his dad, and putting Mav through that with him wouldn’t be good for either of them.
Still, he thinks maybe Mav is the only person in the world who would understand what he’s feeling right now, so lets himself wish against reason.
After about an hour of waiting, the doctors tell him and Coyote that Hangman is going to make a full recovery. He has a few cracked ribs and a concussion, but nothing that would keep any self-respecting pilot down for long, let alone someone as driven as Hangman.
The relief cuts through Bradley’s body at the same time as the tension leaves Coyote’s. Rationally, he had always known that Coyote was Hangman’s only real friend, but for the first time, Bradley realizes that Hangman means as much to Coyote as Coyote means to him.
It shouldn’t shock him, but it does. Enough that he finally processes the events of the day, and all of a sudden he’s closing his eyes, hands gripping the edge of his seat in the hospital waiting room like it’s the fucking eject handles that saved Hangman’s life.
He feels a hand on his shoulder, hears a steady voice telling him to breathe. After what feels like eons he finally does, and when he opens his eyes again Coyote is next to him, staring straight ahead.
“Is there anyone we should call? To tell them he’s okay, I mean?” Bradley asks, and his voice is hoarse but he considers it a goddamn miracle that it’s there at all.
“No,” Coyote says, simple as that, and his eyes say we’re the only people who care to know.
It feels strangely like he’s intruding, being included in caring for Jake Seresin, but Bradley can’t quite bring himself to regret it.
Still, Bradley is smart enough to recognize a gesture of trust when he sees one, and Coyote has been trusting him with Hangman all night.
He decides to return that trust and answers the question Coyote hasn’t asked. “My dad was a Top Gun pilot,” he says. “He died.” Coyote turns to him, listening attentively but not pushing for anything more than what he’s willing to share. That, more than anything, spurs him onward.
“He died when he got caught in another pilot’s jet wash. He tried to eject, but it broke his neck. He was dead before he even hit the ground.”
Bradley braces himself for the hollow sympathy that he gets every time he tells someone about his parents, but Coyote doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nods, and Bradley knows he understands.
They talk, after that. Not about Bradley’s dad, or the accident. They talk about normal things: their classmates, their instructors, and most of all Hangman.
“He always has to be the best,” Coyote says. “It scares people away.”
“Not you,” Bradley points out.
Coyote shrugs. “It makes me better.”
Bradley thinks about that for a while, then thinks about why he’s sitting here. He and Hangman are by no means friends, but their antagonism isn’t entirely hostile either. By now when they bicker, it does more than just piss him off. It lights him up, takes him out of his own head.
Maybe, just maybe, Hangman makes him better, too.
Coyote stands up, and Bradley sees a nurse approaching them. She tells them that Hangman’s awake, and Bradley follows Coyote to his room. Coyote walks in and takes a seat, and Bradley hears a choked up “Javy” from where he’s lingering by the door.
“Hey, Jake,” Coyote says, reaching out to brush some of Hangman’s hair off of his face. He sees Coyote smile, but it looks more sad than happy. It feels intimate, private, and Bradley knows he can’t go in there right now.
Coyote comes back out fifteen minutes later and tells him that Hangman’s asleep again. His eyes are rimmed with red, but neither of them comment on it. Coyote sits down, and they’re back where they were before.
Bradley sees Coyote yawn, and he realizes that because he wasn’t in the air when it happened, Coyote most likely isn’t being given a lighter schedule as a result of the accident.
“You can go home, get some sleep,” He offers. “I’m gonna stay the rest of the night anyways. I can make sure he gets out okay in the morning.”
He’s not sure if he expects Coyote to turn him down outright, but he still finds himself releasing a breath when Coyote agrees. It takes him a few minutes of careful consideration, and Bradley can’t help but feel like the eventual acceptance is more significant than he understands.
“Tell him to call me if he needs anything,” Coyote says on his way out. “And if he doesn’t agree, call me yourself.”
“I will.” He means it. “Good night, Coyote.”
“Javy. It’s Javy.”
Bradley swallows. “Good night, Javy.”
He checks with the nurse and gets permission to sit in Hangman’s room while he sleeps. He spends the rest of the night alternating between falling asleep in the chair and watching Hangman for any signs of movement.
Hangman finally stirs awake again, and something about the mid-morning sun on his still-peaceful face makes Bradley want to do something insane like reach out and thread his fingers through his hair. Instead, he leans back in his chair and clears his throat.
“You owe me twenty bucks.” His voice comes out soft, almost embarrassingly gentle, but he’s grateful for it when Hangman’s head turns slowly toward him, disorientation and lingering pain clear on his face.
“Rooster,” he says, halfway between a question and a statement. Then, “What?”
He might just as easily be wondering what Bradley is doing in his hospital room as actually responding to him, but Bradley opts to take the question at face value. “I’d say I beat you at the training exercise, wouldn’t you?”
He watched as Hangman’s mouth started to form its signature smirk, and forced himself not to look away when that quickly transformed into a frown. Hangman’s hand came up to touch his split lip with a small groan, but Bradley can’t bring himself to feel bad. All of these little injuries seem like a small price to pay for the cost of being alive.
“Coyote?” Hangman asks, and Bradley finds he’s not sure how to justify sending his rival’s best friend home in favor of staying by his side himself.
“He left to get some sleep a few hours ago.” Bradley shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “He says to call if you need anything, though, he’ll be available. He was… worried,” he finishes lamely.
Hangman just raises an eyebrow at him, looking unfairly smug for someone covered in bruises and wearing a hospital gown. “Oh, he was, was he?”
Bradley is saved from having to answer by the arrival of the doctor, although he’s sure that Hangman still sees the flush that rises on his cheeks. A nurse gives Hangman another painkiller and tells him he’s cleared to leave as long as he doesn’t drive, and Hangman nods his way through the long list of activities he should avoid for at least the next week.
He thanks the doctors as he climbs out of the bed, laying his usual charming grin on thick, no sign of the pain he had shown just a few minutes earlier. It could have been the painkillers kicking in, but Bradley felt suspiciously like maybe that frown had belonged to someone a little bit closer to Jake than Hangman.
He tunes back into the conversation that Hangman is having with one of the nurses, and he’s more surprised than he should be when he realizes that Hangman has started flirting with her. He rolls his eyes as Hangman’s arm comes up to rest casually on the wall by her head, and he gets up out of his chair to begin gathering up Hangman’s belongings.
“So,” he hears Hangman say as he walks up beside him, “do you have a phone in this fine establishment?” Bradley can’t quite see his face, but he’s sure Hangman is winking.
It should look ridiculous. Hangman is still in a hospital gown, he’s covered in scrapes and bruises, and his usually perfect hair is sticking up in tufts around his head. But Bradley can tell from the nurse’s face that it’s actually working, so he reaches out and places a hand lightly on Hangman’s back.
“And what exactly do you need a phone for?” Bradley asks, handing him the folded up pile of clothes, a wallet, and car keys he picked up.
“You heard the lady,” Hangman says, turning to wink at the nurse once more. “I’m not supposed to drive. Gotta get Coyote to pick me up.”
The nurse giggles–honest to God giggles–at him, and Bradley realizes that she’s actually quite pretty. Then he realizes that while he’s been looking at her, she’s been looking at him. She clears her throat and turns back to Hangman.
“I would love to offer you our phone,” she says, “but something tells me your boy here’s got you covered.” She punctuates her statement by taking the car keys off the top of the pile and handing them to Bradley as she walks out.
Hangman shifts towards him, seeming to notice the hand on his back for the first time. “Well, then.” Bradley is foolishly unprepared for the full force of the Hangman grin to be turned on him. “Take me home.”
Bradley makes him change before they leave, very gallantly turning away as Hangman puts on pants despite his offer to “put on a show”.
By the time they actually make it to the car, the painkillers have definitely hit. Hangman is sitting in his front seat, grinning loopily and humming along to the Taylor Swift song playing on the radio. Bradley struggles to decide what’s more surprising: that Hangman is apparently a huge Taylor Swift fan or that his smile doesn’t contain even a hint of bite.
Bradley does his best to keep his eyes on the road, but he’s oddly charmed by Hangman’s drugged up behavior. He hasn’t ever thought of Hangman as a particularly tense person, and yet the version in front of him is loose in ways that Bradley has never seen before.
Bradley fully intends to leave Hangman alone when they arrive at his apartment, but he’s so out of it that Bradley immediately realizes he can’t in good conscience set him loose without at least taking him inside first.
They’ve been mostly quiet on the drive, but as Bradley wraps his arm around Hangman to guide him through the door, Hangman turns to him. “Javy said you watched over me all night. You were there when I first woke up.”
Bradley doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays silent. Hangman laughs.
“You’re like my guardian angel.”
Bradley feels his face heating, so he deflects. “I look that good, huh?”
Hangman smiles lazily, untangling himself from Bradley’s arms. “You always look good.” His voice is soft as he collapses onto the couch. “Too good to be true.”
Bradley knows better than to expect things to get better between them after that, so he isn’t surprised when they don’t. The four weeks before graduation fly by, and he ignores the sting when Hangman first comes back and doesn’t acknowledge anything that happened. Maybe he had hoped for a few days that they might become friends, but he always knew it was a long shot.
Still, he’s used to the bickering, to the teasing and the smug jabs. He doesn’t expect the last three weeks of his time with Hangman to be filled with nothing but semi-polite silence. He doesn’t understand what changed (he asks Javy about it in a moment of weakness, but Javy just shrugs and tells him that Hangman refuses to talk about the accident at all). He convinces himself it’s all for the best.
Graduation passes in a blur, and Bradley almost completely forgets about the whole thing. He doesn’t see Hangman after graduation, and they don’t keep in touch. They were always rivals at school, there’s no reason that Bradley should want to continue butting heads now that they’re done.
He’s stationed with Natasha a few times, and after the first they’ve become close enough that they keep in contact when they aren’t together. Natasha’s a lot better about keeping up with their former classmates than he is, so he occasionally hears things about Hangman through her.
He’s stationed with Javy once, too, early on in their careers. Javy is fresh off of a mission he’d done with Hangman, and Bradley can’t stop himself from asking. “He’s doing okay,” Javy says. “Got himself a confirmed kill and everything. Now all he needs is someone to impress with it.”
Time goes on, and Hangman and his accident fade to the back of Bradley’s mind. Then, years later, he’s called back to Top Gun. He walks into the Hard Deck, soaking up the familiar atmosphere and searching for any familiar faces. He spots Natasha first, and even though she makes a big show of being pissed that he didn’t tell her he was state-side, he can tell she’s having trouble keeping a smile off her face.
He’s feeling pretty smiley himself–it’s nice to be back with Natasha, and he’d heard rumors that Javy had been called back, too. He turns around to look for him…and comes face to face with Hangman.
There’s a moment when they size each other up, then Hangman says something, and the next words out of his mouth are “Hangman. You look… good.”
It’s true. Of course it is. He already looked like a movie star when they were at school and the ego boost of his kill has only added to the effect. He looks like a cocky asshole, but he’s fucking gorgeous.
Hangman leans over the pool table, and Bradley can’t help but note a pack of those infernal toothpicks tucked in his pocket. “I am good, Rooster. I’m very good. In fact, I’m too good to be true.”
Just like that, it all comes back to him: the fear when Hangman fell out of the sky, the relief when the doctors told him he was okay, the bittersweet moments when he let himself think that maybe they could actually be friends. But the man in front of Bradley isn’t the same one he watched over in the hospital room (if the stuff he’s saying now is any indication, he’s somehow managed to get even more arrogant in their time apart) so he figures it’s best to push it right back down.
The rest of the night is a mix of meeting the rest of the team, catching up with Javy, reveling in the fact that he’s with Tasha in person again, and resolutely ignoring the looks Hangman keeps sending his way. He plays the piano, sings for the bar, drinks just enough to loosen up, and wonders what it will be like to fly with Hangman again.
The answer, as it turns out, is pretty much what it was like before, but on steroids. Maverick’s training them for this mission (which is a whole different can of worms for Bradley to unpack), and Hangman finally has someone to impress. He’s as cocky in the air as he is on the ground, and he’s certainly no more ashamed to leave a wingman behind than he was in school. The competition of it all brings out the worst in him, and it brings out the worst in Bradley, too. Pretty soon they’re at each other’s throats, back to the bickering and rivalry of their past.
Hangman’s always on him about hesitating, flying too slow, playing it safe. It pisses Bradley off more than anything because of course he’s playing it safe. He’s never been more scared in his life. They’re training for a suicide mission, and his personal life has been in complete shambles since Maverick’s return, and he can’t think about anything else.
Every time he looks at Hangman, he sees him in the hospital bed, and he thinks about his dad and about Maverick and about how he doesn’t want anyone else to die. Every time he looks at Maverick, he sees his betrayal, and he thinks about his dad again, and then Hangman again, and then his dad some more. The combined punch in the face of Hangman and Maverick returning to his life leaves him more than rattled, and Hangman notices that, too.
They’re in the air when Hangman says, “Can I ask you a personal question?” and for one terrifying, exhilarating moment Bradley thinks that he’s finally going to bring up the accident. He tenses up in his plane, preparing to defend his behavior despite the fact that he’s never actually been able to defend it to himself. To say he’s blindsided by the question about Maverick would be an understatement.
Bradley brushes him off and prays that he’ll let it go. But Hangman was apparently born to infuriate him, so of course he doesn’t. Instead, he brings it up in one of their classes, mentions his dad’s death like it’s nothing, like Hangman himself didn’t almost suffer the same fate.
Bradley is out of his seat before he knows it, and soon the rest of their classmates are pulling them apart, trying to keep them from attacking each other. He vaguely registers Hangman repeating “I’m cool, I’m cool,” but he’s too furious with him to even look up and see the smug grin on his face.
Javy finds him later and promises that he didn’t tell. It hadn’t even crossed Bradley’s mind as a possibility, but he believes him. Javy is a good friend for Hangman, and for the first time Bradley realizes that Javy is a good friend for him, too.
The thing is, Bradley is really mad at Hangman. He knows, rationally, that Hangman doesn’t know the whole story and can’t possibly understand the cruel irony of his comments coming from him specifically. But the things Hangman said in there feel like a mockery not only of his dad’s death but of Bradley’s inexplicable concern when Hangman went down, and maybe it's a bit of a sore spot for Bradley, but he has a lot of trouble letting that go.
The next two days fly by in a haze of anger, and he feels bad enough that he starts lashing out at anyone and everyone around him. The burning fury under his skin grows and he gets more and more irritable until he almost bites Tasha’s head off for asking him to pass her the salt (Fuck‘s sake, Natasha, it’s just as far from me as it is from you.)
He sees her face harden and winces, stammering out the beginnings of an apology, but she cuts him off. “Look, you’ve been on edge ever since your little spat with Bagman, and it needs to stop. He’s an asshole, and if he had pulled that kind of shit on me, I’d be done with him for good.” Bradley shifts a little uncomfortably at that idea. Natasha barrels on. “But, for whatever reason, the fact that you’ve been avoiding him has just made things even worse. I’m not telling you to forgive him, and I’m definitely not telling you to apologize, but–for the sake of your relationships with everyone else on this team–you have to go talk to him.”
Bradley sighs and nods, because if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years of their friendship, it’s that Natasha is usually right. He starts to pick at his (unsalted) vegetables again, but he spends the rest of their dinner forming a plan to talk to Hangman that night.
So, after a somewhat unsatisfying meal, Bradley goes to find Hangman.
Hangman isn’t in his room but Javy is, so Bradley ends up getting a ride with him to the Hard Deck. Javy doesn’t ask why he’s looking for Hangman, and Bradley gets the sense that it’s because he already knows.
They walk in and Bradley immediately spots Hangman at the jukebox. A song starts playing, the same one that had been playing when he had unplugged the jukebox on his first day back. Hangman is in his element, all bright smiles and southern charm. He moves with an ease that projects confidence and comfort.
Bradley starts to walk toward him, then stops. Hangman is chatting up some girl, whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle. Javy walks up beside him, taking in the scene.
“Ah,” Javy says, clearing his throat. “I see he’s busy.”
Bradley chokes out a laugh at that, but it comes out hollow. He accepts Javy’s offer of a drink and follows him to the bar, but his attention keeps going back to Hangman and the girl as they talk and dance and flirt.
Hangman’s hands are on the girl's waist, and they’re swaying gently with the music. Then he’s spinning her around and she’s laughing, delighted by his good looks and charm and smooth dance moves. He pulls her back into him, and she’s pressed up against his body, cheeks turning red. He leans down to whisper something in her ear again.
They leave together and Bradley wants to roll his eyes, but he isn’t feeling the levity that the action requires. Instead, he watches silently as Hangman guides her out of the bar, then turns back to Javy.
“Well,” he says, and he means to laugh but nothing comes out. “There goes that plan.”
Javy shrugs. “Maybe you can’t fix things tonight, but it’ll happen eventually. He only pulls this kinda shit–” he gestures toward the door that Hangman and the girl had just walked through “–when he’s got something big on his mind.”
That surprises Bradley. Hangman is a notorious flirt. He chats up waitresses, baristas, nurses, even Penny (although, thankfully, that’s mostly just friendly teasing). Bradley can’t remember the last time he saw Hangman at a bar without him hitting on at least one (more than willing) woman. Hell, he flirts so much that sometimes a pick-up line or two will even slip into the bickering he does with Bradley.
But now that he thinks about it, he also can’t remember the last time Hangman actually went home with someone.
Next to him, Javy continues: “Not to mention the fact that he’s never been able to stay away from you for long. He’ll come find you soon. Trust me.”
Soon turns out to be the next morning. He’s just finished his shower when there’s a knock on his door, and he opens it still wearing his towel. He immediately regrets his choice when it swings open to reveal Hangman, looking…not apologetic, but slightly less pleased with himself than usual.
Bradley bites back his surprise and tries desperately not to think about what Hangman might have been doing while he and Javy sat at the bar last night. He only somewhat succeeds, but he’s relieved to see that it looks like Hangman has showered since then, so at least he has no visual reminders.
“Rooster,” Hangman says, still standing in his doorway. His eyes sweep over Bradley’s bare chest, then return to his face. He clears his throat. “Bradshaw.”
Bradley sighs, trying his best not to feel completely naked under Hangman’s intense gaze, and gestures for Hangman to come inside.
“Listen,” Hangman says, “I shouldn’t have brought up your dad. I meant what I said about you being too slow out there, but that part was way out of line. I–” He pauses. “My mom died, when I was young. Car crash. If someone had said that about her…” He trails off, and he looks at Bradley with an expression that Bradley would have described as pleading on anyone else.
Bradley rolls his eyes at what probably passes for an apology in Hangman’s book, but decides to accept it nonetheless. “My dad was Maverick’s WSO. He trusted Mav completely, and so did I. Then my dad died, and Mav pulled my papers, and now we’re here.”
His show of honesty clearly catches Hangman off-guard, because–for once in his life–he has nothing to say. Bradley laughs. “You’re the one who asked me a personal question.”
Hangman’s eyes travel down to Bradley’s chest once more, and when they snap back up, Bradley realizes how close they are. If he leaned forward an inch or two more, he could probably feel Hangman’s breath on his bare skin. He takes a step back.
Hangman follows suit. “Thanks,” he says gruffly. “You know, for telling me. I’ll see you at training.”
Bradley just nods, feeling oddly hot and a little bit shaken.
This time, Bradley definitely isn’t surprised when nothing changes. They jump right back into the animosity, and, while Hangman never brings up his father again, he also doesn’t acknowledge the fact that they had had something dangerously close to a heart-to-heart. Whatever role Hangman’s playing, it’s the one of a fucking lifetime because he’s better at pretending than anyone else Bradley’s ever met.
Still, when he gets chosen for the mission instead of Hangman, he isn’t surprised to find some relief mixed in with the pride and anxiety. With Hangman grounded, he won’t have to be constantly bombarded by the image of him in a hospital bed, face covered in blood and eerily still. He can get in the plane knowing he’s only flying with one ghost, not two.
He runs into Hangman in the hallway the night before the mission, after Mav announces the team. He starts to say something, but Hangman cuts him off with a curt “congratulations” and continues on his way. Bradley watches him leave, something bitter settling in his stomach. Javy stays behind and watches with him.
“Is he…How is he?” Bradley asks.
Javy sighs. “He just needs to blow off some steam. He’s upset that he didn’t get chosen, and he’s upset that you did. Almost thirty and he still hasn’t learned how to properly regulate his emotions.” Javy actually does roll his eyes, but his expression is fond. Bradley nods.
“And how are you?”
“I’m okay. I couldn’t handle it in practice, chances are I wouldn’t be able to handle it out there. Still stings, but I’m not gonna be Jake about it.” Bradley huffs a laugh at that. “What about you? You nervous?”
It should be a stupid question, but no one else has bothered to voice it, so Bradley finds himself answering honestly. “Yes and no. Not as much as I would be if it were him up there instead of me, but I know what we’re heading into. I’m worried about Natasha and--and about Mav. Payback and Fanboy and Bob, too. But at least if I’m going instead of Hangman, then I know he’ll make it to the other side.”
Javy looks at him, assessing. “You’re not worried about yourself?”
Bradley shrugs. “If I die, I’ll have people waiting for me there.”
“You’ll have people waiting for you here, too, you know,” Javy says, and Bradley isn’t sure if he just means himself or if he means the rest of the team as a whole, but he appreciates the sentiment. They stand there for a couple more moments of companionable silence before Bradley turns back to Javy.
“You wanna watch a shitty movie or something?”
They head back to Bradley’s room and mess around with the TV until they find something ridiculous enough to laugh at. Bradley grabs them each a beer from the fridge, and they settle in. He starts drifting off after about an hour, but he vaguely registers a knock at the door.
Javy shifts next to him, then laughs at his reluctant groan. “Don’t worry, Sleeping Beauty. I’ll get it.”
Bradley’s eyelids feel too heavy to lift, so he only knows it’s Natasha when he hears her voice drift into the room. He can’t tell if Javy’s surprised or not, but he does hear him say “Come on in, Trace. Rooster’s sleeping but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the extra company.”
Bradley finds himself smiling at that, and then he feels a warm presence curl up next to him on the couch. He moves them into a more comfortable position, pressing Natasha’s head gently against his shoulder. “Hey, Tashy,” he whispers.
He can tell she’s either nervous or exhausted because she doesn’t bother to smack him for the “ridiculous and childish” nickname, instead cuddling in closer. He wraps an arm around her, soaking in her warmth.
The couch sinks a bit when Javy sits back down, and Bradley lifts his head to look at him. “You wanna cuddle, too, Coyote?” Javy just rolls his eyes, but he does lean in closer, so Bradley calls it a win.
At some point they fall asleep to the sound of fake explosions and terrible CGI, and when Bradley wakes up it's with the satisfied feeling that his last night on earth wasn’t half bad.
He and Natasha get ready together, and he squeezes her hand before sending her off to Bob. He watches them talk for a few moments, turning away just as Natasha pulls her WSO into a hug. He’s glad that they’ve gotten so close. If he doesn’t make it but Natasha does, he knows she’ll have someone else to lean on.
He’s a little surprised when, right before he takes off, Hangman approaches him. It’s a little tense, and for a moment he wonders if Hangman’s gonna try and punch him. Instead, he speaks. “You give ‘em hell.” It almost seems like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.
Bradley nods and takes the gesture for what it is: Hangman’s way of telling him there are no hard feelings. Bradley watches him leave, soaks in his muscles and tan skin for what might be the last time, and prepares himself for the mission.
He sees Mav right before they take off, and he knows he wants to say something but he can’t quite get the words out. Mav either understands or takes pity on him, because he cuts him off and tells him they’ll talk when they make it back. Despite everything, Mav’s presence is soothing, and his words of encouragement are just enough to get Bradley to climb into the cockpit without exploding from anxiety.
Once they take off, though, the panic really starts to set in. Sure, Mav had proven that the flight path was possible, but none of the rest of them had flown it successfully. He knows the navy intends it to be a suicide mission. Deep down, they all do–even Mav.
They start weaving through the canyon, and Bradley’s going too slow. He hears Payback and Fanboy through the comms, telling him they’re behind. He hears the urgency in their voices grow. It feels distant, like it’s happening under water, like nothing he’s doing is real. He clenches his hands tight, then whispers, “talk to me, Dad.”
Except it isn’t his Dad’s voice that responds, it’s Mav’s, telling him “don’t think, just do.” He closes his eyes and hears Hangman on their first night back at the Hard Deck. You’re always sitting on that perch, waiting for the perfect moment that never comes.
His eyes snap open and he speeds up, vaguely registering Payback’s voice saying, “Jesus, Rooster, not that fast!”
He’s been operating planes for years, but now he finally feels like he’s flying.
He hits the target blind and climbs out of there okay, and for a second he thinks they’re all gonna make it. They’ve already accomplished two miracles, what’s a little dogfighting on the way out? But then he’s out of flares, and he’s about to be hit, and he’s bracing himself for impact…and it doesn’t come.
Instead, he watches Mav’s plane crash to the ground. He hears the order to return home, and no one sees him parachute out, but Bradley can’t just leave him behind. He’s not going to lose another parent.
Turning back to go after Mav is the craziest thing he’s ever done. At least, until they then decide to run across an enemy runway and steal an F-14.
The plane is old, almost too old for Bradley’s skills to be of any help (but not quite). He manages to get the radio working, and he turns his signal on as soon as he gets in the plane. For the most part, though, his life is in Mav’s hands.
The thing is, despite everything he said to Hangman and to Mav himself, he never really stopped trusting Mav. He was beyond angry when Maverick had pulled his papers, but he always knew that Mav valued Bradley’s life above everything else–including, apparently, his own.
That’s why when Mav tells him to eject, he knows they’re going to die. If there was any way to outfly their attacker, then Mav would’ve kept him in the plane. Bradley knows that, is entirely too familiar with both Mav’s piloting skills and his confidence in them. So when the eject handles don’t work, Bradley is completely and painfully aware that this is the end.
That is, until the plane behind him explodes and a familiar voice comes flooding in the plane. “Good afternoon, gentlemen, this is your savior speaking,” Hangman says, and Bradley can practically hear him smirking as he finishes up his little speech.
“Hey, Hangman,” Bradley says, and he’s grinning because he’s alive and Hangman saved them and somehow they’ve actually done it. “You look good.”
Hangman laughs, and Bradley’s heart skips just a little. “I am good, Rooster. I’m very good.”
The landing is a little difficult without front landing gear or their right engine, but pretty soon Bradley’s back on the ground and soaking in his success. He shakes Hangman’s hand and hopes that his skin communicates all the gratitude and relief and maybe something else that his words can’t.
He can feel the joy radiating off of Hangman, and he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed by how happy all the attention is making him. He smiles when Hangman boasts about his second air to air kill, then smiles even wider when Natasha reminds him that Mav’s an ace.
Hangman pats his chest, and Bradley manages to resist the absurd urge to put his hand on top of Hangman’s and keep it there.
He hugs Maverick, and he’s not at all surprised to find the anger he’s carried for so long is gone. They’re going to need to have a real conversation eventually, but for now, it’s enough that they made it back alive.
That night, the whole team goes out to the Hard Deck to celebrate (and if Penny and Maverick are both suspiciously absent, they choose not to comment on it). The bar is as lively as always, but they’re all so on top of the world that it feels as if they have the whole place to themselves.
Bradley kicks off his night with a game of darts against Fanboy, whom he readily destroys. Fanboy’s a good sport about it, just laughs and offers to buy him a drink. He hands him a beer, and they clink glasses. “Here’s to making it out alive,” Fanboys says, then leaves to find Payback.
Bradley takes the moment alone to lean back and watch his team. Natasha and Bob are deep in conversation by the piano, and Bradley finds himself smiling as Natasha throws her head back to laugh at something Bob says. Payback and Fanboy are next to them, leaning over Payback’s phone. The rest of the team is huddled around the pool table, where Hangman is playing Javy.
It seems to be a close game, based on how invested the rest of the pilots look, but Hangman is completely at ease. He moves fluidly, a look of steady determination on his features as he positions himself for the shot. He sinks the ball easily, and–as if he can somehow sense Bradley’s gaze–grins up at him with a wink.
Bradley rolls his eyes, but he suspects the flush rising up on his cheeks sort of ruins the image. Hangman just snorts and goes back to his game.
People keep funneling Bradley free drinks, and by the time an hour and half has rolled by, he’s starting to feel it. He’s sitting at the bar, back pressed against the hard wooden edge, looking out at the patrons. Natasha is sitting next to him, arm brushing against his as she takes steady sips of her beer.
She’s been doing that all night: checking up on him, making sure she knows where he is, light touches to reassure herself that he’s actually there. She had mentioned before they came how much it had freaked her out when his plane went down, so he doesn’t begrudge her any of it. It doesn’t explain why Hangman’s been doing the same thing, though.
The pressure from Natasha’s arm gets a little more insistent, so Bradley reaches down and laces their fingers together. Natasha’s hand squeezes tightly against his, and he feels a smile tugging at his lips.
He looks up and makes eye contact with Hangman. He looks annoyed, and Bradley frowns. He turns back to Natasha, only to find her looking at Hangman, too.
He’s about to say something when she pulls her hand from his and pats him gently on the shoulder, standing up. “Okay, I’m going to head out. Bob’s getting kinda tired, and I think maybe I should get some sleep, too. Call me if you’re planning to almost die again, okay?”
Bradley laughs, and watches her gently rouse an exhausted-looking Bob from his chair by Fanboy and Javy. She waves goodbye to him, and just like that, the two of them are gone.
Bradley turns back to Hangman, expecting to see him laughing with Javy, but instead finds him talking to an unfamiliar pretty blond girl. He feels his face darken, and he turns back to his now lukewarm beer.
He manages not to look at Hangman again for another two minutes.
Of course, that only makes his irritation stronger when he finally does look and the girl is still there. He frowns as he watches them, and then feels a weird sort of deja vu. He glances at the seat next to him, but Javy isn’t there this time to distract him from the sourness in his stomach.
He settles back in his seat and takes another swig of beer, resigned to the fact that he’s going to sit and watch Hangman take home another girl. Except, this time, Hangman doesn’t seem to be putting on any of the same moves. He isn’t leaning over her or whispering in her ear. If anything, he looks like he’s leaning away, despite the way the girl’s hands are brushing all over his body.
At first, he assumes that he’s making things up, projecting his own displeasure with the situation onto Hangman, but then he remembers what Javy had said about Hangman only hooking up with girls when he’s got something on his mind. If Hangman isn’t exactly the womanizer he pretends to be, then maybe…
Bradley’s out of his seat before he can actually justify it to himself. He walks up behind Hangman and throws an arm possessively across his shoulders. Hangman turns to him, clearly startled, but he leans back into the touch once he realizes who it’s coming from. Bradley does his best not to read into it.
“Hey, Hotshot.” He says, interrupting their conversation. He makes his voice low and as soft as he can manage while still being sure the girl can hear him. “How’s heroism treating you?”
Hangman stares at him for a moment, presumably trying to figure out what he’s doing. Bradley does his best to convey a confidence that he very much does not feel. Then Hangman clears his throat and responds.
“About as well as it’s treating you, I’d guess.” If Bradley hadn’t known Hangman for years now, he never would have heard the confusion under the mask of practiced ease.
Bradley slides his hand down so that it’s resting on the small of Hangman’s back, trying his best not to memorize the feeling of his muscles under his thin t-shirt. He looks pointedly at the girl, not bothering to disguise the irritation her presence is causing him. “Are you sure? It seems like you might be getting more of the… benefits than I am.”
“Don’t worry, Bradshaw. I only have eyes for you.” Hangman manages to sound equal parts flirtatious and amused. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is.
“Sorry, who is this?” The blonde girl is glaring at him, arms crossed in front of her chest, expression hostile. Bradley supposes he deserves it, but it doesn’t stop him from glaring back. He half stumbles, half slides so that the side of his body is entirely pressed up against Hangman’s, and allows himself to give the girl a smug stare when Hangman reaches up and circles an arm around his waist to keep him steady.
“This is Rooster,” Hangman says. “Don’t let him fool you, he’s the real hero of the night.”
Rooster laughs. “Don’t try to be modest, Hangman. It doesn’t suit you.” And then, because he’s still a little drunk, he goes all in: “You know, I still haven’t thanked you properly for saving my life today.” It comes out exactly as suggestively as he intended, and he doesn’t miss the way Hangman’s eyes flash as he shifts even closer.
“Oh yeah?” Maybe it’s just Bradley’s imagination, but Hangman’s voice sounds a little breathier than usual. “Got something special in mind?”
Hangman has (finally) turned to face Bradley, and now his hazel eyes are looking directly into Bradley’s. They’re so close, and Bradley wants to trace his thumb along Hangman’s sharp cheekbones and soft lips, wants to lace his fingers in Hangman’s hair and feel the bare skin of his neck. He lifts his hand in slow motion, reaching up towards Hangman’s perfect face. Then, the girl starts to speak, and his hand drops back down to his side.
“What kind of parents name their kid Rooster, anyway?” She asks, clearly trying to rejoin the conversation. Bradley feels a flash of irritation that she still feels like she’s entitled to Hangman’s attention, and his frustration must show on his face because Hangman rolls his eyes in his direction before answering.
“They didn’t. His name is Bradley. Rooster’s just his call sign.”
“I’ll give you one guess how I got it,” Bradley adds with a wink, unable to keep the triumphant grin from his face. The girl flushes and looks down at Bradley’s pants, then flushes even harder when she realizes what she’s done.
She fumbles her way through an awkward goodbye as she leaves, and Bradley feels his chest swell with satisfaction even as he avoids Hangman’s eyes.
“What was that?” Hangman asks the second the girl is completely out of earshot, and Bradley finally turns to look at him, instantly regretting his decision when he finds Hangman’s hazel eyes mere inches away from his own.
Instead of answering, Bradley takes in Hangman’s expression. His smirk is a combination of amused and delighted that Bradley can’t begin to unpack for fear of staring at Hangman’s lips for entirely too long.
Bradley shrugs, hoping he can still pull off an affectation of nonchalance in his slightly-past-tipsy state. “You didn’t look like you were into it.”
“I wasn’t,” Hangman says, and just for a second Bradley thinks that he’s going to get away with it. “But I could have handled it.”
Somehow, he’s ended up facing Bradley, and they’re standing so close that their chests are almost touching. Bradley feels breathless and light-headed in a way that he can’t attribute entirely to the alcohol. He’s not sure he’d be able to respond right now if he tried. Hangman’s eyes are trained on his face, searching for something.
Bradley’s heart pounds, and a second too late he realizes that Hangman is waiting for something. He’s about to ask what it is, when Hangman takes a step back and turns away. “Same old Rooster,” he says with a dark chuckle. “Still stuck on that perch.”
Hangman glances back at him, and Bradley takes the opportunity to kiss him. Or, at least, he tries to. Hangman takes a step back at the same time, and Bradley’s drunk enough that he ends up pitching forward and crashing into his shoulder instead.
Hangman freezes, startled, and Bradley moves his hand to the back of Hangman’s neck. “Please,” he whispers. He’s close enough to Hangman’s ear that he knows he’ll hear it. “I want…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead brushing his lips against the fabric covering Hangman’s collarbone.
He feels Hangman’s breath catch, but then he’s pulling away. His voice is gentle, but firm. “It’s been a long day. If you still want–” He swallows and turns a little red, and Bradley would be proud if he wasn’t in the process of getting let down gently “--tomorrow, you know where to find me.”
Hangman squeezes his arm before he leaves, and Bradley immediately feels cold without the contact. The bar is still full of people, but suddenly he feels inexplicably alone.
He somehow makes it back to his bed that night (he has a vague memory of Javy helping him into a car), and he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
When he wakes up the next morning, his brain feels fuzzy and he can’t seem to think past the pounding in his head. It takes him until he’s showered and had his second cup of coffee to remember how he and Hangman had left things last night.
The first thing he does is wait for the panic to set in. The very idea of him and Hangman should be crazy, should send him spinning in spirals of despair. But instead, Bradley feels puzzle pieces he hadn’t even known he was collecting start to fall into place: the way he always knows where Hangman is standing in a room, the way he can’t tear his eyes away when the sun lights up Hangman’s hair, the way their arguing is charged with something more than anger. The panic never comes.
He sends Natasha a text asking her to meet him for breakfast, and then he calls Javy. The phone only rings twice before Javy’s voice greets him from the other side.
“How badly did I fuck things up?” Bradley asks, not bothering to say hello. He hears Javy snort.
“Did you know this is the second time I’ve heard that question this morning?” he says, and Bradley struggles to imagine what Hangman could possibly think he did wrong. He doesn’t say anything, and apparently it’s a rhetorical question, because Javy continues. “That depends. Was Hangman right when he said you were just drunk and trying to relieve your ‘holy shit I survived’ horniness? Or was I right when I told him that you’ve been five inches and two drinks away from jumping him ever since his accident?”
“...So I should go over there, then?” Bradley asks, unsure what else to say.
“It’s probably the only thing that will keep him from drowning himself in self-pity,” Javy agrees.
“Okay, yeah. I’ll just…I’ll be there soon.”
He hangs up the phone to send Natasha a never mind text and finds that she’s already responded. What do you mean “let’s meet for breakfast?” and then a follow up text:
You’re telling me that even after the way you and Hangman were devouring each other with your eyes last night you still haven’t had sex?
Bradley rolls his eyes and shoots back: never mind about breakfast, I’m gonna go talk to him, see if we can sort things out.
He finishes the rest of his coffee and grabs his car keys, trying to ignore the nerves eating away at his stomach. Javy and Natasha both clearly seemed to think that his feelings were reciprocated, but what if they weren’t? Hangman had never given him any indication that he felt anything more than animosity for him.
Except that’s not true. He hears Hangman’s voice, loopy and reverent, you always look good.
Bradley’s phone buzzes: Use protection. He rolls his eyes and walks out the door.
When he arrives at the apartment, Javy greets him. He looks appropriately smug as he says, “Rooster, what a coincidence. I was just on my way out.” He even has the audacity to wink as he shoves Bradley inside.
He finds Hangman standing in the kitchen, the remnants of his breakfast abandoned on the table. He looks stiff and miserable, and for a moment Bradley is sure that he’s wrong, that somehow he and Phoenix and Javy have misread everything, and that Hangman is ready to ream him out for his drunken advances. Then Hangman starts speaking.
“Listen, Bradshaw. You were drunk, you didn’t mean it, it’s fine. You didn’t have to come here to let me down in person, or whatever other gallant act you think you’re here to do–”
That’s not right at all. Bradley frowns, and tries to interrupt him: “Hangman–”
“–It was my fault, I shouldn’t have been all over you just because you were drunk and hopped up on adrenaline enough to let me.”
“Hangman.”
“I get it, I let my feelings for you get in the way of a purely professional relationship. It won’t happen again, we can all just forget about it and move on with–”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bradley murmurs. Then, louder, “Jake!”
That gets his attention enough that he stops talking, and now that his mouth is no longer busy, Bradley has a much better use for it. He closes the distance between them, places his hand behind Jake’s neck, and kisses him.
He feels Jake practically melt against him, and Bradley pulls back just long enough to ask “feelings?”
“Don’t be stupid, Bradshaw,” Jake replies, but the annoyance in his voice is undercut by the groan he lets out when Bradley presses a kiss to his neck as he speaks. “I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you fly.”
And there’s really not much Bradley can say to that, so he pours everything he’s feeling into a bruising kiss. He slides his hands under Jake’s shirt, touching any skin he can find, then gives up and decides to yank the shirt off entirely.
“Say it again,” Bradley demands when they break apart so that Jake can pull the fabric over his head.
“I love you.” His shirt is off, and now he’s working on Bradley’s. He reconnects their lips the second he can, and Bradley revels in the feeling of his skin against Jake’s.
At some point during all the making out like horny teenagers, they’ve started moving towards the bedroom, and soon Bradley finds himself with his back pressed up against the door. The knob digs into his back uncomfortably, but he doesn’t move. The pressure, combined with Jake’s weight pressed against him, helps him feel grounded in a way that he hasn’t been since he took off in the plane yesterday.
Finally, Jake sighs and moves one of his hands away from where it’s wrapped around Bradley’s waist and actually opens the door. Bradley spins them around as soon as they enter the room so that now he’s the one pushing them forward, and he doesn’t stop until Jake’s legs hit the bed.
“Christ, Bradley,” Jake says, and his tone is reverent enough to match the expression. “I’ve wanted to do this for years.”
Bradley reaches up to cradle Jake’s face and thinks of that day in the hospital, all of the relief and panic and worry he’d felt. It had been overwhelming, so much so that somehow Bradley had managed to miss the fact that he had been happy. He had been so, incredibly, all-consumingly happy that Jake was alive.
“Huh,” Bradley breathes, momentarily tearing himself away from Jake’s mouth.
“What?” Jake asks, taking advantage of the break to kiss Bradley’s neck.
“Nothing, just…I think maybe I have, too.”
Jake huffs out a laugh and presses their mouths together again before pulling them both down onto the bed. “Well, come on then, loverboy. No reason to wait any longer.”
Bradley laughs, too. “No. No, I guess there’s not.”