Archive of Our Own

Age: 33, Now

Jake gets the call at 2 AM Pacific time.

It’s one of those nights post the mission where sleep eludes him; every time he closes his eyes he hears Bradley talking to Mav, back in that goddamn F-14; the helplessness in his voice, the reluctant acceptance. Jake’s sure he’s awake, but the vision is vivid. If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost feel the rum of his plane’s engine as he tries to compartmentalize, speeding through the air and letting his instincts take over. But in Jake’s fucked up head he flies just a touch slower, hesitates for just a millisecond, and then he’s watching the F-14 explode in a show of smoke and fire, taking with it Maverick as well as the man who broke his heart so bad he’s still floundering for the missing pieces three years in its wake. 

He doesn’t even realize his eyes have once again closed without his own volition despite his efforts to keep them trained on the ceiling until his phone ringing startles him, the aftermath of his horrifying imaginings making way to harsh, labored breathing, as if he really was back on that plane, as if Maverick and Bradley were really dead. 

The ringing sounds shrill in the silence of the night, but Jake takes comfort in its disruption for a few seconds before he reaches out a hand to look at the caller ID. 

Maverick .

-

Age: 27, Before

China Lake is dry and hot, and Jake’s only been there for two and a half weeks when he decides that it’s definitely not the place for him. Already he’s thinking of transfer papers, of showers that would cool him for more than fifteen minutes afterwards. He’s aiming for a promotion in the next few years, though, and he wouldn’t want to be seen as difficult, so he sucks it up, outflies all the other pilots in town, not even because he wants to show off. It’s just the only way Jake knows how to fly. 

There’s a Navy bar ten minutes out of town that he hasn’t bothered to visit the past weeks he’s been in the naval town, trying to let the new place settle in his skin enough to build a sound, professional routine before he allows himself to explore the more leisurely activities he can partake in. But that morning Jake finally finds the perfect angle of the shower knob to get the water pressure just right (unlike his last base housing before Top Gun where all he had to do was crank the thing all the way up to get the water going the way it’s supposed to). He takes it as a sign, and when his new squad invites him for drinks in the elusive bar, Jake agrees with his signature smirk. “First round’s on me.”

He sees Bradley the moment he steps inside the quaint place. It’s filled with men in uniform, the energy already thrumming despite the early hour, mostly due to the continuous supply of alcohol from the “get it yourself” beer station set up near the pool table. It reminds Jake of the Hard Deck back in Miramar, but the lack of a jukebox and a piano stands out, and Bradley Bradshaw is to blame. 

Rooster hasn’t seen him yet, preoccupied with chatting with who Jake assumes are his squad mates. It’s probably a good thing, because Jake almost misses a step when he clocks in on his frame, still every bit as towering and broad as he remembers. 

The last time Jake saw Rooster, they had just finished fucking each other against Bradley’s shower, mere minutes after their Top Gun graduation ceremonies. Jake had fought back a wince when Bradley pulled out, covering it up with a cocky comment about bagging the top spot despite being younger. It was only supposed to be harmless banter, and by then their arguments had been notorious enough that really, it was routine. Jake can’t even remember what he said now, but he can still feel Bradley’s entire body tensing up at his words, can still feel the chill that made the hairs on his body stand when Bradley abruptly pulled away to put as much physical distance between their bodies as his tiny shower would allow. The argument that ensued then was the worst that they’ve ever had, shouting matches and purposefully viscous words designed specifically to cut deep. 

“We’re done,” Bradley had said, pulling on his clothes as fast as possible. 

Jake had laughed, then, sharp and cold. “Never started, Bradshaw.” 

To say they didn’t part on good terms would be the understatement of the goddamn century. But now Bradley’s here, concrete and existing just a few feet away from Jake after a whole year of nothing. So yes, Jake stumbles in his step. Can you blame him?

It doesn’t take too long before Bradley catches his eye. Jake’s ordering a new IPA he hasn’t tried out yet, perched comfortably on the bar stool, not quite ready to join his squad at the pool table, not when it’s only a few paces down from where Rooster’s at. But as he’s speaking to the bartender he lets his eyes wander, and that was his mistake. The second Bradley clocks him in, his eyebrows lift in surprise, that stupid mustache of his twitching, before he says something Jake can’t hear to the men around him and makes his way towards the bar, towards Jake. 

“Bradshaw,” Jake drawls out, because god forbid Bradley gets the first word. “As I live and breathe.”

Bradley slots easily on the stool next to him, his expression a mix of confusion and pleasant surprise. “Hangman. I didn’t know you were in China Lake.”

“It’s a new thing,” he answers easily before quirking a brow, glancing down at his less-than-stellar, tanned skin. “Hopefully a short-lived new thing.”

Bradley laughs, and that’s it. 

The thing with Bradshaw is that for how hard Jake finds it to stay remotely sane in his company, sometimes it can be so goddamn easy. Jake has never understood it, but they’re so different that they become similar, somehow. It’s what made their chemistry so electric yet volatile in Top Gun, and it doesn’t take more than five minutes of idle conversation to confirm that the same chemistry is still burning aggressively brightly between them. 

“In my defense, it was hardly a relationship!” Jake argues, because somehow they end up talking about the last time they saw each other. But instead of the typical hurt, bitterness, or avoidance one would feel about ugly break ups (if you could call it that), Jake and Bradley are laughing, Bradley mocking him for the last words he said before he booked it out of Bradley’s place. “We were fuck buddies at best! Admit it, Bradshaw.”

“A little underhanded on the ‘buddies’ thing, I think.” Bradley scrunches his nose up, making Jake snort into his drink before agreeing. 

There’s a pleasant buzz in his system now, making his tongue more loose, his body more relaxed, enough that he doesn’t even pay any mind to how his thigh is pressing up against Bradley’s, the heat of the contact a welcome warmth. “It was stupid. We were stupid.”

Bradley huffs in amusement. “Stupid’s one word for it. All we ever did was fight and then fuck. Can’t even remember if we talked about anything significant at all. It’s a wonder we got anything else done, much less graduate.”

“But don’t you miss it sometimes, though?” Jake suddenly says, making Bradley raise his eyebrows suggestively. “Not the fucking, asshole, the carelessness. We were so cocky but it’s ‘cause we were so assured, you know? It’s Top Gun and we’re training to be the best of the best, but at the end of the day it’s just like high school or college. We knew exactly what would happen the next day. It’s a safety net, and we got to fuck around because of it. I don’t know, man, sometimes I just miss the assurance. It was safe.”

Bradley scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re Hangman. Since when did you ever go for safe?”

Maybe Jake took that as a challenge, or more a self-fulfilling prophecy, because it’s not even fifteen minutes later that they’re in the back of Bradley’s Bronco, Jake with his lips stretched around Bradley's cock, Bradley with Jake’s name in his mouth. 

Jake goes home with Bradley that night, and then he never really leaves. One night turns into two, and then it’s every other night, and then it’s every night with Bradley clearing a whole dresser so Jake would have somewhere to put his things because he hates rushing home to get ready for work in the mornings.  It turns out they do pretty okay together when they don’t take bantering at face value and see it for what it really is. (Foreplay. Banter is their foreplay).

Before they knew it, they’ve slotted themselves into a relationship without really talking about it. But it works. Bradley makes a mean French toast for breakfast while Jake cooks up a pretty decent steak for dinner. They both over-mash their potatoes. They take turns washing Bradley’s Bronco and Jake’s Ram. Jake still flies like someone’s always on his tail and Bradley is still a touch hesitant in the air, but at the end of the day they get to talk about fighter maneuvers and new techniques they want to try with each other as their soundboard. They look at potential deployments together, scurry through transfer papers and apartment leases. Jake re-introduces Bradley to Javy but this time as his boyfriend, and Bradley does the same with Natasha. It works . 

-

Age: 29, Before

Jake wakes up on the dawn of his and Bradley’s second year anniversary alone in a big hotel room bed in the middle of Cinque Terre, Italy. They must have forgotten to close the blinds the night before, too occupied with other more pleasurable tasks he can’t bring himself to regret doing, even with the prominent sting he’s starting to register on his lower body and the ache in his well-exercised muscles. 

It’s a trip just a few weeks in the making, when Jake’s famous air-to-air kill put him in a spotlight (the only naval aviator on active duty to have done so) that eventually led to him and Bradley getting news that they will be getting deployed on opposite sides of the United States for the first time since they got together. It was Bradley’s idea to file a leave and go on a vacation before they have to be apart for months, but Jake has to admit it didn’t take much to convince him. 

“You awake?” He hears Bradley’s voice behind him from the other end of the room. 

Jake grunts in reply but doesn’t move to face him, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the brightness coming from the window first. The view’s breathtaking, but even that is not enough to get him to fully open his eyes, the exhaustion of traveling and the sex and the sightseeing (and did he mention the sex?) catching up on him. 

“Jake,” Bradley drags out his name. He hears him approach in slow steps, feet moving sluggishly against the hotel room’s carpeted floor. “Wake up. I gotta show you something, baby.”

Jake gets out another grunt before forcing himself to roll over until he’s lying on his side, eyes squinted to try and look at Bradley properly. “What is it, Roo?”

Bradley finally reaches the bed, carefully climbing in on his knees until he’s settled against Jake, half on top of him, their hips flushed together. Jake feels his cock stir in interest, but it takes a backseat to the sheepish and all-too-quick kiss that Bradley presses against his lips. 

“What?” Jake narrows his eyes in suspicion. 

Bradley bites back a smile. “Good morning.”

Jake’s eyes slit smaller. “Bradshaw. What are you planning?”

“Nothing!” At his look of disbelief, Bradley finally lets out a nervous laugh. “Fine. I got you something.”

He raises a suggestive eyebrow, eyes darting to where their hips lay flushed, specifically the prominent bulge Bradley’s pressing into him. “You did?”

“Not that, asshole,” Bradley shoves at his shoulder, making Jake laugh out loud. “Baby, I’m serious.”

Jakes notes his boyfriend’s slightly tensed shoulders, the lower lip that he keeps on biting, and swallows. “Should I be nervous?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

Bradley lets out a shaky exhale. “Depends on if you want to marry me.”

Jake feels his breath punch out of his lungs. “What did you say?”

“Marry me, Jake,” Bradley croaks out, voice catching in his throat. “I love you, so…”

Jake scans Bradley’s face for any hint of a joke, but even before he does it, he knows Bradley’s being serious. He wouldn’t joke about something like this. 

“Bradley, what the fuck?” Jake tries to sit up, but Bradley stays pressed against him, preventing the movement. 

When he still doesn’t say anything and just looks at him, Jake swallows harshly. 

“What…what the hell brought this on?” He asks, hoping his voice sounds less hysterical in Bradley’s ears. “Is it because we’re going to try the long distance thing? Afraid I’m gonna leave you hanging, Bradshaw? I–”

Bradley stretches an arm out to retrieve a small box from the bedside table, interrupting him. “Had this ring made months ago, baby.” 

Even before your air-to-air kill, he doesn’t say, but Jake hears the words in the silence anyway, making his mouth drop open. “Bradley.”

“Jake,” his boyfriend repeats. He may sound brave, his voice steady and deep, eyes imploring him to listen, but Jake can feel Bradley’s body trembling against his, can sense the hints of anxiety in the line of his mouth. “Marry me, baby. Not for any other reason than I love you and you love me. Marry me.”

He’s thought about it, of course. With how they’ve been living together for the past year, the routine they’ve managed to build together that’s so domestic it’s almost nauseating, how could he not? But Jake loves Bradley. Of course he does. Jake loves Bradley and really there’s only one answer. 

Jake exhales shakily, tries for a smirk, but his Hangman mask feels lighter than usual in the face of the man who knows him best like the back of his hand. “And the sex. Don’t forget the sex, Bradshaw.”

“You mean…?”

He barely finishes saying the word ‘yes’ before Jake’s pulling Bradley in by the back of his neck for a deep kiss.

If Jake thought dating Bradley was amazing, being engaged to him is all-consuming. 

Most of their friends are navy, so they take turns announcing the news on video call after video call. The last three days of their Cinque Terre trip is spent inside the hotel room, because every time one of them catches a glimpse of the ring on Jake’s finger, they need to make love, like pre-marital fucking is somehow essential to ensuring a perfect wedding and a long-lasting marriage. 

Marriage. Jake’s getting married . To Rooster, of all people. 

Jake has always mastered the art of being alone. He’s earned his callsign through and through, and he doesn’t regret it. If he has no one to rely on but himself, he gets to take control of his own life, and in his line of work, control keeps you alive. But slowly, with Bradley, Jake finally lets himself lax into contentment and complacency. It’s the first time in his life where his future is laid out in front of him in a singular path, and down that path is Bradley, hand outstretched, imploring Jake that he can shrug off the last of the solitude clinging to his skin now that he’s here, mustached and beautiful and his .

He becomes complacent. Maybe that’s why Jake didn’t see it coming.

-

Age: 33, Before

Maybe it was the exhaustion of having to play this game with Bradley for well over a decade, or maybe it’s the near-death experience that still leaves Jake gasping in his bed at night, nightmares plaguing him whether he’s asleep or not. But Jake-and-Bradley post what the Dagger Squad so elusively calls “ the mission ” is a far cry from every Jake-and-Bradley they’ve ever been. 

They’ve never been friends before. 

It’s a weird way of looking at it, because even now Jake can admit–at least to himself, in the safety of his mind–that he’ll never look at Bradley and not see the man he was prepared to spend the rest of his life with. Even when they were playing at being nemesis in Top Gun, there’s always been that fire that just fuses all of their interactions, an energy that Jake has never felt with anyone else. 

They hover towards a slightly awkward friendship, no longer viciously hostile, their banters verging more on friendly teasing. Jake keeps his distance, because he knows himself, knows that he’ll take five hundred thousand miles if Bradley so much as gives an inch. And he can’t go through what he did when they broke up again, feeling like every single belief system he’s inherited to protect himself have failed him, feeling like the world has collapsed and all he can do is stare at the ruins, like the only escape to the hurting is to fly his plane upwards and upwards until light leaves his sight. Jake can’t do that again, not after working so hard to bury every single evidence of the damage Bradley left, covering the cracks that line his skin with sharp words and cold smirks and professional achievements. So it’s shallow conversations over beer with the rest of the squad, never verging on anything too personal, dinners at Maverick’s but never sitting too close that they could touch. 

If Bradley picks up on the abrupt change in his behavior after the mission, he doesn’t call him out on it. Jake’s meticulous, of course, playing up their so-called rivalry when the situation calls for it. It’s all temporary, anyway, because their three-month forced leave ends eventually, and all the daggers get sent back to their old posts, some getting deployed to new places. Months after the mission, the last Jake has heard of Bradley is that he’s in Japan, but he also catches wind of a girlfriend, a warrant officer also deployed in Japan that Natasha keeps bugging Bradley about in the daggers group chat. Jake decides to stay out of that business. He calls it self-preservation, because calling it pathetic is something his ego can’t take. 

Jake gets Bradley through little flashes in his life. A scenic picture posted on Instagram. A selfie of a funny face sent to the group chat he keeps with the rest of the daggers, the text chain as active as any of them can manage with their jobs. But that’s the extent of Jake’s relationship with Bradley: flashes and neverfuckingenough. It doesn’t hurt , though. Not necessarily. So some days Jake convinces himself it is. 

-

Age: 33, Now

Until he gets the call.

Jake is still reeling from being kept up at night by warped visions of the mission, and normally he wouldn’t have bothered to answer given the time. But seeing Mav’s name flash across the screen immediately sends a pang of nerves through his stomach. 

Mav barely calls. He’s the type to bombard you with random texts for two weeks straight then go radio silent for the next two. Right now, he and Jake were on the radio silent part of their relationship. Jake’s also pretty sure Maverick is supposed to be on the same timezone as him after both Penny and Bradley forced him to retire, so him calling at 2 AM in the morning immediately brought warning bells. 

Still, Jake forces himself to sound chirpy when he finally swipes to answer. “Missin’ me already, Pops? Don’t you own a clock, wherever you are?”

“Jake,” Mav exhales, voice sounding weary and relieved. “Sorry. I forgot how late it is there now. I just…I don’t know how to say this.”

Jake swallows harshly at the serious words, at the tone of Pete’s voice that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard before. Still, Jake keeps up the pretense, not wanting to give light to all the worst-case-scenarios running through his head. “If you’re calling to confess your undying love to me, well I’ll be flattered, but it’s gonna be a hard no, Pops. Penny scares the shit out of me for one thing. And–”

“Jake,” Mav repeats again, cutting him off. “Something happened. It’s Bradley.”

He almost drops his phone. Almost. When Mav says the words, Jake feels that same underwater feeling he got when he and Bradley broke up. He barely registers what Mav is saying. Accident. Had to eject. Head injury. Coma. 

While cold fear stabs at his chest so harshly Jake feels short of breath, he manages enough sense to say, “Mav. Pete. Why are you calling me?”

Mav takes a deep breath, like he’s bracing himself, making Jake feel like he should do the same. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

Jake forces himself to keep the questions and the panic away, one hand shakily holding his phone up to his ear while the other is gripping his bed sheet so tightly his knuckles are white.

Bradley’s fine. He can’t be anything but fine. When Jake last saw him at the Hard Deck before their respective deployments, Bradley had even been more than fine. He was wearing a hideous shirt that Jake secretly finds charming, mustache untrimmed and hair longer than what’s allowed for them, showing off a classical tune on the piano after Jake made an offhand comment about him only knowing how to play 80s hits. 

Jake saved him. He flew like hell and almost disobeyed direct orders to save him. He spent the two hours of that mission stuck in the cockpit, gripping his earpiece, refusing to even think of the possibility that Bradley could just be gone. 

“Jake. You still there, buddy?” Mav asks after a few seconds of silence. 

Jake swallows. “Mav. Why are you calling me?”

Something in his voice must give him away, because Mav rushes to assure him. “He’s okay. He’s banged up but he’s fine, Jake. But he woke up about an hour ago and he’s asking for you.”

Immediately, Jake feels his body slacken in relief, relaxing at the news that Bradley’s awake. If he is, then that means his injuries couldn’t have been that bad to begin with, and it’s that thought that lets Jake focus on Mav’s other words. 

“I don’t understand,” he says dumbly. “Bradley asked for me?”

Maverick sighs. “His head injury is a lot worse than we expected. The doctor said it’s most likely temporary, just a few hours to a couple days max, but Bradley’s having trouble remembering some things. Jake.”

He tenses up when Mav says his name in that tone again, like he needs to be preparing himself for the next words he’s about to hear. “Just spit it out, Mav.”

Another sigh. “Jake, he seems to be in the belief that you guys are engaged. Threw a proper fit when he found out I was called as his emergency contact instead of you.”

Jake doesn’t stop breathing, but it sure as hell feels like it. 

-

Age: 33, Now

Jake spends a lot of the flight to Japan staring at the blank screen in front of him, trying not to listen to the voice in his head calling him pathetic over spending good money flying to the other side of the world just because his ex of over three years asked for him. 

He remembers reaching for his laptop in quiet acceptance while Mav rambled on about statistics and whatever the hell it is the doctors have been saying to them. “I can get on the next plane out to Japan, just let me find a flight and sort my ticket.”

Mav had grown quiet, then, like he wasn’t expecting Jake to upend his entire life to go to them. Like there’s a reality in which Bradley, who’s hurt and in a hospital, is asking for him and he doesn’t come. Jake has accepted that he will always love Bradley in some capacity, will never be able to fill the void that he left that sometimes feels so gaping Jake can’t breathe properly, but its endurance has never been tested like this before. 

“Jake,” May had said, a warning in his voice. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

Jake paused for a moment before clicking on the ‘proceed to payment’ button on his laptop screen. “Contrary to popular belief, I do still care about your pseudo son, Pops. Who better than me to tell him I haven’t been his fiancé for the last three years already?”

Maverick’s shocked silence is enough confirmation to let Jake know he didn’t know the truth, or the extent of it, at least. Jake’s sure some of the daggers and other people who have worked with them both at the same time have some kind of a clue; you can’t have chemistry as electric (and volatile) as them without having some sort of history. 

But having hateful hook ups is different from being engaged to someone. Maverick probably thought Bradley was having a psychotic episode or some other shit. In fact, that’s probably more believable than the truth, especially to Mav who’s knowledge of them only consists of their hostility towards each other during the mission. 

“He has someone,” Mav said at last, after a few seconds of trying to process Jake’s words. Jake already knew this, but there’s still a pang in his chest when hearing them confirmed from another person’s lips. In the three years he’s been separated from Bradley, he had never really entertained the idea of having another relationship. He’s not been celibate, of course, but the idea of opening up himself again, of allowing himself to be that vulnerable…Bradley had been the only one who got that privilege, and Jake’s long since accepted that he’s the only one who ever will. “It’s new. A nice girl stationed here in Kanagawa. We haven’t called her. Figured it’d be a right mess with his memory all messed up.”

Jake looked up at his ceiling, like it’s going to somehow make the sting in his chest feel better. “My flight leaves in an hour and a half. Text me all the details. I’ll take a train from the airport straight to you.”

Red-eyes are never Jake’s preferred way of traveling. As cliché as it sounds, as a pilot himself, he’s never been comfortable with commercial flights, always having to have a strict regimen and ritual he has to follow so he could at least relax. It’s the control, or more so the lack of it. If the commercial pilot is an idiot, Jake won’t have any way of ensuring his own safety in the sky. Of course, that serenity regimen’s all but lost with his last-minute travel idea. Still, there’s comfort in the way airports almost exist outside of time; the impermanence of it, of the people rushing past, the changing letters and numbers on the screens. 

It’s almost three in the afternoon when he lands in Tokyo, and by the time his train gets to Kanagawa, it’s nearly five. Jake’s starting to feel the effects that forgoing sleep is causing him, his eyes blinking lazily, his movements sluggish, head beating a drum against his skin. The cab ride he takes from the train station to the hospital is mostly spent trying and failing to power nap. When he finally arrives, Maverick is there waiting for him in the lobby, standing in the middle as if he’s been there all day. 

“Where is he?” Jake asks, shouldering his duffle bag more securely. 

Maverick gives him a grim smile and a clap on his shoulder. “This way, kid.”

-

Age: 33, Before

Call it instinct, or his Bradley-senses becoming stronger over the years, but when Jake received the news that he’s being recalled back to Top Gun, he knew without an ounce of doubt that he’s going to see Rooster in Miramar as well. Rooster’s always been his only true competition, so it makes sense that a mission that calls for the best of the best includes the two of them. 

Jake hasn’t seen Bradley for three years–not since they ended things. They come close every once in a while: an out-of-town wedding they’re both invited to, a naval ceremony they’re forced to attend. But he never lets himself take even just a glance. He hears a whisper of a voice, or somebody else calls out a name, and he books it out of there. Call it cowardice, whatever. To Jake, it’s all just a part of the knee-deep work he’s putting into protecting himself. 

This time is different, though. Jake has nowhere to hide in Miramar, and everywhere he looks he sees Bradshaw, traces of memories of their first time at Top Gun, hostile and sneering and hot and heavy. Even when he steps inside the Hard Deck for the first time in years, Javy on his heels, the sight of the old piano in its rightful place tugs at something awful in his stomach. 

Javy slaps him on the back after he pauses a few seconds by the door. “You good, man?”

“Just thinking of how broke you’ll be once I smoke you at darts,” Jake lets himself smirk, tilting his head to the bar to get them started. 

Jake’s not kidding about the Bradley-senses, because somehow his body just knows to move away towards the jukebox when he hears the bell of the front door chime. From where he’s standing, he gets an uninterrupted view of Bradley sauntering towards the pool table where the other pilots assigned to the same mission are hanging out. He’s wearing an old Hawaiian shirt, one that Jake himself has washed in their years together during his turn at laundry days. The belt he’s wearing is old, too. But the white tank top and denim pants are new, fitted almost sinfully. Not for the first time, Jake feels like fate is playing a game on him, intent on making him suffer. 

But Jake is Jake, so he doubles up the Hangman persona, lets the familiar, mocking “Bradshaw, as I live and breathe,” leave his lips, and becomes even more of an asshole. Save for Bradley’s unfiltered “You look good,” comment, he seems to be doing the same. It’s almost like second skin, the way the two of them easily step back into the rivalry that once upon a time had been the very reason they fell into bed together in the first place. It’s a rushing feeling, being able to pick the sharpest words to make the most painful impact, one that comes only from truly knowing the other person, from finding a perfect match. 

It hurts to be around Bradley, though–reminds Jake of the naive hope that he felt all those years. It makes him even more of a menace in the air, relying on himself and himself only, not minding what the other pilots have to say about him, never trusting another person on any level that’s outside professional terms again. Even Javy, he keeps at a distance. And it’s fine. It’s what he wants. Bradley can shoot him looks filled with emotions Jake won’t let himself decipher all he wants. The navy wants Hangman? They’ll get Hangman. 

“What the hell is wrong with you, Bagman?” Trace catches up to him after one of their hops, eyebrows furrowed in a permanent scowl. “You left us for dead back there. Twice!”

Jake lets his tongue flick over the toothpick in his mouth, a habit he picked up after Bradley. Sue him; he has an oral fixation. “Just did what I came here to do.”

“Get everyone killed?” Bradley’s voice comes from behind him, and it’s almost enough to make Jake flinch. Almost. 

Fixing a smile on his face, he turns to look at him. “Fly like my life depended on it, Bradshaw, which–in case none of you have noticed–is kind of the case, here. You can sit all comfy and lax on your perch all you want, never wanting to risk anything, but don’t expect me to do the same.”

Bradley clenches his jaw but says nothing, but Natasha’s not done yet. “At least Rooster here cares about the team; he’ll never leave any of us hanging.”

Before he can stop himself, Jake huffs out a laugh, sharp and deathly cold even to his ears. 

“Oh, Phoe.” he chuckles, and he’s not imagining the way Bradley flinches at his tone this time, doesn’t even try averting his eyes. Instead, he looks directly at Bradley when he says, “Don’t be so sure.”

Jake wants to say he stirred clear of Bradshaw after that, but he just can’t help himself. The mission is suicide, and Bradley’s being a fucking asshole who keeps hesitating, who’s too slow, and he has this history with Maverick that Jake has no idea about even when three years ago, Jake would have bet on his life that he’s the person who knows Bradley best. It blindsides him as much as it scares him, makes him lash out and bring up Bradley’s dead father in front of everyone just so he can get Bradley to feel something, to see how important this mission is, to stop fucking thinking up there. 

It’s hard to admit he still cares about Bradley after all these years, after the hurt and the emotional damage he had to deal with in the aftermath of his leaving. But Maverick will clear as day choose Bradley for the mission–Jake knows this for a fact, even if he’s not sure Mav himself knows it yet. There’s no other way about it, and Bradley is going to die if he doesn’t get his shit together. Bradley left a hole in Jake’s life when he left, when he decided that Jake is not the one for him despite promising him otherwise, but the thought of him dying is enough to make Jake feel like he won’t be able to breathe, much less ever hope of becoming whole again. 

They survive the mission–barely, but still. Jake saves Bradley’s life, and for a second back at the carrier as they face each other without contempt or bitterness for once, Jake thinks about kissing him. Of tasting the smoke in his mouth; the perfect reassurance that Bradley is well and truly alive. 

But it’s just for a second. 

-

Age: 30, Before

Something is different with Bradley. Wrong. And Jake hates that he can’t quite put his finger on it. 

They’ve been deployed away from each other for months, and he knows the distance is taking its toll on Bradley. Hell, it’s taking its toll on him, too. Jake has never craved for someone’s presence before, and even after two years of dating, everything with Bradley still feels so new. It doesn’t help that it’s been six months since Bradley proposed and they still haven’t begun planning the wedding, or even filed forms to update their documents nor inform their superiors of it happening. They just need time; preferably together, which is why when they learned that Bradley was going to get a week’s worth of leave, Jake immediately jumped into booking him a plane ticket to Pensacola. 

He doesn’t manage to pick him up from the airport, but Jake does get the privilege of going home to the mouthwatering smell of lasagna baking in the oven, Bradley wearing a thin white shirt and sleep shorts with a kitchen towel over his shoulder while he tosses together a salad on the island. 

“Hey,” Jake exhales with a huge grin, dropping his backpack on the floor in favor of speed walking empty handed towards Bradley. They get together with an audible “oof,” Jake immediately burying his nose on the side of Bradley’s neck and inhaling his scent. “How was your flight?”

Bradley rubs a hand against his back, sighing. “Could’ve been worse. I slept through most of it but the turbulence got pretty wild towards the end.”

Jake inhales again, closing his eyes. “I missed you.”

He feels Bradley tensing against him before his body slackens again. “I missed you, too, baby. Been too long.”

They both step back, Jake putting one hand on Bradley’s chest to fist at his shirt and pull him in again, this time for a kiss that’s five months in the making. It’s heated; more desperate than usual, and when Jake makes to pull away Bradley sneaks an arm around his waist to get him closer, tongue slipping inside his mouth to deepen the kiss. 

Jake moans. “Baby, the dinner.”

“Fuck the dinner,” Bradley gasps against his mouth, moving him backwards until his lower back is against the kitchen island. He moves the hand on his waist down, until he’s gripping the globe of Jake’s ass, making him keen softly. “You’re so sensitive.”

Jake almost laughs. “Can you blame me, Roo? It’s been five months.”

That night when they stumble in bed, it’s with an intensity they haven’t had since Top Gun. It feels like Bradley marks every inch of his skin, biting and sucking and kissing as he goes, and Jake lets him. He’s powerless to the high of being worshiped in the way that only Bradley could ever do. Bradley preps him thoroughly, slowly–so slowly Jake feels like he’s going to pass out just from the sensation of being stretched but not enough. When they finally get together, Bradley settles on him until just about every inch of their skins are touching. And instead of it being suffocating, Jake feels like he can finally breathe again. 

The first time is frantic, almost animalistic, with their mouths hovering together but not quite kissing. Afterwards it’s lazy, languid, Jake cupping both his hands on the curve of Bradley’s jaw. In the early hours of the morning–the sun still hidden but the black sky making way for blues–the third time is spent with Jake grinding thoroughly against Bradley, too sensitive for more but still wanting to touch and release together. When he falls asleep, it’s with a sated expression on his face and the feeling that he isn't going to be able to walk tomorrow, much less fly a plane. When he wakes up, Bradley’s gone.

Jake frowns at feeling the coldness on Bradley’s side of the bed, squinting as his eyes adjust to the brightness of the morning. “Bradley?”

He gets up slowly, wincing at the burn in his muscles. Jake spends precious seconds shuffling towards his dresser to get a shirt and boxers, the previous night’s activities making its effects known with every step. When he finally emerges from the bedroom and into the kitchen, Bradley’s already there, sitting on the stool by the island and stirring his coffee absentmindedly. 

“You okay?” Jake scrunches his eyebrows. Bradley continues stirring his drink like he hasn’t heard anything. “Look, I knew something was up the last few weeks and I didn’t want to ruin the mood last night by bringing it up, but you’re going to have to talk to me about it at some point, baby.”

Bradley finally looks up at him at the sound of the nickname, staring at Jake for a beat before looking back down at his coffee. Jake doesn’t know what to feel at the guilt in his expression, at his watering eyes, but somehow he still doesn’t understand what he’s getting at even when he says, “I can’t do this, Jake.”

Jake reaches to pull out a mug from the cupboard, sighing. “I mean, we don’t have to talk about it right this second, but if you’re expecting to be off the hook for the rest of your leave when something is obviously wrong–”

“I meant I can’t do this, Jake. I…I can’t marry you.”

He drops the mug to the floor. 

“Shit!” Bradley exclaims, standing up, and points at Jake’s bare feet. “Don’t move. I’ll clean it up.”

But Jake barely hears him. He feels like someone’s dragged him underwater. Everything gets muffled, muddied, and his vision blurs like he’s going to pass out. It takes him a while to realize he’s crying, long after Bradley’s swept the broken mug from the floor. Now he’s standing in front of Jake, not quite meeting his eye.

“Say it again,” he manages to grit out, hands trembling at his sides. 

Bradley only gives him a helpless look. “Jake, please.”

Huffing, Jake doesn’t bother wiping at his tears. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair and musters up his signature smirk, cold and calculating and detached. “You fucking asshole.”

-

Age: 33, Now

He has spent the better part of the past twenty four hours psyching himself up for seeing Bradley. Still, nothing could have prepared Jake for the look on Bradley’s face the second he sees him walk into the hospital room, lit up and distressed and vulnerable all at the same time. 

“Baby,” he exhales, reaching a hand out to him, and Jake stumbles, feels his breath leave him. 

He hasn’t heard Bradley call him that in a while. 

Jake’s not surprised at the hurt that cuts across him all over again, putting him back in that kitchen three years ago, feeling his whole world collapse under his feet. More than that, though, Jake isn’t prepared for the relief. The familiarity. The ease in that he could breathe again.

It isn’t sustainable. Jake can’t fall back into Bradley being his whole world again with just one word. Bradshaw’s in a relationship, even if he can’t remember that right now. He’s only looking at Jake like he’s his whole world too because that’s what he can remember. 

All these things Jake knows are true, but they don’t stop him from reaching out a hand to hold Bradley’s. His grip is strong despite his banged up body and bandaged head, and it almost makes Jake laugh. 

“I’m gonna go check on Bradley’s papers, settle everything at billing. Probably need to phone the base, too.” Mav tells them, patting a hand on Jake’s shoulder before giving him a look. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

Jake can tell this wouldn’t be the last time his former CO would bring up the former fiance topic, but he can appreciate the slight semblance of privacy. He opens his mouth, unsure how to begin explaining to the loss of his life that they’re no longer together, haven’t been for the past three years, but Bradley’s looking at him so lovingly, so assured of their relationship. Jake wants to shake him, to shout at his face: I was assured once and what did you do to me? But the words, even the anger, evade him. 

“I didn’t remember that I was in Japan,” Bradley suddenly breaks the silence, tone sheepish, thumb brushing light strokes on Jake’s hand that send electric shocks to his system. “Freaked out the whole hospital when I couldn’t find you with me. Was the flight over okay?”

Jake’s mouth drops open, and he can’t stop himself from exhaling a shaky chuckle, settling himself on the chair next to Bradley’s bed, hand still gripping his tightly. “Bradshaw. You just barely survived a training accident that made you eject and land so badly you were literally in a two-day coma, and you want to know if the commercial red-eye I took from California to Japan was alright?”

It feels like safe territory, the teasing, but Bradley makes a face at what he says. 

“Bradshaw?” He says the word as if it disgusts him. “How long have I been deployed here, baby? Since when am I ‘Bradshaw’?”

Jake feels a pang of panic shoot through him, but he quickly hides it with his signature smirk. “Since the day we met, baby.”

The term of endearment slips out of his mouth instinctively. Jake pinches the side of his thigh through his jeans and clears his throat. “You’re okay, though, right?”

Bradley lifts their clasped hands to press a quick kiss on Jake’s. The rough meeting of his mustache against his Cali-tanned skin burns as much as it soothes. “Better now that you’re here. Though the doctors are saying things about memory loss? I don’t really care right now about all the details. You’re here. That’s all that matters. Doesn’t even bother me that much that they called Mav–” Bradley’s face suddenly drops, a horrified expression taking over. “--who you just met and probably know nothing about. I swear I can explain, baby.”

A part of Jake wants to press, wants to know why Bradley never opened up to him, even when they were entertaining the thought of spending the rest of their lives together. But there’s no point anymore, is there? So instead he says, “I already know Mav, Bradley,” gently, trying to gauge his reaction. “In fact, we’ve even worked together, the three of us.”

Rooster furrows his eyebrows. “And I was fine with it?

“Oh, you were a real asshole at first, but you two got your shit together at the end.”

Bradley huffs out a laugh. “Huh. That’s something I wish I could remember.”

“Don’t worry,” Jake assures him. “You will eventually.” 

Almost immediately, a lump forms in his throat, because Bradley will remember soon, won’t he? “Bradley, I–”

But Bradley interrupts him, instead talking his ear off about every single procedure the hospital had him do, both when he was unconscious and awake. Before they knew it, it’s been an hour, and Bradley still thinks they’re engaged and in love. He hasn’t even noticed the lack of ring on Jake’s finger. Any minute now, Bradley’s girlfriend will probably arrive. No doubt someone’s already told her about Bradley being awake. Mav can only stall for so long. 

Jake’s not proud of it, but he lets himself savor those sixty minutes in which Bradley is looking at him the way he did three years ago, eyes filled with love and ease and contentment. He knows none of it is real, that it’s just his brain telling him he’s supposed to feel these things for Jake. He knows that, but he lets himself have those sixty minutes. He can hate himself for it later, but. Just sixty minutes. 

Sure enough, at the 63 minute mark, Jake gets a text from Mav.

His girl’s en route. Did everything I could. Sorry, kid.

He locks his phone and inhales shakily. 

“Jake,” Bradley calls his attention, finally running out of things to talk about. “What’s wrong, baby? You’ve been so quiet.”

Jake knows that’s his cue. But it still hurts like a motherfucker to test the words silently in his mouth, like flaying each Bradley-labeled box shoved in every corner of his being open, letting out a tsunami of hurt that he’s been trying to outrun since Bradley broke up with him. 

“Bradley,” he swallows harshly, mouth feeling like cotton. “I need to tell you something.”

-

Age: 30, Before

He never learns what it was that scared Bradley away. 

He doesn’t revisit the memory often, because he’ll end up picking it apart in his mind, discovering new things every time: some nights it’s the absolute devastation on Bradley’s face before Jake turned around and walked away from him, other times it’s the number of ‘I love you’s’ he said against Jake’s skin the night before the end. 

But if those things are true, if his memory isn’t just playing tricks on him, then it means that Bradley loved him. Bradley loved him and it still wasn’t enough. He still wasn’t enough. And thinking about those things makes him feel like someone’s stomping on his heart, gripping his throat and cutting off his air supply, and Jake will be damned if he lets Bradley fucking Bradshaw ruin him for good (even though he already has) so Jake boxes every single Bradley memory up and shoves them in the furthest corner of his mind, never to be opened and remembered again. 

Two weeks after their break up, he gets news that Bradley’s been deployed to the other side of the world, and even though he wants to die if only to get rid of the hollowness he’s feeling, Jake tells himself it’s for the best. 

-

Age: 33, Now

Bradley sits on his hospital bed frozen while Jake stumbles through a half-assed explanation and summary of the past three years, face blank the whole time, like he’s fully dissociated from the conversation altogether. 

Jake speeds through the break up, for once telling the story with the least amount of bitterness and contempt he’s ever managed since that fateful morning. He tries to inject a little optimism in his tone when he talks about the two of them along with a few selected pilots being recalled to Top Gun, about the mission, his reconciliation with Mav and with Jake, even drops a joke about saving his life. But Bradley remains silent, face expression the same. 

“Bradley?” Jake prompts a few minutes after he’s done, when the other pilot still hasn’t said anything. 

Rooster frowns, finally breaking the stoic blankness in his face. When he speaks, his voice breaks, and Jake could swear something in his own chest cracks, too. “So now, what, we’re…?”

Jake wracks his brain for the right thing to say, the right word that would fit. In the end he goes for the truth. 

“We’re friends, Bradshaw,” Jake tells him with a shrug, a sad smile tugging at his lips despite his efforts. 

Bradley’s face breaks, before he chuckles wetly, shaking his head. “We can’t be friends, Jake. You’re the love of my life. We…we can’t be friends.”

Before Jake can say anything, Bradley buries his face in his hands, and then he starts to cry. Guttural, deep, heart-wrenching sobs come out, and, well.

Jake’s hit rock bottom before; that morning, the scent of coffee in the kitchen that made him quit caffeine altogether.

He’s hit rock bottom before, but this one comes pretty fucking close.

-

Age: 33, Now

It’s quiet in the hospital room save for the constant beeping of machines. Bradley stopped crying a while ago, only the redness in his cheeks and the occasional sniffs giving him away. Jake stays tucked in his corner, afraid to utter a single word. 

His phone vibrates again, another text from Mav informing him he’s in the lobby with Bradshaw’s girlfriend. Sighing, Jake runs a hand through his hair. “You have someone.”

Bradley whips his head to look at him lightning fast, eyes glaring. 

“What?” Jake gives him a look. “It’s the truth. Sorry to drop another bomb on you, Roo, but you have a girlfriend and she’s about to be here in five minutes tops. I don’t know her name, but you’ll probably start remembering in a day or two anyway, so.”

Rooster continues glaring at him for a second before his face drops, staring at the ceiling instead. He sounds tired, especially when he asks, “Where are you staying?”

“Haven’t thought about that yet,” Jake huffs. “I went straight here from the airport. Haven’t even booked my return ticket yet, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

Bradley shakes his head. “Let me pay for your hotel and your ticket.”

This time, it’s Jake’s turn to glare, even if Bradley’s still not looking at him. “Hell no. It was my choice to come here and talk you down in person. I can look after myself.”

“Please, bab–” Bradley cuts himself off with a flinch, making Jake inhale sharply. “Please, Jake. Let me do this.”

Jake clenches his jaw. “It’ll be more trouble than it’s worth, Bradshaw. Just pay me back later or something. Deal?”

Before Bradley can answer, a knock comes from the door, and Jake knows their time is up. Has been for the past three years, even. 

“I should go.” He stands, dusts his hands off his jeans. “Take care of yourself, Roo.”

He’s a few steps away from the door when Bradley speaks again. “I was so scared of losing you.”

“What?” Jake turns around, eyebrows furrowed. His heart stutters in his chest when he processes the words, tongue growing heavy. “Bradley…”

But Bradley isn’t done, eyes locked on him unflinchingly for the first time since Jake told him the truth. “When I asked you to marry me–it was probably the most terrifying experience of my life. I had lost everybody else and I was so scared of losing you, too. Turns out…”

Bradley smiles, then, sheepish and lonely, and shrugs. A lone tear falls from his eyes. “Lost you anyway.”

Jake opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. And then the door’s opening, a redheaded woman pushing past him to run to Bradley, Maverick not far behind. Jake knew all this time that Bradshaw has someone new, but watching another person fuss over him and touch him, when Jake is right there and unable to do the same…He’ll always love Bradley, yes, so Jake should probably get used to this sight always hurting, too. 

Still, it does nothing to help, especially when Bradley keeps his eyes locked on Jake’s, not looking at his girlfriend even once. 

Jake tries for a small smile. If he stays there any longer, he’s going to break, so he nods to himself, slaps Mav’s back lightly, and he leaves. 

-

Age: 33, Before

Jake is used to waking up at the early hours of the morning. Years in the Navy trained his body clock enough that even without alarms, he’d automatically be awake by 5 AM. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s particularly welcoming to wake up calls at–he checks his phone for the time blearily–3:30 AM. 

Bradshaw’s calling.

He takes a moment to stare at the name flashing across the screen, at the contact picture. After their break up, Jake had blocked Bradley’s number, partly so he could stop losing his mind over the number of texts the other man constantly sends him asking to talk and to explain, and mostly to keep Jake from reaching out himself. He’d had a few too close calls; nights when he would drink with his squad at the local navy bar and let himself wash the pain away with alcohol, stumbling to his base housing and going through his phone until he’s either staring at Bradley’s picture or his number, thumb hovering over the call button.

On a particularly low night, about six months after they broke up, Jake had slept with another man for the first time and immediately resented himself for it. He locked himself in the bathroom–because he was stupid enough to invite the guy over to his place and now he can’t make a French exit and have to wait for him to wake up to kick him out–and sat on the cold, tiled floor, crying and typing a long message to Bradshaw that he’ll never send. The tan line his engagement ring left on his finger has long faded by then, and it’s another reminder of what he had lost. Sleeping with another person is like the final nail in the coffin that was his relationship with Bradley, and the ache in his muscles and the soreness of his backside disgusts him enough that it took Jake another year and a half to let himself sleep with someone else. He steers clear of taller brunettes, he definitely steers clear of mustaches, but the disgust and resentment lingers, like sex could never feel right again. 

After the mission, Jake unblocks Bradley’s number, and with it comes the old contact photo he had: Bradley, in bed and barely awake, half of his face buried in the pillow in the bed they once shared, his lips pulled to a half smile. It’s that photo that haunts Jake now, 3:30 AM in the morning, wondering if he’s really awake or dreaming of Bradshaw calling. 

But the phone vibrates continuously in his hand, the ring tone loud in the silence of the night. 

Jake picks up. 

“Bradshaw?” He rasps out, sitting up in bed. “Why the hell are you calling me at three in the morning?”

There’s silence on the other end, and it stays like that for a few seconds before he hears Bradley let out a long exhale. “Jake.”

Instantly, Jake knows there’s something wrong. Bradley’s tone, the time of the call, the drawn-out sigh–it’s all wrong. 

Like he’s reading his mind, Bradley hiccups, and Jake scoffs. “Are you drunk calling me right now, Rooster? What the hell? Where are you?”

Last he heard, Bradley was a week away from being deployed to Japan, and that’s only because Phoenix asked him for details in the Daggers group chat. 

“I’m sorry,” Bradley mumbles. It’s quiet from his end, so Jake assumes he’s either at home or outside whatever bar he found himself in. Naval officers have a habit of drinking, sure, and God knows the Daggers put other squads to shame when it comes to their drinking habits, but Rooster’s never been one to over-indulge. He would drink, but always in moderation. It’s not just in the skies that he’s most careful at. Not for the first time, Jake feels worry pang in his stomach, but Bradley speaks again before he could let his concern be known. “I’m sorry, baby.”

He fights back a gasp at the nickname, gripping his phone so tight his knuckles turn white. “Bradley…”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Bradley repeats, and Jake has a sick feeling that he’s crying. He’s not sure he’s not about to do the same thing. Jake’s shaking, he realizes, phone going loose in his hand. “I’m–I should–”

Jake swallows the lump in his throat. “Bradley. Why are you calling me?”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice softer this time. “Goodbye, Jake.”

“Bradley–”

He hangs up. 

Jake doesn’t sleep a wink. 

-

Age: 33, Now

Jake doesn’t hear from Bradley or Mav for the next two weeks. By the time he returns stateside, approximately two days after visiting Bradley in the hospital, he’s compartmentalized enough that his squadron doesn’t even question why he went on sudden leave. He flies the way he always flies–like his ass depends on it, like he’s running out of fuel–and soon enough everyone is too focused on cursing his name either in front of his face or behind his back to really grill him on his personal life. 

It’s a blessing and a curse. Flying has always been Jake’s escape; it’s the one thing that hasn’t let him down yet. When he and Bradley broke up, when he felt like his whole world was flipped on its axis, he would only hop on the cockpit and steady his hands on the controls and he’d feel almost whole again. It serves him the same way now; flying means focusing all his attention on being the best in the air, and that in turn means he doesn’t have time thinking about Bradley and the past few days. He could almost pretend it never happened. 

The downside comes when it’s just him, alone–in the showers, on the drive back to his base housing, eating dinner in his sad excuse for a dining room. Those times are dedicated to picking apart the conversation he had with Bradley in that godforsaken hospital room, the smell of antiseptic, the shade of white of the bandage around Bradshaw’s head, the beeping machines. The way he said ‘baby,’ like he never stopped calling Jake that. The redheaded warrant officer that barely spared him a glance. Maverick’s sympathetic look. 

Jake doesn’t need sympathy. Jake needs…he needs things he can’t let himself have. Not anymore. 

Around the two-and-a-half-week mark, after a standard hop on his way to go shower, Jake receives a text from Mav. 

How are you, kid? 

Jake exhales loudly, fingers hovering hesitantly over the keyboard before typing, How’s our patient?

Mav replies almost instantly. Good. Got back to San Diego last week but wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell you that himself. He’s grounded for a few weeks, but he’ll survive. His memory’s good now, by the way. Everything came back to him the day after you came by. 

A few seconds pass before a follow-up message comes through. Thank you, Jake. 

He decides to ignore the second text and types instead, Good. I’m glad he’s okay.

Jake grabs his things from the locker and heads to the showers. Only when he’s done drying off and getting dressed does he check his phone again. 

If you ever find yourself in San Diego, do give your old man a visit. You have a lot you need to catch me up on. 

Despite himself, he lets a small smile tug his lips upwards. What, Bradshaw’s account not satisfying enough for you, pops? Never took you for a gossip.  

Bradley looks like he’d rather crash his F-18 than talk to me about it, kid. I’m hoping you’re more generous. 

Immediately, what little smile that managed to sneak its way to Jake’s face turns bitter, an emotion he knows all too well prickling at his chest. Same old Rooster. 

Don’t hold your breath.

He locks his phone and slams the locker door shut. 

-

Age: 33, Now

Jake wakes up with a gasp.

A quick glance to the clock at his bedside table tells him it’s just before four in the morning, and really he should be used to the nightmares by now. He’s resigned himself to the recurring dreams and not-dreams of the mission going wrong. In fact, his head’s made up so many versions of those last ten minutes in the sky that he thinks his imagination might run out of more variety. Maybe he was right, because this time his nightmare is different, like it’s been the past week. 

In the dream, he wakes up from sleep–much like he did just now–to find his phone ringing. It’s Mav on the other line, the perfect replica of the night he called to tell Jake about Bradley’s accident. This time, though, Mav isn’t asking Jake to fly across the world and go to Bradley. In fact, Mav barely speaks at all. Instead he’s sobbing, heavy and loud and all wrong. The only words Jake could make out were “he’s gone,” and then Mav’s crying just got louder and louder until it’s all Jake could hear. 

He’s always thankful for whatever tells his brain to wake up from his nightmares, but this time even when he gasps awake, Jake’s already crying. 

“Shit,” he heaves a breath, wiping at his eyes. His chest feels heavy, lidden with imaginary grief. He’s mourned Bradley before, when they parted ways and he knew nothing else could ever bring back the version of him that Jake once had. But this is different. It hits too close to home, having to face another person’s grief. Another person who loves Bradley. It makes it seem too real. 

Jake leans back against his headboard and opens his phone, fingers fumbling on the screen on instinct. He stares at Bradley’s number, the same way he did a thousand times before, and before he can stop himself, Jake presses call.

The ringing almost startles him, but nothing is more surprising than Bradley picking up almost instantly. 

“Jake?” He sounds awake, and it’s a small relief that Jake didn’t manage to wake him up. Still, now that he’s actually processing that he just called Bradley, he doesn’t know what to say. 

I’m glad you’re alive? Sorry I called, just needed to make sure my nightmare’s just a nightmare? Why did you leave me? Why the fuck would you propose if you never intended to see it through? Maybe we should switch callsigns? Why did you pick up? Who’s the redhead? Why why why why why–

They don’t speak for a few seconds, Jake still not quite registering the fact that Bradley picked up in the first place. How many drunken nights did he spend in this exact position, having imaginary conversations with the man on the other line? This time it’s actually real, and Jake can hear every single time Bradley releases a breath, can almost sync his own breathing to his. Finally, when the silence is just bordering on awkward, Jake says, “I’m sorry for calling.”

“Why did you?” Bradley asks, like it’s so simple, like he doesn’t really know. Jake almost hates him for it, but he’s learned a long time ago that he could never truly hate Bradley, so instead he just shoots the question back. 

“Why’d you pick up?”

Bradley says nothing, but the silence is pointed. 

Jake sighs, sagging against the headboard, the fight leaving his body. That doesn’t stop him from trying to appear chirpy and unbothered, though. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. It’s not everyday someone you know gets temporary amnesia.”

“At four AM?” Bradley quickly backfires, tone almost knowing. 

Jake clenches his teeth. “Fine. My subconscious wanted to make sure that you’re actually alive. Happy?”

“Nightmare?” Bradley asks instead, and Jake almost snipes at the number of questions, but something catches in his throat before he could. Maybe it’s the underlying concern in Bradley’s voice, or the late hour making him more open to being vulnerable. Maybe Jake’s just tired of lying and putting on a mask. 

He never had to be Hangman in the early hours of the morning. Not with Bradley. 

“It’s funny,” Jake begins to say. “These last few months after the mission, I kept dreaming of you and Mav dying. Being too late. Watching that tomcat explode. But this week, all I’ve been hearing every single time I close my eyes is the phone ringing, Mav calling to tell me you’re gone.”

When Bradley still doesn’t say anything, Jake continues. “I would have preferred seeing, I think. Having myself to blame. Because if you’re gone just like that, with me a whole world away, then that means it wasn’t even my fault. How the fuck am I going to get over your potential death if I can’t even hate myself for it?”

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but there’s release in finally being truthful to himself for once, of finally letting out what he’s been trying desperately to hide the past three years. Hangman is a force of nature. He’s a machine in the air; the perfect military man, and an even more perfect naval aviator. Jake is far from those things, and the only person he’s allowed to ever see him that way is on the other line. 

“I’m in San Diego,” Bradley suddenly says after a minute of silence, making him frown confusingly. “Should we…I mean, can we talk? Face to face?”

Jake fists his hands. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Bradshaw.”

“Please?” He says, and Jake wants to close his eyes. “I really think we should talk. This conversation’s long overdue, don’t you think?”

Jake pauses for a moment to think. “I…I don’t know that I want to see you, Bradley.”

“Oh,” Bradley says dumbly. Jake can almost picture his face at this moment; red and flushed, mouth agape. “That’s…Of course. That’s totally–”

“It’s just–these past few weeks have kinda been a lot,” Jake cuts him off, pressing a hand to his eyes. “Everything’s all muddled now, with what happened at the hospital and you losing your memories. I think we should just take a beat. We’ll talk when we talk.”

“Alright,” Bradley concedes, before speaking up again. “Just. One more thing.”

Jake hums, urging him to continue. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me?” Bradley says. 

Jake scrunches his eyebrows. “Ask you what?”

“Why I called you,” Bradley says the words carefully, like Jake will hang up on him any second. “Before I left for Japan.”

Jake’s breath catches at his throat. 

The memory’s there, of course, looming over him like a shadow he can’t shake. Jake does his best to try and put it at the back of his mind, though. If he spends too much time ruminating over the fact that Bradshaw drunk-dialed him apologizing for breaking his heart three years ago, if he spends too much time recalling how easily the word ‘baby’ came from his lips when sobriety wasn’t stopping him, then Jake isn’t sure he could think about anything else. This thing with Bradley has always been all-consuming. For better or worse, Jake still isn’t sure, even after all this time. 

“We don’t–” Jake closes his eyes shut. “We don’t need to do this, Rooster. You were drunk. It’s fine.”

He hears Bradley inhale shakily. “I think it’s my turn to be honest, Hangman.”

Before Jake can respond, Bradley continues. “I haven’t really been with anyone after…everything. Serious or casual. And Nat’s been on my ass about it so much, talking about how I should get out there, move on.”

Jake chooses to ignore the last words. “I didn’t know that.”

“You seemed fine,” Bradley tells him. “Shit, you were more than fine. Climbing up the ranks, collecting your medals like you’re gonna run out. After the first few months when you blocked my number, I figured I should leave you be. I did enough damage. Nat said I should stop getting stuck in the past and do the same.”

Jake feels like he’s still dreaming. He’s not sure if he’s hearing Bradley correctly, or he’s still writhing in bed on the cusp of another nightmare. He doesn’t know if he wants to find out either way. “And this relates to you drunk calling me how, exactly, Bradshaw?”

There’s a pause, before he speaks again. “You seemed good. But I wasn’t. And I guess I thought that if I get the confirmation straight from you that you’re okay, if I could tell you I’m still so sorry about everything that happened, I could finally…”

“Move on?” Jake forces the words out of his mouth, his throat tight. 

“Or try to, at least,” Bradley says. 

Jake nods to himself. “And you did.” When Bradley doesn’t say anything, he adds. “The redhead warrant officer?”

“Right,” Bradley clears his throat. “Daisy.”

Jake doesn’t want to hear about the warrant officer girlfriend who now apparently has a name, so he chooses to be honest, too. “I wasn’t. For the record.”

“Wasn’t what?”

“Fine. Okay. I was far from it..” Jake grits his teeth. Even the memory of those months after their break up still makes his chest feel tight. He tries to chuckle. “In fact I felt like I was going to die every day after you left. Not sure how I pulled myself back together from that, but.”

Bradley breathes out heavily. “Jake…”

“You fucked me up real bad, Bradshaw,” Jake huffs, hoping for a laugh but falling short. “It was a long time ago. But since we’re being honest.” 

Bradley sniffs. Jake can almost hear the thoughts running through his head; the I’m sorry’s, the I didn’t mean to’s. He doesn’t know if it makes him feel better. All he knows is that Bradley had put a permanent ache in his chest that he’s spent the last three years trying to get rid of, and whatever relief being honest gives him now can only be secondary to that pain. “I guess I owe you an explanation, huh?” 

Jake bites his lip, thinks of how much he once craved a reason–something tangible that he could blame, something so easily understood that he could forgive Bradley in a blink. But what would that change? Jake would still be Jake, and Bradley still wouldn’t be his. In fact, Bradley is another person’s entirely. “The thing is that you really don’t, Bradley. Not anymore.”

Bradley goes quiet on the other line. 

Jake almost manages to smile. Somehow, it’s easier when he says the words, “Good night, Bradshaw.”

He ends the call. 

A couple of days later, he receives a money transfer to his account with an enough amount to cover his plane tickets and hotel to Japan. Javy doesn’t bulge when Jake asks him about how Bradley found out the details, and Jake tries not to examine the situation too closely. Bradley sends the Daggers group chat a selfie of him wearing sunglasses in a beach somewhere in San Diego, Mav behind him a few feet away throwing up a peace sign. It’s accompanied with a simple text saying, “Yes, I got in a training accident. Yes, I’m grounded for the time being. Yes, I’m mostly fine.” The daggers give him shit for it, blowing up Jake’s phone for that entire afternoon. He deliberately ignores the messages, but Jake’s lying if he said he didn’t glance at the picture a few times over the next few weeks. 

Flashes and neverfuckingenough. 

-

Age: 34, Now

It’s just two weeks after his birthday when he gets recalled to Top Gun again. 

Another mission, and with their skillset, the Navy saw it fit to reform and send the Daggers again. It makes sense, even to Jake; they’ve been trained for something similar, they’ve already had a successful mission under their belt, they’re already a team. It’s the least surprising decision the Navy could have made in the world. And yet. 

Jake stalls. He’s man enough to admit that. He stalls in his newly assigned base housing, devoid of anything cozy or homey–the standard two-seater dark gray couch, the dining table for four in a dark wood color that makes his eye twitch, the thin sheets on the double bed. It’s been a while since he had to start from scratch. When he got back to Top Gun for the first mission, he didn’t bother moving out of the apartment he rented back in Lemoore. The mission, the Dagger squad–it was supposed to be temporary. It’s either you come back or you die, and Jake never planned on dying. After the three-month leave they were forced to take, Jake was comfortable in getting attached back to the Vigilantes. They had always looked at him in reverence–he’s a Top Gun graduate, the first of his class, the one with the air-to-air kill, the 0.1%. After the mission, even the insecure punks who like to give him a difficult time nodded at him like he’s some hero. Everyone would have thought he’d eat that shit up, bask in the ego-stroking like the asshole  he is. No one knows how much of an impostor it made him feel. Surprisingly making team leader for the Daggers multiplies the feeling, too, especially when Warlock said it was a majority vote from the squad in his email. 

He showers and changes into his khakis even though they don’t technically start with the mission brief until the next day. He ignores Javy’s numerous texts and mutes the Daggers group chat. He knows where they’ll all be anyway. He shaves the thin scruff he’s developed the last few days, makes sure every single physical thing about him is in place. When even Maverick rings him, Jake sighs, resigns himself to the inevitable. Still, he drives slower than usual, taking his sweet time finding a parking spot at the Hard Deck. 

The truth is he doesn’t want to see Bradshaw, almost as much as he longs to see him. 

What does he even say? After that phone call, after those vulnerable minutes where Jake allowed himself to once again flay his heart open under the guise of honesty, how can he possibly act around Bradley? He can’t be too hostile; just the thought is enough to make him feel grim and wrong. But he can’t be too friendly, and he can’t pretend as if nothing happened. 

Bradley’s already at the Hard Deck by the time Jake gets inside, fashionably late as planned. His palms feel sweaty, his own words, “we’ll talk when we talk,” echoing in his mind. Still, there’s no hesitance in how he approaches the other man at the bar away from their squad. He swallows harshly. Get it together. 

“Heard you’re my wingman,” Jake says in greeting, accepting the beer Bradley silently offers. 

Bradley looks at him for a second before he raises his eyebrows, but his lips are slightly tugged in a small, discreet smile. “Got a problem with that?”

“If you fly slower than my grandpa, yes,” Jake deadpans, copying his expression. 

Bradley huffs out an amused laugh, and Jake tries to ignore how pleased it makes him feel to elicit such a sound. “Touché. Although in my defense, I’ve been getting a lifestyle change lately.”

“Oh?” Jake asks, genuinely curious. He settles on the stool next to Bradley, careful to keep his distance. 

“Don’t think, just do?” Bradley says, giving him a knowing look. “It’s been nice getting off my so-called perch.”

The relief over the fact that he and Bradley seem to be on the same page about how to act towards each other doesn’t come, not yet, but Jake feels it looming as he grows more comfortable. Still, he can’t help but tease him, fingers curling around the cold moist bottle of beer. “But what a pretty perch it is.” 

Before Bradley could reply, the rest of the daggers spot them, pulling them to different areas of the Hard Deck. Jake gets thrown in a game of darts with Javy and Reuben; if he’s a little off his game, it doesn’t matter, because he smokes them anyway. Bradshaw is by the pool table with Nat and the rest, not really playing, but he’s smiling brightly as they converse, hands leaning back on the windowsill behind him. 

He looks good. Better than good. Jake flashes back to the conversation they had a couple of months ago. Maybe Bradshaw finally got that closure he’s been seeking–the assurance that Jake has forgiven him, that Jake is okay. Maybe he’s truly moved on. Jake ignores the pang in his chest at the thought. 

Jake doesn’t know why he was so afraid things would be off between him and Bradshaw after the phone call. But the last few weeks of training together again, Jake and Bradley crawl towards a tentative friendship, resembling the one they got after the mission, if a little bit more distant. They’re colleagues. Bradley’s his wingman. It’s better than being his nothing at all, so Jake accepts this development like it’s the most precious gift he’s ever been given, takes it with careful hands as if one wrong move would break it. If Javy gives him a pointed look every time he catches Jake stealing a glance, it’s nobody else’s business but their own.

It’s a few weeks in that Mav invites them over for a late barbecue. He likes to call it team building, even labels it as such on the text invite, even if he’s technically retired and not their CO anymore. Jake carpools with Javy because he doesn’t want to worry about driving, wants the wash of beer and steak and ribs to sit low on his belly. It’s been a hectic few days; their mission is relatively simple but still high stakes, and they’ve only got one more week of training left. Being the team leader is bearing down on Jake’s shoulder; sometimes, it’s instinct to fly like hell, and he’ll only realize he’s left everyone else in the dust when it’s too late. Phoenix always gives him shit for it, but Bradshaw? Bradshaw just looks at him, not even hostile, just…looks, and it undoes him like no other. He’s trying to be a team player. He’s trying to be a leader. But it’s a work in progress. 

The sun has just set when Natasha opens the topic of Bradley’s accident. They’re all gathered in a makeshift conversation pit, idle conversations and sipping their drinks, when she suddenly perks up and says, “Hey, Bradshaw, you owe us a story!”

Bradley frowns at her. “Huh?”

Jake immediately catches on, the gleam in Phoenix’s eyes giving her away. “Your accident a few months ago? The one you told literally no one about beyond a really vague and dismissive text?”

Sure enough, everyone starts ribbing him about sharing the details. Jake stays quiet where he’s sitting, content to just let the scene in front of him play out. 

Maybe it’s the hot evening air in combination with the beers (he’s had four–Jake silently counts the empty bottles by his feet–and he’s on his fifth), but Bradley finally relents to tell the tale. 

“It was just a freak accident,” Bradley waves it off. Jake accidentally catches Mav’s eyes and they both share an exasperated look that almost sends him laughing. “Bird strike during training. But my plane malfunctioned. I wasn’t able to eject ‘till it’s dangerously low. Hit my head when I landed.”

Almost suddenly, the cheerful air they adopted for the night turns into stunned silence. Even Jake has to exhale at the recount, and he has a feeling the extra details he gathered tonight will come back to haunt him in an even more realistic nightmare for the next few nights. 

“Shit, man,” one of the Daggers says, but Jake’s too focused on Bradley to pay attention to who. “That must have been scary.”

Bradley shrugs. “Not as scary as waking up. I got temporary amnesia; lost my memories for a few days, so I freaked the fuck out when I woke up, especially when Mav showed up.”

“He forgot we made up,” Mav rolls his eyes, earning a few laughs from the squad. “Wouldn’t stop looking for Hangman, here. It was a real pain.”

Jake tries to school his expression, but it’s too late, because Payback’s already frowning and asking, “Wait, why was he looking for Hangman?”

Mav’s eyes widen in panic, and even Bradley looks caught off guard, eyes immediately seeking Jake’s. 

Jake rolls his eyes, tries for something casual and indifferent. “Come on, dickheads. Ya’ll know Rooster and I got history.”

Bradley looks at him for a beat before clearing his throat. “Jake was my emergency contact when we…”

Natasha quirks a brow. “When they were engaged.”

“Now, hold up!”

“Woah?”

“Wait a second,”

“What?”

“Holy shit!”

“Excuse me?”

Jake grits his teeth, glaring at Nat who only smirks in response. “Thanks a lot, Phoenix,” he says under his breath. Javy nudges him, a quiet show of comfort that he appreciates more than he expected. He doesn’t need to look at him to know Bradley’s turned bright red. 

“When you guys said history,” Fanboy begins to say, “we thought you just, like–”

“Fucked a few times,” Reuben finishes with a choked off laugh. 

He can’t help himself. Jake raises an eyebrow and smirks. “I mean, we did. Among other things.”

Bradley groans, throwing his head back. 

Maverick stands up. “Okay, that’s my cue. I’m heading back inside before I hear something I’ll regret. You kids can clean up after yourselves.”

The others boo Mav’s retreating back, but he only flips them off. 

“I can’t believe you guys were engaged,” Omaha says, shaking his head a little. “That’s…wow.”

Fanboy leans in. “So, Rooster, what did Hangman do that had you canceling the wedding?” He jokes, but Jake sucks in a sharp breath at the words. 

Javy tenses up next to him. Jake gives a subtle shake of his head. Not worth it. 

Still, Jake feels like he stopped breathing when Bradley glances at him for a second before looking down at the beer in his hands. “It was my fault, actually, so. Cheers.”

Someone whistles, and Fanboy stutters in embarrassment. 

Nat just looks at both Jake and Bradley before shaking her head. “So what else happened? When you woke up with your memories gone? Don’t hold out on us, Bradshaw.”

Jake could honestly kiss her for the diversion. 

Bradley sighs. “Well, Mav called Jake because I kinda wouldn’t talk to anyone.” 

He seems almost embarrassed by this, but Jake doesn’t want to spend too much time thinking about that, so he cuts in. “Yep,” he pops the word. “Flew to Japan and everything so I could tell him that he and Mav made up and that unfortunately, he won’t be marrying all this,” he points to his body with a wiggle of eyebrows.

Phoenix throws him a used tissue with a scoff. 

“You actually went to Japan?” Bob sounds surprised.

“Wouldn’t want him to tell his girlfriend he was engaged, would we?” When the others give him pointed looks, Jake frowns. “What? I’m not actually a horrible person!”

“Damn,” Fritz says. “It’s like these two are living in a movie or something.”

Both Bradley and Jake flip him off, which only sets the others to laugh even more. 

“Whatever happened to the girlfriend?” Fanboy asks. 

Jake gulps down his beer. Goddammit. He was doing so well. 

“Yeah, man,” Payback adds. “What’s her name again?”

“Daisy,” Nat supplies, but there’s a careful look in her eye, like she’s uncomfortable by the turn in the conversation too. 

Payback snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah. Did you tell her about the amnesia thing? Oh, God, don’t tell me she met Bagman here. That would be a nightmare.”

“Fuck off,” Jake scoffs before finishing off the last of his beer in big gulps. 

“No–I mean, yes, I told her.” Bradley bites his lower lip, not that Jake’s looking or anything. Besides, Bradshaw looks like he’d rather look anywhere than at Jake. “Doesn’t matter now, anyway. I…we broke up.”

Jake drops the empty beer bottle to the ground. He’s not proud of it. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Here, dude,” Javy pats his back, crouching down to pick it up for him. On his way to straightening up, he gives Jake a pointed look, as if to say ‘pull yourself together and stop being embarrassing, man.’ 

Nat thankfully speaks, moving the attention away from him. “Damn, Bradshaw. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a heartbreaker. I thought that was a one-time thing.”

Bradley rolls his eyes, but his expression becomes pinched. Not for the first time, Jake wonders if Nat finally knew the real reason he and Bradley broke up. Jake suspected Bradley never told her the whole truth of it, of course, if the hostility she bore towards him the first mission is anything to go by. But now she looks almost disappointed at Bradley. “Don’t start, Nat.”

There’s a silent pause before Javy stands up. “Well. I’m beat and we have an early day tomorrow, so.”

Everyone stands up one by one, muttering their own excuses. Jake sees Bradley frown. “Hey, Mav told us to clean up!”

“Not it!” Fanboy exclaims. The rest of the squad follows, laughingly declaring ‘not it!’ consecutively. 

Even Javy says it, and it’s only when they all turn to him that Jake realizes he was the only one apart from Bradshaw to stay silent. Immediately, he shoves Javy’s chest. “Oh, fuck you. We carpooled here, remember?”

Javy raises his hands up and shrugs. “You’re a big boy, Hangman. You’ll find a ride.” 

Before they know it, Bradley and Jake are alone together for the first time since Japan. 

Jake’s been dreading their overdue conversation since he found out the Daggers are being brought back together, always finding excuses not to be alone with Bradley, only interacting with him in a group setting. For his part, Bradley didn’t seem too eager to talk to him, either. He tried once; a week into their new training. They were both the last ones to leave the station after a long debrief with their superiors. They walked to the parking lot together in silence until Bradley had asked him if they could talk over dinner. 

“I’m pretty beat,” Jake said after a long minute of silence, ignoring the tightening in his chest.

Bradley’s expression dropped, but he nodded anyway. He never asked again. 

But it turns out Jake is worrying for nothing, because they spend the next fifteen minutes cleaning up Mav’s backyard in silence. It makes him more antsy, like there’s an itch underneath his skin that he can’t quite reach, so he opens his mouth to ruin the quiet when he decides it’s getting too uncomfortable. “Did you vote for me?”

Bradley looks up at him. “Huh?”

“As squad leader,” he clarifies, pointedly not looking up from the used plastic cups he’s collecting from the ground. “Warlock said it was a majority vote.”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking. He isn’t sure he’ll like the answer, either way, but the words are out, and now Jake has to act like he’s not as affected as he is. 

Bradley clicks his tongue. “I did, yeah.”

Jake sucks a breath, finally looking up at him at that, if only to frown. “Why?”

 “I’m fine being dagger two,” Bradley says with a casual shrug, not commenting on his incredulous tone, like it’s so hard to believe Bradley would trust him as a leader. And maybe that’s true, because Jake has spent the last few weeks–hell, months– getting shat on by the squad for leaving everyone behind. And it’s not like he could blame them, because he does. It’s in his nature. It’s Hangman. “Besides, your instincts are better. If you lead, you’re gonna make us work for it just so we can keep up.”

Jake gulps, mind fitting back to their conversation at the Hard Deck during the first mission. “But you said–”

“I know what I said, Jake,” Bradley sighs, but his expression remains light, almost smiling slightly. “It’s–I didn’t mean it. You know that.”

No, I don’t, he wants to say, but instead he just swallows harshly. “And the others?”

“Same thing. It’s honestly simple.” Bradley shrugs again, giving him a knowing look. His lips are tugged up in a small smile. “We need a Mav.”

Jake doesn’t know if he likes the comparison, but he gets it, so he nods tightly and continues picking plastic cutlery up from the grass like it’s his life mission. Bradley isn’t the first one to make it, anyway; he’s been hearing it over the past few months, the unlikely parallels, the similar reckless yet ruthless flying style. Sometimes Mav looks at him and Jake thinks he’s making comparisons of his own, too. 

“Are we having a talk now?” Bradley asks a few minutes later, quiet enough that it doesn’t startle him. Still, his heart beats against his chest at the words. 

Carefully, Jake stands up, dusting his hands off his jeans. Here goes nothing. “Do you want to?”

“I want whatever you can give me,” Bradley tells him simply, like the words wouldn’t upend Jake’s entire night, like they don’t make him feel like sinking to his knees in prayer. 

Jake shakes his head. “Stop saying shit like that.”

“Jake–”

“No,” he exhales, taking a step forward towards Bradley and then taking two steps back. “Just–fine. You want to talk? Why did you break up with Daisy?”

Even saying the name makes Jake feel like someone’s digging through his chest to squeeze his heart. But Bradley scoffs at the words, eyes locked on his, like his question is so offensive. “You really have to ask?”

“Yes, I do,” Jake almost laughs. “Because you won’t tell me. You never let me in. Not when we were fucking casually in Top Gun, not when we were entertaining the idea of being together forever. You never let me in, Bradshaw. Why did you break up with your girlfriend?”

Bradley throws his head back to look up at the sky. “You know why, Jake.”

He can tell they won’t get any far if he continues pressing, so he clenches his jaw with a short nod. “Okay. So why did you leave? Is that an easier question to answer? Why did you break up with me?”

Bradley’s expression shatters, his jaw twitching. If he expects the question to come, he doesn’t let on. But now that the words are out, Jake feels like collapsing. 

He was fine. He was okay with never knowing Bradley’s reason for leaving. He was content with the thought that it was too long ago to dig up now. He was slowly learning how to be around Bradley without the cargo of pain and bitterness that he’s been lugging behind for three years. But in the heat of the moment, with Bradley standing a few feet away looking at him like he’s the only person in the world, Jake can admit that he’s still the guy he was three years ago, desperate for some kind of explanation that would make all the pain worth it. 

“I wish I had a better reason,” Bradley begins brokenly. “Something that would magically make all of this okay. I wish I can give you that, Jake.”

“I just want the truth,” Jake manages to croak out, a lump forming in his throat. “Was it me? Was it my fault? Did I do something? Because let me tell you, Rooster: I spent the last three years going over that day, those last few weeks, trying to pinpoint what I could have possibly said or done to make you leave me. Can’t say I’ve been successful.” 

Before Bradley can speak, Jake continues. “But it has to be me, right? So tell me: what did I do that made you leave?”

Suddenly, Bradley steps closer, like he can’t bear to be far away from him any longer. “Jake, you didn’t do a goddamn thing, you hear me?” The words come out strong with conviction, as if he will die if Jake doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. “Not a goddamn thing. It was all me, baby.”

He clenches his eyes shut at that, at the nickname that burns him even if they’re not touching. Bradley continues to step closer.

“I was scared. You…you were my everything, Jake, and with your kill, they’ve been sending you on these impossibly dangerous deployments, and I spent every night in cold sweat waiting for you to call so I can have an assurance that you’re still with me. I would have a panic attack if you were so much as ten minutes late.”

Jake lets the words wash over him, his breathing going harder by the minute. 

Bradley tries to put a hand on one of his arms but he flinches away. “I felt like I was doomed to play out my mother’s life; never knowing if the love of my life can make it through the week, waiting in the sidelines and not being able to do anything if God forbid something happens. And we know how that one ended, don’t we?”

“And your solution to that was what?” Jake asks, the volume of his voice increasing while he steps back, putting more distance between them. A part of him is aware that Maverick is only a few feet away inside the house, but he can’t bring himself to care. Let him hear. In fact, let the rest of the town hear them, because Jake still isn’t sure he’s not dreaming. “To break up with me? To tell me you couldn’t marry me? Did you know how fucking reckless I was in the air after that? 

Bradley visibly flinches at the words, but Jake continues on. Now that he’s started, he isn’t sure he can stop. “I thought about going up in the air and never landing a thousand times. I felt like dying, Bradley. In fact, I could have died, and everything would have been for nothing.”

“I know,” Bradley presses on the words like they physically pain him. “Don’t you think I knew that? I wasn’t being rational. I got too in my head. I regretted everything the second you walked out, Jake. I waited for you for four whole days but you didn’t come back, and I had to go back to my station. I called you every day.”

“I blocked your number,” Jake says helplessly. 

Bradley chuckles wetly. “I know.” 

“Because it was too good to be true,” Jake says, the fight leaving his body. He suddenly feels exhausted, like he just got done with a particularly challenging hop. He drops down on the bench near him, burying his face in his hands. “I knew it the whole time. It was too good to be true that you would love me enough to marry me. For years after that, I blamed everything on my complacency more than I blamed you. Because I knew better. Because I knew deep down it was too good to be true.”

He hears more than sees it when Bradley sinks to his knees in front of him, close enough to touch. “It wasn’t.”

“Stop,” Jake says, pleads. He’s still hiding behind his hands. He doesn’t know if he wants this conversation to be real or just another nightmare he has to recover from. And it doesn’t make sense, because isn’t this what he wanted? To know that he was good enough, to know that he didn’t have anything to do with the end of their relationship? Isn’t this the explanation he was waiting for? “Stop talking.”

“It wasn’t, Jake–”

“Stop talking,” Jake drops his hands to curl them around the back of Bradley’s neck. He feels untethered. He feels whole. “Stop talking.”

It’s instinct to pull him into a kiss. Bradley responds instantly, kissing him back like it’s instinct for him, too, tongue darting out to deepen it. Jake’s helpless to the loud moan that slips from his mouth, the wrecked sound loud in the quiet of the night. His hands are everywhere: darting from their grip on Bradley’s neck to tug at his hair, down his waist to pull their bodies closer, to his chest, testing the feel of the muscles that weren’t there before. 

He can’t get enough. He commits everything to memory, like Bradley will disappear from his hold any minute, like he’s sand between Jake’s fingers. If this is the last time he’ll ever have Bradley like this–touching him, marking him with Jake’s spit and scent and kisses, marking him as his–then he’s going to savor it, until Bradley is so branded in his skin that he can’t ever wash him off. 

“Bradley,” he says brokenly when they drift apart for more than a second. 

Bradley licks at his open mouth before pulling back. “Not here. Mav is–not here.”

It’s a hazy stumble towards Bradley’s Bronco, trying to keep quiet lest they lure Mav out but also desperate to keep touching and tasting. 

“Baby–” Bradley begins to say when Jake’s back is flushed against the car door. 

He shakes his head, presses closer. “Take me home,” he manages to gasp out, lips trailing along the line of Bradley’s neck. “Please take me home.”

Bradley doesn’t have to be asked for a third time. 

-

Age: 34, Now

Jake has done his fair share of sneaking out in his time. When he was a closeted high schooler in Texas, he had mastered being light on his feet, had memorized which floorboards creaked and which double-hung windows in his home jammed. It was the only way he could meet with the Lacrosse kid (also closeted) he was hooking up with during school nights, so it’s become a part of his routine, the sneaking out. 

But he can’t say he’s done it in the last couple of years; he’s an adult, for one, able to make his own decisions without having to consider if his parents are gonna kick him out for daring to be attracted to the same sex, and Jake’s also an asshole. He has no problem making his intentions known, has no problem kicking anyone out of his bed. Sometimes he lets them sleep in, if he’s feeling generous. Most times he doesn’t even stay long enough for sleep to tempt him or his partners. It’s just better that way; impersonal, no attachments. It’s a side effect of having his heart crushed when he was least expecting it, but he can’t say he’s bothered by that development. 

Now, though–

Now, it’s different. 

Bradley lies on the bed next to him, face squished against the pillow, light snores falling from his slightly parted lips. There’s still a light layer of perspiration on his body, the loud, rumbling AC doing its best but failing to keep them cool. One of his arms is draped over Jake’s stomach, the other splayed out in the opposite direction. It should either feel like coming home or being buried six feet underground, but Jake–

Jake feels like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. 

The sense of rightness is there; the part of him that never stopped yearning for Bradley being sated for once. He closes his eyes shut and remembers the first slip inside, the burn and the stretch of it, the overwhelming feeling of something finally slotting into place, like he’s becoming whole again with each thrust. Jake had buried his face in Bradley’s neck to hide his tears, but he knew Bradley could feel the wetness on his skin. If anything, it only made him grip Jake tighter, pull him closer. 

He doesn’t know how they were able to stop, but the physical and mental exhaustion finally caught up to them, and they fell asleep clutching each other like they were scared one of them would be ripped away. 

But now Jake’s wide awake, a few hours of sleep and a couple orgasms later, and the unfamiliar bedsheet itches something awful against his skin. He feels his breathing coming out in short heaves, feels his body instinctively twisting away from Bradley’s hold. He knows he won’t wake up; Bradley had always been a deep sleeper, and that hasn’t changed. 

Jake takes another look at him and his face crumples up in a silent cry, because this is the last time, isn’t it? The way in which they kissed and held each other and cried against each other and just let go–it had a sense of finality that Jake had only ever felt once: the night before Bradley broke up with him. 

Slowly, he gets off the bed and begins retrieving his strewn clothes all over the room. Each step has him feeling every touch Bradley branded on his skin, and he doesn’t know whether he should be grateful for it or not. 

He’s buttoning up his pants when Bradley’s voice startles him. “You’re leaving.”

Jake whips around to face him, the words getting caught in his throat. 

It isn’t poised as a question, but Bradley’s eyes are fixed on Jake’s, as if imploring him to explain himself. His voice is rough from sleep, curly hair a mess. He’s gripping the bed sheet like his life depends on it.

“Bradley–”

Bradley’s expression breaks. “I thought–I mean, why would you…?” He huffs out a breath. “I thought we had an understanding.”

“We did,” Jake counters, swallowing harshly. “Didn’t we? We…We both needed this. The closure. And now we can finally–”

Bradley throws the blanket aside with a scoff, standing up from the bed and snatching his boxers from the ground. “I don’t want fucking closure , Jake. What the hell even gave you that idea?”

“You don’t?” Jake stammers back, unsure what to do with his hands while he’s just standing there shirtless like an idiot. “But last night–”

“No,” Bradley presses out, moving closer towards him. “In fact, that’s the last thing I want. Last night I thought–I thought we were finally getting somewhere. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away but…”

Jake exhales like his breath is leaving him. “Bradshaw, you’re confusing the fuck out of me.”

When Bradley doesn’t say anything, Jake raises a hand to his hair and sighs. “If that wasn’t goodbye then what was it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know; anything but that!” Bradley gives him a look and pushes closer, until their bare chests are almost touching. “It’s I’m sorry and I need you back and I love you and I never stopped. It’s everything, Jake.”

Jake is helpless to do anything but gape at him, shaking his head.

“Jake,” Bradley sighs, voice lowering now that they’re so close Jake can feel his every breath against his face. “I lost you because I couldn’t handle how much I loved you. I was an idiot and I was scared. But I’m not scared anymore.”

Jake lets out an incredulous laugh, ignoring the pang in his chest. “Well, I am.” Bradley frowns at him, which only sets him off further. “I’m fucking terrified, Bradshaw. I got a taste of how hard and painful it is to have you leave me and I can’t go through that again. I barely pulled myself together the last time.”

“Jake–”

He shakes his head again, voice loud with frustration. “Nothing has changed , Bradley. Our job is still very dangerous, especially now that they’ve made the Daggers a permanent squadron. It’s gonna be suicide mission after suicide mission. Fuck, I’m team leader. I’m gonna face those dangers head on. Nothing has changed. What, we get back together and I get hurt on the job and you’ll leave me again?”

“No,” Bradley insists, reaching a hand out to grip Jake by the back of his neck. “Jake, I spent years trying to deal with my issues because it cost me you. I didn’t even realize I was doing it on the off chance that you’ll forgive me. But I did, and it’s still a work in progress, but believe me. Everything has changed.”

Jake pulls away, because he can’t think when they’re so close. Bradley’s scent is overwhelming his senses, and his fingers itch to reach out and touch. “Oh, and I just have to take your word for it?”

“Can you honestly say that what we had back then was healthy?” Bradley suddenly says, the words throwing Jake off. “We were co-dependent and we never fucking talked.”

“And whose fault was that?” Jake snaps back immediately.

“Mine!” Bradley says, just as loud, before his shoulders sag. Bradley runs a hand through his hair, biting his lip before continuing. “I know I fucked up, baby. But I had to live without you for the past three years and it sucked. I–I felt like I couldn’t breathe, sometimes.”

Jake shuts his eyes tight, as if that would prevent the tears pooling in them from slipping. He doesn’t want to hear this—how similar their heartbreaks were. He’s not sure if he’s ready. 

“I love you,” Bradley says, voice catching in his throat. He brings both of his hands up to wipe at Jake’s tears before cupping his face. “I love you, Jake. And if you could just give me another chance–if you could love me again–I swear, I’ll do everything to prove to you that I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hated you,” Jake admits. Bradley’s face drops, and the pure heartbreak in his eyes has Jake tearing up again. “But I’ve always loved you. That was never the problem. I love you, Bradley. But I don’t know if I can jump straight into another relationship with you again. You hurt me too much.” 

“I’m sorr–”

“I know you are,” Jake interrupts before he shrugs. “I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

Bradley takes a step back away from him, slow like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “I won’t…It’s–Okay.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll take whatever you can give me, if it means I get to have you in my life. If that’s just as a friend or even colleague, then…”

Bradley’s words echo the similar ones Jake’s been throwing around in his mind a hundred times before, and he has to clench his fists. He wants Bradley so bad it’s making his vision go blurry. He wants him so bad it’s making him want to take back what he said already. But he’s being presented with something that he never thought he could have again, and he wants to do this right, because if he allows Bradley in his life once more and they end up getting it wrong another time, it’s going to be the end of him. 

“You’re the love of my life, Bradshaw,” Jake says, mirroring Bradley’s words all those months ago in the hospital that Jake still smells in his sleep. “We can never be just friends.”

Jake exhales slowly. “I’m not saying never. Just…I think it’s my turn for a lifestyle change.” He cracks a small smile at that. “Slow ride alright with you, Rooster?”

Bradley clenches his jaw at that, putting an arm up to wipe at his eyes before nodding jerkily. He looks at Jake like he finally gets it , and isn’t that something?

Jake smiles again, brighter this time. He thinks about kissing him, of allowing himself that last taste, but the sense of finality in the act makes him hesitate. So instead he reaches out to cup Bradley’s jaw, touch lingering for a moment. And then he walks out the door with his shirt still in his hand, crumpled and inside out.

-

Age: 27, Before 

Jake stares at the ceiling in Bradley's bedroom. There are random dark shapes from water damage over the years, and he thinks about reporting it to the maintenance office of the base housing before he remembers it’s not even his fucking house. He hears Bradley shuffling in the bathroom, the sink turning on. He can practically picture him there, standing in front of his mirror, wetting the towel he promised he’d fetch to help clean Jake up. He’s sore and tired and so fucking happy it’s concerning. 

“We never talked about it,” he hears himself saying, eyes still trained on the dark water stain in the shape of what looks to be an elephant in labor. 

Bradley comes out of the bathroom, naked as the day he was born, but so comfortable in his skin and in Jake’s presence that it’s like he doesn’t even notice his state of undress. “Huh?”

Jake makes to get up, but only manages to lean back on his elbows. “We never talked about it.”

“About what, baby?” Jake barely flinches at the nickname, and that’s new, too. Of course, over their years of casual fucks, Jake’s become familiar enough with Bradley’s penchant for pet names, especially during sex. But this one–Baby–slips out even when they’re doing mundane things, like going grocery shopping and washing the dishes. Jake hasn’t gone home in two weeks, so he says that exact thing. 

“I haven’t gone home in two weeks,” Jake says, watching Bradley’s expression carefully. 

Bradley frowns. “Haven’t you? Didn’t you get clothes the other day?”

“You know what I mean,” he rolls his eyes. Bradley gets to the bed on his knees, climbing up until he’s almost at Jake’s waist. When he presses the damp cloth against his skin, Jake inhales sharply before letting out a soft mewl. 

“You good?” Bradley asks, moving the towel so gently it’s like Jake is precious goods. “Not too sensitive, are you?”

Jake scoffs. “You’re so full of it.”

Bradley begins to chuckle, wiping at Jake’s stomach next before tossing the towel backwards blindly when he deems Jake clean enough. He crawls up until he’s right beside Jake, grabbing at the blanket pooled at their feet before laying down, pushing closer so that their bodies are flushed together. 

“We should talk about it,” Jake says again, but he doesn’t pull away from Bradley’s hold. In fact, he relaxes even further against him, almost humming at the scent that’s become so familiar it’s like his own now. 

Bradley makes a noise at the back of his throat. “Gonna be honest. I still don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.”

Jake twists until they’re face to face. “Are we doing this?”

Bradley frowns. “Doing what?”

Jake sighs exasperatedly. “Bradley. For fuck’s sake. I haven’t gone home in two weeks. The other day I stopped by for fifteen minutes so I can get god knows how many clothes and you cleared out a drawer for me. We’ve been fucking like teenagers for even longer. I was going to call maintenance about the water stains on your ceiling. Are we doing this?”

“Oh.” Bradley stares at him for a second, lips twitching. Jake feels like his heart is coming out of his throat at the dragged silence, but then Bradley starts to grin, so wide the scars on his face begin to stretch. “Yeah. Yes. We’re doing this.”

Jake feels his breath hitch. “We are?”

“Hell yeah, we are,” Bradley laughs out, rolling over so he’s hovering over Jake. “I’m in love with you, Hangman. In case you didn’t notice.”

Jake begins to laugh, too, the relief almost as overwhelming as the warmth in his chest. “Damn.”

“Well?” Bradley asks, face inching closer to his. Jake raises an eyebrow, face still pulled up by a huge grin. “Aren’t you gonna say it back?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Get over here and kiss me, Bradshaw.”

Bradley lets out a full-bellied laugh before he mutters, “Yes, sir.”

It’s a ghost of a kiss, interrupted by giggling and too much smiling. When they both come down from the sudden high, Jake presses his face in the crook of Bradley’s neck, arms tightening even further around him. 

“Bradley,” he calls out, voice muffled with the other man’s skin. Bradley hums in response. Jake lets himself smile against him before sighing. “I love you too.”