Chapter Text
Bradley was a big music fan, and owning a car from the 80s made the stereo a man’s best friend when he was driving, but he’d never hated a radio more than in this moment, particularly the one that was sitting in front of him on the table. He hated it because all he could hear inside his head was Natasha screaming the words, Eject! Eject! Eject!, the last thing the metal box had emitted before the comms went dead. He didn’t know how long ago that had been, it had felt like a thousand years but realistically it had probably been closer to two hours. For two unbearably painful hours, he’d been sat there, staring at that stupid, silent radio, Natasha’s screams ringing in his ears while his thoughts ate him alive.
Bradley knew exactly how his dad had died, Ice had let him read the report after he moved in with him. He knew how the jet wash had stalled the engine, sending the plane into a flat spin and the resulting G’s had kept the canopy from opening properly. His dad’s seat had ejected him headfirst into the canopy, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. Now all he could think about was having to read the same pages labeled “Investigation Findings” in big bold letters across the top, with the Navy seal in the upper left corner, but this time the name Nick Bradshaw was replaced by Natasha Trace.
If Nat were here, she’d tell him he was spiraling again and needed to not jump to the worst case scenario, but he knew firsthand how easy it was for the worst case scenario to become reality. All he could think of was the night before, the way he’d lost his temper and shouted at her over something so stupid. He meant what he’d felt about what she did, he didn’t want to be the reason she threw herself under the bus, but he regretted everything about the way he’d said it, especially now that he might never have the chance to apologize for it. He knew deep down he’d only gotten so angry because of how much he cared about her, she meant more to him than anyone in this world, but that only made him more upset about the way he’d treated her.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the lounge door swinging open behind him, an interruption which would have been quite welcome had he not turned around to see it was Maverick who had entered the room.
“They’ll keep Phoenix and Bob in the hospital overnight for observation, but they’re gonna be okay,” Mav said softly.
All the tension and pressure in Bradley’s body seemed to release at that moment, well, all that wasn’t being caused by Captain Mitchell’s presence.
“That’s good,” he replied after a few moments, dropping his head to let his shoulders relax finally. “I’ve never lost a wingman before.”
He didn’t know why he had told Maverick that, what he needed to do was already be in his car on the way to the hospital to go see Nat, but just had to collect himself a bit first.
“You’re lucky. Fly long enough and it’ll happen,” he said, pausing a bit. “There will be others.”
Bradley couldn’t believe how casually he’d said it, especially after what had happened to his dad.
“Easy for you to say,” he retorted, trying to keep his voice calm and level as Mav turned to leave. “No wife, no kids, no one to mourn you when you burn out.”
“Go home. Get some sleep,” was all he said back, not even having the nerve to turn around and look at him. The dismissiveness of it all, especially after what he’d just been through, caused something inside him to snap.
Bradley rose to his feet, not willing to let him walk away like this, “Why’d you pull my papers at the Academy? Why did you stand in my way?!” he shouted, unable to keep over a decade’s worth of anger inside any longer.
“You weren’t ready,” Captain Mitchell responded quietly, still too afraid to turn around and face him.
“Ready for what, huh?” he shouted, walking towards him, which finally was enough to make Mav look him in the eyes. “Ready to fly like you?”
“No, ready to forget the book. Trust your instincts. Don’t think, just do,” he explained, his voice growing louder. “You think up there, you’re dead, believe me.”
Bradley didn’t even think about the words that came out of his mouth, that’s how strongly he felt about them, “My dad believed in you,” he said, his voice level again. He watched the look on Mav’s face fall as he continued, “I’m not gonna make the same mistake.”
Maverick looked like he wanted to say something else but was interrupted by Warlock walking through the door, which Bradley was more than grateful for, as he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand to be around Mav right now. He didn’t bother being dismissed, it had never been a professional exchange, to begin with, he simply passed by the Admiral without saying a word and made his way towards the parking lot. The base hospital was less than a ten-minute drive from the training facility, Bradley made it in five.
He approached the front desk with long, fast strides, removing his military ID from his wallet along the way.
“Lt. Bradley Bradshaw,” he said, trying to manage the urgency in his voice as he slid his ID across the counter to the nurse. “Here to see Lt. Natasha Trace.”
The nurse glanced down at his ID, then back to her computer, clicking a few buttons before saying, “Ah, yes, Lt. Bradshaw, she’s been asking for you. She’s in room 116, just down the hall and to your left.”
He grabbed his ID from the counter and stuffed it back in his pocket, not even bothering with his wallet as he muttered a quick thank you to the nurse, before heading down the hallway where he’d been directed. His eyes instantly locked onto her when he saw her through the open door. She looked pretty beaten up but otherwise okay, she had some scratches on her face that he could see from where he was standing, and her hair was no longer in its regulation bun, but frazzled and laying across her shoulders.
Their eyes met as he walked through the door and his heart ached at that moment with every emotion he had ever felt towards Natasha in their years together: admiration, joy, relief, pain, worry… love . Fuck , he thought, but he pushed the realization down for the time being as he strode to her bedside and took her hand, which suddenly felt as fragile as glass for the first time ever.
“You came,” she said with a soft smile on her lips, her voice slightly hoarse.
“God, of course I did,” he sighed, thinking about how they’d ended things last night. Did she genuinely think he wouldn’t have come for her? “Nat, I am so fucking sorry about yesterday. I just felt so guilty that you might have gotten marks on your record because of me and I completely overreacted. I never should have yelled at you like that.”
“It’s okay, seriously,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Plus, I don’t think either of us has to worry about me getting written up, Hangman had his tail tucked between his legs every time I was around today.”
They both chuckled at what she’d said about their least favorite colleague.
“And considering I just lost my plane and had a brush with death, I think he’ll let it slide.”
Neither of them laughed at that comment.
“You scared the shit out of me, Nat,” he remarked, brushing his thumb across the back of her hand as he sent up a silent thank you prayer to his dad, the patron saint of his aviation career.
“I scared the shit out of myself,” she sighed. “I’ve never had to eject before, never even come close.”
“How are you doing?” he asked, unable to read her body language.
“I’m sore but I’m fine otherwise, no reason I can’t be back out there tomorrow.”
Bradley couldn’t stop himself from chuckling, clearly, she hadn’t taken any damage to the head, because that was classic Natasha, “Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that.”
“How are you doing?” she questioned, eyeing him inquisitively.
“I’m not the one who ejected below 2000 feet.”
“Seriously,” she urged, gently squeezing his hand.
He swallowed hard before answering, “I thought I lost you there for a second.”
Bradley’s throat tightened up as the words left his mouth, he did almost lose her. The idea of a world without Nat in it, a world without a fiery brunette who could out-fly almost anyone, who would sit next to him at the piano for hours, whose favorite thing to do when she drank too much was call him “Brad Brad”, who he finally realized he loved more than anything else this world could ever offer… that was a world he couldn’t bear to live in. God, he wanted to blurt those magic three words out right then and there, but there was a very good chance he could be dead next week. This mission was already too risky, he couldn’t let either of their emotions impact it.
Another peaceful smile played across her lips as she said, “Bradley Bradshaw, you aren’t getting rid of me that easily. I’m always gonna be here, whether you like it or not.”
Bradley brought their clasped hands towards his face and gently pressed a kiss to her busted knuckles. He sent up another prayer, something he seemed to be doing a lot of these days, and he was suddenly reminded of the only Bible verse he could remember from his childhood, when his mother insisted on going to church in their small Texas hometown. Carole Bradshaw had been religious, but he knew going was more to gain friends and a support system since it was just the two of them on their own, especially because she’d joined this needlepoint group that the women there had started. Over a year had gone by before she finally brought home what she’d been working on during their weekly gatherings, this bathmat-sized canvas with the verse, “ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres”. His mother wasn’t great at needlepoint, so the entire thing had been a bit of a mess, but at eight years old he managed to convince her that he loved it so much that she made it into a permanent kitchen decoration. It certainly had been an eyesore, and deep down she probably knew it, but his insistence that it was the most beautiful thing in the world had made his mom happy, and that's all that mattered.
He hadn’t actually thought about the needlework piece in years, even though he’d kept it after his mother’s death and it was currently sitting somewhere in a Virginia Beach storage unit, but he supposed that Biblical notion of love had been burned into his brain more than he realized. His mother’s love had been defined by it, always patient with him, never holding a grudge for anything he’d done, always doing her best to shield him from the world. Maybe that’s why Maverick’s betrayal had left him so angry, too. The “love” of his Uncle Mav had been self-seeking, it hadn’t trusted him, and it had nearly ended his career before he started. That notion of love is what he promised himself he’d be for Nat, never again quick to anger, always patient and kind. That’s what he thought about as he sent up his last silent prayer to the heavens, the prayer that he would live long enough to be able to love her like she deserved.
From there, the air in the room became much more relaxed. He pulled up a chair next to her bed and grabbed the deck of cards from her bag that had been brought to her. They played stupid, mindless games like War and Go Fish but acted like they were playing in the world championships of Poker, every new round just as competitive and intense as the next. At 9 pm, the nurse came in and practically dragged him from the room, as visiting hours were finally over. He told Nat to give him a call in the morning when she was in the process of being discharged so he could come pick her up, and on his way back to the barracks, he finally felt at peace for the first time in the last 24 hours.
The universe seemed to always have it out for him, though, so of course, that peace wasn’t bound to last for very long. The next morning, something in his gut just didn’t feel right. He thought maybe it was because he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime the previous day, although it definitely felt different than that. Bradley tried a hot shower to calm down whatever weird nerves were bothering him, but it was of no help. The call from Natasha came in right around 9:30, just as he’d finished changing into his clothes for the day, so he was out the door almost as soon as she hung up.
On the walk to his car and outside the hospital, he noticed the flags had been lowered to half-mast. Normally, he heard through the grapevine what the reason was, but he’d been so caught up in the mess of things yesterday that he hadn’t really noticed. After showing his badge to the nurse at the discharge desk and telling her why he was there, he asked about the flags, hoping she’d know since she was also in the Navy.
“Oh,” she said, seeming surprised that he would ask her about it. “Admiral Kazansky, he passed away last night. I think they said he’d had throat cancer?”
Bradley’s chest tightened and all he could do was nod before heading to Natasha’s room. He knew his face was sheet white when he entered the room, where she was perched on the edge of the bed signing papers, hair pulled back and wearing civilian clothes. She looked up at him and instantly realized what was going on.
“You heard, didn’t you?” she asked, a grim look on her face.
Bradley dropped down into the armchair that was still pulled up beside the bed and nodded. He knew Uncle Ice’s throat cancer had come back, he’d found out while he was in Afghanistan and Ice had been his first visit when he arrived in California. Admiral Kazansky had been the only other paternal figure in his life growing up, and while he wasn’t around as much as Mav, he could always be counted on when you needed him. Holidays growing up were spent at his place every year and he always got Bradley the best gifts, he helped his mom out when the money got tight, paid for her cancer treatments and funeral arrangements, took Bradley in after the fallout with Maverick, and he’d made sure that the alternate path towards being a pilot had been as obstacle-free as possible. He knew it was partly because it was Ice’s jetwash that his dad’s plane had gotten caught up in and he felt partially responsible for his death, but he also knew it was because Ice had loved him like his own.
And just like that, everyone who’d raised him was gone. Jesus Christ, he thought, burying his face in his hands. He felt a pair of arms come over his shoulders, Nat, behind him holding his head comfortingly to her torso. That was the straw that broke the Rooster’s back.
Bradley started sobbing, hard. The last time he’d cried with an audience had been at his mother’s funeral, but this wasn’t just anybody, this was Nat. Nat who just held him and ran her fingers through his hair, who expected nothing of him because whatever he was had always been enough, who he loved with everything he had in him.
He managed to keep it composed at the funeral a few days later, by some miracle of God, and even then, she was there with him, being the silent strength for both of them. Not only had Ice’s death somehow reinforced his love for Nat, but it had served as another reminder as to why he couldn’t act on it yet. For the past three decades of his life, Bradley had done nothing but feel the pain of loving so deeply and losing in the end, and he swore to himself that he couldn't put her through that. Not now, not when death was the most possible it had ever been.
As Ice’s casket was being lowered into the ground, Nat took his hand and he held it tightly, closing his eyes to send up one last prayer. A prayer to his dad, to his mom, to Chip Trace, to Uncle Ice… a prayer that they keep death from finding him and Natasha too soon, just as it had for all of them.