Chapter Text
"This place is a meat market."
Your first impression of The Hard Deck was not altogether positive. The ratio of men to women was much higher than any normal bar in San Diego. The place was charged with masculine bravado, momentarily hyper-focused on you and your sister as you walked through the door.
"I know, isn't it great?" Emily said as she made a beeline for the bar.
You sighed and followed her, trying your best to ignore the looks thrown your way by any number or sailors and pilots still in their uniforms.
You were new to San Diego, the city your younger sister has called home for several years. Fresh out of your doctorate, you got your first real job on the west coast and this was a new beginning. Having your sister local is a bonus- sometimes- and she claims to know all the 'best' spots in the city to meet people. Always the more adventurous of the two, places like The Hard Deck enthralled her with possibilities. You on the other hand, were overwhelmed the moment you walked in.
At the bar, Emily was quick to strike up conversation with a pair of ensigns who were happy enough to pick up her (and your) tab.
"The best part about this place," Emily said into your ear over the 80's hair band ballads coming out of the jukebox, "is that you almost never need to pay for your own drink! Just don't put your phone on the bar!" She pointed to a sign by the taps warning patrons that such an offense could lead to a round for every other customer in the establishment. "I don't think I can flirt our way out of that tab!"
You smile and thank the ensigns for your drink. They're polite enough, and you have to admit that the uniform does make even an average looking man seem much more attractive, but military men have never been your type. The idea of someone else's transient career dictating where you should live and for how long was not appealing, especially after breaking your back to get your PhD these past several years. No, these men might be handsome and charming but they weren't for you.
Emily hopped off her stool, drink in hand. "We're going to play darts! Want to join?"
You made your excuses - bad eyesight, didn't bring your glasses - Emily pouts but is happy enough to show off her competitiveness without her sister holding her back. The ensigns gladly follow the 'fun' sister to the dart boards.
The bar continued to fill with servicemen and women of all ranks and you entertain yourself in people watching, no shortage of rowdy antics erupting from military clientele blowing off some steam. You were watching a group of pilots around a pool table when one man turned around and you're struck with an inkling of recognition.
It's been years...no, decades? but you're certain it could be him - as certain as you could be when you haven't see a person since they were 12. The eyes, the smile, the glasses - the striking resemblance to his dad. You dug your phone out of your purse, careful to keep it on your lap and not place it on the bar. You opened Facebook and searched his last name and he popped up as one of your 'friends'. When this invite was sent or received you can't recall, probably initiated off-hand at the suggestion of an algorithm. When you click through and you scroll down a sparse profile of mostly birthday posts from friends and family and find a tagged photo from 2014 at what appears to be at the Naval Academy. The man in the white uniform matches the pilot across the room and you're dumbstruck at how small the world is.
"You know, they won't bite if you want to talk to them," the man immediately beside you at the bar said.
You glanced over at him in surprise and then blushed furiously when you realized he thought you were ogling the pilots at the pool table.
"They're a great group of guys - and girls," he said with obvious affection. You wonder briefly if he is their superior. "Friendly - mostly...especially to civilians."
"Oh no, I'm not..." you stammered, trying not to look like a desperate voyeur on the hunt for a uniformed hook-up. "I just thought I recognized the man in the glasses. Is his name Robert?"
"It is!" the man confirmed. "Lt. Robert Floyd. You know him?"
"Used to," you smiled. "He grew up on my street but my family moved away when I was in middle school and we lost touch."
The man returned your smile. "Bob in middle school...that'd be something to see."
"He goes by 'Bob' now?" You almost laughed. The name seems inappropriate for your childhood friend, but you suppose you're both in your late 20s now and he isn't a kid anymore.
"Both as his first name and as his callsign," the man said. "He's one of the best F-18 weapons systems officers in the Navy. A Top Gun graduate. Suppose a lot has changed since you last saw each other?"
"Just a bit..." you said off-handedly. You watched your old friend concentrating on a shot at the pool table, trying to imagine him in a fighter jet.
"I'll re-introduce you," the man beside you made to get up, but you quickly stilled him with a hand on his arm.
"No, please! That's not necessary." The twinkle in the man's eye told you that he wouldn't let you step away from this serendipitous occasion without talking to the pilot across the room. It would be less awkward to pretend you ran into him on your own and not be introduced by a man who saw you ogling him in secrecy. "I'll go say 'hi'".
You finished your drink in one gulp and gathered your courage. You glanced over at Emily who was still occupied with her ensigns before snaking your way through the throngs waiting for service at the bar and into the pool area. Your social anxiety nearly got the best of you when your old friend turned around and you were suddenly face to face for the first time in nearly 20 years. No backing out now. Recognition flickered across his features as he took you in.
"Robbie Floyd?" you asked with a polite, inquisitive smile, hoping to God he recognizes you in turn and saves you the embarrassment of explaining how you know his name.
"Y/N?" your smile was matched tenfold bringing on a wash of relief. "Is that really you? It's been forever!"
You nod and you both step into an awkward shuffle where neither of you were certain whether you should shake hands or hug or just not touch each other. You finally settle on a brief hug and you're struck by the physical differences between the two of you now - once of a height, now he was so much taller.
"It's good to see you," he said, stepping away. You noticed a blush creep up his cheeks and suddenly you see a bit more of the boy who used to live on your street and built forts in your backyard.
"Good to see you too, Robbie," you smiled.
"Robbie?!"
You were both suddenly aware that you had an audience in the other pilots at the pool table, who had paused their game to watch their colleague interact with this stranger who emerged from the ether.
"You go by Robbie now?" one of the pilots - a tall blonde who was exactly Emily's type- laughed. "Since when?"
The group's attention focused back on Robbie - Bob - as he composed himself. "We, uh, me and Y/N," he introduced, "we grew up together. Everyone used to call me Robbie back then."
You gave an awkward little wave to the pilots who inspected you from around the table. "We haven't seen each other since we were 12," you offered by way of explanation, "so I guess you're called 'Bob' now?" you asked, looking at his badge.
Bob nodded as the blonde pilot came around the table and gripped him by the shoulder. "The one and only!" the pilot said with mock sincerity. "Tell us, Y/N, does Bob here look exactly the same as he did when he was 12?"
You recognized the good-natured insults of military personnel. Bob didn't seem to mind when the other pilots laughed at his expense. He was still as affable as you remembered.
"Different uniform from the last time I saw him," you admit with a smile directed at Bob, which was returned with a small shake of his head.
The blonde pilot's eyebrows shot upwards. "Let me guess? Boy Scout?"
"No. Catholic school boy," you said with another apologetic smile to Bob as the pilots erupted in laughter followed by a plethora of jokes about choir boys and priests and nuns with paddles. Bob took it in stride as you silently mouthed 'I'm sorry' before joining in with his and their laughter.
When the laughter died down and the pool game resumed Bob changed the topic to you. "So are you just visiting San Diego or...?"
"No, I just moved here," you said, not missing the fact that he perked up a bit at that news. "You remember my sister Emily? She's been here a few years and I always liked visiting. When I finished my degree and got a job offer here it was kind of a no brainer."
As though speaking her name brought her into existence, Emily arrived right on cue.
"Hey, I was looking for you all over and I find you-" she stopped and stared at your companion. "No way! Robbie Floyd is that you?!"
Before Bob could even confirm his identity Emily threw her arms around his shoulders, his panicked eyes meeting yours as your tipsy sister manhandled him into an overly familiar hug.
"Hey Bob! Leave some for the rest of us!" one of the pilots joked at the scene of yet another woman approaching Bob in so many minutes.
Your sister mercifully released Bob and looked him up and down. "Damn Robbie, looking good. Lieutenant?" she assessed before looking at you. "See what I said about uniforms? Doesn't he look good?"
You swallowed and looked at Bob. Despite what the other pilot had joked, Bob was clearly not a kid anymore by any stretch of the imagination and you were not unaffected by the man in the uniform in front of you. You were well aware that you and Bob were now both adults and that your innocent childhood friendship was a thing of the past.
"He looks great," you admit, sincerely.
"You look great too," Bob said with a lopsided smile and you know he is telling the truth - he was always a terrible liar - but also because you know you were quite the ugly ducking in middle school. Any improvement on your frizzy hair, acne and braces would be noticed but you weren't so humble to admit that a certain subset of people found you particularly attractive. You were pleased to see that Bob might be in that subset of people.
The potentially tender moment was dutifully ruined by your drunk sister. "Hey remember when you told all the girls in your class that Robbie was your boyfriend?"
Your heart nearly stopped and your social anxiety came ripping back through your body in a cold sweat. You looked at your sister in desperation please don't do this, not in front of him, not in front of them.
At the interested guffaws of the other pilots, Emily continued despite your pleading look. "We went to public school, me and Y/N," she explained, "while Robbie went to St. Ignatius, so there was no way for Y/N's friends to know whether Robbie was really her boyfriend or not. So they grilled her one day on whether she had ever had a boyfriend or been kissed and this weirdo made up a whole story about her and Robbie being in a relationship..."
"I was 11," you reiterated, getting increasingly annoyed with your sister. "We all say a lot of dumb shit at 11."
"You even told me that you two had kissed in the basement!" she laughed and was joined by some whistles from her audience of pilots. You refused to look at Bob to gauge his reaction to your sister's stories but you noticed him awkwardly shuffling his feet from the corner of your eye. "I don't think you ever told me whether that story was actually true or not."
The pool area went quiet in anticipation as all eyes focused on you and Bob.
"Well? How about it Bob?" the blonde interrogated, "Did you get to first base in Y/N's basement? Or was she making it up?"
You finally met Bob's eyes and he looked at you as though he was seeing that awkward, insecure pre-teen girl who would make up stories about the boy down the street to avoid being teased because none of the boys in her class liked her that way.
"We kissed," he said to your sister. "She wasn't making that up."
You exhaled in relief amidst the barrage of hilarity between the pilots and your sister. Bob, the middle school Casanova slash good Catholic boy; the jokes wrote themselves.
When the teasing died down your sister charmed her way into the next game of pool, Bob handing her his cue stick. You were only just coming down from your adrenaline high, thankful for the casual (and much less embarrassing) conversation with some of the other pilots when Bob sidled up to you. "Have you seen the beach yet?" he asked.
You looked out the window where the late summer sun was setting on the horizon. You've been to San Diego's beaches before but not since you moved back, and never on North Island.
"Not yet," you replied.
Bob cocked his head toward the door on the far wall leading out to bar's namesake deck above the beach, a discreet invitation to join him while your sister and the pilots form teams at the pool table. You grabbed your purse and slunk through the crowd to the exit.