Chapter Text
1. Vulnerable
I can't do this, oh God I can't do this.
Phoenix curls up in a ball in a dark corner of the hangar, shielded from sight by the F-18 looming ahead of her.
She doesn't have to fly today. There's no real reason for her to be in the hanger at all, actually. She'd made some excuses and the ground crew had shrugged and let her pass. She's not wearing a flight suit so they weren't too worried about her trying to take off - not that she could even so by herself.
There's just something so comforting about the hanger. Something otherworldly.
And it's one of the only private places on this damned base.
She'd gotten the news less than an hour ago. She'd been in class when one of the administrators had interrupted, calling her out. Everyone's eyes had been on her as she made the slow, long walk to the door. She could feel their questions boring into her back.
She's been numb as she walked. She had a feeling she knew exactly what she walking into.
And it had still hit her like a truck.
Her mother had been on the other end of the phone. Her voice was hoarse from crying. She'd held it together for Phoenix, but Phoenix knew better. She could hear the harsh rasp. The dry sound of her mother trying - and failing - to swallow past the lump in her throat. The grief edging her tone.
Phoenix didn't cry. She didn't try to make any decisions on the spot. She simply thanked her mother from calling and promised to call her back later. Told her she loved her.
Then she'd wandered around the halls for a half hour before finding herself heading out to the hangar.
She'd get in the cockpit if she could, the comforting cocoon of the glass and plastic and steel protecting her from the world. Instead she draws her knees to her chest and stares at the concrete floor, the ache in her chest physically painful.
She doesn't know what to do. How to react. Everything is as numb as it had been on that infinite walk - and yet blistering with pain all at the same time.
Her hands shake so she wraps them tightly around her legs. There's no way she can push on now. No way she can do this. No way to handle this.
Slow footsteps sound, approaching. She wipes at her eyes but they're dry. She hasn't shed any tears. Does that make her heartless? She was always accused of being heartless before. Never got along with the other girls in high school. They thought she was too cold, played too rough, acted too stubborn. She never thought twice about it before. All the things they accused her of being heartless about were things she didn't think were important.
But this is. And she's still unable to summon up even one tear.
The pressure in her chest builds and she clutches a hand at her chest, the pain sharp as a dagger.
"Natasha?"
She squeezes her eyes shut. Go away, go away, she wills. She doesn't want anyone to see her like this. She's tried so hard to build up a reputation as someone who is strong and tough, who doesn't let anything get to her. It's not a lie - very few things do get under her thick skin. But she's not exactly open about those few things, either. Not even to her friends.
Not even to Bradley Bradshaw.
"Are you okay?" He walks over and kneels down in front of her. She lowers her forehead to her knees, the pain in her chest so strong now that she has to grit her teeth through it.
He raises a hand, hesitant, and sets it against the side of her head. That soft touch is all it takes for her control to break, like a gear ratcheting down one spike. A singular sob tears out of her.
Some of the pressure in her chest lessens.
"Hey," he says quietly, and moves beside her. She leans against his chest as his arms wrap around her, hating to be so vulnerable yet also needing desperately to be.
Normally when she's struggling with something she goes to her dad, or to one of her brothers. None of them are here, though. No one that truly cares about her is here.
Except Bradley Bradshaw, apparently.
They'd become friends easily enough in their first few days together at flight school, but between her own defensive walls and the quiet bitterness he seems to perpetually carry around himself she never pushed for a deeper friendship. It was enough to be study partners and to look after each other when they went out on the weekends. She didn't even think about anything more than that.
Truth is, she hadn't really wanted friends. She was here to learn how to fly and to be the best at it. Friends would only distract her. She thought she could make it on her own.
And maybe she could have. Maybe she could have if not for this.
At the thought it of another sob breaks loose.
"It's okay," he murmurs into her hair.
No, it's not okay. It's not okay what happened. And it's not okay that she's baring her weakness for anyone to see.
She pushes away from him and he lets her go, though his wide, concerned eyes don't leave her face. She'd never noticed how kind his eyes were before. How had she missed that?
And there's something else that gives her pause as she braces her hands against the floor to push off, to walk away to find another lonely corner. There's familiarity in his gaze - as though he knows exactly what she's going through.
As if reading her mind, he says, "It's going to hurt for a long time. It may never go away completely. But it's easier if you let it out now instead of trying to carry it around with you. It will only weigh you down until you break."
She settles back against the wall, trying to ignore another spasm of sharp pain in her chest. "How do you know?" she asks.
"How do I know how it feels? Or what happened?"
She waits, unable to speak.
"I could see it in your eyes as you left the classroom," he explains. "I know that look. I know the emptiness inside. The denial. And I know what happens after. All too well."
"Who?" she manages.
He looks away briefly, his jaw tightening. "My mom."
She swallows hard. "It's my grandpa," she admits. "I knew he was getting older, but he never acted his age. He always had so much energy. So much heart and life. It happened so suddenly."
He wasn't supposed to die yet. Not when he saw her off to flight school with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to embarrass her with how loudly he'd cheer at her graduation.
It had been a heart attack, swift and fatal and without warning.
She closes her eyes again, the pain exploding, and she leans against Bradley, this time not caring about seeming weak.
And this time she doesn't stop the sobs as they come, as she thinks about all the memories she has of her abuelo. He taught her how to ride a bike the summer she spent her days at his house while her parents worked. He used to pick her up and spin her around in the air until she was dizzy and laughing and gasping for air and demanding to do it again. He used to stuff her in dresses that she hated every Sunday morning for church but he'd always bribe her with going out to eat with him afterwards. Their little routine. He'd been the first one she told about wanting to join the Navy and the one to help her convince her parents to get on board with the idea.
He'd been such an important influence in her life growing up. And now he's gone.
When the sobs ebb away she doesn't move. Bradley strokes her back lightly, comfortingly. She doesn't know how he knows exactly what he needs, but she's grateful for it. Grateful beyond measure as they sit in the dark corner of the hangar in silence.
"I can't even go to the funeral," she whispers after a while, her voice hoarse. "I can't miss that much of my schooling."
"You have to go." His voice is hard.
"But I can't- "
"Take two days. Go on the weekend. Whatever classes you miss, I'll make a copy of my notes. But you have to go."
She leans back so she can look at him. Really look at him.
"You have to go," he repeats. "You need to be with your family. You'll never forgive yourself if you don't."
And though she didn't realize she made a conscious decision, she finds herself nodding.
And then she finds herself wishing he could come with her.
The thought is so random, so spur-of-the-moment. But when she turns it over and examines it, she realizes it's true. She regrets not getting to know him better before this. There's so many questions she has, so much she wants to learn about him.
She may not know many details about his life, but today she's learned something important about who he is as a person.
And she wants to get to know that person better.
Natasha reaches up and traces the scars on his cheek. Another question for another day.
"Thank you," she says, her fingers lingering. "For being here for me. For not letting me be alone."
His arms tighten around her. "No one should ever have to go through something like this alone."
She leans her head against his shoulder again, content to sit with him in the quiet for as long as they can. Eventually she'll have to get up and face the world. Eventually she'll have to make arrangements to get a few days off to go home for the service. Eventually she'll have to call her mom back.
The pain is still there. It probably will be for a long time. But the crushing pressure of her chest is gone and now she doesn't have the added weight of trying to carry this burden alone.
And when she returns, she's going to repay the favor by helping Bradley carry some of his.