Chapter Text
The post-suicide-mission buzz seems to be lingering in the air for everybody, and Bradley can’t say he doesn’t feel it too, even a week later.
He’s still not entirely convinced that he’s actually alive, that he made it back. But just as he’s about to pinch himself there’s a different crew member or pilot clapping him on the shoulder and singing his praises. Bradley just hopes he isn’t going to need a miracle any time soon, because he’s pretty sure he’s used up a lifetime’s worth.
At the slightest wheeze from his lungs, Maverick was hurried off to medical almost immediately after they all but fell out of the cockpit. Bradley would be more concerned, if he didn’t see the older man practically throw himself over the side of the carrier in his efforts to insist that if he can fly a heap of scrap metal then he can walk by himself thankyou very much.
Bradley would also be more concerned if he didn’t know that a certain Fleet Commander was probably pacing the US shores anxiously waiting for his husband’s return. He knows Ice would like nothing more than to wrap Mav in bubble wrap and keep him firmly on the ground; because if Bradley’s had enough miracles for one lifetime, Captain Pete Mitchell-Kazansky is in at least nine lives’ worth of debt. The thought triggers something locked away deep in his memory, but for the first time in years, he lets that door open and looks inside.
Once when Bradley was still a little kid, Ice told him that Mav was like a cat. Bradley had asked him why, and Ice hitched him higher on his hip with one strong arm and pointed at his wingman where he was washing dishes with his free hand, whispering like they were spying on a wild animal.
“He’s got nine lives, see. And he always lands on his feet, so he never hurts himself.” Then he’d broken into a grin, speaking up so that Maverick could hear, “And he’s only small, so he has to try and make himself look big and scary by hissing at people.”
Maverick had turned around to glare at them with narrowed green eyes, but there’d been a quirk in his lip when Bradley had giggled and nodded his head frantically in agreement. Maverick had stalked over and snatched Bradley from Ice with a sharp, “Thomas Kazansky, stop corrupting my kid, I had him first!” and Bradley’s giggles had turned into full squeals of laughter as Maverick ran through the house with him, Uncle Ice hot on his heels pretending to steal him back.
It's such a tiny thing, but he can still remember how intensely joyful and home and loved he felt.
That was nearly three decades ago.
The realisation pricks a sharp pain in Bradley’s chest, spreading as his jaw clenches and his fingers tap against his thigh restlessly. It hasn’t been Uncle Ice for years. Hell, he’s barely spoken to him since the night Bradley stormed out at nineteen when Maverick pulled his papers, leaving Ice to console his distraught husband at their kitchen table.
Then came the cancer, and Bradley knows he’s never going to forgive himself for all those unanswered phone calls; missed chances to hear Ice’s soothing, firm voice one more time before the sickness had ripped it apart and shredded it into a painful rasp.
He thinks of Mav and lets himself remember just how good the man is for the first time in what feels like forever. He thinks of Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell stood guard by his weakening husband, always strong and patient and ready to take on this impossible fight and win just like he does in the sky.
He thinks of Uncle Pete first hearing the diagnosis. Dropping to his knees with a wail of grief. Poking his finger into the doctor’s chest and demanding that they fix it. Begging and cursing whatever God there is to not rip away another member of his little hand stitched family. Sinking into his husband’s arms and looking smaller than ever while sobs shudder through his body. Two titans of the skies brought crashing to the ground.
But the truth is Bradley doesn’t know how Mav reacted when he found out. Because Bradley wasn’t there. All he knew was that when he finally did see Maverick again, that infamous spark had been snuffed out by the exhaustion of living in fear every single second of the day. Because he was too stubborn to pick up one damn phone call-
“Roo? Bradley!”
Jerking up straight, Bradley nearly goes ass backwards over the bar stool he’s perched on. The sounds of The Hard Deck crowd around him come roaring back into his ears, and he blinks harshly a couple of times to steady himself back in the moment.
Nat is stood beside him, gripping his shoulder with one hand while the other cradles a beer, her brow quirked with concern. When she speaks, her voice is firm and low, and he’s grateful for her stability, “You back with me?”
Swallowing, Bradley quickly lets his gaze flash around the room. To his relief, their friends are still emersed in the game of pool going on, Coyote bellowing and giving Bob a firm smack on the back while the others laugh. God he loves them. Each and every one.
“Nobody’s watching, it’s okay.” Nat’s voice somehow comes clear through the noise of the bar, and Bradley lets himself relax a little, nodding.
Nat smiles at him fondly, rubbing her thumb over his shirt, “Do you wanna go home? I can give you a ride? I’ve only had one drink.”
A rush of affection washes over Bradley as he looks at his best friend, and for a second, he wonders how he hasn’t pushed her away like everybody else yet. Like Mav and Ice. Like Jake.
Jake, who’s green eyes are bright with laughter where he has Fanboy in a headlock while Payback rubs his knuckles into the shorter man’s head and coos teasingly into his ear. His hair is slightly ruffled where Fanboy is trying to swat at him playfully, and he’s laughing so much that his arms are shaking. And shit, the dimples are out full force and it’s like they’re trying to get Bradley’s attention-
“Bradley!”
A sharp sting has him blinking owlishly up at Phoenix again, frowning.
“Did you just slap me?”
Nat rolls her eyes, her lip quirking up slightly, “Well I was talking to you, but apparently my allotted time ran out.”
Bradley winces, ducking his head and rubbing at the back of his neck, “Sorry.” He mumbles, “Not totally with it tonight.”
“No shit.” Nat scoffs, but there’s no heat behind it. She glances over to their little ragtag team and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, “We got lucky, huh?”
Bradley’s eyes drift to Jake again, and it’s like all the tension bleeds from his shoulders as he sighs out, “Yeah. We did.”
He can feel Nat’s dark eyes glancing his way before she turns again, following his gaze. She’s quiet for a moment, then he feels her nudge his shoulder. Her voice is so low that he scarcely hears her over the buzz, “You miss him.”
Recoiling, Bradley winces at her like she's slapped him again, “What?”
Ever the pants-wearer of their friendship, Nat meets his eyes levelly, “You miss him.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
“That was a long time ago, Nat.” he grumbles, snatching the beer from her hand and downing half of what’s left. Anything to get her attention off the subject.
Nat just raises an eyebrow at him, delicately swiping back the bottle and putting it on the bar out of his reach.
They sit in silence for a few moments, but Phoenix didn’t get this far because she kept her head down quietly. It’s something Bradley loves and admires in her. It also drives him up the fucking wall.
He can feel it brewing beside him. A steadily growing energy until:
“I’m just saying-"
“Oh here we go.”
“Rooster-"
“Nope.”
“For God’s sake, do not be such a chil-"
“I’m not listening.”
“Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw-"
“Oh don’t you full name me, Natasha Emelia Tra-"
“Roo!”
There’s the third slapping since the start of their little chat, only this time Bradley finds Nat’s hand smacked firmly over his mouth while he can only wilt under her fiery glower. For a second, he considers licking her palm, but it would be counter-productive to survive the mission only to die at the hands of the 5 ft 5 pocket rocket before him.
“You miss him.” She states for the third time, “And he misses you. And we all know Hangman’s all bark and no bite, so you’re gonna have to be the one to get off your ass and do something about it.”
She pauses, raising her eyebrows at him to warn that she’s more than happy to shut him up again as she slowly takes her hand away from his mouth.
But Bradley’s argument has died in his throat, his jaw ticking and his brain whirring with the same words on a loop.
“He misses you.”
With a heavy sigh, Bradley leans back against the bar, “It’s not that simple, Nat.”
“Why not?” she asks, impatience slipping into her voice.
Bradley lets his chin hang against his chest, breathing deeply and doing his damn best not to hate her for making him relive all this, “Nat…”
“Roo.” Then she’s holding onto his hand and this right here, this is why she’s his best friend, “It doesn’t have to be like last time.”
Suddenly his eyes are stinging again, and as he raises his head, he has to blink a few times to keep the tears back.
He thinks of his parents and how his memories, few and fading though they are, are filled with their laughter, of singing at a piano and dancing in the kitchen.
He thinks of his uncles, of their unconditional devotion and love for one another. Their silent language that Bradley had never understood. Until he met Jake and it was as if he became fluent overnight. And Jesus Christ, hadn’t they been the best two years of his life.
Shit, if Nat wasn’t right as always.
‘I nearly didn’t make it back,’ he thinks with a small shudder. It had been too close. Much, much too close.
And suddenly, Bradley Bradshaw knows nothing else other than whatever day God may choose to take him, he wants to wake up that morning with Jake Seresin beside him.
The realisation hits him so hard that the world seems to slow down and it’s just them. He looks Jake’s way again and his gaze locks with those gorgeous green eyes and Jake’s smiling at him like he hung the moon and God how did he ever walk away from that?
Something must be showing on his face though; the tiniest tell. Because Jake’s sharp as a tack and Bradley sees the exact moment that he reads his mind and his smile falls. Jake’s brow furrows slightly and Bradley sees him swallow.
It’s not until Payback brushes past his shoulder that Jake blinks, breaking the line between them, and then he’s gone, pushing through the crowd towards the door while the others stare and call after him in a confused cluster.
Bradley’s heart and mind are racing and for once they seem to be on the same track because he’s already halfway on his feet by the time Jake’s back is out the door. He hesitates for the slightest second, holding his breathe, but then there’s a prodding at his arm and he looks down to see Nat grinning at him and pushing a shot glass into his hand, “Go get him, tiger.”
His own grin breaks across his face, and he throws back the shot and storms towards the door with a burn in his throat and a flutter in his stomach.
So maybe he needs one more miracle.