Chapter Text
Falling back into bed with Hangman was most definitely not on Bradley’s agenda when he was called back to TOPGUN for some super-secret-suicide mission.
He’d expected some action for sure, and not just for himself; they’d all done this once before after all. Doors creaking in the early hours, awkward stares in the mess hall, maybe even the occasional fling that would last until orders sent a pair of lovers to opposite sides of the earth. Shove a bunch of adrenaline-junkies in peak physical condition into a confined space with minimal interaction from civilian society and it was bound to happen. It was basically college…just, with planes.
Hell, he was already certain there was something going down between Phoenix and Bob; Nat wasn’t giving away, but her WSO had taken to following her around like a puppy.
But Hangman. No. Off the table. A walking, bronzed, toned, beautiful red flag with a Southern drawl and an ego that was sky high.
They were a hot mess and terrible for each other in every way, last time had proved that. They couldn’t go five minutes without being at each other’s throats, like children on a better day and rabid dogs on a bad one. God knows why they’d ever thought they could have a relationship in the first place. But then again, as bad as the bads had been, the goods, scarce though they were, were incredible.
Maybe that’s why he found himself in his current predicament; lying back on his too-small-even-for-just-himself military issue bed with Hangman curled into his side out cold and completely naked bar the white sheets pulled up to his waist.
And there lay the dilemma.
Since it had started, they’d fallen into a strict routine with their encounters. Hangman would show up outside Bradley’s door around 1200 hours, they’d throw a couple barbs with no real heat behind them until Jake took it a step too far like always and that was the signal for Bradley to crowd him against the door or just throw him straight on the bed if they were feeling rushed.
And after, when they were both breathless and covered in a sheen of sweat, they allowed themselves a healthy five minutes of recovery before Jake would pat Bradley on the stomach with some wisecrack like, “good game.” or “A solid 8.5, good effort.” And then the blonde would throw on his clothes again and stroll out, somehow always closing the door just in time to avoid being hit by the shoe Bradley threw his way.
Like clockwork. No strings. Strings didn’t work with them. Get the hell out before the bomb could go off and the good turned bad.
But this time, and Bradley would have been proud of himself if he wasn’t having an internal crisis, it had been a little too good and Jake had been left so boneless that when he went to stand after five minutes he’d nearly dropped like a stone. When Bradley caught sight of his quaking limbs as he went for a second attempt, he wrapped one arm around Jake’s waist and hauled him to lie back again with a slightly smug, “Five minute extension; special circumstances.”
“Go to hell, Bradshaw.”
“You’re welcome to crawl back to your room, Seresin.”
All he got was a grumble as Jake nestled into his side, probably not even aware that he was doing it if the tiny shudders still going through his body were anything to go by. Perhaps it was muscle memory kicking in even after years, but Bradley had shifted to curl his arm around the smaller man’s body, holding him close and trailing his fingers lightly up and down his arm.
He didn’t even realise Jake had fallen asleep until the shudders had subsided and his breathing evened out. That had been over an hour ago.
And shit, it was like before and they’d already agreed they were not entering that territory again and they had a strict no-staying-the-night rule for a reason.
The long string of thought whizzed through Bradley’s brain as he glanced down at the man beside him and swallowed. Because fuck he was pretty. Pretty and so damn endearing and soft when he was curled into a little ball with his hair out of place and not running his mouth trying to be a hot shot.
A small whine brought the runaway train in his head to a grinding halt.
Looking down, he frowned when he saw the twitching furrow in Jake’s brow. His jaw was ticking, teeth clenched so tightly Bradley could almost hear the grinding. The shivers had returned, and his fingers were clenching where they lay over Bradley’s torso.
Nightmare.
He shouldn’t be surprised, plenty of navy folks got them. Hell, he and Nat had become friends when they’d bumped into each other pacing dark hallways, bags under red-rimmed eyes and voices hoarse from crying out.
But Hangman? This was a new development. When they’d been together, Bradley had envied how Jake slept so soundly through the night, dead to the world while Bradley tossed and turned. Something inside of him pulled painfully, and he tried to push away the surge of protectiveness and told himself that no it was not reasonable to call Uncle Ice at 0200 to demand Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin’s latest psych evaluation file.
Cautiously, because Jake was still a big guy and a punch from him would definitely hurt if he woke up swinging, Bradley sat up a little and gently untangled himself from the other man, shifting closer to the wall to give him some space.
Jake curled up tighter on himself immediately, tucking his arms in and whimpering quietly. Bradley even saw his lashes dampening as tears started slipping. For someone who was always larger than life, it felt wrong.
“Jake.” He said gently, reaching out and placing a hand on the sleeping man’s shoulder.
When that didn’t work and the shivers progressed into full body flinches, Bradley put a little more pressure into his grip. A professional would probably lose their shit if they saw, but he slipped his palm up to cradle the back of Jake’s neck, rubbing his thumb over the short hairs.
“Jake,” he tried again, a little more desperate because he hated this, “Come on, you gotta wake up.”
He was bracing himself to give him a shake, when Jake’s eyes snapped open and his whole body jerked with a strangled gasp of air.
“There you go, you’re okay, you’re fine.” Bradley murmured softly, keeping his grip on Jake’s neck while his green eyes flickered around the room.
Bradley tried to keep the feeling of warmth at bay when they landed on him, tried to ignore how for a split second the fear bled out of them and was replaced with relief and trust.
Because he’d seen that look before and for the last time, they could not get into that again.
He was spared the stress though, when Jake’s brain caught up and his eyes became guarded and sharp again, even as he blinked back the lingering shimmer of tears.
Bradley could only stare helplessly as Jake pulled himself up with a weakly muttered, “Shit, sorry.”, before the blonde got to his feet and started gathering his sweats from the floor.
“Jake,” he tried to keep his voice even, no pressure, “You okay?”
“M’fine.” Jake mumbled, keeping his eyes on the floor as he pulled up his joggers.
Bradley raised an eyebrow with a disbelieving hum. He hesitated because Jake wasn’t his responsibility anymore. They weren’t together, they were just two guys with short fuses that needed to blow off some steam for everybody’s sakes so that they didn’t kill each other.
But Bradley had never been the type who could shake off the past all that well.
“Didn’t think you got nightmares.” He said, trying and probably failing to sound unbothered.
Jake just shrugged one shoulder, but his fumbling through the clothes on the floor became a little more hurried, “I didn’t.”
So he wasn’t going to make this easy. Which, what else had Bradley expected because this was still Hangman. He could still drop this; let Jake walk out of the door and pretend it never happened.
“Since when?”
Fuck why couldn’t he let things go.
Jake’s eyes flashed over to him for the first time, narrowed warningly, “That’s none of your-“
Bradley held up his hands defensively, “I know, I know. I’m just…curious.” He winced at his own words.
Jake just huffed and kept rifling through the pile. Bradley would have been pissed watching him make more of a mess if he didn’t catch the way his hands shook as they threw a shirt across the floor.
Sighing, he reached further down the bed and help up the grey hoodie that had been discarded on the frame, “Looking for this?”
Jake whipped around and his face went dark with irritation. When he reached to grab it, Bradley held it away from him.
“What the hell, man?” Jake growled.
Bradley held his gaze levelly, “Five minute extension; special circumstances. Sit.”
The thing was, if Jake really wanted to leave then Bradley knew he could. A determined Jake Seresin was more than capable of wrestling his way out of a tight spot if he felt claustrophobic enough.
He was tensing for the man to lunge for the hoodie or even storm out without it, but Jake just glowered at him for a minute before apparently deciding he was too tired to fight him, reluctantly dropping to sit on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh.
There was an awkward silence for a minute or two, Jake fiddling with his hands restlessly and Bradley leaning his back against the wall behind him, just waiting.
Because for all the shit Jake gave him about waiting, not taking the shot, Bradley knew that Jake was a strike-and-run kind of guy and he’d already exhausted all his energy.
In short, Bradley could wait him out. And he would.
After a while, he saw the tight lines of Jake’s shoulders droop and his head dropped to his lap, “I lost a wingman.” He murmured, so quietly that Bradley almost missed it.
Bradley winced, because damn that was heavier than anything he was imagining, “How?”
Jake swallowed hard, “It was uh Afghanistan…when I got my first kill. I was flying with this guy, callsign Colt.” He took a deep breath, and his voice came out shaky, “Aaron Wethers. That was his name.”
Seeing the shivers start to crawl down Jake’s bare torso again, Bradley shuffled forward, resting his chin over the smaller man’s shoulder and sliding his arms loosely around his waist, wrapping himself around him protectively. It was intimate, too intimate for something that was supposed to be casual, but it felt like the right thing to do.
And apparently it was, because Jake relaxed against him and closed his eyes, “He got shot down. In a bullet strike meant for me. He swung up right as I dived to avoid it and…that was that. I heard him die over the comms.”
Bradley sighed softly, nuzzling deeper into Jake’s neck when he heard his voice become thick.
“The only reason I made the kill shot was because the other guy was too busy finishing him off.” Jake rasped, sounding much older than his years.”
“Jake…” he murmured, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” He thought back to that first night back at The Hard Deck.
“Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.”
He thought at the time that he saw a flicker of pain and guilt in those green eyes before the walls went back up. Now he knew why.
Jake just hummed noncommittedly, but his jaw was flexing like he was holding back tears, “Yeah well…It’s the job, right? Shit goes sideways.” He muttered bitterly.
Bradley frowned, pulling away and trying not to feel a tug at the small space between them. He brought his hand to cup the back of Jake’s neck again, tried to ignore the way they both leaned into it unconsciously, “Don’t do that.”
“What?” Jake turned his head to look at him.
“Don’t put on that ‘I don’t give a shit’ mask. Not with me.” Bradley said softly.
Jake furrowed his brow, chewing on his lip the same way he’d been doing for as long as Bradley had known him. His eyes were softer than before, and when he spoke his voice was small, barely a whisper, “We’re not together anymore, Roo. You don’t have to take care of me.”
Bradley swallowed at the nickname, holding the other man’s gaze, “I know, but I still care. I still want to.”
The words came out before he’d really considered their weight, and he suddenly felt his heart fluttering nervously as Jake’s eyes widened a little.
Coughing, Bradley shuffled back to his side of the bed, “Come on, we can still get a few hours in before training tomorrow.”
Jake nodded jerkily, both of them fumbling uselessly with the sheets to put some separation between them.
But when Bradley saw Jake reach for the hoodie he found himself blurting out, “You can stay the night? If you don’t want to be alone.”
Jake’s froze, eyes flickering between the hoodie and Bradley’s face, looking torn. And, because he was still Hangman at the end of the day, he cracked a lopsided smirk and huffed a tired laugh, “Think my five minutes was over a while back, wasn’t it, Roo?”
Relaxing back into their usual back and forth, Bradley raised an eyebrow at him, “My room, my rules.”
“You’re such a child.” Jake scoffed, but he was pulling back the covers and settling back into the bed. He turned his back to Bradley, any tension bleeding out of his shoulders with a heavy sigh.
Bradley tried not to grin to broadly (and he tried not to think too deeply about what that meant), quipping back, “You’re still five years younger than me, Seresin.”
“Like you’d ever let me forget.”
“Baby’s getting crabby, huh?”
“Shut up and spoon me, Bradshaw or I will walk out and never come back.”
And what else could Bradley do except laugh and shift closer, wrapping his arm around Jake’s torso and pulling the shorter man against his chest before closing his eyes. It felt familiar, safe. It felt like coming home.
…Fuck, there was going to be a lot to talk about in the morning.