Chapter Text
Jake peers around the Hard Deck with a slight smile on his lips as he sips his beer, eyes tracing over familiar faces all cheerfully celebrating the fact that they're alive. The suicide mission from hell did its damndest to catch them, but no-siree. Not on Hangman's watch.
His gaze lands on a head of curls stationed at the piano, where it almost always is. Bradshaw. Jake's mouth tips up a tiny bit. Maverick and Rooster sing together despite Mav's unfortunate case of tone-deafness, grinning for all the world like they'd never been at each other's throats in the first place. Correction: like Rooster hadn't been at Maverick's throat.
It could be his imagination, but Maverick looks years younger.
Jake sips from his bottle, quietly observing the two. It's enlightening, to say the least. Rooster's habit of bobbing his head while singing is also one of Maverick's mannerisms. Sometimes, when walking side by side on the tarmac, they'll have the same swing in their step—the kind produced by years of imitation. Even the way they'll say certain words seems similar. They haven't outright admitted to anything, but Jake has a pair of eyes. Before the mission, Rooster might've been dead set on bucking the reins of every order Maverick gave, but he wouldn't have turned around to save him later without something much deeper under the surface.
If Bradley isn't somehow Maverick's kid, Jake will eat his boot.
Maverick's kid.
Nick Bradshaw's kid.
Jake grimaces. Despite having made up for the most part, the subject of Bradshaw's old man festers between them, sore and irritated. Yeah, Jake got a reaction when he brought it up, but what was that worth when Maverick looked like he'd been shot and Rooster came at him like a wild animal?
Fuck, sometimes Jake really is an asshole. He should apologize for the cheap shot.
"You ever gonna stop staring at them, Bagman?" Phoenix asks, settling on the barstool next to him.
"Probably not."
Phoenix huffs and takes a sip of her own drink, letting Jake stew in his silence for a few seconds before adding, "I get it. They're a little eerie now that they're getting along."
Jake shoots her a look. "Only a little?"
"It's like they've been together forever." A smirk grows on her face and she gestures back to them. "Look."
He returns his attention to the pair just in time to watch Maverick press a kiss to the top of Rooster's head. Rooster positively beams under the old man's attention, warm brown eyes glowing with a special kind of mirth and love reserved solely for Maverick. Mav reflects tenderness right back at him with a fond ruffle of his hair.
Jake pushes down the sting of jealousy in his chest and takes another sip of his beer. He's never looked at anyone in his life like that, father-figure or otherwise.
"You look like you swallowed a lemon, Seresin."
"Whatever."
Phoenix cocks a brow, unyielding. "You should talk to him. Whichever one it is you need to talk to, you should."
Despite his reservations about starting a serious conversation with either one of the two, Jake agrees. For all they butt heads, he kind of likes Rooster, and even if he'd never admit to it out loud, he respects Maverick. The man made it his life mission to keep them all alive, after all. If Cyclone hadn't wanted the mission to succeed so badly, it might've been at the cost of his career.
"Well, Bob and I are out for the night. Good luck, and don't do anything I wouldn't do," Phoenix chirps, lightly slugging Jake's shoulder before hopping off to join Bob at the door.
He looks like he's been waiting for a minute. Did she stick around just to pester him about making nice?
When Rooster finishes playing, he gets up to take a break, leaving Maverick to torment Halo and Yale at the pool table. He steps outside onto the porch of the Hard Deck, giving no indication of plans to leave. Jake skirts his gaze around the bar before following.
Less subtle than he thinks, he doesn't see Mav's eyes tracking the two of them out the door.
Rooster says nothing when Jake pulls to a stop next to him.
Jake awkwardly glances down at the beer in his hand, tracing shapes into the condensation. He's not good at this whole 'serious conversation' thing. Where does he even start?
Bradshaw is not kind enough to do it for him. He waits on his perch with that infinite fucking patience of his, this time not out of hesitation but burning inquiry. He wants to know what Jake will do. Never before has Rooster reminded Jake so much of Maverick, deceptively predatory and merciless when he has the upper hand.
Who knew dead silence could be intimidating?
Unbothered, Rooster sips his beer, staring out over the line of parked vehicles to the horizon. No wonder Maverick fought so hard to get him to stop doing this in the air. Bradshaw can quite literally wait forever.
Jake swallows. It's stupid how he feels like a little kid standing next to Rooster. The man is only four years his senior, but the quiet makes him bigger yet—an obstacle. How unfair.
A few patrons filter past them, leaving the bar for the night. It says something about how long Jake has been standing here like an idiot.
He tries twice to start a sentence before managing, "Look. About your dad-"
Bradshaw's head jerks toward him and the scowl on his face pierces Jake like a hawk's beak rending the flesh from a hare. "You may have saved Maverick and I, but that doesn't give you the right to talk about my old man."
"Bradsh-"
"Stop."
"But I-"
"After the shit you pulled? Not a chance. Not only did you bring him up like it was some kind of sick joke, but you directly implied that his death was Maverick's fault when it wasn't."
Jake flinches. "I was just-"
"No," Rooster says, his words closer to snapping than Jake has ever heard them. "He carried that weight for thirty fucking years when it wasn't his to carry, and you had to go and bring it up to try to get under my skin. Do you have any idea how fucked that is? What were you even thinking? 'Oh, har har, Bradshaw's dad is dead. Let's use that as ammunition-'"
"Damn it, Bradshaw! I'm trying to apologize!"
Silence falls over them again and Jake shrinks under the weight of it, hunching his shoulders. Rooster stares at him, his expression halfway between a glower and something indecipherable. Eventually, he turns his head to face the beach once more, chewing the inside of his cheek as he leans down on the porch railing. Anxiety stirs up in Jake's chest. He doesn't know if he should keep talking. The ground below his feet, though stable, feels more uncertain than ever. A single step in the wrong direction could mean disaster.
Jake sucks in a nervous breath and grits his teeth. "I'm.... I'm sorry, okay? I knew it was a dick move, but I was just so damn curious what the deal was between you and Maverick."
Rooster says nothing, sipping his beer a bit more aggressively than before.
"The way you two were in the air, I'd gathered it was personal-"
A low scoff interrupts Jake. "No shit, Sherlock."
Jake winces, but continues. "I thought it was simple. That you blamed him for your dad's death and that's why you went so hard at him. I.... I didn't know, still don't know, really, but I never intended-" Scratch that. He definitely intended. "I wasn't trying to make fun of you for having a dead father. I just...."
"Just what, Hangman?" Rooster says tiredly.
That tone makes something unpleasant twist in Jake's chest. A part of him whispers that this was always going to happen, no matter how grateful Maverick and Rooster were to him for making sure they didn't die. The team's appreciation was temporary. The comradery was temporary. They all get tired of him eventually.
Jake tried so hard to make sure it wouldn't bother him, but it does. He cares, and whenever he cares, he gets hurt.
"Jake," Rooster says, drawing him back to the present. "Just what?"
Fuck, his breaths are coming faster now. This right here is why he didn't want to have this conversation. He would fuck it up and lose one of the few friends he has. "You needed to stop living in the past, so I was trying for a reality check. It just didn't go as planned. I didn't mean to drag up Maverick's trauma, and I didn't mean to-" Jake clenches his jaw and looks away. "I'm sorry. I.... Please. I'm sorry."
Did he seriously just beg?
That's... beyond embarrassing. The first time anyone shows him a modicum of regard, and he's so desperate to keep it that he resorts to begging. Why does he have to feel so damn guilty, and why does he need this forgiveness so fucking badly? He swears he didn't feel this guilty twenty minutes ago when he wasn't directly facing it. So much for his pride.
"Jake."
Jake swallows hard when he feels Bradshaw's hand land on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "What?"
"I forgive you."
Jake puffs out a surprised breath, lifting his eyes to meet Rooster's and finding that very same vindication written plainly on his face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Rooster agrees, letting him go with a slight shrug. "It obviously meant a lot to you to say. Probably the first time aside from on the carrier that I've ever seen you be genuine about anything. I appreciate it."
Suddenly dry as the Sahara, Jake's throat refuses to open up. He scratches out a weak "You're welcome."
"Although, you should probably apologize to Mav, too. I think he finally let go of the guilt, but it'd be good for him to hear." Rooster downs the last of his beer and motions for Jake to follow him. "Come on. I won't make you do it tonight, but after that conversation, you look like you could use another drink."
Warmth buds in Jake's chest, and for the first time in ages, he doesn't fight it. "You buying?"
"I'll buy if you promise to come up and see me and Mav at the hangar tomorrow."
"The hangar?"
Rooster huffs. "Yeah. Mav's place. He's got a house, but he practically lives in the hangar. Got a trailer in it and everything."
Jake settles at the bar with Bradley and arches a brow. "Seriously? You're talking like an 'I keep an airplane in here' kind of hangar?" At Rooster's nod, he glances over at the old man. "What does he even do there?"
"It's where he keeps his projects. He's got some motorcycles, an honest-to-goodness Mustang P-51. I'll give you the address." Bradley pulls out his phone, pausing. "That is, unless you wanted to pay for-"
"Just gimme the address, Bradshaw."
A smug laugh leaves Rooster's mouth and he starts texting. Jake sincerely doubts it's a coincidence when a certain dark-haired aviator by the pool table suddenly checks his phone. Maverick meets Jake's gaze with a curious tilt of his head before smiling and turning back to his pool game. Jake isn't sure what to think of the look.
"There you go."
In his pocket, a soft notification goes off, indicating the safe arrival of Bradshaw's message. "Thanks. I do so love not having to pay for things."
"Yeah, like when Mav paid for your drinks that first night here?"
"You know about that?"
Bradshaw looks far too amused for his own good. "Oh, absolutely. Mav told me. Said he got a pretty vindictive kick out of seeing your shining faces the next morning. I think he more than paid you back for throwing him out."
Jake's mouth falls open before he stammers out, "I was just doing what Penny asked."
"Excuses, excuses."
"He could've said something!"
Bradley laughs at that and gets up from the bar when Penny hands him their drinks. He forks out a few bills for Penny and picks up a third glass. "Now, where would've been the fun in that? Better to lie in wait and let you embarrass yourself."
Definitely not sulking, Jake trails Rooster all the way to the pool table, feeling slightly self-conscious for lurking. He's never been that guy who follows around his only friend like a lost puppy before, but that's what he feels like now. Oddly enough, every time he tries to slip on his carefree and cocky mask, it falls away from him because of the sincere smile on his face.
It feels dangerous.
But, as Maverick hands him a pool cue with a grin and a hearty pat between his shoulders, it also feels really, really good.