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Jake finds out Maverick has a son in the middle of dogfight football.
Of course, he doesn’t know that’s who the guy is when he first clocks him. Nor when he gets one hell of a tackle from Omaha because he’s suddenly too distracted to remember he’s supposed to be running with the ball and not getting distracted by attractive men who’ve just appeared out of nowhere like some mix between a wet dream come true and the devil sent to tempt him into damnation.
Once Jake’s on his feet again, the others start to notice the guy too, makes it less awkward for him to approach when everyone else is doing the same thing, as their attention gets snagged by the loud laugh Maverick lets out at something the guy has said.
So, he’s funny. Jake thinks, not quite realising in the moment that he’s starting to make a list of all the guy’s good qualities, putting together a resume for all the reasons he’ll probably be too good for him.
Based on the shared looks of surprise, none of the squad knew Maverick could laugh like that. There’s something that’s loosened in the shoulders of their commanding officer, like all is right in the world now that this guy has arrived.
As they get closer, Jake takes in the loose Hawaiian shirt he’s wearing, the fucking jorts (because who doesn’t wear denim on the beach?), the porno ‘stache adorning his face... none of it should look as good as it does. It’s fucking unfair is what it is.
“Who’s this Mav?” Phoenix asks, because she’s always been the bravest of them. The bluntest too, but Jake can’t complain about that when this is what's helping him with his information gathering. Her chest is heaving a little, just like the rest of them, from how hard they’ve been working at their game. He hopes her slightly breathless voice isn’t enough to steal the guy’s attention. For anyone who swung that way, Phoenix was nothing if not irresistible.
In a manner very reminiscent of a kid presenting their favourite toy to a group of half-interested adults, Maverick announces, “this is my son, Bradley.”
Praise the fucking lord.
Jake doesn’t have to overanalyse the streak of jealousy that lanced through him at the thought that Maverick had such game.
“Nice to meet you all.”
Voice is just on the dangerous side of gravelly.
Some of the group, the less starstruck ones, respond to that greeting.
Jake can only stare.
Thank fuck for the protection his sunglasses offer. Gives him the chance to pretend he’s not boring holes into the side of the guy, Bradley’s, face. Gives him the chance to imagine the aviators Bradley is wearing are helping him to hide the way his attention has snagged on Jake in the same way.
“Bradley, this is the new squad I’ve been telling you about.”
“Yeah, I did figure that one out old man.”
Maverick shoves him. Hard. Enough that he stumbles and has to catch himself at the risk of ending up on his ass. Jake tries not to flinch. It’s okay. They’re both laughing.
Good relationship with his dad.
“I told you not to call me that.”
Bradley shakes his head, like Maverick should know better than to think he’s going to listen to him. “Mav’s told me a lot about you guys. Gonna ruin all his credibility, but he’s very proud.”
Sincere.
Maverick smacks the back of his head, “ow. Fuck’s sake Mav, stop hitting me.”
“Learn some respect then.”
It’s said in a joking tone. It’s apparent there’s a lot of love between them so it’s hard to think Maverick doesn’t know how much his son must adore him, even with all the teasing going on. Hell, Jake’s been around them for less than five minutes and even he can tell these two would do anything for one another.
“So, what is it you do Bradley?” Halo asks this time.
Jake doesn’t blame her, it’s obvious he’s not navy.
He never thought he’d have to compete with the girls for attention like this, but here he is. Not that he’s really put himself up for consideration yet. He’s only just realised he’s not said a single word since the moment Bradley first appeared.
Shit.
“I’m a mechanical engineer.” Good with his hands. “And part-time bartender, which speaking of, I should go before I upset Penny.” He starts backing up the beach. “Stop by later, first round’s on me.” He waves in farewell and he’s gone.
Just like that.
It’s only wishful thinking that makes Jake think he’d been looking in his direction at all.
“He’s working on his PhD.” Maverick says, all smiling and proud.
Smart.
So far out his league it’s not even funny.
Javy fixes him with a look that tells him he knows exactly what kind of filthy thoughts have been running through his mind, and isn’t yet decided on whether to be entertained by the idea that Jake is into Maverick’s son, or disappointed that he’s that predictable.
They start a new game without finishing the one Bradley’s arrival interrupted, already at the point in the day where everyone’s stopped keeping score and is just playing for the sake of enjoying each other’s company instead.
It’s nice.
Starts to feel like they’re an actual team. Which, yeah, point made Maverick. He’s battering them about the head with it like they’re Bradley just after he’s made an obnoxious comment.
Jake can’t stop himself from fixating on the way he’d said it. He’s very proud. Like it was obvious. Like pride was a thing people just handed out without hesitation. Like Bradley himself had been proud, even though Jake has to assume he’s working with limited information, basing his assumptions about the squad on whatever Maverick has chosen to tell him. How much would that opinion change if he found out the truth? That the rest of the squad felt Jake couldn’t be trusted? He didn’t mind, he was used to people thinking that little of him. He hadn’t done much to convince them things were any different. Couldn’t be bothered to, it wasn’t his fault that the rest of them weren’t willing to fly like their asses depended on it. Go big or go home, after all.
They’re taking a break when Penny wanders down the beach to meet Maverick where he’s been spectating. By unspoken agreement, the squad makes their way to greet her, allowing her to mother hen her way through handing out chilled bottles of water, because she knows they’ve all been too caught up in the competition to think about stopping for drinks. She encourages them to head up to the bar afterwards, as if they would have ended up anywhere else.
“It should be a quiet night,” she says, which is true, it’s the middle of the week, “so with any luck, you’ll have the place pretty much to yourselves. Just make sure someone’s watching the bar if Bradley feels like showing off.”
God, he’s so fucking curious what that might mean.
Penny doesn’t elaborate, just shares a look with Maverick, enjoying sharing the joke only they’re in on. They head out shortly after, in the wake of a warning from Maverick to not be too hungover for the morning. Said like it’s a threat. One Jake takes seriously. He learnt his lesson about underestimating the wily bastard weeks ago. He’s not the type of person to make the same mistake twice.
Bradley is in his element as bartender. He’s in the middle of serving an older couple, but that doesn’t stop him from raising a hand to acknowledge their entrance, even as he follows through the movement with the grabbing of a pint glass to pull from the tap like this is what he was made to do. It’s effortless. Pouring a drink has never been more attractive. Jake is aware how much he needs to pull himself together before he ends up swooning over Bradley like some lovestruck teenager.
He’s not sure how else to go about this, so he chooses to do what he does best and command the attention of the room. They post up by their usual pool table. Jake’s thrilled to note he pots a particularly impressive shot just in time for Bradley to see as he arrives flourishing a tray of beers.
“You are my new favourite person.” Harvard says, as he lends a hand to help Bradley disperse the bottles.
Is it bad Jake’s jealous?
He’s closer to Harvard so he doesn’t even get to thank Bradley directly.
“All I did was bring you beer? Low bar man,” Bradley teases, patting Harvard on the shoulder before he retreats behind the counter again.
They play one game, two. Another round gets delivered, and a third. No longer courtesy of Bradley however, the squad settle into the almost subconscious turn taking they usually defer to when on assignment like this, so the deliveries are less eventful, less interesting for Jake to pay attention to, no matter how grateful he is for the constant supply of alcohol. He’s feeling looser, more accustomed to Bradley’s presence now that he’s had the time to observe from a distance. It hasn’t made him any less fascinating. Jake watches as he hands over another few drinks, this time to a pretty redhead Jake has no need to be so worried about because she’s already turning to pass one of the glasses on to her partner with a kiss. He’s staring. He knows he is. Knows he needs to stop before one of the squad catches him, only that ship has already sailed because Javy elbows him in the gut to get his attention.
“Gettin’ a little obvious there, buddy,” he teases with a wink. He shakes his near empty bottle in Jake’s face. “Pretty sure it’s Hangman’s round next,” he says, louder this time so that the rest of the squad will hear.
They take the bait as Javy knew they would, and Jake’s being shoved towards the bar, towards Bradley, before he even has time to think of a smooth opening line.
He hates them.
Bradley steps up to face him as he approaches. There’s no one else waiting to be served, so there’s nothing to delay the inevitable from happening. Penny was right, it had been a quiet night, nowhere near enough distractions for Bradley to give him anything but his undivided attention.
“So, which one are you?” Bradley asks. Jake’s not sure what look flickers across his face, flummoxed as he is by the question, but it appears to amuse Bradley anyway as he rests his forearms on the counter to lean closer. Jake tries to focus on what Bradley’s offering by way of explanation rather than how soft the skin of his inner arms looks, though he can't convince himself he’s succeeding. “I feel like I know everyone even though you’re basically strangers. Mav refers to you all with your callsigns though, he never thought to mention what anyone looked like, so I’m still trying to work out who’s who.”
It's so earnest.
Jake can’t help himself for the way he mirrors Bradley’s lean on the bar, his arm landing just between that blurred line of presumptuous and inviting as it brushes up against Bradley’s.
“Hangman.” Jake doesn’t miss the spark of interest in Bradley’s gaze at that admission, “can’t wait to hear what pops has been telling you about me.”
“Only good things, I swear.”
“Bullshit.”
Jake is more pleased than he should be for how that makes Bradley laugh.
“Yeah, okay. You definitely win most mentioned though, even if it is all complaining.”
“At least I’ve made an impression.”
“Oh, for sure. Kinda thought he hated you at first, but…” Bradley shrugs, like that’s supposed to explain where that sentence was headed.
“But now he’s unable to deny my charm and has fallen devastatingly in love with me?”
Bradley snorts, “you’re closer than you’d think. He’s pissed because you remind him of someone, and, I quote, he thought he was done dealing with blond, egocentric, assholes.”
“Jesus, tell me how he really feels.”
“Safe to say you live up to the hype.”
“Thank god, I’d hate to disappoint anyone.”
“I’m not sure you’re capable of being disappointing.”
“Oh darlin’, you have no id-”
“Bagman, stop fucking flirting and bring us our beer.” Phoenix shouts from across the room, flaunting her uncanny ability to humiliate him from a distance.
He flips the squad off without turning around. He can feel the weight of their stares now that he's looking for it, but he couldn't care less. Though he can feel a blush coming on, he rolls with it, “please give me beer to shut her up with?”
Bradley raps his knuckles against the counter, moving to fill a tray with bottles for them. “Not gonna deny the flirting thing then?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“I have no idea.”
“Unless you think hitting on someone whilst they’re working is trashy, then I was most definitely being my most respectful self and not flirting at all.”
“Good to know,” Bradley says with a grin, pushing the tray towards him and waving the open tab he's found to show he’ll update it. “So, do I get to know your real name?”
Jake grins, all teeth, and beckons Bradley closer so he can murmur in his ear across the counter, “that’s a privilege that’s earnt.” He pulls back and grabs the tray, thrilled at the way the light flush on Bradley’s cheeks deepens when he winks at him.
“Can you please save failing to get in his pants for later,” Phoenix begs when he arrives back with the squad, scuppering any last chance he might have had that not everyone knew what he was trying to do.
He knows he looks a little haughty as he rolls his shoulders back to say, “I-”
“Hangman, just accept that you’re not subtle and move on for the rest of our sakes please.” Javy interjects. If it was anyone else, he would’ve argued the point, just for the sake of being contrary. Javy however, has too much dirt on him, and he loves the man but he’s also a little terrified of that fact, so he’s quick to let it go when he asks like that.
Jake settles in to watch the end of the game between Yale, Bob, Fritz and Halo (which, not the pairings he would have expected, but it seems to be working for them all) like it’s the only thing in the room worth paying attention to. It’s not. Not by a long shot. But Javy was right about the subtlety thing and he hopes that, if he accepts the distance for a while, it might make him seem more interesting.
He likes to think it’s working when Javy pushes him towards the bar a second time – it’s not his round but he couldn’t care less, Javy’ll cover him another time, Jake’s not too proud to take advantage of the opportunity he’s been given when his wingman (in the bros sense, rather than the piloting one) has his back like this – if only for the pleased little smile Bradley gives him when he leans against the counter again.
“Watch the bar for me?” Bradley asks before he can say anything. He’s not given the chance to respond as Bradley’s already rounding the counter and heading off to the corner where the piano lives, only stopping along the way to yank the jukebox cord out of the wall and plunge the bar into an anticipatory silence.
Fascinating.
Jake scours his memories for any instance of when anyone’s so much as looked at the thing with more than passing curiosity and comes up empty. As far as he knew it was just one example of the type of eccentric decoration Penny was into. Apparently not. Bradley runs his fingers up and down the keys in an enviable display of talent, drawing the rest of the squad to abandon the half-finished game in favour of flitting around him. Moths to a flame and all that. Jake can’t deny he feels the pull himself, fantasising about what it would be like to perch on the edge of that stool next to him, their bodies pressing up against one another as Bradley serenades him with something a sliver more romantic than the… is that fucking Foghat he’s playing?
And Jake got shit for his unsubtlety.
Fucking Slow Ride.
Take it easy for sure Bradley.
He feels more than sees the way he's being smirked at from across the room as Bradley transitions into a Jerry Lee Lewis song Jake forgot he even knew the words to. It’s a fucking performance. Maybe he mouths a few words along with Bradley, kiss me baby, just to make sure there’s no doubt they’re on the same page, maybe he shivers at the heat in Bradley’s gaze, who knows. The squad are beyond into it now too, singing along with a freeness Jake doesn’t think he’s seen from them before. Like it's their last night on earth or something else far too melancholy for him to get distracted by right now.
God, he wants to be over there, wants to join in, wants… a lot of things, but Bradley told him to watch the bar and he has a sinking feeling he wouldn’t hesitate to do anything Bradley asked of him.
Not that he’s necessarily doing all that good of a job at it, propped back with his elbows against the counter as he is, eyes for nothing but Bradley. He feels a little bad when the poor guy who’s approached him for a drink has to clear his throat a couple times before it filters through the fog in Jake’s brain enough to snag his attention.
“Sorry man, what can I do for you?”
“You serving?”
Jake hums and moves behind the bar, the novelty of being this side of the counter sufficient to keep his attention away from Bradley long enough to get the guy what he wants. It’s lucky really, he’s drinking the same brand as the squad usually do, Jake doesn’t have to worry about charging him the wrong amount. Not knowing the code to the till, he just dumps the cash under the counter to be dealt with later and resumes his vigil for Bradley, tuning in again in time to watch as a new song draws to a close. Some of the squad break off again to return to their once abandoned game, but Jake narrows his eyes with a little bit of fear and suspicion as Javy, Phoenix and Bob engage Bradley in a longer-than-casual-small-talk style conversation. Great. When Bradley makes his way back to Jake, shouted requests for another round trail after him.
“You look good behind there.” Bradley says as he leans in towards Jake. They might have swapped positions, but they’re very much returning to that default lean on the counter position, albeit with much more definite contact as their arms rest together than the tentative brush Jake had allowed himself before.
“I am good.”
“Yeah?”
Jake fishes under the counter for where he dropped the cash from earlier and presents it like a trophy for Bradley. “Made a sale and everything.”
“Wow," Bradley raises his eyebrows like he's wondering whether he should be impressed, "you’re gonna do me out of a job if you’re not careful.”
“And lose my favourite bartender? No chance.”
“Don’t let Penny catch you saying something like that, she might get jealous.”
Jake snorts, enjoying himself too much to care whether it sounds attractive. “So, what’s a guy got to do to get a drink around here?”
“Help himself apparently, I’m on the wrong side of the counter to be of any use.”
“Right, right, what can I get you then?” He spreads his hands like the shopkeeper he’s pretending to be displaying his wares.
“Ah, no drinking on the clock for me unfortunately. Made that mistake once, Penny won’t let me forget it.”
“Another time then?”
“Absolutely.”
Jake grins, but his next comment is tempered by his sixth sense for Phoenix’s mounting irritation, and he realises it’s best to move this along before they end up getting hosed down or something else equally embarrassing. “Not that I want to leave, but I should probably take them some drinks over before the withdrawal symptoms start setting in.”
A calculating look flashes across Bradley’s face, “can I ask you something first?”
“You just did.”
Bradley rolls his eyes, especially as Jake's grin just widens. But then Jake indulges him, gesturing for him to go ahead and ask his question. With a huff, Bradley grabs the front of his shirt to pull him closer over the counter so that, much like Jake did earlier, he can murmur in his ear, “did my singing earn me the privilege of knowing your real name yet?”
In what world is he supposed to deny him things when he asks as sweetly as that?
“Jake."
“Jake,” Bradley repeats in a low voice. It’s like he’s committing it to memory, swearing an oath, breathing out a secret just for the two of them. Jake wants to hear him say it again. “I’ll bring the drinks over in a second.”
Jake can only nod, wary of what his voice might do if he tries to speak. He fights to hide the little smile on his face as he re-joins the squad, and fails, if their eye rolling is anything to go by. He can sense Bradley in his periphery, flipping the sign on the door to closed and clearing away some used glasses now that the other patrons have all left for the evening, joining the group with a fresh tray of drinks, being cajoled into a game of nine-ball with some of the others. All of it is captivating. Jake finds he’s relieved now that he doesn’t have to split his attention, he can watch the game and watch Bradley. No one can give him shit for staring, maybe it’s just a very interesting game, Javy.
It's all fine, until, by unanimous agreement, Bradley is pitted against Jake and the bets start to roll in. They’re so evenly matched Jake’s not really sure who’s winning, more interested in watching the careful, planned way Bradley will line up a shot, breathe, and then shoot, always just shy of hesitation. It’s mesmerising. So different from his instinctual, let the balls fly and see where they land approach. He’s been playing pool for as long as he can remember, half of the shots he makes are from muscle memory now, he doesn’t need to analyse the table before every move to know he’s more likely to score than not. Opposite as their styles are, they still feel complementary. He’s sure it gives the squad more than enough entertainment.
Especially when the real game begins.
It starts out innocently enough, a brush past one another as they circle around the table jockeying for best position. Then a hand on the back to steady themselves as they contemplate their next moves. A bout of heated eye contact after one particularly impressive shot that even Jake himself is unsure how he pulled off, not that he lets Bradley see that, let him think Jake is just that good. A whisper in the ear when Bradley returns the favour and needs to let him, and him alone know, that he sees right through him. Peacocking and posturing their way though each and every shot as if its some kind of foreplay and there’s no one else in the room.
Jake couldn’t say who won when its over, in either sense.
He wants to play again.
The curse Omaha lets out when everyone is least expecting it, breaks the spell. Reality comes back between them and the only consolation is that Bradley looks just as annoyed by the intrusion as he himself feels.
“It’s late guys, we only have like five hours till morning briefing.”
Well, shit.
Jake knows its over. Time has run out. From the look on Bradley’s face, he knows Bradley knows that too. No matter how irresponsible and reckless he wants to be, he will be going back to base with the others and sleeping alone in his cold, hard bunk. Bradley will head back to wherever it is he lives with no one to accompany him home. Their lives will move on as independent from one another as they were when they both woke up that morning.
What a disappointing end.
At least, Jake consoles himself, as they all help Bradley in tidying the bar before he locks up for the night, he knows where he works. They can pick this up later, after the mission. If there is an after for him to come back to.
The squad drove to the beach together, so they start piling into the few cars they share between them. Jake doesn’t look back, only because he won’t be responsible for his actions if he locks eyes with Bradley again. This restraint, what’s left of it anyway, is tenuous at best. Bradley doesn’t seem to get that however, because he still demands his attention before he can fold himself into the passenger seat of Javy's car.
“Jake,” he calls his name in that half-whispered vow that he’s making kind of way.
Jake glances to where Javy’s sitting with his hands on the wheel, he gets a nod as permission and knows Javy will wait as long as he needs. He turns back to see Bradley looking all hesitant and bashful where he stands by the now locked door. He’s by his side again without registering he even moved. Bradley gestures for his arm, Jake presents it to him with a frown in the form of a question. He has a pen in his hand, scribbles some numbers near the pulse point on Jake's wrist. Adds a smiley face because, well, its Bradley, and Jake gets the feeling he’s always that contrary.
It’s the best gift he’s ever received.
“Give me a call when your feet touch the ground again.”
When, not if. Like it’s a sure thing. Jake hopes for both their sakes that it is.
Bradley kisses him for the first time right there in the parking lot, fleeting and soft, an entreaty to come home safe so they can pick up where this left off. And then he’s gone, whistling as he wanders down the beach like he has all the time in the world and is just waiting for Jake to catch up. Jake's half-convinced he imagined him.
He's not sure what his face is doing, but it tells Javy all he needs to know and that’s enough for them.
They drive back to base, and into the unknown, with the first glimmers of sunlight peeking over the horizon and a hopeful feeling in Jake’s chest that has him looking forward to the future.
*
Afterwards, when they’ve all made it back from the mission miraculously in one piece and Jake is trying to brush off the enormity of the situation the navy put them in, Bradley helps to ground him.
Because Jake calls him whilst he’s still on the carrier and everyone else is celebrating – of course he does, he wonders how he ever thought there could be a different ending for them – and Bradley knows without asking how close they had come to losing this before it even began.
Things are simple between them, mundane.
They share their pasts, they share everything, and each new piece of the puzzle starts to reveal an awe-inspiring picture of what they’ve been through and how it brought them here. Jake has to thank Mav (because he’s Mav now, the things they've been through forging the path for familiarity) in person for his honesty when he finds out about it, for keeping Bradley safe and sound away from all the bureaucratic bullshit that dictates the lives of those in the navy, for giving him something bigger to dream of so that he can change the world without risking his life the way the rest of them have to.
Bradley puts up with most of his crap and calls him out on the stuff no one should have to let slide. He fixes him with that same look over and over again that tells him he sees right through him when Jake tries to downplay his actions on the mission. Calls him a hero, not because he thinks he needs the ego boost, but because he understands Jake needs reminding sometimes that he really did save lives and his head trying to tell him otherwise is just one hell of a trauma response. Tells him without ever saying the words that he knows Jake didn’t go back for Mav for his sake, no matter how hard Jake tries to bury any other reasoning deep inside him, it’s humbling to discover he would have gone back no matter what, even if he had never known Bradley existed. Allows him to fall for him slowly, enjoys that they’re taking their time, provides a catch net with his regular life and real-world problems that helps prove to Jake that there’s more to living than just the navy. Makes him seriously doubt the benefits of re-enlisting when the time comes for him to consider it.
Over time, they build a life together.
Jake never would have guessed when he returned to Top Gun and met Mav for the first time, that the man would eventually end up as his father-in-law, but years down the line, when memories of the mission are long faded and replaced with better, brighter ones, courtesy of the one and only Bradley Bradshaw, he can’t find it in himself to be anything but grateful.