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Bradley almost doesn't get on the plane. He's got his duffle to his side, wearing his most comfortable Hawaiian shirt, hell, he'd even sprung for first class just to dissuade him from not getting on. Where he's going, why he's going. There shouldn't be a thing in the world keeping him away. But, all that said, Bradley hates taking commercial flights. He hates not having control from the pilot's seat, all the noise, and how big the cabin is. Strangely enough, it makes him claustrophobic.
He'd run out of Xanax after his last panic attack, and when Mav's call had come in, his "we're finally doing it, Bradley, he finally said yes," there hadn't been time to get a refill.
Bradley wonders as he breezes through priority boarding, dog tags clinking against his chest as he heads up the ramp, if first-class has a cut-off for mini bottles of whiskey.
A female flight attendant is waiting at the top and off the side of the open door. Her smile is waxy and tight, but Bradley offers one of his own to be polite. He can't imagine what it's like, running these flights, probably back to back, and dealing with all kinds of unruly people. It's the least he can do, especially when he doesn't know if he's going to become one of the said people once they take off.
As long as the turbulence isn't too bad, he'll probably be able to manage with white-knuckling his seat and trying not to throw up.
He shows the woman, 'Tanya' (as her badge notes), his ticket and points toward one of the rows at the nose of the plane. He sees the moment she clocks his tags and sends up a silent prayer that she won't say it.
"Thank you for your service." Bradley fights the urge to cringe, but he can't stop the way his lips curl into his mouth as he forces a second smile before making a hasty retreat to his seat, stowing his bag in the overhead compartment before buckling in.
Bradley had picked the window on the off chance he'd need to distract himself, hoping that maybe, because at least the skies were the same, he could trick his brain into thinking he was in his F-18 instead of a 747.
He gets his headphones out from his pockets and shoves them in his ears, trying not to think too hard about any of it. Johnny Cash's low crooning washes over him, and he knows he's got at least twenty minutes before he'll have to shut down his phone. On a logical level, he gets it, but he also wishes he didn't have to put his phone away when he needed it the most. Takeoffs and landings were the worst parts. For now, at least, he can try and force his muscles to relax, eyes slipping closed.
When, a little while later, Bradley feels a presence next to him, he thinks it's just the passenger who will be sitting to his left, but then there's a tap on his shoulder, and he's peering at a flight attendant. Almost immediately, the reality of being on an airplane slips away. Bradley is looking at blue-green eyes, tan skin, and golden blonde hair. The smile that the man is wearing is less tight than the woman Bradley had first seen, and it's a struggle not to get distracted by the sudden adonis leaning toward him from the aisle.
Jake is what the man's name tag reads when Bradley is able to force his eyes down. And if he gets a little lost, mapping what contours of the man's chest he can see beneath his uniform, that's between Bradley and no one else. Except... maybe Jake too, because when Bradley forces his eyes back up, the blonde is smirking, all amused. It's the kind of look someone has when they know they're attractive and are aware the person staring is thinking that same.
Jake raises a hand and points at his own ear, and Bradley suddenly realizes that if he'd been spoken to, he had no idea; the music was too loud.
"Sorry," he offers, a little chastised, rolling the headphones up. Jake's expression softens a bit, and he shrugs.
"No worries, just..." he trails off and points to the flashing sign above Bradley's seat. "Gonna have to ask you to turn it off for a few minutes." Bradley is already nodding, holding down on the power button before Jake's even done speaking. He knows the rules, even if he doesn't like them.
Jake offers him one more smile before he stands, giving Badley a last look, a bit more calculating, his mouth tipping down in a slight frown before he nods and heads back towards the front of the plane. Bradley really hopes Jake couldn't see the anxiety starting to make his shoulder hunch or how his leg was immediately bouncing once his headphones were out. Still, Bradley is sure that the flight attendant sees hesitant fliers all the time, and he's nothing if not transparent.
Bradley tries not to think about it too hard. Two minutes later, the doors close, and he's locked in for good. Bradley thinks it's some kind of miracle that the seat next to him is empty. If he needs to vomit, he doesn't want anyone else seeing the telltale signs and complaining about the grown man sitting next to them.
A voice from the intercom crackles over.
"This is your pilot speaking. My name is Captain Ethan..." Bradley tunes out the man's voice a little because he doesn't care and mostly because Jake is back at the head of the first-class aisle for the preflight safety demonstration.
It's the best distraction Bradley has, watching Jake grin, all white teeth, as he goes through the seatbelt checks and the flotation device tutorial. When the plane jerks, starting to taxi, Bradley can't stop himself from pressing back hard into his seat and clenching his jaw. Jets are faster; they don't take this long to get into the air. It's like he's rocketing through purgatory just so when the nose of the plane tips up, he'll be dropped into hell.
He steadies his breathing and makes himself watch Jake go through the last of the show before he's disappearing again, getting strapped down for ascent.
It takes less than twenty minutes to get to a cruising altitude, and while he is allowed to turn his phone back on, Bradley is having a bit of trouble making his fingers, numb and clenched in his lap, cooperate. It's ridiculous. He shouldn't have this problem.
He should have just gotten drunk before the flight even started.
It's only three hours, Bradley reminds himself; he can do a three-hour flight. If he hadn't been spending his leave in Texas with Bob and Phoenix, he could have just driven. Bradley is going to make Maverick take him out to a nice place for dinner, steak if he can convince Ice to sacrifice his credit card to make up for this torture.
His phone comes to life, but before he shoves his earbuds back in, every terrible thing he understands about commercial airliners and flight statistics buzzing in his brain, the drink cart pulls up beside his section.
It's Jake again, and Bradley wishes he didn't feel sweat starting to bead at his temples because he probably looks less than stellar for this walking daydream.
"Need something to drink?" Bradley hadn't picked up the soft southern drawl before, but it's pleasant for his ears and helps him take a steadier breath. He even manages a small smile.
"Do you serve dubious amounts of Nyquil?" It startles a laugh out of the blonde, and Bradley likes that it replaces the image of their plane magically snapping in half.
"For medical reasons, no, but we sell legal poison in small but expensive quantities if I could interest you in some of that instead?" He produces a tiny bottle of Jameson, and Bradley winces because... ew, but he holds out his credit card in exchange.
Jake gives him a sympathetic look and pours him water as well.
"Not a big fan of flying?" Bradley twists the lid and almost spills it all over himself when a lurch of turbulence hits and sends his anxiety spiking. When his breathing starts to pick up, something cold touches the side of Bradley's neck; Jake is holding the cup of cold water to his skin.
Bradley could kiss him for the tactile anchor. Instead, he manages to swallow around the lump in his throat and speak.
"Actually, I love it, but usually it's the smaller plane and faster speed kind of flights." He takes the cup from Jake's fingers and marvels to himself that the other's skin is warm and soft when their fingers brush. Jake offers him a hum and bends to put away the bottle back into the cart. When he stands, he looks Bradley over, catching the tags on his chest, and raises a brow.
Braley is already preparing himself for the next words out of Jake's mouth, readying the correction he always has to deliver, pretending it doesn't immediately make his blood hot for no valid reason.
"Naval aviator?" Bradley almost drops the alcohol he'd managed to forget, and the surprise on his face must be evident because Jake is smirking, large, and smug. Bradley falls in love just a little, with how it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle in mirth.
"Don't be too impressed now. My best bud flies for 'em, so I usually just guess Navy. Pisses Air Force off when I'm wrong, but the look on you sailor's faces never changes." Bradley chuckles a bit at that, shaking his head in silent disbelief.
"Well, if everyone else thought you flew for the "Chair" Force, you'd get a bit of a complex too." Jake snorts but seems to approve of the banter. He tips his head to the little bottle that really isn't going to do much for Bradley aside from taking the chill of the cabin away.
"If you need another top off, don't be afraid to holler." Bradley doesn't want him to leave, realizing that for the last couple of minutes he hadn't thought of the fact he's above 35,000ft without a parachute. Still, he can't keep the man from doing his job and nods his head.
When Jake is out of sight, Bradley downs his drink in one go and screws his face up in disgust.
With forty minutes left in the flight, Bradley's phone decides that the best thing it could do is die, and, like the divine comedy Bradley's life is shaping up to be, that's also the exact moment they hit a storm pocket, and the plane jumps.
Bradley is going to throw up. The walls of the 747 are almost breathing; expanding and contracting around him tight before pulling out again. It's making him sick to his stomach. He drums his fingers on his lap tray, piano scales that he mutters the keys for under his breath. The nausea isn't going away, but when Bradley looks up, going to make a break for the bathroom, even though the thought of unbuckling himself and trying to stand sounds terrible, he catches Jake's eyes instead.
Between one blink and the next, the other man seems to realize something is amiss and is at Bradley's side, kneeing on the empty seat, so he doesn't take up any space for passengers.
"Hey, you okay?" Bradley is very clearly not okay, but he doesn't hold it against Jake for asking. He shakes his head.
"Ran out of Xanax," is all he offers, but Jake seems to get it. He reaches out and touches Bradley's shoulder, the muscles jumping under his touch.
"I gonna grab you water, okay? Hold on for a sec," Bradley doesn't have time to ask him to stay, but he's gone less than a minute, so it's alright either way.
Jake passes a whole bottle to Bradley, who takes it, thankful
"You'll need to stow the bottle when you're done. Don't wanna get me in trouble, do you?" Bradley tries to smile at the light-hearted tone.
"No, yeah, I can do that." He finishes half of it in one go and some of the twisting in his gut eases. "Sorry about -" Bradley waves the bottle around his head, vague gesturing that Jake can easily decipher.
"We get a lot of people with aviophobia, but they aren't usually pilots." He says it with that same smirk from before, like he finds it funny, but Bradley can also see a softness, a concern, lingering.
"Yeah, well, I don't fly commercial if I don't have to. Emergency and all that." Jake hums, thoughtful, and settles a bit easier, leaning his side against the back of the empty chair.
"Judging by all this," Jake gives Bradley a quick once over, enough to make him feel a bit self-conscious, "must be something real important."
"My dads are finally getting married."
Bradley doesn't even think about the words as they come out. It's true. He's not ashamed to admit that, but it's also not even a tenth of the reality of the situation. He's pretty sure Jake doesn't want to hear about his entire tragic backstory, though, so he leaves it at that. Bradley's also thankful that he's not met with an immediately revolted curl of lips or poorly forced politeness. Instead, Jake seems almost excited, like he's over the moon for two men he's never met.
"Yeah? The way you say it sounds like a long time coming?" Bradley doesn't bother hiding his laugh because that's a nail-on-the-head understatement of the century. Jake's smile seems to get wider. "Why don't you tell me about it?"
"I can't keep y-" A boom of thunder, another shake of the plane. The bottle, thankfully closed, drops from Bradley's suddenly slack fingers as he feels the blood drain from his face. Fuck.
They're all going to die.
"Hey," a warm, light touch to the side of his throat, right above his rabbiting pulse, forces his eyes back to Jake's face. Bradley wills them to zone into something more pleasant than the plastic he'd pulled down over the window an hour into the flight. "C'mon, tell me a story."
Bradley manages to find his voice.
"Don't wanna keep you from doin' your job." There's a tightness in his throat, but he works past it. Jake raises a brow at him and gives him another once over.
"Part of my job is keeping the passengers safe and taken care of. Pretty sure that means my job is keeping you distracted right now, and if you don't have a better idea, spin me a tale." Jake's tone is teasing, and when he mentions a better idea to distract Bradley, the brunette's eyes unconsciously drop to his mouth.
Jake's lips are a little thin at the top but large and pretty looking. Bradley gets caught staring, Jake tapping the side of his throat where his fingers are still pressing gently. He feels heat flushing his cheeks as he makes his attention snap back up. Jake is still smiling, tinged now with bashfulness, maybe even a little interest, if Bradley's brain isn't playing tricks on him.
Jake clears his throat.
"Something that doesn't run the risk of getting me fired?" Bradley likes the way those blue-green eyes shine in the shitty overhead lights and can't help himself; calmer now.
"You'd let me kiss you if it wouldn't get you canned?"
"A story, Mr. A15." Jake's on the verge of laughing, a bit of pink splotching his ears.
"Bradley," it's a bit silly; it feels like Jake should already know his name, with how comfortable Bradley feels in light of the circumstances. The other nods, finally moving his hand away, but only so he can get more relaxed as he leans.
"Alright." Jake tips his head at Bradley. "A story, Bradley."
So, until Jake has to prep for landing, Bradley tells him the epic and ridiculously stupid love story about one Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and Tom "Iceman" Kazansky. How the latter, regardless of them being together for closing on thirty-five years, refused to say yes to Maverick's proposals until just the other day, until the cancer was gone for the second time, for good, the doctors assured. Jake had laughed, looked star-struck at some of Bradley's more outlandish recollections of the two pilots, and if he was going to hang his hat on hope, a little endeared.
Once the plane touches down, Bradley slips into being nervous again. It's only eased once the wheels bounce down on the tarmac. Then he's dragging his feet, putting his phone and earbuds back into his pockets, waiting for the other passengers to depart, bubbling energy building up beneath his skin. Bradley puts off departing as long as possible, hoping for one last look at Jake but eventually has to grab his duffle and head out.
To his surprise, the blonde is the one standing at the door this time, welcoming people into California. He meets Bradley's eyes and smiles, looking over his shoulder and noting that there's no one else following.
"Got lost in there?" Bradley shrugs his shoulder a bit, duffle jostling on his shoulder.
"Waiting to see if you were gonna come back for the rest of the story." He'd left off at Maverick's fourth proposal to Iceman, and there was still one more to go. He... didn't want to step out of the plane and leave Jake there, suddenly strangers again.
Something about it doesn't feel right.
Jake colors a bit at the honesty, and Bradley pushes forward. There are worms in his stomach, wriggling, and it's almost like Bradley is up in the air again.
"Unless maybe you wanna see how it ends for yourself?" When Jake meets his eyes, confusion clear, Bradley continues. "I've uh, got a plus one to the wedding I haven't used yet. Thought, maybe since you were so interested, you'd wanna come." He has no idea if Jake will be on the ground in a week's time, if this is even his usual route. Bradley, however, has been told a couple of times (mainly by Phoenix) that he'd do well, taking a few more shots, so this is him doing that.
Even if he crashes and burns, at least it's on the ground.
Jake, after the bewilderment slides away, is grinning.
He hasn't said yes yet, but something tells Bradley he's going to.